#SAND ATOP THE PILE

[redmantic]

Does grain that sit atop the pile

Know that it’s slowly slinking?

To see the world in all its brightness

Slowly dipping below the horizon;

Wondering why

-when it finally falls though-

It all seems so dim.

Did you know that most hourglass’ take 5 minutes to finish?

And then the sand atop the pile

Can see the room in all its light,

Slowly begin to darken.

Did you know that the sun sets?

And that it’s not your fault

That even when you’re on top

It can still feel false

But you fought to be there,

To be here.

The world can seem so dim.

Luckily you aren’t a grain of sand

And you aren’t trapped in an hourglass.

Although at times,

it may seem like it.

[redvexillum]

Me: Alrighty-ho! Time to work on my grossly late fraugwinska's DBD x HH event and @6esiree's contest!

Me, completely a sub to my desires despite having zero experience writing a lucifer x reader fic: This is gonna be a quick, dirty, SHORT one shot. No problem-o! *nearly 5000 words later* fhuck.

TAGS/WARNINGS: vexi's brain rot, p in v, cunnilingus, wtf did I just write, f!reader, lucifer isn't quite over lilith because ✨drama✨️, low key blaming @sociosin for sending me spicy Lucifer's ask and @the-other-soup for drawing sexy lucifer - I stood no chance guys

When you first matched with DuckLover69 on Cinder, you laughed, thinking it was a typo—surely, he meant to type DickMaster69. That seemed on brand for a hook-up app straight out of Hell. But as you stood there in his room, surrounded by luxurious, crimson-hued furniture and bed sheets of rich satin that would have looked decadent if they weren’t crowded by piles—actual mounds—of rubber ducks, you realized this guy hadn’t mistyped at all.  

This man really, truly, loved ducks. 

Maybe a tad too much.

You wove your way carefully through a veritable army of rubber duckies, each dressed in an outfit more absurd than the last. A little one in a sombrero sat beside a duck knight, complete with a silver helmet and a feather. You squinted. Was that one wielding a miniature sword? It stuck out from its back at a haphazard angle, as if this duck had met some unspeakable end in battle. 

How…avant-garde?

“Sorry for the wait!” A nervous, high-pitched voice broke the silence, followed by an anxious chuckle that echoed through the room. You turned to see Mr. Duck Lover, as he’d introduced himself online, standing stiff as a board, his hand twirling a crimson red apple atop his sleek, obsidian-black staff. 

He was exactly as odd in person as he’d been in your chats: curious to a fault and totally oblivious to social cues. His very first question had been, “So, do you know the King of Hell?” Not exactly small talk. But you had shrugged it off, telling him the truth—that you’d hardly kept up with Hell’s political scene since you arrived. You were too busy dealing with entitled assholes in your new, endless service job, a punishment so mundane it felt like Hell’s personal version of torture. 

You’d expected the conversation to taper off after that, but Mr. Duck Lover had caught you off-guard by taking a U-turn, asking without reserve if you liked sex. The question had been so blunt, so awkwardly dropped into the conversation, that you’d ended up laughing. After a hellish day dealing with rude customers, his lack of tact and straight-up weirdness had been refreshing, if bizarre, and you’d surprised yourself by playing along. 

And now here you were, standing in his duck-filled lair, looking at him in all his nervous, overdressed glory. “You weren’t kidding when you said you liked ducks,” you said with a grin, trying to keep your face as neutral as possible as you waved at a particularly stylish duck with a feathered boa around its neck. 

Mr. Duck Lover's shoulders stiffened, and his eyes darted back and forth. Two bright red circles painted his cheeks, and he looked like a mime who’d been caught halfway through his act. His fingers fidgeted with the apple on his staff as he tried for a casual smile, though it came across more like a grimace. 

“I-is that a dealbreaker?” His voice cracked, and you could practically feel the nerves radiating off him. You chuckled, stepping a little closer, savouring the way his breath caught, and his cheeks flushed a unique shade of gold, the colour spilling across his nose in a way that was like glittering treasure strewn across white sand. 

“Nah, just… observing,” you said, your grin turning wicked. “What’s wrong, Mr. Duck Lover?”  

You reached out, tucking a stray strand of gold that had fallen over his forehead back into place. He froze, his breath hitching, his eyes widening as if he’d been zapped. The blush on his cheeks deepened, and he puffed them out, holding his breath, looking for all the world like he was trying not to combust from embarrassment. 

Odd, yes. But somehow, interesting. You found yourself curious—very curious—about just what went on in that strange, nervous, duck-obsessed mind of his. 

You chuckled softly, warmth pooling at the base of your throat as you took him in. How adorable. Everything about him felt so out of place for a guy on an app specifically for hookups. He stood there, stiff as a board, his eyes darting to your every move, arms glued to his sides as though his own body wasn’t sure what to do with itself. And as you leaned closer, you noticed a large portrait hung in the back corner of his room—a family picture, quaint and well-loved. 

Am I his rebound? you thought, as you slid your fingers along his collar, grazing the crisp fabric before slowly easing it off his shoulders. His vest, a pale pink stripe against white, gave him a soft, almost innocent look—a stark contrast to the nerves dancing in his wide eyes. He didn’t resist, simply let his jacket slip down his arms, his breath coming shallow as you leaned in, feeling the heat rise as your faces neared, breath mingling. 

With a gulp, he stammered, “I gu-guess we’re doing the do, that's fantastic!” He tried to smile, his teeth peeking out in a goofy, uncertain grin as he let the jacket fall to the floor. 

“You mean…” you whispered, your voice low as you pressed against him, feeling his entire body tense beneath your touch. “Fucking?” 

He squeaked—actually squeaked—and tried to clear his throat, summoning a shred of composure. “That’s right, f-ffucking,” he stammered, the word awkward on his lips as he sounded it out like it was a foreign concept. “Because that’s… what we do. Now. Here.” His body shivered slightly, and you could feel the tremble that ran from his chest to yours, betraying his every anxious thought. 

A spark of curiosity bloomed in you as you watched his attempts at bravado crumble with each beat of silence. You felt it all click into place. In Hell, family didn’t exactly… exist. Sinners couldn’t create new life here, so the idea of settling down with a partner wasn’t the norm, let alone the idea of casual intimacy. But here he was, talking about sex with the clumsy innocence of someone barely familiar with the concept. “Hey…” you murmured, a thrill lacing your words. “Are you… a virgin?” 

The question struck him like lightning, his eyes going wide, his fingers clutching at his vest in a mixture of embarrassment and flustered denial. “Wha—first time?” He laughed—a loud, forced laugh that seemed to rattle out of him, like he was trying to chase away the truth. “Oh, no, no, no, not at all! I’ve… I’ve used my penis in… numerous ways.” His voice dropped to a low, desperate tone. “I even shape-shifted a few times for… added spice,” he said, his forked tongue flicking nervously, searching your face as though hoping to see doubt there instead of amusement. 

But you couldn’t help it. The men you usually met were arrogant, self-assured, and too focused on themselves to care. Yet here he was—blushing, hesitant, endearing in his innocence. A wicked grin spread across your face as you let your fingers trail lower, smoothing down his vest, tracing each trembling line of muscle underneath until you reached the waistband of his pants. 

You glanced up, meeting his gaze with a mischievous smirk, and his breath caught. His lips quivered, his cheeks flushed, but he returned your grin—innocent and eager, albeit with a slight, deliciously shaky edge. 

You wondered just what kind of man Mr. Duck Lover truly was as your hands moved along his body, peeling away each layer of his clothing, his meagre defences landing on the floor with gentle thuds joining with yours. For all his usual fidgeting and awkwardness, there was something disarmingly tender in the way he touched you, as if each stroke of his fingertips was sacred, each caress reverent. That boyish, clumsy charm he wore like a mask seemed to slip away, leaving behind a quiet intensity in his gaze that made your pulse race. 

“Been… a while,” he murmured, his hands wandering in tentative exploration, pausing over the soft curve of your breast, then settling firmly at your hips. The admiration in his voice deepened as he sighed, his eyes tracing over you as though you were something divine. “God really did create the perfect being,” he whispered, his lips grazing your shoulder, and as your bare bodies met in a slow, full embrace, it was your turn to hold your breath, struck by the unexpected gentleness of it. 

You almost chuckled, the urge to tease him—“Praising God in Hell? How blasphemous,”—hovering at the tip of your tongue. But as he drew you closer, his face tucked deep into the curve of your neck, words fell away, replaced by a silent warmth that seeped into every nerve, every inch of your skin. His arms wound tighter around you, his body pressing against yours, not out of desire, but a kind of longing that felt… deeper.

Meaningful. 

Your arms wrapped around him on instinct, though your mind buzzed with confusion. Shouldn’t this be a quick, meaningless fuck by now? Yet, here you were, tangled in his arms, savouring the sensation of him, feeling the quiet, almost desperate comfort he sought as he held you. The naked intimacy was strange, yes. Unexpected, yes. But something in you didn’t want to break the moment; it felt like a balm, easing all the stress and tension that had worn you down for far too long as you toiled away in your eternal damnation.  

You closed your eyes, surrendering to the steady warmth of his body, your fingers tracing delicate paths along his spine. Each gentle touch pulled soft, barely audible sounds from his throat, the hint of a moan muffled against your skin as your fingers reached his hair, petting through the soft strands. His hair was even softer than you’d imagined, and you felt him sink into your touch, both of you on the brink of letting go.

Letting go of what? You weren't sure.  

But suddenly, he pulled back, and the spell shattered. His cheeks flushed, his hands awkwardly clutching at your waist as he avoided your gaze, his nervous energy flooding back. “Right, uh, sex. That’s what we’re… here for, isn’t it? So, we should, um…” He forced a grin. “Do the, uh… the sex!” 

That was when you finally absorbed your surroundings, the vast emptiness around you, the solemn quiet of his home. There was a lonely hush here, dark and endless, filling every corner, every shadow. And, of course, the lifeless ducks haphazardly thrown around. 

But there was no one else. 

Not a soul in these halls. 

You slipped your hand into his, guiding him toward the bed with a gentleness that felt at odds with your own intentions. You almost considered tucking him under the covers, wrapping him up and telling him that he didn’t have to prove anything to you, that he could wait until he was ready. But he wasn’t a child, and you weren’t here to be his caretaker. 

He lay down first, an eager anticipation flickering across his face despite the faint tremor in his limbs, his gaze fixed on you as you joined him. His body, still soft with nerves, lay at ease, his cock resting against his thigh. You reached out, taking him in hand, moving slowly as your fingers traced down his length, stroking him with a softness that coaxed him to relax. You felt him tense, then soften beneath your touch. 

“Oh… oh wow,” he breathed, his voice catching as he watched your hand, eyes wide with wonder. “Y-you’re… you’re pretty good at this,” he stammered, awe shimmering in his voice as he struggled to keep his composure, his gaze flicking between your face and your hand, his lips parting in quiet gasps. 

At that moment, you couldn’t help but smile—feeling the thrill of his innocence, of his complete surrender. And somewhere in the warmth of his admiration, his trust, you realized you didn’t mind slowing down. 

True to his word, his body responded to your touch with a newfound firmness, his length growing against your hand, his skin silky and heated beneath your fingers. The sensation felt achingly familiar, like a melody you’d danced to before, each note resonating with a purpose neither of you had voiced aloud but understood all too well. 

Loneliness.

That was the reason, unspoken and raw, why you both found yourselves here tonight. You didn’t need his name, didn’t need his history because tonight was about filling that hollow ache. It was a fix—a fleeting, intoxicating drug against the gnawing ache deep in your chest. For one night, the world and its relentless wear could fall away in the ecstatic blur of release. 

You moved to straddle him, your body lowering until your wet, aching centre pressed firmly against the length of his cock, heat melding with heat. His eyes flicked down to where your bodies connected, then back up to meet your gaze, a hungry, almost reverent look filling his face. As you began to grind your hips against him, the friction sent a rush of molten heat through you, a spark igniting as you slid over him, slick and needy. 

He watched, his breaths coming in short, shuddering waves, head falling back against the pillow, his hands twitching at his sides, unsure if he should reach for you or simply feel. His own pulse matched yours, every breath and heartbeat syncing to a rhythm of shared need, unburdened by names or burdens. 

Slowly, you lifted your hips, guiding him to your entrance, pressing yourself down until his thick, warm tip pushed past your folds. Inch by inch, you took him, feeling every delicious stretch, every bit of pressure radiating inside you. A soft, desperate mewl escaped your lips as you sank fully, your bodies meeting in a perfect, seamless join. The raw sensation of him filling you hit deep, igniting pleasure like embers to flame. 

His head tilted back, his eyes fluttering shut, a low hiss slipping past his parted lips. “This is…” he began, voice trembling, his fingers flexing as if fighting to keep control, “oh gosh… really wonderful.” His hands faltered, barely grazing your hips before he let them fall to his sides again, his face flushed with both pleasure and nervous restraint. His hips lifted, seeking you instinctively, meeting each of your downward strokes with soft thrusts that went deeper, each time pushing him further within. 

“Oh, oh jeez, oh—golly…” He groaned, his fingers twisting into the sheets as he struggled to find words, every breath shuddering as he fought to keep up. His words, his earnest surprise, almost made you laugh, a kind of sweetness seeping into his awkward sounds as he gripped the sheets tighter. “Wow…” 

You bit back a smile, letting a small laugh escape between breaths. “What? You’ve never had good sex before?” you taunted, rolling your hips, drawing him fully within before slamming back down again. 

His cheeks flushed a deep gold, his chest expanding as he gasped, his muscles tensing beneath you. “N-No—ah, that’s not…” His voice wavered, breaking off in a moan as he sucked in a breath. “Oh, no… if you keep doing that… I won’t last long.” His voice softened, rich with pleasure and just a hint of pleading, as his eyes met yours, full of shy desire. “Please… I want this to last… just a little longer.” His words trailed into a low, trembling moan, his hands finally reaching, hesitantly finding their place on your waist as he held you, breath heavy with yearning, surrendering entirely to the moment with you. 

You hummed thoughtfully, sliding him out of you, his cock springing free and bouncing against his stomach, throbbing with the loss of warmth. His sudden whimper made you smirk, biting back a laugh as you hovered just out of reach. 

“I'm nowhere close to finishing,” you teased, keeping your wet heat tantalizingly close to him, yet unreachable all the same. 

“I can fix that!” he nearly shouted, grinning like he’d just found a solution to all the world's problems. Sitting up eagerly, he waggled his eyebrows with such intensity that it made you giggle. “After all, I was quite the… generous eater in my day,” he added, flicking his forked tongue out for effect. 

“Oh, is that so?” You chuckled, giving him a playful look. “Show me, oh great, generous eater.”  

He joined in your laughter, but then his eyes drifted over your shoulder. His face faltered, brows knitting together, and you followed his gaze. The same family portrait you had initially noticed back in your view—a tall, curvaceous woman with long blonde hair standing beside him and a child who seemed to carry hints of both their features. 

You moved next to him, and leaned back, trying to keep your tone casual. “If you’re going to bring a one-night stand over, maybe next time use a room without a family portrait.” The words came out sharper than you intended, a twinge of bitterness souring the edge. 

His shoulders tensed as he turned to you, eyes wide with a guilty look. “Oh—no, that’s not…I…” He stammered, his hands fluttering in the air as if trying to reach some explanation. 

You sighed, deciding to throw him a lifeline. You were here for fun, not drama. “Hey, relax. It’s…whatever,” you said with a casual shrug, a grin playing on your lips. But that lingering bitterness in your chest didn’t quite vanish. 

Mr. Duck Lover seemed to seize onto your words, scrambling between your legs, though his excitement from earlier was starting to wane. “I’ll make it up to you,” he murmured, leaning close, fingers hesitating on the curves of your hips, as if battling his own mind. His face hovered near your core, yet he seemed frozen in place, like he was staring into the void rather than your body. 

It was quite a comical sight. 

If you weren't in the picture, that is. 

There he was—his head bowed at your centre, practically on the verge of a self-reflective breakdown. While you laid there, spread out and ready, and he was having an existential crisis. 

You sighed, raising an eyebrow as he muttered to himself, “I can do this,” almost like he was about to leap off a bridge instead of…well, pleasing you. His hands twitched as his hands hovered over your hips, eyes squeezing shut in concentration as if gearing up for some monumental challenge. 

By now, the mood had evaporated, leaving behind only the lingering awkwardness of his whispered self-encouragement. Five seconds later, you realized that, yes, you’d completely lost the heat of the moment, and this was likely going nowhere but more awkwardness. 

You reached out gently, brushing his cheek. “Hey…maybe we should…” you started softly, hoping to ease him off this self-imposed, anxious ride and spare you both whatever spiral he was about to go down. 

His eyes snapped to yours, full of a pleading, vulnerable intensity, his lips parted and his gaze almost desperate. “No, no, I can do it!” His voice trembled, and he bit his lower lip, the slightest twitch in his left eye betraying his nerves. “It’s just been….” 

You softened, trying to help him find the words. “Years?” 

“Centuries,” he murmured, looking away as if confessing a secret. 

Centuries. The realization hits you with a strange thrill. You liked older men, sure, but you wondered how long he had stayed in Hell for. “Oh…” was all you managed, feeling the surreal weight of the moment. 

“May I?” he asked, his voice a tender murmur, fingers twitching, hesitant to touch you. You could only nod, slightly taken aback that he was asking for permission now, especially after where you'd both already been just minutes earlier. 

The moment his fingers touched your skin, he exhaled deeply, closing his eyes as if relishing the warmth. He pressed a featherlight kiss against the curve of your hip, his touch more gentle than you could have imagined. With each kiss, he drifted lower, his lips tracing delicate patterns along your skin, until he found that sensitive spot just above your core, making you jolt beneath him. 

Your emotions tangled, caught between surprise and pleasure. You’d expected something hasty, careless, but this…this felt almost achingly tender. 

He opened his eyes, the intensity of his gaze softening as his lips brushed against you. Then, slowly, his tongue traced between your folds, a warm, pleasant heat that sent a gasp spilling from your lips. His own groan followed, deep and low, a sound of unrestrained need, as he continued to explore you, his lips and tongue working in gentle, insistent rhythms. 

You bit your lip, mirroring the way he’d done earlier, clutching the sheets as your body arched, heels pressing into the bed. Every reaction you gave seemed to stoke something in him, drawing another low, desperate moan from his throat. He rocked his hips against the mattress, as if drinking each of your gasps, as if they were fuelling his own desire. 

“Ah—D-don't stop,” you whimpered, your chest rising as your back arched from the bed. But he didn’t let you escape, his lips chasing every inch of you. His mouth closed around your sensitive nub, sucking gently before he dipped his tongue to explore further, the alternating sensations sending you spiralling. 

Your breath came ragged and broken, each wave of pleasure building faster as he licked and sucked with an almost feverish devotion. His own body responded in turn, his hips grinding against the bed, the friction drawing needy, guttural sounds from him that only fed your own pleasure. 

The rhythm intensified, and just as you thought you might break from the mounting sensation, he pressed deeper, his tongue a soft, insistent force. You clenched around the bliss rising within you, every muscle tensing, as he held you there, relishing every sound, every tremor of pleasure that passed between you both in the heady, dizzying night. 

“Shit,” you gasped, your hands tangling in his hair, fingers tightening as you pulled him closer. His lips pressed even harder against you, and you felt yourself unravelling, teetering on the edge of something wild and raw. “Oh, fuck, fuck,” you whimpered, your legs bending as the fire in your belly coiled tighter. Then, with one last fierce suck and an indulgent lick, he shattered your restraint. The wave of pleasure crashed over you, tearing a ragged cry from your throat as it flooded every inch of your body. 

He moved with you, his own hips shifting as if in sync with the rhythm of your climax, his mouth still sealed to you, eager to take in every tremor and quake of your release. His hand slipped beneath him, the hurried motion of his strokes intensifying, his fingers relentless as he chased his own peak while lingering over every pulse and shudder of yours. 

He moaned against you, his mouth vibrating with his own mounting pleasure, his hips twitching as he hit his release just after yours. His strokes slowed, tapering off as he gasped, his lips finally releasing you as his chest heaved. He knelt there, breathless, lips glistening from the shared passion, drenched by the evidence of his pleasure pooling between you. 

But he didn’t pull away. Instead, he crawled up beside you, eyes softened as he reached for you, arms wrapping tenderly around your shoulders, guiding you to rest your head against his chest. You stayed there, uncertain yet draped in the quiet intimacy of the moment. His heartbeat pounded against your ear, each beat so fierce you couldn’t tell if it was his or your own. 

His hand drifted up to brush your hair back, fingers combing gently as his breathing settled into a steady rhythm with yours. He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, then another to the crown of your head, his lips lingering as if they held some unspoken affection, each kiss like a vow. 

“You were wonderful, dear,” he whispered, his voice a low, affectionate murmur, pressing another soft kiss to your hair. He stayed there, his arms cradling you, showering you with gentle kisses, an unexpected tenderness weaving around you both in the aftermath, grounding you in a warmth that felt real, if only for this moment. 

“I'm not sure how to even respond to that” you murmured, your mind still a haze, struggling to piece itself back together in the lingering aftershocks of your release. His fingers brushed tenderly along your cheek, and when you looked up, his eyes were warm, soft, his gaze holding an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. 

“You’re perfect,” he said, tilting your chin up, his voice thick with emotion. His lips pressed gently to yours, lingering as if he wanted to etch this moment into his mind. “You’re everything I want and more.” His voice cracked, barely a whisper, before he pulled you against his chest, his arms tightening around you with a fervency that felt almost desperate, as if he were holding on to something he couldn’t bear to lose. 

