#desperately want the sequel so much yearning

[daisynik7]

[F4M] You Leave a Naughty Voicemail for Your Husband While He Works Overtime [Established Relationship][Mutual Masturbation][Car Sex][Sub to Soft Dom][Breeding Kink][Mating Press][No Thoughts][Brain Empty][Just Fucking]

Read Part 1 here!

Pairing: husband!Nanami x f!reader

Rating: Explicit - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~3.6k

cw: established relationship, p*rn without plot, smut –  PIV sex (cowgirl, missionary, mating press, doggy), mutual masturbation, mentions of sex toys, edging, blowjob, car sex, clitoral stimulation, spanking, some spit play, breeding kink, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, pet names (sweetie, sweetheart, honey, princess, baby, good girl/boy), slight degradation kink

Summary: You record a naughty voicemail for your husband while he works overtime, leaving him yearning for more. Author’s Note: Hiya friends! Breaking my tumblr hiatus temporarily to post this. Consider this a sequel/part 2 to my other fic inspired by more NSFW audio. Someone gave me the idea to do a fic with the roles reversed, so here it is! Had a blast writing this, so I hope you enjoy! Bonus: here are some NSFW audios that inspired it (of course, they’re AugustInTheWinter): Link 1, Link 2 (reddit links, 18+). Likes, comments, and/or reblogs are always appreciated, thanks so much for reading! Header image from the manga On Doorstep (it's BL and the MC looks like Nanami, I highly recommend). MDNI banner created by @/mikeykuns.

It’s past eleven when Nanami steps out of the conference room with the rest of his colleagues, having just finished the last team meeting of the day. He was asked to work overtime to help fix any remaining issues before the end of the fiscal year, which is in a few days. Normally, he’d never agree to this, but with your wedding anniversary approaching in a month, he wants the extra income to buy you that gold chain bracelet you’ve had an eye on. 

With all his tasks complete for the day, he can finally leave. He gathers his belongings, checking his phone to see the missed call and voicemail you left him about an hour ago. She must be asleep already, he thinks, not bothering to call you back. When he gets in his car, he props his phone to the mount, ready to listen to your voicemail on Bluetooth while he drives home. He presses play as soon as he pulls out from his parking spot.

“Kento.” Your voice is hushed and breathy. “I miss you.”

Nanami clenches his jaw, already aroused by your sultry tone. He grips the steering wheel tighter, glancing at the phone screen to check the length of the voicemail: three minutes. That’s the limit before it cuts you off. And while the ride home is a mere ten, he has a feeling it will be excruciatingly long by the way this message is already playing. 

You sigh. “I miss you so much, Kento.” There’s rustling in the background; Nanami imagines that you’re turning over in bed, under the covers. What are you wearing right now? The cute flannel pajamas he bought you two years ago for Valentine’s Day? Or the lingerie set you purchased yourself to surprise him for your most recent anniversary? At this rate, for his own sanity, he’s not sure which one he prefers. 

“I can’t wait till you get home, honey. I’m so…” Your voice is heavy with lust; he can see the provocative face you’re making as you squeeze the phone to your ear, reaching between your legs to that throbbing pussy. “I’m so horny right now. I wish you were here.” If he listens closely, he can hear the squelch of fingers flicking your clit rapidly. “But since you’re not, is it okay if I touch myself?”

He’s tempted to slam on the gas and fly through the city to get to you in record time. Break all driving violations and his own personal morals to watch you play with yourself. It’s torture, sitting behind this red light, following the rules, listening to you moan into the phone, so needy and desperate for his cock. What’s worse is that you’re ovulating this week; he knows how pent up you must be from his absence tonight. Fertile and in heat, that wet sloppy cunt begging to be filled with his seed. He promised he’d make it up to you tomorrow morning, but why waste this perfectly good opportunity? Especially when you’re practically begging for it. 

“Remember how good you fucked me last night? How you pinned me down by the wrists? How tightly I squeezed my legs around you as you pumped me full of cum?” It’s all Nanami thought about when he wasn’t focused on work today. Enough to force him into the men’s room to jerk himself off, fantasizing about it. Replaying your wanton moans ringing in his ears, the way your body convulsed around him, that adorably dumb expression on your face while you were getting fucked into oblivion. Normally, he’d be ashamed of himself at how lewd he was being in a work setting, but the memory of you was too irresistible, even for him. 

He’s not usually perverse like this, but something about you drives him crazy. His hands are typically at 10-and-2, the correct position to steer the wheel. But just this once, he deems it necessary to lose his prim and proper attitude. He drops one into his lap to unbuckle his belt, unzip his pants, and reach down to palm his cock through his briefs. It’s enough to gain a bit of relief from this torment, at least until he’s safely home. Nanami wipes the sweat beading on his brow, accelerating too hard when the light finally switches to green, keeping his grip steady as he strokes his cock, listening intently to your voice surrounding him in the car. 

“Are you hard right now, Kento?” There’s more movement in the background, as if you’re opening and shutting a drawer. Blood rushes into his cheeks, predicting exactly what you’re about to do. “Do you like listening to me touch myself?” There’s a familiar hum now, and he visualizes the pink vibrator buzzing in your hand, the fluttering tip teasing your swollen clit. He’d do anything to teleport directly into the bedroom and have his way with you.  

“I’m so lonely in this bed without you. I’m fucking myself, thinking about you. Wishing it’s you instead of this stupid toy. Can you hear it, sweetie?”

“Yes,” he answers to no one, shoving his underwear down to release his erection, stroking himself faster with his right fist. He’s forced to stop again; how many fucking streetlights does this goddamn city need anyways?! It’s excruciating. 

“My pussy is aching for your big cock.” The buzzing intensifies; you’ve increased the setting one level, on the verge of an orgasm. Typical behavior of his obedient slut of a wife. He loves sliding his fingers inside while you press the vibrator deeper into your clit. He’s obsessed with the way you gush around him, clenching him tighter, addicted to how it tastes on his tongue when he slides those cum-coated digits into his mouth. 

“Hurry home, honey. I’m waiting for you. This pussy is already so wet for you. I’m going to use you as my sex toy tonight.”

“Fuck, I want that. I really want that,” Nanami moans in response, releasing his cock from his grasp, thighs fidgeting from arousal. 

“You love it when I use you, huh? Love it when I fuck you silly until you’re milked dry.”

He groans, bucking his hips into nothing in the seat, briefly losing control of the wheel, causing the car to swerve. “Fuck, I love it, sweetie. I love it. Please.” He’s not sure what he’s begging for. All he knows is that if he doesn’t get home soon, he’ll combust, taking the car down with him. 

“Fuck, Kento. I’m thinking about how deep you hit it from behind. Slapping my ass, treating me like a bad girl, pounding your hips into me like a fucking animal. I get so fucking cock drunk off you. Makes me want to come just talking about it.”

“Then come for me, baby,” he blurts out, fully aware he’s talking to a recording. He’s completely lost it now. 

“Ah, I’m close. I – ” you interrupt yourself with your own whimpers. Nanami listens as he cruises past the speed limit now, wiping the bead of precum at the tip of his cock with his thumb,  edging himself. It’d be a shame for him to waste his load onto his lap. He’s going to give you every fucking drop he has. Build it up so that your pussy is flooding with his hot, sticky mess. 

You whine loudly, “I’m coming, Kento. Ah, I’m coming for you.” You moan into the phone, and Nanami has to release himself to prevent from orgasming too, Then, there’s silence on your end, except for your staggered breaths and occasionally rustling of the sheets beneath you. Eventually, the voicemail ends without another word, and he assumes that you’ve fallen asleep. He smiles to himself, imagining you, his gorgeous wife, with your legs splayed out, vibrator loosely gripped, completely knocked out on the bed. 

He replays the voicemail, continuing to edge himself until he finally pulls into their driveway, opening the garage. He parks, shutting off the ignition, then searches the backseat for the box of tissues, wanting to clean up whatever mess he’s made. Before he gets the chance to, the door leading inside swings open, and it’s you, standing in the door frame in a sheer lingerie nightgown. The same one he expected you’d be wearing tonight. 

He swallows hard, cock still out, stiffer than ever, watching you step towards the driver’s side, bright face peering through the window. You glance to his lap, noticing the lewd sight. 

You tap on the glass, feigning innocence. “Kento?”

He opens the door slowly, face flushed, eyes half-lidded in a daze. “Sweetheart, please.” 

His slacks have been shoved off haphazardly down his legs, engorged cock sprung against his abdomen, precum leaking out the tip. His cheeks are pink, hair tousled, forehead dewy with sweat. You smirk at him, pleased to see that he’s listened to your voicemail. “Oh, honey. Look at you. Have you been a bad boy?” You surround him with your fingers, jerking him slowly. He twitches at your touch, sensitive and aching in your fist. 

He shakes his head, shutting his eyes closed as you stroke him. “No,” he stutters, “I’ve been very good.”

You inspect the car, realizing what he’s trying to convey to you; he hasn’t come yet. “Oh, baby,” you coo, squeezing his cock in your fist. “You’ve been very, very good. My good boy.”

He nods this time, leaning forward for a kiss. “Yes, I’m a good boy for you. I’m your good boy,” he huffs through gritted teeth. Nanami isn’t normally like this, so submissive and needy. But tonight, he has zero hesitation; he’s begging to be dominated, to be used and toyed with. 

You lick into his mouth, nipping at his bottom lip. “Do you want your reward now? Or should we go inside first?”

He won’t last much longer, so he spits out, “Now. Please.”

You smirk, kissing him messily, tongues swirling, swapping spit while his dick pulsates in your palm. “Fuck,” he groans, rocking his hips into you. “I’m going to come if you keep – ” he chokes on his saliva, unable to finish his sentence. 

You giggle, nibbling at his ear lobe. “If I do what, baby?” You want to tease him a bit more, so you bend over his lap, kneeling on the bottom frame of the car, sinking down on him with your mouth. He throws his head back against the headrest, swearing loudly. You blow him until his cock is lubricated with your spit and he’s squirming above you, ready to burst. 

He pulls you off him abruptly, tugging you towards him. “I can’t,” he urges, completely red now, all frenzied and flustered. “Please, I can’t take it anymore.”

Giggling, you swing your leg over him, straddling his lap and smooching his forehead. “Alright, honey. I tormented you enough.” You’re not wearing any panties beneath your nightgown, so when you start to rub yourself on his shaft, his eyes widen in surprise, staring at you, sputtering a mix of curses and nonsense.

You grin, kissing him softly, rocking yourself along his length. “I told you, didn’t I? This pussy is so wet for you. I’ve been prepping myself all night, thinking about you.”

“Fuck, I’m going to come. Put it in, sweetheart. Hurry.”

You guide him in you easily until he bottoms out, sitting on him without moving, licking into his mouth. His hands slide around your hips, holding you tenderly, staying still, melting into your kiss. Before you can start bouncing on him, he squeezes you, huffing, “I’m coming.” 

His dick pulsates, spurting his hot seed deep inside you. You continue to kiss him, smiling against his lips, pleased and satisfied. When he’s finished, you graze his ear. “Good boy.”

“Fuck,” he mutters, brows knit together, eyes shut tight. He opens one to peek at you, embarrassed. “This is your fault.” The blush on his face cascades along his neck. “You knew this would happen when you left me that voicemail.”

Laughing, you give him a smooch on his cheek. “You’re right. I was being bad tonight. Are you going to punish me for it?” You tug at his tie, loosening it on his collar, trailing his chest to unbutton his dress shirt. 

He relaxes, smirking as he slaps your ass with his palm, cupping the flesh immediately after. You whine his name at the contact, nuzzling into his neck. “Ah, Kento.”

“Bad girls deserve to be punished,” he growls, low and wicked, delivering a fresh smack to the other side. His cock is erect again inside you, stuffing you full once more. “You’re going to take this cock until I can’t get hard anymore. Understand?” He rocks you back and forth on him, thumb pressed at your clit, rubbing small circles. “Until this slutty little cunt is so full of my cum.”

You nod silently, clinging to his shoulders, body trembling with arousal. The switch in demeanor, from him begging you for sweet release to now being domineering and cocky, has you titillating for more. He chuckles, wrapping you in snug embrace, kissing the top of your head. “Look at you, darling. You’re shaking. Let’s go to the bedroom, okay princess?” And his ability to turn on this sweet charm has you softening in his arms, pliant and ready to be played with. 

Soon, you’re inside your bedroom, legs spread wide, some residual cum trickling down the inside of your thighs. He strips his remaining clothes off, cock unbelievable rigid in his fist, jerking himself off to the sight of you in your transparent lingerie, his load leaking from your slit. 

“You’re a fucking slut for getting me worked up like this,” he grunts, hovering over you, tapping the tip of his dick on your swollen clit. “I edged myself the entire drive, saving all this cum for you.”

You bite your lip, holding back the guttural, animalistic moan escaping from within your throat. His confession has you quaking, eager to be filled even more to the brim with his seed, eager to be bred. You can blame it on the fact that you’re currently in heat, or that you’re just this much in love with your husband that you can’t think of anything else you want more in this moment than to be connected with him. You grip the sheets below you, fanning your thighs impatiently, waiting for his cock. “Breed me, honey. Fuck all your cum inside me. I want all of it, every single drop. Hurry.”

Oh how quickly do the roles reverse. 

He slides his cock inside you, his own cum coating it as he pulls out slightly, observing the lewd scene. “Look at how full you are, and it’s still not enough. Such a greedy cum slut.” He spits a frothy wad of his saliva onto your clit, smearing it with his thumb. “You’re going to come on this cock before I give you anything. Got it?”

You nod, closing your eyes, turning your head to the side, losing yourself to the pleasure rippling through your body as he pounds into your pussy, the sensation so intense it resonates all the way down to your toes. He’s so mean, so unlike his usual doting self when he’s in this mood, and you can’t help but succumb to it. He tips your chin back towards him. “Look at it,” he demands. You open your eyes, his expression wild, fucking you faster, his thumb working your clit ruthlessly. “Watch me fuck this messy cunt.” He grips you behind the legs, hoisting you so that your knees are towards your chest, holding you into a mating press. Unable to contain it any longer, you moan loudly, grabbing at your own ankles to keep yourself spread wide for him as he thrusts in and out of you relentlessly. 

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it sweetheart? To be fucked and pounded by me instead of that silly toy. To use me and milk me dry of every last drop. You asked for this. This is what you get for being so fucking naughty.” He rests one of your legs onto his shoulder, turning to smooch the side of your knee, sucking on your skin. 

You continue to moan his name until it’s reduced into a blubber of incoherent cries as you’re pushed over the edge, reaching your climax. “That’s it, come on my cock, princess. That’s a good girl.” Still, he doesn’t ease up; in fact, he fucks you harder, spurred by your orgasm, intent on chasing another. “Just keep taking it, okay beautiful? I know you can do it.” He pounds you into the mattress, the bed creaking noisily beneath you with each solid thrust, perspiration dripping from his body onto yours. You’re no longer thinking clearly; everything is in a haze, blissful and euphoric, only your husband on your brain. He’s fucked all other thoughts out of you. Has you obsessed with his cock, hungry for his cum, keen on him to breed your fertile womb.

“Fuck, Kento, right there! Right there!” you cry out, grasping his hair between your fingers, pulling him in for a sloppy kiss. 

“Right there, huh?” he teases, slowing his pace to thrust deep into your G-spot, nails digging into the flesh of your hips. “Always taking me so fucking deep.” He grabs your wrist, placing your hand at your clit. “Touch yourself while I fuck you. Squirt on my cock like a good little slut.”

You obey him, flicking your sensitive bud with your middle finger while he watches intently, another orgasm fast approaching. You twitch around him, pleasure overtaking your entire body, sending a rush of ecstasy that has you seeing stars. 

Of course, it still isn’t enough for him. Not after what you put him through earlier. “Turn over,” he mutters, pulling out, cum spilling onto the sheets. “You know what to do.”

He’s right; it’s second nature to you now, to throw your ass back and fuck yourself with his cock. All he has to do is kneel behind you with his hard dick out while you swallow him whole, pumping it in and out of your pussy. It doesn’t matter how pliant you feel, or how fucked out you are, tongue lolling out of your mouth, drool leaking from the sides of your lips. You know exactly what to do to get what you want out of him. 

You can feign innocence all you want, pretend to be shocked when he manhandles you like a fucking rag doll, slamming his hips into you, wet slaps bouncing off the walls of your bedroom. Shrieking when he presses his rough fingers to your swollen clit. Burying your face into the pillow, muffling your shameless moans and shrieks of, “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!” This is what you intended when you spread your legs earlier, phone in your hand, ready to leave that filthy voicemail for him, knowing he’d listen on his way home. Knowing he’d save all his cum for you because you’re ovulating, and he wants more than anything to get you pregnant. Knowing he’d want to fuck you into a frenzy regardless, always desperate to empty his load inside you. It’s what you want because you know he wants it too. That’s what makes it even better, knowing your husband is as feral for you as you are for him. 

“Fuck, I’m close,” he whispers, voice wavering.

Craning your neck to face him, you murmur, “Want to see you.”

He smiles, pulling out, your pussy fluttering around the emptiness, already eager to be filled again. “I want to see you too, my love.” He flips you over, pushing your knees towards your ears into a deeper mating press, kissing you sweetly on the lips. You wrap your arms around him, whining his name into his ear as he fucks you rough, the bed frame precariously shifting with each plunge of his cock. 

“Fuck, I’m coming,” he groans, cock twitching and spurting every hot pulse inside you. “Take all of my cum, sweetheart. All of it,” he mutters, forehead pressed to yours. “I love you. I love you so much.”

When he finishes, he lowers your legs slowly, rolling beside you to cradle you in his arms. You nestle into his chest, listening to his steadying heartbeat. “Are you okay, sweetie?” he asks, massaging small circles into your back.

You nod against him, remaining silent, too drained to even respond with words. He lets you rest like this for a moment before hopping off the bed, stepping into the bathroom, rummaging through the cupboards. Shortly after, he returns to you with a container of baby wipes in hand and a glass of water in the other. 

You’re a mess down there, sleek, wet, and gushing with slick. He kneels beside you, wiping your forehead first from sweat. You peer up at him, smiling, cupping his cheek. “Thank you,” you mouth to him. With another, he cleans your hands, then your legs, always glancing at you to make sure you’re still doing fine. You’re truly grateful for having a spouse as attentive and as caring as your husband, who, despite his typically stoic disposition, always dotes on you so sweetly. 

Done cleaning you up, he traces the outline of your lips with his thumb, saying, “Drink water, honey.”

You grumble at him, pretending to be asleep. He chuckles, leaning in closer for a kiss. “And go pee.”

You peek at him with one eye open, nuzzling your nose to his. “Okay, fine. But after you hold me for one more minute.”

He smiles, sliding his arms around you. “Anything you want, sweetheart. Anything you want.”

