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fanaticsnail · 6 months

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Flowers

Full-length fic because my roses are currently in bloom in my garden and I couldn't get the romance away from my head while crocheting.

Word Count: 3,587

Swordsman just needed something light and fluffy.

Masterlist Here, song vibe suggestion here.

Inhaling the sweet fragrances of botanicals, you reopened your eyes to gaze at the vast abundance of colours that lay before you. Hues of vibrant orange tulips, deep red roses and the softness of babies breath with sweet jasmine paling the arrangements within the harbour-side florist.

You tapped your chin and hummed thoughtfully as you continued to mull your decisions over in your mind. The whole reason you joined the Straw-Hat pirates was specifically to document rare and unusual species of flora, fauna and fruiting plants that remain undiscovered and undocumented. You worked hard with Sanji whilst out on the open sea, determining the edibility of certain plants or what properties they could possibly wield to benefit your crew.

“Can I help you with anything there, love?” a voice called from inside the florist shop. An elderly woman made her way over to you, a warm grin adorning her cheeks in welcome.

“I’m just browsing for now, thank you,” you smiled in return, turning your gaze immediately to seek out a small floral arrangement in the corner of the room.

Vibrant green-drooped flowers hung lowly; trumpeting out along their wide stem. Peppered throughout the arrangement were pastel purple orchids, small bundles of dark crimson and yellow roses and small bulbs of vibrant pink gumnuts. Although the arrangement was beautiful, the true star of the show were the larger stemmed clusters of the emerald flowers.

“Ah,” the shopkeeper sighed, “you’ve seen my gladioli. Aren’t they spectacular?”

You gasped in absolute delight, bringing yourself closer to the cluster of florals.

“The arrangement,” you began, turning back to the elderly woman, “it’s breathtaking.”

“It’s peaceful, romantic and-,” she cut herself off, a small gasp sucked through her hissed teeth before releasing her breath, “sorrowful. This day marks ten years since my husband departed from this life and awaits me in the next. These are what I created for him.”

“I may not have known him,” you said, walking over to the woman and bowing a nod of respect towards her, “but from the representation of the flowers: the roses for grief and devotion, the eternal love from the orchid, the playfulness in the gumnuts; he sounds spectacular.”

“Don’t forget the gladioli,” she smiled through her sorrow, “they were his favourite.”

“Gladioli for integrity, honesty, and,” you reached down and took her hands within your own, cradling them against you warmly, “strength in character. He sounds like an amazing man, and I am truly sorry for your loss.”

She smiled at you and nodded her head at your words, receiving comfort from the sympathetic utterances from a complete stranger. You tore your gaze back towards the vibrant emerald colour of the gladioli flowers, fixating on their beauty.

“This may sound a little harsh; but, may I buy them from you?” you asked her in a low tone, turning your face back towards her with a soft smile, “you’ve placed a quest onto my heart that I require to see meet fruition.”

She quirks her brows at you and looks back to her prized arrangement, looking longingly at them.

“I would only sell them for good reason, lass,” she nodded, pursing her lips, “what quest holds over you?”

You sighed and released her hands, rummaging into your bag in search of your berry.

“Under usual circumstances,” you began, furrowing your brows as you continued your rummage, “men only receive flowers once in their lifetimes.”

“Oh,” she gasped lowly to you, nodding her head sorrowfully in acknowledgement, “how long has he been departed?”

“He’s not dead,” you smiled and shook your head, “although try as he might, he’s still with us.”

She furrowed her brows, tilting her head to the side and immediately smiled at your words, “these are for your fella then?”

“He’s not exactly my ‘fella’,” you nodded with a light laugh at her words, “but for a friend, yes.”

A small twinkle formed within her eye as she brought herself closer towards you and whispered; “and for how long have you been in love with him?”

You stiffened at her words, halting in place in shock. You had never thought about how you felt about Zoro aboard the Going Merry. Not when he would bring you a fresh cup of coffee and sit with you in the early mornings, silently watching the rising sun bring warmth over the ocean in solitude. Not even when he would instinctively hold out his left arm to shield your body from harms way once conflict arose with formidable foes. Even still, not a single thought regarding him absent-mindedly seeking you out for your opinions on shrubbery and moss he’d located and presented towards you; sitting adjacent to you and cocking his head to the side as he actively listened to everything you said about botany.

She hummed in delight and made her way over towards her arrangement and began to collect the stems from within their display, flourishing it with a brown hessian sash and tanned parchment paper.

“35,000 berry and they’re all yours, sweety,” she cooed at you, scrunching her nose up at you.

“That’s awfully low, Ma’am,” you frowned at her, locating a more appropriate amount of berry, “you’ll take 352,000, and I’ll also leave you with my name for future business arrangements.”

She halted her movements, looking down at the arrangement in her hands one more time before nodding to you and taking your berry from your outstretched hand.

“Thank you for parting with these,” you upturned your eyebrows in empathy, placing your hand on her shoulder and giving it a light squeeze in comfort, “they are beautiful and represent everything I want to now say.”

“I’m glad to be of assistance,” she hummed, tilting her head into your embrace. You held onto her for a moment longer before bidding her farewell with your departure.

It took a while for the remainder of the crew to return to the ship, you sat and documented within your botany journal a diagram of the flowers you purchased; shading various petals and leaves to depict the beauty of the arrangement.

As you had a small amount of time to yourself, you began to actively think on why exactly you immediately thought of your crewman as soon as you saw the flower shop. You never usually purchase flowers, especially since you would always find them on your adventures and set up arrangements to decorate the kitchen and your crew-quarters. You had never once thought to decorate a fellow Straw-Hat’s crew quarters, nor gift an arrangement prior.

What changed? Did you have budding romantic feelings developing for the loyal knight and protector of the Straw-Hat crew? You gulped the dry pit forming in your throat, a giddy feeling arising within your chest. Your fingers began to tremble and your heartbeat thumped with a drum-like rapidity.

You shook your head to rid them of the thoughts, your hands remaining the only thing strained and trembling under the implications of a small budding infatuation. Rolling your shoulders back and closing your eyes, you began to shake the feeling away before the crew began to rejoin you aboard your ship.

“There you are,” you heard a voice behind you. You upturned your head, seeking out the source of the voice.

Zoro’s vibrant green hair was the first thing you drew your attention to. The gladioli were the exact vibrant hue of his short locks; the entire reason you first intended on purchasing the arrangement.

“Here I am,” you replied with a cock of your head and a wide smile. His expression was airy, yet unreadable. He had his left wrist hanging on the hilt of his white blade attached to his hip, raking his eyes over your seated position at the polished wooden deck table. He quirked his head once his eyes met with the flowers in front of you.

“You got flowers?” he asked, his brows furrowing together in the middle before asking you again, “someone give them you?”

You laughed a small melodical chuckle before rising to your feet and clutching the wrapped flowers within your hands. You walked over to his place above deck and grinned at him.

“Actually, Zoro,” you began to anxiously giggle, your eyes widened in shock at your next words, “I bought them specifically for you.”

The furrow in his brows rose as he began searching between your two irises for hidden intentions, silently questioning your actions as you held out your hands with the arrangement. He hesitantly reached for them, looking down at the mixture of greens, reds, yellows and soft muted pastels and hesitated.

“Why?” he asked in a low rumbly whisper, halting his fingertips a hairline away from receiving your gift.

“Because I wanted you to see them,” you whispered in return, searching his face for reason for his apprehension at receiving his gift.

His fingertips brushed yours as he took the parchment wrapped florals into his grasp; the waft of whimsical beauty falling in waves over his senses.

“Why do you want me to see them?” he asked you, continuing to hold your hands within his as they clasped around the flowers. Both of your eyes held firm to the complimentary florae, focussing on anything other than fixating on each other’s eyes, ignoring the tension arising between you as you relished in his extended touch.

You sighed low and sorrowful, retracting your hands from the stems as you secured them within Zoro’s grasp.

“Men only receive flowers only once in their lifetimes, and they never even get to see them,” you sighed, taking your lower lip between your teeth to halt your nerves. A small rumbly growl of confusion began to rise in Zoro’s chest, questioning you on your thoughts.

“I wanted you to see them,” you reiterated, “you are so strong, Zoro,” you reached your hand up and hesitantly pressed your palm against his cheek, “you fight valiantly and with honour and integrity.”

You began to retract your hand, Zoro chasing your palm with his cheek as he clutched the flowers within his hands. You giggled at him, reluctantly placing your hand back to his cheek.

“And what is the one occasion men get flowers?” Zoro cluelessly asked you, prompting all playfulness to flee from your face. You didn’t think you had to actively inform him on the subject. Your brows rose upwards in sorrow as you searched around his cheeks, chin, nose, forehead and temple before settling once again on his eyes.

“Their funerals, Zoro,” you whispered, completely retracting your hand from his face, “this is a mourning arrangement for the honourable departed.”

Your eyes fled from his face and again made contact with the arrangement he held within his grasp.

Pursing your lips, you hardened your resolve and began to walk him through the several pieces clutched in his expert grasp.

“The yellow rose is for strong ties, as I am bound to you as your crewman,” you uttered in a low tone before adding, “the dark red is for grief and sorrow.”

You stood taller on the tips of your toes as you stooped with your index finger extended towards the various florals; “the gladioli, that’s the green one, is for a strong character. You’re so strong, Zoro,” you snuck a glance upwards to see Zoro’s eyes darkened and his teeth held tightly shut in a vice-like grip. You hesitated before continuing, “the gumnuts are for your humour.”

A small rumble began to form from his chest in disapproval at your comment, prompting a small giggle to escape from your lips as a natural and organic response.

“And the big purple ones?” he asked, his brows creasing and lip upturning in thought, “what are they for? I don’t speak flower.”

A wide grin appeared once again to your cheeks as his smirk playfully returned to his.

“Those are orchids,” you whispered, your eyes and smile softening as you stepped closer to him. You felt your pulse drumming painfully harshly within your ears as you sucked in a trembled and shaken breath, nodding to yourself before declaring; “those are because-,” you hesitated once more before flittering your eyes down to the flowers before looking up at him through your eyelashes, “well, they’re because I love you, Zoro.”

Disbelief. Complete and utter disbelief came over Zoro as he heard those words depart from your lips. He never thought his feelings towards you would ever be returned, holding fast within his resolve for his broody pining to forever remain painfully unrequited.

He had hoped, sure. He had longed, absolutely. He had dreamed that you would lean yourself against him in the early rise of the sun’s rays as you sat together. He had imagined having your lips meet for the first time as he loyally protected you from harms way on the battlefield. The way you spoke so passionately about honing in on your craft as botany and plant specialist bewitched him every time you opened your lips to depart knowledge onto him. His thoughts were only of training to finally match the league of Dracule Mihawk, and of how desperately and deeply he cared for you.

“I’m sorry,” you added, retreating from your proximity of him, “I shouldn’t have said anything. Please-,” you held your right hand up defensively in front of yourself and began to back away in retreat, “-please don’t treat me any differently. Enjoy the flowers,” you added with a small, soft smile, “they’re yours to do with what you will.”

Zoro now found himself in a bewilderment. He was perplexed that you relayed your emotions and intentions in such an unbridled manner, so boldly presenting him with your gift. He was sure you had even surprised yourself, not intending on relaying a romantic declaration on a meagre Tuesday afternoon in the middle of a random layover.

“Hey,” Zoro called over to you, a small harsh growl erupting from his tone; halting your step in your retreat, “get back here.”

Your body ceased up at his command, every fibre of self-preservation in your body refusing to turn to face him again. A warm blush had reddened against your features, hues over your nose, cheeks and tips of your ears heating your face to an uncomfortable temperature.

“Now,” Zoro again ordered you. Your body responded immediately, turning back to face him with your head holding firm in its bow to the floor; your eyes fixating on the wooden crevasses of the ship’s deck. Once close enough in bodily proximity to the swordsman, you heard his footsteps approach your body and almost stand flush against you.

The scent of the flowers hung within the air as he brought his left hand, which cradled the bunch, against your right shoulder. His right hand hooked his index finger under your chin as he raised it upwards. Your eyes first met with the broad scar across his chest, inflicted by the great warlord of the sea as he granted to spare his life under the great duel.

He continued to rise your chin, your gaze meeting with his lips; focussing on the small flicker of his tongue which darted out and retreated back within his mouth.

“Look at me,” he uttered with an air of confidence, prompting you to hesitantly meet his gaze with a small rose-tinge lingering still atop your cheeks.

His eyes held a foreign softness within them, his aura still commanding and noble as he held you tenderly within his fingertips. He smiled, wrapping his left arm around your shoulders and hooked you into his torso; the floral bunch resting behind your back within his clutches. Your breath hitched within your throat as your eyes widened in shock at his closeness.

“You buy me flowers for my funeral,” he uttered into you, the whisper of his breath against your lips force your eyes half-lidded in desire and anticipation, “and you don’t even stay for the procession?”

A small whimper fled from your lips at his attention, a tingle shooting up your spine and igniting the follicles on the surface of your neck and forearms. He released his hold on your chin as he fled his hand down to grasp at your hip, pulling you flush against himself as he brought his lips down to mould themselves atop your own.

You stood in shock, your eyes looking at his face in awe at his kiss. You snaked your arms around his shoulders to rest at the nape of his neck; fingertips brushing against the tri-pierced left earlobe as you raked your right hand over his muscles. You flittered your eyes shut and smiled against his lips in glee, standing atop the tips of your toes once more to reach more of his towering body.

