#oceans little rapid nods

[ridethesugarcloud]

You know what never fails to make me cry? How after Sugar Cloud, Constance goes up to Ocean. Silently asking her life long best friend for acceptance for who she really is. And then

Not a single word is spoken and yet everything is said

It's just it's so soft and so real and I will never get over their friendship

[httpknjoon]

a summer fashion choice | jjk

plot | This summer heat got you and your friends to enjoy your day at Blaire's beach house in the ocean. While everyone suits in their swimwear, your friends wonder why Jungkook your secret boyfriend is wearing a high-neck shirt.

words | 2.7k+

genres | fluff, crack,  secret relationship au, established relationship au, friends to lovers au

pairing | jungkook x reader

note | they are just getting sloppier and sloppier atp 🥴 anyway, enjoy reading!! let me know ur thoughts 🫶

main masterlist  |  drabble series masterlist

“Look at him, all focused on his laptop and work.”

Jenny rested her elbows on the white sand while turning her head to the beach house. Specifically on its porch, where your secret boyfriend types eagerly on his keyboard while answering a call through his Airpod. His eyes were focused on his screen and you swore you could see the gears in his head turning at a rapid pace. You thought he could enjoy this weekend but he got a call after you had breakfast with everyone this morning. You sighed, shaking your head.

“I heard he is working for a possible promotion.”

“Yeah, but we are on vacation right now,” Dara replied while putting on some sunscreen on her arms.

Your two friends shifted their conversation to other things. But your gaze remained on Jungkook. You watch Blaire approach him after his call, softly patting his back. She points out to the ocean while talking to him. Jungkook chuckles and shakes his head. Blaire walked away, also shaking her head with a smile. Even though she wore dark aviator sunglasses that matched her lace cover-up, you felt like she was looking at you. You confirmed it when she sat beside you.

“That guy cannot stop working after we had breakfast. Next time that I’m bringing you all here at the beach house, I am confiscating your gadgets,” she spoke out.

“Geez! Mom, relax.” Jenny exhaled exaggeratedly like a teenager, making you and Dara giggle. “You should check on your other kid though.”

She pulled down her sunglasses and pointed her finger to the other side of the beach. Wooshik, whose body is buried underneath a large amount of sand, has been shooing Bam away, who is licking his face.

“Who the hell spread peanut butter on his face?!” Blaire laughed.

Dara raised her hand, “It was my idea. But we all smeared it on his face.”

You nodded, remembering that you were also the one who called Bam to first smell your friend’s face. The sand was too heavy on his body that Wooshik could not even raise his hand to push Bam away. By the time he was able to get off the sand, his face was already shiny clean with your dog’s drool.

“Hey!”

You all stood up to run when Wooshik threw sand directed at your area. Bam ran behind you and your friends, laughing and playing on the seashore. You don’t know who ran towards the ocean first but you, Blaire, Dara, and Jenny worked all together to splash water against Wooshik. It did not last long as your arms got tired and you asked for a truce.

“Oh, no. Bam, baby, stay there!”

You quickly ran from the salt water when you noticed your dog running in your direction. Thankfully, you met him halfway, just when he was about to take a step into the waters. That was when you decided to sit with him on the sand. You two watched your friends playing in the water. You were smiling until you remembered your boyfriend who was wasting this day with his laptop. That’s when you pick up your sheer white wrap skirt and tie it around your hips. You also attached Bam’s leash to him again, just to make sure he won’t run away from you.

“Let’s go, Bam.”

Barefoot, you strolled on the warm sand on your way. Even though it was close to the afternoon, you still find the heat endurable to enjoy the beach.

“Hey…” you softly smiled at him.

“Hey.” he was typing on his laptop when he responded.

You pulled one of the vacant seats around the small table and sat on it. You noticed a little thick compilation of papers on the table. You wondered if he planned to do his job here today since he had all of these back in his car.

“Babe…” you called him with a careful tone.

He threw a short glance at you before reading something on the paper, “Yes, princess?”

“You know that today is Saturday, right?” you told him while Bam sniffed your resting hand.

“Yes. But I forgot that I was supposed to do this last night and I didn’t because we drove here.” he reasoned. “And I need to pass this–”

“When is the deadline?” you cut him off, knowing that he is just doing this all for a reason.

“It’s…” he paused, looking back at you while biting his inner cheek. He knows that you know why he was doing this. So, he cannot tell lies even if he wants to. “It’s two weeks from now.”

You leaned back in the chair while crossing your arms, “You know what I am going to say, right?”

He nods his head, “But they will announce the promotion soon and if I pass this report earlier than others, I might–”

“You might end up really tired and overworked.” you cut him off again. This time, sounding more serious. “You have a deadline for a reason. Plus, we came here to enjoy this weekend. You still have time to do that when we get back to the city.”

“But I want to pass this report as soon as possible.” he firmly said, undeterred.

“Okay, whatever you say.” You gave up, getting up.

The moment you said that Jungkook instantly felt the shift in the air. Your back is already turned to him as you walk back to the house. His chest tightened and it’s like something is stuck in his throat. Before he can even call your name again to talk, Bam barked next to him. As if he knows his dad did something wrong.

Might as well go read a book or watch something, you thought.

Admittedly, you were annoyed that Jungkook is firm about doing that report here, especially when he said that it’s still due in the next week. Usually, you understand him being this workaholic since he has been aiming for that promotion. But it’s not like you will get to go here again next weekend.

You searched around the room for that book you brought with you. Under the bed, under the sheets, and even your luggage. Surely, you brought it with you. You remembered reading it before Jungkook sneaked into your room last night. While looking on the bed again, you heard a couple of knocks on your door.

Busy, you only said, “It’s unlocked.”

That’s when Jungkook steps into your room. He noticed your scrunched eyebrows when you looked at him after looking under a pillow. His heartbeats fastened as he slowly closed the door behind him. You were busy searching for something and he was about to ask but then your expression changed after looking under the other pillow. Finally, you looked at him, holding the book to your chest.

“Where’s Bam?”

“I left him with Blaire. She took him with her on the sand.” Jungkook took a step closer.

You acted naive, walking to the other side of the room where your luggage was left open. You began cleaning up the mess you made while looking for the book.

“Are you done with your report?” you asked without even looking at him.

“No.”

You didn’t say anything and neither did he. So after zipping up your stuff, you have already decided to leave and read outside. But you wanted to freshen up first. You looked at yourself in front of the mirror, ignoring your boyfriend who sat quietly on the bed but obviously watching you. You meet his eyes through the mirror.

“Then, what are you still doing here, Jungkook?”

No babe? Or even Kook? Jungkook frowned, getting up behind you. He wrapped his arms around your waist before resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Princess…” his tone was pleading. “I’m sorry.”

With how close his warm breath on your ear, it sends shivers all over your body. You wonder how did the temperature get high gradually, almost matching the heat outside. You tried to keep your composure, not breaking any expression on your face while you asked him again.

“For what?”

Gently, Jungkook turns you around to directly face him. His hands were still on your waist and the space between you two was almost nonexistent. You looked straight into his eyes while clenching your jaw.

“I’m sorry that I’m working during the weekends and I pissed you off when you just want me to enjoy this day,” he said, almost a whisper.

At that point, you already lost yourself. Your gaze went from his eyes down to his lips when he began speaking. After you realized what were you doing, you looked at him.

“I’ll accept that apology if you tell me you won’t be doing any work for the rest of our time here.”

He raised his left hand and stood like a true follower, “I promise that I will not do any reports while we’re here.”

Jungkook waited for you to say something but you simply ran your hands through his hair. You softly massage his scalp with your fingertips just like what you usually do when you know he’s tired or when you two shower together. You figured he was enjoying your thing when his eyes closed as his hold on your waist tightened. Your eyebrow raised before tugging on his hair, causing Jungkook to groan.

“Just… enjoy,” you mumbled.

Jungkook nods, slowly opening his eyes, and the first thing he sees is that little smirk on your lips. He smiled while wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him. You were the first one to lean in and make your lips meet. But as you were about to pull away, Jungkook held you firmer, deepening the kiss. You once again tugged on his hair. He responded with a soft moan. The kiss became more passionate. You two moved in sync, moving closer to the bed, without breaking the kiss. You straddle him. The next thing you know, your lips were tracing kisses on his jawline down to his neck. Lost in the moment, Jungkook tilts his head back. You move your hips slightly, earning another groan from him.

“Everyone’s outside?” you asked in between kisses.

“Mhm…” he hummed “Princess…”

You mindlessly began sucking the skin just below his jawline. He gasped, his hand squeezing your thigh gently.  You did it a couple of times more before you pulled away and were about to reach and untie your top from the back when you noticed the dark bruise forming on his neck.

“Oh, shit,” you murmured.

Jungkook opened his eyes, “Why?”

You look at him with a look of guilt on your face. You were trying not to smile, pursing your lips. He tried to stop you from getting up from him but you pulled him to the mirror.

“What– Fuck.” Jungkook cursed while tracing the hickeys you left on his neck. “That’s a lot, Princess.”

You were trying so hard not to laugh, “I’m sorry.”

Jungkook was about to speak when you heard knocks on your door. Your eyes widened.

“Come out, lovebirds. We’re having barbecues outside for lunch.” Blaire spoke.

You and your boyfriend looked at each other, silently asking each other what to do with the obvious bruises on his neck.

“Tell me, why the fuck is your boyfriend wearing a turtleneck in this burning weather?”

After having lunch, you and your friends went back to the beach to play volleyball. You take turns cooking the remaining barbecues and playing. You and Blaire were sitting on the side when she asked you that question. Her tone was not even asking, just genuinely curious and you understand. Because it is really weird why someone would wear a turtleneck shirt on the beach. Worse, it’s not even the swimwear type. It’s cotton material.

Unfortunately, that’s the only remedy you and Jungkook can think of earlier. You cannot really think of any answer so you were relieved when Dara sat next to you guys. You tapped Blaire, asking her to keep her lips sealed.

“I hate playing with those competitive players,” Dara said, referring to Jenny, Wooshik, and Jungkook.

You and Blaire laughed, offering her a drink instead. Jenny was playing alone against the two guys. Her competitive nature naturally takes on every time the ball is served to her side. You and the others just cheered for her on the side, chanting her name. You all cheered louder when Jenny got another win.

“See? I told you, you can’t move properly with that shirt.” Wooshik grunted at his best friend.

Jungkook fought back, “I am literally the MVP of this team. Four out of five points came from me.”

You laughed at their immatureness whenever they were together. Jenny asked for time out and you gave her a glass of iced tea. The guys followed, getting their barbecue and drink.

“Why are you even wearing that? We’re on a beach.” Dara asked.

Jungkook took a glance at you before replying, “I… I got bad insect bites.”

Wooshik, who quietly caught that, asked, “Where? On your neck?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“Oh, I brought a cream for that!” Dara began searching through her beach bag. “Here!”

Jungkook awkwardly accepted the small tube Dara handed him, “Thanks.”

“You should put it now. It relieves the bite almost instantly,” she added.

“Oh, okay. I’ll put it later when I’m back in my room.” he reasoned.

“Why not now?” Wooshik squinted his eyes.

It didn’t help that your other friends also encouraged him to put it now. You remained quiet, gulping your drink until there was nothing left.. Jungkook can tell that you ran out of ideas too.

“Well, okay…”  he sighed. Fuck it.

He removed his shirt and his friends almost had the same reaction as soon as he got his shirt over his head.

“Oh… Oh.”

Dara has her eyes wide open, staring at the insect bites. Her lips were formed into a small o. Jenny was confused, lines forming between her brows as she scanned his neck. Wooshik choked on something and was coughing for a good ten seconds. Blaire was covering her lips, obviously hiding a smile on her face. And the insect herself, you, looked away when you met his eyes.

“What?” Jungkook broke the silence. “It’s bad, I know.”

Jenny cleared her throat, “What… what insect bit you again?”

“I-I don’t know. I just saw them after I finished doing my workloads earlier.” he lied.

“I’m sorry but why does it look like hickeys?” Dara giggled.

“Dara!” Blaire scolded her.

Then, Wooshik joined, asking, “But is it though?”

“It’s not!” Jungkook exclaimed. “I-It’s actually kinda itchy.”

“It looks bad…” you awkwardly commented, just to break off your personal silence.

You feel bad seeing him cornered like this but embarrassed at the same time with your artwork on his neck. Jungkook turned his head to you with his eyes narrowing.

“I know, YN. That’s what I said.”

His tone seems a little annoyed and you totally understand why. Although this isn’t the first time you gave him love bites, you managed to hide it before.

“Then, you should totally put that cream Dara gave you.” you remind him about the said cream in his hand.

“After you put that, let’s go back to playing,” Wooshik told everyone. He then turned to his best friend, “And you keep your shirt off. The hickeys– I mean, those bites are gonna be fine.”

The sun was already setting when your friends decided to go back to the house. You decided to stay for a little longer on the shore to take pictures of Bam. Jungkook got back the house too to get his camera.

“Bam, look at here!” you tried to get Bam’s attention.

You were so focused on taking pictures that you didn’t notice Wooshik returning to look for his slippers.

“Do you want me to take pictures of you and Bam?” he asked.

You turned around, “Oh, it’s fine. Just Bam.”

He nods before turning his back, “Okay, Princess.”

You paused, confused, “What did you call me?”

“Princess?” Wooshik faced you and the first thing you noticed was that stupid smile on his face. “Oh, I thought you like being called that.”

Speechless, you just shook your head. Wooshik chuckled at your answer. A mix of confusion and surprise was painted all over your face.

“Okay, don’t stay out here for too long. You might get insect bites. Just like Jungkook.” he reminded you before running back to the house.

You rolled your eyes, whispering, “He knows.”

TAGLIST (closed)

@hobiuwusunshine @alinerl @bbangtanlove95 @daydreamiies @craftymoonchaos @awseokjin @yoonabeo @luvrsofbts @bloopkook @chvngbiin @takochelle @wildarmy @cuddlysoftbear @luv-minhyun-world @shydestinyyouth @bbtsficrecs @fan-ati--c @rjsmochii @jkbabiey @hopeworldjimin @chieftoadturkeynickel @ppeachyttae @tannies-luv @loomipee @sanctify-mp3 @stuffy1985 @di0rgguk @tswisal1 @amara-mars @jksgirlhere @callmejimmeo @rapmonie2047 @daemontargaryenwhore @juju-227592

[zorosleftshoe]

You’re Losing Me - (c.b)

Pairing: Colby Brock x fem!reader

Warnings: ANGST (fluff at end)

“I can’t find a pulse,

My heart won’t start anymore,

For you”

“Colby, please!” As if he could sense the exasperation in my voice he lightly pinched the bridge of his nose and looked up from his now cold dinner.

“What do you want me to do? You know what you signed up for when you got into this relationship. I’m sorry that it’s not what you wanted.” His words were like venom as they from his lips. Those blue orbs I had fallen so in love with never once reaching mine as we sat across from each other picking at our plates.

“You’re what I want, Colby. But you can’t even look at me anymore. Do you even know the color of my eyes? My favorite song? Movie?” I paused waiting for some sort of response. My face shifted in disappointed as I realized he had no intention of responding to my rapid fire questions. “Do you even love me anymore?” Finally his ocean eyes met mine and they were filled with a fire I had never seen before. This was not my Colby.

“Of course I do. Why would you even ask me that? Why would I be with you if I didn’t love you?” His eyes fell back down to plate in front of him and the conversation was over. “There’s a party at Amber’s tomorrow. We should go.”

“As a date?” Colby shrugged at my question as a frown settled on my face. “Okay. I’ll go.” Colby grunted in response but went back to lazily picking at his dinner. With a frown on my face and a crack in my heart, I stalked to the kitchen where I spent the next few hours wondering whether Colby still liked the color red.

~~~

“If you’re asked a question, give vague answers. Otherwise, smile and nod.” Colby said in that cold tone he always used when he was speaking business. My heart plummeted as the feeling of our date being a simple business matter to him settled in. Colby knocked on the door twice before Amber opened it in a tight little black dress.

“You made it!” She squealed before throwing her arms tightly around my boyfriend’s shoulders. A red tint crept onto my cheeks as I watched Colby eye her hungrily. Out of embarrassment I tugged lightly at the red trim of dress thinking of how next time I’d wear black.

Colby immediately separated from me to go find Sam who was nursing a glass of whiskey with Nate by his side. The party raged around us as everything moved in slow motion for me. Colby’s head thrown back deep in laughter with Sam’s hand clasped on his shoulder. The lights around us changing from blues to reds. Or was it purple? My eyes tunneled in on Colby and I felt my heart begin to race.

“What are you doing here?” Amber’s voice pulled me from the darkness consuming my thoughts and I forced a smile onto my face.

“Colby invited me.” She nodded before looking at brunette across the room. Her hand lightly came to hold mine as she gently turned my head to face her.

“Do you consider me your friend?” She waited for my response and when I nod to reassure her she continues. “You give everything to Colby. What does he give to you?” I opened my mouth to speak but when the words didn’t come out Amber’s honey eyes softened. “You deserve someone who looks at you like you hung the moon and the stars.” Her words crippled me as I recalled Colby and I’d conversation from the day before.

“Do I throw away everything we have? I,” my eyes linger over to the man I had fallen so madly in love with and the weight on my chest causes my breath to hitch. “I love him so much it hurts.” Amber sighed before pulling me into her arms.

“That’s not love, honey. I can’t tell you what to do; I won’t tell you what to do. All I will say, is that there has to be something better out there. Someone who won’t leave you alone at a party to drink by yourself.” Tears cascade down my cheeks at her words and she uses the pad of her thumb to swipe them away. “Love yourself the way you love him.” She presses her glossy lips against my cheek before squeezing my hand and stepping away to greet more guests.

~~~

“Say something!” Colby groans as the front door slams behind us. The party now forgotten as my heels and his jacket are discarded on the door. “Do something!” Sadness oozes from my voice as I beg the man I love to fight for me. “Please!”

“What do you want me to do?” He throws his arms out in defeat as more tears roll down my tearstained cheeks.

“How can you say you love me when you don’t even see how miserable I am?” He scoffs before sulking off to the kitchen. I follow hot on his heels and watch as he cracks open a bottle of Jack and pours a glass. “Don’t ignore me, Cole.” He places the glass against the counter before looking up at me with tired eyes. “I wore your favorite dress. I put on my cutest set of lingerie. I,” I pause at a loss for words. “I only ever wanted you to see me. I can’t do this anymore.” His head snaps in my direction at those five words.

“What?”

“I can’t do this anymore, Colby. I’ve tried everything to keep you happy. I’ve done everything to keep you happy. This just isn’t working anymore. I love you so much it’s killing me and you don’t even see it.” Colby pushes himself from the counter and takes a few steps towards me as I take a few back as a counter measure.

“So you’re not happy. We can fix that.” I scoff sadly at his words and finally look up into his eyes.