#nanami smut #nanami kento #kento nanami #kento nanami smut #nanami kento smut #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami x y/n #nanami x f!reader #nanami x fem!reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #nanami fanfic #jjk nanami #husband!nanami #n.sfw links

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the sequel // suna rintarou

tw ⇢ childhood friends to lovers, so much angst, hurt/comfort, alcohol consumption, yearning, happy ending

wc ⇢ 5k

a/n: i never cried so much while writing something

Suna felt like he was watching a movie. A sad, tragic fucking movie that he couldn't tear his eyes away from no matter how much it hurt to keep looking.

Frame by frame, moment by excruciating moment, he watched you - his best friend, the love of his life - fall in and out of love with someone else. Again.

If his life really was a movie...what role would he play? The sidekick? The comic relief? No, he decided with a bitter twist of his lips. He wasn't even important enough for that. He was just an extra. A background character that no one noticed or cared about.

Someone who faded into the scenery while the bright, beautiful protagonist - that was you, always you - took center stage and shone.

Suna had known you his entire life. His earliest memories all featured you, front and center, with him orbiting around you like a satellite, like a moth drawn to a flame.

You'd taken your first wobbling steps together, hands clasped and eyes wide with wonder. Babbled your first words to each other in a language only you two could understand. Gotten into mischief and skinned your knees and learned about the world side by side.

For as long as he could remember, you'd been his constant, his touchstone. His north star. The axis his whole world turned on. Life without you was unfathomable. Unthinkable.

But somehow, as the years scrolled by like frames on a reel...Suna started to feel like he was watching from a distance. Like there was an invisible wall between you, thin as glass but strong as steel, that he could never quite break through.

No matter how close you were, how many secrets you traded and inside jokes you laughed over and half-spoken conversations you could hold with just a glance...you always felt just a little bit out of reach. Like a mirage that would dissolve into mist if he tried to touch. Something too good to be true, too precious for the likes of him to grasp.

And how could he even think of reaching out, of trying to hold onto you the way he desperately wanted to? How could a mere background character ever hope to stand alongside the radiant lead, the brightest spot in every scene?

No, Suna was content to stay in the shadows. To watch and support and be there in whatever way you needed him, even as it killed him by inches. As long as he could keep you in his life, as long as he got to stay by your side...that would be enough. It had to be.

But god, it was getting harder. Harder to paste on a carefree smile and listen to you gush about your latest boyfriend. Harder to swallow the jealousy and longing clogging his throat when he watched you with stars in your eyes, so incandescently happy in someone else's arms.

Harder to bite his tongue against the confessions that always wanted to spill out, to choke back the pleas and promises and declarations his treacherous heart whispered in the dark.

"I love you," he wanted to say, every minute of every day. "I've always loved you. You're my forever, my reason, my home. Pick me. Choose me. See me. I swear I'll spend my life making you happy, if you'll just let me try."

But he never said it. Never took that leap of faith, too terrified of shattering the fragile status quo. Too scared of losing you entirely.

So he stayed quiet, stayed still, even as he felt like he was cracking apart inside. He watched you fall in love again and again, watched each bright-eyed boy promise you forever. Watched your smile dim and your shoulders droop when they inevitably let you down, broke your big, beating heart so carelessly.

It was a particular kind of agony, holding you while you cried over someone else. Seeing the light go out of your eyes, powerless to do anything but wipe away your tears and murmur empty platitudes. Every hitched sob was a barb in his skin, every sniffle a dagger to his ribs.

He wanted to shake you sometimes, wanted to scream "Why can't you see what's right in front of you? Why can't you see how much I love you? How I would never, ever hurt you the way they do?"

But he never did. Just folded you close and stroked your hair and let you dampen his shirt with your grief. Let you give him tiny glimpses of the mosaic of cracks in your chest before you pasted on a wobbly smile and soldiered on, determined not to let the world see you bleed.

Those cracks scared him. Scared him in a bone-deep way few things ever had. Because he lived in dread of the day they splintered apart entirely. The day your seemingly endless capacity for love and joy and trust finally ran dry, bled out by a thousand careless cuts.

He couldn't bear the thought of your light going out forever. Of those glorious eyes going flat and dull, that incandescent smile withering on the vine. You were the sun and he was just a planet in your orbit - he genuinely didn't know if he could survive without your warmth. Without you, everything would wither.

So he would endure. He would be your rock, your safe harbor, your shelter from every storm. Even if it killed him, even if he shattered to pieces in the process, he would hold you together.

Because a world without your laughter, without your brilliant, untamable spirit...that was no world at all. And maybe his love could be enough to keep you shining. Maybe if he believed hard enough, if he poured enough of his own flickering light into you...you would be okay.

And just maybe, someday...you would turn that supernova smile on him. Maybe you would finally, finally see him. Not as a background character, not as a sidekick...but as a man who loved you with every fiber of his being.

As someone who had been there all along, just waiting for you to look a little closer. To see the shape of his devotion, the staggering depth of his feelings written in every line of his face, his heart in his eyes and your name carved into his bones.

But until that impossible day, he would watch. He would wait. He would bide his time until the credits rolled and the movie ended...and just pray that there would be a sequel. One where he finally got to step out of the background and into the spotlight of your eyes.

Where you were his co-star, his partner, his love. Where you wrote a new story together, one frame at a time, and the only tears were happy ones.

It was a beautiful dream, fragile and gossamer and so painfully far out of reach. But it was all he had, so he clung to it in the hidden depths of his heart and kept watching the scenes play out.

Kept hoping that someday, if he was patient enough, if he loved you hard enough...the dream would become reality.

And you would finally, finally be his.

As the years scrolled by, Suna watched you grow and change, always from a step behind. He watched you navigate the perilous waters of adolescence, cheering you on as you blossomed into a beautiful, vibrant young woman. Watched you stumble and pick yourself back up, watched you learn and evolve and become more yourself with every passing day.

He was there for all of it, every milestone and heartbreak, every triumph and disappointment. When you got your first period and cried from embarrassment, he was the one who biked to the store for pads and chocolate, the one who held you and reassured you that it was all normal and okay.

When you got your heart broken for the first time at sixteen, he was the one who showed up at your window with ice cream and terrible movies, the one who let you sob into his chest and rail against the unfairness of it all.

When you got accepted into your dream college, he was the first person you called, screaming with joy down the line. He'd shut his eyes against the sting of tears, against the yawning ache in his chest at the thought of you leaving him behind...and told you how proud he was, how happy he was for you.

Always, always, he was your person. Your touchstone, your safe place. The one who knew you inside and out, backward and forward and every way in between. He was there in all the big moments...and all the little ones in between that made up a life.

Like the lazy summer afternoons spent lounging in the park, shoulders brushing as you read your respective books, content to just exist in the same space. The midnight walks under a canopy of stars, hands casually entwined, no words needed in the warm, honeyed dark.

The cups of coffee he'd bring you on drowsy mornings, made just the way you liked. The way you'd curl into his side during scary movies, face hidden trustingly in the curve of his neck, his arm a protective shield around you.

All those insignificant, in-between moments...they were everything to Suna. He hoarded them like a miser, turned them over and over in his mind like precious gems on nights when the ache in his chest got too big to breathe around.

Each one was a flicker of light, a tiny ember of hope that maybe, someday...you would see. You would understand just how much he loved you, how much he had always loved you. You would realize that he was right there, that he had been there all along, just waiting for you to really look at him.

But you never did. Your eyes always seemed to skim right over him, to look through him like he was made of glass, transparent and inconsequential. He was furniture to you, he sometimes thought despairingly. Part of the scenery of your life, always there but never really seen.

Never the one you wanted, the one you yearned for. He was the one you settled for, the one you came back to when the newest bright-eyed boy let you down. The one you cried on, the one you leaned on...but never the one you loved. At least, not the way he wanted you to.

God, how he wished you would love him. It was a physical ache, a bone-deep longing that never went away no matter how hard he tried to ignore it. He felt hollowed out with it, scraped raw and empty.

Late at night, he let himself imagine it. Let himself paint a picture of a world where you wanted him back, where you looked at him with even a fraction of the desperate, clawing need he felt for you.

In his weakest moments, he let himself believe it could be real. That someday, you would wake up and realize that he was everything you'd ever wanted, that he could make you happy in a way no one else ever could.

That you would take his face in your hands, eyes wide and wondering like you were seeing him for the first time. That you would breathe his name like a prayer, like a revelation, and kiss him with a tenderness that set his soul alight.

That you would tell him you loved him, that you were sorry for taking so long to understand, but you wanted to make up for lost time. That you wanted to be his, wholly and completely, for the rest of your lives.

It was a beautiful dream, fragile and perfect as a soap bubble. But like a bubble, it always burst, leaving him blinking away stinging tears and feeling like a fool.

Because this wasn't a movie, no matter how much it felt like one sometimes. There was no guarantee of a happy ending, no artful resolution scripted in the stars.

In the real world, the guy pining in the background didn't always get the girl. Sometimes he just stayed in the background forever, watching her life happen without him, until the credits rolled and the lights came up on his lonely little corner of the world.

But oh, how he wanted to believe. He would never be the leading man, he knew that. He was too quiet, too steady, too content to let you shine while he basked in your reflected glow. You needed someone as brilliant and dazzling as you, someone who could match you spark for spark and set the world on fire.

Someone braver than him. Someone who would risk it all for a chance at your heart, instead of staying safe and silent on the sidelines.

He wasn't that guy. He never would be. But a tiny, desperate part of him still held out hope that maybe, someday...he could be enough for you, just as he was. That even if he wasn't the star of the show, he could still be an integral part of your story.

The one who was always there to catch you when you stumbled, to hold you up when you couldn't stand on your own. The one who knew your secrets and your scars, your hopes and your fears. The one who loved every messy, imperfect, beautiful inch of you, unconditionally and irrevocably.

Maybe he could be your co-star, your partner in crime and love and life. Maybe you could write a new story together, one where the quiet, steadfast best friend got his chance to step into the light and be seen, really seen, by the only eyes that had ever mattered.

It was a slim hope, gossamer-thin and liable to tear at the slightest touch. But it was all Suna had, so he held it close and carried it with him, a tiny flicker of light in the dark.

And he kept watching, kept waiting. Kept loving you with everything he had, even as it wore him down to the bone. He would play his role in your movie, would be whatever you needed him to be...until the day came when he could finally step out from the background and into your arms.

Until the day when "I love you" wasn't just a secret whispered in the dark, but a vow made in the light of your smile, your hands in his and your heart beating against his chest.

Until the day when the movie of his life finally got its happy ending...and you were right there beside him, radiant and real, as the screen faded to black and the credits rolled on a love story for the ages.

He just had to hold on until then. Just had to keep believing, keep loving, keep watching.

Because in the end, he knew it would all be worth it. You would always be worth it.

Even if it took a lifetime, even if it killed him...he would wait for you.

Always.

As the years went by and you both grew older, Suna watched you evolve and change in a thousand tiny ways. He watched you graduate college, watched you land your dream job and move into your first adult apartment. Watched you navigate the ups and downs of adult life with the same resilient grace he'd always admired, always loved.

Through it all, he was there. Your constant, your touchstone. The one you called when you got a promotion, voice bubbling with excitement. The one you leaned on when your grandma died, eyes swollen and voice thick with grief.

He was the one who helped you move, lugging boxes up endless flights of stairs and quietly assembling IKEA furniture while you flitted around like a hummingbird, arranging and rearranging. The one who showed up at your door with soup and medicine when you got the flu, who sat with you and watched terrible reality TV until you fell asleep on his shoulder.

He was woven into every part of your life, as essential and invisible as air. Always there, always just a phone call or a text away. Your best friend, your rock, your safe harbor in every storm.

But still, even as you grew closer than ever...there was a distance there. A wall that Suna could never quite breach, no matter how hard he tried. Because no matter how much of your life you shared with him, no matter how many secrets you whispered into the dark...there was always a part of you that held back.

A part that you kept locked away, hidden behind bright smiles and breezy deflections. The part that held your heart, your deepest hopes and dreams and fears. The part that Suna longed to know, to understand...but that you never quite let him see.

It hurt, that distance. It ate at him like acid, slow and corrosive. Because he wanted all of you, every messy, complicated, beautiful part. He wanted to crack you open and crawl inside, to burrow into the hidden depths of your soul and make a home there.

He wanted to be the one you turned to with your whole heart, the one you trusted with your most vulnerable self. He wanted to be your person in every sense of the word, not just the one you leaned on but the one you loved, the one you chose.

But you never did. No matter how much he longed for it, no matter how many nights he spent staring at the ceiling and wishing...you never saw him as anything more than a friend. A best friend, sure, but still just...a friend.

And god, it was getting harder to bear. Harder to swallow back the words that always wanted to spill out, the confessions and pleas and promises. Harder to bite his tongue and smile when you gushed about your latest boyfriend, to offer a sympathetic ear and a shoulder to cry on when they inevitably let you down.

He felt like he was drowning, sometimes. Like he was being slowly crushed under the weight of all the unspoken things, all the pent-up love and longing and desperation. He felt like he was fading away, bit by bit, worn thin by the constant effort of holding himself together, of keeping his heart locked away behind a friendly smile and an easy laugh.

He wasn't sure how much longer he could do it. Wasn't sure how much more he could take before he shattered completely, before he just...broke.

But what choice did he have? He couldn't lose you. Couldn't bear the thought of a life without you in it, even if being near you was slowly killing him. You were oxygen to him, necessary and vital. Cutting you out would be like cutting out his own heart.

So he endured. He swallowed the hurt and the jealousy and the desperate, clawing need, and he was there. Always, always there, waiting in the wings. Waiting for you to see him, to really see him.

Waiting for his chance to step out of the background and into the light of your love.

It was getting harder to hold onto hope, some days. Harder to believe that there would ever be a right time, a perfect moment. That he would ever find the courage to lay his heart at your feet and beg you to take it, to cherish it the way he'd always cherished you.

But he had to believe. It was all he had, this fragile flicker of faith. The tiniest spark of possibility, glowing in the dark.

So he fanned it carefully, tended it like the precious thing it was. He held it close on the nights when the loneliness got too much to bear, when the ache in his chest made it hard to breathe. Whispered it to himself like a mantra, a prayer:

Someday. Someday. Someday.

Someday, you would see. Someday, you would understand. Someday, he would be brave enough, strong enough, to reach out and grasp the future he wanted so desperately.

Someday, your movie would reach its climax. The music would swell, the camera would pan in...and he would finally, finally step into his destiny. Into the starring role he'd always been meant to play, the one he'd been rehearsing for his whole life.

He would take your hands in his, look into your eyes...and he would say it. The words that had been living in his throat for years, the ones that beat against his ribs like caged birds, desperate for freedom.

"I love you," he would say, simple and honest and achingly true. "I've always loved you. And I know I'm not the kind of guy you usually go for, I know I'm not exciting or flashy or whatever, but...I'm here. I've always been here. And I always will be, if you'll let me. Because you're it for me. You're everything."

And maybe, just maybe...you would hear him. Really hear him, the way you never had before. Maybe you would look at him with new eyes, with dawning realization and wonder and joy.

Maybe you would see all the love he'd been holding back, see the shape of his devotion in every line of his face. Maybe you would understand that he was your person, your forever...just like you were his.

"Oh," you would breathe, soft and reverent. "Oh, Suna. I...I never knew. I never saw..."

"I know," he would whisper, leaning in to rest his forehead against yours. "I know, baby. But I'm here now. And I'm not going anywhere. Not ever again."

And then...then you would kiss him. Soft and sweet and filled with promise, filled with all the love he'd always dreamed of. You would wind your arms around his neck and press close, and he would hold you like he'd always longed to, like you were the most precious thing in the universe.

Because you were. God, you were. And finally, finally...you were his.

His best friend. His soulmate. His happy ending, the one he'd always been chasing.

The credits would roll, the music would fade out...and a new story would begin.

The evening had started like countless others - just you and Suna, a few too many drinks, and a forgotten movie playing in the background as you laughed and joked and reminisced. It was comfortable, familiar, the kind of easy intimacy born from a lifetime of friendship.

But as the night wore on and the alcohol flowed, Suna found himself growing quiet, a melancholy settling over him like a fog. He watched you through increasingly blurry eyes, taking in the way the soft light played over your features, the way your laughter seemed to fill the room, bright and effervescent.

God, you were so beautiful. So vibrant, so full of life and joy and everything good in the world. And he loved you so much it hurt, a physical ache in his chest that never went away, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it.

"You know what's really pathetic?" he found himself saying, the words slipping out before he could bite them back.

You turned to him, head cocked, a curious smile playing about your lips. "What's that?"

Suna swallowed hard, suddenly feeling like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, toes curling over the precipice. He knew he should step back, laugh it off, change the subject. But the alcohol had loosened his tongue, lowered his inhibitions, and suddenly...suddenly he couldn't hold it in anymore.

"Me," he said, voice rough and scratchy with emotion. "I'm pathetic. Because I've been in love with you for so fucking long, and I've never had the balls to tell you."

Your eyes went wide, lips parting in shock, but Suna barreled on, the words pouring out of him like water from a burst dam.

"I've loved you since we were kids," he said, staring down at his hands, vision blurring with unshed tears. "Since the day you punched that kid for making fun of my haircut in third grade. Since the summer we were twelve and you broke your arm falling out of that tree, and you held my hand the whole way to the hospital even though you were the one in pain."

A smile flickered across his face, small and fond and aching. "I loved you when we were sixteen and you got your heart broken for the first time, and you cried on my shoulder for hours. I loved you when you accidentally burnt toast because you were singing in the kitchen. I loved you when we graduated high school, and you looked so beautiful in your cap and gown that it took my breath away."

He risked a glance up at you, finding you staring at him with a stricken expression, tears tracking silently down your cheeks. "I loved you through every boyfriend, every breakup, every lame movie night and inside joke and 2 AM phone call. I loved you on your best days and your worst days and every day in between."

Suna's voice broke then, a sob catching in his throat. "I love you now," he whispered, raw and ragged. "I love you so much it's like a physical thing, like a part of me. Like I can't breathe right when you're not around, can't think straight when you're near. You're in my veins, in my bones, in every beat of my fucking heart, and I...I can't keep pretending anymore."

The tears were flowing freely now, hot and fast down his face, but he made no move to wipe them away. "I know I'm not...I know I'm not what you want," he choked out, chest heaving with the force of his emotions. "I know I'm just your best friend, just the guy you call when you need a shoulder to cry on or someone to laugh with. But god, I want to be more. I want to be everything to you, the way you are to me."

He reached out with shaking hands, cupping your face, thumbs swiping at the tears painting your cheeks. "I love you," he breathed, pouring every ounce of longing, every shred of desperate devotion into the words. "I am so fucking in love with you, it's like...it's like I don't know how to be anything else. And I just...I needed you to know. Even if it ruins everything, even if you don't feel the same...I couldn't keep it in anymore. I couldn't keep lying to you, to myself."