He immediately dragged his left arm over your shoulders to draw it down to your hips, immediately hoisting you upwards into the air. You shrieked in surprise, feeling his lips grin against you as he picked you up below your thighs. You hooked your ankles behind his back, thighs resting atop his hips as he arched his face upwards to meet against your lips; arching his jaw and chin to deepen the connection shared between you. You felt his blades begin to awkwardly dig their hilt against your flesh, but paid them no mind as you were now held securely within the strong arms of the valiant knight and loyal protector of the Straw-Hat pirates.

You drew your right hand up to rake your fingertips against Zoro’s hair, gently caressing his follicles with your fingertips. He groaned against your lips, furrowing his brows and leant appreciatively against your touch. While continuing to clutch the flowers within his left hand, he smoothed his right hand to rake its hold against your thigh, reaching around the flesh to grasp the muscles of your ass and support your body further against himself.

You were so enraptured by each other’s touch, the feel of your bodies moulding so intimately together; you felt as if you were the only two people existing on this side of the world. Zoro walked your body over to the table and placed you down to rest atop it, his swords again bumping against your body awkwardly; prompting a small giggle to flee from your lips and onto his at the collision.

Zoro tentatively placed the bouquet gently beside you as he stood himself between your parted legs, hooking his hands below your knees to bring your body as close as he could possibly feel you while clothed. You moaned into his mouth as you brushed your hand over his hair and onto his cheek; feeling the cool metal from his piercings once again below your palm.

All of your senses were completely overwhelmed by your swordsman; the way his body felt flush against your own, the waves of desire you could tangibly feel radiating from him for every hungry kiss placed against your lips. He trailed his lips against the corner of your mouth, brushing and grazing your skin below his tongue and teeth as they raked their way down your neck. A small whimper escaped your lips as he located your pulse, swirling his tongue against it with a rough groan falling from behind his own lips.

The smell of the bouquet beside you was as sweet as the sounds you were pouring from your lips and into the awaiting audience of Zoro’s ears; a private performance meant only for him and him alone. The ocean breeze wafting over your senses as the wind picked up, a small inkling of something not entirely unfamiliar to you; but unwelcome never the less.

Tobacco.

A rough cough interrupted Zoro’s action of pulling the neckline of your shirt down to reveal your clavicle for his next assault with his mouth. You both snapped your eyes over to the sound, noticing the blonde chef ignite the end of a new cigarette with the filter end drawn between his lips, a small litter of depleted butts pooling at his feet.

“H-how long have-,” you began to stutter out, eyes wide and in shock at the knowledge you were in the presence of an audience.

“-Long enough to not miss the procession,” the chef chuckled at you both, inhaling the cigarette before releasing the nicotine riddled smoke in a long exhale, “came to let you know lunch is ready.”

“And you didn’t say a word?” Zoro growled through gritted teeth at the chef, prompting another laugh to flee from Sanji’s lips.

“Hey,” Sanji began, holding his hands up defensively, “we placed a wager on it, I didn’t want to sway the odds.”

Zoro growled, reluctantly releasing you from his grasp and shielding your dishevelled body from view of the blonde chef.

“Are you okay?” Zoro asked you quietly as you collected yourself. You sighed with a light smile coming to your face.

“I am, Zoro,” you replied, “better than ever.”

He smiled down at you, fixing the scabbards of his swords on the hilt to his side with a large, wolfy but bashful grin. As you both collected yourselves, you hopped down from your place atop the table and turned to walk towards Sanji, vocal reprimands fleeing from your lips as you did so.

Zoro chuckled under his breath, turning back around to collect his flowers. He stared at the bouquet, examining it. They were beautiful, a perfect reminder of his mortality. He vowed to return the favour at the next port, wooing you with a reminder of your own fleeting moments together in this life.

#one piece #opla #opla fic #one piece live action #x reader #zoro #zoro x reader #zoro roronoa x reader #roronoa zoro #zoro roronoa x you #zoro x you #romance #fluff #flowers #one piece fic

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sink-me-in-your-ocean · 2 months

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The Light Over the Darkness

Lucifer Morningstar x Lilith!fem!reader

WC: ~5300

A/N: @endhisbloodlineinmyesophagus thank you for reading this first. And no thank you for getting me obsessed with a new fictional idiot.

Content warnings: fingering, p in v sex, unprotected sex, praise kink (if you squint and tilt your head). 18+ only. Minors DNI.

NSFW below the cut.

It is a gorgeous day in the Garden. Though, every day is a gorgeous day. Every single day is perfect beyond comparison. It would be even better if your companion did not exist.

You went off on your own again, wholly unwilling to submit to Adam’s irritating daily routine of assigning uninspiring names to all of the things and creatures. Or - even worse - the non-routine version of simply lounging about lazily. This was your only course of action. You wandered far off into the Garden, and just as daylight began to break over the horizon, a sound caressed your ear in the lightest touch.

In the distance, you heard a voice. It sang a melancholy tune so far from the triumphant trumpet sound of heavenly melody you’d heard before. It was like a dream.

No, not a dream. This was a voice emitting an enticing tune you couldn’t resist. It called to you, pulled your very heartstrings. Your brows knit together in concern.

You must find this beautifully tragic voice.

You strolled further through the Garden, clinging close to an idle river. As the voice drew closer, you stepped along a fallen tree that cast itself as a bridge over the river. You made it across and walked into the line of trees posing as guard to what lies beyond. Past several rows of thick trees there was a clearing, open and spacious, and filled with wildflowers.

Wildflowers and the most beautiful creature you had ever seen.

Lucifer was lonely, although not any more lonely than he had felt in Heaven. His brothers and sisters never accepted his way of thinking and there was no chance of him and his Father ever seeing eye to eye.

He had purposefully gone to a most remote corner of the Garden, knowing his father would do something drastic again if he found him interacting with his two perfect human pets.

Lucifer sighed, closing his eyes and singing how he felt. The agony in his chest flowed out and he felt slightly better. He figured that was as good as it would ever get.

Until he turned over his shoulder upon hearing a snap of a twig, and he saw her.

The being attached to the - now silent - voice turned towards you and your breath caught in your chest. His face was beautiful, pale as the brightest cloud in the sky, with eyes that shone golden like the sun. His hair was the color of the very light itself, gorgeous and silken.

He wore strange, white billowing coverings, and something nagged in the back of your head at the lack of your own cover.

“Are you alright?” You chastised yourself for the tremor in your voice, but you couldn’t help it, your communication skills were lacking. Adam wasn’t a conversationalist in the slightest and the times you did speak to him left much to be desired.

“No, no I-I’m not.”

“What happened?” Your gaze snagged on the red pigment on his back, his covering gaped open - torn and bloody. You started approaching him before realizing you were moving, then you stalled out of apprehension.

“I was evicted from my place in Heaven. I am… I was… an angel. Now I’m here in the Garden, though I surmise I’ll do something to get myself kicked out of here before long too.” You had never known someone to sound so utterly defeated and broken.

You walked further towards the angel. “The blood. You’re hurt.” You shook your head, realizing you were quite literally just stating the obvious.

“Oh, this?” He gestured to his back and you nodded, continuing to draw nearer. “He took my wings. I can’t ever go home without them.” His eyes met yours, and concern colored his expression, “But don’t worry about me, the bleeding stopped, and it doesn’t hurt anymore. Well, at least not physically.”

The pity you felt for the creature grabbed your heart, wrenching it tightly within its grasp. You were about a handful of steps away from him now, and you stopped, leaving him his space as you changed the subject. Continuing to ask him personal questions felt too intimate and wrong. “Your song, it sounded beautiful.”

The sigh he let out was almost musical, “I was simply expelling the ache from my chest.”

“I see.” Your expression softened. “If you ever sang when you were joyful, I suppose it could move the very mountains.”

His demeanor changed, he tried to hide it by looking down, but you saw the smile on his face. He shook his head and raised a brow at you, “Aren’t you supposed to be, I don’t know, with a certain someone?”

“Who, Adam?” Your accompanying laugh was breathy and uncomfortable, “No, he, uh,” your tongue temporarily tangled itself, “he’s the worst.” The last three words were an admission of guilt, coming out like a tiny whisper.

His eyes widened exponentially. “He’s the worst?” He began to cross the last bit of distance between the two of you, ending up a step away.

“The worst.” You reply, feeling a weight lifting off your chest with the confession.

“Hm.” There was a glint in his eye, something was inside him waiting to get out, you could sense it. “Would you like to spend your time with me today?”

The question left you temporarily silent, then you composed yourself.

“With a fallen angel?” You paused in faux contemplation, he watched you closely, his eyes begging for an answer, “Yes.”

Relief covered his face, “Take my hand.”

“Okay.”

He led you through the flower field and back to the edge of the river you had crossed. He walked with you at a leisurely pace as the river carried along beside you, flowing downstream.

The water rushed louder and louder as you continued down its serpentine path, and soon there was a drop off. Mist curled up from the edge and you followed the flow of water with your gaze.

A glorious waterfall cascaded down the cliff side. Luscious greenery and florals edged the water - a soft border contrasting the roaring of water.

The spray of water made a strange coloring appear seemingly out of thin air.

“A rainbow.” He offered in explanation, following your line of sight.

You looked at him, the happiness that filled your soul at that very moment overshadowed anything you had previously felt in your life thus far. Even the day you discovered the taste of ripe peaches.

His smile was brighter than the morning sun cresting the horizon. It was warmer than the sun too, you felt it skin deep.

The rest of the day continued in a similar fashion, with him guiding you to new sights and sounds and life. It excited you, enticed you. It made you feel almost like light itself, like you were glowing in his presence.

You returned to Adam that night, for no other reason than you felt that was what you were supposed to do. As Adam fell asleep nearby, your thoughts were on Lucifer. His beauty, his ethereal grace. He captivated you with a mere look and you were helpless to resist his complete charm.

When he had spoken of the heavens, you were left with one question: Why?

Why would his brothers and sisters not stand by his side?

One final realization permeated your thoughts and settled in an ache within your heart as you succumbed to rest: How lonely it must be for him. A former angel. Now cursed to walk in the Garden without anyone like him. Doomed to be without his family for… forever.

A single tear slid silently down the side of your face as you stared up at the stars from your place on the cool ground. You didn’t know how long it took you to fall asleep that night, but once it took you, you were deep under.

You heard his voice in your dreams that night.

The next day you rose before dawn as you always did, though this time with a fuel hurtling you along you had never felt before. A giddiness tingled in your fingers and toes with every step as you retraced your steps from yesterday.

Days, then weeks passed in a manner just as your first day of meeting the fallen angel, sans the melancholy of his newly fallen status as he accustomed to life in the Garden.

His life with you.

He never brought up Adam again, not since your first meeting. In consideration, you didn't bring up his Father to him. It was an unspoken truce.

Lucifer took you everywhere you had not seen before, and he frequently hummed and fabricated sweet, alluring songs throughout the days. New creatures, new flowers and fruits of the trees. New feelings as well. Though that you figured was caused only by yourself, and you pushed it down, listening to him tell you about creation.

“He said, ‘Let there be light’ and I was here.” He paused, “Well, not here in the Garden here, but here. Alive. Existing.”

“So, you just floated up there somewhere?”

“Yes and no. It’s hard to explain. It feels impossible, actually.”

“If anyone can think of the words so eloquent as to describe something, it’s you, Lucifer.”

A pink color tinged his cheeks, and he looked down at the grass tangled beneath his feet. “You’ve got to stop saying things like that.”

“Have I made an offense? Oh, Lucifer, I only meant that you would be the most capable person to describe something so beautiful. You’re so beautiful so it must come easily to you to describe the beauty around you.”

His gaze timidly met yours. “You… you think I’m… beautiful?”

You felt compelled to say more than just a ‘yes’. “Of course. Lucifer, you’re the most beautiful thing that I have ever seen, or could ever dream of imagining.”

His cheeks reddened more. His golden eyes softened in a way that told you he had been waiting to hear those words for an eternity.

“Lucifer?” You took a shy step towards him.

“Yes?” He finally met your eyes fully, but took a step back until he was firmly against the bark of a willow tree.

You continued forward, propelled by a pull within your chest, until you were toe to toe with him. “Can I…” You searched his face. His soft, sweet face. “Can I do something?”

A slight smile lit up his face, brightening the space even under the dimmed canopy of the willow. His voice came out as a whisper. “Anything.”

Your hand brushed the light hair that had fallen between his eyes to the side. Your other hand touched his jaw, tracing along to the underside of his chin and tilting his face up. You angled your face slightly downward, eyes still locked on his, and leaned in. Then, you closed your eyes, letting your instinct guide you the last bit further.

Your lips met in a gentle kiss.

His apprehension and yours melted into the softness of the touch you shared. You pulled back for just a second, searching his face for reassurance. He responded by kissing you back, over and over and over again. His hands went to your face, as though he didn’t want to be apart from you for even a moment.

Your fingers entwined themselves in his silken hair and he did the same with yours.

The two of you didn’t part from each other’s hold until the sun had almost slipped away completely.

You barely had time to bathe in the stream before night fell around you. You missed his light.

The rest of the evening, even feeling the comfort of the fire made by Adam, you closed your eyes and your thoughts belonged to Lucifer. You watched Adam pass out unceremoniously and touched your fingers to your lips. The memory held there still tingled.