“There’s nothing to fix!” Colby takes a step back at my outburst but quickly moves closer to block me. “Tonight was the final blow. I can’t continue to give my everything to you just to get crumbs in return.” Reluctantly, I reach up to touch his cheek and he remains unfazed. “I love you. This isn’t because I don’t love you. You have to understand that. I. Love. You.” With that, I retract my hand from the warmth of his body heat and head to our shared room to pack my things.

~~~

The trees around me blew happily in the breeze as I sat snuggled up in my scarf on the park bench. Children’s laughter filled the air as they ran around the playground kicking up mulch in their trail. My heart warmed as two little hands tugged on my hand.

“Mommy?” I lean down to reach her height and watch as she points to the swing set. “Swing.”

“Of course, my little explorer.” As the little girl pulls me towards the swing set, my eyes meet those ocean blue eyes that I once knew better than the world and my breath hitches. “Amelia, let’s go, sweetheart.” I say softly as I gently tug against her grip.

“But mommy, I want to swing!” Ocean blue eyes widen as her words fill the air around us and my lungs deflate. “Swing! Swing! Swing!” I kneel down towards the small girl and put on my best smile.

“I’ll bring you tomorrow and you can swing first thing. What do you say?” She giggles before taking my hand once more and allowing me to lead her towards our car.

“Wait!” His voice fills my ears and tears well up in the corners of my eyes. “Please.” This time his plea is closer and when I turn to look I’m met with his blue eyes. “I would like to talk.” Colby glances down at the small child who is now peeking from behind my legs and then back to my widened eyes.

“I don’t think we have anything to talk about.” I attempt to turn around but his hand catches mine. My eyes fall to our entwined hands before I look back up at him.

“How old is she?” I shake my head at his question. “How old is she?” Once again I shake my head and he turns to the small child. “How old are you?” He asks sweetly and I watch as she gives him a toothy grin and holds up three fingers. Colby looks up at me with a look of bewilderment and I close my eyes. “Do you mind if I talk to your mommy?” I feel Amelia let go of my hand and I open my eyes slightly to see her running back towards the slides. “She’s mine, isn’t she?”

“What does it matter?” Colby sighs before testing the waters again and lightly grazing my hand with his pointer finger. “Colby.”

“It matters because I never got a chance to say what I needed to.” I shrug before looking back towards the small brunette child that has those same ocean eyes. “I love you. When you left four years ago I should have came after you. Instead I let you go because you were right. I didn’t pay enough attention to know you were so unhappy. You deserved someone who could just look at you,” he paused before taking my other hand and looking into my tear filled eyes. “And say I love you more than anything in this world and I’m willing to wake up every day and prove that.” A sob escapes my lips and he gently swipes his thumb under my eye collecting the fallen tears. “Stay and let me show you I love you.”

“What if you change your mind?” Colby chuckles lightly before craning his neck to close the gap between us.

“I will never allow myself to lose you again.” He leans forward and presses his lips against mine. His hands find my waist as my fingers tangle in his hair and I pull him closer to my body. Colby sighs happily against my lips and I take the chance to swipe my tongue against his bottom lip. I pull away to catch my breath and Colby presses his forehead lightly against my own. “I love you.”

“I love you, Colby.” Children screaming brings us back to our surroundings and I see his eyes light up.

“Can I meet my daughter?” I giggle happily before taking his hand in mine and leading him towards the small girl who was sliding down the slide.

“Our daughter.” Colby’s lips twitch upwards into a smile at the two words with his hand never leaving mine.

[rookieleonskennedy]

break the bed

fem!readerxre2!leon

tags/warnings: MDNI, nsfw, sub!leon, no use of y/n, mommy kink adjacent?, leon calls reader momma, choking kink, creampie, light bondage

A/N: took a break from my hunterxprey fic to write this bad boy. not too pleased with the last little bit, but i’ll probably go over it and edit it in the next day or so. enjoy!

“C’mon pretty boy, tell me what you want.” 

Your eyes blaze a trail down Leon’s naked form, his toned body supine on the bed before you. His arms stretched above him, his wrists tied to the headboard with pretty pink silk rope. Your fingers dance across his skin, a ballet of sensation that has his muscles tightening with each caress.

You move, circling the bed, continuing your feather-light touches to his body with a sly grin pointed in his direction. Leon trembles upon the white sheets, desperate whimpers spilling from his plush mouth as you taunt him. Stopping at the head of the bed, you stroke his face adoringly. 

“Speak, baby boy. I want to hear you.”

Leon keens, his arm muscles bulging and flexing as they struggle against the restraints. A thin sheen of sweat covers his lean figure, his hardened cock drooling a puddle of precum on his stomach. His back bows in frustration, and he lets out a frustrated whine as he nuzzles his face into your palm. 

“Please momma–want you to t-touch me.”

You would never get over the way Leon’s begging sent a shot of arousal straight to your core. He was always so needy, so pretty. Ocean blue eyes boring into yours, a glimmer of desperation clouding their depths. His lips swollen from the sharp tug of his own teeth, and the bottom one quivers slightly as he pushes it out in a pout.

You hum in response to his request, your thumb trailing gently across the sharp jut of his cheekbone. With a delicate tap to the side of his face, you remove your hand and sit yourself next to him on the bed.

“Good boy,” You purr, smiling down at him knowingly.

A high-pitched moan bursts from Leon’s mouth, your praise sending a shockwave of arousal straight to his cock. His cheeks are a ruddy shade of red, and his breathing is rapid and shallow. His eyelids drooped slightly, his iris heady with his lust for you. His gaze, however cloudy, is still intense as it follows the motion of your hand down toward where he wants you the most.

You lower it down, gently wrapping your delicate fingers around his scorching-hot flesh, causing his hips to rise off the bed, the headboard groaning beneath the strength of his arms as they pull against the rope once more. You chuckle down at him softly, pumping your hand up and down his shaft ever-so-slowly, your thumb purposefully pressing into his frenulum on each upward stroke.

You know what makes Leon tick, what spots to press and tease to make him mindless–drunk with pleasure. With the skillful and practiced ministrations of your hand, it doesn’t take long for you to have him turned into a begging, whining, mess of a man beneath you.

“M-momma, needa–fuck–need t’cum–feels so fucking good–love it when you touch me momma–your hand is so soft–shit–right th-there–hand feels so good on my cock–squeezing me jus’ right–such a perfect momma f’me–oh god–gon’ come–m’gonna come momma–ah!”

You remove your hand suddenly, denying Leon the release for which he was on the precipice for the umpteenth time that night. A sob escapes him, his body thrashing petulantly on the bed. You had teased him within an inch of his life, edging him over and over. He was absolutely dumb with want for you. The sight of his exasperation almost makes you feel remorseful.

“Shh,” you coo at him soothingly. “Don’t you wanna cum in your momma’s pussy, pretty boy?”

Leon sobs again, hot tears now spilling from his cerulean eyes and running in rivulets down his blushing cheeks. He nods his head vigorously, still writhing against his restraints. 

“Yes momma, wan’ it. Want it so bad.”

Pleased at the state of mindlessness, you move to straddle his waist, your bare body hovering mere inches above his. His hips buck, his thick cock fighting to meet the warm, wet, and plush mound of your pussy. You pull your hips away from him in a silent warning, giving him a stern look.

“I need you to be a good boy for me Lee, and stay still while I ride you, you got it?”

He bites his lip at your words, his eyelids fluttering with anticipation. He pushes his hips back down onto the bed at your command, and he moans loudly when you press the wet folds of your cunt against the side of his twitching cock.

You can feel the amount of effort that he’s putting into holding himself still for you, his desire to please you, his desire to be a good boy for you overriding his need to thrust up against you. 

You place your hands across the expanse of his chest, your nails slightly digging into his soft skin as you begin to rut against him. His breathing stutters beneath your fingertips, and his eyes roll back into his head as he whimpers.

“Please momma–please put my cock inside you–w-wanna cum in you–fuck–wan’ you to bounce on me–want you to cum on my cock–oh shit–wanna be a good boy f’you–wanna fill my momma full of my cum.”

You keen at Leon’s filthy words, throwing your head back in bliss as you continue rubbing your pussy against Leon’s dick.

“Yeah, Lee? You wanna stretch out my pussy with your fat cock–fill me up with your hot cum?”

“Yes, please momma!  I’ll make you feel so good–fill you up–make you cum f’me–be your good boy.”

You reached down to grab Leon’s shaft as he spoke, lining his tip up with your entrance. Your eyes connected with his as you began to slide your eager cunt down his length, both of your mouths dropping open in ecstasy.

 The bed frame creaks loudly, and your eyes snap up to watch as Leon’s arms pull relentlessly against the ropes. He seems to be putting all his energy into his arms rather than his hips, an effort to remain a still, good boy for you. When you’ve fully sheathed him inside your walls, you let out a shaky breath. 

Leon’s dick was big. Not too big, but big enough that you always had to take a moment and allow yourself to accommodate to the stretch of it. Once you had, you began to bounce. Attempting to find a rhythm that hits your sweet spot on every drop down. One of your hands moved to rest on Leon’s chest, while the other wrapped tenderly around his throat.

“You feel so good inside me, pretty boy. I can’t wait to cum around you.”

Leon’s whimpers and whines grew impossibly louder at your words, his desperation to finish inside you reaching its peak. With a strangled sob, he begins to plead with you.

“Momma! Please let me move–I’ll be such a good boy for you–wanna move–wanna fuck you momma–please just let me–please–fuck–I’ll do anything f’you–just lemme move.”

You giggle down at him, your hand tightening around his neck briefly. 

“Okay, baby boy. You can move.”

Leon wastes no time in beginning to move his hips once you have given him the all-clear, and he begins to thrust up into your pussy with reckless abandon. The suddenness of the motion causes you to have to use the hand you have on his throat for balance, squeezing his airway off even more. 

This only spurs Leon on, a garbled groan leaving him as he pistons his hips into you harder and faster. A strangled gasp leaves you as a resounding crack echoes throughout the room. The world tilts, and suddenly you are on your back, Leon’s still tied hands resting on your chest as he continues fucking into your squelching pussy. 

“Fuck momma–gonna fuck you so deep–bury my cock in you–such a pretty momma–pussy’s gripping my cock like a vice–gonna make you cum–shit–gonna make you scream f’me momma–just wait.”

Leon had broken the headboard from all his tugging and thrashing, leaving his hands tied but allowing him to flip you over and take control of the situation. Your pussy throbbed at this, the sheer strength of the man above you hurtling you towards your orgasm. 

With a loud yelp of his name, you spasm around Leon’s cock, your orgasm hitting you in full-force. Leon continues thrusting into you, muttering dirty words of praise in your ear as he chases his own high. His thrusts begin to get sloppy and erratic, and with a final push deep into you, he comes with a cry.

Leon collapses on top of you for a moment before rolling off and laughing.

“Guess I gotta buy us a new headboard, huh?”

You roll over on your side to meet his eyes with a smile, your hands moving to untie his bound wrists.

“Yeah. You do.”

[l0n3ly-gh0st205]

Child!reader meeting/ joining the white beard pirates

A/n: Is this a little bit all over the place? Yes. Do I care? No❤️ I got so much love for my previous writing, so I added some more! Giving specific love to the white beard crew ❤️❤️

-ft. Portagas D. Ace, Marco the Phoenix, thatch death

-TW: spoilers for ace’s introduction to the white beard pirates and thatches death, hints of abandonment, yelling, and not much but a little bit of angst in Ace’s section.

-

[■□□□□□□□□□] 10%

☆꧁༒Ĺoading. . .༒꧂☆

[■■■■■■□□□□] 60%

☆꧁༒Ĺoading. . .༒꧂☆

[■■■■■■■■■■] 100%

☆꧁༒Complete༒꧂☆

꧁ head cannons ꧂

You were probably found when you were still an infant, so you have no memory of your life before the crew

They probably say something like you magically appeared in a barrel or one of thatch’s botched recipes spurred you into existence if you ever go around asking questions about it

They want to keep you happy so you don’t doubt your familial bonds

But of course, watching one of your brothers kill your other brother over a weird-looking fruit probably put a damper on that :)

Marco remembers the freezing wind of that faithful day, the ocean breeze picking up shards of ice as a seemingly normal ration run with his friend turned into meeting the youngest member of their crew.

A loud bang shook Marco out of the memory as his head swirled to the door. The familiar childish screams and laughs at least hinted that the noise wasn’t causing pain; he couldn’t help but smile.

It’s been five years since that winter storm, and although the phoenix hated the cold more than anything, he couldn’t help but be glad for that storm.

Thatch stumbled on a hidden branch covered in snow. Marco grabbed his arm before glaring at the other man

“We had to come during the middle of winter-yoi?” He snarked for the umpteenth time since the two got caught in the storm. Thatch huffed and rolled his eyes “bug off bird brains; they’ve got the best beef in the west blue!” He snapped. The two came upon a rushing river, and thatch groaned, nodding towards the rubble of a bridge that once stood

“Seems the ice and rapids took out the bridge, be a dear big bird and Carry me over?” Thatch slid a sly smile to Marco, who rolled his eyes “you always boast about your ability to swim yoi-“ the rattle of wood cut off Marco's comment, and the two commanders glanced over at the bridge, noting a small box that was caught on some rubble, the two watched as the box shook against the tide leering to the side causing the freezing water to slip into the box. The cold caused the young occupant in the box to let out a blood-curdling scream causing both of the men to tense.

“It's open,” Marco responded to the gentle taps on his door. It opened with a protesting squeak, and the young child peeped their head around the corner

“Big brother! Ace is being mean to me-” the child pouted, causing the old doctor to chuckle “(Y/N), what did you do now yoi?”

“Did nothin'! Promise!” they huffed, sending a glare toward the doctor “it's all Teaches fault! He told me lunch was ready and to go wake up ace!” Marco hummed, resting his chin on his hand, “and, let me guess, you decided to wake him up by tickling him, yoi ?” he couldn't help but smile at the way they puff out their cheeks while muttering a small ‘maybe.’

Marco got up from his seat and gently ruffled the youngster's hair “come on, let's go see if thatch can whip up some food to help soothe ace yoi,” he said with a smile, gently pushing the younger out the door

“Okay!” they called out and started running down the hall, leaving the old man behind to wallow in his sentimental ways with a smile.

After first getting brought onto the ship you know damn well these men didn't know how to care for a baby-

I can just imagine them trying to feed you by offering you a giant turkey leg 💀

Since Marco stayed on the ship most of the time, he was your number-one babysitter. It would have been pops, but he was so nervous that he’d hurt you cause you're so small :(

If Marco couldn't, then thatch would be the second-best person; he’d keep you in the kitchen so you didn't get into too much trouble

Thatch and Marco were there for most of your significant milestones, and we’re always quick to share it with the rest of the crew

Thatch stared down at the carnage that graced his kitchen. Plates were broken and strewn on the floor; his delicate fresh vegetables smushed and drooled on. He turned to the rather cute culprit. Who was asleep on the tile floor, red hands from smoothing the tomatoes, holding an eggplant as a pillow.

Thatch pinched the bridge of his nose, suppressing a scream. He looked back at the sleeping toddler and gently picked them up, stirring them from their slumber “so- what do you have to say for yourself?” He grumbled.

The baby in his arms just smiled and lazily babbled at him, mouth full of baby teeth and eyes sparkling with more stars than the night sky; really, how could he stay mad at this adorable creature? The cook smiled at the child’s nonsense, and the baby reached up for him, dirty hands smearing tomato juice all over his white collar, and he rolled his eyes

“Alright, alright, you little demon, let’s get you cleaned up before you make even more of a mess- of course, you start crawling when I’m not looking-“ the chief mumbled and headed for the bathroom. He ran the warm water and gently placed the toddler down in the water, making sure he cleaned off any remaining mess from their skin.

Ace was a different story.

Im not saying fuck canon time line… but-

The ex-captain of the spade pirates infamously wanted nothing to do with the white-beard crew.

Despite his multiple murder attempts- the youngest member of white beards crew always seemed to follow him around like a little duckling

Did it remind him of his little brothers? Yes. Was he going to admit that you were adorable and could do no wrong in his eyes? …maybe-

Look all I’m saying is-

Ace: *sees a small child* big brother mode A C T I V A T E D.

Ace sat against the railing of the Moby-Dick, twiddling his knife in his hands as he thought of his latest ploy against White-beard. He could feel eyes burning into his side, which he pointedly ignored.

The boy let out a sigh; that brat sure was relentless- he hesitantly raised his eye, meeting the gazes of the crew's youngest member. They let out a soft squeak before ducking behind the corner they used for cover. Ace narrowed his eyes as he huffed out his nose, sliding his knife back into his carrier

“Leave me alone, brat,” he muttered, but the startled gasp was enough that he knew his message got across, the child hesitantly stepped out from behind the corner, and a pang of guilt stabbed through ace’s chest- the kid couldn't have been older than 10. He watched as they seemed to look for their words

“Um… big brother… Marco wanted me to make sure you were, um… you were okay…” they hesitated, looking over aces face and waiting for a reply.

Ace couldn’t help but scrunch his nose in irritation “im not your big brother.” he stated, pointedly rising from his sitting position and starting to walk away. The young pirate gasped and quickly followed after him “b-but gramps said you joined the family-” the child worried their lip between their teeth, recalling macros words

“Be patient,” Marco hummed as (y/n) excitedly swung their legs in their chair, “but I wanna meet my new brother!” they almost whined, pulling a chuckle from the doctor. “In time, Ace is... Let's say having a hard time adjusting to the family.” Marco turned and ruffled his younger siblings' hair. “Think of him like a cat; he isn't comfortable yet; he might bare some claws, yoi.”

(y/n) pushed their bottom lip into a pout, “but he’s my brother- brothers don't hurt each other!” Marco gave them a weary smile “all im saying is just be slow.”

Ace’s scoff of disdain pulled them from their memory, and they stopped, almost slamming right into his leg “im not a part of your stupid family!” he yelled, taking the younger pirate aback

In all the trouble (y/n) had gotten into, they had never heard anyone yell at them with such anger. They bit their lip roughly, holding back the welling emotions as their eyes pricked with tears. They looked down and Ace was taken aback, regretting his tone, not his words.

When (Y/n) looked back up, big fat tears were rolling down their cheeks as they suppressed a sob “y- you just aren’t comfortable yet-“ they wept, using their first to wipe away the futile tears and snot “t-that’s why your claws are out.” They quickly turned away from ace and ran before he could even mutter an apology. Ace tsked and promptly turned away. Guilt was eating him up from the inside.

[honeeslust]

Armin

Jus a lil imagine for this pretty lil thang right here. 😮‍💨

Mmm. Imagine those ocean eyes peering at you in desperation. His body twitching as your fingers toy with the blushing heart shaped tip just begging for your attention. You’ve edged him for what 5 minutes? Ten? Who knows. One pleasurable moment bleeds seamlessly right into the next. Your constant and deliberate strokes up and down continuing to build the heat within him, until he would nearly spill over. So good he breathes tugging against his tether to the headboard and arching from the mattress in a desperate attempt to fuck himself with your hand. Pretty boy. You know better. Sit still for me. Your dick is so pretty like this. I wanna enjoy it. To which he weakly responds. Okay. Okay. Ill be good. Ill be so good. Behave and i promise to reward you. You taunt, beginning again by ghosting the sensitive area along his pelvis with your nails. He sucks in air between his teeth, moans growing raspier as his body reacts to your touch. So good Armin you praise, stroking him slowly, your wrist flicking with a tight twist when you’d reach the top. You do it again and again, greedily savoring the pathetic look in his eye while every muscle in his body tenses, poised for his release. Thats it. So close baby. Yes so close please. I need it. Please !!he whines with tears glittering his eyes. Such manners sweet face. You say smiling from your place between his legs. To this his stomach caves, his sputtered breathes are erupting from his chest in rapid succession with his pleas. Good boys get rewarded. don’t they? He nods, so delirious that the pre-nut-bliss clouds his vision. So desperate to do and say exactly as you want him to. So hard in your hands that he could melt right then and there. You wanna come for me? You ask, eyeing his writhing form, slick with sweat, mouth agape crying out to you. Please. I wanna come for you. To this, your heart swells, and your cunt clenches as you jerk your hand along his length. Come for me then pretty boy. At your command. his cum fountains out over your pretty little hands. Mmhm. Such a good boy Armin. You say tugging at the base if his balls, more and more of his cum leaking out until theres nothing left. 😌

[xdacted]

To be with you

Paring: Reader x Charles Leclerc

Warnings: Angst, Hurt/no comfort, Ferrari's Incompetence

Word Count: 6,197

Status: Complete

_________________

He meets her at a house party. 

With music blaring in his ears, burning liquor on his lips, bodies packed onto the makeshift dance floor. He doesn’t remember whose party it is, only that Lorenzo had dragged him to it, but he’s since lost sight of his brother, swallowed by the throng of people. There are hands everywhere, pulling at his shirt, sliding down his back. But the alcohol that burns within him makes it easy for him to forget that he’s crowded around by strangers, and he loses himself in the energy of the room. 

It’s electrifying, thrumming in his veins and he almost feels like he’s racing. His heart is hammering within his chest, face warm, sweat dripping down his neck. He loves nights like these. He loves forgetting he’s Chalres Leclerc - ‘Il Predestinato’. 

Don’t get him wrong, racing is everything. It’s the blood in his body, the breath in his lungs - he’d be nothing without it, but sometimes that’s exactly what he misses. 

Being nothing, being no one. 

Living life without the crushing weight of the Scuderia on his back. 

A sudden change in the music draws him back to reality. There’s the squeal of a track and the people around him begin to boo loudly. He joins in, not for any particular reason, but it feels right. He begins to laugh, as someone shouts beside him, “This is shit!”

With the crowd still, he can finally detangle himself. He slips through the slivers of space, nearly tripping over his two feet. He manages to find the kitchen, red solo cups strewn about the marble island. With a sigh, Charles pulls himself against the cool surface, trying to calm the rapid drum of his heartbeat. The room spins a little and he curses for drinking so much, nothing will be worth the hangover tomorrow. 

“Are you alright?”

A girl perched upon the cabinets, watching him from above. Her voice is loud, fighting to rise above the music that resumes behind them. 

He nods, steadying himself against the counter, “I am alright.”

“Are you sure?” A smile plays on her face and Chalres can’t help but return it.

“I am.”

“You don’t look it,” Her feet sway where they dangle, her ankle bracelet shining in the artificial light of the kitchen, “You should drink some water.”

“Thanks for the suggestion.”

A laugh follows, but he can’t hear it. Their voices are swallowed by the music, and he can’t help but wish that everyone would shut up. 

“Maybe some air?”

He nods, watching her dismount from her perch. They make their way to the balcony and the night wind is soft against his skin, the lights of Monaco bright in the darkness. His wonderful city breathing below him. Charles clings to the railing, staring into the distance of the sea, the moon dancing across the glittering waters. The boats bob along to the gentle waves, and it looks as if the arms of the ocean are trying to rock them to sleep. 

“It’s so beautiful here,” Her voice is quieter now, the music trapped behind the terrace doors. It’s just them out here. 

“It is,” He smiles, his eyes slipping closed. Home fills his lungs. 

The smell of salt and sand, the dying bite of the sun on housetops, and a bit of her perfume. He can hear the laughter of his brothers as they run around the streets, kicking a football between them. He can see the confetti cannons and the spray of champagne as the rush of victory sings in his veins, throwing himself in the arms of his father. 

He nearly forgets she’s there, wrapped in memories that make him feel as if he’s floating. But then, he can hear the groan of the lounge chairs behind him. He turns to face her, watching with a chuckle as she burrows into the festive pillows that lie below her. 

When she looks up at him, a smile playing on her lips, it’s almost as if they’ve known each other for years. She gestures to the empty space beside her, and he collapses down onto the chair next to her. The wood of the seat creaks beneath him, but he settles into it. 

Silence balloons over them. 

The night rolling over them, Charles can feel the buzz simmering in his veins. His head has begun to clear, and he looks over at her. She lays there with her eyes closed, the wind blowing through her hair, a few pieces stuck to her forehead with sweat. The porch light dances on her skin. He finds himself memorizing the curve of her jaw and the lines of her nose, the bow of her lips. 

She’s beautiful. 

“I’m Chalres.”

His voice pops the peaceful nothingness that gathered, but she just hums. 

“I know.”

His face begins to burn, embarrassment twisting in his stomach. He hadn’t meant to sound arrogant, he just wanted to be polite, but before he can explain it away, she continues. 

“Everyone in Monaco knows who you are,” Hearing her say it only makes his blush worse, but he blames the alcohol. He’d never been good at drinking. 

“Il Predestinato,” She teases, cracking one eye open to stare at him. 

He lets out a sound of disapproval. That’s not who he is, that’s who people want him to be. 

“No?”

“Definitely not,” Charles’s words are quick. But he doesn’t know why he cares so much. He doesn’t understand why he feels the need to tell her - a stranger at a house party - how he feels. Why should he explain who he is? Why should she know?

“Who are you then?”

Charles doesn’t answer, looking down at his hands. He didn’t want her to know him as that, he wanted her to just know him as Charles. Just a normal person. Like everyone else. 

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I only know about F1 because of my brothers.”

Her words make him look up, “You don’t watch it?”

“God, no!” She snorts, “What could be more boring than watching a bunch of cars going in circles.”

“Hey,” Charles says, trying to sound as offended as possible, “That’s what I do for a job.”

He looks over to her, and she’s smiling up at him. The stars twinkled in her eyes, she waited for a moment before pushing forward, “Well?” 

“What?”

“Who are you?”

He breathes for a moment. Just sitting beside her watching the wind blow through her hair, he just breathes.

“I’m Charles.”

“Just Charles?”

“Just Charles.”

With a hum, she closes her eyes. She offers her own name and Charles thinks its the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard - like a prayer falling into the  night sky. 

“Nice to meet you, Just Charles,” She adds and Charles decides he wants to hear her say his name for the rest of his life. 

Silence gathers over them once more, but Charles finds that he doesn’t mind. It was as if the world had fallen away. As if there was no one left in the world besides the two of them. Two beating hearts, standing at the edge of the world, holding onto each other because there is nothing else for them to do. 

There is no one, Charles thought, as beautiful as she. 

His heart drumming in his throat, he gathers the courage to ask what she’s doing tomorrow. 

____________

Charles doesn’t want to leave. Thinking for the first time, that Bahrain could pass him by. 

“You’re going to miss your flight,” She whispers against his lips. 

He loves her. 

He’s so very sure that he does. How could he not?

Her smile is so bright, shining in the darkness of his apartment. With his luggage piled by the door, and Andrea waiting outside, he wants to stay. Just here with her. 

“Come with me,” His voice is soft against her. 

“You know I can’t,” Her smile doesn’t falter and she doesn’t move any further from him, her arms tight around his middle. He does know. She has a life here, a job that she loves and Charles would never dare pull her away from that.

He fakes a pout, jutting his lower lip out. She lets out a gentle laugh and Charles doesn’t thinking twice about joining her.

“I’ll be watching,” She promises, pressing a gentle kiss to his nose, “So make the whole ‘driving in circles' thing interesting for me.” 

Charles can’t help the grin that grows wide on his face. He tries to pull her even closer, dropping his head down to the crook of her shoulder. He breathes her in, letting her fill his lungs. He presses a kiss to her neck, a small butterfly peck, but it makes her giggle. 

The sound of her laughter filled him with light, ‘I love you,’ he nearly says, but then, there’s the blaring sound of a car horn ringing from the streets below. He’s late. But he doesn’t care. 

“You have to go!” She puts her hands against his chest, guiding him backwards, until he nearly trips over the threshold of the front door.

He whines out her name, “No…”

“Yes.”

“I’ll miss you.”

“I know,” Her smirk makes him lean back over her. His hands find her waist, and he plants a soft kiss on her lips. 

“I’ll be back.”

“I know you will.”

When he has to pull away from her, it hurts. Something throbbing in his chest and he isn't even out the door yet. She helps him gather his bags, but there’s a small frown on her face. 

He straightens himself, pulling his luggage out the door. He turns to look back at her, and she’s rushing back up to connect their lips, “Be careful, Charles.”

“I will.”

There’s a silence that begins to inflate around them. The nothingness of midnight creeping upon them, he can swear that he hears their unsaid ‘I love you’s floating in the air. 

“I -”

There’s another car honk. 

“You,” She says, her hands pushing the door shut, “Have to go.”

He does, tumbling from their apartment as she shuts the door in his face. She’s waiting for him when he comes back from Bahrain. A smile on her face and he forgets the ache in his bones or cramp in his legs. He’d rushed back to see her. Nearly pushing past the reporters and speeding through the driver's debrief afterward. 

Charles hopped on a plane first thing, still smelling of gasoline and champaign. The victory still singing in his veins, he felt as if he could soar to her, gather her in his arms and float to the stars. He’d won and he was returning to her as a champion. Though, he knew, deep down, that he could’ve returned p20 and she’d love him regardless. 