Suna closed his eyes then, unable to bear the sight of your face, the pity or gentle rejection he knew must be written there. He felt flayed open, raw and exposed, heart lying shattered at your feet.

But then...then he felt your hands on his, warm and steady. Felt you lean in, forehead pressing against his own, the salt of your tears mingling with his.

"Suna, you idiot," you whispered, and he flinched, bracing for the blow. But your voice was soft, achingly tender, suffused with a warmth that made his eyes fly open in shock. "How could you not know? How could you not see that I...that I love you too? That I've always loved you, from the minute we met?"

He stared at you, hardly daring to breathe, to hope. But you were smiling through your tears, eyes shining with a light he'd never seen before. "You're not just my best friend," you said, hands sliding into his hair, cradling him like he was something precious. "You're my soulmate, my other half. The one person who knows me better than anyone, who's always been there, always loved me, even at my worst."

You pressed your lips to his forehead, his cheeks, the corners of his trembling mouth. "I love you, Suna Rintarou," you murmured against his skin, each word a benediction. "I'm in love with you. And if you want me...I'm yours. Forever."

A broken sob tore from Suna's throat, disbelief and joy and overwhelming relief crashing over him in a tidal wave. He surged forward, capturing your lips in a kiss that was messy and desperate and perfect, pouring every ounce of love, every year of longing into the press of his mouth on yours.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, hands fisting in his shirt, holding him close like you never wanted to let go. And god, he never wanted you to. He wanted to stay in this moment forever, wrapped up in you, in the love he'd craved for so long, the love he'd never dared to hope could be his.

When you finally broke apart, breathing hard, Suna couldn't stop touching you - hands skimming over your face, your hair, your shoulders, like he needed to convince himself this was real. That you were real, that this was happening.

"I love you," he rasped, resting his forehead against yours. "God, I love you so much."

You smiled, radiant and blinding, and pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose. "I love you too," you whispered. "Always have, always will."

And as Suna gathered you into his arms, as he buried his face in your hair and breathed you in...he felt something slot into place in his chest. A piece he hadn't even known was missing, a hole he'd carried for so long, suddenly filled by your love, your presence, your promise of forever.

From those early days when you first stumbled into each other's orbits, he'd watched your lives play out together like adjacent movies running on parallel screens. Two stories inching closer with each passing year, edging tantalizingly near but never quite converging into one. He was the yearning protagonist, you the luminous star burning bright just out of reach.

But now, in this transcendent moment, the projectors had merged. The credits were rolling on that old, achingly familiar film that had been his constant lonesome companion. And when the lights came up, when the screen flickered to brilliant new life...it was a sequel. Your sequel together at last, 3D and eye-searing in its vividness.

No longer was he resigned to loving you from afar, playing the supporting role in your story. Now you were his co-star, his perfectly matched lead - twin suns burning brilliantly side-by-side in their own cosmic romance.

This was just the beginning. Your beginning, the sequel he'd waited his entire existence to see... and it was more extraordinary than anything he could have ever imagined.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #suna x reader #suna fluff #suna x reader fluff #suna rintarou #suna rintaro x reader

[techtainia-makes-things]

I love your Mtmte Megatron x reader stories, and I re-read them a bunch of times because they are so good! And I yearn for more soft Megs. You write him so well.

If you're up for a little request- how about their first kiss? Like, how does it happen? Who started it? Do they talk about their feelings after that or pretend it never happened?

You have no idea how much I love writing some soft Megatron. Something about poets and pining just does it for me (so much so that MTMTE Megatron x reader fic was what finally convinced me to read MTMTE). Feel free to ask for a sequel, because I already have ideas.

I personally don’t think that Megatron would initiate anything unless he thought it was his last chance, like with my DOTL fic. That being said…

—

Another long day, and another even longer meeting. You checked your watch and sighed: it had only been an hour, and Ultra Magnus clearly wasn’t planing on stopping any time soon. You don’t even notice when you had pressed your face into the palm of your hand, squishing your cheek in the way that some of the less respectful mechs would coo over you for. 

You exhale, amused at the thought as a brief memory moves your thoughts away from the meeting. You remembered the look on Megatron’s face the first time he had seen it happen, the exact way his optics narrowed, and a more prominent frown that usual set across his face. The way he shot the bots a sharp comment: “Shouldn’t you all be working instead of tempting an intergalactic incident?” 

You just couldn’t help but smile into your hand, your pointer finger resting over your lip. He picked you up after that, and let you sit on his shoulder for the rest of the day. You had watched the way that his optics hilighted the bridge of his nose and the edges of his helmet, the slight quirk of his lip whenever you shifted to lean into him just a little bit more.

“It’s warm,” you lie to yourself, “He just has nice warm neck cabling.” You suppress a chuckle and shoot him a look.

He was looking back at you with the same softness that he used when he thought you wouldn’t notice. You always did. It was a nice feeling, it was nice to be appreciated. There definitely wasn’t any feelings attached. Definitely. Absolutely no chance that you enjoy how he guards your honor. No way. 

You glance at him again. He’s still looking at you with a look as soft as scarlet rose petals. He writes something down, probably notes. You never know though, he could be composing a new poem about his light in the dark, his little rose…

Fu-

“And that concludes todays meeting.”

You jump in your seat. Your eyes snap to Ultra Magnus. You straighten your back and take a moment to clear your throat. “Yes, of course Sir.” You glance around his face, taking a moment before you manage to meet his eyes. 

He raises a brow ridge at you, but says nothing. Maybe he would have if he had the time, but Megatron had already offered you his hand to step on. You smiled at him in thanks. The red reflected on his cheeks brightened. Your face was warm.

Megatron left the room with steps that echoed through the hall. He held you close to his chest, against his Autobot insignia. If you really wanted to, you could reach up and cup his cheeks in your hands, taking in the way that the cold metal would absorb your body heat.

His optics widened. His stride stalled. It was just the two of you, staring into each other’s eyes, lost in a moment.

You don’t notice when you press your lips to his, perfectly satisfied to ignore the size difference. You let your eyes flutter closed as you melt into his touch.

He’s stiff, unable to move until after you pull away with your hands still on your cheeks. You shrink back.

He shrinks down so that he had to hold you atop of his forearm as the other servo guided you back to his lips. He matched your passion, maybe even doubled it with a touch of desperation as he held you close. His nose pressed into your cheek, his optics dimming before going offline all together.

The second kiss lasted a bit longer, and in those extra seconds you could taste every ounce of all of the sweet words he had ever written for you, only to hide them away in the depths of his collection of personal datapads.

You could feel his hand tremble against your scalp as he let you lean back and away from him. His optics were frantic, but held no regret. They never held any regret when it came to you and him.

He glanced to the side, and took a moment to clear his throat. “Forget-“

“No,” you said with a firmness that Megatron decided was quite becoming of you. “Let’s talk about this over drinks, shall we? My treat.” You smile at him with eyes as soft as pink rose petals scattered across the ground.

You swear you can see as his walls as they came crumbling down reflected in his red optics. Red optics that were so easy on the eyes. Red optics that you had come to adore. 

“Let’s.”

#mtmte megatron x reader #mtmte megatron #megatron x reader #mtmte #Tech writes #Soft Megatron hours are my favorite hours #I really should be working on things that actually have due dates. #Too bad. I need a break via. A little soft creative time

[bippot]

Top Gun: Maverick - Robert "Bob" Floyd Masterlist

1) Tense ~ Hangman unexpectedly plays matchmaker when he offers the group a way to deal with the after-effects of their training, which causes Bob to meet the one for him.

2) Tomorrow's Tomorrow ~ Before and after a mission, sober or drunken, Bob wants to spend his time with just one gal. Their friends are also rather amused by his obvious crush on her and like to document their interactions.

3) The Female Species ~ Turns out the Dagger Squad don't really know much about Bob. They certainly didn't know he had a wife, yet she provides them with some more information about the reclusive Robert Floyd. She hadn't seen him in three months and was more than prepared to spill all of his well hidden secrets to his friends.

Yet, he still managed to leave the celebration early and, instead of being alone like usual, he has his wife on his arm.

4) So Very Polite ~ Of all the traits of Bob, his girlfriend has a particular gripe with how polite he is. Usually, it's a good aspect of him. Sometimes it can be a little annoying, especially if she's lacking sleep.

But, that's okay. She has her own special way to force him to be a little more casual in her home.

5) Robert Floyd, Man of The Sky ~ When his old college pal inherits her grandmother's lake house, Bob is the first to nominate himself to help out. It gives him something to do and a chance to feel young, something that he only feels when he's in the sky.

6) There's A Storm Coming ~ After not seeing each other for years, Bob reunites with his old friend for the mission and they pick up right where they left off - desperately yearning for the other's love.

7) Mini Me ~ Of course Bob has a family. It was obvious. Phoenix knew that and did everything in her power to ensure he got back to them. So, she had to meet his wife and son. A trip to the Hard Deck gives his son a new fascination and his wife a chance to reconnect with an old college...friend? Boyfriend? Whatever, it doesn't annoy Bob at all.

8) Relaxed (sequel to Tense) ~ In the comfort of his relationship, Bob gets a bit excited when his girlfriend first admits she loves him and unknowingly convinces her to be hours late for work. After an incident that causes her bed to break, Bob is mortified but still deals with the teasing he gets from his friends when they grab drinks at the Hard Deck later that day.

9) All Over Again ~ When he used to say that he wished he could fall in love with his wife all over again, Bob may have jinxed himself. Yet, the process of knowing her once more wasn't as smooth as he'd used to think. Honestly, he doesn't know which is worse - his broken bones or the fact she can't seem to forget who he once was?

Chapter 1: All Over Again

Chapter 2: Like Beavers

Chapter 3: Think About Love

Chapter 4: Overwhelming

Chapter 5: Service With A Smile

Chapter 6: All Coming Back To Me

#bob floyd x female reader #bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd #bob fucks #bob floyd #top gun maverick #masterlist

[needle-noggins]

Sav's Author Highlight: Hashtag_caneven

For the entire week of @trigunfanfic appreciation week, I'm going to highlight my favorite authors and friends whose writing I adore and why. First up is my dear friend @hashtagcaneven, or Kuro!

Kuro's main claim to fanfic fame is her Thirty Pieces of Silver series, which includes the titular fic and its sequels, Baptism in Blood and Consecration of Saints.

Rating: M/E | Ship: Mashwood/Stryfewood | Genre: Genfic, Historical Fantasy AU, Action/Adventure, Trigun Stampede characterization

Why I love it: Oh my gosh. This series is a wild adventure from start to finish. Have you ever wanted to read Trigun, but weaved into a medieval fantasy AU with fantastic and interesting world building and action-packed scenes? Then this is it. This is the Ultimate Fantasy AU Fic.

Kuro has taken the plot of Trigun Stampede and weaved and expanded it into a delightfully fun and dramatic story about love and hope. The world building is wonderful, blending Trigun's sci-fi into something more magical and fantastical, but equally as interesting and intriguing. In fact, it's given me a ton of inspiration for my dnd campaign!

The whole series, reflective of her writing style, is fast-paced and concise with excellent fight scenes and angst. You can cut the tension with a knife in these detailed fight scenes, and the cliffhangers kill me. More than once I have yelled at Kuro in DMs about it (and she only sends me back the same cackling witch meme over and over, that bitch [affectionate]).

Also, Kuro is nothing if not utterly dedicated to her craft. She took swordfighting classes to write the fight scenes better, and hoo boy it shows. The Stryfewood training scene is delicious. And I learn so much as I read this series, as many details are accurate to history and she takes time to explain them at the end of chapters!

And, even with all the fighting and action, no character drama is sacrificed. In fact, the high stakes only heighten the interpersonal drama between characters, which is handled so wonderfully and carefully. Kuro's writing really makes you root for them, even as Wolfwood is making the dumbest choices alive, even as Meryl is risking it all for her boys, and even as Vash is trying desperately just to reach both of them. The writing also makes you hate Legato even more, which is... impressive, honestly! But there's wonderful yearning, particularly in Baptism in Blood, that makes my heart ache. Really truly a wonderful series.

Kuro has written a bit else for Trigun, and I particularly recommend the fun and suggestive Pirate AU Stryfewood fight!

#trigunfanficappreciation

[livebloggingmydescentintomadness]

250+ blackbonnet fic recs, part 1

friends, come forward to receive the fruits of my hyperfixation. under a read more to spare the uninterested a mile of post, and so i can update this as i continue to hyperfixate.

update: the hypefixation broke link limit! i’ve split this into two posts so it can continue growing.

contents of part one, below

s1 fix-its

multichapter canonverse

oneshot canonverse (smutty)

contents of part two

oneshot canonverse (smutless)

AUs

rpf

🍊 marks my favorites

s1 fix-its:

Hell or High Water by Mottlemoth 149k WIP E 🍊 🍊 🍊

For a year now, Stede Bonnet has pursued the legendary pirate Blackbeard across the sea. Desperate for a chance to put things right, Stede will stop at nothing to catch up with the Revenge and its new captain.

But who will he encounter on Ocracoke Island: the man he loves, or a monster?

Half agony, half hope by lyricl 34k E 🍊

The first letter appeared only a few weeks after Stede left him alone on that beach. Ed burnt the first, and the second, and the third. But they kept coming.

Or: how Edward Teach gained a pen pal, lost a first mate, reunited with an old friend, and learned something about seagulls.

the knife and the throat by darcylindbergh 35k WIP E 🍊

Blackbeard hadn’t been lying when he’d said he didn’t feel fear. Fear was about having something to lose, and Blackbeard always wins.

Aftercare by perkynurples 132k WIP E 🍊

In the aftermath of some life-altering decisions on both sides, Edward and Stede navigate reuniting, learning what it is that they really want and how to ask for it, as well as surviving in a world that is nowhere near ready to just let them rest. Or, finding their way back to each other is only the very beginning.

we were warnings by mia_ugly 13k E

Stede comes back.

Ed does too. It just takes a little longer.

on the bed of this blue ocean by kirkaut 9.6k T

Ed’s made up his mind: if he ever lays eyes on Stede fucking Bonnet again, he’s a dead man.

Ed’s had six months of Stedeless-ness, and six months of thinking about all the terrible things he’d do to him when they saw each other again.

Somehow, it never occurred to him to think that they’d never have the chance.

[Or: Ed hears about Stede's 'death' and promptly falls apart.]

Take Me With You (When You Go) by SleepsWithCoyotes 11k T

The guard posted on their barracks gives Ed a weird look as he sneaks back in that night, almost like he wants to bolt.  It’s not entirely unexpected–though the rest of these idiots may think he’s tamed, this one has sound cause to think differently–but the back of his neck prickles a warning at that look of terror all the same.

There isn’t much he needs to collect, and he’d packed most of it up before leaving to acquire a dinghy.  No sense being weighed down with obvious proof he means to escape.  Stede’s bunk is already empty, of course, the man himself led off by the guard outside half an hour before, but this is Stede.  Best if Ed checks for himself to be sure he didn’t leave behind anything important.

Like his stockings.  And his shoes.   And every fucking thing else save the piss-poor clothes the quartermaster gave him.  What the entire fuck?

A Gentleman's Guide To Love And Piracy by laiqualaurelote 4.3k WIP T

Stede Bonnet's agenda for attending the International Piracy Convention: rebrand, make some industry contacts, steal back his ship without being murdered by the keynote speaker, a.k.a. the vengeful love of his life.

i won’t be falling on my knees to beg you by Hymn 8.8k E (+ sequel)

“You made your choice,” Edward insists. “You don’t get to unmake it, Stede. What’s done is done, don’t you know?”

“Ah. I learned that lesson rather recently, yes,” Stede says, very softly.

The expression on his face isn’t fair, Ed thinks. It hurts to look at, all soft and yearning and difficult to resist. The kind of look that makes him angry because of how it also makes him weak. Ed clears his throat, twitches again. Locks his knees tight and clamps his jaw shut, glaring at Stede. The ship keeps sinking beneath them.

“What I also learned,” Stede murmurs, shifting his weight forward. His empty hand comes up, palm open and reaching. “Is that I can be brave. I can be stubborn. I can fight for the life that I want so very, very badly, Edward Teach.”

Ed’s mouth dries. “Y-yeah? And what’s that?”

Stede smiles crookedly. “You.”

i’m yours, you know by ShowMeAHero 9k T

“I think I’ve fucked up,” Stede confesses.

“Yeah,” Lucius tells him, “but don’t take it too hard. I might’ve fucked up, too, if somebody dragged me out of bed to tell me I’d ruined their family, and my own, and destroyed the love of my life’s entire legacy, and then, like— blew their own whole fucking head off. Like, that— I get that, Cap’n. That makes sense.”

Stede nods, keeping his eyes forward. After a beat, he can’t maintain the calm, and he needs the human connection, turning back to look at Lucius. He actually spills over, then, eyes burning.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Lucius comments, but Stede is already carefully standing up so he can bend and hug Lucius without capsizing their vessel.

heartless by Nanashi07 4.8k T 🍊

Izzy scoffs.  “He just doesn’t learn, does he?  Tell him Blackbeard has no use for apologies.”

“Yeah,” Edward says.  “That’s true.  I don’t.  But also, unrelated to that other thing, what else did he say about me?”

Frenchie blinks.  “Um.  Nothing?  The message came tied to a seagull’s leg so.  You know.  Not much real estate on those little papers.  Can’t write a lot, can you?”  He straightens suddenly.  “Oh, I still have it!”

He fishes a crumpled, wind-dampened piece of paper from his pocket and drops it into Edward’s hand.  When Edward unfurls it, he sees only a series of poorly-drawn images: The Revenge with a little triangle sail, a rope ladder and an arrow, a caricature of Stede looking like he’s crying.

“We really need to teach you guys how to read,” Edward notes.

i don’t know anything (but i know i miss you) by ShowMeAHero 7k

“What the hell’s happened to you?” Stede demands. It’s his voice, in his body, and he almost seems living, and it’s— It has to be the last thing Ed ever sees. He has to die with him burned on the insides of his eyelids.

Stede’s eyes are tracking over him, rising up to meet his eyes, locking with him. It feels so real. He can’t help the hysterical laugh that comes up and out of him, impossibly grateful for this last delusion.

Without hesitating, he lurches forward, grabbing Stede and yanking him into his arms. Stede makes a confused noise of protest, briefly, but it fades instantly and his arms come up, too, wrapping around Ed without hesitation. He doesn’t smell the same; instead, he’s all salt and sweat and sun, baked into his skin. Ed buries his face in his hair, fingers clawing at the impossibly real feel of him, the hallucination made solid in his arms.