You felt something powerful surge within your middle. It was a deep hunger. An ache as sharp as a burr or a thorn. It dug into you, pulling and twisting within you. A thirst that could not be quenched by even the coldest stream water.

An urge within you begged to return to Lucifer tonight, but you knew you couldn’t. You needed to wait.

Wait and see.

See if he felt the same way when the sun gleamed upon you tomorrow.

The instant you saw Lucifer the next day, warmth traveled from your head to your toes.

You smiled at him and he beamed at you, holding out his hand for you to take. Your fingers intermingled with his and you let him lead you to a part of the Garden you hadn’t been to yet. The grass began to fade into dirt and small pebbles, as though this part of the world had been forgotten by the green.

“Where are you taking me?”

Lucifer reassured you with a grin, “To see something I discovered last night. It’s not much further.”

He led you to a cave entrance. It greeted you with open jaws, its mouth stretching far and wide, ingesting the light with a neverending pitch darkness.

You froze, your feet rooting themselves to the ground. You dropped his hand, placing your palm over your heart. “Lucifer, it’s dark in there. We’re not going inside, are we?”

He gave you one of those brighter-than-the-sun smiles again. “Don’t worry, we won’t be going far. It’ll be much lighter inside, I promise.”

You couldn’t so easily wipe the unsure expression from your face. He noticed.

“Take my hand. Please?” Lucifer extended his left hand to you. As you took it, the air around you cooled, bringing goosebumps to your arms, and you had a feeling that something was about to change.

You allowed him to lead you inside. The nervousness you had felt seemed to melt away with his soft hand enveloping yours. Once you were past the cave mouth, the darkness swallowed him and then you. You grounded yourself in the sounds of his feet and yours along the cave floor, which was covered with soft dirt and devoid of any sharp rocks.

“Lucifer?” The trepidation came flooding back as soon as his hand left yours. You quavered and the darkness drowned out your voice. “Lucifer?”

“This way, my dear.” His voice offered you a beacon of hope in the black void of the space. You thought you heard him lightly chuckle, the sound beckoning you, guiding you onward without form or shape.

Suddenly you saw a blue-green light. You approached it just as it faded out, leaving you in complete darkness again.

Your foot nudged something soft, then your other foot stepped into a puddle that glowed around your toes as the water rippled. You squinted and the color faded away once more.

A bright light made you wince, almost uncomfortably. Your hand covered your face to act as a shield.

“Here.” You heard Lucifer speak close by, and as your eyes adjusted, you realized he held a ball of warm, yellow light in his hand. You also realized that the soft thing laying next to your foot was his rumpled white covering.

Your mouth went dry at the sight of him. A tension wound its way into your chest. His pale shoulders, his trim waist, his…

“Watch this.” He said, lifting his palm up and the ball of light suspended itself in the air. Lucifer created another ball of light, then another, warming the cavern with soft light. When he was finished, he grinned at you, “Are you ready to see what I found?”

“Wait, that wasn’t what you wanted to show me? That was - I, I have no words, you just - you just made light with your hands.” The startlingly impressive feat had you staggering between words.

That satisfied smirk of his was enough to silence the entire world and every question in your mind. He shook his head from side to side. You could barely believe it, he had even more to show you. There was nothing left to say, so you answered his question with a resounding, “Yes.”

“Watch me.”

As if you could do anything else. You couldn’t take your eyes off him, you were entranced as you watched him step into the pool of water which you realized, connected to the puddle you were standing with one foot in already. It was shallow at this end and he waded further out.

A light blueish-greenish color swished with his every movement in the water. Lucifer paused, waist deep in the water. A sharp exhale ghosted between your lips as you tried not to focus on the small of his back. The color went away when he stood still, but came back when he dipped his hand in, bringing it under the water and then to the surface, letting the water drip down from his fingers and open palm.

You didn’t know if it was intrigue or the allure of Lucifer that guided you further forward, to be ankle-deep in the water, but you divert your attention to watching the color grow and fade around your feet. “Lucifer, what is that?”

“It’s bioluminescence.” He replied, and sunk down into the pool, his body now mostly shielded underneath the water.

“What is bioluminescence?”

He turned towards you with a look that said ‘I’m so glad you asked’, and explained in great detail what it is.

Your eyes were wide as you listened to him speak. Sure as it did before, the water sparkled to life within the ripple you made, with blue shimmering below your feet as you stepped in, the water encircling your ankles. You couldn’t help the contented smile that made its way onto your face. You also couldn't help but move closer to him, going back and forth between watching the colors fan out from around your calves, then knees, then thighs, and watching his mesmerizing expression as he shared his knowledge with you.

You stood next to him, where he sat with his head and shoulders well above the water, and you couldn’t resist touching him. Gingerly, your fingers brushed through his hair, bringing it out of his golden eyes again. He looked up at you as you spoke, “Lucifer, thank you for bringing me here. For sharing this with me.”

Even in the dim light, you could see his face turn the color of a rose, his expression becoming timid suddenly. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because you’re divine when you teach me new things.” You answered honestly, you didn’t know any better.

His eyes softened. “Will you join me? Please?”

“Yes.” You took his offered hand. The gesture was innocent - he was bracing you as you fully got in the water - but it made you feel a way that you couldn't name yet.

His hold on your hand tightened slightly and his other hand slid up your thigh as you lowered yourself in.

The two of you settled in the water, the blue fading out at the surface which sat at about mid-chest level.

You slowly moved your hands through the glowing water, when you broke the surface tension the glow ran in rivulets down your fingers and forearms. You repeated the action, mesmerized by the incredible color. Then, you flicked the surface of the water, sending a splash in Lucifer’s direction.

“Hey!” He exclaimed, returning fire by sending a tiny splash your way. “You’ll get my hair wet!”

“Oh sweet and wondrous Lucifer, I’d hate to ruin your majestic hair.” Your tone was saccharinely sardonic. You sent another splash of water his way.

“Stop that.” His gaze changed as he spoke. Something dark hid beneath his surface, and you wanted to find out what it was.

“Why?” You playfully splashed at him again, your body succumbing finally to the warm temperature of the water, relaxing in its embrace.

“When you do things like that, it makes me want to kiss you again.” His gaze drifted downward.

“When I do what, exactly?” You crawled towards him, to the shallower area. “Tease you? Or when I tell you how perfect you are?”

He just nodded, biting his lower lip. You knew it was in response to your praise. “May I kiss you again?” His words were soft, contrasted by the heat of his stare. He looked at your lips with a hunger that dwarfed the pangs you felt before a meal. This was a predatory gaze, but you gave in nonetheless.

Absolute certainly colored your voice. “Yes.”

With your permission, he leaned in, brushing a strand of hair away from your face with a gentleness that rivaled a feather’s touch. You stayed stock still as he closed his eyes and pressed his lips ever so softly to yours.

Lucifer pulled back slightly, and upon seeing your eyes still open, a question formed in his expression. He didn’t get to ask it before your lips were back on his.

You kissed him like you needed him more than breath in your lungs. Your whole body felt ignited by the action. You kissed him over and over, planting close-mouthed to open-mouthed kisses to his soft lips.

The kiss continued to deepen from there, and soon you were tasting him with your tongue. Your tongue led an exploration inside his mouth that made your head feel light and airy. His taste was intoxicating. And he was just as committed to discovering your mouth with his tongue in an even give and take.

Lucifer was the forbidden fruit, and you were too weak a woman to resist.

You were temptation incarnate, and he was too prideful to concede. Not when he had come this far. Not when he had already lost so much. He needed you more than anything.

You opened your eyes to be greeted by a comfortable darkness surrounding the two of you. “Lucifer? Your lights, they’re not glowing anymore.” Though this time, you were no longer afraid. The blueish shimmering in the water was brighter without the yellow lights. It was enough for you to see the shape of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the sparkle in his devilish eyes.

“I’m sorry, I guess I forgot about them when I was kissing you.” A tremulous breath left his lungs. “I could forget about the entire universe when I kiss you.”

“Then kiss me again.” The demand spoke itself before you could even think.

With the way he responded, you would have assumed he never intended to ask your permission. His kiss stole the breath from you, stole the thoughts from your mind. Every press of his lips to yours, every stroke of his tongue to yours, was shatteringly delicious. You could think of nothing except him. Him and a previously unknown need rapidly surfacing.

“Lucifer.” You felt a change happening in your body, a fire that started from the kindling of his kiss. Almost weightless in the water, your hands clung to his shoulders as you crawled into his lap and he sat back to welcome you. Your legs were bent on either side of him, your knees resting in the soft silt of the shallow pool.

You lowered yourself down to sit in his lap and almost moved back, jolted by his body’s reaction to yours. Something hard and thick pressed against your middle.

He pulled back, breaking a particularly heady kiss to offer an explanation you didn’t ask for. “This is how you make me feel.”

You understood. In that moment, your base instincts took over. His feeling was evident on the outside, while yours was purely internal.

At least, you thought your reaction to him was all internal, until he moved his hand from your waist. His hand moved slowly around the swell of your bottom to where your leg met your center.

“Lucifer,” you jerked slightly, nibbling his bottom lip, “that tickles.”

“I mean to please, not to tickle you, my sweet.”

You were about to ask him what he meant when his long fingers swiped along your center. A sound escaped your lips that sounded animalistic, almost a whine.

“I truly mean to please you.” He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips. “Tell me if you want me to stop at any time.”

You shifted in his hold, seeking his delectable fingers again. When you spoke your voice was low and demanding, “You’ve already stopped, and I want to feel that again.”

“Yes, my lady.” He nodded his head in reverence to you and his fingers found your center again. He parted your folds, rubbing the length of his fingers along your slit before brushing them against a part of you that sent a shockwave to your spine.

You jolted this time slightly, your eyebrows pulling upward in surprise at the foreign feeling.

He noted your reaction. “If you need me to slow down I will.”

“Don’t you dare.” Your lips found his again, the blueish glow of the water sloshing up between the two of you as you sought to be closer to him. You slightly rose back up on your knees to give him better access to your intimate flesh.

Lucifer continued his ministrations. He was only too happy to take advantage of your position. His fingers caressing your sex made you whine again. Then, he pressed one finger inside of you and you inhaled in a ragged gasp.

“Is this okay?” You barely registered his words as he languidly pumped his finger inside of you.

You nodded, delighting in the sensation his finger was providing, and delighting in him. Once you were used to the feeling you whispered, “More.”

He pressed a second finger inside you. Your body temporarily shuddered as it adapted to the intrusion.

You felt an ache eclipse your body, deep inside you, and your instincts told you you needed to be closer to him. In a way that two people could be joined together. His fingers continued to stroke you and he kissed you deeply again, tasting you, cherishing you.

“Lucifer,” you pulled back, lightheaded, a pleasurable feeling was building in your middle, but you needed more. “I -”

Your words failed you as he removed his fingers. You were about to protest when you felt his hardness between your legs. Your center was throbbing with need, and you felt fevered and frenzied without him. Your body craved him.

“I need you inside me, Lucifer.” You wiggled your hips, sloppily kissing his neck and up to his earlobe.

“Are you sure?” His voice was so dark and low.

“Yes.” Holding to his shoulders, you dragged your wet center along his length to punctuate your answer.

“How could I possibly resist you?” Lucifer’s expression was that of a man starved, and you were certain he meant to devour you. “Eyes on me, I want to see those beautiful eyes of yours as we do this.”

You obey him as you feel his hand reach between the two of you. Then you felt the tip of him. Right there. Right against your core. Just the tiniest movement and he would be inside you.

Greedily, you shifted your hips down slightly, never taking your eyes from his gaze. Unable to stop yourself from the all-consuming closeness you felt to Lucifer. Watching him, wanting him; all the while knowing there is no going back now. And yet, not wanting to miss a single moment. The sensations below and Lucifer - curse his name - drove you to this madness, this ecstasy. He pulled you down, his fingers digging into your waist.

There was a sharp pain as you felt yourself stretch to accommodate his length. A burning sensation that made you want to move in the opposite direction. Then, as soon as it came on, the pain subsided. It was replaced by a delicious, honeyed heat that speared through your middle as he gave you more and more. He moved slowly, holding you as delicately as he could.

You watched his lips change from a thin line of steely determination to an open-mouthed pant, a groan escaping from his throat. The two of you were finally hip to hip, as close as you could possibly be, with him hot and heavy and incredible inside you.

You couldn’t tell if it was you that was trembling or him. Maybe it was both. His grip on your hips tightened, drawing you up, your sensitive spot grazing the plane of his pelvis in a torturous motion.

“Open your eyes, my sweet, indulge me.” You didn’t realize you had closed them.

You obeyed his ask, “Oh, Lucifer.”

“How does it feel?”

“You feel - ah - better than anything,” you cried out as he snapped his hips to you, “What are you doing to me?”

“I’m acting on our desires, my sweet.” His breath stuttered, as though he was fighting something internally. “No one else will ever have you like this.”

“I’m yours, Lucifer, all yours.” Your sensitive spot grazed his pelvis again, making you gasp. “You’re perfect.” Your fingers tangled in his soft hair as you kissed him deeply, fervently.

He responded by groaning into your mouth, and when you broke the kiss to lay siege to the skin of his neck, he moaned breathily in your ear.