He has to stop himself from kicking their apartment door down. Anticipation heavy in his stomach, his hands shake as he slots the key through. It opens with a quiet click, the light of the hallway spilling into the darkness of the apartment. The silence curls around him, and for the first time, he can feel the exhaustion in his bones. Pressing against him, reminding him that he’s traveled halfway across the world. 

He pulls his luggage through the threshold of the door, dropping it in the living room. He knows it won’t be unpacked until days later, even more, he knows he’ll need to be gone in just a few days time for the next race. 

The thought makes his heart hurt, but the sound of soft feet against the wood floor draws him back to reality. Before he can even ask, she’s standing before him. Clad in his sweatshirt, with a blanket wrapped around herself, she stands right before him. 

His beautiful, beautiful girl. 

“Welcome home, my Champion.”

His blood burns as he crashes his body into hers. Locking his arms around her, pressing his face into the crook of her neck. She smells like home and it makes his head spin. He’s missed her so fucking much. 

There was nothing that could ever take this moment from him. 

Holding her in the darkness of their home, feeling as if there’s no one else in the world but them. He is so very in love with her. Her love twists around him, filling every crack in his soul, hoisting him from the waters of his self-doubt. She is the sun that shines in the morning and the moon that glows at night and he loves her more than anything. 

“I missed you,” He mutters against her skin, his voice muffled by her shoulder. 

She lets out a soft chuckle, the air that escapes her mouth floating past his ear, “I know.”

He smiles, trying to burrow himself further into her skin. He missed the heat of her touch, setting him aflame in the best possible way. 

An eternity feels as if it's passed, but they just stand there, holding one another. The world ticks slowly by them, but they don’t mind. The stars waltzing in the sky above them, the sleepy city below them, they are perfect where they are. Just here. In the moment. 

“Welcome home,” She pulls back slightly, only enough to angle her face to his and he pulls back just enough to face her. 

The sight of her takes his breath away. His body craves her, it sings for her, “Thank you for the welcome.” 

His hands find her waist, sitting just upon the small of her back, “Will you let me show you how much I missed you?”

There’s something that dances in her eyes, it makes the fire in Charles’ stomach grow brighter. She smiles coyly up at him, staring at him through her eyelashes, her hands pressing themselves against her chest. 

“If you must,” She says, but the blush in her cheeks betrays her. 

“I must.” 

He doesn’t waste another second, scooping her into his arms. He’s nearly running to their bedroom, swallowing her giggles with a kiss. 

Fuck, he’s missed her. 

All of her.  

__________

They’re together in Austria. Charles managed to convince her to take the week off to be with him and he’s glad he did. To have her here with him, finding her beaming face in the crowd, through the spray of champagne, meant more than everything. 

She was staring up at him like he held the world in his hands, like he’d carved the moon and stars. It makes him wish that the ceremony would speed by, that he could just throw himself at her and fall apart in her arms, the exhaustion creeping up his spine. 

The road leading up to this race was hard, and for a moment, Charles feared that this race would be lost to him too. He was still trying to keep himself in the Championship race, trying to never let Max get too far out in front of him in points. 

He could do it, he was sure of it. He could be the World Champion. 

“Hello, my Champion.”

With her, he could. 

She found him in his driver's room trying to peel his soaking overalls off his body. The sight made her burst into laughter, the arms had gotten tangled around his middle and he was stuck. 

“You are just going to stand there?” He questioned with a laugh, “Horrible.”

She threw her head back, setting her bag onto the couch by the door.

“But you still love me,” She said, walking towards him. She reached for his sleeves, pulling them apart and helping him step from his suit as it pooled at his ankles. 

He looked down at her as she worked. What? Love?

It was true. He loved her. He loved her more than anything. More than everything, but neither one of them had said so. It wasn’t that they were afraid, they weren’t - he wasn’t. It just…their feelings always felt so real, so palpable. He never doubted for a moment that he loved her or that she loved him, he just knew. So saying those words - saying that he loved her - never felt like it was demanded. He was in love with her and she knew.

“Perhaps you are right.”

“Perhaps?” Her eyes grew wide as she feigned offense, but she couldn’t hide her smile, “Charles Leclerc.”

“Perhaps,” He cut himself off, hands falling to her waist and pulling her close, “Perhaps more than just perhaps?”

For a moment, she stared up at him. There it was, those feelings burning in his eyes, but she knew. She hummed, letting her chin rest against his chest. He could feel her heartbeat, it was almost dancing with his. He was at peace. With her in his arms, just here. Breathing. 

Silence balloons around them, and he feels the comforting weight of the nothingness. His heart had calmed, the champagne on his skin had dried, and he was finally with her. His beautiful girl. Charles had just won a race but she didn’t love him because of that - she loved him and he just so happened to have won a race. 

He tightens his arms around her. Here, they're perfect. Nothing more to be said, nothing more to -

“I don’t want to lose this,” her words pop shatter the silence and Charles can’t stop the way his body pulls back. 

She tenses, and before he can apologize or tell her that it just startled him, she’s pushing forward. Her hands found him, bringing them to her chest, “I don’t want to lose you the way you are now.”

“What are you talking about?” He can’t stop the question. 

“I mean this,” She gestures around them, “You’re happy and smiling and you’re…you.”

Charles is sure that confusion takes its form on his face because she lets out a big sigh, “I’m saying, I don’t want racing to change you.”

“Racing made me.”

She purses her lips. That probably wasn’t the right thing to say but Charles can think of nothing else. It’s the truth. Racing made him. He was crafted from oil and smoke, blood and tears, roaring engines and blurring lights. He was the creation of the track, of the world of motorsport - it was his blood. Even if he didn’t want it to be. 

It was everything he was. 

She doesn’t frown, but Charles knows she wants to. 

The air is colder and he hates it.

“You won’t,” He tries, “I promise to make the circles interesting for you.”

She doesn’t smile, she just looks up at him with a hint of sadness in her eyes. 

Something in his chest grows tight, “You won’t.”

He pulls her close once more, and she sighs against him. He rests his forehead on hers, tilting her chin up to meet his eyes. 

“I promise.”

She stares at him. Her beautiful eyes filled with so much emotion, burning right through him. She can see him, see all of him. There is not a single part of him that he can hide, there isn’t a single part of him that he wishes to hide. He’s open for her to see. 

“I love you, Charlie.”

His mouth goes dry. The words nearly knock him off his feet, but she’s there to steady him. She loves him, his heart begins to drum and he can’t help the smile that pulls across his face or the fireworks erupting within him. 

“I love you and I don’t want to-”

“I love you,” He cups her face, pulling her impossibly closer “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

He can’t contain it, the fountain of words, but he doesn’t want to. He wants her to know, needs her to know. 

“I love you.”

Forget everything else. 

__________

He’d lost. Ferrari had screwed him over yet again. It was eating away at him, this was his dream, this had been the only thing he had ever thought about when he was young. He’d finally gotten it, he was here. He was where Jules should have been, where his father wanted him to be - and it was going to shit. 

He stormed into his driver's room, throwing his helmet into the corner of the room. He was a few seconds away from destroying the Ferrari regalia that sat around him, taunting him. The tiffosi hated him, he hated himself. It wasn’t even his fault. 

Charles wanted to scream. 

Anger was hot in his veins, searing his body as he began to tear his overalls off. A stupid tire decision had cost him the entire race, he was forced to watch Verstappen rush past him, snatching victory. His victory. Embarrassment made his face burn, and he pushed his face into the palms of his hands. 

How could this happen? They were just on top, riding the high of the beginning of the season, why was it all starting to fall apart for him? Why now? He was supposed to be the one, he was ‘Il Predestinato’ - it was supposed to be his victory. Charles was the one that was going to drag Ferrari back to the top. It was his job, his dream, his burden. 

This was finally supposed to be their season - all the testing, all the simulator hours, all the meetings, all the changes - it was supposed to be different. But it never was. 

Never with Ferrari. 

“Charles?” He heard a few knocks accompanying the voice, it was Andrea. 

“Leave me alone,” Charles muttered. He was going to feel terrible for talking to Andrea like that tomorrow, but that was for the next day. Today, Charles was allowing himself to wallow in his self-pity. 

He heard the door of his room squeak open and spun around on his heel, anger hot in his veins, “I said -!”

She’s standing there with wide eyes. 

His rage dies in his throat.

“Mon ange…” He steps towards her, the tension releasing from his shoulders when she doesn't step away, “I-I am so sorry. I thought  - thought it was…”

He’s too flustered to fully speak, losing his words. His brain is a mess of french and english. But she doesn’t rush him, she doesn’t even laugh. 

“I know,” She says, closing the door behind her, “They told me you were in here.”

Charles stares up at her, unsure of how to apologize - he doesn’t know what to apologize for. For being a failure? For screaming? For -

“Get out of your head, Charlie,” She whispers, he hadn’t noticed she’d crossed the room. Only snapped from his thoughts at the motion of her hand reaching up to cup his face. Though he yearns to feel her touch he turns away from it. 

He doesn’t deserve it, not now. 

It’s so very embarrassing. To have lost like that in front of her. He wishes the ground would open and swallow him whole. 

“Charles…” She breathes, and the hurt that passes across her face makes him want to scream. 

“I - I,” He finds her eyes again, “I am sorry, I can’t.”

‘How am I supposed to face you like this?’ He doesn’t say. 

She walks up to him, taking his hand in hers. Her skin is warm against his, he can feel the rings on her fingers and the bracelet on her wrist fall against his. She drags him to her, wrapping her arms around his middle. 

“Stop,” She says, “Don’t do this. Don’t shut me out, Charlie.”

When he twists his head to the side, unable to look at her, she captures his jaw. She makes him face her, staring her straight in the eyes. 

“Don’t.”

Her eyes are full of unyielding love and fierce passion. She looks so serious - a furrow in her brow - it nearly makes Charles burst into laughter. Her grip on him is tight, and he can feel her fingernails on his chin, but it grounds him. He’s anchored to her and he never wants to leave. He just wants to be here forever. 

With her. 

Without everything else happening outside, just the two of them. Together. In love. Happy. 

“I’m sorry,” He whispers, his voice hoarse. 

“You don’t have to be.”

“But I am,” He reaches up, moving her hand from his face, “I am a failure. I am stupid.

“Charles -” She begins, he can see the anger in her eyes. She hates it when he says things like that, hates when he even jokes like that, but he can’t stop himself this time. 

“I am,” His voice is slipping from him, anger falling into his tone before he can stop it, “I have lost. We were on top of the world and now we are here, I have led us here.”

“How could it all be your fault?” She squeezes him. 

“It is,” He can’t explain it. Truthfully, he doesn’t know it himself, but it is just how it goes, “I have lost, I am nothing.”

“That is not true,” Her voice wobbles, but she keeps her steady composure, eyes fiercer than ever, “You are so much more than just racing. You know that.”

He didn’t. Racing is all he’ll ever be. It’s was he was bred for, he knows nothing else. There is nothing else. 

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are,” Their voices are raising and there’s a small part of his brain that’s worried about others hearing them. The room has little to no real soundproofing. If the tabloids are waiting outside, or even just standing near, this will be all over tomorrow. 

“You are to me.”

Something in Charles snaps. Knowing he’s everything to her, knowing she’s everything to him. But also - with a feeling of dread - knowing that he is nothing without racing. That he is nothing without Ferarri and though he may hate it, he doesn’t know how to live without it. He doesn’t know the world without it. 

But to be with Ferrari is to win. 

He hasn’t. 

“Who would ever want to be near me if I am not champion?!” He screams, “Who would ever love me?!”

She doesn’t miss a beat.

“I would!” Her  eyes glisten with unshed tears, “I will love you no matter what. I will love you even if you never race again, I will love you.”

Charles has nothing to say, breathing heavy as he listens. Her words weigh on his chest and he begins to cry. The tears come and he can’t stop them, not even if he tries. He drops his head into his hands and cries. He doesn’t sob or scream, he just weeps. 

The anger and sadness boil into one, they melt into each other and now, Charles can’t tell the difference. She pulls his hands from his face, and Charles turns away from her. 

He’s so pathetic letting her see him like this. Crying like a child over a race result. 

But she finds his eyes. There are tears in hers too, rolling down her cheeks and it only makes him cry harder. He’s such a -

“I love you, Charlie,” She whispers, pulling him down by his collar, locking her arms around his neck, “My Charlie.”

He’s frozen for a moment before he collapses against her. Weak hands grabbing at her clothing. He sucks in air, trembling lungs unable to do anything else. The smell of her penetrates his lungs and he’s filled with the scent of her perfume. She is air and water. His body feeling at ease with her, in her arms.

She holds him as he cries, hands buried in his hair. He grips onto her, fingers digging into her waist. He’s terrified she’ll float away, that something will take her from him. But she never leaves, cradling him until his cries diminish into sniffles, and his sniffles turn to silence. 

Charles is still full of emotion and it threatens to spill over, but he isn't afraid to show her. Not to be open to the expanse and warmth she provides. 

“I love you,” He breathes. He chants her name like a prayer, following it with, “I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

I love you. 

I love you. 

I love you.

______________

The apartment was silent when Chalres rushed in. The anger, still burning within him. It seemed to be all he could feel these days. Searing hot anger and drowning disappointment.

He was never at peace, there was no calm. The championship had slipped from his fingers and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it. It wasn’t even his fault, he’d done his best, put in the hours - the care - but it was so far beyond his hands. Ferrari was his dream and now he was left feeling utterly hopeless. He had never experienced heartbreak like this one, being let down by the very thing he has sacrificed his entire life for. It was all for Ferrari - all of it - and now, he was a loser. 

It fucking sucked. 

Charles pulled his luggage behind him. The break couldn’t come soon enough. He was tired from being out on the road, he just wanted to be home. He wanted to be in his bed, in her arms. He wanted to feel loved, cared for. 

He could feel the ache in his back and his legs, sitting still on a plane was never his favorite thing. The thought of sleep was so wonderfully appealing. As he began to pull his clothes off, dumping his things by the couch, he heard the soft patter of feet. 

Charles couldn’t hold the heavy sigh that left his lips.  

“Charles?” He heard. The light of the hallway flickered on, and she was there, a shadow at first, but then she approached him. There was a smile on her face, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. 

“You’re home,” She breathed. 

He reached for her, body calling for her, but just as he did, he drew himself back. The anger bubbling within him all over again.  

He stood there, crossing his arms, refusing to meet her gaze, “I told you to sleep.”

She waited for him. 

She waited for him and he couldn’t even face her. 

There was a part of him glad she did. Seeing her was like a breath of fresh air, it was resurfacing from the dark ocean of his misery. Just the sight of her face made his heart warm. But those feelings were buried under his anger. He had returned to her a loser. A failure. 

How could he ever face her like this?

“I’m going to bed,” He declared, moving to brush past her.

“Charles,” She called, her voice made him stop in his tracks, stern in its tone. 

He shut his eyes, a sigh escaping past clenched teeth. He was exhausted, he couldn't do this, not right now, “Please.” 

“Please, I - I am tired. I just want to sleep. Tomorrow is a very busy day, test at the factory, then simulator -”

“Tomorrow?” Her eyebrows furrowed and she closed the distance between them, “Charles, tomorrow is -”

“I know,” He raised a defensive hand, hoping to stop the disappointment that rolled from her in waves. It filled the room and only served to make his stomach twist further. God, he really was a piece of shit.

“I have spoken to him. He says that it is fine, and I can always just take him out another day.”

“He’s your brother!” She reached out to touch his arm, staring up at him as if he’d just said the most absurd thing in his life, “He’s been looking forward to this for ages, you can’t just cancel -”

“He will understand!”

Charles continued, “He understands the important things. This he will get.”

For a moment she was silent, and Charles swears that his voice echoed. There was something in her eyes that Charles couldn't make out, it made his palms sweat. He hates this. He hates fighting with her. 

“Family used to be important to you.”

Charles felt like he’d just been slapped in the face. 

Before he could stop himself he screamed, “RACING IS IMPORTANT TO ME! IT IS EVERYTHING!”

She pulled away from him, taking a few steps back. His words hung in the air and Charles wanted nothing more than to take them back. He’d realized it before he could fix it, and when he reached for her, she kept her arm close. 

He whispered her name. It was a prayer, “M-Mon Ange, I -”

“I’ve lost you, Charlie,” Her voice is so soft and thin, it makes Charles want to cry. 

Charles can’t speak. Trying to swallow through the thick ball of emotion curled in his throat, 

“What are you talking about?” He asks. He’s just wasting time now. Just trying to prolong her time with him, maybe even get her to stay, “I - I don’t understand.”

He understands perfectly. She was right. He let this fury consume him, he let the racing consume him. He had no idea where he began and Ferrari ended, he wasn’t even sure he had a place anymore - it had all become one. He was lost. 

But he had never imagined he would let it rip her away from him. 

“Charlie -”

“I - I can fix it,” He rushes, casting his hands out, he reaches for her. He needs her now. He’s drowning and she's all that’s keeping him afloat. 

“Ne pas partir,” - ‘Don’t leave me’ - he begs, “Je ferai tout pour toi…”

‘I will do anything for you.’

She stares up at him. There are tears streaming down her face, her brow furrowed. Her eyes are full of heartbreak, he can see it, he can hear it. And all he wants to do is fix it. 

“I love you, Charlie,” She whispered, “But we’re just - we just can’t right now…”

“We can,” He pulls her closer. Charles needs her to feel him now. He knows he’s all anger and flame, but he needs her to feel the love that resides within him, he’s lost but he will always love her. That will never fade. 

“You’re not mine.”

“I am!” 

“You’re not,” She said, and she didn’t even need to explain, “And that’s okay.”

Charles has nothing else to say. 

He looks in her eyes and knows, there’s nothing else he can say. 

The drive to her apartment is slow, he feels like he’s crawling past the streets, turning into the steep corners. All he can do is wish this moment will stretch on forever, wishing he could keep her there with him forever. 

But it’s over. 

He’s ruined it all. 

When he does reach her building, pulling into the parking lot with a small screech, neither one of them move. Neither of them want to leave - at least, Charles doesn’t want to leave. He doesn’t want her to walk away, not like this. 

Not when he loves her. 

“I-” He tries, not sure what to say, “I don’t - I am not -”

She reaches over, her hand sliding past the console that separates them, and interlaces their fingers. She doesn’t say anything, doesn't even turn to look at him, but he can see the tears fall down her cheeks. He can see the way they glimmer in the moonlight that seeps in through the windows, he wants to reach over and catch them. 

Charles hates that he’s made her cry. He hates that he’s not strong enough for her, not right now. He hates that he’s made her so miserable, so tired. He loves her. 

Charles loves her more than anything. 

He just wishes he could have picked her over everything. 

They sit in the thick of their feelings, not saying a word to the other. Just there in front of her apartment building, clutching her hand. He prays she understands. That she can just hear the drum of his heartbeat - that she can hear the way it dances for her. That she can see the imprints of her love on his soul - that she sets him alight. That she can feel the way his breaths come easier because she’s around - because she’s the air he breathes. 

He needs her to know. 

There’s a part of him that is sure she does. 

But he doesn’t want to shatter the thread of silence holding them together. He can’t risk losing her. He doesn't want to push her away anymore, he can’t stand to be any further. He knows it’ll kill him. 

He knows -

“I would never ask you to leave racing,” She hasn't looked at him, her voice low. 

Charles wishes that she would just scream, that she would hit him and scream. He wishes she would explode in anger, maybe beg him to change his mind and he would. If she asked him to, he would.

But she would never ask him.

Never because she knows he would. 

Never because she knows it would rip him apart, but he’d do it because she asked. 

“But please,” She pulled his hand close, “Please don’t let them destroy you.”

Her words hang in the air and he can’t stop himself from leaning over the console and kissing her. 

Her lips taste of salt, but he’s not sure if they’re her tears or his.

____________________

A/N:This work has been cross posed on Wattpad and AO3. All are under the name XDACTED. Thank you for reading and feel free to requests fics about any of the drivers <3

[leiawritesstories]

Mama's Little Pirate

Rowaelin Month, Day 13: Babies/Kids/Next Gen

a Fly The Black Flag outtake ;)) but you do NOT need to read FTBF before this

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: few swear words, otherwise none hehe

Enjoy!

@rowaelinscourt

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

The salty evening breeze had never felt so good against Aelin’s skin as it did that evening when she trudged up the sandy stretch of beach towards the faint smudge of a building on the horizon. Gently, the light wind lifted the strands of hair that were plastered to her neck and cheeks, nudging them away from her skin. Beneath her weathered boots, the ground changed from shifting sand to dark, rich soil and gravel, and she released a bone-deep sigh of relief. Solid ground still wavered beneath her feet, and she had to force herself to stay upright. 

She hadn’t battled her way to being the most notorious pirate on the ocean just for her damn sea legs to betray her. 

Swift as the wind, and just as in tune with her movements, Rowan caught her from behind, supporting her. “Don’t go giving out on me just yet, Fireheart,” he teased, a low, wicked glint sparking in his eyes. “We haven’t even made it home yet.” 

“Ass.” She swatted his muscled shoulder playfully. “And who said anything about we making it home? I thought you were all excited to scare the living shit out of Lorcan and Ells.” 

“Oh, I am.” His smirk was nothing short of roguish. “But I can’t let my wife collapse on the side of the shitty road before we can set that plan into motion.” 

“Such a gentleman.” Regaining her balance, she turned around, rose onto her tiptoes, and stole a kiss that was altogether too short. 

He rested his forehead against hers after breaking the kiss. “I’ll see you soon, my love.” 

“Indeed you will.”

With a final kiss, Rowan veered off into the forest, heading for the hunting trails where his horse was tethered. If all went according to the plan, he’d come home after Aelin and the others had finished dinner and make a “surprise” entrance. 

Aelin took a moment to shake out her complaining limbs before she headed towards the forest. One desire remained at the front of her mind: get back to her home and her daughter before night fully set, otherwise her beloved, if far too fussy, friends would send out a search party. 

“Hey, Cap.” Speaking of those friends…

“Ells.” Aelin turned to find Elide sitting astride her horse on the side of the road. Aelin’s own stallion was next to Elide’s mare. “Fancy meeting you here.” 

Elide rolled her eyes. “Figured you’d want to get home before dinner gets cold.” 

“Aren’t you always so observant,” Aelin teased. She tossed her seabag into the saddlebag and swung herself up onto the sleek gray stallion, running an affectionate hand along his neck. “Thanks, Ells.” 

“Anytime.” Her first mate saluted, wheeled her mare around, and nudged her into an easy canter. “I’ll beat you home by five minutes, Cap!” 

“We’ll see about that!” Aelin crowed, leaning low and nudging her stallion into a canter. “Fly, boy!” 

Elide did beat Aelin back to the Keep, and the shorter woman was grinning widely when Aelin crossed the courtyard after leaving her horse in the stables and slapped two silvers into her hand. 

“All right, you win,” she fake-grumbled. “Damn pirates, taking all my money.” 

“As if you weren’t far, far worse,” Elide snorted. “And speaking of pirates, where–”

“MAMA!” The childish shriek was followed immediately by a rapid patter of small footsteps, and a small blonde blur came whizzing across the courtyard into Aelin’s open arms. 

Beaming, Aelin squeezed her seven-year-old daughter tightly. “Hi, lovey,” she murmured. 

“I miss you, Mama.” Evie whispered. Her big green eyes filled with irresistible tears. “You were gone so long!” 

“Oh, my Evalin,” Aelin breathed, tears inadvertently springing to her eyes, “I’ll always come home to you.” She kissed her daughter’s messy blonde curls. “You know that, right?” 

Evie nodded. “Still miss you.” 

“I miss you too.” Aelin cupped Evie’s rosy little face. “So, so much.” 

“Good to see you still alive, Captain,” drawled another voice from behind her. 

Without turning around, Aelin snorted dryly. “Salvaterre, the day you say that without irony is the day cows fu–er, fly.”

Lorcan smothered a laugh. “And you wonder where your child gets it from.” 

“I don’t, actually.” She turned the full force of her charming smile onto the hulking, perpetually scowly pirate. “She gets it from your sons.” 

He cracked a smirk. “Touché.” 

Aelin allowed Lorcan to drape his arm across her shoulders for a few seconds–his version of an affectionate hug. “Before you ask, the Doranelle is just fine. She and the Terrasen should be back in no more than three months.” 

“Better be bringing rum,” Lorcan grumbled. 

She snickered. “What if I told Ro that we were oversupplied here and didn’t need any more?” 

He grunted something too crude for children’s ears. “You’re the worst, Galathynius.” 

“Why thank you,” she crooned. “Don’t worry, Scowly, there’ll be plenty of rum.” She flashed him a wicked grin. “If you’re really lucky, it won’t even have been purchased.” 

Evie tugged at Aelin’s sleeve. “Dinner, Mama!” 

“That’s right, lovey!” Aelin scooped her daughter up and settled her on her shoulders. “We can’t go and forget the most important part of the day!” She strode into the brick-and-stone manor that sat at the center of the Iron Isles Pirates’ Keep. 

The compound comprised the manor, stables, a handful of smaller houses for other pirates, several different training buildings, and a number of storehouses built into different parts of the hill, some of them underground. Built primarily from the same gray stone that most of the Isles were made of, the fortress both blended into the landscape and loomed over it, a mark of the pirates’ protection and of their merciless reputation. 

Since the first building had been completed, six years ago now, the crews of the Terrasen and the Doranelle, as well as their smaller companion ships, had called the place home. 

After dinner was finished, Aelin was lounging in a comfortable armchair with a book and a drink, paying more attention to the children running around the large but homey living room. Evie had received a wooden toy sword from Uncle Scowly for her birthday, and she was barely ever seen without it dangling at her side. 

Lorcan was even teaching her how to wield it. 

Aelin taught her, too, when she was able to snatch a few moments to spend with her daughter rather than dealing with the bullshit that the unruly pirates were always throwing at her. 

Evie was play-fighting with Cal and Daric, Elide and Lorcan’s twin boys, all three of the children screeching and yelling as they pretended to beat the hell out of the Royal Navy. 

“I don’t wanna be the Navy!” Daric whined, stamping his small foot in anger. “You made me be them last time!” 

“Shut up!” Evie retorted, sticking her tongue out. “Last time, you made me be the prisoner!” 

“So?”

“So this is fair!” She scowled–an expression inherited purely from her father–when Daric tried to push back on her argument. “If you don’t like it, you can quit. Like a…” She fumbled for an appropriate term. “Like–like a pussy!” 

“Evalin Whitethorn Galathynius!” Aelin exclaimed, dropping her book in utter shock. “That was a very, very naughty word!” She folded her arms across her chest, firmly refusing to meet either Elide’s or Lorcan’s badly hidden smirks lest she explode into laughter. “Come here, Evie.” 

Flushing, Evie slowly approached her mother, sword dragging on the wooden floor. “I’m sorry, Mama,” she mumbled. 

Aelin forced sternness onto her face. “Evie, lovey, do you remember what Mama told you about naughty words?” 

“Only say it when I know what it means,” Evie said, quietly. 

“That’s right.” Aelin’s demeanor softened. She knelt down and wrapped her daughter’s hands in her own. “Uncle Lorcan and Uncle Fen like to say words they shouldn’t say in front of you and your cousins, and that means that you have to make them shut up.” 

Evie giggled and sniffled all at once. “I can tell them to shut up?”

“That’s right.” Aelin kissed Evie’s forehead. “So tell me, little love, which one of your foul-mouthed uncles said that word around you and your cousins.” 

“Um…” The little pirate girl hesitated. “It-it was…” She trailed off.

“Do you need to whisper?” Aelin asked softly. Sometimes, letting Evie whisper into her ear was better than having her say it out loud. 

Evie shook her head. “It was…it was Dad.” 

Aelin’s gasp of absolute shock was echoed by Rowan’s characteristic, I’ve-held-it-in-for-too- damn-long snort. “That’s my girl!” he crowed, stepping into the living room from where he’d been hiding in the hall.

Elide gasped. Lorcan whipped his head to the doorway. Aelin beamed–the “surprise” had gone perfectly. 

Shock, delight, and joy bloomed across Evie’s face. “Dad!” she screeched, throwing her toy sword to the floor and sprinting to her father, who swung her up into his arms, beaming. 

“Hi, little love.” Rowan hugged Evie fiercely. “Is it true that you called your cousin a naughty word? One that you heard me say?” 

She nodded, earnestly. “Mhmm. Daric was being a pu–” 

“Ah-ah, nope, shhhhhhh.” Rowan pressed his forefinger over his daughter’s lips. “What did Mama just say about not using a word unless you know what it means?” 

Evie sighed. “Okay, Dad.” 

“That’s my girl.” He smacked a theatrical kiss onto her cheek. “Want to show me what you’ve been learning with your sword, Evie girl?” She exclaimed in agreement and he set her down, then made his way over to his wife. 

Aelin stepped easily into his embrace. “Captain,” she murmured, laughter dancing in her bright eyes. 

“Captain,” he murmured back. He kissed her softly, snatching a quiet moment with her before their daughter pulled on both of her parents’ sleeves, demanding that they watch her “sword fightin’.” 

It was precisely the life Aelin had only ever dreamt of.