The raw affection in his embrace left you spinning. He held you as if you were his—an intimacy that felt foreign and startling. You’d just met him, after all. Yet here he was, clinging onto you as if you were more than a passing connection, as if you meant something deeper, something that couldn’t be dismissed. It was unnerving, a stark contrast to what you’d expected. 

Your eyes drifted to the shadowed portrait in the corner of the room, catching the faint outline of the woman in it—a powerful figure with curling horns and a smile that was as beautiful as it was unsettling. Whoever she was, she lingered here, like a ghost following his every step, a reminder of a past not fully left behind. 

But then, he murmured into your hair, “I love you. Please… don’t go.” His voice was fragile, almost broken, and his arms wrapped around you even tighter, his head pressing against yours, as if the strength of his embrace alone could keep you with him. 

There were many reasons people used Cinder. Some were looking for a thrill, some for a fleeting escape, some for connection in a moment that might otherwise feel empty. Maybe that was all this was, a bandage to the wound of loneliness he didn’t want to admit to, a warmth he hadn’t felt in ages. 

You hesitated, your hands resting limply against his back. This wasn’t what you’d come for; it wasn’t what you’d expected. But then, you could feel his frame trembling beneath your touch, the vulnerability in his grip as if he’d waited lifetimes to feel the comfort of another. Gently, you placed a hand on his back, feeling the way he drew in a shaky breath. 

“I won’t,” you whispered softly, almost to yourself, your voice filling the quiet between you.  “I’m here for you.”  

It was a lie, but a beautiful lie, nonetheless. 

At your words, he shuddered, holding you tighter, his trembling easing as if you’d just unlocked something buried within him.  

You were just a passing soul, but at this moment, maybe that was enough. 

[isthlsfate]

⌞ 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲 ⌝

‧₊˚ ⏾ ༉‧

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞: meet me in the hallway

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: pushy!rafe x black!pogue!reader, pining, some angst, rafe being kind of obsessive/possessive, no use of (y/n), best friend’s brother trope, mentions of alcohol consumption

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯 𖥔 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭

‧₊˚ ⏾ ༉‧

you’re tucked under sarah’s arm as she guides you into the grand foyer, her perfume sweet with summer and champagne.

the party at the boneyard still thrums in your chest, remnants of sand in your shoes, and sea salt on your skin.

you’ve known this house since you were ten.

you know where the floorboards creak and where rose hides the good wine. you know the way ward’s portrait looms at the end of the staircase, always watching, and you know that rafe’s door sticks unless you lift the handle just right.

you know rafe. too well.

but tonight, you’re avoiding him.

sarah doesn’t notice. she’s already pulling you into her room, shedding her jewelry like sea glass and tossing her heels into the corner with a sigh.

“god, did you see sofia all over rafe tonight?” she says, settling onto her bed and tugging you with her. “she’s like a moth to a flame. gross.”

you force a laugh and turn toward her vanity, grabbing one of the glass jars of face masks before beginning to apply it to her face.

if only she knew.

you’d watched him tonight through the haze of bonfire smoke—his hand on sofia’s back, that smile he does when he knows he’s being watched. you told sarah you had a headache.

you didn’t tell her the truth: that it bothered you. that your stomach churned at the sight in a way it had no right to.

you didn’t tell her that her own brother has been a slow ache under your skin since the moment you understood what desire was.

you settle beside her on the bed, avocado paste smeared across your cheeks. she’s already giggling about something else, some drama between pope and cleo that you’re only half-listening to. the world is quiet here, within sarah’s laughter, within the floral-printed walls of her room, with her voice lulling you into a pretend peace.

you’re safe. you’re fine. you don’t care about rafe.

*

it’s past 2 a.m. when you hear the front door open.

you know the sound of his shoes on the tile. the deliberate pause as he shrugs off his jacket. the moment he stops at the top of the stairs. you feel it before you see it, that instinct.

that shift in the air.

rafe stands outside sarah’s cracked door, the hallway light slanting across the floor, catching on the curve of your calf.

he doesn’t mean to listen. but he does.

and he hears your voice, soft with sleep and unguarded.

“i don’t know,” you say, words muffled by your arm. “maybe jj. he’s cute in a reckless kind of way.”

sarah hums.

“oh my god, i can totally see it. you guys would be like, chaotic but hot.”

you laugh. a real one. and rafe walks away.

he doesn’t slam his door, doesn’t punch a wall, doesn’t shout. he just… sinks.

into silence. into himself.

because he knows you. he’s known you since you were thirteen and called him a menace in front of rose for flipping your floaty. he’s known you since you started showing up at his house like you belonged there.

and now you want jj.

you leave sarah’s room an hour later, tiptoeing barefoot into the hall, her soft snores behind you.

you’re in one of her oversized t-shirts, hair piled atop your head, the remnants of a sleepover smeared on your cheeks. you don’t expect to see anyone.

but he’s there.

rafe leans against the hallway wall, arms crossed, shadows swallowing half his face.

he doesn’t speak at first, just watches you. the silence is so thick you nearly turn back.

then, softly, “jj maybank?”

you freeze.

his voice is rough from sleep or anger or something in between.

“what?” you ask, eyes narrowing.

“you said he was cute.” he steps forward, and you feel it like thunder beneath your feet. “that your type is reckless now?”

“it was a joke.”

“no, it wasn’t.”

there’s no malice in his tone. just quiet devastation. just years of you slipping through his fingers.

you wrap your arms around yourself, suddenly cold.

“why does it matter to you?”

“don’t ask me that.” his eyes find yours. he takes a breath and closes the distance. “you’ve been playing this game with me since high school. you know it. i know it. you’re all over me when we’re alone but won’t even look at me around sarah. you dance with boys at parties and then glare at me when i flirt with girls. so what is it, really?”

you take a step back, your spine brushing the wall, breath caught in your throat.

“tell me,” he murmurs, lowering his head until your foreheads almost touch. “tell me you feel nothing and i’ll walk away. for good.”

your heart hammers. you don’t know what to say. you don’t know how to stop looking at his plump, pink lips.

“i…” you whisper, but words fail you.

he lifts a hand, cradling your head with reverence, thumb brushing your cheek.

“i see the way you look at me when you think no one’s watching.”

you close your eyes, your resolve unraveling.

“you were with sofia tonight.”

“i was trying to forget you.” he exhales, his breath warm against your lips.

your skin warms, breath catching as you angle yourself closer without meaning to.

he doesn’t move, just watches you with a quiet ache in his eyes. waiting.

there’s something in his gaze that you can’t look away from. something wounded and demanding. like he’s been holding onto a rope for too long and his fingers are starting to fray.

you should say something.

push him away, maybe.

laugh it off like you always do, call him a flirt, tell him he’s annoying when he’s serious.

but you don’t. you can’t.

the truth sits heavy on your tongue, and the way he’s looking at you makes it impossible to lie.

“i don’t know what i want,” you finally whisper. his eyes flutter closed. “but i know it’s not him.”

that gets his attention.

his eyes open, and he looks at you like you’re the only thing in this entire world that has ever made sense and ever will again. it’s too much, and not enough, and maybe you’re both standing on the edge of something irreversible.

his voice, when it comes, is a little hoarse.

“then what are we doing?”

you don’t answer. because the truth is, you don’t know.

you’ve been dancing around each other for years, half a step too far, a glance too long, a touch that lingered but never long enough.

and now it’s all caught up with you, here in this dim hallway with your t-shirt slipping off one shoulder and his face still inches from yours like it wants to close the distance.

“nothing,” you manage. “we’re doing nothing. we can’t.”

“why not?”

“because,” you say, barely breathing. “because sarah.”

“sarah doesn’t know,” he says, but there’s no fire in the protest, only quiet heartbreak.

“she doesn’t need to. ever. that’s the point, rafe.”

a beat of silence.

then his forehead dips, rests gently against yours. you don’t pull away. you don’t lean in.

you just… breathe.

the silence crackles.

rafe’s eyes rake over your face as if trying to remember every detail before he finally lowers his arm.

and like the tide that never fully touches the shore, you both step back—just enough.

he nods once, barely perceptible.

you nod back.

there’s still so much unsaid. still so much wanting.

but for now, you return to sarah’s room without looking over your shoulder. for now, he doesn’t follow.

*

the next night, the estate glitters, soaked in gold and dripping in laughter. strings of lights twine around white columns like ivy, casting soft halos over everyone in attendance.

somewhere beneath them, you drift through the swell of tailored tuxedos and champagne flutes, your hand loosely hooked through sarah’s arm as you both giggle over someone’s dress being a little too inspired by a met gala theme.

it’s the annual cameron foundation gala, and you’ve been coming since you were thirteen.

at first as sarah’s guest, then as her shadow, now as someone the staff know by name and strangers assume is somehow part of the family.

rose greets you with a polite kiss on the cheek.

“god,” sarah huffs beside you, already nudging you toward the bar. “if i hear one more old man say the word networking, i’m going to swan dive into the pool.”

you snort.

“do it. i’ll distract them with a toast to generational wealth.”

you’re halfway through a shared, wicked grin when you catch movement near the staircase—slow, easy, coiled. like the room moves around him.

rafe.

your heart betrays you with a flicker, a pause.

he looks dangerous tonight, not for the gunmetal suit or the way his collar’s unbuttoned just enough, but because he’s scanning the crowd like he’s hunting something he lost.

and then his gaze lands on you.

he doesn’t smirk. doesn’t look away.

you feel it like a tide pulling against your spine. still, you school your features and raise your glass to your lips, ignoring the way your skin warmed from the center outward.

sarah tugs your hand, muttering something about finding john b. you follow, obedient and smiling, but it’s not her you’re looking back for.

much later, after toasts are made and the champagne kisses your bloodstream, after sarah’s stolen your heels and is slow dancing with wheezie to some awful frank sinatra cover, you’re barefoot in the hallway just outside the ballroom.

the walls are humming with music, but out here, it’s quieter.

still.

you lean against the window seat and let your head fall back, eyes fluttering shut. just for a second.

“you always disappear.”

the voice coils down your spine like smoke.

you open your eyes.

rafe stands a few feet away, loosened tie and dark gaze, one hand braced on the wall beside you.

“maybe i like the quiet.” you raise a brow.

he hums, stepping forward once.

“you’re not quiet, though. not really.”

you don’t answer.

rafe angles his head.

“you looked good tonight.”

“thanks.” your voice is lighter than you expect it to be. “sofia didn’t come?”

he chuckles, a sharp exhale.

“she’s gone.”

“gone?”

“as in, done. over.” his tone softens. “i told you. she was never—” he pauses. “she wasn’t you.”

your breath stutters, barely.

he steps closer, close enough that you catch the scent of him, salt and cedar and the ghost of his expensive cologne.

“you know, i was watching you,” he murmurs, voice velvet-wrapped steel. “all night. couldn’t help it.”

you don’t look at him.

“sarah—”

“she doesn’t know.” he cuts in, sharp and true. “but she’s not stupid. one day, she will.”

“then what?” you whisper. “this has to stop.”

rafe’s hand lifts, hesitates—then cradles your head.

“or maybe we stop pretending we don’t want more from each other.”

“you’re supposed to be the bad guy.” you exhale shakily, eyes fluttering closed.

he leans in, forehead nearly brushing yours.

“you never really bought that.”

once again, despite being able to taste each other’s breath, you don’t kiss. not yet. not now.

but the electricity thrums between you, alive and crackling, a fuse burning slow and bright.

outside, the party rages on.

inside, you stay in the hallway, neither of you moving, afraid that the moment you do—the spell will break.

___

꩜ taglist:

[witchthewriter]

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐈𝐟 𝐕𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐋𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐀 𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐄𝐠𝐠𝐬?

inspired by @hallowed-harpy.

a/n: this is a long post, it also includes what the eggs look like, their names and the reaction to the eggs. Also how it affects the plot...

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

𖤓 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃: a clutch can have 3-5 eggs in it.

Viserion, had been absent for a while now, and Dany was getting worried. Where was he? With so much happening and enemies seemingly surrounding her, she wanted to make sure Viserion was okay. And he had been acting differently...So, she climbed atop Drogon and they went looking.

・Viserion had always been affectionate; the most affectionate out of the three dragons.

・Dany always thought of him as a 'mama's boy,' but as she flew over mountain, sea and sand, she finally realised.

・Viserion was not a 'he' afterall.

・Drogon and Dany watched as Viserion huddled against a mound.

・To anyone else, it looked like a pile of rock, but as Dany got closer, she saw the clutch.

・It wasn't overally large, so Dany guessed there were three. Three eggs. Just like the ones she was gifted all those years ago.

・Drogon landed, in Viserion's eyesight; a respectful distance. Physically telling Viserion that he was not there to dominate.

・Dismounting, she walked the rest of the distance.

・When reaching her youngest dragon, she was hit with a wheel of emotions; heart ache, love, shock, benevolence and fear.

“Ñuha jorrāelagon, Viserion.” (My beloved Viserion)

・Dany cried out, moving slowly toward her daughter.

・Viserion made a crooning near-whine, when she saw Dany.

"Oh my girl," Dany cried, coming to touch Viserion's face.

・And it felt like seeing her properly, for the very first time.

・The golden dragon huffed, and nudged her nose toward the enclosed eggs.

・Dany knelt down and she was astonished.

・The eggs pulsed with life, such a contrast between these and Dany's own eggs.

・Drogon swooped overhead, guarding the area. Eliminating all threats.

・Since Viserion had kept her clutch a secret for so long, Dany decided the eggs should stay there. Only a dragon could reach that cave. Or a dragonrider.

・Only a chosen few are told about Viserion and her eggs, i., Missendei, Greyworm, Tyrion. Yet somehow the rumors spread.

・This becomes so much more than the war for the Iron Throne.

・Now it's about legacy. It's about what will change in Westeros.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐠𝐠𝐬

So, Vis birthed four eggs.

Not heavy in weight; they are lighter than stone.

As they grew, the shells hardened.

They were warm, pulsing with life. Colourful and vibrant. They thrummed when touched. It felt like a tickle, to them.

Rhaegal will not approach them. Drogon, seen far off in the mountains, hasn’t returned since they were laid.

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐄𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭

The information spread like a wildfire, no matter how hard Dany tried to conceal it.

Assassination attempts multiply. Priests in red, white, and black arrive to declare omens of doom.

They send envoys to buy the eggs with gold, slaves, ships

Archmaesters declare her a second Maegor.

They declare that she is 'Not just a Targaryen, but here to End Man’s Rule.'

And they have that last part true...

𝐀𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐭

Those who were once allies out of strategy begin to see Daenerys not as a liberator, but a founder of an age.

Tyrion stops thinking like a Hand. And starts thinking like a man writing a new world.

Missandei grows more devoted. She watches the eggs with wonder. There is no fear in her. Only awe.

Grey Worm triples the guard at Danerys' side.

The alliances she has with other Houses, are now different. She is not the one seeking allies for politics. She has now become formiddable.

Soon people will be begging for a union. And any kind at that.

Dany doesn't need to marry for alliances; she can marry for love.

She has now become the top predator.

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐀𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟

Dany grieves. Because this was never meant to be her path. She cannot birth a child, and now her dragon can? Danerys weeps, quietly, one night with her hand on the eggs. But not with jealousy. But with hope. A clear vision of what she must do. Who she must be. However, she does feel fear. And a lot of it. Because Viserion’s clutch is not a symbol. It is a weapon of nature, born without cost—and therefore without balance. So...what will best the cost? Who will she lose?

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬

🌈 The new dragons might have deeper ties to the world’s mystical forces:

𝑪𝒐𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝑶𝒍𝒅 𝑽𝒂𝒍𝒚𝒓𝒊𝒂: As the eggs didn't lay dormant for centuries like Dany's had. They may carry Valyrian magic. Potentially unlocking secrets about the old dragonlords and maybe even their ancient spells.

𝑰𝒏𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒏𝒗𝒊𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕: The presence of dragons often corresponds with the resurgence of magic. These dragons might further amplify that magic, this creates opportunities... the good and the bad kind.

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒉𝒚𝒔𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 is changed abundantly. Where Viserion chose to lay her eggs, the area and beyond - began to grow, and in ways never seen before. Beautiful greenery with vines twisting over stone as if pulled toward the eggs. There's blooming flowers ... even those out of season. Some people were most amazed when herbs long thought extinct begin to appear in unexpected places.

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒛𝒆𝒏𝒔' 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 began to change; even their dreams. Those that were closer to the mountain, dreamt of the future. Of more dragons. Of magic.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐬?

𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐝𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐲. 𝐄𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞. 𝐈𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲.

[cybersvoid]

❥ A Pirates Treasure

──⇌••⇋──

♡ Pairings: Dabi x Reader

Summary: Captain Dabi’s crew accidentally caught a creature they never thought existed outside of drunk rumors pirates would spread amongst each other, yet here you are, a mermaid. So cute and frightened. Such a rare find, he can’t let you slip away.

ღ Warnings | AU, Mermaid AU, Pirate AU, etc.

Parts : ii

Do not repost my work anywhere. If you see anyone reposting or copying my work please let me know. Thank you!

──⇌••⇋──

You hated fishing season, but this year was especially grim. Even though the fish supply was always low, the pirates were constantly floating atop the waters in abundance. It was well-known to both land, and sea creatures that fish always stuck to the southern waters of the ocean during this time of year, with winter fast approaching. It was also where most ships were spotted during the fishing season. You really wanted to be safe and not go over there, but you were starting to get desperate. It had been three days since you had last eaten. All the fish were nowhere to be found, and a few of your people had even become hopeless enough to leave and search in deeper waters. None returning. 

One of your closest friends was one of the missing victims. He said he would be right back, determined to return with food for both of you, but that was almost three weeks ago. You didn’t like the thought of him no longer being a part of your life, but you couldn’t help the gnawing feeling in the back of your head that he was gone forever. As vast as the ocean is when it comes to predators, by far the scariest predator of them all was man.

You heard the stories growing up. There used to be a time when humans and mermaids would work together. Mermaids dove deep enough where the pirates couldn’t reach, and pirates, in return, taught them the law of the land and welcomed them with open arms. Whenever your bodies became dry enough, your tails would split into legs and the mermaids would use them to visit the people of the sand, who often waited with gifts in hand. But that was in the past. Before the humans became greedy for the abilities of the mermaids. That was about the same time a rumor started, stating that the sea creatures got their abilities from the scales on their bodies. 

If they had their abilities, then the humans would have no need for the mermaids, so they decided to steal their scales. When the mermaids came onto land, they were led to the village, where they were doused with water to force them to transform and take away their ability to run away. Their scales were shucked from their body, as they screamed in agony. It was centuries ago, and now the existence of mermaids is nothing more than a rumor amongst humans, but the fear still haunts your kind, keeping them locked away in the water. You weren’t even sure it was possible to transform anymore, and no one you knew even dared to risk going on land and being caught just to find out.

The story of your ancestors was playing on a loop in your head as you swam south, ignoring every fiber of your body begging you to stay put. You couldn’t just wait there to die. You had already lost a friend to this season and you refused to become the next victim. You wouldn’t be able to survive much longer without getting something in your stomach. You had no choice but to push forward. You knew you were in the southern waters when you started feeling the temperature rise, but there was still no sign of any fish, so you kept going.

Not, but a few moments later you started feeling a change in the water, frantic waves grabbing your attention. The second you turned your head, you were surrounded by a school of fish, the force of their movements spinning you around, and disorienting you. You didn’t start to officially panic until you felt yourself being dragged up from the water, lost within the pile of fish, you felt the water pour off your body as you were dragged into the air and then tossed roughly against a hard surface. Fish flopping desperately around you. You started hearing shouting and rough voices yelling as thumping sounds began to grow closer.

“Aye, hurry up over here, this is a heavy load today.”

“Doubt there’s anything worth keeping—these waters are dead.”

“Don’t say that we… oi, what’s that?”

You felt yourself being released as the rope became limp around you, freeing you from its confinements as the humans huddled around you to get a better look. You pushed yourself as far away from them as you could manage before your back hit a wall. Instantly wrapping your arms around your body in an attempt to bring comfort to yourself, but also as a way to get warmer. The harsh winds collided with your skin leaving you shivering. This was it. They were going to kill you and shuck you for your scales.

“It’s a person?”

“Ya must be one hell of a dumbass. That look like a person to ya?”

“I ain’t never seen a person with a fishtail before,” One of the men spoke up, reaching down to stroke your tail. The feeling of his skin against your scales caught you off guard. You gasped, pulling your tail to your chest to keep it away from him. You started feeling so overwhelmed doing your best to hold back tears and not show weakness.

“Should we tell captain?”

“Tell me what?” A deep voice questioned, silencing everyone’s chatter, as they made way to give him a view of what everyone was staring at. His eyes widened, as you gazed up at him helplessly. He had a red bandana tied around his head, black hair forming around it. His skin was scarred and his eyes were bluer than the sea you desperately wished to be returned to.

“Uh, Captain?” A man asked, causing you to tear your eyes away from him, locking them on the floor instead. “What do ya reckon we do?”

“Get back to work...NOW!” He shouted a bit harsher when no one moved, you flinched as the men began scrambling to look busy. When the crowd faded, he slowly made his way over, kneeling in front of you. “Can you talk?”

You said nothing.

“Alright, then.” He lifted you swiftly into his arms, a frightened gasp leaving your lips as he carried you into a room away from everyone else. You were sure you couldn’t be light for a normal human to carry. So this ‘captain’ man must be strong for his kind.

There was a strange flickering light in the middle of the room that captain set you down right in front of, the heat immediately enveloping your body. He stepped away for a moment, rummaging for something behind you. You took his absence as an opportunity to scoot closer to the light in an attempt to get even warmer. It felt so nice on your icey skin, you reached out trying to grab just a bit more before-

“Hey!” Captain shouted out, but it was too late, you cried out as you yanked your hand away, a burning sensation already spreading. It was a pain you could only compare to a jellyfish sting, something you’ve only experienced a few times, but this was especially painful. “Shit!” The sound of digging continued before he came to sit in front of you, large cloth and silver container in hand.