You were a quick learner. “Darling Lucifer, do you like it when I tell you that I’m yours?”

“Yes -” He hissed. His breath was rapid now, and he picked up his movements, meeting every thrust and guiding you with his hands on your hips.

You felt a buildup starting again in your center, picking up from where his fingers had left off earlier. The friction was driving you to a point of no return. A moan tore its way through your chest, reverberating off the cavern walls.

“Lucifer, I’m yours, all yours.” You cried out his name as he slipped one hand between the two of you, using his finger to gently apply pressure to that spot that made the edges of your vision cloud over.

His name was a litany of prayer as he thrust into you over and over while his finger sated your clit. You clung to him with your remaining strength as you felt your body collapsing under waves of pleasure. The sensation was enough to drown you, to pull you under, but his continued motions kept you afloat.

You gasped, whined, moaned for him, telling him with and without words how you felt. Your legs shook and your hands trembled as they went from his shoulders to around his neck, pulling him in so you were chest to chest. Your entire body felt like it was falling apart and being made whole simultaneously. Your release crashed over you in a multitude of waves.

“I’m yours, Lucifer.” You felt him still inside you, thrusting as deep as he could as he breathed raggedly, filling you with a deep, pulsating heat, a broken sound leaving his lips. He held you like that for a while, the two of you clinging to one another tightly. The rising and falling of your chests and shared breaths returning back to normal.

How could anything return back to normal after this?

With one hand you caressed his cheek, opening your eyes and seeing the weight of his expression, “Luci-”

“You meant that, didn’t you?” His eyes searched your face, looking for hints.

You didn’t need to confirm what he was asking. You knew. He knew the answer as well, but he sought reassurance. “I do. I’m yours.”

He sighed heavily, resting his forehead to yours.

You kissed him, savoring the feel of his lips against yours. “And you’re mine.”

#hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin lucifer #hazbin lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #lucifer x you #lucifer smut #lucifer x reader #for ducks sake

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 6 months

Text

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 8: I Just Need A Stronger Dose]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, sexual content (18+), angsttttttttttt!

Both the series and chapter titles are lyrics from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 5.9k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

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“What’s it about?” Aegon purrs in your ear, his ivory-and-red scarred arms circling around your waist, his fingers lacing over the lowest part of your belly, kindling heat and hunger that he draws out of your bones like water from a well, his ring of gold wings and jade eyes glinting in the sunlight that pours in through the library windows.

Smiling, you turn a page in the archaic, dusty book that’s cradled in your arms. It’s not on a subject you’ve ever seen before; of course it would only be here, where the Targaryens once worshiped their own gods and practiced rituals of fire and blood, that the occult would not be torn up and discarded like weeds. “Witchcraft.”

“Witchcraft?!” Aegon feigns being scandalized as he kisses your neck, soft lips and seeking hands. He’s been out in the courtyard sparring with a guard; he smells like salt and wine and rose oil and the ocean. “I do hope you don’t turn out to be an unrepentant sinner. I’d hate to have to burn you.”

“We’d match then.” You turn another page, sketches of different types of sage, dark forbidden recipes that promise to hurt or heal or protect. “I can’t say I am persuaded by the more mystical elements. But there are some interesting insights into herbology, I think.”

“You don’t believe in magic?” Aegon muses, pulling up the skirts of your pale, ashy blue gown, his palms on your bare thighs. His lips curl mischieviously against your throat. “You reside on an island of dragons, in an oppressively gloomy castle built by spellcasters, and you don’t believe in magic?”

“You have it, perhaps,” you say. “Your family. Your house. I don’t believe in it as something that is real to the rest of us.”

“Don’t the Celtigars claim to possess a trumpet that summons a sea monster or something?”

“A horn,” you say, amused. “To wake krakens. And yet as much as my father enjoys boasting about it, he’s in no hurry to prove its efficacy, is he?”

Aegon turns your face to his and kisses you with a fierce, greedy hunger. “You’re magic,” he says as his hands move to loosen the laces of your gown. “You heal people. You bring them back from the dead.”

You’ve forgotten the book entirely. It tumbles out of your grasp. As Aegon tugs off your gown and it falls with a rustle to the stone floor, you reach back to touch him: white-blond hair, scarred cheek, his voice and his heat and his flesh that you need more of. Sunlight and late-summer air, a weakening red-tinged gold, hit your bare skin. Aegon is undressing himself too, and now his shirt and trousers are gone, and now he is leaving euphoric indigo shadows on your neck and shoulders, ghosts of pleasure that will haunt you long after this moment has passed, and now as he stands behind you his fingers find the warm, yearning wetness between your legs and stroke you there, parting folds, plunging between them, retreating just as you feel yourself climbing towards a peak, beginning the divine cycle over again.

“Yes,” you beg, hushed and hidden between the shelves of this ancient library, taboo texts and stories no one else remembers. You push your hips back against Aegon and he inhales sharply, reaching out with one hand to steady himself against the bookshelf as the other teases you, readies you, drives you mad with red ravenous lust. You can feel that he is hard. You can feel your fingers buried in his hair, the rough scar tissue of his chest against your spine, your bodies moving with an easy, harmless rhythm. “Please, Aegon, please, I need you…”

“Do you believe in magic now, wife?” he murmurs, a grin in his voice; and the shock of it drags you into a climax, a whirlpool, a storm, a fever that singes and scalds. He has never called you this before. His wife, his queen.

You cry out as the pleasure pulses through you, as your muscles unravel and your skull is cleared of the knowledge of all the ways in which the world is so irretrievably wrong, as you drink up every drop of Aegon with your eyes, lungs, spiraled fingerprints, the pores of your skin.

“Well, do you?” he asks again. He kisses you forcefully, possessively, biting at your lower lip. “Have I convinced you? Do you believe in magic now?”

And you smile dazedly as you answer: “I believe in you.”

“That will suffice, I suppose.”

He follows you down to the floor. You roll onto your back, pull him between your open thighs, cradle his face with your hands and kiss him deeply as he enters you, fills you, moves blissfully inside you. Long-dormant dust swirls into the air; specks of it float in aisles of sunlight like ships bobbing in the open ocean. The stone floor is cold and unforgiving, Aegon warm and kind. You arch into him, your hips rolling in time with his, your tongue tasting wine on his lips and salt on his flushed cheeks.

“You feel fucking incredible,” Aegon gasps. His braid is tucked behind his ear; you moved it there, or he did, it doesn’t matter, it belongs to both of you. Each time he thrusts, there is an indistinct sort of pleasure—low, muted somehow, like rocks covered by the sea at high tide—that builds, yes, but agonizingly slowly. You know he wants to make you come again. He’s trying to last, he’s battling against himself; but his face is already blood-red and his hands are trembling. He never discusses the pain with you, but it’s still there. He goes to the maesters when he has sunburn to be soothed or wounds to be cleaned and bandaged, he goes to Lord Larys Strong with his fears. He does not want you to think he is weak. He does not want to disappoint you.

You whisper through his mess of silver hair: “It’s alright, Aegon.”

He shakes his head and closes his eyes, tiny oceans erased. “No, no, oh fuck, I’m so sorry—”

“I want it,” you insist. Your hips rock more quickly, taking the blame away from him, easing his burdens. “I want you to come, I want you to finish inside me, please, please, I want to feel you dripping out of me tomorrow, I want to remember this, I want you, I want you, I want you—”

Aegon moans, shudders, pours himself into you, a rush of energy and heat, a closeness you never believed was possible for two people to share. His unsteady hands constrict into fists against the stone floor. His teeth close around your collarbone, more violet blooms like the colors of a garden, more tokens of him that you carry around like gemstones. The waves wash over him, and then they recede; the tension evaporates from every scrap of him and Aegon collapses onto the floor beside you.

Skating his thumb along the line of your jaw, marveling at you in the dreamlike haze of the afterglow, he says softly: “We have to talk, Angel.”

Fear settles in the cage of your ribs, a cold heavy thing like the iron dragons that preside over the dark corridors of the castle, ominous leers and bared fangs. “What is it?”

“I don’t know what to do with you.” His words are serene, his murky-blue eyes drowsy; his scarred chest rises and falls with slowing breaths. “When I leave to rejoin the war effort, I don’t know where you should go. I don’t know if you should stay here. I don’t know if I should have Larys try to take you to Storm’s End, or maybe Tarth or Estermont. I don’t know if you should return Claw Isle and wait out the bloodshed with your mother and sisters. I don’t know anything. And I can’t choose wrong. I can’t lose you. I can’t be responsible for your ruin.”

“I think I should stay on Dragonstone,” you say. “As long as you and Aemond are in the Riverlands, you would be able to fly back to see me.” And I might be able to help if Aegon is injured again.

He smirks, sadly, regretfully. “That would be my preference as well. But I fear it’s unwise. What if Daemon or Rhaenyra decide to come back to the island? They’re both far too preoccupied at the moment—Daemon fucking Nettles at Harrenhal, Rhaenyra stomping out rebellions in King’s Landing—but circumstances could change. Even if the Blacks believe you to be my unwilling captive, I don’t trust Daemon to treat you with decency. I don’t trust Rhaenyra’s paranoia to spare you.”

“I want to stay here. It’s our home now. It’s where I belong.” And you nestle into him, tangle up in him, will him to help win the war and then return to you.

Aegon chuckles, kissing your forehead. “Can you believe I was worried about whether this would work?” This: love as something physical, not just words or allegiances, not just something that changes how you see the world like peering through mist or smoke. “You had such a fear of it. Such adamant dread.”

“I feel safe with you.”

“Because I am a sad, weak, floppy little man?”

“No,” you say, smiling. “Because you’re a good man. Even if no one else has ever seen it. I see it all. I see you.”

There is the echoing noise of a door opening, then slow, laborious footsteps. “Your Grace?” Larys says reticently from the other side of the bookshelf.

“Stop,” Aegon orders. “Wait.” He grabs your gown off the floor and helps you into it, then yanks on his own shirt and trousers. “Approach,” he tells his Master of Whisperers.

Larys appears, resting his interwoven hands on the handle of his cane. He bows, tactfully averting his gaze from your wrinkled dress, untidy hair, glistening sheen of shared sweat.

Aegon says: “Your timing is impeccable as always, Lord Larys.”

“My sincerest apologies, Your Grace. You have a guest and I did not want him to…catch you unawares.”

“Ah. And of course I have no idea who that could be.”

The library door opens again; you hear its archaic iron hinges creak. Swift light footsteps cross the room. Aemond breezes into the aisle between bookshelves and stands there, tall and willowy and watchful and with his long hair plaited into a thick silver braid. His clear blue eye shifts between Aegon and you, stoic, betraying nothing. Of course Aegon does not know about Aemond’s proposition. You would never tell him as long as the war wages on. It would be a distraction, a danger, an unnecessary wedge to drive between two people who desperately need each other.

“Back already?” Aegon says. “I’m sure the people of the Riverlands miss you dearly. They’re probably waiting outside with their livestock all in a row just waiting for you to soar by and cook their supper for them.”

Aemond ignores this. He stares at you, then looks back to his brother. “I’m starving from the journey.”

“How fortuitous, we’re famished as well.”

Larys notes helpfully: “The cooks have prepared soft-shelled crabs, seasoned, battered, and fried in oil. They’re ready now.”

“They’ve prepared what?” Aemond asks, nauseated.