“Thank fuck,” Ed says into his hair, voice breaking. “I didn’t want to die without seeing you one last time.”

a mile of clean sand by Dialects_and_Costumes 3.8k E

It's an accident when Stede finds Ed again.

remissionem by eldritchIdeologist 7.5k G

"Swear it." Ed's voice is a low gravel-growl, heavy with emotion. Stede swallows. Nods. "Swear it to me, Stede."

He doesn't need to ask what it is.

"I swear, Ed," he says, quick-hushed between them, his hands finding their way to Ed's neck, silk against his jaw. Anchoring him there. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying. I'll stay. There is nothing I want more."

"Again." A press against his forehead, Stede's eyes screwing shut.

"I swear it. On anything you want me to, Ed, on my life, I swear it."

Silence in the brig. Ed and his breath coming heavy through his nose, Stede and his breath near-stopped, in waiting. In some desperate, debilitating hope, that he can grab onto this only thing he covets and hold onto it forever.

"...Okay," says Ed after an eternity, quiet as anything. “Okay.”

Message in a Marmalade Jar by stitchy 11k T

I don’t know who will find this, if anybody. Who would even understand it, as Captain Bonnet is long gone?

The crew of the Revenge find a message in a marmalade jar.

Our "Get-Along" Desert Island by Avelera 10k T

Stede and Ed "Blackbeard" Teach have been fighting ever since Stede got back to sea, which would be fine and not totally unexpected after the "breakup", except their fighting now involves full-blown naval battles and their respective crews are thoroughly sick of it.

Naturally, the only solution is to maroon the two of them on a desert island until they work it out or kill each other. Whichever comes first.

He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven by AuntieClimactic 14.5k E

“Here we go again,” he heard Lucius scream over Izzy’s furious cursing.

50 Ways to Kill Your Lover by trinityofone 2.3k E

In his quest to get himself free, Ed begins a list of ways to do away with Stede:

 1. Stabbing

 2. Harder stabbing

It gets much worse, and then much better, from there.

only got one life by louciferish 4.6k T

Blackbeard pops the cork from the bottle with his thumb and takes a swig, letting the fire of the rum course through his chest, his veins, and keeps his eyes fixed on the horizon. The salt water breeze carries a hint of lavender.

C’mon, then, he thinks, smiling out at the sparkling sea. Chase me.

Stede writes love letters in smoke, blood, and wreckage. That's a language Blackbeard is fluent in, but that doesn't mean he's going to make it easy.

you should be so happy now by waveridden 7.6k T

In a way, Mary supposes she’s lucky that it only takes one day for the pirates to attack her ship.

(Blackbeard takes a hostage, Mary takes some risks, and Stede takes everyone by surprise.)

Important Bits by perkynurples 3.2k M

The first ship they raid, her crew see the amended flag, incorrectly identify it as a lookalike and thus let Blackbeard approach with little more than open curiosity - far too late do they see him standing on the deck, just him and the smoke and the roaring, hungry gleam of fire at his fingertips.  

The second ship even goes so far as to fire at them first, some young upstart of a  barely-pirate captain or other, and Blackbeard takes special pleasure in sinking that one, the Kraken unleashed, wood splintering and entire lives disappearing down the depths.  

The news spread fairly fast after that.

Or, there's Blackbeard, and then there's the Kraken. There's very little in between.

Entirely Onboard by twoseas 4.8k T

Stede and his brigade of imbeciles row back to the Revenge. Ed doesn’t want to hear what Stede has to say. He doesn’t!

He does.

Featuring Ed and Stede as the pirate equivalent of the couple that loudly airs their personal business while one of them is on the ground floor and the other is at a second story window, the crew being The Crew, and dramatic reactions to earnest declarations.

i'll walk through walls into your heart by Hymn 3.8k T

“So like. Can I talk about emotions now, or are you still trying to do that repressed, macho man thing and act like leather and grease on your face is an actual coping mechanism?”

Ed flings his knife into the door of the auxiliary closet where Lucius hides.

cotton, silk, linen, velvet  by captainbonny 5.4k M

It’s all gone.

Everything but the auxiliary wardrobe.

Two Graves by trinityofone 1.3k M (note: not really a fixit; features an angsty but beautiful ending)

Stede had once nurtured fantasies, not then fully understood, of dressing Ed again in his clothes.

things to never give the devil by Fahye 15k T 🍊

"Dark Fate?" says Stede, making sure to pronounce the capitals.

"Very effective for star-crossed lovers. And at a bargain price, if I do say so myself. A potent mixture of unspeakably rare ingredients, brewed under a new moon, which will drag you through the depths of your own soul in search of difficult truths, and leave the undeserving to drift forever in a dreamscape of torment and emotional agony!"

"What?" says Stede. "No! That sounds awful!"

fear not the weather by dotsayers 7.5k T

The moon shone through the tree canopy, a break in the clouds as rain continued to pour.

A footprint, rust-red against the earth, gleamed.

“Stede, mate,” he said, as he looked up and saw the line of prints disappearing into the trees. “What the absolute fuck.”

(A rainstorm stops Ed from leaving.)

Always and Forever by stereobone 9.8k E

"There's something you should know," Spanish Jackie says. "You're married."

Ed freezes.

"I beg your pardon," Stede says helpfully. "But I'm not your 19th husband."

"No, you idiots. You're married to each other."

habituation by chinxe 4k T

It takes Ed an embarrassingly long time to realise he's being romanced.

If you love someone by Yuu_chi  13.7k T 🍊

Edward's already lost him once. He won't make the same mistake again.

Blackbeard takes a prisoner. Or he would, if Stede would only act like one.

Magnolia by Fyre 5.2k E

Blackbeard crouched down in front of him, that stupid bright sunshine face still the fucking same, eyes wide and round, as if he had no idea of the monster in front of him. As if he had nothing to be fucking afraid of. Stupid fucking idiot. He brought up his knife, the tip of it pressing under the bastard’s chin, tipping his head up.

To Be Alone With You by Springandastorm 5.5k M

The first time Stede touches Ed again, he feels a bit like he’s been scalded. He has Stede pinned against the wooden railing of the ship, his knife to his throat, but Stede doesn’t look scared, just blinks at him with wide, apologetic eyes and says “I missed you.” Ed feels himself soften despite himself, the burning coals in his gaze shifting, almost going out, and that’s all it takes for Stede to smile, to lift a hand to his cheek. “There he is.” He says, an echo of Izzy’s words that cuts far deeper than it did when he said it.

Break down, it's alright by rowenablade 3.2k E

“Give me a reason not to carve your heart out,” Ed whispers.

And Stede can’t think of one.

He can think of plenty of reasons he doesn’t want his heart carved out, but how could he expect any of them to matter to Ed?

“Stede.” Ed’s voice breaks, dragging Stede’s eyes back up from where they’ve been staring at the floor in shame. “Please.”

There'll Be Nobody Home by soft_october 4.4k T

“Hey. You're Lucius, right?” The voice sighed. “Someone else sound this charming?” “Lucius, you’re dead.” “Yeah. Yeah, I am dead. No thanks to you.” “I pushed you off the boat.” “Mmm - I was there. I know.” “Was there any pain?”

Drunk and lonely and hiding in the auxiliary closet, Blackbeard has begun hearing voices. Well, a voice. He entertains it. Even tells it about some of the feelings he's been going through. What's the harm?

And after all, he's got no one else to talk to.

and let the souls wander by one_more_page 4.3k T

In the gold of the single candle Edward looked near divine.

Stede set to work. It was easier than thinking about what was happening. Because if he thought too much about what was happening his lungs were going to swell with that heat that had been building ever since he returned.

If he thought about it too much he would realize this was the closest he’d come to worship in ages.

—

OR

Stede washes Ed’s hair.

Semaphore by komodobits 39k WIP E

Talking things through as a crew is easier said than done, and honest communication has never really been Stede’s strong suit. When it comes to Ed, he is willing to try.

False Dichotomies by BigTed 4.1k E

It’d be simple, wouldn’t it, to put everything he doesn’t like about Ed in a little box marked ‘Blackbeard’ and insist he throw it overboard like so many books? 

shades of blue and gray by ThirtySixSaveFiles 1.7k T

Ed and Stede get locked in a closet. Twice.

be still my foolish heart, don’t ruin this on me by Hymn 3.3k T

“I should have run away with you,” Stede says once, the two of them up in the crow’s nest sharing breakfast.

haunt me, then by hyruling 28k E

He releases the ropes slowly, barely registering the burn as they slip through his fingers. Then, fallible as Orpheus, turns to meet his ghost.

Buttercup by mia_ugly 13.8k E 🍊

The thing is, when you’re Blackbeard you’ve got kind of a reputation to uphold. When you captain a ship, when you lead a crew, when people look up to you, tell stories, build a legend – parts of that legend are always more accurate than others.

And maybe you just let it slide, some of the things people say. Some of the things they assume. Maybe you swagger around and wear black leather and are a handsy bastard and let the stories tell themselves.

Maybe you don't want to talk about it.

night shift by foxtails 6.5k M

The man gripping on to Ed’s arm like a lifeline has wind matted hair, a rough jaw, and fingernails blackened with dirt. He’s no longer the same person Ed laid on a dock and waited an entire night for.

He doesn’t know whether to laugh, or cry.

or: Stede and his crew return to the Revenge. Ed isn't quite ready to deal with that.

all you left me was a pearl by JustStandingHere 32k WIP M 🍊

Stede takes in a deep breath and smiles. “Ed, I–” he says, but that’s as far as he gets before Ed’s pulling the gun out of its holster.

He aims, and Stede manages to yelp and duck just in the nick of time. The wood behind him splinters. “Fucking hell!” he yells, and springs back up into standing position. He takes a second to mourn the scarred wood before turning to Ed. “I know I cocked things up, but there’s no need to be dramatic!”

1717. The Golden Age of Piracy. Stede Bonnet sets about wooing the love of his life through any means necessary. Things do not go as planned.

All I Am Is Holding Breath by smallestchurch 7.3k E

“Edward. I didn’t leave because you kissed me. I came back because you kissed me.  And I’m hoping you’ll do it again.”

stories we’ve heard, and others we tell ourselves by CrypticSymbol 14.8k T

“One calling card and you come running, is that it?” Izzy had asked, disgust oozing from his voice. Ed noted a hint of disappointment too. He just couldn’t help himself from doing so, it seemed. The renewed adoration that bled out of Izzy just months before had been cauterized.

And it had been more than one calling card, to be fair. Though there was no point in arguing semantics with Izzy Hands.

The previous mysterious parcels had been trinkets and gifts left waiting for him to find, like the least challenging treasure hunt in the history of piracy, but this last one was different.

or, Jeff the Accountant is invited to a masquerade ball, and sometimes it's easier to talk things through when you're Jeff and he's Godfrey Thornrose.

The Blackest Water, the Better Mirror by triedunture 13k E 🍊

Ed isn't sleeping well.

Or: an excuse to have many long naps in the (formerly) great cabin.

COLDBLOODED by Macremae 7.4k M  🍊

 STEDE: What was that?

 BEAT.

 ED: What?

 STEDE: Where did you just go?

 ED: (less grounded) What?

 STEDE: You just… went somewhere.

This is a love story. Just not the kind he's used to.

How Edward Got His Groove Back by MadHatter13 43k WIP M

‘Oh shit,’ says the ghost standing by the cabin’s desk, frantically shoving the food Blackbeard had let grow cold on the plate into his mouth. His voice is a bit muffled, because he’s chewing on a piece of slightly stale bread like a hamster. He tries to say something like, ‘You’re supposed to be fucking dead,’ but all he can mumble out, inebriated as he is, is ‘Wzzsdghlkjd?’ - Or, Blackbeard dove head-first into the wrong genre. Let's see if Ed can't find his way back to Comedy.

Above Board by chaya 29k WIP E 🍊

The first time, they don't even have sex.

Stede has just come aboard with Oluwande and the others. Lucius pops out from somewhere, looking haggard but firm, and close behind him is Jim, so that's nearly everyone accounted for.

And peering around the bare light of the deck... the strangest thing to Stede is that Izzy doesn't seem to look once toward the captain's quarters. Neither do his two cronies. Somehow they know that in spite of the initial shouting and stern voices before peace was settled, the captain is not going to make a showing.

Kiss With A Fist by suchgreatheights 16.9k E

Ed knows a fuckery when he hears about one. No death that ridiculous could have been a coincidence.

He leaves Stede a trail of breadcrumbs to get back to The Revenge. When Stede arrives back on board, Ed is surprised to find Stede has a bone to pick with him--and that Ed's got bones of his own to pick with Stede.

love does not compel, no, it converts me by lie_to_me 9.5k E (rape/noncon trigger warning)

Now, naked and intricately bound to the mast, he tries to ignore the way fear quickens his heartbeat. Clearly Ed is angry. This is a game, he tells himself, some kind of fuckery. He can still show Ed his remorse, explain his feelings and his cowardice, and Ed will, eventually, understand.

Ed is, after all, a kind man.

But the man he loves approaches him with a leer, and Stede sees only cruelty in his eyes.

--

Or: Stede goes to find Ed, but first he meets the Kraken. Eventually, he gets through to Ed and they reconcile.

weather the storm by one_more_page 10k E  🍊

Ed runs, Stede follows. Ed stabs Stede, Stede comes back. They duel, they fight, they talk, no matter the encounter Ed wakes the next day with Stede's ship just on the horizon.

He’s being haunted by Stede Bonnet.

—

OR

Ed wakes up on the day Stede comes back over and over and over again.

multichapter canonverse:

Wayfaring by Justkeeptrekkin 34k E 🍊

The downside to being stuck on a desert island is that Stede's not awfully good at adapting. The upside is that he and Ed can finally have some peace and quiet– that is, if Ed ever wakes up from the gunshot wound in his stomach.

Stranded in the middle of who-knows-where, Stede learns the art of reflection and how to embrace the man who looks back.

domestic by Ark 33k E 🍊

Stede finds the house. When he comes back to their room at the inn, he won’t rest—won’t let Ed rest—until Ed’s seen it. His eyes are bright in that way that makes Ed’s guts feel scooped out with a spoon. So Ed hurries into his boots and goes with him.

The once-white paint is stripped by weather and wear, a portion of the roof is caved in, and the spokes of the wraparound porch are all gnawed through by animals.

Ed gazes up at the broken windows and the birds that have built nests there. At his side, Stede is waiting, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“It’s perfect,” says Ed.

to carry home inside me by ShowMeAHero 14k T 🍊

In the Last Year, 1718, the Seas Witnessed the Deaths of Two of the Worst Menaces to Sail. The Pirates Edward Teach, commonly Known as Blackbeard, and Stede Bonnet, also the Gentleman Pirate, once Captained Together before the ultimate Capture of Bonnet in October. By November, the dread Blackbeard was Killed in Battle; not a Month after, the Gentleman Pirate was Hanged for his Crimes at Charles Town. His Majesty the King ends this Curse of Piracy by Sending these Devils back to Hell.

Or not.

Blackheart by angelsunaware 36k WIP E

Blackbeard has decided it is time for him to take a wife, but he finds something else instead.

Chiaroscuro by MenaceAnon 19k WIP T

The Widow Mary Bonnet has a life, and Stede Bonnet isn't part of it. They agreed. There was a leopard and everything.

Then again, Stede has a talent for disrupting plans—for instance, by turning up on your doorstep in the dead of night with a bleeding pirate who turns out to be his beloved Ed.

kissing is what lovers do (and we're not lovers) by afterism 22k E

A vaguely canon-compliant friends-with-benefits scenario where they've been having sex since episode five but still don't kiss until episode nine, because they're both idiots who don't talk it through as a crew.

a very good bad thing by seularen 14k E

“Unhand him,” Stede said. “Or what?” “Good point. I can’t say ‘or bleed.’ You’re going to do that already.”

(prompt fill for the OFMD kink meme: "you know ‘Unhand me or bleed” knife!Stede? I want to see that guy coming to Ed’s rescue when he’s in peril. Bonus points if he takes bloody vengeance or needs to be talked down from it.”)

First, we steal a priest by Elisahni 15k WIP M

“I just want it to be said, by someone,” said Lucius, “that grave robbing is very 1500s.”

“We’re not digging one up,” said Ed, “I’m not that barbaric! We’ll want a live one. We’re going to steal a priest from a church.”

“Ed,” said Stede, scandalised. “That’s kidnapping!”

“I guess it is. Okay, we’re going on a treasure hunt to kidnap a priest. That’s the plan.”

though quaking, though crazy by ShowMeAHero 17k M

Stede knows from experience, from a sword piercing his side for far too long, how it feels when your skin starts trying to heal around a blade, when you know you’re going to have to tear it open again, when its only crime was just wanting to save you.

And maybe Stede isn’t some nightmare pirate, and maybe he’s not the vision that Blackbeard inspires, and maybe he’s not scary. Maybe he’s not made of smoke, with glowing eyes; maybe he’s not a hero, or a villain, or anyone but some poor shit who thinks he knows what he’s doing when nobody really ever knows.

But he knows two things: he knows that he will kill for Ed; and he knows that this man knows that, too.

Tomorrow, Certainly by Anonymous_Ostrich 11.5k WIP M

Stede opened the door with enough gusto that it struck the wall with an urgent thud. Ed - who was busy pilfering through the drawers and cabinets of a large cedar desk - glanced up in mild alarm, like he was expecting bad news. Stede sucked in a deep breath through his nose.

“Ed,” he began with all the authority and courage he could muster, “I’d like to do sex, ah, things, with - with you.” Perhaps that could have been a fair bit more eloquent, but alas.

the lovers, the dreamers, and me by ShowMeAHero 63k E

Stede spreads his hands in front of him, and Louis and Alma both grin up at him. “Do you remember the stories I used to tell you about those fearsome pirates who lived out at sea? And, remember how I told you I went on adventures with Blackbeard? Well—”

“Mom already told us you married Blackbeard,” Alma cuts him off, taking— Well, taking the wind right out of his sails, as it were.

“Alma,” Mary hisses at her. “Don’t interrupt y—”

“No, no, that’s fine, it’s— It’s fine, really,” Stede says. “I was— I was, admittedly, a little excited to tell you, but— That’s fine, honestly, we—”

“No, no, do it anyway,” Mary encourages him.

or: louis, alma, mary, and doug spend four days and three nights aboard the revenge, stede's families become one, and his entire heart combusts in the process.

Hello, My Old Heart by LadyKyrin 26k WIP M

In the span of a single second, or maybe even just a half-second, three things happened:

A gun went off.

Ed’s blade sliced deep into Chauncey’s throat.

And Stede screamed Ed’s name.

~

Ed comes looking for Stede when he doesn't show up at the dock. When Chauncey shoots Ed, Stede has no choice but to take him to the one place where there's actually a chance they might not be immediately killed or captured: the house he once shared with Mary, Alma, and Louis.