He leaned forward with the cloth, making you jump back, but he only wrapped it around your shivering form, the material covering your skin and shielding you from the cold. While you were distracted with the soft cloth, he grabbed your injured hand, rubbing a strange oil from out of the container on it. His rough touch over your tender injury hurt, and you tried to pull away, but his grip was strong.

“Stop fussing, this’ll help.” Captain mumbled, “Didn’t think about the fact that you probably don’t have fires underwater.” You cocked your head at the word. The land jellyfish was called fire? You were sure you’d heard that word when your elders were passing down stories of the humans. It was different experiencing it in person though. A bit scarier. “Don’t touch it again. I’m not gonna patch you up every time you get hurt, we’re running low on supplies as is.”

You slowly began opening and closing your hand. The stinging was there, but it was less noticeable than before. “Thank you…” You whispered, but he seemed to have heard you, freezing for a second before regaining his composure.

“So you can talk, huh? Then what are you?” If he didn’t know that you were a mermaid, was there still a chance you could get away? But if so, what should you say? 

While you were debating, he had walked away and returned with a book in hand, he flipped to a certain page and shoved it into your face, interrupting your train of thought. You stared at it with confusion. It had a bunch of random scribbles all over it, but off to the side, you noticed a drawing of something that looked almost like you. “You’re a mer… creature, right? Guardian of the sea?”

Guardian of the sea? Now, this was the first time you’ve ever heard of this, but if he already knows what you are. Does that mean…

“Are you going to rip off my scales and eat me?” You questioned, eyes watering at the thought of never seeing your family again. They were probably so worried about you as is. But when you looked up at him, you noticed his face was covered in not only confusion but...disgust? 

“What the fuck are yo-”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“What!?” He hollered. You jumped, not noticing the look he gave you out of the corner of his eye.

“Dinner, cap’n.”

“Enter.” One of the men from earlier came into the room handing a tray of food to him. Eyes lingering on your covered form before captain commanded an ‘out’ causing the man to scurry away. “Hungry?”

You were. In fact, it was the entire reason you were in this situation, but was accepting food from a human something you wanted to do? Letting him patch up your hand was one thing, but this would definitely be pushing your luck. Even if the food did smell incredible, and you were sure your stomach was about to growl any second, you shook your head ‘no’.

“What is it you guys eat down there?”

“...fish.”

“That all?”

“Sometimes sea plants, but we can’t eat too much, or else it’ll take away from the other sea creatures and it’s not very tasty.”

“You’ll like this then, it’s fish stew, the fish is cooked and it’s got some beans in it. You ever had ‘em before?”

“We eat fish raw… I’ve never had stew or beans.”

“Try it.” He stated, extending the bowl out to you, but you turned your head away. Causing him to sigh. His calloused fingers squeezing your face harshly and forcing you to look at him. “I fucking told you supplies were low. So you should be grateful I’m givin ya this. We’ve barely been able to catch a cod, maybe 20 or fewer fish this past week have ended up in our net, so I know you probably haven’t gotten much either, and I think you’d be much handier to me alive, than dead. So eat! Or I shove it down your throat myself.”

He shoved the bowl in your hands, the liquid inside sloshing around, almost spilling out completely. You looked at him, then back down at the bowl, gulping down your nerves and bringing the bowl to your lips. Captain’s hand quickly came up, pushing the bowl back down, and pulling out a wooden stick from inside the bowl. It had collected a bit of soup on the end of it. He handed the stick over, commanding a ‘blow’. You looked at him strangely, thinking it must’ve been a strange custom they had. You brought in a deep breath of air, ready to blow it before he covered your mouth. “Gently!”

He brought the wooden stick to his lips, gently blowing on it a few times before bringing it to your mouth. You took a bite, nibbling on the stick a little before it fell into your mouth. It was like nothing you had ever tasted—better than any fish or sea plants combined. You swallowed it, the warmth enveloping your stomach in such a comforting feeling. You opened your mouth, ready for more, and captain only smirked, giving you another bite.

“You like it then?” You only nodded, giving your tail a quick itch, as he continued to feed you, “Good, Twice’ll be happy to hear someone likes his cooking.” He gave you a few more bites before, grabbing something else off the tray, tearing it in half, and handing a piece to you. “This is bread, you’ll like this.” It was a bit hard on the outside but so warm and soft on the inside. It was delicious. As you continued to chomp on your piece of bread, captain began eating the other half, and whatever was leftover of your stew. By the end, you felt perfectly stuffed.

“I’m gonna bring these dishes to the kitchen. Keep that blanket on, I don’t know if you can catch a cold, but I’d rather not risk it and find out. Can’t get you any medical help out here. And don’t touch the fire either!” He called out before the door shut behind him.

You gave your tail another itch. A tingling sensation began to grow, becoming almost unbearable. Why was it so itchy all of a sudden? Have you been on land too long? You trailed your nails up and down your patchy scales.

Wait...patchy?

You removed the blanket completely, giving yourself a clear view of your body, automatically noticing the change. Your scales were fading, and your tail was separating. You were growing… legs? Just like you had heard stories about. You must’ve been dry enough for them to finally start taking form. And it wasn’t a long wait at all, your tail fading into something entirely new before your very eyes.

As your lower body continued its transition, Your eyes glazed over the rest of yourself, looking for anything else new when you landed on a marking on your upper arm. There were flowing lines of light blue circling around your upper arm like a band, almost as if it was mimicking the elegance, and flow of the ocean. It was as if, even with your new legs, the sea was still claiming you as one of its own.

Changing focus you began looking back down at your new legs, hands grazing the newly formed skin. It was so soft. You didn’t know human skin could be so soft. And it looked like legs weren’t the only new human parts you gained. Your whole lower half was entirely different, but you didn’t have much time to admire it before captain was barging back in.

“Here, why don’t you…” His words died just as fast as they came out as he stared, mouth agape, obviously taken aback by your new form. “Now, isn't this interesting?” 

[silverstags]

moonlight sonata (w. turner)

summary - lost at sea, you were found by your husband and love of your life; will turner, captain of the flying dutchman

warnings - death/dying but being brought back to life

masterlist

will turner masterlist

Canons screaming their deadly song, fire dislocating the limbs of your ship from its sacred body. The beak, the mast, until it engulf the waist whole. Your ship scattering across the sea.

A sonata of chaos rang through your ears as you were flown off The Moonlight. That monster of a foreign pirate ship had turned agains’t you, madly wrecking your ship to shreds and leaving you and your crew defenseless against their wrath. A peace treaty, they said.

It didn’t take long for your beloved ship to be doomed to not see another sunrise.

You did not know the last words that slipped passed your lips. In between the screams, commands and howling of anything your team could do to grasp at the strings of your dying beauty.

Then you felt it before the fall. Something so heavy it felt weightless against the side of your temple. You felt the water, the blue of the waves reaching to the sky before the world went dark, the sea engulfing you whole in its hungry reach.

Your heart about to stop as water bedded every corner of your body, a trail of blood following you down—but before your lifeless self could even reach the sand that rested in the depths of the cold sea, the Flying Dutchman took hold of all the bodies sinking around the ship, rising as it did.

~

Captain William Turner settled himself on deck as he scanned the sea, watching the pieces of the boat that was viciously ripped to shreds, float around his own ship. Fear settled in his stomach as he began to regonise the parts, the gilded wood, the stained windows that sea licked to shreds. His mind, bringing them together like a jigsaw puzzle.

His chest began to ache. His eyes wide, shining as it searched for something, anything that could give him the answer he was searching for.

Then his world stopped.

a thousand miles away, in a place only you knew, if you went close enough to the chest lulled by the ocean breeze, you would hear the clear missed beat of his heart.

The neatly curved and gilded plank of wood with golden writing floated neatly and proudly atop the water.

"It’s The Moonlight,” Will clenched the railing so tight his already pale knuckles became whiter. He turned around in a hurry, scanning the mass of bodies that laid between life and death, sprawled across the deck of his ship like freshly caught fish.

If Will’s heart had still been in his chest, he would have felt it beat into his ears and would have almost feel it break—

The arhythmic rythme of his heart echoed across the iron walls of the tripled locked chest.

he saw your sword.

He had made it, he knew it was yours, and the more he looked around the more he began to regonise your crew, and the ache in his heart lit in his body like fire across rum.

Under the mass of wet cadavres, a delicate lifeless hand laid there, sticking out of the pile.

He regonise the ring that layed on your finger, and with quick, sharp movement he pushed anyone that stood on his way to you, only to reveal your cold traits.

"No. No, no, no," he kneeled by your side, "Y/n." He cried, placing his thumb across your cheek.

He rested his forehead against your cold one, slipping a hand over your heart. His tears uncontrollable as he tried to sense a beat, anything that could pull you back to life.

But he could even feel it, your soul was on the rim of travelling to his locker, just like all the people laying around him.

He thought he cried, screamed, he couldn’t know through the ringing in his ear as he closed his eyes and squeezed you as tight as he possibly could against him.

At this very minute he didn’t care. He knew he was being selfish. He knew that maybe this is not what you wanted, but he wasn’t thinking clear. How could he?

Still squeezing your body with his entire strength, wishing you could make one, he took your soul back from the grip of his locker, making you his prisoner.

"Who is this?" A pirate, once a nameless face amongst the crew of Davy Jones, but Will made it his mission to know the names of everyone under his charge, spoke up.

Bootstraps Bill was standing next to the man, a frown creasing between his own brow. He might have missed a lot of things in his son’s life: first words, first steps, the tantrums he’d throw as a child, his first sword fights. Maybe that’s why he decided giving his life to the Flying Dutchman was better than a life on ground, to finally have time with his kid.

But maybe if he had been more present before he would have already seen him cry, and it wouldn’t have taken him by such surprise.

Seeing his son, the strong and fair Captain he had become. The one who had defeated Davy Jones and so many other enemies of the sea, kneeling down before the love of his life’s lifeless body, incontrolable sobs slipping past his lips.

But the man besides Bill had asked a question no one else knew the answer too, and people were starting to whisper about how such a beautiful soul was connected to their Captain.

So he spoke, speaking what he knew to be true; "Captain’s wife."

"Oh. Didn’t know she was a pirate," he spoke with amazement lacing his tone. "She’s real pretty,"

The man did not have time to answer, because they watched in amazement as the cursed ruler of the sea, worked his magic.

You coughed water out, gallons coming out of your lungs, breathing becoming impossible but not lacking. The fog in your eyes dissipated, and just like the last thing your eyes admired as they closed for what was suppose to be the last time, the sky was there, in all its glory the sky created a beautiful halo, perfectly framing him.

His eyes, shinning in their darkness and looking at you like a sailor would look at the world’s greatest treasure.

"Will?" Your body felt like fire under his touch. The feeling like electricity running up and down. Your hand reached for his cheek, brushing the skin that you hadn’t felt in too long.

"What happened?" You asked, breathless as you wiped a tear away with your thumb, gently tucking a strand of his wet hair out the way.

You watched as Will closed his eyes at the contact, he could melt right there and finish his days happy—gods he missed you so much.

"You died-" he sniffed and your face twisted.

"I’m dead?" You questioned the confused look on your face making him slightly laugh. "I’m actually dead?"

"Yes," Will was about to tear up again as he closed you into a hug, kissing your forehead as he did.

"Well I do not feel dead," you frowned. "Is this how you feel?" looking back up to meet his eyes, watching as he gave you a tearful nod. "death is overthought then,” you reassured. "I mean I get to be with my husband, don’t I?" Your voice was soft, and your fingertips softer as you traced his every trait. "I mean—I get to stay with you right? Even though I will be your prisoner? Just do not send me away-"

"Who said I was sending you away, love?" He questioned, and grin filled your lips as you were now inches close to him.

"No one, Captain Turner." You smirked before getting lost in his eyes for the third time. Will did not hesitate to close the gap between your two bodies, pressing his lips yours in a sealing kiss, pulling away just enough to breathe against your lips;

"Welcome aboard Mrs. Turner."

[manicrouge]

I AM MERELY MAN (CH. 5)

CHAPTER FIVE: THE PANZER

[SIMON RILEY X F!READER] - MASTERLIST - IAMM MASTERLIST - PLAYLIST

[ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ]: ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱɪᴍᴏɴ ᴀʀᴇ ꜱᴇᴘᴀʀᴀᴛᴇᴅ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇꜱᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ɢʀᴏᴜᴘ.

[ᴄᴡ]: ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ, ᴍᴜʀᴅᴇʀ, ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ɴᴀᴢɪ'ꜱ, ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛʟʏ ꜱʜᴏʀᴛᴇʀ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴜꜱᴜᴀʟ

JUST AS LIFE DID, the journey to Amiens persisted. 

The stay at the inn was short, but necessary, he realised. The toll of the journey was beginning to form on the faces of yourself and Hattie for there was a harrowing exhaustion which branded the pair of you. You both slept like corpses in a coffin, hands resting atop your stomachs, hardly budged as your breathing slowed.

For a man such as himself, he wondered was it was like to experience life through the eyes of someone so innocent. To not feel the weight of each life taken piling up. He often pondered what body it would be to finally drive him firmly into the ground as he staggered and stumbled, sinking into the sea of souls, all to wash to shore, forever destined to lay in the sand, a shipwreck who passersby would regard as ‘a waste.’ It was a possibility, one which seemed real each time he caught his reflection in a puddle or window pane.

Sometimes, especially during the night, he feared he was no better than the enemy. 

Your mind, as opposed to his, in spite of the loss you had suffered, seemed peaceful — day and night. It was what filled his mind as he trailed behind the group, hands tucked into the pocket of his trousers, eyes scanning the surrounding shrubbery for a possible threat.

In the middle of the countryside, he knew the threats were limited, but, with the rate that the Nazi’s were advancing, he would not have been surprised if there was the opportunity for a run in with a group of them.

Whenever he was not searching the grassy surroundings, he was looking at the top of your head, listening to the sound of your voice as you and Price spoke to one another. You had spoken to him too, back at the inn, although, regretfully, he hadn’t a clue what you had said to him, barely catching onto the fact that you had called yourself ‘stupid’ in the midst of, what he could only assume, was an emotional outburst.

His lungs ached, longing to have had the opportunity to have said something to console you, to keep you from being too hard on yourself. But, the best he could offer was the shaking of his head and a firm ‘no’. 

Had you detested him for being unable to say anything to you? He knew that himself that was floundering in this grave emotional guilt of being the one you had opened up to, and yet, you got nothing back from him, just the clumsy words of the things he had learnt whilst overseas and away from his home.

It was better than nothing, he supposed. You always had the Captain if you needed something, although, that though was his neck itch and his face bloom with bright red.

His eyes fell back on you and the Captain, eyes moving between the back of your head and the back of Price's. His jaw ached, and it was then he realised that he had been clenching his teeth as he'd been watching the pair of you.

Still, he did not act on any of the emotions which were silently brewing, a distraction in the form of a small hand grasping his pulling him out of his head and back into reality. When he looked down, he found Hattie had taken hold of one of his fingers, doing her best to hold up the rabbit she had been coddling since Price had given it to her.

The apples of her cheeks were rosy, and she nodded eagerly when Simon held his hand out, hovering just above the rabbit. The little girl pulled it away, squeezed it tightly, and then said, 'Embrassez-le, Monsieur!'

His brows furrowed and the Captain turned his head, looking at the pair of them, grinning, 'she wants you to take the rabbit, Lieutenant.'

He turned back to you, and you glanced over your shoulder momentarily, watching as Simon took the stuffed rabbit out of Hattie's hand, embracing him as he pressed him against his chest.

You giggled at the sight, turning back to Price. Simon looked back at Hattie, holding the stuffed toy back out to her and she accepted it happily, cocking her head to the side as she enquired, 'meilleur?'

Whilst not knowing what she said to him, he nodded his head, 'oui, m- meellieur?'

The little girl chortled, 'oui, Monsiuer!' keeping hold of his hand as they continued with their journey.

After another fifteen minutes of walking, Price held his hand up, signalling for the group to stop and he turned to his brigade.

‘The lady needs the toilet,’ he said, motioning to you, ‘we might as well take a minute while she goes to find a suitable bush to… do her business.’

Pulling his cigar tin out of his pocket, he uttered something to you. You smiled at the group, sheepishly thanking them, then disappearing into the foliage. 

Hattie looked at the Captain and he mumbled something to her. The look of concern on her face was soothed with whatever he said to her as she nodded to herself.

‘Shouldn’t one of us really be going with her, Cap’n?’ Johnny asked. 

‘She’s only going for a piss, Serg, she doesn’t need a brigade there cheerin’ her on,’ answered the Captain, placing his cigar between his lips, ‘there’s nothing around here for miles, only thing she’s really got to keep her eye out for is a rabbits — and they haven’t been known to eat humans.’ 

‘Yet,’ chimed in Kyle. 

Had Price rolled his eyes anymore, they would have made home in the back of his head. ‘Fuck off, Garrick.’ 

The man chuckled, saluting Price, ‘sir, yes, sir!’ 

They took a seat on the incline of the hill, Hattie sitting right next to the Captain, hardly giving him any space as she seemed to be explaining to him the life-story of her stuffed rabbit. She shook it and, occasionally, the man would exclaim with a loud gasp at whatever the little girl was saying.

Simon, however, remained standing. 

‘You not gonna sit with us, Lt?’ Johnny asked. He turned his eyes away from the part of the forest he’d watched you move into. ‘You heard the Captain — there’s nothing out here but bloody rabbits!’ 

‘There’s nothing wrong with being safe,’ he said, crossing his arms. Looking down at his wrist, he watched as the seconds ticked by, sinking his teeth into the side of his cheek, gnawing at his flesh. 

‘I reckon you like her,’ said Kyle, plucking a handful of grass from the ground. ‘That’s why you’re so uneasy.’ 

‘You jealous or somethin’?’ asked Simon. 

The man, in return, rolled his eyes, ‘so jealous, Lt. So jealous.’ 

Opting to ignore them, he turned back to the site he had been keeping his eyes on, feeling a sinking in his gut as one minute passed, and then another, and then another.

Something felt terribly wrong.

He felt it in his chest — the feeling rendered him short of breath so much so that, when he went to speak again, he had to clear his throat. ‘I’m going to go and check on her.’ 

‘Nonsense,’ said Price, ‘she’ll be fine.’ 

‘No,’ he said firmly, ‘she’s been gone for too long.’ 

He waited for no more of their justifications for your absence as he approached the woods that had seemingly swallowed you, hand perched atop his Mauser. If he were to encounter you in a compromising position, he decided that he would divert his attention elsewhere, whilst doing his best to apologise for disrupting you during an intimate time.

He’d take you being embarrassed to you being in some sort of danger. He knew he was doing too much, focusing on every single thing to an obsessive degree, however, as he moved further and further into the shrubbery, goosebumps began to form on his skin; you were nowhere to be seen.

Swallowing a mouthful of saliva, he sucked up a breath, each step calculated, eyes darting in all directions until he heard it. 

It was so small, so quiet, it could have been mistaken for the call of an animal had his ears been untrained. Only, it was not the call of an animal, rather, a muffled plea. He turned his head in the direction of the sound, hands curving around the handle of his gun as he saw a man dressed in a grey uniform. Almost disguised in the shadow of the woods, he staggered where he stood as he attempted to drag who Simon knew to be you deeper into the woods.

He caught the edges of your dress as you thrashed, as violent as the ocean amidst a storm, hellbent on survival as you dug your heels into the ground, screaming behind the hand that was covering your mouth. He’d thought of being stealthy, of sneaking up behind the bastard and snapping his neck, only, he barked out to whoever else was with him.

He had one option: he had to get you out of there. 

Remaining poised, in spite of the view in front of him, he took hold of his gun and aimed it at the man’s head. He hadn’t a clue he was being watched, only noticing Simon when his gun clinked as he cocked it. It was too late, and his widened eyes told him that he knew it too.

The squeeze of the trigger had a spray of his blood covering the woodlands, crows cawing, flapping their wings as they moved elsewhere. You fell against the man’s corpse, heaving out a breath, wild eyes nearly tearing Simon to shreds. He approached you quickly, taking old of your trembling hands and pulling you to your feet. 

‘Oh, merci, Simon!’ you exclaimed. 

He shushed you quickly, spying figures through the trees.

The sound of the gunshot was confirmation of where the two of you where and their shouting was not missed on him as sticks snapped beneath the boots of the men who he knew, intended on being both of your demises. There was no way to communicate the urgency of the situation but, when you turned and looked over your shoulder, seeing the men, you followed after him with little complaint.

A murderer and his accomplice, fleeing from the scene of the crime. 

He guided you into the forest, amidst the shrubbery and the pair of you ran, you slightly trailing behind the Lieutenant until you encountered an area of vast shrubbery. Without so much as looking at you, he delve into the sea of green and pulled you alongside him.

The pair of you tumbled into a patch of dirt, stabbed by the brambles of the bush he had so carelessly leaped into. When he heard the sound of the German soldiers calling out orders, he knew he had made the right decision and only felt a slight guilty when he put his hand over your mouth to silence the sound of your breathless panting.

He laid with you against his chest, unmoved, even when the sound of footsteps were dangerously close. You learned quickly too, he realised, as you hardly moved an inch, the only sign of you still being alive being the feeling of your stomach raising and falling against his with each breath you took. 

Admittedly, his caution concerning the whereabouts of the men that had been chasing the pair of you was quite dramatic for he waited more time than he should have to make sure that they were well and truly gone. The sun had began to set when he finally took his hand from off your face and you celebrated your freedom by taking a long, deep breath.

You looked at him and said, ‘Hattie.’ 

He nodded, ‘I know.’ 