“You’ll like the crabs,” Aegon says, and as he walks past Aemond he thumps him roughly on the shoulder. “You’ll see how much I enjoy them and you’ll suddenly want every last one.”

~~~~~~~~~~

In the courtyard, under the next day’s late-afternoon sun, Aegon is sparring with a strapping knight supplied by House Chyttering, one of the noble families you inspired Larys to bring surreptitiously into the Greens’ service. When the king practices like this, his opponents go easy on him. They assail him with halfhearted swings of their blades and feeble shield arms. The goal is not to turn Aegon into a robust warrior; he would need years for that, and he will not go into battle on his feet anyway. He just needs to be strong enough to ride a dragon.

Near where you stand, Lord Larys and Aemond are deep in conversation. Aemond is saying: “It is my understanding that she and Daemon are operating almost entirely independently at this point. Is that consistent with what you’ve heard?”

Larys nods. “When Hugh Hammer and Ulf the White betrayed her side, Rhaenyra lost faith in all the Dragonseeds. She ordered the arrest of Addam Velaryon, but Corlys warned the boy before he could be imprisoned and he escaped on Seasmoke. For protecting his bastard son’s life, Rhaenyra had Corlys thrown in the dungeons. A curious lack of empathy from someone who has so recently lost three sons of her own. The Velaryon fleet has abandoned her. Rhaenyra has offered a substantial reward to anyone who brings Nettles to her, dead or alive, as the girl has been sentenced to death for treason.”

“Treason?” Aemond echoes doubtfully.

“Seducing the so-called queen’s husband.”

“Right,” Aemond says, thoughtful. In the center of the courtyard, Aegon is beating back the Chyttering lad with clumsy (yet determined) strikes of his sword. “What will Daemon do now, I wonder. Has he tired of the girl yet? She is a nobody, unlearned and of ignoble birth. Surely she cannot hold his interest for long, even if she is a dragonrider.”

“Time will reveal all, my prince,” Larys replies. “Perhaps Daemon will abandon Nettles. Perhaps he will defend her against Rhaenyra’s wrath. Perhaps he will send her away to safety.”

This heartens Aemond; it brightens his face like cool ethereal moonlight. “If she leaves, Sheepstealer will no longer be a threat to us. I can meet Daemon in battle. And in a fair fight, Vhagar will annihilate Caraxes.”

“I urge you to proceed cautiously,” Larys says. “You are the Greens’ greatest military asset, you are the prince regent, we need your leadership. If anything was to happen to you…” The Master of Whisperers trails off.

Aemond acts as if he hasn’t heard him. Instead, he unsheathes his sword and announces: “I think my brother needs more of a challenge. Allow me to assess the status of his recovery.” Then he takes a step towards the king.

Your hand juts out and closes around Aemond’s wrist. He blinks down at it, stunned that you have voluntarily touched him, perhaps. It is not an affectionate gesture, but it is a familiar one. You command Aemond, your voice low: “Don’t hurt him.”

“I never do,” Aemond replies, bewildered. Then he goes to meet Aegon in the center of the courtyard. The Chyttering knight retreats as Aemond approaches, twirling his sword effortlessly.

Aegon takes a defensive stance, both hands clutching the hilt of his own weapon. He’s grinning, but you don’t think he’s taking this seriously. He already knows he’s lost. “No great contest. I just have to aim for your left side.”

“Good thing I’ve never trained with my maiming in mind.” Aemond lunges and you yelp, started and fearful; he moves staggeringly quickly, his blade cutting through the air to clang against Aegon’s once, twice, and then the king is knocked to the ground with the point of Aemond’s sword at his throat.

“I yield,” Aegon says from where he’s sprawled on the gravel. “You win. You are superior. You could still easily murder me if you chose to.”

“As long as you are aware of it.” Then Aemond takes his brother’s hand and pulls him to his feet, helping to brush pebbles from Aegon’s light armor.

“I should order you executed,” Aegon jests. “You’ve humiliated me in front of my wife.”

“I’m sure she was already well acquainted with your myriad of failings.”

“They are rather evident,” Aegon admits.

“Hm,” Aemond says to himself. Then he stalks back inside the castle with his silver hair flowing out behind him: to consult books, to plan battles, to console himself with wine, to put on Aegon’s crown and admire himself in a mirror, to brood as he glares at the walls, you aren’t sure.

Aegon slides his sword back into its scabbard and joins you by Lord Larys. When he speaks, his words are smug and anxious and eager and heartbroken. “I think I’m ready to go, Angel.”

“Tomorrow? When Aemond leaves?”

“Tomorrow,” Aegon agrees. He smiles, off-balanced and sad-eyed, as he takes your hands in his. Half of his hair is pulled back from his face, but as always, he is still wearing his tiny braid; right now it is stained with dark gravel dust like soot, like ash. You can feel the chill of his gold dragon ring under your fingertips. “I have to help them win this war, Aemond, Criston, Daeron, Mother. I have to try to stop the end of the world.”

You mean to say something—I understand, I’m proud of you, I love you now and I’ll love you forever—but your voice breaks and you have nothing to offer him.

“I know,” Aegon says gently, cleaning a tear from your cheek with his thumbprint. “Come and walk with me. There’s one last thing I have to make sure I can do.”

On the long stone staircase that leads from the main castle entrance down to the beach, Sunfyre the Golden is waiting for his rider. He makes those alien sounds that unnerve you—clicks, growls, squeals, whistles—but Aegon seems to comprehend them. He rests a palm on his dragon’s gleaming face, just between his reptilian, liquid-metal eyes. Rain is rolling in off the ocean; the sky is thick with dark, low clouds. Cold wind claws at your hair and unfurls in your lungs, proof of the rapidly approaching end of summer. Winter Is Coming, you think, words that you have grown to hate.

“Would you like to go too?” Aegon asks as he prepares to climb up into the dragon’s saddle; and to your surprise, he is only half-joking. “I know Sunfyre won’t hurt you now. He understands what you mean to me.”

“I personally abhor dragons.” And all the destruction that only they can curse the earth with.

Sunfyre snorts; steam rises from his nostrils and he stretches out his wings, pale pink membranes that match your gown. Aegon laughs. “You will have to learn to appreciate them. Your house is the same as mine now. And we owe everything to these beasts.”

“Perhaps I’ll accompany you next time.” But no, you will never ride a dragon; you know that absolutely, unquestioningly.

“I’ll be back in time for supper,” Aegon says. “And then I intend to keep you awake all night with—”

He cuts off like a severed limb. There is a scream in the sky, not of a man but of a dragon: too shrill to be Vhagar, too unfamiliar to be Tessarion, tinny but fierce, hostile, growing louder. The creature zooms by with blinding speed, a blur of pale pearlescent green, the fastest dragon you’ve ever witnessed, small but lethal.

Moondancer. That has to be Baela and Moondancer.

A column of fire bursts from Moondancer’s gaping jaws as she hurtles past Sunfyre, but just a sliver of an instant too late, narrowly missing him; still, the inferno is close enough that you can feel the apocalyptic heat, can see the air wrinkle and warp like the fabric of existence wearing thin. High above the ocean—her shadow like a bruise on slate-colored waves—Moondancer banks and begins to turn back towards where you stand.

“Get inside the castle!” Aegon is roaring at you. You are too terrified to move. “Go, go!”

“Aegon, you can’t fight them alone—!”

“Go!” He gives you a hard, frantic shove. “You get inside the castle and you stay there!” Then as you sprint up the staircase towards the entranceway, he clambers into Sunfyre’s saddle and takes off into the churning, thunderous sky.

You can hear them overhead: shrieking dragons, human shouts, flames crackling and billowing, wings flapping like the sails of a ship. You stagger into Dragonstone screaming for Aemond. Larys rushes to you, the guards materialize like vultures around a corpse, but none of them can help Aegon. Only Aemond can. Only he and Vhagar.

You tear through the castle. You are banging on doors with your open palms, racing up steps, calling for Aemond until your throat is raw and you can taste the coppery sting of blood. Aemond comes running and grips your shoulders to steady you. He is panicked, he is petrified. “What, what is it—?!”

“Baela, Moondancer!”

Aemond understands immediately. He bolts for the castle entranceway, you following close behind him. He does not tell you to remain within the towering, mist-sopped walls of Dragonstone. Perhaps it does not occur to him; perhaps he knows you would not listen.

“Your Grace!” Larys is imploring you. Not my lady, not Lady Celtigar. Your Grace, because Aegon believes I am his queen. “Your Grace, please, I beg you, stay here where it is safe!”

When you and Aemond cross through the doorway and out into the windswept, iron-grey air, you look up to see it just as it happens. Sunfyre and Moondancer are gnarled together like a sailor’s knot, hissing and snapping, drawing blood from each other, clawing and clinging with suicidal rage. Now their wings are little more than shredded ribbons of thin membranous flesh. Now the dragons are plummeting towards the beach. And Aegon is falling, falling, falling from an impossible height, his hands reaching to grab for a rope that doesn’t exist, his legs kicking as if through water. He is crashing to the earth like a bird shot through with an arrow, like an angel whose wings have been sheared off, ripped out by the root, burned away.

You are shrieking his name, but you know this is useless, that you are useless, that nothing you’ve ever learned or practiced can stop this. You and Aemond are racing down to the beach, clutching each other’s arms on the staircase so neither of you trip and stumble off of it. You are dimly aware that there are guards and maesters behind you, and Lord Larys too, and that they are speaking in frenzied phrases that you cannot understand. You and Aemond are united in that. You are both beyond words.

Aegon is on the sand. He isn’t dead; he isn’t even unconscious. He is screaming like he was on the day you met him, when half his skin had been scorched by Meleys’ flames, when he was near death and you were the only reason he lived. Now he is not burned; but his legs are destroyed. They are not just broken. They are shattered, grotesque bulges everywhere, moon-white bone splitting through the skin in two places on his left leg and three on his right. His trousers hang in bloody tatters. Someone is wailing, someone sounds like they have lost their mind. Someone is raking their fingernails against your face until your cheeks are bleeding. Oh, it’s you, it’s you, but you don’t feel real, and neither does this moment, and neither does the knowledge that Aegon will not leave tomorrow to help win the war, may never walk again, may not be alive by midnight. You have dragged men back from the brink of death, countless men, and you have done so with almost supernatural composure; but this is no anonymous doomed soldier. This is Aegon, and he is ruined.

Down at the other end of the beach, Sunfyre is tearing out Moondancer’s throat with his teeth, loosing a vicious subterranean snarl. From the surf, a seemingly uninjured Baela emerges, coughing seawater from her lungs and reeling on her hands and knees. Larys is instructing someone to take her to the castle dungeons. The maesters and guards are swarming around their fallen king and trying to decide how to move him without damaging his legs further. Aegon, meanwhile, is reaching for his brother.

“Aemond—”

“I’m here. I’m right here.” Aemond drops to his knees and tenderly sweeps Aegon’s shaggy silver hair out of his eyes. “We’re going to get you inside and the maesters will set your legs. You’re going to be alright. We’re going to help you.”

Aegon howls, tears flooding down his face. He snaps at Aemond as he grabs his hand and squeezes it: “When the fuck is it going to be your turn to get hurt?!”

“It will happen eventually, I’m sure,” Aemond replies grimly. Then he glances up at you. You have to free yourself from this shock, this horror. You have to help Aegon.

You kneel down in wet, bloodied sand and begin to examine him. In a trembling voice, you tell Larys and the maesters and the guards how he must be carried—feet-first when going up the staircase, lessening the strain of gravity on his legs—and that the wounds must be painstakingly cleaned before the fractures are set to prevent infection. You try to say more, but you can’t. Your gaze lands on Aegon’s agonized face and is trapped there, a mutual recognition of the death of one future and the bleak, torturous nightfall of another.

Why couldn’t I stop this? I love him, I love him, why can’t I stop him from suffering?

Aegon looks to Aemond and says something in High Valyrian, something halting and with immense effort. Whatever Aegon asks for, Aemond is momentarily taken aback by it. Then he nods, understanding. And when the guards lift Aegon—Larys and the maesters supervising, the king shrieking until the pain knocks him unconscious—Aemond links his arms around you and stops you from following them up the jagged stone staircase.

“No! Let me go, let me go!” You fight him, and you don’t just fight, you screech and claw and strike at him, you scratch at his face until you rip his eyepatch away and Aemond’s glittering sapphire shines in the fading light. Raindrops are beginning to fall. You’re crying; tears fill your eyes until your sight is hopelessly obscured, until the world is nothing but a grey like smoke, ashes, storms.

Aemond is murmuring to you patiently: “Shh. Stop, stop. Please don’t fight me. He doesn’t want you to see him like this.”

“Aemond, let me go!”

“He doesn’t want you to think of him as someone helpless, someone weak—”

“You did this!” you scream into Aemond as he entombs you in his arms, unbreakable like steel. Your fists drum futilely against his chest. “You started this war, you murdered Luke, you started it and it’s going to kill Aegon, you did this, you did this, it’s going to kill him and it’s all your fucking fault!”

“I know,” Aemond whispers, lips to your ear, his heartbeat thudding against yours. “I know. I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s going to kill him,” you moan, sobs ripping through you; and at some point you stop fighting Aemond and begin holding onto him, not because what you’ve said isn’t true but because he understands, and because he’s the only person you have left who can.

I want Autumn, you think powerlessly, miserably. And I want her child to have another chance at life. I want Everett. I want Alicent and Jaehaera. I want Helaena and Maelor and Jaehaerys and Otto. I want wisdom, guidance, innocence, hope. I want the future and I want the past.

“I can end this war,” Aemond swears to you as the full moon rises and the waves crash against the shore. “I can make things right again. I can end it. I can win.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It is hours later when Aemond allows you into the room, illuminated by flickering candles and ghostly moonlight. Aegon lies unconscious in the same bed where he made love to you for the first time, where he might never again, where he showed you that there is something besides fear and pain and surrender to be found in marriage.

His legs have been set as well as they can be, bandaged, elevated. You would have done nothing differently if it had been you to tend him in place of the maesters: Jasper from House Hardy, Lothair of House Stokeworth, men you have taught everything you know to just as they shared their expertise with you. Aegon has been given as much milk of the poppy as his body can endure without his heartbeat slowing until it stops. You sit on the edge of the bed and untie his braid, weave a new one, undo it again, knit and unknit glistening silver strands like the strings of a spider’s web. You can’t imagine what will happen next. You don’t want to.