~~~

[jpitha]

Just a Little Further 9

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Standing in front of the line of us waiting for the airlock to cycle, I don't think I've ever been this nervous! Even during my graduation, waiting to find out if I was selected for FarReach's mission, nothing was as nerve wracking as this. But, I had to be strong. I was going to represent humanity and K'laxikind here. I took a deep breath, held it for two, and let it out through my nose. Here we go.

The outer lock door cycled and the first thing that I noticed was the smell of the umbilical. It wasn't bad so much as it was unfamiliar. My nose was inundated with smells I've never smelled before. Starbases have a smell about them. They're self contained units where sometimes thousands of sapients will live work and play together, of course they're going to smell. Doesn't matter how fastidious you are about cleaning, something just permeates the walls. This was list that but...different. The smells of thousands of sapients I've never seen before.

The second thing I noticed was how warm it was! It was warm and moist like a hot summer day. We don't normally keep our Starbases this warm or moist. Moisture promotes corrosion and heat is cheap to make, but expensive to dissipate. It was odd.

I walked down the short umbilical until I reached the door to the Starbase. Like ours, it was an iris type door. Maybe that's universal. "FarReach, you're sure the gases on the other side are breathable?" I asked, one last time.

"Sensors indicate that they're pretty close to Earth and K'lax, Melody." FarReach said kindly. "The specific gas mixture is a little different. A touch more xenon than what we use, maybe just a bit less carbon dioxide. Oxy levels are fine though, you can breath it no worries."

"Okay then, here goes..." and I touched the pad by the iris.

With a whoosh, it snapped open. That's way faster than home, I was startled. I looked out, surprised and I saw them.

It was a group of 6 sapients in front, with a small crowd behind them. Three of them had iridescent feathers! They looked almost like gigantic birds! They had wings even! I wonder if they could fly. The other three were more like they were a sea creature long in their past. They had tentacles they stood on, and looked like they had no bones. If you squinted, maybe they looked like Octopuses, but they didn't really look like octopuses. Just the tentacles and the lack of bones and the large, wet eyes, though they weren't dripping or anything. They were standing apart though. With a large space between them. That's odd. I would have figured that they would be all together.

One of the bird looking ones took a step forward and said "Welcome! This is Reach to the Might of Vzzx. I am Starlight on a Moonless Evening, this is The Smell Of The Ocean and there is Rapid River Roaring."

They took a step back and then, one of the octopus people took a step forward. "Welcome from us as well! I am Vivvix, this is Zemmlin and over here is Ottarn."

Then, Vivvix took a step back and waited. This must be some kind of ritual. Mentally, I shrugged and took a step forward. I took a breath and said "Thank you for your warm welcome! My name is Melody Mullen, with me is my Captain Selem Q'ari, our linguist Fer’resi Perinem��and one of our engineers, Omar Adel." At each mention of their names, everyone nodded or did something to indicate which person I was talking about. Fer'resi did a little wave even!

After I finished and the ritual seemed complete, I took a step back. Only then, did I notice how they reacted.

Maybe the nano bots programed me with some extra ability to tell facial expressions, but everyone seemed shocked.

Like, if they were humans, they'd be jaws on the floor shocked.

Uh oh. This keeps happening.

One of the bird people, The Smell of the Ocean I think, spoke. "S-So, you can understand us?" They asked haltingly.

I nodded, then realizing they might not know that gesture said "Yes, I can understand you..." Was I not supposed to be able to? "Can you understand me?"

The Smell of The Ocean's feathers ruffled. Maybe they were embarrassed? They were uncomfortable about something. "A bit, yes. But you are..." They stopped. Their head rotated slightly. Their eyes are more forward on their face than Earth birds so they must have binocular vision but for the life of me it looked like they were trying to get a look at me out of both eyes. Maybe an ancient instinct that has turned into body language. They took a deep breath and started again. "I am speaking my people's standard spacefaring tongue. You can understand me?"

"Yes" I said, puzzled.

They did their version of a nod. I wonder how I knew that? They spoke again "Now, I am speaking the language of the Northern Continent of my people's home planet. It hasn't been spoken outside of legal briefings for five thousand cycles. Today, it is more a ceremonial language than anything. Only people like me can understand it, and even then only haltingly. I was a student of it, and so can speak it fluently. There are fewer than one thousand of us." They stopped and stared at me. "Do you understand me?"

My eyes went wide. "Y-Yes, I understand you." I answered quietly.

With an expression that I could only describe as their version of raised eyebrows, Zemmlin looked at them, then at me, and spoke. "I see what they are doing, let me try. I am speaking my people's home planetary language. My... colleague The Smell of the Ocean here does not understand it. Do you?"

Horror dawned. "Y-Yes, I understand it." I whispered.

It was my turn to reply. "When you speak to me, and I reply, am I replying in your language, or the same language every time?"

Starlight on a Moonless Evening replied this time. "Every time you speak, you are replying in the Holy Tongue."

I blinked. The what?

"I'm sorry, the what?"

Starlight made a gesture that I knew was a shrug. I couldn't tell you how I knew though. "The Holy Tongue. The language of the Gods. The words of the Builders."