You repeated again, terror in your voice, ‘Hattie.’ 

‘Oui,’ he said, nodding his head, but there was no time for there was still the risk of the men beyond the bushes. He had a stark annoyance which sprung upon him, tilting his head up and towards the sky, the question of ‘why’ on the tip of his tongue. Why did there have to be this divide? Like heaven and hell, like sea and land, yes, there was a brief between both of them, but he had to make do with so little — there was always this absence. With a huff, he kept you against his chest, exclaiming, ‘je suis blessé.’ 

Was he really, physically wounded? No. Although, you took his words to be literal as you pushed yourself up, turning your body as your eyes scanned his. ‘Blessé?' you said, panicked. 

The man chuckled and shook his head, not quite knowing why he had said so in the first place. In response, your brows furrowed and you slapped his chest, cursing him out beneath your breath. You rose from the ground there and the, opting to take your chances in the wild as you slowly moved away from him, head darting side to side, scoping out your surroundings. You were still shaking in spite of the encounter having been a considerable amount of time ago, clumsily dragging your feet against the grass, closing your fists as you raised your arms and pressed them against your head.

Then, you turned your attention towards the sky, teeth gritted. He thought you were going to scream and, in some way, you did. Only, you knew, if you had did so, you would have ran the risk of attracting the enemy. So, you opened your mouth and scrunched your face up, driving your feet into the ground. He fought against grinning at the sight, unable to escape the humour of the situation, allowing you to have your moment of complete and utter fury.

Sticks broke beneath your feet and he imagined you most likely dug holes into the palms of your hands from the tension in your knuckles. You thrashed like a fish out of water, hair wild, the only sound emitted from you the sound of you breath as anger burned down the final beams of composure you had, leaving only the ash of depleted fuel. 

Simply put, you had come to the end of your tether, and snapped. 

It was in the eye of the storm that he understood you on a spiritual level for you two had been kindred spirits, twin flames as you blossomed on a dying fuel source, festering and existing in the heat of the left over ash, sparking once more when the wind blew on you.

Nature ignited you — the nature of the people and their treatment, and it was that, that entitlement nestled so tightly into the DNA of humanity, that left you snagging the leaves off the bushes, and stomping your feet into the dirt below you. 

He knew then that, strangely, he was home. 

[the-kr8tor]

Salt in the Wound

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 6.6k

Tags: Use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, CW food mentions, CW innuendos, TW blood, TW death, CW violence.

Navigation

Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

CHAPTER 11 >>> CHAPTER 12

Tears run down your cheek as you see the sailboat get to the island as fast as its rickety wood can handle. The wind is on their side, blowing the sails towards the small patch of land.

“Y/N,” Hobie's voice echoes above your sob, he tentatively cups your elbow, and like the sun, you let him pull you in. “They're alright,” he whispers atop your head, sighing, letting himself meld into you. “We're alright, yeah?”

Pulling away, you nod, “go, I'll be here.”

Shaking his head, he cradles your face, you can still smell the soil clinging to his palms, you don't mind it simply because it's him.

“We'll greet them together. They're as much your family as mine.” His words spill over you like the tears brimming in your eyes. Leaving your side, he encourages you to follow with a nod and shining eyes. “C’mon, scuttlebutt, let's meet the crew halfway.”

Your poisonous words are still stamped in his mind, clinging to him like invasive vines. But he's not going to be cold around you, or it might prove your words right. He's still figuring everything out, every syllable of your words is sticking to him. He'll do better, he promised himself right on her empty grave, but how could he do that when his hunger for revenge claws at his bones?

He wishes he could do both.

“Alright.” You utter quietly, “I'll be behind you.”

Sparing you one tender look, Hobie sprints towards the shore with a grin, salty water crashing against his legs. You lag behind, watching Gwen jump from the boat even though the water still reaches up her neck.

Swimming towards each other, Hobie tugs her hand, pulling her close, embracing, squeezing and laughing in relief. Pavitr and Miles follow a second later, completely drenched, wading the water towards Hobie and Gwen. They join them, hugging and clinging to each other like barnacles on a ship.

Hobie does his best to embrace the trio in his arms while James tackles the four of them to the sand. With a splash, they untangle themselves. They yell happily even when they get a mouthful of salty water.

The water laps at your feet, drenching your shoes, tears still streaming down your face. Your weeping gets Gwen’s attention. She weeps when she sees you standing, heart still beating.

“Y/N,” she says through a wet sob, reaching towards you, the men waits for you to join them in the sand.

But before you could even get close, you hear loud splashing, Yuri swims towards you speedily.

“My wife!” She yells, eyes welled up and red, arms at the ready.

You open your arms to her happily. With how fast she's running, Yuri crashes her body to yours then you both land on the wet sand with a loud *plop.

Embracing her middle, she hides her cry on the crook of your neck. With your eyes facing the heavens above, your vision slowly fills with their faces. Smiling down, sniffing and tearing up, you reach up and they take the invitation to lay on the sand with you, letting everything out like Yuri.

Hobie watches the pile of pirates as they all have a good cry. He can see the relief in their faces, shoulders shaking yet their muscles are relaxed. Letting the tides wash over him as he sits on the soft sand, he observes your hands and how it holds on to everyone tightly.

He gets reminded of what could've been if not for Mathias. The fire that was quelled by you roars back to life inside his chest. His eyes train towards the empty graves, the ugly beast of revenge hungers once again.

One call of his name from your lips calms it down immediately even if it's brief.

With your smile, he thinks you've found what you've been looking for.

Miles leans away from you first, untangling his limbs, he makes his way towards Hobie with a wobbly smile. The navigator clasps his shoulder for only a second before deciding that a proper hug is better.

“Took care of ‘em for me?” Hobie asks, holding Miles by his shoulders, eyes brimming with tears when the kid he watched grow up nods at his question.

“I'm glad we found you because I'm never doing that again.” He jokes, earning a laugh from Hobie.

“Good, you did good.” Hobie pats Miles’ shoulder before tugging him in, hoping that he shows his gratitude through the hug.

Yuri lifts her head up from your neck, sniffing then groaning at the weight on top of her. “You all smell! Get off!”

“We're having a moment, Yuri! Could you not ruin it?” James exclaims from your side, his hand cradling the back of your head.

Everyone laughs at their bickering, you look at the fishing boat, expecting two other bodies to appear. With heat behind your eyes, you cry again.

“Look what you've done! You two made Y/N cry again!” Pav wipes his eyes with his sleeve, choking back a sob. “And now I'm crying too!”

“Pav!” Yuri, now sitting up, her hand holding yours, beckons him over. Her voice cracks but she still comforts Pavitr.

He frowns, sniffing and closing the small distance to get to Yuri's open arms. “They're alive.” His words squeeze your heart.

Yuri pats his back, “They're good, Pav.”

You and Hobie look at eachother at the same time. He smiles softly, mouthing something you can't decipher. Opening your mouth to ask, Gwen lays her head down on your chest, you think she's listening for your heartbeat.

“I'm alright, Gwen.” You brush her hair away from her face, her cheeks are red and sunburnt, frowning lips moving to ask you a heavy question.

“Is he alright?” Her voice is merely above a whisper, sitting up, you follow suit. “Are you alright?” You know what she's truly asking.

Shaking your head with teary eyes, you glance at the graves hidden behind the trees. “I really don't know, Gwen. But we're getting there.”

As the others head towards camp and away from the sun, Gwen helps you up to your feet. “I'm just glad you're both alive. That's all that matters.”

James suddenly exclaims, “you were living in damn luxury! Look at this camp!”

Pav calls for you and Gwen, wiggling his eyebrows towards you with a teasing smirk. “And only one bed oho!”

The blonde next to you raises a brow, a smile slowly spreading across her lips.

“Don't—” you warn nervously.

“I wasn't even gonna say anything.” Gwen puts her hands up in surrender, walking away from you with a smirk similar to Hobie's.

Yuri cackles loudly, arms full with your stash of chocolate. “You're holding out on us, Hobie!”

“That's not yours, you goblin!”

“You already have her, let me have the chocolates at least! Learn to fuckin’ share!”

Hobie has his hands on his hips, shaking his head whilst Yuri gives him a shit eating grin, tempting him to say otherwise. He doesn't.

Chuckling, you make your way towards the group. Hobie notices you coming and he gives you a small flitting smile before he leaves you and Yuri to your own devices. He then drags James away from the makeshift tent.

Grabbing him by his feet while James shrieks, yelling out, “I was just checking out your place! It's so tiny, how'd you two fit in there?!”

The tears turn into laughter, and the frowns shift into smiles.

Pav elbows your side, “you cuddling our captain?”

“Oi, Pav, I just realized I haven't hugged you yet.” Hobie stomps over to him, arms wide open, eyes glaring at his teasing.

“Yes you did—” With Pavitr’s surprised oomph, the captain tackles him to the ground, James joins in, adding himself to the dogpile.

—

James chews loudly, pomegranate juice sliding down his chin and arms. Ruby liquid leaving thin pink lines on his skin.

“Christ” Yuri says under her breath, wiping her hands clean on her pants.

Everyone sits around the fire, fishbones and pomegranate skins used as kindle, turning the smoke into an unsavoury mix of smells.

Hobie sits across from you, watching him chat with Pavitr through the flames. The orange and reds cackling around him, you think he fits right in. But he shouldn't be.

All the while, you feel eyes on you. Blinking, you crane your neck to look at the source of the disturbance. Miles’ eyes are narrowed into slits, not angry or frustrated, like he's trying to find something that has changed in you.

“Miles, what the fuck?” Your words turn heads. Hand limp around the stick you use to poke the fire.

“You look well,” He makes a face. “Considering you were stranded here for a month.”

Pavitr hides his laugh behind the fish he's eating. Yuri and James share a look while Gwen waits for the scene to unfold. Hobie warns Miles with a stare. He doesn't budge.

“Do you want to trade places?” You jokingly say. “We've got plenty of room.”

“Hmm” he contemplates, flicking his eyes at Hobie. “You also look alright. I mean you both look really well.” he said teasingly, a smirk playing on his lips. “Took care of eachother huh?”

With Miles’ last sentence, the crew lets out a loud guffaw that has the birds nesting in the trees to fly away frightened.

If only they knew.

“Come off it.” Hobie throws a wet pomegranate seed at him. Hitting him right on his head.

“What?” Miles asks, still giggling. “I was just saying how well you took care of eachother! I mean compared to us who were just trying to live day to day in the capital, you two were living like royals!”

Pav nods at you. “Very jealous right now.” You give him a wordless look, saying ‘really?’ through the simple stare.

Yuri elbows your side. “Did he give you his magic fingers?” She wiggles her own fingers, eyebrows dancing.

“Yuri!” You gasp while Hobie almost chokes on his pomegranate seed.

They all giggle, Gwen has a disgusted look on her face. You hear her audibly groan despite her suppressing it with her hand.

“Sorry,” Yuri says without genuine apology, still laughing. “I meant his ‘magic hands’ y’know Hobie's great at massaging. Even though he rarely shares that gift.” She jokingly glares at her captain.

“You don't deserve my magic hands.” Hobie adds, flicking a fish bone at her.

She dramatically sighs, “after so many years of service, I still haven't reaped the benefits of having a masseuse as a captain.”

It's your turn to chuckle, the sound getting Hobie's attention.

Yuri flicks her eyes between you two with a soft smile and raised eyebrow. “Shit, I should flutter my eyelashes at you too eh, cap? I might get that massage if I do.”

“Oh I want a massage too!” James exclaims with his mouth full, he then blinks rapidly towards Hobie who turns James' face away with his whole palm atop his face.

“When we get Mathias everyone gets a bloody massage.” Hobie didn't let the teasing go under his skin, he just couldn't take the way you were smiling at him. If the joking got any further and with your smile all carefree and filled with genuine happiness, he won't be able to resist himself.

Then the teasing will definitely get unbearable.

“Better yet, once we get to the mermaid’s head we all line up to receive our massage compensation.” Yuri adds, Hobie's smile flattens into a line.

“I agree,” Gwen proudly says. “I think we all deserve one after what happened.” she smiles at Hobie, it fades slowly once she sees his eyes alight.

He throws his half eaten pomegranate at the fire, the flames roar to life, illuminating the lines on his sharp face, and you see the same Hobie you met. The grey clouds warn you of a storm coming, warning you to hunker down and hide, but instead you want to greet it so you could calm it down once it's all said and done.

The air is suddenly thick, the searing heat singeing your skin. And they all feel it too.

“We'll talk about that later. For now you need to say goodbye, we need to leave before nightfall.” Standing up abruptly, he makes way towards the trees.

“Goodbye to who?” Pavitr asks you, confusion on his face, voice tensed.

“The crew” you answer sadly.

It was enough for them to join Hobie.

—

You sit on the sand, eyes down, chin tucked atop your knees, fingers drawing mindlessly on the sand— flicking away pomegranate seeds that were left discarded. Listening to the crashing of waves, you let it wash over you, tempted to join it.

You're happy that they've found you and Hobie, grateful to whatever entity paved their way towards safety. Your heart swells that Hobie can finally breathe again now that he has the knowledge that they're all alive and in one piece. But the muffled cries behind you bring tears back to the surface.

You gave them space when Hobie showed them the graves, letting them say their goodbyes without you– you who was a complete stranger back then, who, compared to them, was just a visitor in their lives. You thought they would appreciate it, but his grey eyes never left your back, silently inviting you in. If only you had eyes behind your head.

Fingers brush atop your hair, you would've thought it was him but it's somebody else just based on the different callouses.

You know him by touch alone.

“You alright there? We were waiting for you.” Gwen asks, sitting next to you.

“Everybody seems to ask me that question lately.” You don't mean to sound rude, but you couldn't help it after hearing Pavitr calling Finn's name when he saw the graves, it would put anyone in a whirlwind of emotions with how his voice breaks.

Your emotions are running high, afraid of what's to come, afraid of all the uncertainty.

“Well, are you?” She looks at you pointedly.

You give her a tight smile. “What happens now?”

She sighs, fatigue written all over her young face. Staring at the horizon, watching the sea swallow the sun whole as the waves crash on the beach, she closes her eyes; letting the breeze cool her cheeks.

“I'm sorry it took us this long to find you.”

“What happened to the crew after…everything?”

“We docked on the nearest village, surprisingly there weren't any navy waiting for us.”

“I don't think anyone could survive that.”

“But you and Hobie did.” Gwen cranes her neck to finally look at you, “We all did—”she gestures towards the others. “I…” She continues with a pained look. “After we recuperated from our injuries, one by one people started to leave. By the time we were setting up to try and find you, it was just us five left. Y/N, there's no bloodsail pirates anymore. It's just us.”

“I'm sorry,” you feel like it was your fault, from Finn's death to the ship sinking. And you have no idea how you could forgive yourself for it. You might've said goodbye to the perished crew, reigned in your grief but the guilt still presides in your throat. Slowly choking, slowly leaving you breathless. “I'm so fucking sorry.”

How could Hobie still sleep next to you when all you did was ruin what he had?

That's why the island tempts you to stay, let the others leave you here as a penance for what you've done. Because on your island, everything stays how it is. You silently wish you were a part of it, even if he isn't there by your side. But it's alright, as long as he can forgive you.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Gwen says, reading you like the open book that you are. “Finn chose to help, and we chose this life. You have no hand in this.” Her words shakes your guilt ridden self. “Their deaths would mean nothing if you don't live, Y/N.” She grabs your shaking hand, “that's why we're leaving, we're tired and you were right back then, we deserve to live too.”

“What do you mean?”

“We're going back to the mermaid's head, and if Hobie wants to join us he can. But if he doesn't then that's that.” Gwen sniffs, fighting the tears. “There was no traitor, we asked, we interrogated everyone who was left. I kinda wished there was, because it means that Mathias wasn't that good, that he didn't just know everything. That he can be beat.” There's anger in her voice, it's faint but it's there. “You can't fight someone that powerful. Someone that’s always two steps ahead of us.”

She hesitates for a moment. “If Hobie doesn't stop or at least let us breathe then we're all moving on.” Swallowing thickly, you squeeze her hand. “Part ways. We all talked about it, and we'd love it if you could join us.”

“Leave Hobie?” The thought has your heart cracking for him. “What would happen to him?”

Gwen scoffs, “I don't know, but I know he can handle himself.”

“If I can convince him to stop, will you stay?”

You know you can't persuade him, the flames have engulfed him, he's used to the heat and the burn. You've tried your hardest to dissuade him the entire time you've been on the island, thinking your efforts were enough for him to let his anger go, thinking you were enough. But you failed, your promise to Karl lay broken at your feet. But you understand him now more than ever, you understand him more than you understand yourself.

Now all you can do is to make sure he survives the embers, to rise through the ashes when it's all said and done. He has to survive, he has to or the fire would consume you too.

“He won't, Y/N, he said it himself just a minute ago. He's not gonna stop until Mathias' head rolls.”

“But—” It's futile.

“Listen, I've seen him look at you, you could be the only person who can convince him.” She shakes her head, wiping a single tear that escaped from her eye. “He's not the same Hobie as before, we love him but we can't keep watching him destroy himself—”

“Gwen.” Hobie's voice echoes through the clearing.

Your head turns speedily towards him, Gwen looks on with her head held high. His face is unreadable, jaw clenched, grey eyes staring down.

“Time to go.” His strides are heavy on the sand. He's sharpening his knife once again.

You've forgotten he's a pirate with all his soft touches and tender eyes he has given you during your stay. Revenge once again rears its ugly head, and you see him stand tall, answering its call once again.

—

The sky is slowly turning dark, the clouds red and orange in the horizon, stars appearing one by one, dotting the forlorn heavens. With the island fading away from view, you stare at it until it's a mere dot in the distance. The thought that the piece of land has been there before you and it'll be there after you're long gone fills you with ease. The marks you and Hobie left in it will hopefully stay for years to come, with the pomegranate seeds, you wish that it may grow into a tree and one day help someone who needs it.

With the soft rocking of the boat against the waves, you're back at sea.

Blinking away the thought, you watch as Hobie sails the small boat, the small lamp tucked in the corner illuminates his face, all his worry and responsibility brought into the light. he hasn't talked since your conversation with Gwen. And you hadn't had the chance to speak to him.

The sea is rough with wind blowing harshly on the sails, but nothing could compare to the thick tension in the small boat. It's deadly silent, Gwen and the others stand on one end of the ship, whispering to each other; while Hobie stands on the other. You sit in the middle, crouched down, hunkering down for the heavy conversation that's about to happen.

Yuri sighs, footsteps thudding loudly on the wooden floorboards. Suddenly you're brought back to the day that Mathias almost had you in his clutches.

“Hobie.” Yuri calls, voice rising above the loud wind.

“What?” He asks, hand tightly gripping the helm.

“We need to talk.” She's steadfast, back straight, nails digging into her palms.

“Then talk.” His voice is firm, words uttered through gritted teeth.

Yuri sighs, eyes roaming around the small crew. Her eyes stop over to you, so you look away.

“We need to talk about where we're heading and what we're going to do.”

“Simple, we kill Mathias and we go home.” He says without looking at Yuri.

Yuri scoffs, “home? Where the fuck is that even? Our home is now at the bottom of the sea.” You stand up, still avoiding everyone's eyes. “When will you wake up, Hobie?”

Hobie turns around, eyes alight. “Do you think I'm doin' this for fun? He needs to go down, Yuri.”

“I know he does!”

“We’re tired, Hobie, we need to regroup.” Miles pipes up. “Come on, man, we can't beat him in this dingy boat.”

“We had an entire month to rest. We were this close to getting him.” Hobie wavers but he continues on his path. “Just—we need to find a ship, then we hunt him down, and be ready for what he throws at us. Be better.”

“With what crew?!” Gwen cracks, frustration marring her face. “It's just us, Hobie. No one else.”

“We've been through worse—”

“Enough is enough!” Gwen's voice breaks. “I love MJ too, but she's gone, Hobie. She was a navy spy who was supposed to bring us down. And now Mathias is using her against us again. Please, we miss you, you haven't been yourself for a long time.” She quickly wipes her fallen tears, not letting Hobie see it.

You had a glimpse of it, the old Hobie in your little slice of paradise, he's still in there, underneath his tensed muscles and shaking knuckles. You've accepted the other side of him too, all bared teeth and bloodied skin, it's what you were used to. You know he can be both, and you're terrified to admit you love them both.

“We understand your pain, Hobie,” Yuri adds and Hobie scoffs. “We do,” her voice is soft, lacking venom. “Her death has been chipping away at you but can't you see that you've forgotten why we do this? Why we joined you? Trusted you?”

The raven haired stands her ground. “Revenge has blinded you, Mathias was a fuckin’ drop in the sea of assholes we needed to take down but you let that single drop drown you. All this time we could've gone after worse people then came back for him, but you wouldn't listen.”

“Mathias killed Ned.” James pipes up from his corner, arms crossed on his chest. “I miss the little shit as much as you do.” He looks at Hobie. “But we're too weak right now, we can't kill him with seven fucking people and a fishing boat.” He stands next to Hobie, “I'm not gonna leave you, cap, but It's not Mathias' time yet.”

“James—” Yuri calls him sharply.

“I'm staying with Hobie. If he agrees to rebuild.” James waits for Hobie's reply.

Like a cruel twist of fate, Hobie looks at you.

“Don't bring Y/N into this, Hobie.” Pavitr comments next to you. “I don't want to leave you either. You're our captain, but we've been at it for three straight years, put up with all of it, followed you because you're our captain. We just need you to let us breathe. Please.”

“We will never be able to breathe again until he's gone. So we can't let him heal, he's at his lowest and if we strike now—” With Hobie's words, the crew walks away. He turns to you, face full of hidden sorrow.

“Drop us off to the nearest dock.” Gwen says without looking back.