When Aegon stirs, you clasp his hand, letting him know that you’re here. His dragon ring is missing, you notice; no gold wings, no jade eyes. It must have slipped off when he tumbled from the sky. And you remember what Aegon told you about his dreams of Helaena, about the warning she imparted to him, her ghost or her memory or something else wearing her face: Don’t fall, don’t fall.

“I’m sorry, Angel.” His voice is hoarse and whisper-thin. He’s trying to smile but can’t quite manage it. “I wanted to be strong enough. I wanted to start over with you.”

Start over how, Aegon? In peacetime? As a dynasty? With retribution or forgiveness? With children? “You will. You still can.”

“I knew I’d disappoint you.”

“Aegon, I’m not disappointed,” you say, tears streaming down your cheeks. “I just want to help you. I want to take care of you. I love you.”

But he blacks out again before he can give you his familiar refrain, something in High Valyrian that he doesn’t know Aemond has provided you with the translation of. To your misfortune. And is Aegon wrong when he says this? Is he really?

You drift into a fitful sleep beside Aegon, wake up only a few hours later with sore, damp eyes, make sure he’s still breathing. It’s raining heavily now; sheets of it patter against the windows and thunder quakes the castle. You rise from the bed and walk without knowing where you’re going. When you find yourself sitting on a stone bench in the gardens, drenched with rain and freckled with fiery torchlight from the mouth of an iron dragon, you don’t remember how you got there. You are cold and shivering; you are so profoundly, numbly despondent that you cannot move, cannot think, can only sit with your arms curled around your bent knees and your eyes vacant.

By the time Aemond finds you, your dusky pink gown—stained with splotches of Aegon’s blood—is soaked through. Aemond lurks just inside the doorway of the castle that opens into the gardens, sheltered from the storm. “Why are you sitting in the rain?”

You do not answer. You cannot answer. You stare blankly out into the night as droplets pelt you, stinging your skin like needles.

“You should come inside,” Aemond tells you. “You’ll get pneumonia.”

Nothing he says matters. Will going inside cure Aegon? Will catching pneumonia rob you of any life worth living?

Aemond sighs and strides out into the rain to meet you. “I have to go back to the Riverlands now. Will you be alright here?”

Your words are a question, but your tone isn’t. You speak bitterly and without looking at him. “Why would you care.”

“I care intensely,” Aemond says, kindly now. “If you don’t know why, you haven’t been listening.”

“You don’t want me. You just want to feel like you’re better than him. That you’re worthy of being chosen, worthy of fathering the heir.”

He shrugs. “Nothing in life is without ambition. Love is never entirely selfless.”

“Mine is.”

“No,” Aemond says severely. “No, you want things for yourself. You want a choice in who you marry. You want to escape the burden of bedding someone dull or repugnant or cruel. What makes you think you’re so high above the fate that the rest of us have suffered? Do you have any idea how desperately few people get to marry for love? But you can’t endure that resignation. You have to covet something more. Even if it gets you killed.”

Have suffered, Aemond said. Not will suffer. Have suffered. At last, you turn to him. “You’ve never had a wife. When were you ever forced to lie with someone?”

He stares at you and does not answer, cold rain dripping from his face, a vulnerable childlike apprehension in his lone blue eye.

Then you remember: the madam at the brothel, Aemond’s aversion to her unmistakable familiarity. What had he said when he apologized for leaving you there? It is a place that I associate with great unpleasantness. “At the brothel,” you realize. “The Pink Pearl.”

“Yes,” Aemond says, very quietly.

“How old were you?”

“Barely thirteen.”

He was a boy, you think, horrified. Not a man. Just a boy. “Who took you there?”

“Who do you think?”

There is only one true possibility. Aegon, just a few years older and already corrupted in every sense of the word, drunk and miserable and lustful and lost.

“He thought he was doing me a kindness,” Aemond says. “He didn’t intend for there to be any harm, I’m sure of it. But that doesn’t mean no harm occurred.”

“That should never have happened to you. I’m sorry.”

“A lot of things should never have happened.” Aemond’s hair hangs in long, disheveled waves. Now his clothes are sodden with rain too, not a pale pink like exposed organs or half-healed burns but a verdant, jealous green. “I can’t leave until you come inside out of the rain.”

It doesn’t matter where I am. I can’t save anyone, I can’t stop the world from crashing down. “If he’s dead I want to be too.”

“He’s not dying,” Aemond insists. “He won’t be able to fight, but he will live.”

He won’t, you think, lifeless words that are cold and grey like tombstones. The suffering is too great. The trauma is too dire. It stacks up like blood-red coins in his liver, his heart, his lungs, his kidneys. And eventually the scales will tip, and it will kill him, and I’ll have to watch it happen.

Aemond offers you his hand. “Let me walk you back inside.”

“Please leave me.”

“I can’t,” Aemond replies, distressed.

You are weeping now; your own words choke you. “I want to stay here.”

“No you don’t. The pain just feels so heavy you can’t find your way out from under it.”

He is still holding out a hand to you. At last, you take it. And you make a confession, dark, venomous, unfamiliar like the voice of a stranger. “I used to believe war was hell for everyone. I used to want the suffering to end. But I don’t think I do anymore. I think I want the Blacks to suffer greatly. I want them to suffer more than they ever knew was possible.”

And in the maelstrom of the driving rain, Aemond grins until his teeth look like fangs in the shifting, rageful, rust-and-blood glow of the firelight.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen ii #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen x reader

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miscellaneoussmp · 5 months

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The desert is cold. The river is freezing. Bad helps Max into the boat. "Thank you for everything, Bad." This is goodbye. Bad, despite centuries of practice, was never good at goodbyes. "I should be thanking you, really. Will you say hi to Dan and Trumpet for me?" Max nods, "Of course." With that, the boat begins to float down the river. Now, it's time for Bad to make the journey back.

The desert is cold. The desert is usually barren. Bad doesn't expect to run into anyone. The voices he hears belong to Mouse, Baghera, and Antoine. Mouse is holding out a lantern that flickers with blue flame. Baghera waves him over. Pol is with them. "What are you four doing?" Bad doesn't get the chance to ask questions like this, usually. "Oh! We're-" She points between her and Pol, "taking my shortcut home, then I'm giving them my lantern." Bad turns his sight to Antoine and Baghera. "We're going to look for Pomme." Antoine voice has a hopeful tilt to it. "Is that a good idea?" Bad is back to looking at Mouse. "It wasn't originally mine, so it should be fine." She just shrugs.

"Alright. Just don't get lost, okay?" Bad watches as the small group walks off with a few waves. "Same to you!" Baghera calls as they get further and further away.

The desert is cold. The pale sands shift. Bad notices a flame. Foolish is sitting by his fireplace. The flame is a perfect orange. He smiles. "You just missed them." Bad takes a moment to realize what Foolish means, but the echoing sound of Forever's voice makes it obvious. "I hope they don't get lost." Bad is still standing. "I gave them each a torch. They should be fine." Foolish grabs a stick from the edge of the fire. "You should take one, too." He offers the makeshift torch to Bad. "I'll be fine without one." The look on the other's face is unreadable.

There's a few moments of silence between the two. Bad is still standing. "I'm going to continue heading back. Do you want to come with?" Bad asks, but he knows the answer already. Foolish looks up from tending the fire. There is no heat to the flame. "I'm staying here just in case, but Bad, listen to me. Don't get lost." There's a seriousness to Foolish's voice that he rarely hears. Bad starts to walk away. "I won't. I won't..."

The desert is cold. The wind blows. Bad hears laughter. A welcome sound against the near silence typical of the desert. "Bad! Hey!" Tina's the one to call him over to the group. She's holding a lantern close in front of her chest. Her other hand is hovering just to the side of the lantern, attempting to protect it from the wind. The flame flickers from a blue to an orange. Tina isn't alone, far from it. Jaiden walks up to stand next to her. She has her hands folded behind her head. Bad can see Mariana holding a torch up. The flame flickers from an orange to a blue. His other hand is holding Charlie's. "Are you doing okay?" Jaiden asks. She isn't holding a flame, but Tina's is enough for both of them. "I'm fine, I'm good." Tina looks worried, as does Jaiden. He's fine. Bad can't think of any reason they'd be worried.

Missa soon joins them, along with Niki. He has a lantern chained around his waist. It flickers blue. It's enough for two, like Tina's own. Missa also seems worried. His eyes dart between Tina, Mariana, and Bad. "We're heading home if you want to join us?" 'Are you lost?' is the unsaid question. "I'm fine, I know the way. Mouse has a shortcut if you see her." That seems like important information to pass along. Mariana and Charlie seem to get further away. "Well then, we'll see you later?" Tina, ever the optimist. "You will, don't worry." Bad manages a smile. Tina waves goodbye, so she isn't left behind by her group. She catches up to Niki and Missa.

The desert is cold. The water is poisoned. He isn't lost. He doesn't need a flame. Bad is an amazing liar, as always.

—

(Part 1)(Part 2)

#qsmp #qsmp purgatory #qsmp drabble #qsmp badboyhalo #qsmp maximus #qsmp mouse #qsmp baghera #qsmp antoine #qsmp polispol #qsmp foolish #qsmp forever #qsmp tina #qsmp jaiden #qsmp el mariana #qsmp charlie slimecicle #qsmp missa #qsmp niki #(< sorry i tag everyone)#uploading all three parts in one day? it's the brainrot.

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certifiedlovergirlsstuff · 5 months

Text

the winner takes it all

pairing: peeta mellark x gn!reader

wc: 890

warnings: blood and weapons mentioned. cato getting eaten by mutts (spoiler i guess). a self-sacrificing suicide (i fucking fridge someone off)

summary: there can only be one winner of the hunger games.

A/N: bread boy! lover boy! peeta mellark everyone!!!

masterlist

cato was dead.

his screams of agony mixed with the growls and snarls of the mutts ripping him apart. you and peeta peered down from above on the cornucopia, panting from the strenuous fighting while witnessing the horror below. his screams of mercy, begging to be put to his death. all you could do was watch as he finally went silent, his vocal cords ripped out by a mutt with dark brown eyes. they ran away once their prey stopped putting up a fight, disappearing into the dark woods.

a canon went off in the silent night. you and peeta are the only two left. it’s over, the hunger games were over and there were two victors.

“we won,” peeta sighed. you slowly looked over to him, a barely there smile as his eyes seemed to bring a twinkle in those swimming blue irises. “we won.” repeating it with more enthusiasm.

your own lips twitched at the corners, both of you smiling at each other as you go in for a bone-crushing hug.

arms over his shoulders while your fingers sink into his dirty blonde hair, your face buried into his neck as you deeply inhale peeta’s natural scent. peeta held you close by the waist with his palms pressing flat to your back, his breath tickling your ears as his lips left an absent kiss on your skin. “we won,” practically cried at those words. you both could go home and be happy together, get to enjoy your growing love in private.

leaning apart while moving your hands from peeta’s hair to caress his rosy cheeks, smiling so wide the apples of your cheeks ache. your eyes roamed over the scars and dirt smudging over his pale skin, how he still was your peeta mellark. still kind, selfless, and caring. your charming, handsome bread boy.

hands on his face you bring him close as you lean in so you are able to press your lips together, sighing in relief. it’s been too long since your last one, having been separated for most of the games. you could drop your guard and indulge yourself wholly into being with peeta, tasting peeta, touching peeta. it was heaven on earth.

“i love you. i love you so much.” peeta declared breathlessly, puppy eyes peering into your heart. you leaned in for another kiss, muttering against his mouth, “i love you too.” you ignored the ghostly feel of all district eyes watching this heartfelt moment, it was just the two of you in this world.

peeta helped bring you to the ground just as the sky was changing from night to day. looking to the sky thinking a helicarrier might appear from above ready to whisk you both away from this nightmare, but nothing. no peacekeepers stomping the grounds, no obnoxious trumpet flair or announcer's voice, nothing.

“we won. why- why aren’t they-” frantically looking around just as a feedback noise sounded throughout the arena. seneca crane’s voice a godly thing. “the two victor rule has been revoked. there shall only be one winner of the hunger games. may the odds be ever in your favor.”

heart dropping to your stomach, tears pooling in tired eyes, your knees gave out and you dropped to the grassy floor. the salty drops stained your cheeks and burned your tongue as a scream was ripped from your chest, head pounding in protest. you didn’t notice peeta’s arms wrapped around you until he started whispering in your ear, “it’s okay. it’s okay, you’ll win.”

and those two words made you go insane. “no! no, this- this isn’t fair! we- we won!” trying to shake peeta’s embrace off of you, panicking about the next move for either of you. someone needs to die, and it’s not gonna be peeta.

feeling for the hunting knife in your waistband you gripped the thick handle and held it at your side. peeta looked down and shakily inhaled before locking eyes with you, forcing an imitation of his lovely smile. “you deserve to win, it’s only fair.”

you steeled your nerves so that with your empty hand you could reach for peeta’s cheek like earlier and bring him back to you, capturing every last touch of him before it becomes a distant memory. the returning tear drops bullets on your skin.

“peeta mellark,” pulling away and taking a few steps back, “i’ll love you even when i’m dead.” slicing the sharp blade over your throat, causing a warm thick waterfall of your blood to flow downstream.

“no!” he rushed to your limp body, catching you and bringing you both to the ground. he cradled your upper body into his chest, pushing your sweat-soaked strains away from your face. his face was twisted in agony, something you caused to spare him any pain.

“please, please don’t leave me. i need you.” peeta’s hand fretted about your paling face, drops of dark red blood staining your mouth. “i love you. you’ll be in my dreams forever.” kissing your temple with every ounce of love he could pour into it.

your heavy eyes memorized the freckles scattered over his cheeks, the shade of green coloring peeta’s orbs, and the feel of his skin on yours. with your last breath, you were able to choke out, “forever.”

then your heart stopped.

and a canon went off.

#peeta mellark imagine #peeta mellark #the hunger games peeta #peeta my beloved #thg peeta #team peeta #peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark x you #peeta mellark fic #peeta mellark x gn!reader #peeta mellark x fem!reader #peeta mellark angst #the hunger games #the hunger games imagine