Working Vacation by MenaceAnon 2.1k WIP T

Captain Richard Bryce is going to make a name for himself as a pirate.

His plan? Kidnap the Gentleman Pirate, and use him to get close enough to assassinate Blackbeard.

And so Richard and his crew steal the pretty beardless fellow wearing a fussy banyan straight out of Blackbeard’s bed.

(Ed has never been an honest-to-god damsel in distress before. He’s going to go ahead and consider this a vacation.)

Come Here, Dressed in Black Now by jessclare 13k E  

“I never thought I’d end up being the woman in bed,” Stede says suddenly.

Stede has issues to work through.

An Even Trade by BewareTheIdes15 30k E 🍊

It’s “doesn’t mean a thing,” that gets Ed into trouble. Because, turns out, it means a fucking a lot.

Crossing the Meridian by stitchy 40k E

“Would you like me to pick you up anything special for the crossing?” Stede checks.

“Oh, I dunno. You know what I like,” Ed grins.

Me, it’s me, it’s me! Stede’s heart rejoices. He can’t go wrong with such wind beneath his wings.

“I’ll have to see if I can find a treat for when you get bored at sea,” he tells Ed. “Something to keep you occupied.”

-

Quite simply, Stede and Ed "romance" their way across an ocean.

Stuff of Kings by wordaddiction 13k WIP M

“Your name. I thought you might tell me your name.”

Brown eyes flicker between Stede’s, and he thinks it might have worked, stall though it may be, until the man’s mouth curls.

“Nah. Think I like you this way. Something I know that you don’t - guess books aren't everything.” He smiles, truly smiles, and Stede might think him handsome if he weren’t pushing a knife to his throat. Well. Maybe even then.

________________________

or: Ed boards the docked Revenge, expecting to find it empty and ready for raiding. It is decidedly not.

Shoals of Gold by blacksaltseas 15k E

And so, they lay above the moon-soaked sea and looked towards the heavens.

The time passed like honey, slow and sweet.

-

Two co-captains navigate falling in love on the high seas. There’s not much else to do when the wind stops blowing.

Healing Trauma with the Power of Gay Love! by                    the_bedheaded_league (giantflyingskelesnurtle) 13k E

Stede doesn't like sex. At least, he thinks he doesn't, because he's never had sex with someone he's actually attracted to before. Ed very patiently teaches him that sex can actually be enjoyable. There is crying. Bon apetit.

he's never gonna make it by muadnait 32k WIP M

Stede would admit to reading a book or two about pirates, but no literature could have prepared him for an actual face to face encounter with said people.

__

Stede Bonnet, wealthy landowner, held hostage by pirates.

Penetrative Gays by Fyre 13k E

“You’re coming with me.” “What? Why?” “Because I stabbed you!” Stede exclaimed, stooping to pull Ed’s arm more securely over his shoulder. “I can’t just… leave you. You have a hole through you!” 

-

The poor bastard was still pinned to the mast like a nail in a board and gave Ed a weak little wave, his face shiny and pale. “Lucius has gone to get someone to get me down,” he said, as if he didn’t have a fucking sword sticking out his chest. 

keep us together by novaeangliae 63k WIP T 🍊

A young Stede's desire for adventure is fuelled when he meets Ed, a boy from the docks who appreciates Stede for his true nature. Only their upbringings come with a ceaseless pressure to conform, and the two must navigate growing up in different worlds. Even with the difficulties posed by their lifestyles, it still comes as a surprise when their paths cross again upon the deck of a Spanish warship.

They always find their way back to each other.

What Wound Did Ever Heal But By Degrees? by poading 15k M

The first time is quick. Ed has been thinking about it for weeks, kissing Stede Bonnet. It is the sort of thing he wants to do right. Though Stede’s never mentioned it in any of their lessons, Ed is certain there is a right way to go about kissing a gentleman. He must wait for the right time, the right place.

But when he finally does it, Ed doesn’t think at all. He is only instinct and hope tangled in a moment where breath is forgotten and the future seems possible.

OR: Five times Ed kisses Stede and one time Stede kisses Ed

oneshot canonverse (smutty):

Bit of a Clothes Horse by Aivelin, Fyre 9k E 🍊

Stede tossed down the invitation card on the couch. “On the contrary!” He scrambled to his feet. “You’re not wearing anything that beastly man owned. You deserve something far better, especially for your first time out. If we’re going to a party, you’re getting all the luxury you deserve.”

when you love it by mia_ugly 5.7k E

Stede’s being kissed before the door fully clicks shut behind him.

Close Quarters by FortinbrasFTW 4.2k E

“The fuck?” Ed manages, instantly getting his foot stuck in a nearby bucket.

“Sh-shh!” Stede pushes two fingers against his lips to shut him up.

Ed goes still and a bit cross-eyed, staring down at the hand on his mouth. Stede moves it away, with a mouthed “sorry!” focusing intently on the sounds outside the shed instead.

In the alley, hurried steps and shouting voices rush past; they catch fragments of: “Where the fuck did they go then?” or “Keep looking!” and even “The short one looks like a bloody birthday cake, how do you lose that—”

in the emerald green by darcylindbergh 3k E 🍊

And Stede likes Ed, here and now, with the fresh smell of the wind and the salt in his hair, stripped down to nothing but an emerald green banyan and the ink in his skin, climbing back into the bed.

we've only just begun by ShowMeAHero 22k E

“Happy anniversary,” Ed tells him. He’s got a smile, but he still seems nervous, and Stede absolutely cannot have that.

and let your hair hang down by Ark 3.1k E

Stede exhales, warm breath stirring Ed's hair. "Again?"

"Stede," says Ed, "I'd sit on your cock all day for a chair and captain the ship like that if the option was available."

in the dark and blue by focusfixated 3.7k E

“What’s this?” Ed says, and tilts the mug towards his eyeline. He’s been doing a good job, so far, of looking everywhere except at Stede.

“Tea in its natural state,” Stede says. “You don’t have to drink it. I didn’t really ask you here for tea.”

Ed hunches like a child, but his hair and stubble is grey as a silverfish. He sounds as bitter as the tea when he says, “What did you really ask me here for, then?”

Or: After Stede comes back to Edward, they both look for forgiveness, and relief.

so good for him by leaveanote 3.7k E

Ed still isn’t used to being vulnerable. But Stede’s praise unlocks a part of him he didn’t know he had.

And fuck, it feels good.

Starcharts by triedunture 8.7k E 🍊

“Do you think I could help in some way?” he asks.

Ed glances at him. “Like how?”

“I don’t know. You seemed to enjoy our little gag of trading places that one time.” Stede shrugs a shoulder. He’s wearing his pink satin waistcoat and matching breeches, no overcoat—too fucking humid tonight. Ed can see the shape of his arm through the thin linen of his shirt. “What if you pretend you’re the one who isn’t in charge, and I can pretend I’m the one who is. That would be fun, wouldn’t it?” 

Under your skin, over the moon by por_queeee 7.7k E

“You’ve never been anything but–perfectly considerate, my love,” Stede manages weakly, staring straight up at the ceiling, flexing a hand in Ed’s hair. Ed can be impatient in bed, erratic, firm and greedy in his touches, but he’s always asked Stede from the first– Is this ok? Like this? Is it good? Am I hurting you?  

“You’ve never hurt me, or…” His cheeks pinken slightly, “Well, beyond what I imagine is the normal amount of soreness the day after, of course, but…”  

Ed grunts, and scrapes his teeth over the bone of Stede’s jaw in a way that makes him gasp and brings him right back to himself. Ed seems to freeze at the noise, fingers digging shakily into Stede’s hip. “But what if I wanted to?”

the taste of you by jaskiers 5k E

The first time they fall into bed together doesn’t go quite the way Stede had imagined it would.

Rough Winds Do Shake by HeckinaHandbasket 4.1k E

He returned with the book, tapping it on Ed’s leg as he reclaimed his seat in the chair. “I’ve always been rather partial to a sonnet, myself. Though they’ve often left me feeling somewhat melancholy.”

They’d often left him filled with longing, left him feeling empty, and strange, as if he were missing something vital to the human experience. He loved them, still. Pain was the price of beauty, after all.

Stede glanced up at Ed, smiling at the effortlessly lovely picture he made, backlit by a dozen candles. “Although, I wonder, now, if it might be different.”

Ed shifted on the arm of the chair, throwing his own arm over Stede’s shoulders to peer at the book. “Different, how?”

Without thinking, Stede bumped his forehead against Ed’s shoulder, joyful honesty bubbling out of him like seafoam. “Well, with you, of course. Everything is different with you.”

A deep, thoughtful line appeared between Ed’s brows as he examined Stede’s face. “Is it?”

Dance Me to the End of Love by stereobone 3.7k E

“I should teach you the waltz,” Stede says. “After all, if you’re going to know the ways of the aristocracy, you should at least have that under your cap.”

“The waltz?” Ed says. “Like a…like fucking dancing?”

“Exactly like fucking dancing,” Stede says. 

a laughing matter by mxwicked (SpacemanSpiff7) 6.4k E 🍊

Stede’s never laughed during sex before. Hell, he’s barely even smiled. So when Edward can’t stop giggling during their first time, he’s not really sure what to think.

good game by captainbonny 3.4k E 🍊

in which Ed is (probably canonically!!) sleeping on Stede’s couch, and late night sleepover antics ensue. 

Still Waters by Phoenix_Soar 5.4k E

Did people kiss like this? This often? Oh of course they must, not everyone shared his own stilted experiences with intimacy...

Canon-divergent ending to Episode 9 — in which Stede discovers just how touch-starved he's been, while Ed takes full advantage of his first chance to be gentle with someone.

The Biblical Sense by Fyre 2.5k E

“Wh-what’s this?” Stede managed in a strangled croak.

Ed’s eyes creased around the edges. Smiling. One could always tell by them, even if his beard and moustache and everything else hid his mouth. “I know you’re a bit new to the whole… seaman thing,” he said with that rumble of amusement in his voice, “but I thought even you’d recognise a come on when you saw one.”

every morning the world by treescape 1.1k E

“Now there’s nothing to put the marmalade on,” Stede sighs. He stares morosely at the jar that Ed’s holding in one hand, and then lifts his gaze to Ed’s face.

Ed raises both eyebrows in response. “Oh, well, I wouldn’t go that far,” he protests, hefting the jar thoughtfully for a moment. The movement makes Stede’s favourite robe shift a little where it drapes over Ed’s shoulders, revealing another inch of chest.

Or, breakfast in bed doesn't go exactly as planned, but that's okay.

Trick by Desdemon 4.2k E

Stede teaches Ed how to play piquet.

peccadilloes by Badgerette 2.1k T

”Then, what kind of passions do you enjoy in private? Don’t tell me there’s some erotic scribblings hidden in that insane collection of kindling?”

A beat, within which Stede takes a sip of his remaining port.

”You’ve got some fucking raunchy books up there, haven’t you?”

I will own my lover's heart and soul by songlin 2.7k T

Edward Teach considers himself a connoisseur of captors. Without a doubt, Stede Bonnet is his favorite.

spattered colours of ecstatic light by thesoulundone 2.8k E

It's Stede's turn to stare incredulously at him. Ed notices, somewhere in the back of his brain, that he refrains from being smug about it. "You mean you don't-"

"Of course not," Ed breaks in, awkward. "It's - immoral."

"You're a pirate," Stede says, pointed.

"Yeah, but that's different," Ed says, surly.

Silk Touch by NaroMoreau 2.5k E

After a pillaging, Stede finds Ed wearing a dress and shows him exactly how much he appreciates the sight.

Practice Makes Perfect by cracktheglasses (cormallen) 4.3k E

“Lucius said I could practice on a banana, only we haven’t got any on board,” Stede says, and the words take a moment to coalesce into meaning. Ed blinks, shakes his head — a banana, for fuck’s sake, he’s jealous of a banana, get it together, old man — reaches over, and plucks the book from Stede’s grasp.  

“Relax. Forget — practice. Forget the book. I’ll talk you through it. When have I ever taught you badly?”

built for luxury by emmett 9.2k E

"Congrats," Ed says, once Stede lowers the mirror. "You've just successfully tied up your first person like a proper pirate. Didn't even take you that long."

"Yes, well," Stede says, blushing a little at the praise and moving to start untying the ropes, "I had an awfully good teacher. Very patient with me."

In which Ed shows Stede the ropes, if you know what I mean.

For a Scoundrel is a Wanted Man by stitchy 4.1k E 🍊

“Well!” Stede smiles and sets down his glass for now, so he can give Ed’s cheek an appreciative rub. “It’s nice to be nice, isn’t it?”

Ed rolls his eyes, but leans into the contact. “Yeah, but don't tell anyone I said so.” He covers Stede’s hand with his own, fingering the lace upon it. “I do have a reputation.”

“I won’t, I won’t! If you don’t tell anyone what a scoundrel I can be,” Stede chuckles.

“You, a scoundrel?” Ed smirks. “You'll have to remind me why, Stede. You haven’t done anything bastardly all day.“

Evening Light by entanglednow 1.9k M

In which there is a commotion, a rousing speech, and a full length nightgown.

Yes, And by triedunture 4.2k E

“And who are we tonight, my darling?” Stede asks once he gets Ed up against the sturdy wall of the auxiliary closet.

“Reckon you’re quite the fearsome pirate,” Ed says into the kiss, “and I’m a fancy lord of fuck-all who’s at your mercy.”

“Oooh, I do like that one.”

----

Ed and Stede try to stick to the script but they keep getting distracted.

You kissed me just to kiss me, not to make me cry by makesometime 3.7k E

“Ed?”

He’s getting distracted. It’s probably a defence or something, against worrying that he’s laying himself bare to someone who might just go and fuck it all up again and leave him, more heartbroken than before.

“Yeah.” He smiles. “I’m here.”

'Cause if I love you (then I love you too much) by rowenablade 2.3k E

They’ve been sleeping together for three weeks, and Stede is hopelessly smitten with everything Ed does. He loves the way Ed sighs when he kicks his boots off and the way he can peel an orange with one hand and the way his hair gets in Stede’s mouth about a third of the time when they’re kissing. He’s amazed he hasn’t run the ship aground again, so hard it is to tear his eyes away from this wonder of a man.

the hung man by LogicalBookThief 4.9k M

"This is fucking Blackbeard we’re talking about, man. Maker of widows. Scourge of the seven seas." For not the first time, Black Pete regards him like an idiot. "What did you expect he'd be packing in his pants?"

we came untarnished by propinquitous 5.7k E

Edward finds that clothing can still leave you feeling naked.

The Dread Pirate Bonnet Shows No Mercy (Lord Jeff Doesn't Want Any, Thanks) by Dracothelizard 8k E

Ed throws the book on the floor in front of Stede. “What if I want to be ravished for a change? Ever think of that?”

Stede stares up at him, mouth open, then closes it, then he frowns in thought.

“That’s what I thought,” Ed mutters, shoulders sagging as he drops into one of the chairs.

Despite knowing the man behind the reputation, Stede still wants Blackbeard. Everyone does.

“I’m a pirate captain,” Stede says, picking the book from the floor and brushing some dirt from the cover.

“And?”

Stede smiles at him, cheeks still flushed. “I think that means I’m allowed to ravish you.”

You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real) by zemph147 4.7k E

Set after some vaguely-defined season two events where Stede proves his love to Ed, and they return together to The Revenge to finally get some time alone.

I just want them to be together, and in love, and having truly spectacular sex, so here we go.

Tonight, Tonight by samwise 8.2k E

Ed wakes Stede in the middle of the night, and Stede comes to the door in a translucent robe. Ed.exe has stopped working.

all of me is a prayer in perfect piety by princesapollobollo 5.1k E

"I've never really—" Stede pants, leaning back a bit from where Ed is pressing kisses to his mouth, hot and dazzling. "Well, I have, but not—"

"With a man?" Ed asks, looking up at him, and there's no judgment or mocking in his eyes, only a faint curiosity underneath all the intensity.

"With someone I was in love with," Stede says, curling a hand over Ed's cheek.

“Oh,” Ed says, even now still looking like Stede is showing him the wonders of the world every time he says that word. “Well, in that case I don’t have that much experience either.”

this kind of love has to be a verb by illimerence 2.9k E

More than anything else, Ed can’t understand why Stede came back. 

A Pirate's Reputation by chamyl 4.9k E 

After getting back together, Stede and Ed are having a perfectly lovely time co-captaining their ship and becoming more and more intimate. Until the day Stede discovers that, against all his assumptions, Ed has never had sex before, and begins to wonder why.

grand pianos clash together by audenrain 4.3k E

“And you aim to correct that, do you? You’re going to show me the ropes?” Stede says. It’s a funny thing, the atmosphere aboard a pirate ship. In many ways it’s done exactly what years of bullying and abuse never could: taught him to stand up for himself a little better, given him some rudimentary skill with a sword, and most importantly, given him a taste of how it feels to rise to a challenge. He feels that static charge in the air, now, for all that Ed’s body language is relaxed.

Ed is smiling, a little, behind the crystal edge of his glass. “I don’t think we should get ropes involved on your first time round,” he says.

As You Like It by kindofwriter 2.7k E 

Stede asks Ed what he likes, and Ed realises he's never really thought about it before. However he does find out Stede has thought about it A LOT.

tell me i'm what your hands were made for by apocryphalia 2.9k E

Ed is still wearing Stede’s cravat.

Sometimes, when they’re in bed, he peels back the leather surrounding it but leaves that little piece of silk in its place, a reminder of how far they've already come in their few short weeks together. Sometimes, he watches the black cloth sway against tan skin, against the scars darkening its surface and the faded ink beneath, in time with the rhythm of their bodies. Other times, he tosses it aside, the better to worship that skin.

This time, Stede has another idea.

Rum and Linen by scarrletmoon 5.5k E

Usually when Ed gets drunk, he crashes on the couch. This time, he doesn't.

be known in its aching by foxtails 4.6k E

Stede manages to be everywhere at once; his mouth pressed to the bird on Ed’s shoulder, his toes tracing the tattoo curving up his calf muscle, his fingers wrapped loosely around Ed’s wrist.

“I should quite like you immortalised in a portrait,” Stede murmurs against his skin. “Not Blackbeard, not the Dread Pyrate. You, Edward. Every inch of you, laid out beautifully like this.”

or: Edward Teach deserves nice things. Thankfully, that's where Stede comes in.

all that ever mattered was you by anthonyjcrowiey 2k E

Sometimes sex goes wrong, but that doesn't mean it has to be bad.

AKA: the one where Ed and Stede are getting old and they are absolutely feeling their age.