You stand in the middle of everything.

He calls your name, looking towards you for something– anything to help him.

But in truth, you have no idea what to do and which side to choose. The voice inside your head screams for you to run, to get away from what's in front of you.

So you do the opposite. That's not you anymore.

Your feet feels heavy when you walk towards him, numerous eyes dig at your back. But you don't turn around.

They shake their heads, leaving you two alone to head below deck. You can hear their muffled voices, frustrated and angry.

“You leavin’ me too?” he asks, turning back to the helm, trembling hands gripping the wheel, brows furrowed and frown deepening with every second that passes.

You hold his hand, slowly uncurling his fingers away from the wheel, kneading his skin softly.

“Haven't decided yet.” Looking at him through your lashes, you massage his hands like he taught you.

“Not funny.”

“Wasn't joking.”

Hobie blinks, conflicted. “What's there to decide? You either leave or you stay, easy.”

“No, it's not easy.” You avoid his eyes, turning his hands, palms up, you trace the lines over it with your thumbs. “I honestly don't know what to do.” You chuckle nervously.

His eyes follow your hands that squeezes him tender and gentle. Too gentle for someone like him.

“But I do know grief, I may not understand it well but I know you shouldn't adjust your feelings to make other people feel comfortable. But at the same time, you shouldn't neglect the people that are still around you.” You look at the rain clouds in his eyes. “They love you and I—” you pause, and his heart almost stops. “—they don't want you to destroy yourself. Do what you need to do, just don't let him try to kill you the second time.”

You continue, heart thudding loudly like cannons in a ship. “I know you, and that everything you do is out of love. Love for the crew that you've found family in, love for the people that you've helped and the people who you'll help.” Your words are soft and gentle. “Love for your ideals that never waver. And dare I say, love for yourself. You've done so many amazing things against all odds, I know you'll conquer this too.”

“Don't act like you know me.” he says it forlornly like he doesn't want to believe his own words. Truthfully, he wants you to, needs you to know him as much as he knows you.

You smile softly, eyes roaming around his face and all the sadness he harbors underneath. “Hobie” you call his name quietly, shaking your head subtly, you tell him otherwise, conveying that his words aren't true at all.

The dark clouds part in his eyes, and he twists his hand to hold yours. “But you do. Fuck,” he inhales sharply at the realization. “You do.”

“I do.” you take your hand away, reaching up to cup the back of his head, fingers grasping gently at the baby hairs. “And it's alright if you don't know me. You don't have to.”

“What if I do, I do know you.”

You chuckle, “it's an honour to be known by you.” Holding on to him tightly with your breath fanning against his skin, your face is solemn, “just don't make me choose between them—Hobie!” you gasp at the end, gripping on to his shirt, eyes wide with fear at what's behind him.

He follows your line of sight, a large ship looms just behind the boat, and it's heading towards you at great speed. It's sails are all open, stark white against the dark sky.

“Go tell the others.” He frantically twists to look back to you, maybe he shouldn't have, for your fear stricken face would haunt him for the rest of his days. “Love,” shaking you back to reality, he takes your face in his hands. “Go below deck and hide.”

“I'm not fucking leaving you up here.”

“I don't see any flags, chances are it's a merchant ship. I'll talk to them, now go” He reassures you, hiding his own fear, tamping it down for your sake.

With one last look at Hobie, running quickly while he maintains speed, casual, trying not to alarm the other ship. He has talked his way out of situations before, he can get out of this, for the crew and for you.

He hears footsteps, and just like back on his ship, the great sea spider weaves his webs around the crew, instructing them, guiding them like always.

“Hobie,” Gwen calls as they all watch the large ship sail next to them, the shadow casting over the smaller boat, hiding the moonlight from their eyes. “Did you teach her how to swim?”

“Aye, I did.” he whispers, eyes boring into a man with a large frame, his brown hair blowing softly in the wind.

“Good,” she says, hands never leaving her weapons. “We might need to swim.”

The remaining bloodsail pirates stare at the well dressed men looking down at them, their faces unreadable from the height, their swords glinting in the moonlight.

You hunker down below deck, legs tucked, body hidden behind crates, arms braced over your head, waiting for impact. The force doesn't arrive, instead, you hear a booming voice outside, deep and commanding, the sound lights your nerves on fire. Then you hear your name from the man's lips and you close your eyes tightly, imagining that you were back on your island, with him, with the sweet pomegranates and the sand between your fingers.

Maybe you should've stayed.

Hobie's voice is clear as day, bringing you back to the present. Tone laced with anger and resentment, but to you it's the light at the end of the dim cave, without it you would've been lost in the past.

“No Y/N here,” he says convincingly. “Must've gotten the wrong boat, we're just fishin’ ‘ere.”

“What fisherman carries a blunderbuss? Two at that.” The former admiral says gruffly and impatiently. He sighs audibly, “can you at least tell me if she's alive?”

“‘m tellin' you, mate, we don't know anyone by that name.”

“We've got a shipment scheduled for tomorrow. Do you really want our families to starve just because you're looking for a bird?” Gwen adds, her voice is steady.

“I think your father's well fed at the stables, miss Stacy.” You can practically hear their shuddered breaths from below. Holding your dagger close, you watch your mirrored disheveled expression on the steel. “You've been traveling with her for months, I highly doubt you don't know her.”

Hobie seethes, teeth clenched, he masks his voice. “Ah, that one. She's dead, drowned when your old friend Mathias attacked us.”

“He's not my—” Miguel clears his throat. He pauses, then he calls your name once again, louder this time. “I’m not here to hurt you, just please show yourself.” His voice is tired, fatigued. “I have your necklace, and I'm—”

“She is not here” Hobie enunciates every word uttered. “You want her that bad hm? She's at the bottom of the bloody sea, now kindly fuck off.”

You hear the unmistakable click of guns. There's an image in your head, a morbid vision of your friends lying dead on the floor, blood pooling from their broken bodies, head cracked open. Hobie's eyes dark and lifeless, lips uttering your name softly. So you run towards danger, for them, for Hobie.

He sees you come up in slow motion, eyes glossy, irises small and erratic, hands gripping the pommel of the silver dagger. Your eyes meet the hurricane inside him for a second before you stand in front of him.

“I'm here,” you say, stance unwavering despite everything. “Put down your weapons and we'll talk.”

Pavitr and everyone else gets flung back to the day you stood in front of them just like this. Back straight, fingers curled around your dagger, voice as powerful as the sea. Fire licking at their feet, corpses of people they once knew littered on the floor, their blood spilling over the same floors they once called home.

They can't have a repeat of what happened that day.

But all they could do is watch, having no plan and limited bullets. The heated fight before melted everything in them. All they could do is watch and be ready to grab you and jump overboard. Even if they have to swim for a thousand miles.

All Hobie could do is hold the hem of your shirt, subtly, more than ready to yank you away from the danger in front of you. He knows he can't fight the former admiral, he now realizes he can't fight Mathias in this state. It's too late now for he has destroyed the trust of his crew with rotten words he threw at them with his thirst for revenge destroying everything he once held dear to him.

Miguel's face morphs into relief, telling his men to stand down, eyes never leaving your form.

“I meant it when I said I won't harm you. Do you think I chased you across the country and sea because I hold a grudge?” His voice wavers. “How could I when you're a mirror of your mother?”

“Wha– I'm not—” you grow furious. “Jess? Is she with you? What have you done to her?!” Like a caged animal, you take your anger at him, teeth bared, claws ready to strike.

“She's not here, I— can you let me talk for once?” he presses on the gap between his eyes. With a sigh and sympathetic eyes, he tells you the truth.

“I'm your godfather and I'm here to bring you home.”

Your resolve cracks, the word ‘godfather’ is foreign to you but one word echoes through your chest— home. You've got someone waiting for you.

Looking behind you, smiling softly, chuckling with tears streaming down your face, and you see it again, the anguish on his face. Scars stretched on his skin with his deep frown. And you get lost in the silver of his eyes, molten rivers of steel, you'd do anything to protect those eyes. Even if it ends up hating you.

Hobie takes you by the elbow, his own body hiding you from Miguel.

Said man groans, rubbing at his eyelids, exhausted and lacking energy in his sloppy movements. In your peripheral you see a familiar woman trailing next to him, resisting the urge to smack him upside the head with a roll of her eyes.

“What if he's lying?” Hobie whispers, thumbs wiping your tears away. “What if he's only saying that to get you?”

Miles and the rest of the crew circle around you both, never turning their back away from the men watching from above.

“Is he the same guy you told us, Hobie?” He asks, dark eyes trained above, an excuse to avoid Hobie's face.

Your body tells you that you belong in the circle, not outside of it, forever observing as an outsider. Yet your mind screams for you to question Miguel, ask him about your family, ask him where you truly belong.

“You all know?” Your voice shakes as Gwen squeezes your arm. A reassurance that they mean well.

“I told ‘em just in case he tries to chase after you again. It was for a good reason, Y/N, I had to tell them.” Hobie lets your face go after remembering there are numerous eyes on him. They can't know he cares for you lest they use you against him.

“I'm not mad at that, I trust them.” You roam your eyes around their faces like it would be the last time you'll ever see them. “I trust all of you. But you can all leave, sail away far from here and I'll talk to him alone. I won't hold it against you. This is my problem, not yours.”

“If it's your problem then it's our problem too.” Pav says with his whole heart and everyone agrees. “You're part of the crew, Y/N, if you stay, we stay too.”

As you roam your eyes around their faces, faces you've come to care for, it wouldn't be so bad if Miguel was lying. But you have to know, or all the unanswered questions and curiosity will eat at you until your end of days.

With a small nod and sharp inhale, you continue. “Can you trust me?” you smile at them, they can see the sparks in your eyes.

Yuri smirks next to you, hand never leaving the handle of her gun. “Sounds like you've got a plan eh, wifey?”

“I do.” And I hope it works. You think. “I'm not getting on their ship. If he wants to explain himself then he can go to us.”

Hobie smiles proudly, while the others nod approvingly.

“Hah,” Gwen pats your back. “Just like what we did near the coast of Malta.”

“Good times.” James adds, elbowing Pav like there isn't danger ahead.

“If I find out he's lying, I'll cut him myself.” You say bravely.

“No,” Hobie interrupts. “I'll do it. 'm not lettin' you be alone with him.” He knows men like Miguel, skin traders who will lie and sink their teeth in just to get a bag of coins in return.

The crew thinks you would protest until you nod. You'd be crazy to decline, and now they know how much they've missed throughout the month you two have been alone on that island.

“I'll be at the helm,” Pav whispers, “just in case we need to get away fast.”

Hobie clasps his shoulder in thanks. “James, stay near the mast, help Pav steer the bloody thing.” James, thumps his knuckle on Hobie's chest before going to his station. “Miles, be at the door and listen in if we need an extra pair of hands in bringing him down.”

“Gladly.” Miles says, leaving the captain's side to keep watch.

“Gwen and Yuri, you two know where to shoot.”

They look at eachother with determination.

“I'll take the helmsman and you take the gunner.” Gwen instructs Yuri.

“Aye aye.” The raven haired beams mischievously.

Now alone, he opens his mouth to say something but you beat him to it with a simple call of his name.

“Hobie.” Arm slipping out of his grasp to hold his hand properly. Squeezing it, remembering where every single indent and scar on his knuckles are with just your touch. Brushing your thumb around it, without a second thought, you lean towards him, lips pressing like a feather on his cheek.

As quick as the tides, you lean away from him.

Hobie wanted it to last forever, to meld his skin atop yours, to forever be attached to you. But he knows what the kiss entails, it wasn't just your affection bursting at the seams after months of longing; it was a goodbye.

He barely felt it but it doesn't mean his heart didn't skip a beat when he felt your cold lips. With a shuddered breath, he takes you in, simmers in your soft smile, bathes in your eyes. You do the same as his familiar scent wafts over you, sea salt and sea breeze, you now know why men choose the sea.

“I won't let him take you.” He promises.

“And I won't let him kill you.” You promise.

And with your final words, you turn towards Miguel with fire in your eyes fueled by your will to continue.

“Come down here and we'll talk.” In that small ship you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders.

With the loud thump of his weapons falling from his waist to the wooden floorboards, hands up in surrender, he agrees wholeheartedly.

[freesia-writes]

Ch 40: Beach Date #2

Master List ~~ Previous Chapter ~~ WC: 2.6k

Song: “Time After Time” by Iron and Wine

Had to re-use the beautiful fanart by @amalthiaph!!

.

“Well look at you,” Hunter rumbled in appreciation as Lyra pulled the cover off of a snack platter, setting it on the blanket next to a round tray with some sparkling wine and two fancy glasses. They were settled on the beach for an evening picnic atop a thick, soft blanket spread across the sand. Her platter was heaped with fresh fruit that glistened enticingly, a variety of cheeses, some salted meats in neat piles, and a plethora of crackers, nuts, and olives. He was salivating immediately. 

“I got a little caught up in it all,” she chuckled, producing one more bowl from the large bag she’d brought. As she uncovered that one, a little huff escaped her lips, and she held it out for him to see, clapping her other hand to her forehead in embarrassment. “They all melted.” He peered inside, seeing what appeared to have been an assortment of chocolates, now a mushy mess. 

“Still good,” he encouraged, swiping a bit with a single finger and licking it off unceremoniously. He kept his face carefully neutral, sensing the wave of autonomic response as Lyra looked away quickly. 

“You can feel this stuff, can’t you…” she muttered as though dreading his response. “I can’t hide anything…”

“Do you want to hide anything?” he deflected, fixing her with a mockingly stern stare. 

“No!” she answered quickly, squinting back at him suspiciously. 

“Too soon?” he asked with a grin, and she shook her head, mirroring his expression. 

“I’ve shared it all,” she confirmed. “It feels fantastic. You’re the one holding out on me, I think.”

“Not really,” he said, scooting over to sit beside her, slightly behind to offer a place for her to lean. He loved it when she took him up on that, and his chest swelled a bit as she nestled into him. “The war stories can pretty much all be summed up the same way. We had a plan. It changed about eight times. We still finished the mission. And repeat.”

“I doubt that’s all there was to it,” she teased, leaning forward slightly to pour two glasses of the sparkling wine and offering one to him. He took a sip, enjoying its effervescent sweetness, and gazed past her head at the shimmering water that formed the horizon. The sound of the birds calling overhead, the steady crash of the waves, and the quiet beat of her heart all lulled him into contentment, and he took a deep, happy breath.

“Well, we’ve got plenty of time for stories,” he said, meaning just that night, but realizing there was a much greater intent behind his words. He left it at that, however, and shifted around her to graze on the copious amount of food she’d brought. She sliced a few pieces off one of the soft cheese, smearing them on some crackers and offering him one. His fingers brushed hers as he took it, tingles dancing along his arm at the simple touch. 

“I hope so,” she said quietly, adding a neatly-folded piece of meat atop her cheese and, after some consideration, popped the entire thing into her mouth. “Fewer crumbs that way,” she explained after she’d chewed and swallowed, and he chuckled in agreement. 

It was a balmy afternoon, the sun still fairly high in the sky as they basked in its rays. It had been particularly hot lately, and Hunter loosened another button on his shirt, then rolled up his sleeves in an attempt to cool down. But the breeze had stilled, and the warm air lingered. Lyra pulled her hair up into a messy bun atop her head, and with a sheepish giggle in his direction, flapped her skirt “to get some air circulation”, as she put it. 

“Let’s go in,” he invited, tipping his head toward the water. They’d talked about swimming, but both had been so satisfied by simply sitting and snacking with each other that it hadn’t been a very pressing item on the agenda. The ocean beckoned to him now, though, and he stood up, moving away from the blanket to brush off the grains of sand that had gathered on his swim trunks and loose button-up shirt. Lyra followed suit, but moved awkwardly as she pulled her blouse over her head, glancing self-consciously at the top of her swimsuit. She took a breath, then pushed her skirt down, tossing both clothing items onto the blanket.

“I haven’t actually been in the water in a long time,” she admitted, crossing her arms across her front, then adjusting the suit over her hips, then looking up at him sheepishly. Hunter found it disproportionately adorable. The one-piece suit had a cream-colored gingham pattern, and the tan lines from her usual clothing revealed the parts of her pear-shaped body that rarely saw the sun.

“There’s a fun little spot over here, if you want,” he said, gesturing toward the nearby cliff that marked the end of the flat stretch of beach. 

“Fun for what?” she asked apprehensively, glancing up at its steep, rocky face. 

“Want to find out?” His roguish grin was infectious, and she temporarily forgot about her discomfort as she followed. He led them along a narrow path that began further inland and worked its way along the side of the cliff to a little overhang above the ocean that provided a natural diving board for the adventurous. He ventured to the edge, glancing at the satisfactorily deep water below. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Lyra’s quavering voice belied her anxiety, and he smiled at her, frozen behind him as she pressed herself against the rock wall as much as she could, looking down for a split second before jerking her eyes back to him. 

“It looks farther than it is,” he encouraged, moving to the edge of the precipice and reaching out a hand, pulling her to stand beside him as they took in the creamy colors of the horizon again. 

“I’m a weenie, Hunter,” she reminded him, holding onto him tightly. 

“Same time?” 

She met his eyes, their rich brown depths full of affection, reassurance, and confidence, and her face softened immediately. 

“I don’t think I need to use words for you to know how nervous I am.”

“No,” he smiled. “It’s okay if you don’t want to; we can go back the way we came.” But she looked at the steps they’d taken along the thin, crumbly patches of flat rock. It looked more dangerous than where she now stood. She took a deep, shaky breath, lowering her chin with a new resolve, and nodded, fixing her eyes on a distant point in the sea. 

“Let’s do it.” 

He held her hand loosely, stepping a bit closer to the edge and beckoning for her to do the same. 

“Wait!” she said suddenly. “Your shirt!”

“It’s okay,” he said quickly. “It’ll dry.” His eyes were shifty, and now it was she who noticed the unease in his demeanor. 

“Since when are you one to cover up that bangin’ body?” she attempted, snorting at her own ridiculous humor. He grinned. 

“Not important.”

“No, you’re hiding something,” she pressed, smiling broadly now as his raised eyebrows and slack jaw confirmed her theory. “What is it?”

“Alright, it’s…” Without warning, he leapt over the edge, pulling her with him. He heard her scream as she fell beside him, and they crashed into the water a split second later. He resurfaced, treading water as she burst out with a splash, and she immediately stared at him with shock and indignation, hair pressed against the sides of her head. 

“Hunter!!” she laughed, clapping a wave toward him and further soaking his hair. 

“We would have been standing there all night,” he reasoned, and she scoffed as she turned to swim to shore. He followed suit, staying close beside her until they were in shallower water, then grabbed her ankle and tugged her back toward him. He didn’t consider the timing, however, and accidentally dragged her beneath the next wave that passed by, cringing guiltily as he heard her splutter. She floundered for a second before finding her feet, standing right in front of him until she finished her coughing fit. 

“You’re gonna–” More coughing. “You’re gonna pay for that,” she threatened, eyes blazing. 

“Sorry,” he confessed, “I didn’t see the wave coming. I was just trying to–” She swept a foot behind both of his, knocking his legs out from under him, but he dropped just a few inches since she apparently forgot the concept of buoyancy. 

“Kriff,” she laughed, palming her face for a moment before giving him a mischievous look. “I didn’t think that one through.”

“No you didn’t,” he growled, slipping his arms around her waist and lifting her above him. She squealed in utter shock, clutching at his shoulders as she watched the next wave swelling behind him. He tensed, ready to toss her headfirst into it, but something about the mix of panic and delight on her face gave him pause, and the crest passed them both as he slowly lowered her. The way her body slid down his front made his mouth go dry, and when she found her feet again, he still held her close. Adrenaline coursing through her veins, she finally lightened her grip on the outsides of his arms, enraptured by the sudden intensity of his gaze.

“Very merciful of you,” she teased, cheeks flushed. The water amplified every sensation, and her soft skin against his own, paired with the steady thump of her heart, brought a wave of tingles up from his core. His own cheeks were hurting, and he realized he hadn’t smiled so long or so hard in quite a while. Thoughts spun like a tornado through his mind, and yet every fiber of his being was focused on her in that moment: the dark hair scattered across her shoulders, the smile lines on her face, and more than anything else, the softness in her brown eyes as she made no effort to hide the thrill of adoration she had for him. 

“Can’t attack a soldier and expect not to pay for it,” he taunted, distracting himself from the ferocity of his own feelings. 

“Fair enough,” she said quietly, reeling a bit herself from his gaze and touch. He released her, taking a step back as the water danced around his waist, and ran his fingers through his hair, his shirt floating around him. They waded back to the shore, coming out into the summer heat with dripping limbs and dumb grins. The gritty sand massaged their feet as they stood, brushing off water droplets and wringing out hair. Hunter twisted the ends of his shirt, attempting to rid it of as much water as possible, but was suddenly distracted as Lyra sidled up, a coy look in her eyes that floored him immediately. 

She reached forward, toying with one of his buttons, and slipped it through its hole with nimble fingers. His words caught in his throat, unable to tear his gaze from hers, and she softly caressed her hand down his side before reaching for the next button. It was bliss and torture at the same time, and as the warm air tickled his front, she reached the last button, twisting it sideways to free it. 

“Wait a minute,” he growled in sudden realization, grabbing her hand as she startled. “I’m onto you,” he smirked, and the immediate redness blossoming across her cheeks confirmed his suspicions. 

“I’m dying to know!” she laughed, backing away with guilt written all over her. There was nothing but a thin sliver of his torso visible between the hems of his shirt, and she squinted theatrically, trying to catch a glimpse. 

“Since when are you so thirsty?” he snickered, and her remorse quickly shifted into affront. But things were shifting between them, and she made her best attempt at a flirty face. It was so bad that he couldn’t help but fully laugh.