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theseventrumpets · 1 year

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hey! i wanted to introduce some of the cats that’ll be there at the start of the RP! If you want, feel free to ask them some questions about their lives, how the decks work, what the world is like around them, etc!! First up: Twistedsoul! Twistedsoul is an outsider of the Decks, a wanderer that makes sure the place outside of the territories is safe, and warning Decks here and there if there’s any issues or predators encroaching on anyone’s zones. He also keeps the Outsider camp safe, watching over it similar to a Face! Second: Turnclub! Turnclub is the Face of the White, a very excited and happy little guy, smaller than even most pips. He became the Face of the White about three years ago, and has suffered through a lot of experiences in his time. he’s always ready to meet new faces and answer anyone’s questions, though! Third: Ravenpip! Ravenpip is a pip of the Black, though he moved there from the White when he was very young. In his short life, he’s been through a lot, suffering certain interpersonal hardships that have made him try to push even harder to become a strong Suit in the Deck, and fit in with the place he believes is his true home. Fourth: Abysscloser! Is it Abyss closer (to close a hole) or Abyss closer (to bring something closer to you)...? Who knows, not even Abyss knows! They’re a Keeper of the Pale, one of the cats tasked with remembering the history of the Decks, and reciting stories and tales of those who have passed from the mortal plane. They’re always happy to tell someone their theories of the world! And last: Cometblaze! Cometblaze is a Suit of the Red, a brutish and hulking guy who isn’t scared to tell it like it is. He’s got a heavy accent and loves fighting others, including verbally through debates. He’s loyal to his Deck though, and knows the ins and outs of it thoroughly, including the histories and lives of everyone who currently lives in it. There’s no secret that can escape this guy! And that’s the list of cats shown here! Again, if you’d like to ask them questions, go ahead! What better way to learn about the world than asking someone who actually lives in it? (This would be super fun for me to do while I wait for the server to drop so im deciding to do it, hehe!) And, maybe some more cats will come to answer questions if enough are asked...

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 months

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We come to a close.

I had to get this out several days after his actual birthday 😅 It was hard since I also had to account for Cater’s birthday on the 4th and got busy irl… I also had to skip responding to some interactions or else we’d have like an extra week of 3-4 Rollos per day.

So sorry for that!! 💦 I hope you at least enjoy this brief closing piece before we go back to our regularly scheduled TWST brain rot and ramblings.

At last.

He had endured.

Barely.

Now the sun was setting, and soon the stars would come out to play. The guests had departed one by one, Noble Bell College students retreating to their own lodging, Night Raven College students returning to their own campus. The student council's chambers were bereft of the souls that had filled and warmed it mere moments ago.

What remained of the celebration were the fun bits and bobs, confetti scattered on the floor and decorations still hung up. There was leftover cake and wrapping yet to be discarded, a pile of opened presents to organize.

An entire mess.

Rollo reflexively reached for a broom and dustpan only for another hand to come down upon his. He looked up into the gentle face of his vice president.

"Let me get that for you."

Rollo frowned. "I am perfectly capable of assisting with cleaning."

His vice gave him a sympathetic smile as he eased the broom and dustpan out of Rollo's grasp. "I've never doubted that for one second, Mister President—but the clock hasn't quite struck midnight yet."

"That's right," the aide chimed in from atop a stepladder. He was busy unpinning a banner that ran across the doorway. "You should head home early for once. We've got this covered."

"I can see that you two remain stubborn about this matter up until the last second," Rollo said tightly. How irksome.

He had hit a brick wall—and his patience was worn down to its last leg. Swallowing his pride, he relented. "... Very well, I will retire for the evening then. However, I expect to see this room spic and span tomorrow morning for our regular activities.”

"You got it, Mister President!"

He briskly made his exit, leaving the student council members to their duties.

His steps were neat and fleet, leaving not a sound nor a scuff in his path. Quiet as a mouse—or rat—skittering under the cover of night.

At this hour, the halls were dark and desolate, save for the pale moonlight through stained glass. When he passed the windows, their colors flickered, sliced by shadow. The corridor spilled into an atrium, empty like the rest of the school—

Rollo’s footsteps came to a halt. He caught himself on a pillar, his breath hitching.

Flowers.

White ones.

They flooded the atrium, covering the floors and snaking up columns, stairways, and bannisters. Curled petals up to his ankles, the color of them pure as fresh snow, untainted by outside forces. They were shaped like trumpets, filaments sticking out in fanfare.

Lilies, white lilies.

And the light trace of magic in the air, the feeling akin to soap bubbles popping on the skin. A tingle, a sampling of something rich and dark and wrong.

Rollo scowled at the field of flowers. He had no doubt in his mind where the flowers had come from.

A voice called out to him.

"What do you think of my parting gift, Flamme?"

"... Malleus Draconia."

At the name, a pair of luminous green eyes appeared in the darkness. The fairy prince, wearing a bemused grin, emerged from his hiding place. He was across the way from Rollo, poised like a marble statue under a silver spotlight.

“Come to get one last jab in before you crawl home?” Rollo demanded with a scowl. His polite pretenses were cast aside—his true face showing. He approached his archnemesis, not caring that he trampled flora underneath his heel. “The white flowers are a touch dramatic.”

“I thought you would like them.”

“What would give you that impression?”

Malleus laughed, clear and resonant in the large room. He casually stroked a lily climbing up to the ceiling. “I mulled over what your gift should be for the longest time. I finally came to the conclusion that the color white suits you best.”

“I prefer red,” Rollo snapped back, “and no flowers at all if they are to come from you.”

“Ah, but is white not the color of a saint? That is what you are in their eyes.” Malleus showed his teeth. His incisors were like knives. “A savior, a blessing... hence the white. Red is for sinners.”

A chill raced down Rollo’s spine.

Sins crawling on his back.

Discomfort and confusion twisted in his gut. The color crimson, a hot imprint in his heart. Rights and wrongs looked so similar viewed under the same red-colored lenses.

He clenched his fists.

“… You are not welcome here. Get out,” Rollo spat. “Get out now. I do not have the time to take heed of your inane ramblings and attempts at deception…!”

He was getting frantic, his volume growing louder and louder. At the height of the crescendo, it suddenly dropped to a sputter.

Blink, and Malleus was gone. Blink, and the space where he once stood was nothing more than twinkling green lights.

Blink…

… and Rollo was alone among the flowers.

#twst #Malleus Draconia #twisted wonderland #Rollo Flamme #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #Rollo birthday takeover #twst en #twisted wonderland en #twst imagines #twisted wonderland imagines #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland scenarios

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coffehbeans · 3 months

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Sinking Chips Chapter 1

Okay I'm done editing, new story aaaaaahh

This is the story written after the result of this poll! Thanks sm for voting and for your patience! It took a looong while aaaaah

These two characters are very dear to me. They're one of my oldest g/t ocs alongside Juhren and Sunflower, and I've even made art for them years ago. (funny how I said back then that I'd write about them soon and it took me SIX FREAKING YEARS)

Anyway, I'm very happy to finally share a snippet of their story! Enjoy! <3

Summary: Caytlin Brooke, a sophomore marine biologist student gets stranded in the middle of the sea, with no hopes of rescue. But a chance encounter challenges all she knew about marine life, and a bond is formed in the proccess.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The whales’ singing blasted like trumpets in the cave, a sign that a new Heir was about to be announced. With King Freyr’s last breath on the day before, it was a matter of time until the Ocean declared a new protector for the North Atlantic.

Merfolk swam and gathered at the center of the plaza; a large outdoors space made of polished stone. Bioluminescent creatures illuminated their path in a spiral shape, and a large crowd formed as they cheered with clicks and whistles. In front of them laid a magnificent castle, bigger than the length of two blue whales, and with towering, pointy towers. It was made of the same dark blue stone material as the vast cave, and if it wasn’t for the glowing plankton and the blue gemstones decorating the walls in spiral patterns, the intricate carvings of the castle would merge with the walls of the cavern.

Inside the palace, Queen Haliae watched her tears float upwards, the pain of losing her King like a fresh wound in her heart. On each arm, she held a baby, non-identical twins that would never meet their father. One had pale blue skin, as light as the sand on the seabed at night, and dark turquoise hair that flowed like the ocean waves. His tail was a greyish shade of blue, mimicking the pattern of a blue whale, just like his mother’s. The baby cried as the light of the Ocean’s Oracle shone like a chandelier on the ceiling, a ball-shaped crystal filled with flowing, glowing water. It was too bright for the little mer’s small, fragile eyes. The other twin on Haliae’s arm had shorter, unrulier hair as light as the sand with a distinct turquoise undertone, and his skin was a darker shade of blue. His tail was a deep blue like his father’s, mimicking a humpback whale. Unlike his brother, this baby was transfixed by the glowing orb over his head, giggling every time light pulsated from it.

The mother swam up to that crystal with unwavering determination in her eyes, eliciting a prayer to the Ocean, which flowed as easy as a whale’s call. She finished it with a personal supplication, one she whispered so only Mother Ocean would hear.

“May whoever you choose be a beacon of guidance in this kingdom, much like their father were... And may the other find his footing as the New Heir’s shadow.”

As if answering her, the Ocean’s Oracle shone a light as bright as the sun, blinding the mother, her children, and all merfolk gathered inside the palace. The crowd waiting outside whistled and twirled, knowing that the time for a new Heir was soon to come.

When the light dimmed and the Queen opened her eyes, one of her kids was glowing.

It was not the giggling child, no, for Mother Ocean chose the crying, screaming child, who now sobbed louder while glowing a vivid blue. The teardrop-shaped necklace he wore filled with cerulean, fluorescent water, a sign that he was now the New Chosen Heir.

The mother smiled, melancholy shining in her features. So, this was the one that would carry her husband’s legacy. She kissed the unchosen child on the forehead, giving him to one of the servants so she could present the chosen child to the people.

The glow dimmed from her son as Queen Haliae swam towards the outskirts of the castle, and the crowd praised their Majesty with louder cheering. She raised her kid up high, swimming further above her kingdom, and the whistling of merfolk and sea creatures alike shook the foundations of their cave. She cradled her small son in her arms, who was looking at her with pure, round eyes, unaware of the reason for the commotion around him. It was customary for the royal merfolk of the North Atlantic to name their children after the Heir was chosen, and so she thought of a name much fitting for him:

“Your name will be Aegir Sonhavet.” She whispered to his tiny ears.

…

Warm temperature of 77 degrees Fahrenheit. A soft breeze by the sea, no sign of storm in sight. No prediction of wild waves today either.

Today, Caytlin would go cruising.

She shot up from her seat at yet another cell development class, huffing as she shoved things inside her bag before waving bye to her friends and hurrying outside. Pushing her strands of light brown, shoulder-length wavy hair aside and fixing the collar of her white and blue stripped shirt, Caytlin searched for her house’s keys in her jean shorts pockets. Her hand curled around a cute dolphin keychan and she sighed in relief. Putting her keys away safely in her pocket, Caytlin walked out of the university with wide steps.

She walked, no, dashed away from the building, saying hello here and there to the people she knew in her hurried way, until arriving at the bus stop. She recovered her breath as she waited anxiously, pacing left and right, and celebrated when her bus finally arrived.

A few minutes later and Caytlin was close to her home by the harbor. She walked on the sidewalk, glancing to the calming sea to her right, the view of its gentle waves and its deep blue color filling her excitable heart with absolute joy. There it was, in the distance, anchored by the harbor: her, oops- their, well-kept cabin cruiser.

‘Dad is definitely not home today. Soo, I will definitely come back before he arrives!’ She thought, a mischievous smile on her face.

Caytlin checked the inside of her house, which was on the way to the port, to confirm her suspicions. Yep, he wasn’t home. The winds were sure favorable today.

Passing by her house to pick some lost supplies, which she piled on her arms with hurry, Caytlin strode towards the awaiting ship she and her father had for over ten years already. He had taught her everything about the ocean, from how to maneuver the cruiser to curious facts about sea animals, all of which cultivated her deep passion for marine life to begin with.

Loading the ship with supplies, Caytlin boarded it and steered out of the port, giggling with excitement.

And off she went, towards the open sea.

…

It’s jammed.

The engine is jammed.

Caytlin pushed the lever again. Nothing. She tried kicking the engine. No results. She tried opening it with a screwdriver and seeing the inside, and her body ran cold.

The wires were burnt. Completely burnt.

And she had forgotten to bring the reserve components.

“W-well, it was an old boat, after all…”

Caytlin’s heart hammered full swing. She’s in the middle of nowhere, for she cruised too far away from shore, way ahead of the safety margin she and her father had stablished. There’s no land in sight, no signal on her phone and no way of returning back safely.

“I-it’s fine! I-I’ll find a way. Dad will notice I went to the sea. Yeah.”— She said in-between panting breaths.

She’d be rescued safely, that’s it. She’ll just have to wait out in her pretty little ship until help arrives.

That is, if the ship doesn’t topple over or break down when that huge, dark cloud in the sky reaches her.

Caytlin gasped and dashed outside of the cabin to look at the storm that was nearing her location. She gripped the railing tightly.

“No way! The weather forecast said there was no rain today!”

‘But the weather isn’t always predictable’, her father had said once.

Caytlin groaned and clutched at her hair, sucking in a breath. She had to find a way out. She had to.