Sneak by whiskywrites 2k E

“Your helmsman is taking orders from a goddamn seagull, Stede,” Ed said. “And we are at his birdy mercy.”

you don't need to wonder by spelling__bee 4.6k E 🍊

It’s the only time he’s ever taken orders in his adult life, because with Stede they don’t feel like control or threats - they feel like love. He can always say no. Stede would stop the moment he asks. But knowing that, and asking for it anyway, settling in where he can trust Stede to call the shots for both of them? Well. Ed can’t think too much about it because he’ll get all misty and shit, but it’s strong stuff.

all day long (on the chaise longue) by attheborder 3.5k E

Adventures in interior design. 

Cabin Pressure by entanglednow 6.3k E 🍊

Contrary to Stede's insistence there was not enough space for two in the bed, not unless they wanted to get very close indeed.

Fancy by Aivelin, Fyre 7k E 🍊

When a Spanish prize yields a treasure trove of exquisite clothing, Stede can't resist the urge to indulge Ed's fondness for a fine fabric.

Of night and light and the half light by leupagus 2.1k M

What if for Reasons, they need someone to pretend to be a woman, and so the obvious choice is Stede (look, Jim just isn't very convincing) (Stede played the heroine three years running in the school play, of course he knows his way around a skirt) And Ed is very interested in this look. Very interested.

only the light moves by ThirtySixSaveFiles 2.3k E

Stede and Ed, and the slow morning after. Stede still has some things to say, and he’ll keep saying them until Ed can hear him.

Waiting on the Lightning by smallestchurch 8k E

They're co-captains now, sure, that's great and good, but... why is it making Stede so nervous?

this is a home we just don't have a door by newtkelly 7k E

“I just don’t get why Lucius would even propose such a thing.” He finishes tugging his nightgown over his head and sighs, slipping under the covers to join a nearly naked Ed. “I mean, it’s not as if I’m wedding some virginal bride who would blush at the mere contemplation of sharing a bed with a fellow!”

“Hey,” Ed says, feigning offense as he shuffles into Stede’s embrace, propping his head against Stede’s left shoulder. “Are you saying I’m easy, mate?”

june hymn by ripeteeth 3.1k E

“Tell me about this one,” he says. What he means is, where did it hurt?

Breakfast by scarrletmoon 2.6k E

A typical quiet morning between co-captains aboard The Revenge turns into a much spicier breakfast.

quand il me prend dans ses bras, qu’il me parle tout bas (je vois la vie en rose) by SilkAndLeather (SexyCoinkiDicks) 7.2k E

Ed appreciates his new morning routine, as well as Stede's more intimate finery.

Tender, playful Ed/Stede morning sex PWP. Works as a stand-alone but might have a follow-up.

Unhand Me or Bleed by scarrletmoon 4.2k E

Stede Bonnet has an  “unhand me or bleed” moment and Ed can't not fuck him.

i'm coming for you, babe (i'm nearly at your pace) by kirkaut 4.7k E 

Ed has been trying to be good.

He can’t necessarily say the same of Stede.

(Or: an exercise in self restraint, and the art of giving in)

Renewal by katonline 3.4k E

The fire is blazing cheerfully in the fancy as fuck fireplace in their cabin. It’s a ridiculous folly, it shouldn’t be there, but it is and it’s wonderful. It’s wet and dreary outside and it’s cozy and snug and perfect in here. The cabin is like a friend. The rain is indifferent, blind to their happiness. That’s - whatsit, fuck - ah. Right. That’s pathetic fallacy.

Stede taught him about pathetic fallacy.

Damn the Dark by Serendipity_Stupidity 15k E 🍊

“Feels good,” Ed told him, breathless. “Bliss - love, surrender, all of it - feels so good. Don’t you want to feel that?”

For a moment, all Stede could see was the red flesh of apples, the flickering tongue of a snake, the dark cloven hooves of the Devil. Between his legs, Ed looked like sin itself, with his stormy curls and soft mouth.

Gripping the edge, Stede’s hands trembled. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stede and Ed share a bath and work through Stede's inhibitions about being intimate.

World Enough and Time by MayGlenn 6.9k E

Five times Stede and Edward try to have sex and are comically interrupted, and the one time they successfully bone.

rather exquisite by leaveanote 4.4k E 

Stede fucks him exactly once and Ed feels fucking wild with it the next day. So desperate to have him again he can barely think, and as nervous and excited as the moments after the first time they'd kissed.

And, given how that wound up going, all the more anxious about losing him.

My Saddle's Waiting by Dracothelizard 5.2k E

He regretfully covers Bonnet with the sheets, drawing them up to his waist. “I am gonna do my best to keep you alive,” he promises, brushing some hair away from Bonnet’s face. “Because once you’re healed up, I am gonna ride you like a pony.”

Bonnet whimpers. “I should be a lighthouse.”

“Yeah,” Ed says, “bet people can see your dick from miles away once we get it hard.” He stands up to find a comfortable chair to sit in so he can keep an eye on Bonnet during the night.

He’s not gonna let the man die before getting that massive dick inside of him.

---

In which Ed catches sight of Stede's cock after saving him from the Spanish and dragging him back to the Revenge, and embarks on an important mission.

Like a Needle to Skin It Leaves a Mark by greatbriton 6.3k E

“Oh! Or we find a nearby port and the whole crew gets matching tattoos, like this one!” Stede says and, without a thought to his actions, runs a finger against a part of Ed’s lower arm where a tattoo of an anchor slotted between stars and crosses resides. Ed's skin is cooler than Stede would imagine, if he imagines such a thing. “It could be a team building exercise!  What do you thi--”

Stede finally looks up to see Ed’s eyes focused intently on where Stede’s finger lies against his arm. Stede pulls his hand away as if burned. He’s overstepped. Clumsy and entirely indelicate of him, he mentally chastises himself.

Weird by Skrifores 5.6k E

In which Ed muses on all the things which are just fucking weird about being on the Revenge, especially the cute, strange, lunatic captain.

make sure you bind me (hand and foot) by Hymn 6.3k E

Finally, he looks at Edward.

Stede’s pupils are blown, eyes all dark and hungry. He licks his upper lip nervously. Ed can see the frantic pop of his pulse; can see the clench and flex of his jaw, like he’s struggling. But not in a bad way. No, not in a bad way at all, Edward decides, watching as Stede tugs a little more on the ropes. How his breath stutters, then leaves him in a shuddery exhale.

“Hm. That’s not a bad look on you, Stede,” Edward murmurs.

“I admit,” Stede gulps. “I was not prepared for being so- so affected by this.”

Ed grins, showing all his teeth. “Good.”

The Finer Things by BewareTheIdes15 5.9k E

“Listen, yeah,” Ed says, obviating the entire statement by taking an overlarge slug of his drink. The pink dart of his tongue that follows after is almost hidden by the shadow of his mustache.

“I’ve been thinking. How would you feel about, uh,” the sound of the leather of his glove grating against his trousers seems loud in the quiet as he traces the length of his thigh up to his hip, restless fingers tap-tapping away again against the steel of a fastening. “Lending a hand?”

In which Ed has no chill, Stede has no idea how this happened, and everyone needs to get their shit together.

we're finding new forms by Hymn 6.1k E

“Yeah,” Ed agrees, leaning in, breathing deep. “Yeah, you’re good. You’re fine.”

“Mm,” is Stede’s smiling response, and then between one moment and the next Ed is being kissed again. His shaking hands are in Stede’s hair, gripping at his ear, the side of his neck, trying to hold on to the shape of him while Ed himself feels like he’s falling apart. Heat and tongues and the slick, indecent slide of them take over. Breaths funneling into one another.

Against Ed’s gasping mouth, Stede murmurs, “My dear. You’re shaking,” before sucking in Ed’s bottom lip.

Groaning, Ed doesn’t try to fight it—the tide of panic, of love, of fear that lingers. He hadn’t expected that part, to be honest. All his life and Ed had shown fear the middle finger every time it came knocking. He’s had to, hasn’t he? But then wham, love stomps him to the ground, sets up a home inside his chest, and Ed hasn’t known peace since.

Stede’s fingers trying their damnedest to wiggle under his leather, squeezing at Ed’s ass sure as shit isn’t helping keep him sane.

Harbor by derryday 3.7k E

Ed had spent most of his formative years on ships. By the time he met Stede, the legendary Blackbeard had sea legs for days.

Wooden decks and billowing sails had become almost an extension of his body. He remained sure-footed even when timber strained and creaked. Moving with the push and pull of the sea became as natural to him as breathing.

A ship could heave and buck like an unruly horse as sheets of rain lashed the sails and thunder cracked overhead, and Ed would just shift his weight with the swaying deck, almost smiling at the sea's antics.

The touch of Stede's broad hands, the warm firm press of his thigh against Ed's groin—that storm made even him falter.

Lovers and Madmen by ElapsedSpiral 4.4k E

Ed said "nah, all good" but what he meant was, god as his witness, he was going to marry the [expletive] out of Stede Bonnet.

*

My take on a marriage fic, featuring Stede almost getting cockblocked by his own lack of self-esteem, Ed going full Bridezilla and the poor crew having to deal with them both.

Your Feedback Is Important to Us by ElapsedSpiral 4.1k E

Stede starts holding open cabin hours to allow the crew to air their grievances. It goes about as well as you’d expect.

AKA my “Stede is going to go off like a horny volcano when he finally gets laid” fic.

*

Featuring Stede’s cursed yet sexy moustache, Swede lore and Lucius being altogether too good at his job(s).

Co-Captain Duties by Fyre 3.5k E

He tugged at the hem, chewing on his lip. Subtle didn’t seem to be getting the message across, so maybe it was time for something a bit more direct. Yeah, they’d changed in front of each other before, but that was changing and they’d hardly been paying that much attention. Or he hadn’t, anyway, not with gorgeous silk in his hands. Fuck’s sake, they were co-captains now, weren’t they?

continue to part two

#ofmd #blackbonnet #gentlebeard #ofmd fic rec #mine #forcing myself to go ahead and publish this instead of delaying it another week to keep reading my marked for laters lol

[bioexorcizm]

wc: 1095

"He takes as much as they give, fingers weaving into his hair, where dark turns to lavender to violet. He is in his own head again. They are there too."

re: semi sequel to that other late night fic

It wasn't unfamiliar, being here like this. Entangled in a mass of limbs and sheets and crumpled blankets.

Their grip on him tightens. A shuddered breath he doesn't need escapes him. The threaded connection between their minds flickers with anticipation. It's alive and well, but dull with the apathetic, distant numbness that accompanies some hours of these nights.

Pointed nails release their waist, snapping quickly to his own flesh as the sting of discomforting pain sears his skin, in little thin waves. This agony is not his own. He feels it anyways. He is not used to this.

Their voice is hollow, quiet as they murmur apologies. He grumbles. Pale eyes fall, he sees the way they anxiously tug at their own skin. Their hands trace still healing scars. He follows, as gentle as a creature can be. It tears at his mind. The pain subsides.

They take him back into their arms. He presses his head roughly to their chest, desperate to hear their heartbeat. He feels his own demonic warmth surge through their veins. They feel their pulse echo through him, too.

He takes as much as they give, fingers weaving into his hair, where dark turns to lavender to violet. He is in his own head again. They are there too.

It will pass, they reassure. He doesn't believe them. His claws brush at their wounds. A sob escapes them. Not for their own pity, but the way he so carefully inspects them. Wanting to understand. Needing to. For their sake. For his. He wants to get better. Like them.

He is quiet, for once. Gentle. As much as a creature like him can be. He feels them staring. He twitches.

He still can't stand it. It's hard to be perceived, when you have spent so long invisible. It makes him uncomfortable.

Frightens him.

No, he bats their suggestion away, not frightens. Upsets. Confuses. He doesn't understand. He is trying. He wants to get better.

But touch, touch he enjoys. They hold him closer. Their voice at the back of his consciousness dotes. Their hands run the length of him that they can reach. He curls closer to them.

Aching turns to longing. He presses impossibly closer. Furls around them.

Most every part of them is familiar to him and his mind now. He is a part of them, and likewise they are a part of him. It was a hard acceptance grasping the full weight of such decisions, but one he has since settled into.

He looks up at them. They caress his cheek, lean down and kiss him. He chases the feeling. They offer it willingly again, and again. Like they do every bit of themselves, over and over.

A shadow of doubt disseminates over his mind, but a distant, faint light chases it away. But maybe it’s that flame that's cast it to begin with, he wonders. No, not him. They wonder. He shakes his head.

They are more than that to him. But the seed has been sown, and he still indulges it. Maybe he takes too much, asks too much of them. It's hard not to, when all you have known is transactional relationships, where your worth is proportional to how much you are willing to take in order to receive. And he is so desperate for anything, a beggar poor and pleading and some kind of wild, feral animal confused and unacclimated; Maybe that's why when he's hit and degraded and his nose is shoved in shit and then told it's for love he still comes crawling back. Not that he's ever been loyal, it's just all he knows, and it's more than nothing and it's why at the slightest sign of attention he snarls and snaps and bares his teeth figuratively or not, and when affection is bestowed on him in times like these he wriggles and shrinks away, because despite that deep, deep yearning for something softer he bites the hand that feeds. Because that's what he's been told he's worth, and that's what he's been told is love. It's what he knows. It's what he's always known.

It comes easier now, after so long. To accept the gentle beckon of Reagan. Still, like a trained dog the imprint of habit is hard to shake and on occasion he can't help but sneer and spat at the supposed softness offered to him. But it's simply Reagan's nature, much like his own, to keep coming back. To lick his wounds for him and to keep trying again, and little by little he crawls himself closer and maybe it's because they like the way he is, rough around the edges and a little mean and a little stupid, and they want to keep him anyways. The relax he feels in his mind as he toys with the idea tells him that's the case.

He will never be so delicate as them, that he knows for certain, but it doesn't mean that maybe he can't try to be. It is just hard, when you're less than human -- not quite inhuman anymore, he's reminded by them -- to see things the way humans do. He finds it silly to try. But they know this, too. And they don't expect him to.

But that's the thing. They never expect anything from him that he can't give. And he's so used to taking, he isn't sure what he has to give, and he isn't sure how they know what he does have to give, and how they never expect him to be something he isn't, something so unlike himself. He's disgusting, and confused and harsh, he ruins most things accidentally and he's loud and brash and a laundry list of other negatives, though it's hard really to blame the fire for burning the things it touches when it did not strike the match. He can't help it. But the way their arms feel around him, caging him in not in the way he would feel normally, trapped and helpless and desperate to get out -- he almost feels the growl crawl its way out of his throat at the thought -- it's comfort and safety. It's taming and protective to himself and everyone and everything around his wild hellfire. He just worries they might burn themselves in the process of wrangling him one of these days.

Nothing they haven't felt before. They reassure him this. Nothing they can't heal from. They have enough scars to prove it. He touches them again at their consent.

Maybe when it's all finished, they could heal together.

#.writing #.bj #.bedbugs

[madamemachikonew]

The Selfish Moth - Baizhu x gn!Reader (2k - angst angst angst)

Having fallen in love with the famed physician of Liyue Harbour, he finally comes clean about his contract, which you find hard to accept.

Crossposted to AO3 here.

Sequel: Tumblr, AO3

++CONTAINS BAIZHU STORY QUEST SPOILERS BENEATH THE BREAK++

'For a selfish moth like me, who's afraid of the flame, yet yearns for the light, the only path forward is up towards the moon.'

A high-pitched ringing filled your ears as though a bomb had gone off. There were some who would romanticise his secret as a poetic act of selflessness. But for you, the words that had completely devastated your world had fallen from his lips so casually, each one a missile of destruction that brutally smashed the edifices of the life you had built with the man you loved. The more you tried to process it logically, the more your mind wanted to capsize. You felt your temperature drop with the shock and started to shiver. At the sight, Baizhu removed the coat from his shoulders and carefully draped and tucked it around your own, enveloping you in the scent of the plants so beloved of his cursed companion. His brow furrowed anxiously as he awaited your reaction to his tale with trepidation. Would you not say a single word?

Your body began to shake as you fought to hold back the anguished howl of grief that threatened to break forth from your lungs. He looked at you with a pained expression, and the sight of his wide amber eyes sent a chill through you. Hugging your arms to yourself, you turned your head away, unable to look at them. The eyes you had so adored, which had gazed into yours with so much love during so many intimate moments, were not his. They seemed cold and alien to you now. His mortal gaze – now dead and vacant – was being worn by the snake around his shoulders, a constant reminder of the diabolical arrangement he had made. It occurred to you that you would never see his true face; from his days of innocence, before this parasite had claimed him for herself. You wondered if you would ever be able to look him in the eyes again. It all felt…so tainted now. It was like a betrayal - he had already pledged his life to another. Long before he had ever met you. Your heart felt like it was going to break.

Baizhu’s soft voice broke your train of thought.

“Darling…look at me.”

“I can’t.” you whispered, your trembling voice choking with tears, which now coursed down your cheeks. “Your eyes…”

Baizhu’s mouth fell open at your words, his face momentarily falling into an expression of deep pain. He bit his lip and looked away as tears started to fill his eyes.

“Why?” you asked desperately, your voice quivering. “Why did you fall for it? A cheap trick from a self-interested viper on her deathbed.”

“There was no trickery. No cheating. I knew what I was getting into. I accepted it freely of my own volition.”

“Then why does it hurt so much? Why do I feel like I’ve had you stolen from me?”

Baizhu cast his long green lashes downwards, almost in shame. He had no answer for you. He felt helpless.

“Our lives could be so different.” you continued, “You could be healthy and free. You would have still been able to heal people.”

“Not in the same way. The fact that I can take on their illnesses and toxins is exactly what enables me to research them and develop effective remedies that nobody else can.”

It was a devil’s deal. Your blood turned to ice as it became painfully obvious that no matter how much Baizhu professed to love you, his work would always take precedence in his priorities. This was why he was so illustrious as a physician – because an insidious power was enabling the fulfilment of his life ambitions. Enabling his self-destruction.

Your shoulders slumped with despair as the realisation hit you.

“What a fool I’ve been.” you uttered, your voice hollow and distant as your eyes started to glaze in resignation.

“What do you mean? Of course you’re not a fool.”

“Yes! I am! I was stupid enough to think that you’d love me above all else. But this will always come first, won’t it?”

“The contract and my love for you are not mutually exclusive. They can co-exist-”

“No! They can’t! If you loved me, you would stop this madness!”

“And yet, you respect me and my work enough that you would never ask me to, which is one of the reasons I love you. I don’t expect you to understand or accept it. But this is something I must do. I can help more people this way.”

“By throwing yourself into an early grave?! By bearing all of their poisons and illnesses?! If it wasn’t for that snake being the only thing keeping you alive right now, I’d skin her alive!!”

Changsheng shrank back at your words. While she knew there was no risk you’d actually take action on account of Baizhu’s life force being enmeshed with hers, she knew that your words were every ounce sincere. You wanted her dead.

His eyes deliberately cast downwards, Baizhu sighed softly before reaching out and gently grasping your hand.

“But Changsheng has always protected me in my folly. Don’t you see? If anything happened to me, it would be the end for her too.”