That last one struck a chord. "Do you mean the builders of the Warp Gates?"

Rapid River Roaring laughed. "Who else would we mean, Holy One?"

Ugh, and I thought being called Lieutenant was bad.

Vivvex came forward now and said "It seems we all have something to learn from each other. We would like to learn how you came to us though the Warp Gates which we thought were long deactivated and are speaking The Holy Words and you... probably have things to ask us too. Do you take food? Come. It's meal time for us. We can eat and speak afterwards."

"L-let me talk to my companions for a moment please."

Vivvex nodded and took a step back. I turned around can faced everyone. "Okay, how much of that did you get?" I asked.

Fer'resi was the first to reply. "Um Melody, how many languages do you know? I noticed they kept taking turns talking to you in clearly different languages and you replied every time."

"I think I know... all of them" I said awkwardly. "I know, it sounds crazy, but they said I'm speaking "The Holy Tongue."

"The what?" Omar asked, incredulous.

"I know, right? I think they mean the language of the builders of the Warp Gate. Oh! They also said they thought the Gate was disabled until we came through it."

"Disabled?" Captain Q'ari said, thinking. "Given what we saw at the previous address, I hope we didn't unlock the door for something to come through here."

I didn't even think of that. "Oh shoot. I hope you're right." I clicked my radio "Hey FarReach, Gene, please keep an extra sharp eye out for anything following us through the Warp Gate. The locals say they thought it was disabled until we came through it."

"You got it Melody." Gene replied. "How's the meet and greet going?"

"I don't know Gene. I think they think I'm a living God."

"In a good way, or a bad way?" Gene asked in that joking but not really tone that humans use sometimes.

"Too soon to tell." I said honestly. "We're about to go to lunch I think,"

"Ooh, tell me if you eat anything good, tell me and I'll try it when I get to go ashore."

"Will do Gene. You take care. FarReach, I admit this is a long shot but how's the language model coming?"

FarReach chuckled. "I was just chatting with Fer'resi. It's tough to build a language model when you can understand everyone but keep replying in one language. We're getting something though. Fer'resi thinks it might be enough to be understood. We're going to be replying in your language though. If they really think it's a Holy Tongue, they might be uncomfortable at that. They must have translators though, let's see if we can buy or borrow one. That'll help."

"Good Idea. They invited us to lunch or something, so I'll ask then."

I turned to Captain Q'ari. "They want to invite us to lunch. Do you want me to say yes?"

Selem's ears twitched in a way that signaled resignation and frustration. Hah. I think I can tell K'laxi expressions better with these nano machines helping too! "We should probably accept, yes." She turns and looks at us. "Did everyone bring their portable mass spectrometers?"

We all have a small mass-spec on our wrists. It can scan food and drink and make sure there aren't any obviously poisonous things or K'laxi allergens in it. It won't tell us if things taste good, but it'll tell us if we can eat them without going into anaphylactic shock or ruining our livers.

Nods of yes all around. "Go ahead and accept the invitation Melody." Huh. She didn't call me Lieutenant Mullen. Interesting.

I turn back around. "After a little deliberation with my team, we would be grateful to accept your invitation to dine together. Please lead the way."

Again, they are taken aback at my speech. I have a hunch that they're just not used to someone speaking to them in the language I'm speaking to them in. It's like a language they have only read or studied in school and here I was talking to them in it like it was normal.

At least they mostly understood me, and I can apparently understand them in any language they speak.

Starlight bowed low and spread their wings and said "Wonderful. Please follow me."

They lead us away from the dock and as we walked I looked around.

The Starbase was different than the Joint K'laxi/Human Starbase I lived on before embarking. It was more...organic? Maybe it was a function of the fact that I think it was built out of an asteroid, but it definitely felt more grown than built in places. There were curves and smooth walls and dark grey and browns. The lighting was more organic feeling than back home too. It was warm and bright and led an airiness to the Starbase that it would be lacking otherwise. We were pretty far from this system's star and we were not in orbit around a planet, so the cheeriness was appreciated.

And the people! All kinds of people. I saw more of the bird people, more of the octopus people and so many others. There were these large bipedal beings in very complicated looking pressure suits. Maybe they're from a world that uses a different breathing mixture than here. There were ones with long legs with knees that were almost parallel with their heads! They had large segmented eyes like an insect and it always felt like they were watching us as we walked by.

Come to think of it, everyone was watching us as we walked by.

They weren't too happy about it.

My newfound ability to know everyone's body language was ringing alarm bells. Everyone hated to see us. Especially the Bird and Octopus people.

We turned a corner and came upon what I figured was the main promenade.

I nearly lost my footing I was so startled. It was gigantic! Far larger and more dense than any city I ever visited on Meíhuā. I've never been to Earth, but I bet this was more crowded than some Earth cities! It was so tall too. More than 200 meters straight up if I had to guess. There were windows and lights and signs all the way up.

While we were walking Fer'resi was trying his best to speak with The Smell of The Ocean. I could understand both of them, so it was a little odd to hear.

"Um, what about this. Hello?"

"Oh, I got that one! Hello!"

"Amazing! Try this: My name is Fer'resi, what's yours?"

Ocean shook his feathers sadly "I didn't get that, friend."

Fer'resi made notes in his pad. This time, his translator spoke "Do you understand this?

Ocean rippled surprise. "I do understand it. But your accent is very thick. How did you do that?"

Fer'resi smiled. "Our Ship, FarReach helped. We're working together to build a language model. If you have a translator we can purchase or borrow, we can refine it further."

Ocean made an expression that I knew was a nod. "We do have them. I'll make sure you get one, yes. You can even keep it to help refine your language model, provided you provide us with an update so we can update our translators as well."

Fer'resi frowned and made more notes. "I got the majority of that, but I missed part of it. Oh well. We'll get more accurate with time."

I had a thought. "Hey Fer'resi. Speak to me in English."

"Um okay." He thought a moment. "Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of the party."

"Coming to the aid of what party?" I asked, confused.

He chuckled. "It's apparently old filler text that people used to use on mechanical type writing machines. It's nonsense. But, you did understand it?"

"I did. It was easy."

"I have a feeling Melody, that you now can understand every language. I have no idea what those nano machines did, but they clearly edited the language processing part of your brain. I wonder what the limitations of it are. We should experiment later."

"Sure Fer'resi, we can do that."

Vivvix turned back to me "Holy One, why are you armed?" We notice the weapons on your back."

ughhh, I hate that. "Please don't call me Holy One, my name is Melody. I'm armed because we weren't sure what to expect and we wanted to come prepared. I'm the only one armed because I'm the best shot here, and we didn't want to come across as warlike with us all being armed. It was a compromise."

Vivvix's skin subtly changed color, a nod. Neat! "I see, thank you... Melody. Will you be armed in future visits?"

I shrugged. "I don't know yet." I said carefully. If everyone is... not a threat then... I don't see a reason to come armed next time."

Vivvix gave their version of a smile, but I was able to tell it was fake. "That's very nice to hear. Thank you"

Now that sounded menacing. I think I'm going to continue coming to this Starbase armed.

Rapid River Roaring led us towards a large stone looking building near the center of the promenade. It was either very old or meant to look very old. In front were a fountain and a statue of a being in a pressure suit looking out onto the promenade making a grand gesture. The fountain and the statue were carved in the same stone of the Starbase. "Here we are. It's the administration offices for Reach of the Might of Vzzx. There is a cantina here that offers many different kinds of food. I'm sure we can find something pleasing for you to consume here."

As they approached the building Captain Q'ari stopped dead. She was staring at the statue and was clearly frightened, almost shaking. Fer'resi, noticing her, followed her gaze and also immediately was frightened. "M-Melody." Fer'resi said, his voice catching. "Look at the statue."

I turned at looked at it and gasped. Omar noticed us, followed our gaze and softly said "holy shit."

It was a human woman.

Part 10

[whats-k-popping]

sick han with prompts 1, 31, 81 and caretaker chan?

Remember back in July when I opened requests for this prompt list?? I'm so so sorry it's taken me this long to finish! But I hope this anon is still around! Thanks for requesting it. Despite the long time it took me to finish, I really did enjoy writing for Stray Kids. While I really enjoy them, it's the first time writing them. I hope the characterization is decent.

Pairing: Chan x Han - platonic intentions but read as you want.

Prompts: "You're burning up" || "Hey, are you still with me?" || Holding your hair as you're vomiting into the toilet. You keep apologizing, but seriously I don't mind.

Words: 2197

Warnings: Fever || Emeto || Graphic Descriptions of illness || Slight Angst

Jisung's been staring at the same piece of paper for hours now. He holds his head in his hands as he watches the words blur together, swimming around whatever percentage of his vision hasn't been plagued with floating black spots.

He promised Chan he would finish these lyrics, but he hasn't been struck with a single ounce of inspiration. And he's been re-reading the draft for so long that the words he's already written hardly make sense anymore. As much as it pains him to admit, he's not going to be able to finish it. 

Chan is sitting at his desk, while Jisung's sitting cross-legged on the floor. It's amazing, Jisung thinks, just how focused and dedicated his leader is. It's nearly 2 AM, and they've been holed up in this studio trying to finish this song since 6 PM. Chan hasn't complained once. He hasn't so much as stopped for a bathroom break, still clicking away on his laptop. Meanwhile, Jisung is putting all his energy into making the words on the paper stay still. It's just not fair. 

Eventually, the swirling syllables make his head pound and his stomach roll. He suddenly feels like he's on a boat in the middle of the ocean during a tropical storm. If he so much as glances back at that paper, he's going to lose his dinner. So he pushes the pages aside. 

The rapid fluttering of the paper startles Chan, who turns and looks at the youngest producer for the first time in hours. He looks confused, "You good?" 

Jisung nods, one up and down motion because anymore may make him dizzier than he already is. "I just need a little break. Been staring at the same thing for too long. It's starting to look like gibberish." 

Chan smirks, knowing he's been there before. He glances at the time and is shocked at just how much time has passed. Working until the early hours of the morning is nothing new for him, but usually Jisung calls a quits around midnight. Especially if they have early schedules the next day. 

The leader walks over to the younger member and drapes a blanket over his shoulders, "Take a rest. It might help refresh your mind." 

Jisung only protests for a moment before he rests his head against his folded arms. The blanket brings him a warmth he didn't realize that he was missing,  "Wake me in 30 minutes." He requests before quickly succumbing to the exhaustion. 

30 minutes passes like seconds to Chan, never an expert at keeping time when in the production zone. He falls so deep into the track he's working on that he forgets Jisung is even in the room with him. He's reminded when the young rapper lets out a whine loud enough to break through the leader's headphones.

Chan turns his chair to look at Jisung, who is still curled over the table asleep. Despite the whine that alerted him, he seems rather peaceful. So the leader assumes that it was just Jisung talking in his sleep. He's no stranger to the younger mumbling weird and random things in his sleep. 

He spares a glance at the clock and finds that two hours passed in the blink of an eye. It's after 4 now and Chan thinks maybe it's time the two of them head back to the dorm. Before Jisung wakes up with an awful cramp in his neck and an ache in his lower back. They have dance practice in the afternoon, and Chan knows Minho will not shy away from scolding him if Jisung's not in his best condition. 

Making sure he's triple saved his work, he shuts down his station and slides himself beside the sleeping rapper. As he scoots a little closer, he notices that Jisung's face is glistening with sweat. And his skin is noticeably pale even under the dimmed studio lighting. Weird, he thinks, Jisung seemed fine when they were working earlier. He presses one hand against Jisung's forehead and the other against his own. Jisung's skin is blazing compared to his. 

When Chan pulls his hand away, Jisung subconsciously follows. And when he can't find the cool hand anymore, he blinks himself awake with a quivering pout. His eyes eventually settle on Chan's figure beside him and he whines. "Hyung, where'd the cold go?" He slurs the words together, it's nearly indecipherable. 

Chan quickly realizes what Jisung wants and holds his hand back out for the rapper. Jisung takes the hands and holds it close to his face like a stuffed animal, nuzzling his cheek into the leader's palm. "Feels nice." He mumbles, nearly falling asleep again. "I feel funny," he admits.

"I'd bet you do," Chan uses his other hand to play with the rapper's sweaty strands of hair, "You're burning up." 

Jisung shakes his head, and Chan feels it in both of his hands more than he sees it happening. "No, not that. My tummy." He whines, "my tummy feels funny." 

At that, Chan moves the hand from Jisung's hair and presses it over his stomach area. He finds the rapper's middle swollen. And he can feel the organ gurgling angrily through the fabric of Jisung's shirt. "Oh, Hannie." Chan comforts. "You must've caught some kind of bug. Poor thing." He rubs the younger’s stomach, trying to relieve some of the pressure. 

Jisung leans into the touch longingly, inching himself closer to Chan. "Hyung, ‘m sorry," he whines, "I don't think I can finish the lyrics tonight." The words fall out of Jisung's mouth like an afterthought, a similar slur to his sleep talking voice. 

Chan clicks his tongue. In all honestly, Chan had even forgotten about the lyrics and deadlines and group responsibilities. His sole priority right now is Jisung's health. “Don’t worry about that right now, Sungie.” he reminds in a soft voice as he strokes through Jisung’s sweaty hair. “Let’s just get you back to the dorm.”

What’s usually a simple task seems impossible. Jisung is so out of it, he can’t even force himself to stand on his own. Chan has to pull him up by the armpits. And even once he’s on his feet, Jisung sways a little before his head falls against Chan’s shoulder. “Hey,” he nudges the younger, “Are you still with me?” he panics, thinking Jisung had passed out on him. At this point, he’s thinking of skipping the dorm altogether and going right to the hospital. Jisung’s gotten too sick too quickly. 

When he feels Jisung nod his head against his chest, he relaxes a bit, just relieved that his dongsaeng is still conscious. He does his best to keep Jisung engaged while he thinks up a plan to get them back to the dorm. Walking doesn’t seem like a reliable option. 

While Chan comes to terms with the fact that he’s going to have to carry his sick member home, Jisung pushes Chan away with a force the leader didn’t know he still had. Jisung’s eyes widen and he lets out a wet hiccup. Clamping a hand over his mouth, Jisung runs out of the studio. Chan doesn’t have time to question the newfound burst of energy as he bolts after him. He follows him into the bathroom and into the largest stall at the far end. Jisung doesn’t even try to waste time locking the door. There are no obstacles in Chan’s way, which he greatly appreciates. 

Jisung bends at the waist over the clean bowl, stomach contents immediately slip between his finger tips, staining the seat and the walls. Some droplets splatter on the floor in front of him. He removes his now vomit soaked hand and uses it to grip the side of the bowl, mirroring his other hand. For a second, they are the only thing keeping him from smacking his head against the porcelain. But two hands support him quickly, one on his waist and the other on his shoulder. Jisung doesn’t have the mental bandwidth to resist as they guide him into a kneeling position. It’s probably for the best. His legs have nothing left after his sprint from the studio.

“Okay, okay,” Chan soothes. “I’ve got you.” 

Jisung just shakes his head, tears streaming down his cheeks as he continues to heave into the toilet. He has so many things he wants to say, but he can’t get a syllable out between gags. It’s warm and it burns his throat. The taste left behind just makes him more nauseous. When he sniffles, the sting of vomit burns the back of his nose. It’s a miserable experience. 

Strands of Jisung’s longer hair dangle in front of his face, frequently getting caught up in the sick pouring from his mouth. Chan does his best to pull them back, but every time he thinks he has them all one strand falls loose and dangles around the younger's mouth. It's a never ending cycle of carding and tugging at Jisung's hair. Chan even gets remnants of vomit on his hands in the process. But he manages to hold back the grimaces of disgust to spare Jisung's feelings. 

Jisung momentarily loses his sense of awareness to his surroundings. The only thing he can think about is the eruption of mostly digested food, stomach acid and bile pouring out of him. Every time he thinks it's over, he's starting again before he can even get in a decent breath. After 10 agonizing minutes, Jisung finally catches a break. He's able to take a deep breath that doesn't trigger a wave of nausea and assumes his whole body is empty. There's a hollow feeling in his abdomen and he briefly wonders if he's actually thrown up all of his organs in the midst of it all. 

He's shocked into reality when present company tugs at his hair, jostling his whole head. He's got a headache now, and that didn't help. He looks at the offending individual with as much malice as he can muster. It's a mere 2% intimidating. 

"Do you feel a bit better now that you've gotten it all out?" Chan asks, so gentle and kind and hand still clamped to the back of Jisung's head. He doesn't look mad. 

Jisung can't understand why he isn't. He sniffles, trying to ward off a new wave of tears. He's not sure why he's crying now. Maybe it's shame, or guilt. It could be the headache. It's probably the fever. But there's a lot going on. Jisung is overstimulated by his own emotions. It pours out of him like a fountain. "I'm sorry, hyung!" He whimpers. 

"I'm sorry for being so gross. I didn't mean to. And you had to stay with me." 

"Hannie-" 

"And I missed the toilet a bit. I made a mess here. And some of it got on you. I'm so sorry," 

"Han, it's-" 

"What if you get sick now? How will we get work done?" Jisung's eyes widen, "and I didn't finish the lyrics like I promised. I'm sorry, hyung! I tried. And you couldn't finish your work either. You stopped to take care of me." 

"Han Jisung!" Chan tried a third time in a more demanding tone. It startled the younger rapper, which Chan feels bad about. His dongsaeng needs comfort. Not scoldings. But it did finally got him to stop rambling. He softens his tone quickly. "You don't need to apologize for anything, alright?" He assures. 

Jisung just continues looking at him, still too stunned by his hyung's authoritative tone to react. 

"Everybody gets sick sometimes. It's out of our control. It's my job, as your leader and your hyung to take care of you when you need it. So I need you to let you me. And don't worry about work or the deadlines. I know you're doing your best with the lyrics. And they will still be there when you're feeling ready to finish them. But for now you need to focus on your health and getting better. Do you understand?" Jisung nods. "Good, now. How are you feeling? Any better than earlier?" 

Jisung shakes his head this time. "My tummy feels empty now. But I have a headache, and I'm really really cold." He admits, "Hyung, I just wanna go home." 

"That's my Hannie," Chan smiles, petting the younger man's hair. "Let's get you home. I'll get you two days off schedules so you can rest up. How does that sound?" 

Jisung smiles a bit. Chan thinks it's the smallest smile he's ever seen in his life. "Thank you, hyung" 

"You're welcome Sungie." He helps the younger to stand up and guides him out of the bathroom. He asks Jisung to wait on a hallway bench while he calls Changbin. It's nearly 5 AM now, and the third 3racha member is probably waking up to get ready for his morning workout. Probably the only member ever willingly awake this early, besides the ones who don't sleep.

While they wait for their fellow producer, Jisung bobs in and out of sleep leaning against the bathroom wall. Chan's taken to cleaning the mess that became of the stall without complaint. Because that's just what hyungs do.

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

A/N: The ending feels a little rushed to me. I always feel like I want to keep writing until the sickie feels better, but that would be a super long fic. So I apologize for the abrupt ending.

As always, thanks for reading to the end! I really appreciate each and every one of you who make it this far! Feedback is always appreciated. And please let me know if I missed any tags or TWs. Please call me out for any errors you notice!

[apomaro-mellow]

Reverse little mermaid 3

Eddie carried Steve through the water. Steve tried to distract himself from Eddie’s face by looking around. He had swum in the ocean before but now that he didn’t have to worry about air, he could really savor it. Eddie took him over the threshold of a trench and suddenly there were merpeople everywhere.

All kinds with tails of different colors, young and old, swimming to and fro. Eddie brought him what looked like a market of some kind. He sat him down on a rock. Steve tried not to look too disappointed when Eddie’s arms left him. It was odd, being around so much movement and yet not hearing anything.

Eddie floated next to him and pointed and Steve realized why he brought him here in particular. Just like in the markets on land, there was a musician performing. She was a lovely mermaid with a pretty purple tail, but something told Steve she wasn’t it.

He shook his head, then pointed to himself, then to Eddie. His mystery singer had a husky, almost raspy voice. Steve had always thought him to be a merman.

He knew Eddie got the message when he nodded. He held out a hand and Steve took it. Eddie swam further down the strip and stopped when they came upon another performer. This one was a young boy, probably no older than twelve. He didn’t even look old enough for his voice to have dropped.

Steve shook his head again and put a hand over his head to indicate someone older.

Eddie was slowly getting a better picture. Steve was looking for a merman who sang. Someone who was probably around their age if not older. Definitely not a child or a woman. There were probably other singers around, and that wasn’t even getting to the underwater club scene. For a brief second, Eddie wondered if he could be the one Steve was searching for when he was suddenly tackled to the ground.