“First of all, rude.” She jabbed an accusing finger into his chest, which he snatched with his other hand. “Second of all… I can’t listen to the office chatter about how hot you are for months on end without starting to notice it a bit myself,” she said playfully, and every moment of increasing flirtation and authenticity was delighting him more and more. 

“Oh really,” he said, entwining fingers on both hands with hers as they hung loosely at his sides. She giggled, still plagued by waves of self-consciousness or insecurity. “Please, go on. What horrors have you been subjected to?”

“I’m sure you’d love to hear all about it,” she needled, absolutely beaming at his lightheartedness and affection. “But deception is afoot and I’m going to get to the bottom of it.” He couldn’t deny that she was thoroughly resolute, and he had a feeling he wasn’t going to escape this one. With a sigh of defeat, he took a step back, letting go of her hands regretfully.

“There’s no turning back,” he warned, a glimmer in his dark eyes that was quickly matched by the uncharacteristic smolder in hers. 

“Don’t plan to,” she murmured, equal parts snarky and sheepish. 

He finally caved, wiggling the wet fabric down his shoulders and off his arms, tossing it aside onto the sand. He’d deal with that later. In the meantime, her eyes raked over his toned body, and she couldn’t help her sharp inhale at the sight. 

“Maker above, Hunter. You got ripped,” she laughed, biting her lip suddenly as though holding back any further thoughts. 

“Yeah, Luci was kinda obsessed with working out,” he admitted, cringing at the mention of her. But Lyra was unaffected, fingers on one hand twitching at her side as her eyes followed the curve of his chest and the grooves above his hips. Every chemical in her body was betraying her complete enrapturement, and her cheeks were growing increasingly red. Fortunately, it was then that she saw it.

“Oh my gosh,” she grinned, taking a step closer and leaning down to see. “What is that?!” Her eyebrows climbed far up her forehead as she looked at him incredulously, mouth open in dumbfounded glee. “Hunter! What is that?!” She laughed, clapping a hand over it immediately after as she took it all in. 

“Listen,” he began, cut off by her release of giggles. 

“It’s… Wow…” Tears were gathering in the corners of her eyes, and she radiated sheer astonishment as she couldn’t resist reaching out a few fingers to trace the outline of the half-butterfly-half-skeleton tattoo on his ribcage. His muscles tensed at her touch, electricity coursing through his veins, and she backed off as she noticed. 

“Sorry, I just… That is… That is something.” Her face was flushed with delight as she looked back up at him fondly. “Never would have predicted that one!”

“It was a… rough phase…” he admitted with an amused look of his own. 

“Yeah, Breslin told me about your new hobby of swimming in fountains.”

“Breslin?” he asked, bewildered.

“Omega told her,” she grinned. “I guess they’ve been spending more time together.”

“Not sure how I feel about them conspiring against me like that.”

“Okay, well you can be the one to tell them not to hang out anymore, then.”

“Fair enough,” he chuckled.

.

In case you needed a reminder... 😂 Masterpiece by @clownbloody

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[theflashdriver]

Sand, Stars, and Steam

As Blaze's eyes blinked open, she was met with a wall of darkness. The light pressure across her face was very familiar; she'd experienced it countless times, albeit not in this environment. Reaching up, she pulled an open book from her face only to find that thick darkness persisted. It took a moment for her to realise just how foolish she was being.

The feline raised the shades from her eyes, blinking as her gaze adjusted to the now un-tinted dark of night. Before her spanned a beach, the tide flowing almost close enough to reach the legs of her folding lounge chair. Cool sea air was blustering in a manner that would surely be uncomfortable to any non-pyrokinetic, it was incredible how quickly the temperature could drop by the ocean's edge. As such however, it wasn't a surprise that the beach's population had dwindled... still, since she hadn't been awoken, two individuals were surely lingering.

She glanced across the shorefront and quickly sighted one of them; a youngster sat atop a pile of wet towels, facing the ocean as if to display the angular pigtails on the back of her head, only a few steps away. Quickly putting two and two together, the cat turned her attention to the water. If she was looking in that direction, then he was surely still out there.

The sky was clear, the stars and moon were doing their best to provide some sort of visibility but their light scarcely reflected against the rolling waves. A different set of lights were shining too however, bright enough to catch the feline's focus. Two cyan motes, occasionally vanishing beneath the waves... indicative of Silver's form paddling further out to sea. He was about to catch another wave, could he even see them coming?

Setting her book down, the guardian stretched as she rose to slip closer to the young raccoon. Fire danced across her fingers to light the way; revealing the sundress she'd donned after a long afternoon spent working on missives and giving presentations. For this outing, over the top of a one piece swimsuit, the guardian had opted to wear a white dress with a cut significant enough to maintain modesty while also not hampering her movements. She'd hoped the convenience of the outfit would prompt her to join her allies but, inevitably, a long workday had stretched even longer. She'd taken her work to the shore- reading through a tome on the idiocracies of maritime law.

Meanwhile, Marine had decided to introduce her hedgehog companion to surfing. The pastime truthfully wasn't common on Southern Island- with the town being built around the palace, it tended to attract a stuffier breed with less interest in the extreme sports potential offered by the ocean. Silver was always so excited to try new things...

"He's still going..." Blaze murmured as she arrived to stand beside Marine, "How late is it?"

"Oh, you're back mate! How was the catnap?" The youth grinned, as if her joke was the funniest ever told, "No idea what time it is, most folks cleared off a little bit ago. He's barely stopped for a moment though!"

The tall curl of the wave seemed to catch him; both symbols were now well above the waterline. Cyan light began to glow brighter, reflecting enough against the wall of water to light him as a glowing silhouette riding the wave. Since his efforts earlier in the afternoon, his form had certainly improved; judging by his glow's positioning, he'd learned to control his balance and centre his position to control the board. Strangely though, his efforts now paled in comparison to all he had done earlier in the day.

With psychic might at his fingertips, Silver the hedgehog had revealed himself to be something of a natural when it came to surfing. While his physical dexterity wasn't the greatest of their friends, though certainly nothing to scoff at, his power's capacity to compensate had made him a natural prodigy. He was able to control every flip and turn he made in the air, account for every wayward shift in the water, and push himself to keep up with the closing grasp of the sea with no more than a gesture and a thought. In fact, prior to now, his body positioning atop the board had been far more casual. Against the night now, he could so easily cut through the sky like a shooting star...

Blaze's brow hardened, "Why isn't he using this powers?"

"Oh, um," The raccoon pressed the tips of her forefingers together, looking away, "Well, I sorta told him that using them was cheating?" That would explain a lot, "I mean, I'm right, it is cheating! It's not like most folks can manipulate the board with their mind when they're about to wipe out!"

"It's not as if he's entering a contest, he hardly needs to take that into consideration," The cat tutted, turning her attention back to the sea, "You know how he is. Once he's got his mind set on something, he won't give up..."

"Strewth, I get that, you don't have to tell me, it's right in front of me," She harrumphed, "Every time he wipes out he just gets right back up again and rushes on out there. It's no wonder he's got this good so fast."

The glint of cyan on the horizon now reflected on the other side of rushing water. Despite not using his powers, the hedgehog had still managed to enter the green room- the barrel generated by the tumbling and rising of waves, the sliver of a cylinder present before the collapse of the water back into frothy flatness. Blaze herself wasn't particularly familiar with what was regarded as skilful in the extreme sport, but she knew the balance and positioning required for that effort was highly sought. 

If it weren't for the unique combination of the dark and his symbols, Blaze might have thought the waves had swallowed him. He looked truly otherworldly in that space; a figure shining aquamarine in the dark, a body highlighted by the reflecting of water. Being able to sight his distinctive quills, distorted by the crashing waves, made her wonder what other sights she might have missed this afternoon.

She crossed her arms, "Well, it does seem like he's-

Before the praise could leave the princess' lips, the glow of her psychic companion vanished as the wave's barrel collapsed. Through the dark she watched as foamy waters rushed toward the shore, his colour had fully disappeared beneath the waves. Amber eyes began to scour, only to fall upon the arrival of the crude looking surfboard Marine had crafted him that very day... closely follower by flashes of cyan breaching the water. Was he not even using his powers to get back to shore?

He arrived at her feet, looking not unlike a crumpled ball of soggy paper. He was hacking, panting... and laughing. He flopped onto his back, eyes shut and grinning with his quills cascaded over his face. She could feel her lips quirking into a smile at his antics just as his eyes cracked open and locked with hers. Almost immediately he scrambled to rise to his feet.

"Oh, hey," His quills were directly over his eyes now, "D-Did you finish your book?"

"It grew tiresome," She parried his question, reaching out to clear his vision only to come to a sudden realisation, "Silver, you're freezing."

"I, um," He spat up some saltwater, "I'm a little cold, but that's what it takes to learn-

The chattering of his teeth betrayed his words as he gripped his elbows. Without a wetsuit, he had been fully exposed to the elements for much too long. Just how many times had he crashed into the shore only to rise again and rush out toward the water? Perhaps doing that was the only thing keeping his core temperature from truly plummeting- adrenaline was an incredible distractor.

"You have as much time as you want to learn, you didn't have to go this far in a single night," She grumbled, throwing an arm around his shoulder and pulling him in closer, "You're not fighting for the world here, you don't have to go all out over something like this."

As if on reflex, he pressed his frigid form against her, "I was just having fun..." 

"Yeah mate, it was just a laugh," The raccoon piped up without hesitation, "Besides, I saw you staring out at him. I think you liked what you were seeing."

"Marine," She scowled down at the kid, "Run off to your hut and get some more towels."

"O-On it!" She yelped, turning to hurry and leaving behind the soggy pile she'd been sat upon.

She was only a few steps off by the time Silver piped up, "Couldn't you just have dried out her towels?" She caught the confusion in his eye, "A-And isn't yours still dry?" 

The youngster's hut was one of the few light sources around, raised on stilts near the edge of the beach. It would take her a while to get there, longer still to find towels in the hoard of half made toys and machines that was her abode. Still, she wasn't at risk of getting lost and, to be honest, she should have long been in bed already. Ideally she'd give up and jump in her hammock...

"Perhaps I wanted to make up for some lost time," She slipped her grasp from his shoulder to his side, "I'm sorry about today, work bled too far out of hours. I would have liked to join you out there..."

"I'm sure you... y-you..." A sneeze rocked the hedgehog's whole form, his next words came in a nasally tone, "You would have done great.." He slumped his head back, taking a deep breath, "The stars are really pretty tonight..."

She couldn't help but glance up with him. As ever, he was a catalyst for nature's beauty. A million glinting gems hung above them, brightening the dark sky so far as to tint it darkest indigo and even purple in places. The sky truly was breathtaking by the waterfront. It was almost enough to distract her from the icy salt water, both lapping at her heels and dripping from him.

A foolish thought entered the feline's mind, one she had first conjured many months prior. Since he had first visited her world, the two had admittedly danced around the precise nature of their relationship. Platonic, romantic, something in between? Her lips had found his on a handful of occasions; but then, kisses had always seemed a juvenile step compared to all they'd been through together.

She had to work in the morning, the hour was surely late... but the cat supposed she had already slept. The beach was vacant, not a soul in sight. It wasn't as if what she had in mind was all that uncouth... even if it was more than she would usually dare to do in public. It certainly felt like something the nation's princess shouldn't be sighted doing in public...

"Use your powers to dig a pool and fill it with water," She instructed him, tugging the hedgehog away from the sea and not letting herself think her way out of her scheme, "Not too close to the sea."

"Okay?" He was still shivering, "If you want to paddle, we can just do that in the shallows though..."

"No, you're not going back in the freezing cold," Blaze informed the hedgehog, "The pool doesn't have to be especially deep, we're not going to be swimming in it."

His hand was shaking as he held it out, manifesting his will. Psychic light spread across a patch on the ground, creating a roughly circular shape. He brought his hand down and the earth shifted; pressing in and mounting on the edges. 

"Is that big enough?" He asked, starting to steady, "It's only a bit over half a metre deep but-

"That should be more than enough," It was more than big enough for the two of them, "Add the water."

He turned to the waves, reaching out his other hand and curling his fingers. A tube of psychic energy stretched from the ocean, bringing the icy water with it. In a matter of moments Blaze could see the water's surface at the pool's lip, that barrier having been slightly raised by his pushing method of creating the pit. 

"Alright, thank you," She halted him.

"What is it we're actually doing?" He asked as she left his side.

The feline hesitated between her partner and the water. Her fingers hitched against the fabric of her dress. Was she sure about this?

She decided not to answer him, "Turn around. I'll call you when I'm ready."

Blaze heard him shift but didn't turn to confirm the action. Instead, in a single quick and fluid motion, she pulled hersundress over her shoulders and from her frame. She bundled the garb, folding it, but couldn't help holding it in crossed arms against her navel. The cat wasn't comfortable going without long sleeves, let alone fully exposing her dark singlet of a swimsuit. She could still put the dress back on and simply sit by the waterside, there was-

His voice interrupted her thoughts, "Is everything going al-

"Don't turn around!" She hissed, throwing down the dress, "I'm still... busy!"

There was no time to debate with herself; she wouldn't think herself out of this! Blaze lowered herself into the pool, not so much as flinching in the frigid saltwater's grasp. She crouched low in the water, extending her hands at her side and shutting her eyes. The feline felt heat roll from her exposed shoulders, almost balling as it spread down her fingers. When she reopened her eyes motes of flame were spreading from the tips of her digits; orange and yellow lights were dancing across the sandy basin of the pool. She willed her power to create a rim around the hollow's edges, burning despite being underwater. It took no more than another thought to begin raising the temperature. Steam quickly began to rise...

She turned to the hedgehog, stood shivering in the dark, his back to her. For just a moment longer the guardian stared at him, this was one last chance to avoid the embarrassment, to just look a little foolish rather than a complete fool. There was- 

"Silver," She'd been too quiet, "Silver, it's ready!"

The psychic turned, stumbling at her shout. He rushed over to the water's edge; it'd already heated from icy cold to warm due to her underwater flames. Steam was starting to fog into the air, she could already see his hanging quills starting to frizz. Yes, she had been right to do this... but did he have to stare at her, rather than the water?

"You made a hot spring?" He recognised aloud. "It's more like a hot tub..." Blaze corrected, "I've had this idea for a while."

"It's incredible!" He was already sat down, pulling his feet from his drenched boots. "It might be a little too hot for you," She warned, trying to quickly will her underwater flames smaller, "If you're still freezing it-

He plummeted in the moment his shoes were off, not so much as testing the water. Before panic could fan her flames hotter, the hedgehog had lowered his face into the tub. The wave from him whipping his head back, quills partially soaked, rewetted sections of her fur that had been dried by her own torrid output. Despite that, the sight of him, only sinking deeper into the water, granted her the relaxation the hedgehog was plainly succumbing to.

"Keep away from the edge," The cat commanded, "Those are flames under the water."

"I will," He'd lowered himself so thoroughly that only his muzzle, a few damp quills, and his eyes were exposed, "Thank you..."

Warmth had already flushed his cheeks; his blush was obvious even in the lowlight and through the stream. To see him at peace was wonderful in itself, but knowing she had caused his comfort made her pulse pound. Blaze couldn't help but sink lower at the feeling of his gaze upon her, attempting to submerge as best as she could. Eventually, she ended up sat on the bottom; her knees to her chest and arms wrapped around them. 

His gaze broke from her before hers did from him, drifting to the sky above them. She followed that act; only to find the view above them was even more amazing than before. Starlight refracted off of the steam, creating clouds the glimmered like diamond dust in the sky. The shining colours of each star seemed so much more bold...

"I'm sorry if I overdid it today, Marine really riled me up," He professed, a glance proved he was still looking to the stars.

"As long as you enjoyed yourself, there's nothing to worry about," She responded, following his gaze, "I'm sorry I was so tired, things have been really busy lately..."

Of course the moment she looked away was when he drew closer, the lapping of waves over her shoulders made that obvious if his following touch hadn't. His shoulder touched hers, he had drawn so close. She justified that he still felt a little cold, trying to ignore the fluttering in her chest.

"We'll make this work, somehow," He insisted, "There'll come a time when you're not exhausted and I'm not hurting, I just know it…" "For now, let's just enjoy what we have," Just as he did so often, the cat used her own words to bolster herself.

Blaze released her huddling and let her legs fold, feeling her knee brush against his. Before the panic from that touch could overwhelm her, the princess snuck an arm behind her companion and around his waist. She felt him react but didn't dare look, lest their eyes collided again. Fresh panic did flare however as his cheek found her shoulder.

He was so much more comfortable in his skin than she was, so quick to touch and hold. If she wasn't comfortable being on an empty beach in a swimsuit, how could he so casually stride around as he did? Why was she, the on raised in this world, so socially stunted?

Her own words about enjoying what they had replayed in her mind. She scanned their surroundings one last time. They were the only ones out here...

"Turn around," The cat commanded him, before her mind could betray her.

"Again?" Despite his questioning, he did as she said, "What are you going to do-

As her hands found his back his voice quieted. She didn't have the fortitude to start gentle; the cat pressed into the hedgehog's shoulders. The reality was that the cat didn't know anything about massage, she barely knew how to relax, but she had to do something with their time. If she couldn't stand him looking at her then he'd just have to share affection from behind.

She traced his shoulder blades, plying through wet fluff to reach the muscle beneath. The steam thickened enough to be blinding, with her own embarrassment came increased heat to the point she was worried for her companion... which only prompted the water to grow hotter. It took a while, a lot of shoulder rubbing and random pushing, to get into some sort of consistent pattern. Blaze began to feel his body's history, the grisly scars that carved to create large partings in his fur and gave obvious sites for her to sooth warmth into.

Growing more confident, she dared to lean closer to glance over his shoulder. His face was a dark shade of red; the hedgehog had gone from shaking like a wind-battered flag to slumping like one free from the breeze. His shoulders were slack, his quills were now flopped backwards rather than forwards, and his eyes were so blissfully closed. As he should have been whenever he visited her dimension, Silver was plainly at peace.

"Comfortable?" She asked, despite that understanding.

The only response she received was an affirmative hum, he was positively melting into the water... and, as a result, putting more of his weight against her. She felt her grasp push deeper, slipping beneath the water to rub his lower back. Feeling around his spine, steam clouds still somewhat limiting her gaze, the cat worked her way around his spines. Just as he was leaning into her, Blaze finally dared to lean forward herself. Chest to back, she brought her arms around him.

"Now you're warm," The cat murmured.

"Thank you," He hummed in response, but she felt him shift from her hold, "It's your turn now, right?"

The cat blinked, "What?"

Surrounded by steam, the psychic was stood tall before her. His wet fur was sagging and yet it was almost as if he was blurring into the mist. Even through the clouds though, she could see the shine of his yellow eyes. He really wanted to do this. Blaze felt her arms instinctively cross in front of her lithe frame.

"It's only right that I return the favour, right?" He asked, "Unless you don't want-

"No, it's fine!" She struggled for a way to make this more comfortable, "Just..." Realisation struck and she shifted, "Keep your hands above the water, please."

The cat raised herself as she turned away from him, putting more of her back above the waterline. Now the warm waves lapped around the middle of her ribs- she couldn't find the will to rise any further. Almost immediately, she felt him shift to match. Then his legs were on both sides of her thighs, was he going to start that close?! 

His hands grasped her shoulders, landing atop the straps of her swimsuit. She felt her tail shoot straight as her temperature spiked. If she burned up for much longer, there wouldn't be any water left to hide beneath!

"You feel so tense," He sounded surprised.

She dryly swallowed the want to snap at him, "It's been a long day..."

The psychic's touch was strong, his fingertips bore into her wet fur without hesitation. Without the thickness of her long coat to act as a barrier, she could feel the rough callouses that littered his hands. The hedgehog had always been heavy-handed when it came to affection, hugging and grasping with a bluntness she could rarely muster. He was clearly as confused for what to do as she had been, prodding and plying as he worked above the waterline, but the feeling of him so close was helping to put her at ease.

Was this what he had felt when she had been pawing at his back?! Blaze felt her temperature surge again, steam began to billow around. How could she have been so oblivious, his want to return the favour must-

"If all we can have are nights like this, with you being tired after I've done something stupid," She overheard him ruminate over the water's splashing, "I think I'd be okay with that."

In the wake of those words, calm did reclaim the cat- accompanied by a feeling of foolishness. None of this was some attempt to be smooth or romantic, just Silver being Silver. Regardless, she had started this, he had asked for permission. The cat had control of the narrative... what did she want to do with it? How comfortable was she, in body and mind? How far was she willing to push this evening? The night was still young, they were all alone out here. If there was ever an opportunity to push things further, to make up for what time they'd lost between his surfing and her sleeping, this was it... 

She allowed herself to slip just a little higher above the water, feeling the surface against her lower back. The hedgehog seemed to pause for a moment, his grasp still at her nape. He gently lowered his hands, as if taking her movement as a hint to her want. Thumbs rubbed at either side of her spine, fingers wrapped around the small of her back.

Another foolish thought entered Blaze's mind, one that had bubbled to the surface far more often than the creation of a hot tub. She felt her toes curl and teeth clench, they were endlessly busy and exhausted. Beneath a sky like this, positioned as they were, when would an opportunity like this arise again?

Blaze found the strength of will to push through his touch and turn to the hedgehog, "You didn't do anything stupid, just naive," She rose from the water further, standing taller than him now, "Do you want to do something truly stupid?"

"Like what?" He blinked up at her.

"I have another idea," She gently took hold of his chin, "But you don't need to turn around this-

A giggling whoop stole Blaze's attention, followed much too quickly by a cacophonous splash. A wave, far larger than it felt like the small pool should be able to muster, splashed over the cat's head. She knew the originator of the intrusion, and for that very reason stumbled back from her psychic's partner.