He paused, his gaze softening.

“It’s alright to feel selfish and resentful.” he continued, “I know it’s just because you care about me.”

“But you don’t care about yourself!! Can’t you see how much it hurts to see you rushing to destroy yourself?!”

“That’s not quite right, my love.” he gently corrected. “I do consider my life precious, and I have many things I wish to do. I don’t intend to die young like my predecessors. For what purpose would it serve for a healer to die before realising his full potential? If I were to die, then where would that leave my patients in the long run? All the discoveries that would forever go unmade. No, my love. I am in no hurry to meet my end. I promise you, I won’t push myself too far. The doctor deserves to live too.”

“Then why have all your predecessors died young?! Because none of them could resist pushing themselves to their limit to save just one more life, when the life they needed to concentrate on saving was their own!”

“But that’s where I differ from them, my love. I won’t let that happen. You have my word.”

“But you already have.” you whined in defeat, your voice cracking with tears. “Look at you…my beautiful broken love. Every cell in your body is being eaten way by some toxin or disease. Some days you can barely move. You have no idea what it’s like to see you suffer like this and be unable to do a thing to help you. It was hard enough when I thought you were just sick, but now, knowing you’re doing it to yourself willingly…I…I don’t know if I can go through that, dreading every case that will come through our doors.”

Baizhu’s lower lip began to tremble at your words and the idea that you might leave him to preserve your own heart. He pressed his mouth shut in an attempt to suppress the tears that were starting to blur his vision. In his many years as a physician, he had seen countless patients and tending to them not only meant managing their own distress and holding their hand through troubling times, but also their loved ones. People whose hearts were breaking to see them suffer. People who themselves would have traded their life force and every penny they owned to save the person they loved. His heart lurched at the sight of you mourning his own fate in the same way.

What had he done? He should never have allowed this relationship or anyone to form an attachment to him. How could he possibly have expected anyone who loved him to understand and accept his decision without some protest, even if they ultimately respected – or rather, tolerated – his choice? And yet, it was too late. His selfishness had caused you a type of pain that went beyond his remit as a healer; the one type of agony for which he had no remedy. Ironically, like his many other patients with strange and unusual illnesses, the only way he could make you feel better would be to give you part of himself; his very heart. He couldn’t bear the idea of letting you go. Even though he had known from the outset that it would only lead to heartache, he had nevertheless been drawn to the irresistible pull of the comfort of your love like a moth to a flame. Except instead of combusting, you had made him feel safe and warm and had given him an even stronger motivation to succeed in his pursuit of immortality. If anything, you had made the flame of determination burn all the more brightly in his heart. He wasn't prepared to let either you or his ambitions go.

He held you tightly and pressed his cheek against your head as he stroked your head soothingly.

As the revelation started to overwhelm you, you felt your body start to constrict. Your heart was racing in your chest and your breath was quick and shallow. A sudden feeling of claustrophobia gripped you and you felt disoriented, which then gave way to a tide of panic that surged inside you. Surely this wasn’t reality? Surely this was so outlandish that it couldn’t be real? You squirmed in his embrace, frantically pushing at his chest as you clamoured for him to give you space lest you suffocate. Your balance wobbled as you made to leave the room and get some fresh air.

“My love!” Baizhu said, reaching out for you.

“Don’t touch me!” you cried, slapping his hand away. “I need to be alone for a while. I…I can’t breathe.”

With faltering steps you staggered outside the Pharmacy as a helpless Baizhu could do nothing but look on and leave you to try and process things. How on earth could he have expected you to understand it in one go? A situation with which he had reconciled himself for the best part of his life.

You gripped the railing behind the Pharmacy tightly for support as the world spun around you and tried to breathe deeply and calm your heart. As your heart began to slow and you felt less light-headed, you were finally able to take in your surroundings a little.

The pale orb above cast its ghostly white-blue light down over the Harbour. It caught on the ripples of the waves. It seemed the perfect metaphor for your relationship; the reflection was close, within your grasp, and yet intangible and incorporeal. The real moon was distant and moved in its own orbit, which you could never hope to reach, still less alter.

Baizhu quietly approached your side and slipped a cautious arm around your waist. His shoulders were unadorned by the sinful reptile.

“The moon is beautiful tonight, don’t you think?”

You silently nodded.

“Only because I get to see it with you.” you murmured.

At your words, he squeezed your waist before laying a gentle hand on your cheek to turn your face to his. You shut your eyes as tightly as you could, a pained expression on your face, and tried to avoid his gaze.

“Darling…please.” he pleaded. “This is who I am. Who I chose to be.”

You reluctantly opened your eyes and looked at him sorrowfully. His dejected, yet loving, golden snake eyes, illuminated in the glow of the moon, became a blur as your own eyes filled with tears. He pulled you into a gentle embrace while you sobbed on his shoulder, finally letting the visceral howl of grief leave your body. It muffled against him as he rocked you gently. It was a sound he knew well. He never once expected to hear it on his account.

“She was prepared to die. Why did you save her at your own expense?” you pleaded as you wept bitterly.

He smiled softly and stroked your back.

“Would you really love me if I was the kind of man who would turn his back and watch someone die when it was in my power to save them? A coward who would desert a dying man?”

It was true. The love you felt for Baizhu was seated in the fact that he was such a good-natured and kind person. But it nevertheless pained you that he would make the same sacrifices for anyone else that he would make for you – you were not special in any way. Conversely, Baizhu did not see it that way; rather, he viewed every life as being equally precious and worthy of intervention. If you wanted to be with him, you would have to get used to this outlook pretty quickly.

He sighed gently as he held you.

"Will you leave me? I would rather you didn't, but I understand if you need to."

"I...I don't know." you whispered, your chest heaving from the tears. And yet, you gripped him all the more tightly. The thought of never feeling his warmth in your arms and feeling his heart beat against your ear was unfathomable.

“My poor love. I am…a most troublesome person. A selfish moth indeed.”

#baizhu #genshin baizhu #genshin impact baizhu #baizhu x you #baizhu x y/n #baizhu x reader #baizhu x gn reader #baizhu x gender neutral reader #ANGST #NO COMFORT #Reader hates Changsheng because of the contract #BAIZHU STORY QUEST SPOILERS #genshin ao3 #genshin fanfic #baizhu fanfic #genshin one shot

[phoenixiancrystallist]

I couldn't help but agree so much on your tags on my gifset of Frey not immediately forgiving Cinta. It adds so much to her as a person. For years she created this image of her mother being a cruel woman, for bloody 21 years. It's not something you can toss away in a blink of an eye.

And like, we see her struggle with that so much after that revelation from tanta Prav. She can't or doesn't want to face that image, because the hurt she thought could only get worse (like opening up old wounds?).

But when faced with Cinta you see a tiny bit of that resentment, but also that yearning of trying to get to know her. A sense of relieve and yet doubt (when she is about to take Cinta's hand. Oooof. The feels).

It's such a deep things of feels and I am bloody feeling the feels. There is such a thick layer of depth right there and *sobs*.

The entire thing is handled so well, imo. She had all that time after Prav to wrap her head around who her mom is, and wrestle with all of those horrible feelings and put them into a perspective she never had context for before then. I distinctly remember sobbing "she did it to save you!" so many times while Frey was questioning why Cinta—who personifies love—abandoned her, tears streaming down my face because I'm a huge crybaby, lol.

But for Frey, it's gotta be so, so hard to come to that conclusion when all she's known her whole life is that she wasn't wanted. All those years of anger and grief, all the resentment building up anew now that she has a name and a face to aim it at instead of a nebulous hypothetical figure. It's no wonder she reacts the way she does! I'd blow up, too!

And later, when she learned how deeply, desperately she was wanted, and how much it tore Cinta apart to send her away after essentially no time with her, only to watch Athia's doom follow her through the Torana. You can clearly see Frey just sitting there and processing all this new information, rearranging the worldview she'd carried with her for as long as she can remember. And you can see the moments of panic, where she's completely overwhelmed by everything she's learning about herself, about Cinta, about her dad. She's bombarded with emotional revelation after emotional revelation in rapid succession with no time to reconcile them with everything she'd believed for her whole life.

There's so much emotional depth in this game and it's all handled in a way that I can wholeheartedly believe. It's messy, it's irrational, it's so profoundly human and it's so, so beautifully told. Frey has every reason to feel the way she does and she reacts in a way that an actual human person would. She's allowed to feel and express her emotions through the entire story and there's not a single moment I can recall where her humanity is pushed aside for the sake of the narrative. Frey and her story are handled so, so well and my only complaint is we probably won't get a sequel.

#Forspoken #Forspoken spoilers #Frey Holland #Tanta Cinta #asks

[lloydfrontera]

ngl but everytime i see you talk about 383 i really tear up 😭 because really i want to read those chapters in official translation fast....!

speaking of im also kinda against with lloyd ending up with alicia cause aside from them not developing any romance b/w them it also kinda goes against what lloyd wants in a partner? i think he doesn't want a noble and wants to fall in love humbly?

i want to say the author probably isn't good at romance for him to not develop it here but i think they wrote the dragon chef before this i think? which is about romance. im guessing only tho

speaking of romance about javier and sulria when i read the chapter with lloyd remembering the scene in namaran how javier was hugging her body was it shown in a romantic sense or implied javier has feelings for her? i think in the webtoon they added the blushing, coupley vibes between them but not in the novel or i remember wrong?

it is!! such a good chapter!! expect me to freak out all over again when the translation drops!!

and you are correct nonnie! he very much leaves it clear in chapter 254:

Lloyd despised the thought of marrying someone he never met and didn't love just for the sake of business. And so, he wanted to marry someone from a humble background instead of a noble lady.

he values closeness in a relationship far more than he does whatever benefits he can get from it.

moreover, in chapter 313, he establishes what he really wants in life

“Now that I have a prosperous life in this fiefdom, I want to protect it and enjoy everything that it offers. And now, I want to stay here and laze around for the rest of my life. With my family, I have come to yearn for the relaxed life of a retiree. And that is why...”  Lloyd meant every word he said, and his voice now contained force.  “It will be just burdensome for me to obtain more power, larger territories, a stronger military, or something along that line. I'll be kept away from leisure to deal with it all. Doesn't it seem like a lot of work? Thus, my only wish is for my family and the people around me to be at ease and happy. I want to live the rest of my life surrounded by their warmth without another day of work.” 

does this sound like a guy who would enjoy being married into the royal family, to the queen herself at that, someone we know for a fact loves to squeeze the last bit of use of the talented people around her. does it.

he just. wanted to stay home with his family. relax for the rest of his life with his loved ones in the place he made his home.

plus i also have my own doubts about whether lloyd truly wished to marry or if it was just him desperately trying to stop being so achingly alone. but that's a whole different rant lol

bk moon did write a novel that's focused on romance actually you're right! it's called 'i became the dragon king's chef' but i haven't read it yet and haven't really looked for the entire manhwa. it's cute, berkis and cheongi are adorable, but they do have the advantage of their novel being focused on their relationship and how it develops. it's a different story completely when the romance is just an add-on imo

and you're also right about javier and silurian's romance being a webtoon original! in the webnovel there's nothing to indicate that they were meant to be a couple or that they would be in the future. the sequel throws a line about them having children, but doesn't elaborate either. it's just,, a thing that happened apparently. personally i think it was a 'pair the spares' kind of thing but what do i know xD

weird choice of the webtoon to completely erase silurian's arc about not needing to marry in order to become her father's heiress and instead make her the love interest of one of the protagonist but like. i've said enough about that lol

#hey i got an ask #Anonymous #tged #the greatest estate developer #tged spoilers #lloyd frontera #javier asrahan #silurian namaran

[thequeenofsastiel]

I have SUCH a crush on the cute barista, let's call her S, at my favorite coffee shop. I finished reading "Malice" by Heather Walter(an excellent read, basically a lesbian retelling of Sleeping Beauty, with a sequel called "Misrule" that has a perfect ending), and, when she asked what I was reading, I told her, adding that making anything lesbian was certain to make me love it, which she totally agreed with. So I gave her the book, telling her to keep it since I read it twice, and I believe books are meant to be shared. She didn't protest at all, simply accepted it with a thank you, and honestly, I kind of loved that. In my society most people would feel compelled to refuse such a gift, but she accepted it. I don't know why I like that so much, but I do. My roommate asked if I'd left my number in it, which I completely didn't(and I wonder if she expected me to have done so and that's why she so readily accepted it), but I don't regret that. I want to keep flirting with her for a while. Though admittedly, after I left the coffee shop I felt like I was floating on air, and had this desperate emotional yearning inside of me. I wanted her with me right then, to be able to hold her, to kiss her, to laugh with her, to know her.

In other news, realizing the truth of my sexuality has really expanded my attraction to women. I stopped thinking of being with a man as an inevitability, and the relief I feel at that, at knowing that the truth is that I want to end up with a woman, is palpable. Women are all I think of now. A dam has broken inside of me, and it's a beautiful thing. I'm not writing off men entirely, there are a handful of men in my life towards whom I do feel a certain amount of attraction, but I no longer feel like I actually have to search for one. I'm focusing on women now, and I love that.

#personal post #thequeenofsastiel attempts to have irl romance #thequeenofsastiel is 99% a lesbian and loving it

[warabidakihime]

Invisible Strings Chapter 14

Characters: Uzui Tengen x Reader | Modern AU Synopsis: Sequel of Parallel Lines Content Warnings: profanity, smut, sleep paralysis, eventual violence, blo0d, slight manga spoilers (tho i strayed away from the original plot but yeh), can be a bit psychologically triggering for some so proceed cautiously.

Previous Chapter: Prologue Next Chapter: Chapter 2

a/n: FINALLY!

Hello!!! Okay, first and foremost, I apologize for the delay in updating. So much has happened in the previous three months, and writing was the last thing on my mind for two reasons: one, I don't want to write while I'm in a bad mood because I know it will affect the quality of my writing, and two, I didn't have the energy to do anything. But don't worry, everything is back to normal now. I'm back on my feet and improving steadily. Thank you very much for your understanding! I've read your comments and greatly appreciate them all.

Invisible Strings is coming to a close, but don't worry, I've got fresh stories for you! 

So keep an eye out for it!

Under the high and bright sun, a sense of unease permeated the air. Despite the pleasant weather, tension clung to the surroundings as everyone anxiously waited outside the operating room where Shinobu would perform the procedure on you.

Sitting on a bench just outside the room, Tengen's large frame appeared hunched and weighed down by worry. His palms had grown clammy, and his hand remained pressed against his temple as if trying to hold his anxiety at bay. He made a conscious effort to appear calm and collected, understanding that being on edge wouldn't be of any help, but the fear of witnessing your life slip away before his eyes loomed over him relentlessly.

Shinobu had assured them that the operation would go smoothly and wouldn't take long. However, she had also warned them of the inevitable—the fact that Muzan, the source of your suffering, was still alive and thriving, his very existence siphoning away your life force. There remained a grim possibility that he would emerge during the procedure, leading to a battle they could only hope to swiftly win.

Worst-case scenarios loomed in the back of everyone's minds. Should Muzan retain even a shred of consciousness while Shinobu worked, he might react violently and attempt to escape, potentially taking your life in an instant.

In a stroke of luck, the outcome could mean severe injuries for you, with Muzan's blood seeping into your wounds, triggering a transformation into a demon. It wasn't an ideal situation, but it provided a temporary respite since your injuries would heal rapidly and Shinobu could administer an antidote to revert you back to being human. It was a preferable outcome compared to the alternative—losing you and your friends desperately trying to revive you.

As soon as Tengen heard these possibilities, color drained from his face, and the memory of that fateful night replayed in his mind, each detail etched into his consciousness like a broken tape.

He couldn't bear the thought of losing you again.

After years of yearning, the heavens had finally granted him the chance to be reunited with you, to build a life together, and to find their happily ever after. Losing you now would shatter him beyond repair. With a tumultuous storm of emotions raging within him, Tengen failed to notice the tremor coursing through his body until Sanemi approached, offering a reassuring pat on the back.

"I feel like I'm teetering on the edge of losing my sanity," Tengen murmured, his voice barely audible as he clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white from the strain. The visible anxiety weighed heavily on him.

Sitting beside Tengen, Sanemi let out a frustrated sigh, his grip on the hilt of his sword tightening. Each member of their group carried their Nichirin swords, a tangible reminder of the impending battle they were about to face. While a sense of nostalgia lingered in the air, it quickly gave way to an overwhelming dread that permeated their very beings.

As much as Sanemi desired to console his dear friend, he too felt his own mind spiraling. However, unlike Tengen, Sanemi had learned over time to keep his composure intact, though his anxiety still simmered beneath the surface.

The image of you screaming, thrashing, and nearly slipping away from his grasp had etched itself into Sanemi's mind without his consent. To this day, he hadn't fully come to terms with the trauma of that moment, and whenever it resurfaced in his thoughts, a shiver would race down his spine, leaving him in a state of profound fear.

The revelation that you two were related only intensified the fear. You had become immeasurably precious to him, and the mere thought of losing you now would undoubtedly shatter his heart.

After enduring so much, it seemed as though the universe refused to grant you a moment's respite. At times, Sanemi found himself wanting to curse whatever higher power existed for subjecting you to such agonizing torment.

With clasped hands, Sanemi silently offered his own prayer, seeking solace and protection for your well-being. Tengen caught a glimpse of the Wind Hashira's solemn gesture, and for the first time that day, a small, genuine smile graced his lips.

Meanwhile, Tengen, in an effort to find inner calm, took a deep breath, allowing the air to fill his lungs and steady his racing thoughts. If all of you managed to make it through this ordeal unscathed, he vowed to himself that he would hasten to the nearest jewelry store, purchase the most extravagant ring, and finally ask for your hand in marriage.

So, please, y/n, return to me safely. Don't allow him to corrupt you again.

*

The air inside the operating room grew increasingly icy and tense as Shinobu focused on the delicate task of removing Muzan's cells that had taken residence on your descending thoracic aorta, a mere few inches away from your heart. Navigating this intricate part of the human body was already nerve-wracking, but the stakes were even higher now. One wrong move could seal your fate and alter the course of the entire world.

Despite not having had many interactions with you yet, Shinobu had heard nothing but praise. She learned about your remarkable generosity when she discovered the substantial donation you had made to the charity she founded several years ago—a charity dedicated to helping abandoned children. The cause resonated deeply with her, as she believed that no child should suffer the way she had. Her own tragic past, in which she lost everything to Muzan, fueled her determination to ensure that every child had a chance to live happily and safely.

Shinobu had always taken great pride in her surgical skills and her role as an ally of the healthcare sector. However, even she couldn't deny the uneasiness that gripped her this time. That's why, even in times of relative peace, Shinobu never let her guard down and meticulously prepared for a day like this. With the advancements in technology and access to vast knowledge and resources, she had the tools to devise safety measures, including more potent antidotes to transform demons back into humans and deadlier poisons to combat formidable foes like Kibutsuji Muzan.