Steve watched as some random merchild attacked Eddie. Their tail was a pale blue and they had a mess of curls atop their head. A very spirited conversation was going on between them that included quite a bit of wrestling, which was even crazier with the physics of water. The two of them were floating upside down just above Steve’s head when he cleared his throat.

He didn’t feel too put out though. Both mers were putting out something and Steve’s new hindbrain was telling him that they were pheromones. Very happy ones. Eddie must be really close with this kid.

Eddie brought them back down and right side up and was talking, seeming to explain the situation to his friend. Suddenly, the kid was in his face, then swimming around him, poking and prodding, then grabbing at his tail.

Steve let out a yelp and Eddie hissed at the child, reprimanding them. He looked to Steve, who was able to get the word ‘sorry’ from his lips. Eddie’s hands flapped around his head, trying to convey something. Steve looked to the child who was still talking rapid fire.

Ah, Steve got it now. Smart and way too excited. He wondered if the boy treated all new people this way. He was still talking and Steve gave Eddie a look. Eddie held up a hand to stop the kid and pointed to his ears, telling him that Steve couldn’t hear.

The boy reached out and grabbed Steve’s hand, using his finger to trace letters in his palm. D…U…S…

“Dustin?”, Steve said, hoping it came out sounding right.

It must’ve because the boy, Dustin, nodded and pointed to himself. Once again he got excited and started tracing letter way too quickly for Steve to understand what he was trying to say.

Eddie saw him get overwhelmed and pulled his hand away. Eddie began to lead Steve somewhere else, Dustin following closely behind.

Meanwhile, their movements were being watched closely by Vecna. His snakes were his eyes and ears on land and sea.

“So, his little merman found him that quickly…But the poor prince has no idea that he’s already found who he was looking for. All the better. Having him so close only to still fall short, life’s full of tragic irony, isn’t it?”

Vecna was satisfied. It didn’t matter if Steve was right next to Eddie. He couldn’t hear and thus couldn’t figure out that he was the mystery singer. The three days would run out and Steve’s soul, and thus the kingdom, would be in the palm of his hand.

Part 5

[professor-amaryllis]

:{ A Video file is embedded. Valencia Island, Orange Archipelago. 6/9/24 10:12 am. }:

The sun beats down on a beach somewhere on Valencia island, the light glimmering off the picturesque cerulean waves as they lap gently on the shore. Professor Ginkgo seems to be enjoying the peaceful morning, lounged back on a small beach chair set in the pebbled shore, her feet in the water before her. 

It seems perhaps that he may have gotten a bit too relaxed, however, as faint snores betray the fact that behind his sunglasses he has indeed dozed off. Arlene the alolan meowth lounges a few feet away in the grass, and seems to be enjoying the warm tropical weather. 

We see this peaceful scene before us for a few moments before a slight disruption of the film and fast forward symbol on the corner of the screen indicates that the recording is being sped up. The following happen in what, to the viewer, appear to be rapid succession.

Miairu the Gengar detaches and rises up out of a shadow beneath Casi’s chair, and appears to stare at Casi curiously for a couple moments. She reaches out and seems to want to touch or startle Casi, but thinks better of it, disappearing back through the ground.

A few minutes pass and the ghost type returns carrying a stuffed teddiursa which she ever so gently sets on the sleeping professor’s stomach, before leaving once again. 

That pattern repeats about every ten minutes, the small tower of objects growing until A pokeball, a mug (empty), a glass (full of seawater we see the gengar scoop from the ocean), an overly large pair of glasses, a small microscope (set gently in the water beside him), three books and a briefcase join the precarious stack of items. Miairu seems pleased with herself.

A Shiny Gardevoir, Rose, teleports in front of this… spectacle, and Miairu proudly shows off her work to her sister. Rose seems to stare daggers at Casi, Serious even for her species, and yet for what must be a few minutes she simply watches him. 

Miairu after those few minutes of searching brings a few choice seashells to Rose, as if seeking approval, and after some consideration, the Gardevour points out four of them and Miairu balances them delicately on Casi’s arms. Rose nods her head in approval, to Miairu’s delight, retrieves her glasses from the pile, and the two float out of shot together.

Nothing much happens for some time, aside from the sped-up slight shifting of the sleeping professor. We can see the sun move across the sky and the shadows shorten and then begin to elongate once more as hours pass. The film returns to normal speed just as Casi awakes with a start, shooting forward to a sitting position and dumping all of the accumulated items directly into the ocean. Disoriented and confused, Casi stares at the items now soaking in the sea and then to the stark shapes where they had protected his skin from the sun's light, leaving him looking a little bit like a well baked I spy puzzle. 

“Shittō”

:{ Transcription Ends. WWWWWWWWWWW }:

[voiceoffenrisulfr]

On the Tide - Chapter Eight “The Sea is a Desert of Waves, a Wilderness of Water.”

A friendly face is found in the back alleys of an Indonesian town, and Win's safety is compromised. CW; Discussions of finning and endangered animal trade. Implied drugging, implied kidnapping/ransom. Prompts used; - ‘Dancing Together’ – @fandom-free-bingo, Frosty Edition; - “No Good Deed Goes Unpunished”, “Violence for Violence is the Rule of Beasts”, “You Brought This on Yourself”, ‘Held for Ransom’, ‘Stalking’ – Fandom-Free Bingo, Flight Edition; - ‘Scalloped Hammerhead’, ‘Oceanic Whitetip Shark’, ‘Matakam Dolphin’, ‘Sand Tiger Shark’, ‘Atlantic Humpback Whale’, ‘Blue-Spotted Tree Monitor’ – Fandom-Free Bingo, Wild Edition; - ‘Items Being Moved Around’ – @halloweenhorrorbingo .

Check it out below, or on AO3 here! Boards at the bottom, divider by yours truly <3

By the time we decked in port, my heart rate had settled somewhat – though my knees were still trembling as I helped tie off the lines. I stood for a moment, gazing at our small vessel, taking in the smattering of bullet holes along the hull as my own wound ached.

It may not look like much… But it’s home now.

Even my muscles knew that I didn’t belong on land anymore, tensing automatically to correct me against movement that didn’t exist.

Captain Tyne came up beside me, barely hesitating before linking his fingers with mine. “Have you ever been to Indonesia?” he inquired absently, his thumb skimming over the back of my hand as we moved forward, passing from the relative uniformity of the small port and into the uneven alleys lined with crates and boxes, the smell of animal waste making my stomach curl.

“It doesn’t seem like I’ve missed anything,” I muttered, glancing about myself, and he smiled.

“Most of it is beautiful – but we dock here for a reason.”

I raised an inquisitive eyebrow, but he said nothing more, just led the way into a crowded market full of bustle and vendors shouting in a multitude of languages.

“What reason is that?” I prompted softly as we slipped between customer and seller bargaining in rapid Thai.

He pulled me closer to the nearest stall, using the pressing crowds as a convenient excuse to hold me flush against his side, inclining his head toward the merchandise. “Intel.”

I followed his indication, bile rising in my throat at the sight before me. I might not know Indonesian, rendering the signs useless in aiding my understanding – but I had done enough research before joining the crew to recognise the macabre butchery before me.

Scalloped Hammerhead.

Oceanic Whitetip.

Mahakam.

Sand Tiger.

“These are all endangered,” I muttered under my breath, fury sparking in my veins at the spectacle, tracing my finger mournfully across the detached fin of an Atlantic Humpback as Greg nodded stiffly, leaning forward and testing several languages before settling on Malay, speaking with quiet, rapid urgency. The merchant opened his mouth furiously, but the Lieutenant simply spoke faster, one hand subtly slipping between them. The seller’s face cleared, then paled, and he nodded once, muttering back and inching away uncertainly. My Captain nodded over his shoulder, and two of my crewmates descended from the crowd, hurriedly tipping the contents of several of the merchant’s half-crates into their sacks. The man simply inclined his head in begrudging gratitude, and Greg steered me quickly away as his crewmen dissolved wordlessly back into the masses.

“What just happened?” I pressed under my breath, and he shot me a half grin.

“Our notoriety proceeds us,” he offered as we left the bustling market behind, fingers finding mine once. “Sellers are often willing to rat out their suppliers and give up their wares with a little… Persuasion.” He raised his other hand, revealing a flip-style badge emblazoned with the words ‘Shark Defence Initiative’. “We won’t have them making their money on the slaughter, but they get to trade their freedom for information.”

“Won’t they just go back to trafficking the moment we leave?” I asked, frowning, and he shrugged.

“We have a network. Folks that check in on the sellers we’ve interacted with, gather intel of their own…” Glancing at me, he shot me a smirk. “You’d be surprised by how infrequently those sellers go back to trafficking. I think the fear of being arrested is pretty motivating.”

I nodded slowly, impressed – and somewhat daunted – by the level of organisation and consideration that the SDI had put into their actions. They were often reported to be chaotic, poorly-planned – but here was the evidence to the contrary.

Is it possible that they cultivate this image of chaos as a deception? A ruse, to lull their enemies into a false sense of security?

I considered my Captain once more, his pace slowing as we returned once more to paved streets lined with stores. “… How long have you been with the Initiative?”

“Two years,” he replied easily, entirely at ease in the foreign maze.

“It’s only been active for three, right?” I clarified, and he waggled a hand thoughtfully.

“In an official capacity – yes,” he smiled, “but the folks who founded it were playing pirate long before that. They just made it a little more… Structured.”

“Has it changed much? Since you joined?”

He hummed under his breath, lips skimming my temple. “Yes… And no. We’ve gone from one ship to four, and we have a much broader web of informants… But the fundamentals haven’t changed at all. To protect, at any cost.”

I smiled wryly, inclining my head with curiosity. “When I first met you… It seemed you hated this life.”

Shaking his head quickly, he began to guide me down a side street, silent as he considered his answer.

“I love this life,” he replied eventually, lips still quirked down in a thoughtful frown. “I love making a difference – giving life instead of taking it. I love being back on the ocean and travelling the world…” He cut himself off to sigh heavily, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. “But I hate that this job comes with seeing the very worst and most cruel of humanity on a daily basis. I hate that 80% of our new recruits can’t hack it and we have to go through the process all over again. I hate that I have to put my crew in danger – that their very lives are at risk – every time we try to do the right thing. And I despise that it’s necessary at all. I love this job, Win. I just hate that it needs to exist.”

I nodded slowly, offering his fingers a squeeze, and he shot me a weak smile. “Come on. We’re only ashore for a few days – let’s go find some good food, good drinks, and good beds.”

The night was winding down by the time he nervously leant closer, the smell of fruity juices on his breath making me smile. When I told him I didn’t drink anymore – after a rough few years while I grappled with my trauma – he’d immediately rescinded his original order of beer, despite my protests that I had no objection to his consumption.

“I… I can get you your own, if you like,” he murmured, and I blinked in surprise at the light flush colouring his cheeks.

“I’m… Good? I’m still nursing this one,” I offered uncertainly, pointedly raising my half-full glass, and watching with amusement as the unanticipated blush grew deeper.

“A room, I meant,” he clarified quietly, the tips of his ears flushing beetroot when I laughed in shock. “O-Or you can have my cabin, or-”

I silenced him with a quick kiss, squeezing his fingers. “I want to stay with you,” I reassured him softly, feeling a gentle blush colour my cheeks, eyes lowered shyly.

He brought my hand to his face, lips skimming over my knuckles tenderly. “I’d be honoured,” he whispered, gaze finding mine as his smooth, suave confidence returned. The track overhead changed to something somewhat slower, but with a pulsing beat that made my bones tremble, and he grinned. “May I have this dance, Snowflake?”

I felt my flush deepen as I nodded, letting him lead me through to the makeshift dance floor – a space simply cleared of seating, where a number of couples were already moving together. I knew how to dance, but not to this; my life was limited to a box step and slow-dancing, picked up over the years. He raised an eyebrow at my hesitation, using his grip on my fingers to pull me flush against his chest. “Don’t you worry, baby boy… I’ve got you.”

With a soft purr, I rested my cheek gently on his chest for a moment before letting him guide me into a quick eight-beat, his hands on my hips easing me into a gyrating, sensual movement. I gasped in surprise as he turned me quickly, fingertips digging into my flesh lightly as we moved in unison. It was until his lips found my throat and I moaned under my breath, the sound causing a subtle, unconscious twitch in his hips, that I became around of his arousal pressing against my ass, making my face heat once more.

But despite my shyness, my uncertainty, I reached back to tangle a hand in his hair, earning a sharp gasp when I shifted firmly against him, his grip hardening automatically. “You don’t have to do that,” he breathed, sending goosebumps along my neck with his breath.

“I know,” I whispered softly, grinding a little harder, head falling back against his shoulder.

I want to.

I felt… Powerful, knowing that this man – this beautiful, strong, charismatic man – was aroused by me, even if it was strictly in terms of physical stimulation rather than actual attraction.

But from the way his muscles flexed, hands hard on my skin, I found myself believing that attraction really did play a part.

It wasn’t just want.

He wanted me.

He stiffened minutely, and I turned my head to follow his gaze as she looked away, brow furrowed. “What is it?” I pressed softly, and he frowned, nodding towards a pair of men in the corner a few feet away, talking in quick, hushed words that I could not comprehend. I cocked my head in confusion, and he flicked his eyes to me, his hearing still fully concentrated on the conversation. “My Bugis is patchy… But they’re discussing a trade. Reptiles. Lizards, I think.” His eyes widened, and he paled. “Blue-spotted tree monitors. Infants. Live ones,” he added at a growl, eyes flashing. I felt his fingers curl in anger against my sides and kissed his cheek gently as the pair headed toward the door. “Go,” I breathed, digits lacing with his to squeeze reassuringly. He hesitated, and I nodded encouragingly. “Go. I’ll be fine. I’ll wait here, okay? Go and be… You, Lieutenant Tyne.”

He smiled and kissed me quickly, eyes already shifting to the exist as he backed away. “Thank you, Snowflake.”

My heart fluttered a little in my chest, and I offered him a tender smile as he began to back from view.

“Stay safe, Captain.”

I sat nursing my soda, simply enjoying the passage of time in the bustling space, absently watching patrons go about their business and their lives with a sense of content satisfaction. I could see what Greg had meant when he spoke of the job – the fact that it was needed it was horrible, but it was one I was proud to do.

Every now and then, I glanced around, the hair on the back of my neck prickling with the unexplainable sensation of being observed, but I never found eyes on me, and eventually I stopped looking, shrugging as I decided it was simply an effect of being around so many people against after so long at sea with the same small handful.

I was on my third drink when someone approached, boots pausing at the edge of my eyeline from where I gazed, unfocused, at the table. Glancing up, I found a man stood beside me, no older than twenty, with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Can I help you?” I prompted, polite but nervous, and his lips quirked at the edges.

“You’re one of them, aren’t you? The SDI?” he murmured shyly, scuffing his feet, a hint of a French accent in the words that made me smile.

Someone else far from home.

I nodded, offering him a reassuring grin. “I am… Why do you ask?”

His face lit up, and he blushed with enthusiastic excitement. “Can I buy you a drink? I’d love to hear more about it!”

With a laugh, I extended a hand to my Captain’s vacated chair. “You’d be very welcome.”

“Didn’t someone once say ‘violence for violence is the rule of beasts’?”

I chuckled wryly, leaning back in my seat to assess the youth – Frank, he’d informed me when prompted, a seventeen year old runaway. “Sometimes violence is the only answer. Folks have tried the nice approach for decade; it’s helped, for sure, but it hasn’t been enough. Populations are still falling – and for what? So some rich asshole half a world away can have his soup with a side of ego?” I shook my head with a sigh. “It’s just so… Asinine. It can’t be allowed to continue – and that’s what the SDI is all about.”

A soft smile graced my lips as I noted distantly that the speech was startlingly similar to the one Neri had given to me. Only a few months ago, I realised abruptly, tipping my head back to drain the last of my glass.

It feels like a lifetime.

“Another?” he pressed, and I laughed.

“You still have questions?”

“Tons,” he replied immediately, grinning, and I shook my head fondly.

“I need to run to the bathroom – again,” I snorted, rolling my eyes. “Guess I’m not used to free access to liquids anymore!”

Even after all the time – and being built as I now was – I still got a flutter of anxiety in public restrooms, glancing over my shoulder for any sign that I should be concerned. The feeling of being watched was still there, burning a hole in the back of my head, but I couldn’t see anyone, no matter how many times I looked around.

Nudging my way into the bathroom, I curled my lip at the smell of alcohol and urine, shaking my head.

No matter where you go in the world, one thing is always the same… The gents on a Friday night.

The space was empty as I went to wash my hands, and the sound of the door banging made me jump, gaze shooting up to the mirror before me to lock eyes with a man over my shoulder. His presence behind me made me nervous, but I met the dark gaze steadily and offered a silent, polite smile. He simply stared back evenly until I looked away, heat prickling up the back of my neck at his intensity.

Hands clean, I went to brush past him, jerking away as he leant closer, his breath hot on my face. It wasn’t until I’d pushed by in a panic, desperate to get away from the sudden, startling proximity, that the fact that he’d spoken began to register in my mind.

“No good deed goes unpunished.”

I was still shaken by the time I returned to my seat, thoughts leaping between trains of thought, and I frowned as I reached absently for the strap of my holdall.

“I moved it out of the way. Here – I got you another drink,” Frank added quickly, sliding a glass across the table toward me. Any questions were pushed from my mind as I glanced over shoulder, watching as the man from the bathroom disappeared into the crowd.

“I… Yeah. Thanks.” My fingers found the glass, raising it instinctively to my mouth as my eyes continued to survey the throngs.

“It’s getting pretty loud in here, huh?”

Gaze flicking to Frank, I took him in once more, struggling to shift my focus back to the youth before me. My thoughts were disjointed and scattered, and I could only nod, scarcely registering that he’d spoken. “Shall we go someplace quieter so we can keep talking?”

Another nod, easily agreeable in my distraction, and I stood as he did, eyes slowly lowering as I followed him with utter compliance through the press of patrons, fractured thoughts straining to latch on to something solid.

There’s something I’m forgetting. I’m forgetting something important, I think… I just can’t find it…

I stumbled as he led me out of the door, narrower than I remembered, the street beyond darker, more enclosed, than I thought, littered with empty bottles and scraps of food ground into broken cobbles. Frank turned to face me, a frown creasing his expression as he weaved worryingly. “You okay, man? You’re not looking so hot.”

I nodded absently, metal palm meeting the wall with a dull thud when my feet reacted too slowly to catch me as I tried to step forward. “Fine, I…” Words died on my tongue as it turned to lead, and I could only grunt, sinking slowly to my knees, vision turning dark around the edges.

A hand found my shoulder heavily, and I fought against the increasing crush of gravity to raise my head, attempting to peer through the dense fog to follow the tanned arm attached to the vice-like grip on me – but before I could see anything beyond weather-worn skin and a multitude of scars, my sight failed me, eyes rolling back as I slumped hard to the ground.

“About time. Get him up. This’ll teach that anjing perek to stay out of our business.” Hands under my arms hoisted me upright, taking the entirety of my weight as my consciousness ebbed and my feet dragged uselessly behind me.

As I snatched distantly at the dregs of reality, the last thing I felt was warm breath on my cheek, the same man who’d issued orders whispering in my ear.

“You brought this on yourself.”

[kurimiaki]

Not that you’ll ever go home again.

Pirate!Rei Sakuma

Content warning: dark content, death, misogynistic undertones

“My lady… I really must advise you against this.”

Eleanor is not a cruel master. Though a young woman now, she’s still a child, a terribly spoiled one, raised with a golden shovel in her mouth rather than a spoon. But Eleanor has not grown haughty nor depraved from her privileged uprising, her imposing ranking as a count’s eldest daughter— and as her darling maid, close to her in age and in friendship (always so tight-knit, sharing hushed secrets under the covers), you can easily vouch for her humanity and humility. Within Eleanor is an endless well of kindness.

Eleanor is a good girl, a gentle one, but she’s never been greatly aware of the dangers this world possesses. Your lady is beautiful, well-off, too naive, and this is why you refuse to let her out of your sight. Not for even a moment— you’ve sworn as much to her doting father. You’re all too aware of the sleazy, preying eyes of supposedly ‘dignified’ men around her, conscious of every rumor that seems to breeze by your bubbly master. Peers name Eleanor a promiscuously pompous brat, and in the eyes of nobility, this has become general consensus. They name her a woman out of her wits. You could hardly fathom agreeing with such mockery, rather loathe it, but at present, you’re inclined to concur with the latter statement.