"Mates, you made a hot tub without me?" A familiar raccoon bleated, now paddling in the water, "That's so rude!"

"Marine," The cat grumbled, "What happened to the towels?" "Oh," The towels she'd gathered were now floating on the surface of the water, she'd jumped in with them, "Well it serves you two right for having fun without me!"

Lest the flames grow wilder, with a clench of her fist, Blaze snuffed the underwater heaters she had manifested. Her other hand found her forehead as she felt her brows knit together. She had built up so much willpower, taking steps not just to use her power in a unique way but shedding her sundress and drawing so close to him. All that only to be forced back to square one by-

"Blaze," Silver had returned to her side, leaning in close, "What was your idea?"

She turned from him back to the raccoon child, plainly enjoying herself in the water more blatantly than she'd managed. The moment had past, but he was still here. It was late, the mood was ruined, and they were both soaking wet... but he was still here. "It can wait," She sighed, lowering herself back into the water, "Let's just enjoy what we have now."

Other opportunities would surely arise. Hopefully, next time, she'd be headstrong enough to claim what she wanted before Marine could interrupt...

[neontiger]

strawberry sunsets

☆ MDNI 18+

☆ Donna Troy x fem!reader

☆ Sand, salt air, and kisses under the sun with your girl. A romantic vacation and a hotel on the beach, and some much needed time alone.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Waves crash gently, slowly receding as the sun peaks in a cloudless sky. On the horizon, a cargo ship lazes past like a mechanical whale, and for a brief moment, it catches your attention. Then the stars align, and your gaze lands again where it belongs: Donna Troy’s back, sun beating down and accenting fine lines of strength and curves. Her black hair sits atop her head in a messy pile as she rubs sunscreen into the back of her neck.

And you watch from the patio of your shared hotel room. Your own neck aches with a sweet reminder of that morning’s meal: Donna’s thighs around your head, your face buried against her cunt, the only breaths taken ones that were truly necessary.

You watch her turn to lay on her stomach on an extra-large beach towel spread across the sand. Her shoes sit on two of the corners, keeping it from flying away, but the air is too calm, too perfect. As if the universe knows she needs this vacation. Fuck, it probably does know.

Giving up with being a voyeur, you slip on your sandals to join her.

➽──────────────❥

For a moment, the sun is blotted out as you stand over Donna. She picks her head up and squints at you behind rose-colored sunglasses that take up half her face. “Finally,” she says.

You toss down your towel, connect it to hers. “Hey, I needed a nap. Somebody wouldn’t let me sleep in.”

She sits up. “Keep going. No, really, keep it up and I’ll have an excuse to get the cuffs.”

“No arguments.”

She flips open the tube of sunscreen and you move wordlessly to give her your back. The cream is cold, causing you to jolt when it touches your skin, but her hands are warm and firm as they work it in. The sigh from your lips isn’t wholly appropriate, but there’s nobody close enough to hear. Her fingers slip under the strap of your bikini for a moment before dipping lower to your hips.

“Turn around,” she instructs, and you obey, giving her your chest. She holds out the tube of sunscreen for you to take. “Did you really think that?”

You pout, but take the tube and finish applying it yourself as she lays back down.

➽──────────────❥

You can't remember falling asleep until you're being shaken awake under a deepening sky, Donna laughing above you.

“Get up.” She smacks your ass playfully as you bury your head in your arms. “The tide's coming in. We need to move.”

You're reluctant despite the waves licking the edge of your towel, having been ripped from a delicious dream, and it's a struggle to help her collect everything. Towel thrown over your shoulder, you follow her up the steps back to the hotel pool area to rinse your feet free of sand before making your way inside.

The air conditioning is a shock to your system. Goosebumps run up your arms as you shiver in the elevator, and you seek out the hottest thing available, burying your face against Donna's neck as she wraps you in a hug. You're both still sticky with sunscreen and sweat, the smell of both sweet on her skin. It's too much to handle for your sleep-addled brain. Your beach dream sits at the back of your mind and between your thighs; she can't blame you for the kiss placed against her neck, just under her ear.

You brush your hands over her hips, curl your fingers around the waist of her bikini bottoms. She stretches her neck and you obey with another kiss, this one to her throat, sucking gently to leave behind your mark. You can feel her hum of pleasure vibrate on your lips.

“Cameras,” she whispers. You don't care much, but you keep your kisses reserved as the elevator makes the climb up to the eighth floor.

The walk to your room is difficult, your legs jelly and heart burning in your core. Getting the door open is an exercise in self-control.

The levee breaks.

Your back crashes against the soft mattress, blankets still a mess from this morning. Donna's lips meet yours before you find the time to take a breath, but that's fine, that's perfect; instead of oxygen you breathe her in as her body envelops yours. Fingers tangle in hair, slick from the salt air; her teeth graze your bottom lip, bite gently, tug. You chase after when her mouth leaves yours, cupping the back of her head to bring her back. Busy hands shove up the front of your bikini and squeeze roughly, not giving you time to readjust, to control the whimper from your throat.

Donna grins against your lips. This is where you belong, underneath her with all your little noises.

Donna's warm hand leaves your breast, exposing pert nipples to freezing air. You try to sit up to follow her again but she pushes you down by your shoulders and flattens you against the bed before grabbing you by the thighs and pulling you down to meet her better.

You open your mouth to speak but a weak moan comes out, nothing tangible, as she sinks her teeth into your neck. Hard enough to arch your back but not to break skin. She's perfect at walking that line, and all you can do is dissolve under her pressure.

Fingers tug the knots on your bikini, make quick work, and toss the fabric aside. She doesn't bother with her own before diving in again to pepper now exposed skin with kisses. You try to follow her path but don't dare lift your head for a better look, and when her lips wrap your nipple and her gaze flashes up, you've already given in.

Down, down…hot, wet lips taste the salt and sea that clings to your skin. Instinct and deep-rooted need has your thighs opening for her, but she stops at your hip bone and straightens up. Your breath catches in your throat watching as she raises her hands to the back of her neck to untie her bikini top.

As soon as the fabric slips away, you're up, burying against her breasts for your turn. Donna tugs your hair to pull you off. “Did I say you could do that?”

Caught in her grip, you shake your head.

“Lay down.”

Submit. It aches to watch her get off the bed and leave you behind, to open her suitcase on the floor. A moment feels like a millenia before she's at your side again, slipping off her bikini bottoms and letting them fall to the floor. You lick your lips, ready for whatever she's planning, eyes jumping between her and the bottle of lube in her hand.

She flicks the top open as she climbs on the bed again, returning to the space between your thighs. Your entire body is on fire. Either a fever or a sunburn, all her fault, doing this to you. A mess.

“Keep your hands on the pillow,” she says, dripping cold lube on your burning skin. “Move them again and I'll have to tie you down.”

“Not fair,” you mumble, but there's no true argument.

Her fingers slip in the lube, caressing the skin around your aching slit. Touching everywhere but the spot that might bring your release. They slick along your lower lips, dip between for the barest of moments, before slipping upwards again.

“Donna.” You're whining. You hold tight to the pillow case and lift your hips, chasing her touch as it leaves you again.

This time you have to watch as her fingers caress her own skin, where they're not nearly as teasing. Unashamed, Donna slicks lube-covered fingers over her clit and sinks them into her heat. A moan shudders past her lips and it pains you to know you're not the cause of it.

She tosses the lube aside and fixes one of your legs over hers, taking a seat on the other so the two of you are a tangle of limbs. Her slit kisses yours at the same time your mouths meet again. A jolt of electricity shoots up from your core, twisting you into desperate knots that only she knows how to fix.

Slow. Donna's finger grip your elevated thigh as she sets a laborious pace. You can't fight the jerk of your own hips to meet her movements, your core pulsing with the friction, wet with the combined slick of your juices. Heat rises off your skin in waves.

She drags her tongue up your neck. Her movements quicken to match her desperation. No words drip from either of your lips, only heavy panting, tongues tangling, tasting, and the lewd squelch of your bodies meeting. She buries against your neck as she keens, bending your leg down further until your knee hits your ribcage. She can break you in half for all you care.

Forgetting the demand she made earlier, you lift a hand from the pillow and squeeze between your bodies. Donna gasps as your fingers find their destination with ease, immediately applying enough pressure to her clit to throw her off the edge.

“You – ahh…” She cries out against your neck, body tensing and stilling as you work her down, rubbing quick, small circles. At the last second you slip two fingers inside her pussy and thrust. Once is all it takes.

Donna moans, eyes crushed shut and fingers digging into your thigh, as her release drips down your hand. With your thumb you stroke softly at her clit, working her through the aftershock of her orgasm.

Her body deflates atop yours. You pull your hand free to wrench her fingers off your thigh, where they've left behind little pink marks. They'll be bruises in the morning.

“I told you not to pick your hands up,” she says softly.

You gasp. “Oh no. Am I in trouble?”

Donna pushes up on one elbow, elevating her body just above yours. Her hair brushes your cheek. “I'll be nice, since you were so good. But I'm not giving you a third chance.”

She kisses your cheek before making her way down your body. It's not long before your back arches off the bed and your entire body quakes in pleasure under her touch.

[linkito]

HI LINK. here's a kiss prompt: scarian #19 - for luck <3

Scar stares with growing unease as Grian continues piling sand atop TNT in an alternating pattern, readying the entire desert to blow. It’s something they both agreed upon, sure, but Scar cannot help but have second thoughts as he watches his green-life partner set the rest of their home up for destruction. 

The castle itself, of course, is already trapped— their own base reduced to nothing more than a weapon, no longer livable. All they have is a bed and a few chests crammed into a bunker laced with obsidian and surrounded by the sound of popping lava.

It all changed so fast.

Scar was starting to really enjoy their life here in the desert. And maybe it was foolish to grow attached to something that was always destined to fall apart, but...

He sighs, eyeing the sweat dripping down Grian’s brow as he finishes covering up the last few holes in the sand. He looks determined, as always, while he carries out the final few steps of his design— his grand plan to take Dogwarts down at any cost (aside from Scar’s own life).

Scar wishes he could feel moved by that fact, but all he can think about is what will happen when Grian turns yellow.

Not if, when. 

Because Grian speaks of it with certainty. He told Scar to pull the doomsday lever even if he’s inside the blast range. His final debt paid at the cost of his own life.

And then Scar really will have lost everything. The desert, the base— neither of those things are truly home in the way Grian is to him. Every build within this death game was always meant to be temporary, after all, but it’s those nights spent curled up together for warmth that Scar wanted to hold onto. To be worth something. To be permanent. 

Those wordless mornings where they wake up in a tangle of limbs, neither of them willing to bring attention to it. Both of them swallowing down whatever feelings their sleep-dazed brains may have concocted, whatever weaknesses they may have displayed. 

Soon that dance will be over. No conclusion, no fanfare, no closure.

He spent too long convincing himself there would always be a tomorrow, another chance to admit how he feels.

“Scar,” Grian says, somewhat exasperated but with that familiar, fond roll of his eyes. Judging by the tone, it’s not the first time he called Scar’s name. He was just too lost in his own head to notice.

Scar snaps to attention with a theatrical grin and a salute, which makes Grian scoff, but it’s far too close to a laugh. He doesn’t even bother hiding his own smile. 

“I asked if you were ready,” Grian says, eyes flicking over toward the horizon as the sun begins to set, scanning for any sign of their enemies. When he looks back, his green eyes are weary, but bright, looking right at Scar with a complicated mix of worry and steady resolve. 

Scar pauses. “Almost,” he says, taking in the sight of those very eyes widening in surprise as he takes hold of Grian’s arm— warm and coated with sticky grains of sand where his sleeve is bunched up—and pulls him in close. 

For a moment, Scar waits, faces close and bodies closer, giving Grian more than enough time to pull away if he so chooses. 

But he doesn’t. His eyes remain fixed on Scar, stunned, but no longer so afraid— a firmness in his gaze that wasn’t there before.

Scar leans in and finds Grian meeting him halfway, lips pressed together in what is ultimately a very brief, yet dazzlingly suffocating kiss that leaves them almost staggering backward to regain the breath that was so instantly stolen from them both.

Neither of them say anything as the sun fades behind the mountains, and for a moment Scar wonders if this will just be another thing neither of them choose to speak about, but it’s Grian that breaks first, letting out a still-breathless chuckle as he tears his eyes away from Scar, glancing down at the sand beneath them as his cheeks glow a rosy red.

Scar can’t help but grin.

“For luck,” Scar says, holding out his hand for Grian to take as he motions toward their bunker.

Grian snickers in response, taking the offering and following Scar inside. He gives Scar’s hand a squeeze, but keeps his face ducked down, smiling softly at the sand beneath their feet. 

“Right. ...for luck.”

[ctrldoll]

You’ll Do Great.

Husband!Nanami Kento/Wife!Reader, Reader's pregnant, a bit suggestive. Fluff & Angst.

It's sobbing season!!! ｡⁠:ﾟ⁠(⁠;⁠´⁠∩⁠`⁠;⁠)ﾟ⁠:⁠｡

“Finally. I have you all to myself.” Nanami murmured in [Y/N]'s ear as he carried her bridal style into the master bedroom of the villa he rented out just for their honeymoon.

“Yes, you do. I'm all yours.” [Y/N] teased him, once brought down, then gasped in delight when Nanami peppered their neck with soft kisses as his hands moved downwards to clutch onto her waist covered by her wedding gown.

The gemstone on her wedding ring gleamed brightly as her hands rested on his shoulders. Their lips intertwined in absolute need as his hand moved upwards to unzip her gown. They fell onto the bed and Nanami straightened himself and took a sharp breath as he beheld the sight before him.

[Y/N], sprawled out on his bed, her wedding gown spread on the white, rose-covered, blanket, her straps laid on the sides of her shoulders which exposed the curve of her breasts and most of all, the gaze of absolute admiration on her face as she smiled at him.

“You're so handsome, Nanami. I can't believe you're mine.” [Y/N] admired as her ring hand reached upwards and caressed his face as tears formed in her eyes. “I'm so happy right now, my love”.

“I love you so much, [Y/N]. You don't know how happy you've made me by allowing me to marry you. Thank you.” Nanami thanked and a stray tear from his eye was wiped by [Y/N] as hers dripped below her.

Their lips met once more and heat filled the room as desire overcame them.

“Thank you, my love. Thank you so much.” Nanami uttered thanks as he kissed [Y/N] all, tears pouring out of his eyes in joy as he caressed [Y/N]'s tummy, excitement brewing in his heart at the thought of the child that was forming in her at the current moment.

[Y/N] cried happily, her head on his chest as she placed her hand atop his, happy that he would cherish their child as much as she would.

“What about your duties as a jujutsu sorcerer, Nanami? What will happen if we find out I'm pregnant?” [Y/N] whispered in his ear, worried as she looked at the floor in the hospital room as the doctor awaited the results in the lab.

“It'll be alright, my love. I'll handle it. I always do, hun.” Nanami assured then kissed her palm. “I'll be the greatest dad to our child if the results come back positive. I promise you.”

“You better be”. [Y/N] joked and grinned as Nanami bent down to kiss them.”

“I will be. Just like their amazing mother who will be the greatest mum in the world.”

[Y/N] closed her eyes and took in the atmosphere of Kuantan's beach as water washed over her feet as she stood at the shore. Looking to the side, she could swear that she saw a silhouette with short blond hair flowing in the wind at the distance in the sea but it was just a figment of her imagination. Figment.

Her eyes held the gaze of mourning as she held her stomach, now large with kins.

“Gosh, 'Nami would have loved to hold them in his arms.”

“I wish I could have gotten more moments to cherish you, my love”. The voice recording continued. [Y/N] heard the pain in his voice as he tried to hold a groan. He paused for a moment to hold another one then continued.

“You were right, as always. I should have tried to read the pile of books I previously bought but never bothered to before buying another one. Maybe you'll read them for me.”

“We should have gone on that trip to Malaysia. We could have searched for a home right next to the beach and laid down on the wet sand as we thought about how our children would grow up there”.

“You looked so beautiful in your wedding dress. Thank you so much for letting me marry you. It was the happiest day of my life. The birth of our children would have been too.”

“I'm sorry that I can't be there for you and our children. I was so happy when I saw them on the ultrasound, they were so precious. I wish I was able to watch them throughout all the moments of their lives. I wish I could hold my two girls and my boy. Please cherish them for me.”

“You'll be a great mother to them. You'll do great.”

“[Y/N], I love you so much. I love you and our children so, so much”.

“Stay strong for me, for our children, [Y/N]. I love you”.

Nanami sent the message, hoping the signal would come back before his phone eventually got ruined and placed it somewhere he doubted it would be broken quickly.

With every step he took, awareness of the life he was about to leave dawned on him.

He could only hope that [Y/N] and his children would forgive him.

“[Y/N]'s a strong woman. She’ll be alright.”

[Y/N] sobbed and awkwardly sat on the wet sand. “N-Nana-mi!” Her voice broke as she bawled for her late husband.

“H-ow will I do a-ll of this wit-hout you?!”

Nanami made sure that everything would go to her before his passing on and left a note, informing her of the file on his laptop that had his suggestions for what was to be their home.

Due to the situation in Shibuya, [Y/N] left for Malaysia and headed for the home she picked. She picked what seemed to be Nanami's favourite out of the list.

Further into the PDF, [Y/N] found a number for a nanny if she ever needed one. Yasmine Otokpul.

“Mrs. Kento, are you alright?!” Yasmine yelled as she rushed to [Y/N] and knelt beside her. She rubbed up and down [Y/N]'s back whilst she checked for any signs of bleeding or injury and sighed in relief when she found none. “I miss him, Yasmine! I really miss him!” [Y/N] sobbed and set her head on Yasmin's chest.

“It will be alright, [Y/N]. Nanami would have wanted you to be strong for him. He loved you so much. If he were here, he'd be so proud of you for how well you're handling yourself for your family. You have to remain calm, you're getting closer to the birth.”

“T-Thank yo-u, Yas-mine.”

They remained quiet, save for [Y/N]'s sobs and sniffles as they watched the sunset intertwine with the sea then headed home. [Y/N], once more, could swear that she saw her late husband, wearing his classic blue shirt and white khaki pants in the waves, smiling at her as droplets of water sprinkled around him. She blinked and he was gone.

[Y/N] looked away and continued to move as she caressed her stomach.

“Your father would have loved you guys so much. I'm going to make sure I raise every single one of you well.”

This is how I imagine them if they were fortunate enough to age together. Lmao! ｡⁠:ﾟ⁠(⁠;⁠´⁠∩⁠`⁠;⁠)ﾟ⁠:⁠｡

[blathannabeaga]

.☽༊˚ january writing; thursday

bobby x reader

feat. qrf!reader, ambiguous setting, established relationship, non-sexual nudity

Even inside the blissfully cool, air-conditioned barracks with all your borrowed tactical gear in a pile on the bathroom floor, you feel no closer to the respite you seek then you did all tac’d up on the blisteringly hot tarmac beyond these pale-tiled walls.

Under the pitiful water pressure, the streaks of mud and grass stains dilute to paint your skin in hues of brick-red and lime-green. Tainted water swirls down the drain in crooked spirals and is soon followed by soapsuds as you begin the tedious process of scrubbing yourself clean, so focused in your efforts that you almost miss the heavy bathroom door opening and Bobby’s handsome face appearing in the jamb.

She disappears behind a row of lockers, and reappears a few seconds later when you’re resigning yourself to a lifetime with one vaguely green elbow. Her laugh echoes off the pressing walls and your glare is met with only a wink as she leans around the hot spray of the showerhead to kiss you.

Drawing away, she twists the squeaky dial to start the showerhead next to yours. Blonde hairs grow dark as the water streams over her, filtering down the valleys and plains of her sunkissed body in a way you have a hard time pulling your eyes away from. A grin takes hold on her face, telling you your admiration doesn’t go unnoticed as she threads her hands through her hair to rid herself of the thatches of mud that’ve snuck under her helmet. “Gotta say, it beats sand.”

“Yeah, m’feeling really spoiled right now.” You mutter, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn smear of reddish mud over your hip. A chuckle rumbles low in her chest as she rolls her shoulders, letting the hot water relax her muscles as it streams down over her.

“Never say I don’t take you anywhere.” Bobby tells you, tapping on your hip pointedly. You swat at her with a handful of body wash, catching her across the cheek as she tries to dodge your hand. After a beat, she stalls her movements to sluice the soapsuds off her face as she watches you flounder trying to wash your back. “Oh- God, just come here.”

Strong hands take hold of your waist, spinning you around atop the slippery tiles. Your noises of surprise fall on deaf ears as she holds you under the hot spray and, with sure but tender hands, patiently soaps clean your marred skin.

As she steadily moves down to the curve of your hip you can’t help but poke at her, humor belying your tone. “This is hardly turning you on.”

“Yeah, I’ve always wanted to fuck Thing from Fantastic Four in a second-rate NATO base on a Thursday morning.” Through a snort of derisive laughter, a softness tinges her words. Moving her hands back up to your neck, she massages the muscles gently as she steps close enough for you to feel the heat of her body against yours. “No, you wriggling around like that is just making me sad.”

The tips of your ears grow warm, but you say nothing. Bobby pulls you around to face her, moving methodically down your body with a practised ease and you have to bite back a comment about your own capabilities, but if it means getting to spend another second with her hands so caringly on your skin then you suppose you can take it.

[whalesforhands]

summer days and the heat haze pt.2 (satosugu x reader) pt.i pt.3

warnings: fluff, no spice lol, happy days happy lives, this is a culmination of all the sad things that have happened to me, and i write fluff to express sadness; i wish i was happy too

You stare at the two packages in your hand. What should you get for tonight’s group barbecue dinner?