‘The radio! Maybe the radio would work!’ She ran back inside the cabin and pressed a number she memorized all too well – her father’s.

“No signal. Why there’s no signal?!” – Caytlin flailed her free hand while bouncing on her feet and begging under her breath, as the phone ringed in her ear. – “Please work please work please work plea – “

A heavy slamming of something against the bottom of the ship sent Caytlin flying to the ground with a scream.

“AAH! What was that?! —”

The perturbation made the ship swing side to side, as the ocean waves rolled under it. Caytlin got up, clutching her head, and left the cabin, looking for the source of the sound.

What she saw underneath sent shivers down her spine.

There was a huge shadow under the water. Bigger than two to three times her cabin cruiser, and it was moving.

Despite being knowledgeable of marine life, Caytlin’s heart still hammered against her chest.

“Must be a curious whale. Yeah! Just a whale… But…”

Realization set deep within her, heartbeat rocking inside her ribcage.

“But whale season hasn’t arrived yet –”

The shadow hit the ship in the bottom and Caytlin fell with a shriek. Supporting herself on her hands and knees, she turned around, out of breath as she feared the ship toppling over and making her fall into the cold depths below.

Just as she was reaching for the railing, a shadow covered her frame.

Caytlin hugged the metal bar and closed her eyes shut, preparing herself for the splash of a humpback whale but, nothing came.

Instead, all she heard was breathing, like the creature was right by the crook of her neck.

With wheezing breaths, Caytlin clutched the railing with clammy hands. A huge droplet of water fell to her right, hot, humid air blew on her back, making the hairs on her skin turn up to their end.

She turned around.

The visage confused her. Something light blue covered her field of vision everywhere, but it moved, no, it contracted like muscle tissue. Adorning it were dots of bright blue and teal-colored spots, trailing up the fleshy surface and towards a –

A face. There was a billboard-sized face right over her. White, round eyes covered her field of vision, the cerulean blue irises staring down at her. Its unnaturally grey pupils alone must be bigger than a basketball, massive eyelids covered them. A blink.

Caytlin screamed from the top of her lungs and tried to get up, only to slip and fall hard against the floor. A clicking sound reverberated above her and the ship swung under the creature’s blunt force. She scrambled back with wide eyes until she hit something soft and wet and – Oh gosh, it was the creature’s hand, a gigantic hand brushed against her back, claws longer than her head hovering above her.

Caytlin screamed until her throat went hoarse and the creature backed away, rocking her ship with it. She skidded over the slippery surface until she managed to stabilize long enough to sit still and stare at whatever was staring back at her, a few feet away.

The creature was more distant than before, but very much there and not going anywhere. Only when her screams subsided did Caytlin manage to try and process what the hell was going on with panting breaths.

The ocean got eerily silent, the only sound being the ripples on the sea, the huge creature’s breathing, and Caytlin gasping for air. She attempted to calm her racing heartbeat with deep breaths, one after the other, to process whatever was it that was floating right in front of her, glancing at her small frame with widened eyes.

Directly in front of her field of vision, there was a human-looking chest wider than her boat’s length. Three slits laid on top of its torso on each side, which looked like gills, as they opened and closed under the water. She looked up, and up, at something that resembled very much a male chest, blue in color, with those same splotches of bright blue adorning its – his, vast shoulders and —

That face again. Human-looking, too human and not human at the same time, with almond eyes, no visible crease on its eyelids, blue irises and translucent pupils. There were two thin lines over the eyes in the shape of eyebrows. A flat nose that resembled nothing that could be found in a human, as its nostrils opened and closed like the blowhole of a whale. The spots on his face were like freckles, a darker shade of blue than the blotches on his shoulder.

Despite the foreign appearance, he looked… Beautiful, Caytlin exhaled, lost in wonder. Wavy hair flowed from his head like waterfalls, a dark teal color with light blue tips, which curled at its ends just like waves that crashed on the beach. On one of his pointy ears, which tapered on their ends like a fin, adorned three purple jewels, made of a crystal she couldn't recognize. Around his neck there was a glowing, teardrop-shaped necklace with purple beads, while one arm had a silver-colored arm ring. His arms had dark blue spots and stripes scattered in a random fashion, and Caytlin wondered if they were natural markings or painted on.

He looked like a mermaid out of a fairytale. Except the 80-something-feet in height.

“I-I… Am I dreaming?” – Caytlin whispered.

The creature chirped in return in what sounded like a very loud whale call over the water, way louder than any whale she has heard. Caytlin yelped and covered her ears.

The creature sank itself lower in the water, sending ripples through the ocean, but not taking its huge eyes off her.

Such a creature shouldn’t exist. She must be hallucinating. Yup. That must be it. And yet, why did it look so real? Caytlin looked up at him with widened eyes.

“Y-you’re not gonna eat me, are you?”

She only received a confused noise in return. The creature didn’t open its mouth, yet the sound coming from its throat was just as loud as if it was from a speaker. It must be its way of communication, similar to that of whales and dolphins. That was…

Fascinating.

With buckling knees, Caytlin got up, maintaining eye contact with the creature while clutching the nearby railing with all her might. The merman stayed on its place, observing Caytlin with what she guessed was mighty curiosity. The expressions looked so human… It was like she could see what it – he – was thinking. He widened his eyes as he watched Caytlin get up, sucking in a breath and closing the gills on the side of his neck.

“H-huh, looks like you aren’t going to eat me. Phew.” She sighed and gave the creature a crooked smile.

The creature, however, looked down at her with a confused, but curious expression.

And then it got closer.

“Oh gosh, no no no –! “

He raised himself more above water, waves crashing as he loomed over her with a long shadow and – yep, definitely bigger than 80 feet – Caytlin made a note inside her head. She had swum next to blue whales before and what was before her was certainly bigger than a blue whale, so pretty much over 100 feet tall. When the creature noticed she was shaking and backing away, it raised its eyebrows and sank a little to the ocean, with only its face at view.

It came closer to her, anyway.

Caytlin gasped and sealed her eyes shut when the merperson got so close she could feel his breath – and oh, he was carnivorous alright – her heart racing as she gritted her teeth, pressing herself so hard against the wall outside the cabin she thought she would merge with it. It seemed to be observing her, looking her up and down with a curious expression, moving closer and leaning his large hand over the boat, which was on the verge of capsizing as the metal groaned under the heavy weight.

His eyes observed her just like she has seen whales do before. Was this creature intelligent? Was it a fish? A mammal? Caytlin had so many questions…

She slowly got up again, not taking her eyes off the creature, and sighed shakily, calming her accelerated heart.

If she wasn’t hallucinating right now, this was the greatest discovery human kind had ever seen. And she was its first witness!

Caytlin took one step closer towards the merperson – ‘Yeah, I’m really going crazy’ –she thought, raising her hand with a nervous expression. She knew she had to be calm but, it was so difficult! His face rose far above her and she had to crane her neck up to meet his eyes. Taking a deep breath and closing her own eyes to disperse her fear, Caytlin reached out with a trembling hand, little by little until –

A gasp echoed from above her and she opened her eyes.

She had touched the creature’s nose and he looked at her tiny hand with widened eyes. Caytlin raised her eyebrows. For that moment, time had stopped, her green eyes lost in his. It felt so…So out of this world. She smiled, noticing how both were so curious about each other.

And soon the creature acted the same way.

Caytlin yelped when a wet appendage – the mer’s finger, she realized – caressed her arm up and down as it peered at her with those glossy, cerulean eyes. A sigh ruffled Caytlin’s hair, and she gulped down her nervousness as the creature touched her arm, claws grazing her, heartbeat rocking loudly in her chest.

Satisfied, the creature backed away from her and started lowering his head back to the ocean, with a frown on his gigantic face. ‘Was he sad…?’

When the creature sunk his face completely, Caytlin realized with sinking dread that it was leaving her alone.

“Wait!” she shouted, reaching out towards the ocean.

The merperson raised his torso up again, surprising Caytlin as she fell on her back towards the floor with a yelp. ‘Ow, I really have to stop falling down.’ – she thought. He sunk his body again, whistling and clicking with an apologetic expression, and left only his eyes visible. Caytlin got up and sighed in relief when the merman returned. An impulsive idea lightened up in her head: She could ask for the merman’s help!

But… How would she do this?

“I’m, um, you see, I need help!” – she said, waving her hands around. The merman only tilted his head in confusion.

“Oh, u-um, how am I going to do this…” – Caytlin looked down pensively until an idea popped up, and pointed to the vast horizon behind her with her hand.

“Um, shore, land! I need to get back there! See?”

She made a motion of sea waves with one arm, while cupping her other hand over it, mimicking the vague shape of a boat.

“Boat, um, crashed!”

She ran to her cabin, which made the merman raise his head above water, and tried to turn the engine back on, which failed with loud noises.

“S-see? It’s not working! And, and –” Caytlin ran back to the railing, where the creature looked down at her with a puzzled expression.

“So I need help! Got it?” she gave him a tentative smile. The merman’s frown got deeper.

Yeah, he didn’t seem to have understood a thing. Caytlin groaned and sat on the floor, holding her face with both hands.

“This won’t work…”

And just as she lowered her head, loud splashes sounded all around her. The merman was probably going back to the ocean. It was better this way. Help would arrive soon, anyway.

But when Caytlin kept hearing the sounds, she opened her eyes and looked around. What resembled a blue whale’s tail appeared in her field of vision, splashing gently around her. The creature was swimming around her boat, looking it over. As if analyzing it. Her eyes widened in wonder. Yeah, there was no way he didn’t have similar human levels of intelligence. His behavioral patterns were unlike any other animal she has seen. The merman swam back to be in front of Caytlin, with his eyes lit up, as if he had understood something. He covered her once again with his shadow, looked down at her and nodded.

That was the only warning Caytlin got.

The creature’s heavy hand collided against the bottom of her boat with a loud thump, sending her sliding backwards with a yell until she hit the wall of her cabin again. The boat moved towards the direction Caytlin had pointed before in her previous attempts to communicate. She got up on shaky knees, supporting herself until she entered the cabin, and looked straight ahead, widening her eyes in realization.

The creature was moving the boat back to shore. It was helping her. It had understood what she meant!

Caytlin giggled, leaning over the front window with a gleeful expression on her face. The boat glided quickly on the ocean with the help of the merman’s hand, and from the distance, loud splashes resounded from the powerful flaps of the creature’s tail. Caytlin walked out of the cabin and looked up to the merman, who blinked down at her.

“It’s working!” she raised her hands in triumph.

And then, just when Caytlin thought she could not be more surprised, the creature glanced back at her, and the corners of his lips tilted up.

He smiled.

Her jaw went slack. She could not believe this. This mermaid-like creature, despite his gigantic and intimidating size, not only was intelligent enough that they managed to communicate somehow, but was also helping her get to shore. Not to mention his many human-like mannerisms. She was so… So mesmerized. She gazed at his focused face.

‘I need to know more about him.’

But the rocking of the boat followed by a complete stop made her leave her blissful moment. The merman had stopped swimming, so Caytlin turned around, realizing why. She could see the shore in the distance, close enough so she could be seen and rescued, but far enough so that the creature could slip back into the ocean unnoticed. She looked back up at him, who answered with a sympathetic frown, as if to say “That’s as far as I’ll go.” Caytlin looked down.

“Right, guess this is it, huh?”

She approached his face once again, capturing every single detail in it, hoping to write it all down on her journal later that day. Caytlin reached out a hand for him, who complied, leaning his face against it, as she felt the wet and smooth texture of his skin.

“Thank you… I just hope I can see you again.”

Caytlin looked up, and backed away, leaving space for the creature to dive deep into the ocean again. It lingered by her company for a few moments, as if to also capture her every detail, and with a nod, he dived back into the ocean.

…

The rescue team didn’t take long to find her, even in the pouring rain of the heavy storm. When she stepped safely onto the beach, soaked from head to toe, her dad Charles hugged her tightly, scolding her right after. He was mad, but that was understandable. She wasn’t a teenager anymore, but she sure acted recklessly like one. Caytlin took her dad’s sermon with a saddened but understanding expression, nodding at everything he said, even if her mind drifted somewhere else, back to that encounter by the sea.

Later at night she wrote everything down, from the moment the engine got jammed to the time the merman swam away, as well as observations regarding the creature’s fascinating behavior and appearance, all in precise detail.

Caytlin plopped into her bed, looking at the ceiling with longing and determination.

‘I’ll definitely find you again.’

…

Looking up at the vast stone ceiling of his room. Aegir’s mind drifted back to that excitable, fearful yet curious human face. He remembered the way her tiny hand touched the tip of his nose, how her dry skin brushed against his fingertip.

Humans were, fascinating. She was fascinating.

‘I want to see her again.’

Aegir raised his body up, and secretly swam out of his room towards the dark of the night ocean. He left the cavern, where his kingdom resided in, with a silent whoosh of his tail, swimming up to the surface. Taking in the moonlight, Aegir closed his eyes, opening his nostrils to breathe in the fresh air, and leaning on his back over the ocean’s surface, letting the relaxing currents drift him away.

Dread sank heavy in his mind.

He had just made a grave, grave mistake.

And he did not want to go back on it.

Aegir looked at the moonlight, lost in the recollection of that human’s face, yearning to find her again.

‘Mother Ocean, what am I going to do now?’

#coffeh writes #g/t #giant/tiny #sfw g/t #g/t writing #g/t story #merfolk #merpeople #merman #oc: caytlin #oc: aegir #she gets thrown around a lot thats the story lmao #if you've read until the end thank you sm! I'm very happy to simply write this and share <3

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