“Oh, [Name], you are much too distrusting. That kind man so generously pointed us to our ship, and yet you remain too scared to board.” Eleanor teasingly side-eyes you, both hands rested upon her hips as she digests the hulking ship before her. While it does appear to be a royal vessel, by the familiar golden crest dawned on its crimson flag, there doesn’t appear to be a single presence of life upon its deck. The docking stairs are drawn, sure, and that man did appear trustworthy, almost regal. Virtually everything has nodded to this ships legitimacy, and yet, hesitance gnaws at your heart. You don’t want to move forward.

At your lack of response, and the expression of unease you’re unable to keep in check, Eleanor tugs on your dress. She leans closer to you, brushing aside the umbrella you hold over her, and smiles. “Daddy said he’d meet us later, didn’t he? Our luggage should already be in our room. I sure want to get settled in, and I think you’re due for a long nap, [Name].” She chides, tapping the tip of your nose and beaming as you fluster. Gazing into her eagerly wide honey-eyes, you sigh, closing yours for a moments contemplation before jarringly, she’s tugged you forward, taking your hand into her own.

She’s warm, sun-soaked and bright, and you fail to resist her forwardness any further. The two of you step aboard, and you nearly have to catch her from falling as she bounds up the ships ramp. An icy fear rocks your heart at the sight of raw, plummeting ocean from a crack where the ship and port meet. The waves aren’t rapid, not at all, and a gentle breeze caresses both of your cheeks as you survey the surroundings. While Eleanor grasps her hat and spins about the deck, giggling as she twirls, oo-ing and aah-ing at every little rope and mechanism, you yell for her to watch her footing as she peers over the ships side into blue waters.

It’s odd, how quiet it is. This silence uproots you, teases your nerves. Of course, there’s the bustling of nobles and commoners and sailors about the port, discussing potential business ventures, or perhaps the royal voyage soon to set sail, but this ship is devoid of all life. Surely a captain or crew member would hold guard over such an expensive craft, but the more you fret and search about the upper deck, the more apparent your isolation becomes. Eleanor’s brown hair shines in your peripheral, and in spite of your every present fear and agitation, you reluctantly smile at her relentlessly contagious joy.

Taking a moment to settle your young lady, being twirled around the deck yourself once or twice in the process, you insist on retiring to your shared room (you’d impressed upon her how improper it was for a maid to share her master’s quarters, but Eleanor had never been one for the conventional). Room 6, you recall, having repeated the number to yourself over and over whilst in the carriage, concerned for a sudden bout of forgetfulness that is uncharacteristic to your due diligence. Everything shall be perfect, needs to be, for your lady— perhaps this way of thinking is why the emptiness of this vessel startles you so. You anticipate everything. Had thought of just the right greeting for the captain, the crew, for the other servants you’d be working beside— but things hadn’t gone to plan, and you find your anxiety increasing tenfold.

The hall of the living quarters has a thin carpet of velvet, softening the clicks of your heels, and Eleanor urges you to ‘take in the sights’, though you instead find yourself dissecting the slight… uncleanliness of the hall your lady walks. It’s not immediately noticeable, but you’re greatly accustomed to standards of hygiene. Your days are spend making and remaking beds, sweeping floors, washing linens, cleaning and decorating and organizing, all for your lovely lady. And judging the faint cobwebs wisping from light fixtures, dust on framed landscapes lining the wall, even on the windows, this vessel is not exactly up to par. It’s so odd. Supposedly, a duchess is meant to board this ship, so how could one allow cobwebs to grace this hall? You want to bring it up to Eleanor, but of course she’s found her room, already eagerly throwing open the door, bouncing herself upon a red duvet. It wasn’t locked.

Odd.

This room is clean, at least. The ceiling is surprisingly high, and a bay window is placed to the right of the room, giving way to a view of the port and its inhabitants— at least it’ll be open ocean the moment you set sail. It’s lovely, really. However, it is devoid of the luggage you expected to have arrived already. Your annoyance must show on your face, for Eleanor’s giggling simmers out into silence. You return from shutting the door to her lying spread eagle upon the large canopy bed. Gliding across the room to shut the curtains, not willing to risk the encroachment of Eleanor’s privacy, you question what the matter is.

“My lady, are you dissatisfied?” You begin, gently, moving to take her shoes off, and she languidly stares at the high-beamed ceiling. You follow suit, as you instinctively undo her laces, and furrow your brows as you spot yet another cobweb. Suddenly, Eleanor snaps her head to face you, a mischievous grin creeping upon her lips, though without real malice. Raising a brow, you slip off her remaining shoe, and at once your lady rockets forward to lock you in a harsh embrace. It knocks the wind out of you, how tightly Eleanor squeezes, and you nearly choke as she falls backwards onto plush pillows, sending you with her.

Laying by her side, you huff an indignant little sigh, shaking your head in faux disappointment before turning to her. Eleanor’s brown locks are tussled, and an exhausted red flushes her freckled cheeks. Such a pretty girl, her current frown does not suit her. Taking her hand into your own, you ask once more the cause of her dismay, but Eleanor only shakes her head. “You know… Daddy told me I’ll be meeting another candidate on this voyage.” Ah. She’s found out. You swallow, hesitant, but nod in agreement, never one to lie. Not to her. Gazing at your face, searching, something must break within your lady, because her eyes glaze over with tears. Ripping her hand away from you, she turns to bury her head in a feathered pillow.

“You’ll ruin your hair, my lady.” She groans, frustratedly, lilted voice cracking. “Then fix it!” She sobs, and you frown, a similar kind of sadness bubbling within you, too. You don’t want to depart from your lady, of course, but she seems to think marriage will bar her from your presence indefinitely. Eleanor has always felt things a little deeper than others, you believe, her body is wracked by tears and whimpering cries. She loves strongly, lives happily, but Eleanor seldom ever breaks. Never before anyone but you. Soothing, you rub a hand to her trembling back.

Muffled by pillows, her words are nearly inaudible, and as you point this out, she tearily rises her burrowed face. So quickly her bright cheeks dimmed from a smile to a quivering frown, and as Eleanor falls to lay her head in your lap, you hope to see her gaiety as soon as possible. Eleanor voices her every present fear, worry that her potential fiancé will be a crude, haggard man of 68, and that you’ll marry a poor man in turn, having ten babies that will occupy your attention so wholly, you won’t even think of the ten years you spent by Eleanor’s side. And you laugh, and she flusters, bristling and shouting it’s not funny! while you fight to collect yourself.

Tears of hilarity prick the corners of eyes that have been dry for quite some time, and at your pleasure, a small smile quirks the corner of Eleanor’s lips. “You think too deeply of your future, my sweet lady, with so much unnecessary worry. Is your father not a conscientious man, one who takes into account your every desire?” Puffing her cheeks, your lady nods, and you assure her that her fiancé is anything but old: a proper and handsome young baron, one who’s recently happened upon a very promising fill of crude oil— you had a say in the potential candidates. Nothing but the best for you, you hum, and she raises a hand to brush your cheek, and you smile. Eleanor, still so filled with worry, demands that you promise to stay by her side.

The two of you lay together, and you keep to yourself as she clings to your waist, as per usual. You’ve yet to change out of the clothes you boarded with, and you want to go in search of her luggage, but can’t be bothered. For a time, the two of you talk, mostly Eleanor speaking on and on of her hopes for the future, of the sights that you’ll see together when you finally arrive at your first destination, and for years after that. You dance around promising something that will inevitably end up broken.

She falls asleep first, with strands of brown hair sprawling across your chest, her arms kept tight around your midriff. As if the moment she let go, you’d dissipate into the open air. It’s difficult for you to follow suit, but even through thick curtains the setting sun blares warmly over the two of you.

Faint orange light cocoons you, and in this state of blissful serenity and sleep, your previous disquietude seems to melt away.

—

It’s night when you wake, and the previous bustling of the port has been replaced with the sound of waves. You grown as you rise, wincing at the sharp, digging pain your corset imbeds on your waist, unused to sleeping in such a torturous device. And you move to wake Eleanor, who’s never risen before you, eager to help change her into something suitable to meet her father, but she is not there. Your lady is not clinging to you, she is not in the attached bathroom, not tucked away in the bay window with a novella, not waiting to shock you from the depths of the closet. She’s seemingly dissipated, missing, and a terrible anxiety shocks your heart at the sight of her loose shoes. Presently, she hasn’t any other pair— though it isn’t appearances you’re concerned with.

Your anxiety quickly gives way to terror. The curtains are drawn open now, the inky black of the sea outside only serving to worsen your creeping panic. Of course, her father’s quarters are merely across from this room— it’s entirely plausible that she snuck away to greet him without rousing you. Yes, surely that’s it, you reconcile, now dawning your own heels. You fail to fasten the shoe lace repeatedly, ignoring the trembling of your hands. Eleanor is hardly ever out of your sight. It’s miserable, how irreversibly attached the two of you are, how quickly you’re sent into a tizzy when unaware of her exact location. She’s with her father, you assent, rising to full height, she’s with her father, you recite, as you shakily step towards the door, turning a golden handle with sweaty palms. She’s with her father. You echo this, repeat this, pray, as you cross the hall, eyes darting from left to right, staring at the staircase, and you bite your tongue at how silent and empty it is.

It’s silent, and once more, you are alone. You pause before the door, room 12, reads a golden plaque, and you freeze in horror at nothing but this silence. There’s only the rushing of waves and the endless fluttering of your heart, like a rabid bird against your rib cage, and the cause of such panicked despair is this all-consuming silence. If your lady was with her father, this door would be shaking with the ferocity of their blaring laughter and conversation. This silence is odd, misplaced, and it wholly unnerves you. It’s only six, as the rooms clock had read— there is no possibility of her slumber, much less his. If Eleanor was behind this door, you would know. And though you know she is not, you raise a fist and lightly knock upon the mahogany wood.

The door creaks open almost instantly (as if they had anticipated your query), and it is not your lady who stands there. Of course, you expected this, but a horrified gasp erupts all the same. The count is a stout, chubby man, short enough to require a downward tilt of your head to meet his gaze. Instead, your neck cranes to meet the honey-brown eyes of a stranger, one whose face crinkles in glee at the sight of you. You stay frozen and gaping as he crosses his arms, leaning against the doorframe and he appraises you.

“Now… this is the first I’ve heard of us getting a maid,” The stranger croons, in a perverse tone that makes your spine shiver, “are you hear to clean my room?” And god, your chest hurts from how harshly your heart pounds. Spluttering, unable to collect yourself or gather a modicum of proper etiquette, you step back in rapid secession— it must look silly, for this stranger laughs a cruel laugh, guffawing at how affrighted you are. In front of anyone, you’d normally jump to correct such disrespectful gestures, but as you turn to bound down the hall, you can’t seem to care.

As you shakily grasp at the stair’s railings, ascending the winding staircase with a sense of great urgency, you don’t bother to look back, as the brown haired stranger calls after you. Your mind is consumed with thoughts of Eleanor, fears that used to seem so compulsive and irrational, now seeming credible with each passing moment she is not by your side. You felt this ship was dangerous, suspicious, you knew, and yet you allowed your darling young lady to traverse its deck, to sleep in its underbelly. Now Eleanor is not by your side, and you endure a fear so raw and intense, you hardly feel the frigid salty air as you burst through ornate double doors and onto the front deck.

And it’s so loud.

How could this noise have gone unnoticed? How could you have withstood such silence moments before? It’s too loud, this noise too rupturing, and you jump to cup your ears with your hands.

Surveying your surroundings, it quickly becomes clear that you have boarded the wrong ship. There isn’t a single nobleman or woman in sight, only loud men dressed in leathers and feathers and gold, gaudy, audacious colors that are foreign to the noble trends of your country. A royal ship would not have tambourines and shanties and so much booze— it reeks of it, burning your nose. On the lower deck, these men dance and drunkenly sway with linked arms, expressions of unabashed glee on rugged faces. And in the darker corners, lacking the emissive light of gas lanterns and candles, some men brawl, smashing bottles and wrestling and bludgeoning one another ruthlessly. It’s bloody, completely foreign to you, barbaric. A bit of bile creeps up your throat.

And in the midst of it all, there isn’t the faintest glimpse of your darling young lady.

So suddenly you knock the wind out of yourself, you rush down a small flight of stairs, now running into this cesspool of drunken desire and brutality. You’re unsure why you’d run, charging headfirst into such blatant danger. Men pass by you in a flurry of deep reds, purples, greens and pinks, and under their leather jackets and rags, your eyes catch glimpses of sharp silver, knives, machetes, guns that you’d only ever seen unused with the royal guard. You’re petrified, nearly frozen by your repulsive fear, but you don’t stop rushing to find Eleanor. So irreversibly inebriated, hardly any of these men take note of you, smaller by comparison. Your eyes are impossibly wide, glazed over by tears (it’s been too long since you’ve cried, forever since you’ve been so, so scared), and you fail to notice the divots in the dark floorboards before you.

Your heel catches on a particularly large hole, and you fall hard, without a moment to brace your hands upon the splintering deck, but such harsh impact never comes.

No, you are instead cocooned, totally enveloped in a gentle hold. Faintly, among this loud, you hear a man gently inquiring if you were all right. Lithe, light, hardly making an impression upon you, these arms are cold. Frigid, much like the air, almost dead. Looking up, breathing and heaving uncontrollably, you see a man with red eyes smiling down upon you. Red eyes, you think, baffled, crimson, and you physically feel your brows stitch together in a mix of shock and awe and horror. Hair so black it melts with the nights sky. Only for a moment do you forget yourself, lost in those burning red eyes, so unfitting for such a deadly cold man. He leans in, and you lean away, but the gently gripping cold does not release you.

“I said,” he leans to whisper in your ear, and you very obviously shiver, “are you alright?” His dulcet, leering tone unnerves you harsher than any silence, and you forget your every respect and regard for etiquette once more as you shove him away. It takes more force than you had anticipated, and though he’s a few steps away now, you must tilt your head at a painful angle to meet his gaze. Behind you, in your frenzied state of fear and humiliation and fury, you fail to brush away warm hands that fall to cup your shoulders. You whimper when they do, head falling defeatedly as your panic-induced mania seems to meet its climax. “Ah. Kaoru. I trust you’ve gotten enough rest?” Voice free of that telltale condescension, the crimson eyed man now stares above you, smiling without reservation and in kind.

“I have… But Rei, Captain, you didn’t tell me we’d brought such a sweetheart on board.” And you somehow recognize this as room 12’s lone inhabitant, his suffocating proximity allowing you to discern his voice from the jovial uproar around you. Crimson eyes fall upon you once more, a bit wider now, and you feel like crying as this man— the captain of this ship, apparently— rakes your body up and down, as if he were to dissect you. And as if something clicks, this captain frowns, his own brows furrowing in apparent displeasure. “Mm. I rather think you’re frightening this young lady, aren’t you, Kaoru?” He croons, his eyes unwavering and unmoving from your form, dismissive of the previous inquiry. With a slight tilt of his head, this man ensures that Kaoru’s hands are off of you, such a small gesture prompting the latter to remove himself instantly.

He backs off, hands raised as if he’d been caught in the act of something sinister, but smiles. Honey-brown eyes gloss over you once more, and with a final nod of his head, Kaoru departs.

And you’re left alone with the captain. The bustling crew-mates prancing about the deck seem like an afterthought, if only for a moment, and you nearly forget what you were looking for, gazing into those harsh crimson eyes. As if they had ensnared you, you bemoan, scantly feeling grateful that he had just freed you of that man’s touch. One fiend to another. At your side, you flick your thumbs. “I apologize, my friend can be a tad touchy,” As if he hadn’t held you in his arms mere moments ago, “but your presence is somewhat misplaced here, don’t you agree?”

Warily, you nod, feeling quite like a live bird on a vivisection table. The captain gleefully smiles, flashing a row of sharp pearly whites, and you flinch. Everything about him is unnatural. “I certainly don’t recall enlisting the help of a maid… perhaps you were snuck aboard by a subordinate of mine? They do yearn for a woman’s touch.” It’s obvious that he’s insinuating your services are more sultry and sinister, as if you were some stowaway common whore. Repulsion fills you. He notices this, and is quick to wave away your growing tension, a crude smile stuck on his face.

“Of course not. I apologize, my dear—“ Brushing past him, feeling this man undeserving of your rational opposition, you embark once more through the brutal crowd, this time steeling your nerves.

But you hardly make it three steps forward before a cold hand encircles your bicep. Halting, you turn to meet those crimson eyes, still burning, but now more concerned as they trace your furious expression. You don’t have time for this. You must to find her, and you can hardly imagine this man is trustworthy enough to help you do so. He pulls you towards him, not without a moments resistance on your part, and begins to walk back towards those ornate doors.

“Excuse me! Hey- let me go!” You bark, in an unbecoming and vicious tone, though your face gives way to how unsettled you are. This uproar attracts some eyes to you, and you notice Kaoru staring in your peripheral. The captain merely tilts his head to you apologetically, faintly saying just one moment, but you don’t falter in your affront. “I said let me go!”

Never in your life have you laid your hands on a man. Certainly not in violence. You’ve only had reason to touch and serve Eleanor, to be by her side, to fret and care and wrap her ailing wounds when she cries. You’ve never hurt another person, but you were about to, hand poised to slap this man away. Harshly. There’s a slightly resounding crack as your wrist meets his open palm, as if he was prepared to intercept your attack the moment you summoned the gumption to raise your hand. Astoundingly, he hardly glances back to you, merely continuing up the stairs and towards the living quarters.

Moments ago, the deck was shaking from the liveliness of its inhabitants. All dancing and fighting and drinking and singing has ceased, with only a few spare drunkards continuing in their charades. It’s silent, and a fearful shiver crawls your spine. You needn’t look back to know how many eyes are on you, the indignant little thing that dares to strike their captain. If your lady hasn’t taken notice of you by now… you can’t imagine her possible whereabouts. She had been so excited to prance about the deck, to bask in open, unpolluted air— but Eleanor hates the dark. She would never conjoin with a group of such intensely violent nature.

He’s taken you behind hand-carved mahogany doors, and as its hinges close, the atmosphere grows silent once more. The painful loud has halted. You do, too, unable to summon the same rage that possessed you moments ago. Your ire has diluted, and fear takes hold. “Would you care to join me for wine? Tea, or whatever you’d prefer. I’m sure you’re hungry,” He’s still holding your bicep, correct in thinking you’d jump to run away, “and I’m eager to hear your reasons for sneaking on my ship.”

You haven’t much say in the matter, as he promptly escorts you to a room you can only assume is the captains quarters. Such a demanding presence, under that polite countenance, such a pressurizing man. Eleanor would sooner run off and hide than subject herself to a conversation with him, not dissimilar to yourself. But you’re not as mentally feeble, unwilling to bow your head even when teasing the threshold of his domain. The office is decorated similarly to Eleanor’s room, dark red velvets complimented by swirling gold accents, cushy chairs, Persian carpet, black-stained bookshelves that house a small array of plants and tombs. It’s too elegant for a merchant ship, befitting of a royal, but this man is anything but.

You jolt away as icy hand fall to your lower back, attempting to lure you into a seat. He chuckles as you settle yourself with a huff, arms crossing in a protective gesture. “My name is Rei Sakuma,” He begins, training his eyes to your features as he rounds a large desk, one stacked with letters and books and a decanter filled with wine. Rei pours a glass, smiling as you decline it with a sharp shake of your head, and drinks for himself. “I apologize for not beginning with an introduction. It was best to take you somewhere private.” He raises his legs to cross on the surface of the desk, an action you find unfitting of his admittedly polite words thus far, mildly surprising. Red eyes are brighter under the candle light, appearing almost yellow, the only significant source of illumination in this room. You find yourself hypnotized by them, forgoing a response, rather devoid of all tactful behavior, in such a state of loss and despair and confusion.

Rei does not ask for your name, and you are glad to not provide it. “They’re an unsavory bunch, my crew. Meatheads, you could call them. You must forgive me for presuming you a prostitute— it wouldn’t be the first time they’ve smuggled aboard a pretty girl like you.” You don’t fluster at the endearment, don’t feel much anything aside from fear and hesitance, but nod in cursory agreement. Tearing your eyes from his, your gaze rests in your lap. He’s trying to amend for his discrepancies, you can tell, but you don’t feel the slightest hint of gratitude or relief at his sudden deferential civility. But you do provide him your name, the act of uttering it effectively silencing him. Rei peers expectantly over the rim of his glass.