Kalbi? You lift said package up to inspect it. Everyone likes that. And the marination process… Perhaps Suguru can help?

You ponder, holding up the other package in your hand. Do they like harami? You do. It’s so soft and tender.

Realization hits. What if they don’t feel like eating beef? Your eyes flicker past the red meat.

Perhaps pork is a safer choice. Pork belly? Tontoro?

You think again. Should you just get chicken after-all? You can’t go wrong with chicken. But… You’re at Satoru’s beach home. Do they want seafood instead?

Choices, choices. Your eyes are starting to go dizzy with conflict and a lack of decisiveness.

“Let’s get everything. Satoru’s paying.”

Shoko. Her arms wrap around one of yours in a side hug, her chin coming to rest on your shoulder as she stares at your face.

You feel her hands start to wander to your own, fingers slowly dancing with yours before she tangles them together.

She’s holding your hand.

You like the feeling of her hand in yours. The way her fingers intertwined with yours despite your loose hold, the way her soft palm felt so smooth against your lightly calloused ones. It invokes light, happy warmth from within your chest.

You’re happy. And the way you start to hold her hand back shows that.

——

“Can we not get bell peppers? I don’t wanna eat them…” Satoru whined, his tall frame draped over yours as he held you from behind, chin resting atop your head as his arms looped around your waist.

Suguru ignores him, inspecting a green bell pepper in his hand as he shows it to you, your basket now within his shopping cart. “We have garlic, mushrooms and onions. Is there anything else we need?”

Your hand struggles as you try to reach around Satoru to get to your notebook held within Gojo’s hand, before he begrudgingly shows it to you, arm over your shoulder as he holds the small notebook that his obnoxiously big hand dwarfs in terms of size.

You stare at the list.

Meat? Check.

Seafood? Check.

Sweets for Satoru everyone? Check.

Alcohol?

(Shoko had added that last one. Penning it down on your list before she had parted to go ‘help you track them down!’)

“I think…” You breathe out, reading through the list once more. “That’s everything.”

Suguru bags up the bell peppers in plastic, weighing them and adding the sticker before gently placing them into the cart.

You continue to walk down the aisle, past the produce, past the deli section, past the pastries. All whilst trying to not stumble as you drag a tall, bulky white-haired man along.

(Thank goodness he’s getting distracted by the pastries.)

You glance up at the aisle. Eyes catching a package of ice syrup where it sat at the very top, the last of its kind.

Ice syrup… Shaved ice? Your eyes carefully read the colourful packaging. Would they all enjoy shaved ice with you? It’s a treat to enjoy in the summer after all. Would they even want to eat such a snack?

“There’s an ice shaver in the kitchen.”

Suguru has been watching you. His eyes meet yours when you smile at him, before flitting back to the syrup.

Then… You should get it right?

You feel him place his hand on your head.

“Yes, we should.” Did you say that out loud?

He’s moving forward before you can think about it, tall frame easily reaching up and obtaining the final packet.

“We can eat some together later.”

——

“Let’s bury him.” Suguru’s eyes glint behind his sunglasses.

Shoko doesn’t hesitate, her tiny plastic shovel glittering in the sunlight as she began to pile on sand onto an unsuspecting, sleeping Satoru, his head nestled comfortably on your lap as he snoozes away under the parasol with you.

“I think ‘m gonna sleep.”

You’re surprised. It isn’t often that he says that.

“Do you want to go back to the house? I can-“

He settles down in front of you, flopping onto his back as his head lands right on your wonderfully empty, soft looking lap.

“Right here should be fine!”

Your hand trails up, threading through his snowy locks, slightly damp from the ocean water. It’s soft, fluffy in nature and silky smooth. No doubt a work of the expensive hair products he shares with Suguru. His features relaxing fully as you continue to pet his head, observing his sleeping face as you relaxed, eyes flitting between the two aiming to put the Six Eyes user under the ground.

It isn’t often Gojo Satoru allows himself the mercy of rest, choosing to stay awake using his reversed cursed technique. You feel bad, and it shows when you cradle his head ever slightly closer to your navel.

Suguru notices first.

“You’re coddling him.” It didn’t sound accusatory, more gentle, fond. As if he likes watching you do this.

“I think he deserves this much,” You remove the tiny speckles of sand that have flickered onto his face. “He’s worked hard.” Gojo’s closed eyes crinkled, as if he was about to awaken before your hands neatly settle themselves on his face, soothing the snoozing sorcerer’s features as he relaxes once more.

Suguru chuckles lightly, dumping another unforgiving pile of warm sand onto Satoru’s torso. “He really has.” You see Geto’s hand graze Gojo’s lightly out of the corner of your eye, before Suguru’s gaze was directed back at you. It was determined, burning with desire for violence and atrocity.

“But he deserves this. Trust me.”

Shoko glances up at you momentarily, halting her digging with her toy shovel as she notices your inner turmoil. “You shouldn’t feel bad.” Her gaze behind her borrowed sunglasses turns dark, hands returning to filling the little toy bucket with sand, with slight vigor in her actions, as if she had a bone to pick. A thirst for petty revenge.

“He single-handedly finished all the condensed milk and mochi meant for our shaved ice.”

The tiniest fraction of remorse you had left became nonexistent.

——

Satoru’s eyes blinked open as he felt the light of the sun on his face. He was sure he had fallen asleep on your lap under a shade.

Why was the sun all up in his face and bothering his one-on-one time with you? Why does your lap feel so… Sandy? Is he dreaming?

Shade finally comes to him. Suguru’s shadow looming over his head as he sees the tall ravenette standing over his head.

“Oh? Looks like the little dessert thief is awake.” Suguru had a smile on his face, a bucket in his hand as he stands over Satoru’s still uncovered head.

“Wha?” Still in his sleep daze, he was unable to comprehend what’s happening. “(name)…?” He yawns, eyes closing, head leaning to snuggle back into what he thinks was your lap only to still feel more sand.

He yelps. Attempting to move a hand up to break his sudden fall before he realized.

He can’t move. Save for his head, his entire body was buried under a large pile of sand, shaped into a rectangle to box in his form.

(A crude tower was sticking out of where his pelvic region was meant to be, small and pathetic looking. He would retort if he wasn’t in grave danger.)

Suguru is still watching him with a certain glint in his eye. Satoru recognizes that slight twitch of his under eye.

“S-Suguru,” He gulps. “Babe, honey, baby. We can talk about this!”

“I think there’s hardly anything to talk about, darling.” Suguru’s smile was cruel, the sand specks of sand slowly flowing out the bucket as he tipped the bucket slightly, the moat around Satoru’s head began to fill, slowly climbing up higher and higher as the shaman’s head was slowly encased in sand.

“Wait! WAIT! She’ll be sad if I die!”

“Ah. Satoru.” You appear beside Suguru, twirling your straw around your fingers in your glass cup filled with chilled chocolate milk. You crouch down, your knees bent as you watch him through the pair of sunglasses he donned before his impromptu nap on your lap.

“I’ll miss you.”

(He would’ve swooned at you had he not been in his current predicament.)

You take a sip, smiling down at him as Shoko waves at him from his feet.

“Bye bye~ We hope you learn your lesson.”

You giggle, watching Suguru as he hastens the process, more grains of sand pouring out as Satoru begins to scream.

“Punishment often tastes sweeter, doesn’t it girls?”

——

The showers are going, the grocery bags are on the countertop. Music is being blasted out of the high-end radios

You don’t think you recognize this song.

The sliding glass door to the veranda is wide open, the ocean breeze flowing through the home as you hear Suguru wash the vegetables.

It’s comforting. Knowing everyone is here. Knowing everyone is okay.

Everything’s alright. Because they’re here with you. You’re at peace.

“Happy about something?” A basket of assorted vegetables is placed next to you as you feel slightly chilly breath fanning your ear. The byproduct of the ice cream you all shared. His arms cage you into the counter, not quite pushing against you to avoid your discomfort, but enough to trap you in his hold.

Your answer is one of instinct, of gratuitous joy seeping from your very being.

“More than ever.” You turn around, chest to chest with him as your arms hug around his waist, around his larger frame, around the body that contained a person you loved with every fiber of your being. Your face is buried in his chest, the scent of lavender and citrus fills your senses as you try to breathe in as much as you can.

“I love all of you.” You feel his hand reach up to your hair, stroking you as he holds you close.

You’re content being here.

A murmur, a rumbling of his chest as you felt his heart start to pound against his ribcage.

“I love you more.”

——

“Aaa…” Shoko opens her mouth, taking a thankful chomp of the meat held between your chopsticks as you fed her another bite of the ones you’ve cooked yourself.

Shoko looks so elegant even when eating. You can’t help it when your chopsticks reach into your bowl in attempts to get another piece to feed to her.

Her pretty lips are parting, you’re gonna feed her agai-

“Mmm!” Satoru had inserted himself between your chopsticks and a chewing Shoko. His mouth closes around your utensil, teeth latched onto the meat piece as he bites it off, claiming it for himself.

He feels Shoko’s judgemental stare, choosing to ignore it, going as far as to look her in the eye, still happily chewing.

“It’s really good, isn’t it Shoko?” His fingers are drumming happily against the wooden table, head resting on his propped up palm as he stares longingly at your bowl.

“So good, I wouldn’t mind another~”

He stares at you expectantly.

You stare back.

Suguru is shoving a raw piece of squid into Satoru’s open, expecting mouth.

“Delicious, isn’t it?” Suguru is smiling as he keeps the squid there. Solid arm unmoving and holding the raw piece of seafood in his significant other’s mouth as he struggles and hacks at the taste.

Shoko is taking pictures of the occurrence.

You begin to laugh, chopsticks clacking against the table as your happiness rings itself out.

You don’t think you’ll ever get tired of this. A silent promise to yourself that you never will.

You love them. Love hearing them laugh, love hearing them cheer, love hearing them.

For their existence was your comfort. Finding solace in their very presence, your heart felt full.

——

“If you eat all the damn meat…!” You see Suguru wrangling a struggling Satoru, strong arms tucked under the white-haired shaman’s underarms whilst a pair of clacking tongs were outstretched in efforts to sneak another piece. 

“Just one more…! It’s so good!”

He whined, trying to shove his unyielding boyfriend back as Shoko hurriedly scoops up the grilled pieces onto a rather large plate as Suguru yells at her to hurry up.

“We won’t have any left, you greedy little-!”

You giggle, steps light and happy as you walk towards them, plate piled with the raw kebabs as you glanced towards the table, catching sight of the vegetables Satoru had failed to hide completely out of sight.

“Shall we get the veggies cooking as well?”

You hear Satoru audibly complain just as he manages to climb over Suguru and steal yet another piece.

masterlist next(kofi exclusive)

Notes:

It was Gojo himself who wrote down in the list to get snacks for him. Geto cancelled out his name and rewrote ‘everyone’.

You didn’t actually say anything back in the aisle with Suguru. He simply has a knack for watching you and guessing what you’re thinking.

The ‘tower’ on Gojo’s body was actually a collaboration between Shoko and yourself. Initially, you had accidentally piled on too much sand on that specific part. Shoko laughed, shoveling most of it away before making a small phallic shaped object to the best of her artistic ability.

She proceeded to look at Suguru, pointing towards it and asking.

“Accurate?”

Suguru simply lost his mind laughing at the elementary school level joke.

In the kitchen, Suguru’s “I” was meant to come out as a “We” but he got too flustered.

Shoko’s camera is filled with pictures of you smiling.

[avrorean]

On Nanna's nameday, she receives a small ironbark box that smells faintly of saffron. It’s sanded and stained, smooth and primed, but the natural soft, silvery blue of the wood still comes through beneath the matte finish. Trailing along the sides of the box are painted details of spring crocuses, gold and violet, and the intricate line of their stems envelope the box in subtle vines. The lid of it is much the same, though in the center of the interwoven flowers is a soft morning sun, slightly warm to the touch.

The style of it all is undeniably Elvhen, with no harsh angles or bold colors. It’s delicate and flowing like a calm river or mountain spring.

The most remarkable thing about it is perhaps who delivers the box: Zevran Aranai, with a wry, knowing smile. The only one trusted to safely deliver what’s inside to a “mutual friend.” That was the exact wording of the delivery instructions he received, along with Nanna Amell's last known location. As if he didn't already know, and this, with a grin.

It’s too small for a head - well, an adult human head, at least. That's got to count for something.

If Nanna braves it and opens the box, the inside is similarly polished wood, with lighter and somehow more delicate flowers painted along the interior. The smell of saffron is stronger, as two pressed and dried crocuses - one gold, one violet - lay on a bed of soft lace. It’s unclear what the material is. It may no longer exist in the modern age. But the condition of it is pristine.

Atop the ancient lace, resting on the pressed and dried flowers, there is a small, glass vial. To most outside of the Circles or the Chantry, it would look like a potion bottle. It bears a simple label pressed long ago into the glass - a date and an identifier. But to someone who knows, someone who’d watched the ritual and that secret magic, even at such a young age, they’d recognize the bottle for what is was.

A small vial of blood. Nanna’s blood, taken that first night in Kinloch Hold. It’s not broken or damaged, but it’s hers now. The last piece of her the Circle still held.

News travels relatively fast in Ferelden. On a Chanter’s Board in Denerim, the local priests posted a small pamphlet indicating the date and time for a memorial service. A few days past, a fire broke out in a Chantry's storage. An unattended candle, they think, left burning too close to a tapestry depicting the martyrdom of Andraste by the treacherous mages of the Tevinter Imperium. The Chantry sustained significant fire damage, and much of its nondescript ‘cellar storage’ was lost in the flames. Thankfully, the fire broke out long before the doors were open, so no penitents or humble worshippers were harmed. By some 'miracle,' the pamphlet proclaims, the fire did not spread to any surrounding building. The memorial service would be held the following Sunday, to commemorate the venerable service of the six devout Templars posted to guard the Chantry’s cellar ’storage.’ They died in the flames (they're not calling it an inferno, but those awake to see the fire wouldn't call it anything but). The only other casualty of this tragic accident was the curator of the storage room, a long-serving Chantry priest. She had had not been in the cellar, but the condition of the body suggests smoke inhalation as the likely culprit. She died peacefully in her bed, the pamphlet reports, gone to the Maker's side. The look of fear on her face is not mentioned in the pamphlet. They're happy to let the dead rest in dignity.

The tent was a simple thing, well made and built to withstand the cold of Ferelden, but intentionally humble in its enchanted draping so as not to draw unwanted attention. It was more than sufficient for a journey so far to the south. But despite the warmth and comfort it promised, Nanna had chosen instead a plush pile of browning grass, the crackling of the fire a ward against the cold at her back as she idly twirled a white and red flower between her fingers from a hill nearby. Her violet  gaze was distant and thoughtful in the silence the Wilds provided.

Beldam’s Eye had been her own cheeky name for the flower, though it had no academic listing. It had proven pivotal to her research into the Blight and her fight against it. But no matter which direction her search would take her, some question or another inevitably led her back to the Korcari Wilds, where the first touch of Urthemiel had emerged. Where her story could be said to have started. And the only place where the Eyes grew naturally.

Nanna still had yet to bring herself to return to the abandoned hut that rested like a corpse at its heart. But each time she returned, it felt a little closer. 

Lost in the maze of her thoughts, as well as to the day, the last thing Nanna anticipated so far out from civilization was company. Especially that of a certain northern lover. But she felt him approach several steps before he revealed himself, and the gleam of his copper eyes caught the sun beautifully even before the familiar figure of Zevran Arainai slipped from the shadows. Nanna’s smile had been immediate.

“I was not expecting you to come see me,” she declared warmly, quick to wrap her arms around the man’s broad shoulders as soon as they closed the distance.

“And I was not expecting to have to follow you traipsing through the muddiest parts of this damp country,” he retorted, hiding the smile in his eyes with a dry and unamused tone even as his warm hands held her close against him. It was a lie, of course. He always knew where to find her. Though he made sure to give a pointed look to his mudstained boots. “And such a dour place to revisit–on a day of celebration, no less.”

She laughed at the lack of heat in his complaint, and unable to taper her smile, took a kiss as her response. After another lengthy absence, this was perfectly celebratory to her mind. 

“And you did not follow me all the way through the muddiest parts of this damp country to wish me well on my nameday,” came her low response once they parted, a thumb brushing idly at the sharp corner of his jaw “And you certainly would have no contracts of any worth so far to the south. You are up to something.”

“Always, amora,“ he chuckled, and immediately pricked her curiosity by pulling back just enough to reach back for something hidden under his dark cloak. “But just now, it would be someone else’s ‘something’.”

She raised a brow at the cloth-wrapped something he held out for her to take, curious at the familiar weight of wood beneath it once she’d taken it to hand- but Nanna’s smile had turned slightly teasing as she toyed with the corner of its wrapping, and the light flecks of gold in her eyes glinted with excitement. “A professional assassin counts deliveries among his talents?”

“My skills are varied, of course. For the right price.” Zevran winked. His wit never missed a beat, of course, but there was a peculiar softness to his eyes that Nanna was not yet sure how to read. “And I believe you will find the contents worth even a stay in Ferelden.”

If she hadn’t been curious before, Nanna’s inquisitive nature had certainly piqued now. The Warden turned her eyes back to this nameday mystery, pulling back the soft cloth that protected it until the finely polished gleam of ironbark shimmered unhindered in the sun. That discovery gave her a start - this was not a material just anybody could use. Her curiosity. It was nothing short of artistically beautiful And Elvhen. Painfully, beautifully, and familiarly Elvhen. Nanna’s heart gave a painful leap.

Part of her wanted to tear the lid off without another word to delve into its contents–perhaps in vain hope of some long awaited answer lying within. But Nanna couldn’t bring herself to pull away from the casing just yet, memorizing the texture and style that few in this world would ever know. And only one who knew that she did. 

Her fingers were gentle and feather-light as they brushed across the ornamented wood, tracing the winding vines and losing herself in the elegant, hand painted weave it formed across the wood to its golden center. A sunrise she was meant to see. 

“Zevran, where did-” Her throat was suddenly dry, and the words stumbled in the desert of her held breath, but Nanna tried all the same. She wanted to hear him say it. “Who-?”

The assassin only shrugged before she finished stumbling out the question, as though he neither knew nor cared for the answer any more than he had any pittling detail for any other client. But for all his feigned disinterest, his eyes never left her. “Some tall, taciturn fellow. An admirer, perhaps? You are in no short supply there.”

He was dancing around the answer. He knew, and that was fine. As she forced herself slowly to open the lid, Nanna had a feeling that she did, too.

“What will you do, Nanna?” His voice was soft and patient as he watched her face.

That was the question, wasn’t it? 

Later, when the roar of emotion had faded into quiet wonder, Nanna would spend countless hours tracing the lines and contents of the box with an eager affection, and a reverie only partly her own. But here and now, it was only what lay at its heart that held her attention. A vial- no, her Phial. Dark red blood lay stark and harsh against the delicate lace, with only the familiar name of Amell across a faded vellum to dampen its intensity. And for one heartbreaking moment, Nanna recognized what this gift was: a choice. 

How like him.

The weight of this moment settled heavy on her. It was as though entirely new paths to the world had opened up before her. She could destroy her phial, right here and now, and every tie to the Circle and the Chantry would be broken. If she decided to leave one day, no one would be able to find her unless she wanted them to. Nothing would bind her save the blight in her blood.

Or, something else whispered. You could leverage it. It would earn favors, enhance her position. It could supply cover for her people. It was an ugly thought. But it was, still, a choice. One that might even be beneficial in other ways beyond herself. 

But this was not a cause, great or small. Not the sphere of politics or a hand reaching for her help. This was her, and her future, and for once the thought of giving any portion of it away for anything greater than this moment filled her with resentment. 

It was as though a sudden madness had seized her, the intensity of her gaze turned white hot and searing down at the Phial settled so demurely in her palm. This fragile and small thing the last remaining hurdle and all Nanna could see was red. The red of blood. The blood of a child too young and lost to remember what it was she was losing. Her hand clenched so tight around the bottle that the glass had begun to creak, and with a cry full of twenty years worth of frustration, Nanna had flung it through the air. The phial’s flight was as short lived as it was violent, coming hard into contant with the bark of an old tree and exploding in a spray of red that was swallowed near immediately by the foliage of the swamp.

She was panting, as though it had been a great weight, and sunk to her knees in the wet grass with the painted box clenched tightly to her chest as her gasps for breaths threatened to turn to a sob. Her shoulders heaved with adrenaline. It was gone. It was gone. Whatever ties remained to the Circle a shattered ruin in the wild brambles, gone with the something that had been lifted when the glass had broken. 

No, she thought to herself. Not lifted. Released. 

She wondered, almost deliriously, if this amalgamation of grief and euphoria was what Jowan had felt.

Nanna felt the warmth of him as he sunk next to her, his lips pressing into her temple as his arms pulled her close. Mud was already seeping into the knees of her skirts. Neither of them cared. 

“Alla vita, amora,” Zevran murmured low into her hairline. To life. The life she had, now untethered. A freedom they shared. “Gioia mia.”

Word had spread across the southern bannorn by the time the pair emerged from the Wilds, of the tragic fire that had claimed the righteous lives trapped within it. Such a shame it was, someone murmured as a Chanter rattled off related scripture. He didn't seem to notice the hooded figures passing by. Good folk lost, Andraste bless them.

In one hand, the painted box Nanna had been determined not to release the entirety of their trip. The other, squeezed tight in Zevran’s own. The elf chuckled low as he whispered a gentle reminder in her ear, the chant of prayers and hymns a distant hum in comparison. It was a tragedy, and a worry with the mages already being let off the leash. The devoted mourners did not see their Hero as the pair passed through, or the giddiness in the smile she struggled to temper as they spoke in hushed and worried voices of the Chantry’s losses.