“As you said, I’m not a… prostitute, not of any sort.” That vulgar term sears your tongue, and you fight to keep headstrong, broaching an explanation in a convincingly composed air. “I- we mistook your ship for a royal craft. It’s not as if we’re stoaways, truly. We just fell asleep, assuming we were just the first to board, not thinking to-“ Rei raises a hand, politely disrupting you, an incredulous tilt to his brow. He frowns. “I’m sorry, my dear. You mean to say there are two of you? With whom did you board, exactly?”

You think of Eleanor and how positively petrified she must be. Your brain conjures a horrible image of your lady, shivering and alone, lost, trapped, hiding in some dark corner. Perhaps the men that brawled and beat one another above deck chose to disembody her, disgrace her body, hurt her. Rei questions you further, but you can only think of Eleanor, and you lose to a breaking sob. It’s humiliating, to be crying in front of this man, but you cannot will your tears away. Crumbling, shaking in your seat, you note that Rei still stares at you expectantly, unmoving and unbothered by your distress.

As you introduce your master to this man, you try to sober yourself, you do, but your words come out wary and unsure, cracking. You sniffle and hiccup from this onslaught of tears, explaining her aristocratic standing, that this voyage was intended for her engagement, that your poor, poor Eleanor was only praying for a reprieve from rigid nobility, and now she’s missing. You continuously forget yourself, not thinking for a moment that this man is not here to help you, that he’s dragged you here unwillingly, that the kept smile on his lips is one of amused mirth. You’ve just told him of a very promising means to gain wealth.

Rei’s glass clinks lightly as he sets it down, not a lone drop of wine lingering on its surface. Licking his lips, he stands and rounds your chair, placing both hands on your arms. You shiver, but not from his cold. “Eleanor… She must be very dear to you, for you to be worked up like this.” His hand slides up and down, caressing, and you recoil. It’s repulsive, he’s set on taking advantage of you. Of her. “And here I thought you were only filled with repulse.”

“If you arrived here around noon, and it’s nearly seven now… I’m sorry to say, darling, but we’re a ways away from the port. The woman you serve has likely boarded the correct vessel by now.” He draws that word out, serve, as if your devotion to Eleanor was equivalent to that of a neglected dog an its crass, cruel master. Rei pities you, you’re sure, but not in a way that compels you to think he exactly cares for your loss. You rise, brushing away his incessant affections, and glower. “She has not abandoned me! I’m insulted that you would think of her so!” You’re grateful that a chair separates the two of you— any closer, and you’d think twice about screaming.

Always smiling, Rei tuts, shaking his head, treating you like a tantrum-throwing child. As if your concerns were egregious and misplaced, and this was not your life’s purpose on the line. “Eleanor was endangered the moment she stepped on this ship. It’s my responsibility to protect her. I’ll work in her stead and clean if that’s what it takes to make amends for my mistake— until we land somewhere else, wherever that may be.” You’re not even sure he’ll permit you to search his vessel, with how quickly you’ve turned to berate him. “I don’t expect you to help me, and I do apologize for all the confusion, but I really must be searching for her.”

His eyes narrow sharply, and you lack the temper and courage to continue on such a one-sided, demeaning conversation. Interrogation, more like. His smile is still present, and as you back away, heading for the office door, you impudently refuse to let him out of your sights. You expected such a seemingly powerful individual to bite back after being lectured, but Rei hasn’t uttered a word.

Only when you open the handle do you turn your back to him. Such a simple decision on your part, and Rei finds a way to work it in his favor. The golden knob does not fully rotate, and you try to unjam it, once or twice, but he has truly locked you in here with him. What need would a ship’s captain have to secure his door, if he commands such respect? You turn to ask, prepared to demand he release you. But the world seems to tilt on its axis.

Your vision blurs, and it seems you’re falling, collapsing once more into the captain’s glacial embrace. “What…?” You moan, halfhearted and woozy, supplied with the distant sound of Rei’s pitiless laugh. He’s everywhere at once, eclipsing your senses, and quite instantly, all you see is red. Rei is staring at you, you realize, acknowledging that your limp head has fallen to his shoulder, barring your exposed neck. Your waist is cold. You don’t understand it, why you’re so faint, why the world’s landscape seems to ebb and spin in a swirl of red and black. You think you ask him what he’s done to you, and you hope you went about it cruelly, but you hear nothing in reply. Slipping from consciousness, at the very least, you feel a sharp sensation against your pulse before you succumb.

—

“Do you think she’ll be hungry, when she comes to?”

Rei hums, considering Kaoru as he stands before him, though keeping his gaze trained on your sleeping form, serene face peaking from behind the curtain that shelters his bed. Free of a frown he thought permanent, Rei muses that you look rather pretty.

“Likely. Nothing hot, though.” It would be unfortunate if you burned yourself— Rei anticipates a rather tumultuous morning, when you finally rise. Kaoru nods, moving to promptly let the chef know to prepare an extra serving, but his captain raises a hand. Rei is frowning.

“You’d do good to not scare her off, Kaoru. Someone like yourself must fathom how important love is at this stage, ripe to blossom.”

As if you have anywhere to go.

If he’s uncomfortable, Kaoru doesn’t let it show. He only nods, waiting for Rei to continue, departing when he allows him to. As second-in command, Kaoru truly respects Rei, views him as a companion and a figure to be revered— which is why he is inclined to enable him, despite how unwilling and despondent as you appear to be. He spares you one last glance before allowing the door to shut, and your fate to seal.

—

In the crows nest, high above them all, is a young girl. She sits slumped and unmoving against the masthead, tidy and regal. Almost alive, if not for her paling skin, the mangled and blood-crusted skin of her jugular. Brown hair is matted with it, that crimson fluid, curling strands void of their once glistening sheen. Her bare feet grow blue from this relentlessly cold night. He’s full.

[newtedison]

brinho week 2023, day 2: safe haven | “we’re safe, aren’t we?”

here’s a short little scene for y’all. this technically takes place after the events of my safe haven brinho fic, but i wrote it so it can be read as a standalone. 

(~1.2k, SFW, hurt/comfort)

Jorge and Aris decide to break the news over dinner.

They stand in front of the rock memorial, hitting two pieces of wood together and calling for attention. Brenda picks her head up from where it had been resting on Minho’s shoulder to listen.

“Hey, everyone,” Jorge greets once the group has quieted down. “Aris has something he wants to tell you.” He claps Aris enthusiastically on the back, the strength of it almost causing Aris to stumble over. 

Aris clears his throat awkwardly. “Uh, hi guys. Some of you might know that me and Jorge have been working on a WCKD tablet we managed to smuggle out of Denver. Well, this morning, we were able to unlock it.”

A sporadic mix of “wow,” “oh?” and “huh” litter the crowd. Brenda and Minho look at each other, eyebrows raised.

“It’s solar powered, so it’s self-sustaining. Hopefully we can use it to repair the other WCKD gear we salvaged. We could keep digital logs and reduce the wood we use to make paper.”

Brenda nods, the idea sounding nice enough.

“What was on it?” Minho suddenly asks. “I mean, we’re still safe, aren’t we?” 

Brenda turns to him in worry at his rapid change of demeanor. Aris stares at him too, also caught off-guard.

“We’re fine, hermano,” Jorge chimes in. “It’s mostly records, like of their medical research. Not all of it, but enough to be helpful. We’ll be able to improve our medicine.”

“There’s also messages between them and some other countries,” Aris says. “We’re not the only survivors.”

To Brenda, this is good news. The weight of potentially being one of the last human beings on Earth was one that had laid heavy on her mind. Knowing there are other people out there, it takes away some of that guilt and responsibility.

But she can feel the way Minho tenses next to her, the energy of it almost radiating outward. She squeezes his hand in concern.

“Hey, what’s up?” she whispers. 

Minho looks at her for a moment, conflicted. Eventually, he stands up and runs toward the woods, Aris briefly pausing whatever he had been saying before continuing. Brenda doesn’t hesitate before following, knowing Jorge will brief her on whatever she missed later.

She doesn’t try and call out to him, knowing that he knows that she’s coming after him. It’s probably what he expected, as well.

He only stops once they make it to the hidden area of the beach where they first met. He stares out at the ocean, the sunset almost finished. 

Brenda silently takes her place next to him, wrapping an arm around his side. She watches the tide with him and waits. It takes him a few minutes to speak.

“They should never have taken that tablet,” he mumbles. Brenda looks up at him; his eyes are a little vacant, like his mind is seeing something else. “It can only make things worse.”

“How?” Brenda asks softly. “What do you know about it?” 

Minho swallows. “They had them everywhere at WCKD. They used them for everything. Opening doors, giving medicine, writing logs.” He looks down at the sand. “Shocking you. Increasing your heart rate. Making you see things.”

Brenda’s heart shudders, much like it does every time Minho mentions his torture at the hands of WCKD. He doesn’t much, which she understands. 

“They’re not here anymore,” Brenda assures. She turns Minho so he’s facing her, but his eyes have trouble focusing. “WCKD is gone. We watched it burn. The whole thing collapsed, no one survived. It’s done. It’s dead.”

“‘We’re not the only survivors,’” Minho repeats Aris’ words. Only this time, they’re filled with dread. “You heard that, right? WCKD was communicating with other people. Those other people can’t be good, and they’re still out there. They’re probably looking for a cure, too.”

“That’s not our problem.” Brenda squeezes Minho’s shoulders. “This island is our home. We’re not going anywhere.”

“But they might.” Minho’s gaze finally hones in on Brenda, wide-eyed and desperate. “What if…what if turning the tablet on sent out a signal of some kind? Maybe it sent our location to the other survivors. They’ll figure out we have Immunes here, they could send boats to try and capture…” 

“Hey, babe, look. Look at the water right now.” Minho turns. “No boats, right? No one’s attacking you right now. No one’s coming for us.”

Minho takes a few long, deep breaths. Brenda rubs a hand on his chest with each breath, right over the heart.

“Not right now,” Minho says through an exhale. “But they could.”

“They could,” Brenda nods. She cups Minho’s face and turns him back to her. “But we have weapons. We have guards watching the island. We’d see them coming from miles away.”

Minho frowns. He opens his mouth, then closes it. He grips Brenda’s side with a panicked tightness.

“I can’t go back,” he whispers. “I can’t let Aris and Sonya go back. It can’t happen to Thomas, to Gally.” His voice begins to rise in anger. “WCKD was willing to kill to get to me. What if the other survivors come, and you’re standing in their way?”

Brenda has a flashback to when WCKD took Minho. She and Jorge had originally left, but came back, and they took down as many WCKD guards as they could. It hadn’t been enough, and the way Thomas screamed out Minho’s name as they dragged his unconscious body into the plane is still so visceral in her mind. 

She’s learned by now not to blame herself for things like this, but when you love someone as much as Brenda loves Minho, it’s hard to push back the guilt. She didn’t know him then, but if she had, she would have done more than snipe the guards. She probably would have ran right into the line of fire if it meant getting him out.

“If I’m in their way,” Brenda says, her hand wrapped around the back of his neck, “then they don’t have a fucking chance.”

Minho looks at her, clearly still uneasy but starting to calm down, his hand fiddling with the fabric of her shirt. She loves how much they joke and banter in their relationship, but she also knows when to turn that off, and when Minho needs her. She’s still learning to be vulnerable, but she’ll do it for him.

“If I…” Minho starts. “If you…” He shakes his head, unable to say it. Brenda knows what he’s thinking. “I know my life has been mostly shit, but you’re still the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You know?”

Brenda gives a small smile. 

“That’s not changing.” She pauses, then decides to turn on some of the humor. “Unless the survivors come and they’re actually super chill, and you meet someone you decide is better than me.”

It manages to crack a smile from Minho, a tension in her chest releasing at the sight of it. She knows the things that haunt Minho will never really leave him, but if she can be there at his side to bring him back to earth, to keep him grounded, and to even get him to laugh, then she’ll be content. It’s the least she can do, really.

Minho pulls her in for a kiss. The sun finishes setting behind them, the darkness of the night draped over them like a blanket. 

“That’s never happening,” Minho assures. “I can promise that.”

[renofmanyalts]

(moods) Wistful for Emerik/any

Send me a mood and I will tell you how my character deals with it.

Prompt 1 (Make-up Day): Envoy

Who: Emerik Liubasch, Semir (original NPC)

What: Emerik must lighten his pack.

Where: A rail yard on the outskirts of Martrvje, a port city in occupied Bozja.

When: About two years before the events of the Bozjan Southern Front field operation began. Takes place a few months after this piece [Mature community label, requires login].

Content notes: Garlean colonial oppression, refugee struggles, partings in wartime, mentioned injury/abuse

Music: "Intro (The Envoy)" and "Outro (What It Means to Be Human)" by Being as an Ocean (both instrumental)

When a soft knock sounded at the door of the railroad car, a faint murmur of concern rippled through the two dozen heads scattered amongst the stacks of crates. Emerik's heart thudded in his chest, fur standing on end as he uncrossed his arms. He felt Semir do the same beside him, their elbows brushing. 

The boxcar was still at rest, one freight car among many in a long train waiting to leave the rail yard on the outskirts of the city. Had they been discovered? His fingers itched for the smooth wood of his staff, but it, like nearly everything else he owned, had been left behind. It would have been foolishness, in any case, bringing a weapon — no matter how simple. Emerik tugged at the cuffs on his borrowed jacket, the final piece of a traveling outfit intended to soften his features, to render him polished and nonthreatening.

After an eternity of rapid heartbeats, the door slid open a few ilms, a sliver of just-bluing sky showing around the silhouette of a hrothgar with one ragged ear. Emerik relaxed a fraction. That was their contact — the member of the Resistance that Semir had nodded to in a coffee shop four sennights ago, setting all this in motion. Emerik did not know his name. Gods willing, he would keep it that way.

The partisan pulled the door further open on well-oiled, silent tracks, climbed nimbly up onto the deck, and slid it closed again. The darkness returned.

"Bad news," the soldier said, speaking quietly. His voice sounded young. It had surprised Emerik when they first met, and it still seemed incongruous now. "We were given old information, and the expected gross weight for this car is slated to be a half-tonze less than we had accounted for. We have to reduce weight, or the Garleans will notice the discrepancy the minute we pass through the first checkpoint."

"Will... will someone have to get off the train?" The hesitant voice came from somewhere left of the door — the mother with her two young ones, Emerik thought. The little family had been huddled together when he and Semir had arrived at the rail yard, the children sleeping with their mother's skirts wrapped around their shoulders. Emerik could picture Semir's deep frown when he'd seen the swollen bruises on her face.

The soldier's voice took on an apologetic tone beneath his urgency. "Maybe. But I am hoping that we can reduce baggage weight, instead. Please go through your luggage and remove anything that is not absolutely essential to your survival on the trip, as well as anything that is particularly heavy." 

Worried whispers rose in the darkness, and the soldier continued: 

"This is not an easy task, I know, and I am sorry that I must ask it of you. You number twenty-four, so we need to eliminate more than forty ponzes of weight per person. Keep your necessary medicine, food and water, your identification papers, and money. Put it in a pillowcase or wrap it in a cloth to carry it. If you have jewelry, keep whatever you can hide on your person, and whatever clothes you can put on, plus a blanket and pillow each. Everything else, including your trunks and cases, please separate it out and set it by the door. Quietly and quickly, please."

"What will happen to our belongings?" That was the voice of an older man with an accent speaking of the wealthier parts of the city. He was accompanied by a young woman Semir figured for his daughter, though Emerik was not so sure.

"I'm afraid they will probably be destroyed. We cannot hide them here, and we have no way to get them to you once you have left, so we will have to dispose of them quickly — most likely in the river."

For a long moment, dead silence reigned. Emerik's thoughts drifted to the contents of his leather suitcase. What clothes he had, he wore — and some that weren't his, besides. He had no jewelry nor medicine, and all his earthly wealth sat in a pouch strapped below his shirt. Everything else had been sold in haste. Semir carried only their sack of shared provisions; there was nothing there to shed.

The suitcase, though.... It held a full dresser drawer's worth of treasure: a tin of long beeswax tapers, their wicks still conjoined; more than a dozen large blocks of herbal soaps, their paper wrappings labeled in his grandmother's handwriting. They sat heavy between his feet — heavier still with their role as the last fragments of his family's traditions.

The soap would sink easily in the river, he thought. Old as they were, the bars would dissolve slowly, and their flecks of rosemary, chamomile, marjoram would be carried away by the current.

The candles would float. Maybe some curious animal would eat them, or maybe some enterprising young scavenger would find them first. After decades hidden away, maybe they would finally have their chance to burn.

Someone flicked on a magitek torch. Cold, blue light washed thinly over the boxcar's high ceiling. The other occupants sprang into startled motion, flinging open trunks and boxes with grim purpose.

At a touch to his elbow, Emerik turned to meet his friend's eyes. Semir wore an expression of gentle concern

"That is your whole purpose in going, is it not?" he said, nodding to the suitcase.

Emerik directed his gaze across the dim train car and nodded. (The stack of discarded belongings at the door was growing, but only very slowly. "I must ask you to be ruthless," the Resistance soldier said. Panic fluttered at the edges of his too-young voice. "The train departs in just over a quarter bell.")

Ruthless? 

Emerik bent to snatch up the suitcase. He could do nothing but rue its loss — but there were lives on the line. What use a people's healing traditions without a people to use them?

But before he could step out from the bulkhead, Semir stopped him, one tawny hand laid lightly on Emerik's dark one. Emerik shot him a questioning glance, and Semir leaned down to speak into his ear.

"It's not going to be enough." Semir gestured toward the pile near the door. Still growing, but nowhere near a half-tonze. "Most of these folk didn't have forty ponzes of sentiment to pack. Even if everyone trims the fat, they're going to have to send some of us away. At least one."

Emerik narrowed his eyes. "What are you saying, Semir."

Semir closed his fingers around the handle of the suitcase. In the light of the Garlean torch, his golden eyes held none of their usual luster.  "Let me hold these for you. When you get where you're going, send a letter, yes? I'll get them to you."

"But—"

"I know. I thought we would travel together, too. We—" Semir stopped, swallowed. 

(We three as one, the sentence finished in Emerik's mind, his own voice raised in chorus with Semir and Vuk. But they hadn't been three for some moons now.)

Emerik pushed the thought away. Semir was speaking again, so close that his breath stirred the fur-tufts in Emerik's ear.

"I have connections," he insisted, nodding meaningfully to the increasingly-fretful partisan. "There's good I can do here. But you?" Semir tapped one finger against Emerik's forehead. "You have the memories — and the drive to chase down the knowledge needed to resurrect them. And with that blond bastard" — Emerik flinched — "nipping at your hocks? Best not to wait for the next run."

Emerik ducked his head. He could feel his pulse thudding in his throat.

With a snarl, he shoved the suitcase into Semir's arms, then snapped his teeth shut before any other sound could escape. Leaning forward, he thumped his forehead into Semir's solid shoulder.

Emerik felt Semir nose at his mane, and he could guess that he was smiling; when he murmured, "Keep my jacket safe for me," Emerik was certain of it. Then Semir pulled away, threading through the chaos. After a short exchange with the Resistance partisan — who looked rather relieved — he moved toward the sliding door.

"Semir—"

Semir twisted to look at him, still cradling the suitcase to his chest. 

Emerik forced himself to meet his friend's eyes, trying not to think about the last time he had looked into Vuk's. "If you don't hear from me within a few moons," he managed, "or if things get bad... use whatever you need, if it will help."

Semir nodded. A blink, and he was slipping out of the boxcar door, climbing out into the twilight.

Emerik bent to pick up the sack of provisions and settled it between his feet. It, too, sat heavy.

With a sigh, Emerik nudged the sack into a corner. He pushed up his sleeves, then went to help hand the surrendered belongings down to those waiting to take them away.

—

At this stage in his life — before he had come to Eorzea — Emerik was prone to falling into black, destructive moods rather than wistful ones, and also tended not to express much of that if he could avoid it. Now that he is out from under the direct weight of the Garlean occupation, however, he's settled into some measure of acceptance and is better able to attend to such feelings as gentle melancholy and yearning.

—

I sorta ran myself out of spoons yesterday and so I really struggled today. The length also got away from me, but I sure did learn a lot in all my diving down research rabbit holes! Got a bunch of Bozja lore and stuff settled and obviously filled in more details of Emerik's backstory. I've also just decided to give myself a fair bit of grace about that daily deadline, because the point is NOT to stress myself out — thus posting this about, mm, three hours late. XD