Together with her comrades, she refused to let history repeat itself. She was determined to prevent further tragedies at all costs, even if it meant sacrificing her own life in the process.

Thus far, the procedure has progressed smoothly. There were no anomalies as Shinobu painstakingly extracted the contaminated cells, and your vital signs remained strong and stable. While she dared not celebrate prematurely, she took this as a positive sign—a glimmer of hope that everything would turn out alright.

In a way, consider it a favorable omen—a whisper of reassurance in the midst of uncertainty.

*

The hazy plain stretched out before you as you stood, fully conscious and aware of your surroundings. The wind tousled your hair gently, creating a soft, ethereal effect. Though you were alone, a sense of another presence lingered in the air. Your hands trembled, and your throat felt dry with anticipation as you awaited his arrival. There was no doubt in your mind that Muzan would make his appearance, and you steeled yourself for the inevitable confrontation.

Suddenly, the atmosphere grew colder, and with a blink of an eye, there he stood. Muzan, towering over you, radiated an air of arrogance, as if his previous defeat had never touched him. His smug expression revealed his confidence, as if he had already achieved his twisted victory.

Decades had passed, but the mere presence of Muzan sent shivers down your spine. It took every ounce of strength not to run away, but you knew that if you didn't face him now, you would never be able to forgive yourself. You had made it your life's mission to never be defeated by him again. He was nothing more than a relic from your past, a powerless being who held no sway over you. There was no reason to cower in his presence.

"You were nothing but a pawn, a mere tool in my hands. However, you surprised me by sinking your fangs into my neck, deeper than anyone ever has. Your audacity impresses me, Y/N." Muzan sneered, his voice laced with disdain. "If only I had known your zeal earlier, I could have utilized you more effectively. You could have been of greater use to me. If you had sought love and devotion, you should have opened your mouth to me. I could have given you so much more, Y/N. You could have been my queen in the world I sought to build."

"Do you even comprehend the meaning of love, Muzan? I highly doubt such purity exists within you." You scoffed, unable to contain your disdain.

For a brief moment, his expression darkened, revealing cracks in his already fragile patience. However, he quickly regained his composure, maintaining a condescending smile as he continued to gaze at you.

"It saddens me that you underestimate me, Y/N."

A chill ran down your spine as you felt him move behind you. His arm coiled around your waist, pulling you closer. Your heart raced as his breath tickled your ear, and instinctively, your body tensed.

"I know how to charm a woman, you know," he whispered.

"Get your hands off me," you demanded.

Muzan chuckled, seemingly amused by your feeble attempt to intimidate him. His grip tightened, a silent warning that he held the upper hand.

"I've changed my mind, Y/N. I won't kill you. You are too valuable to dispose of. Once I am revived, you will be my queen. I will shower you with adoration and restore your immortality. Surely, that will make your pathetic heart dance with joy, won't it?"

You couldn't help but laugh, though it was short-lived, replaced by a piercing glare. "Go to hell, Muzan."

*

The sight before them was beyond comprehension. Shock and horror enveloped everyone, leaving them frozen in disbelief. Even the most skilled Hashira couldn't react to the gruesome scene that unfolded before their eyes.

Tengen's heart pounded in his chest as he stared at your lifeless body and the gaping wound in your chest where Muzan had emerged. The sight was grotesque, sending waves of revulsion through his entire being. His mind struggled to process what had just transpired, unable to fathom the depths of the tragedy that had befallen you.

Muzan, basking in his newfound revival, reveled in the chaos he had unleashed. His ruby eyes gleamed with sadistic pleasure as he took in the shocked faces of those around him. Standing there, naked and unashamed, he relished the moment, relishing in the fear and despair that radiated from the onlookers.

As his gaze fell upon Tengen, a malicious grin twisted Muzan's face, a chilling display of his malevolence. With a voice laced with contempt, he uttered those chilling words, taunting Tengen with his sinister condolences.

The weight of those words crushed Tengen's soul, sending a wave of grief and anger surging through him. The love of his life was torn away from him in the cruelest manner imaginable, and now he stood face to face with the very monster responsible for it all.

Tengen's body trembled with rage and sorrow, and his fists clenched tightly. In that moment, a fire ignited within him, fueling his determination to avenge your tragic fate and rid the world of Muzan's vile existence.

TAGLIST: @babygirl-panda19 @hypnocountrymusicfunnyfan @exodarkwolf16 @qdreamueen @vesta-ro

#warabidakihime #kny #kimetsu no yaiba #lady tamayo #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kny x reader #uzui x y/n #kny x y/n #uzui tengen #kny zenitsu #kny nezuko #kny yushiro #tengen fluff #tengen angst #tengen smut #tengen x reader #tengen x you #tengen x y/n #FUCKING FINALLYYYYYYYYYYYYY

[skippyv20]

A man desparate for an escape route PH

Daily Telegraphhttps://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2023/04/14/prince-harry-looks-like-a-man-desperate-for-an-escape-route/history←priornext→14 Apr 2023 17:03:28 Prince Harry looks like a man desperate for an escape route – we should give him oneHe returns to Britain again next month. It’s an opportunity to show that, despite the trouble he’s caused, this is still the Duke’s countryCAMILLA TOMINEYASSOCIATE EDITOR14 April 2023 • 5:11pmCamilla TomineyPrince Harry, Duke of Sussex departs after attending the Royal Courts of JusticeMuch is being made of the Duchess of Sussex’s newfound inconspicuousness. It wasn’t long ago that there was no escaping the American former actress turned wannabe People’s Princess as she revealed her “truth” on Oprah, shed tears on Netflix, and shared pearls of wisdom on her “Archetypes” podcast. “I’m particular,” admitted the woman once dubbed “Duchess Difficult” by palace staff, insisting that setting boundaries did not make her demanding.But having been completely absent from the promotional activity around Spare – her husband’s warts-and-all autobiography – and now having decided against attending the Coronation, preferring instead to remain in California, “Duchess Dolittle” would appear to be a better moniker.Biding her time since that South Park episode, there is mounting talk of a rebrand, with Meghan reportedly planning to revive her lifestyle blog The Tig. Think Martha Stewart meets Kim Kardashian, presumably with enough paid endorsements to fund the couple’s quest to maintain “financial independence” from the Crown, and possibly to get a new kitchen.But as the mistress of reinvention works on Megxit: The Sequel, what is the Duke of Sussex to do? The John Lennon to his wife’s Yoko Ono (or, as someone once joked on Twitter, Woko Ono), things aren’t quite as straightforward for a fifth-in-line to the throne, for whom Britain appears to be the third person in his marriage.Like his relationship with the royals, Prince Harry’s connection with his country of birth is complicated. “I love my mother country and I love my family and I always will,” he writes in his book. “I just wish, in the second-darkest moment of my life, they’d both been there for me.”Yet in making a surprise return to London for his High Court case against Associated Newspapers Ltd, and in agreeing to attend the Coronation on May 6, Harry looks like a man with a yearning for Blighty. And if that’s the case – if he does want to come back, at least for a temporary period – shouldn’t he be welcomed, not only by the palace but the public, too?The truth is that Harry will always seem more at home here than in the United States (even after his imminent eviction from Frogmore House). In America, he’s just, as the South Park creators rather cruelly put it, a “dumb prince”.The Sussexes aren’t major influencers there. That job is left to people such as the less middle-aged Selena Gomez and Kylie Jenner. The Duke and Duchess are just another pair of celebrities in a country where they are two-a-penny.Any American dream that Harry might have had appears to have gone a bit stale, with the Netflix glow fading much quicker than he may have hoped. His memoir is still among those topping the charts, but that caused a stir because of what it said about the Royal family as a whole, not just him.In Britain, by contrast, Prince Harry will always be someone. He’s the son of the King, the brother of a future king and the uncle of a future king. And although he may have done his best to destroy these familial ties, they still mean something over here. That’s why Britons have been so reluctant to write him off completely. Positive memories linger of the lad who was a good laugh before he completely fell under his wife’s spell.Indeed, people seem generally pleased he has chosen to support his father on the biggest day of his life – and they will be largely delighted that Meghan won’t be making another appearance in Westminster Abbey. The King loves his “darling boy”. The family knows Harry’s presence at the service will bring Charles joy – and that it’s good for the monarchy.Deep down, I suspect many people hope that Harry, Charles and William will resolve their differences this time. Life is too short for any family to go on like this, be they populated with princes or paupers. It’s reasonable to wonder, too, if Harry can make Britain a home again. Despite his recent penchant for spewing American psychobabble and his insistence that he is loving the LA lifestyle, it does look like he is lost in the States.The cynics would say that even before he met Meghan, Harry was not fond of this green and pleasant land. In 2008, when he was serving his first tour of Afghanistan, the Duke was asked if he would ever return to the warzone. “I don’t want to sit around in Windsor,” he replied. “But I generally don’t like England that much and, you know, it’s nice to be away from all the press and the papers and all the general sh— that they write.”But now that he is sitting around in Santa Barbara – with the press continuing to write about him back home – has he really achieved peace?It always struck me that if there was one place Harry would yearn for outside of Britain, it would be Africa, not Los Angeles. As recently as 2019, he said: “I wish I could spend more time in Africa. I have this intense sense of complete relaxation and normality [there]. To not get recognised, to lose myself in the bush with what I would call the most down-to-earth people on the planet, people [dedicated to conservation] with no ulterior motives, no agendas, who would sacrifice everything for the betterment of nature … I talk to them about their jobs, about what they do.”You get the sense that Harry has always pined for a real sense of belonging: not just to be loved but to be familiar.I previously mentioned Afghanistan because this week we were once again reminded of how the military always brought out the best in the Duke. Responding to the death of Help for Heroes founder Bryn Parry, who made a life-changing difference to military veterans and their families, Prince Harry paid a heartfelt tribute, saying: “We bid farewell to a man who, alongside his wife, completely transformed the UK charity sector for the benefit of those who have served. His vision, determination and brilliance provided a lifeline for thousands of veterans, as well as their families, when they needed it most.”The saddest aspect of all this is how low Harry, a former British Army officer, has fallen in the estimation of his fellow troops, who once admired his determination and brilliance. It is now unlikely he will even wear a military uniform to the Coronation despite all he has achieved with the Invictus Games.The man who was once “our Harry” needs a purpose in life beyond attacking the media and his family. By giving him a warm welcome in three weeks’ time, Britain might help him find it

Thank you 🐼

[the-blue-fairie]

for character asks I'll say Ariel, and if you've seen Strange World, Searcher? :3

I'll discuss Ariel! :)

Favorite thing about them: Favorite things about them, you mean? It's hard to confine my thoughts to just one with a character who means this much to me. I deeply relate to her sense of restless longing in Part of Your World, that sense in your life that something is off even as the world tells you otherwise, that yearning for a change even when it seems impossible. Big trans feelings there. I love her defiance, and I love that the film sympathizes with that defiance even when she makes mistakes. I love her curiosity and adventurous spirit. I love her excitement when Eric shows her around his kingdom.

Least favorite thing about them: I have an affection for Return to the Sea, even if that is largely nostalgia, and I want to say immediately that I still like the concept, but... her and Eric's handling of the whole Morgana wants to kill Melody plotline. Again, I love the basic concept of "now Ariel is in the parental role clashing with her daughter" and I feel that concept beautifully builds off her clashing with her father in the first film and I love the way Jodi Benson can convey such a sense of conflictedness and love from her tone of voice, but the basic concept gets dragged down by Disney direct to video sequel clunkiness in terms of plotting, so it makes Ariel, Eric, Triton, and everyone feel written in a contrived way.

Three things i have in common with them:

I've had a restless longing for change in my life - not because I'm literally a mermaid yearning to join the human world, but you know where I'm going here, I'm sure. :)

I have a complicated relationship with my family because of that.

I am incredibly passionate about and defensive of the things I love.

Three things i don’t have in common with them:

I cannot sing.

My hair is not as fabulous as hers.

I have never been a mermaid.

Favorite line: Ooh, this is difficult How about a few of them?

"What would I give if I could live out of these waters? What would I pay to spend a day warm on the sand?"

In two lines, they are able to set up so much, and do so in a way that truly and compassionately conveys a sense of desperation. God, I feel those words, and the way Jodi Benson sings "if I could live" and "what would I pay" is haunting, aching, beautiful.

And immediately afterward:

"Bet'cha on land they understand Bet they don't reprimand their daughters Bright young women, sick of swimmin' Ready to stand"

People can cringe at this line all they want, but they are wrong and making jokes like "oh honey I have some news for you about the surface world" MISSES THE WHOLE POINT OF WHAT THE LYRICS ARE TRYING TO CONVEY.

I also want to say, I love the dialogue that opens Part of your World ("I just don't see things the way he does.") Both versions are great. The film has it as "If only I could make him understand," but I prefer the version you hear on audio recordings that goes, "Maybe he's right. Maybe there is something the matter with me." Because... oh, that hits a little to close to home in terms of self-hatred internalized by closeted queer folks and it hurts, but it's able to so truthfully convey the feeling.

And... "Flounder, don't be such a guppy." I just love the playful energy of her introduction and her and Flounder's rapport.

brOTP: her and Flounder, her and Urchin

OTP: her and Eric

nOTP: her and [insert any particularly incongruous character here]

Random Headcanon: With Disney characters, I sometimes weave old storybooks and games into my personal headcanons about them, so. When I was little, we had this storybook that included a bunch of different stories from Disney characters and one of them was Ariel going up to the surface and seeing the night sky for the first time. I like to think something like that happened in movie canon.

Unpopular Opinion: I don't know how unpopular it is, but considering the general public's jokes at the character's expense... my opinion is people who blame Ariel for her naivete regarding humans and do CinemaSins style "illogic" counters should point out the illogic of Triton not laying down the law to the humans about fishing, especially considering canon shows us that, with his trident, he could have done like Ursula and visited his wrath upon them, OR, if he didn't want to go full Orm, he could just make clear that there are sentient creatures within the sea. I'm just saying, you can call out the individual with way more power in this situation, as well.

And if you're going to say, well, both he and Ariel are at a disadvantage as merpeople, then maybe turn your critique to a larger discussion of why media with these hidden underwater worlds like TLM, like Aquaman, etc., all operate on this assumption that these worlds should be invisible or hidden, and what that says about filmmakers privileging the human race etc. THERE IS a compelling critique there... but people just make cheap and lazy jokes about Ariel, when Ariel is actually the one striving to engage and do something, at least.

Song i associate with them: Part of Your World and its reprise

Favorite picture of them: This picture, from the Part of Your World reprise. It's iconic for a reason. Everything building to this moment, this whole sequence, is SUBLIME. Possibly the greatest moment in Disney animation history:

This art, by winderly:

The picture on the Ariel's Story Studio CD-ROM because it holds a ton of nostalgia:

Ariel on the cover of that storybook I mentioned above. I love how she and Flounder are right in the center, I love her smile and pose:

This art from dim-draws of Halle Bailley as Ariel:

#ariel #the little mermaid #disney

[alteon77]

*IMPORTANT NOTE: I'm copying everything over from AO3 to here because this series has a sequel coming out in the Fall, and I'd rather be prepared just in case AO3 goes down again. This is an old, complete story. So if you recognize it, you're not imagining things. 😂

Chapter Publication Date: 11/01/22 | Word Count: 3,653

All the Precious and Fragile Things (so easily do they break): Chapter 6

Part I: All of This Past

*Warnings: 18+ for violence, torture scene.

In a flashback, we learn what instigated that final fight between Morpheus and May.

In the present, Thessaly is introduced, and May doesn't handle it well. Lucienne, as usual, is there to try and mitigate the damage. Or at least to talk some sense into her rather aloof (and foolish) ruler.

Chapter One here, AO3 here, Masterlist here

SEVENTEEN MONTHS PAST...

Outside of his brother's castle, Morpheus takes a moment to collect himself before going in, his hands in his coat pockets while he grips the ruby necklace he's almost completed for his beloved between his fingers. He'd started crafting this piece of jewelry as a bonding gift, one to be presented to her upon their union, despite that she has never been the sort to care for shiny objects and trinkets. This particular gem, however, is more than a mere decoration. Woven with his power, thrumming with the energy of his very essence, it will serve as a symbol of her rule and office, a symbol of her importance to both him and their realm. She will be his queen, and this gift from him is intended to mark her as such. Though now he can do naught but to treat it as a talisman of sorts, a reminder of her and their future together that he feels he needs in the face of his reservations on attending this rather cumbersome meeting. 

He doesn't want to be here, not really. He's only been away from May and the peace of his realm, the peace of her love, for mere minutes, and he's already desperately yearning to go back to her side, but Destiny had summoned all of the siblings for this family dinner. Morpheus, as Dream of the Endless, has many arduous tasks and duties that he must tend to, these forced family affairs being his most tedious of them all he thinks at times. Determinedly and with great difficulty, he pushes all of those tender sentiments for his love, for his May, aside and carefully hides them beneath the usual mask of cold impassivity that he dons before his siblings. Steadying his emotions one final time, he steps forward to enter his brother’s keep.

When Destiny had called on him earlier that day, he had resolved immediately not to mention his betrothal with May, wholly unwilling to expose both her and their happy news to Desire, his most poisonous viper of a sibling. He had thought at the time that this silence would be easily accomplished, that his tendency to not speak at these gatherings would make his reticence seem more natural than suspicious. He hasn't been in the habit of sharing anything personal with his family for eons. As he had told May when he’d explained the dynamics of the Endless to her, they assuredly don’t all get along, their relationships mostly ranging as they do from apathetically strained to viciously antagonistic. None of which lend to much in the way of open and honest communication. 

Within moments of arriving, however, he realizes with an odd sense of apprehension that any kind of discretion on the matter of his upcoming union might well be a lost cause. 

"Congratulations Dream!" Death greets him, cheerful while she envelopes him in a hug, the warmth of her joy tugging his lips up into an unbidden smile. 

He's cautiously content for a moment before he comes back to himself, remembering all the reasons he had not wanted to speak of this here and now.

"I thank you, my sister," he murmurs against her hair anyway as he stiltedly returns the embrace, tightening his hold for a minute before he takes his arms from around her. Her kind, exuberant grin is one of surprise, which he supposes is fair. He's rarely so accepting of physical touch, even from the only member of his family that he readily gets along with. 

His love for May, though, has done something to him, something transformative. He feels made anew in the light of her, in the wonder of their care for one another. For the first time in ages, he feels the tentative blooming of hope for his own life outside of his function. Just the thought of her makes him feel softer somehow, more gracious, as if he is suddenly more dream than nightmare.

"What's this, then?" Desire asks, their gold eyes glowing in something that Morpheus doesn't like, and he finds that in an instant his shadows instinctively stretch back over him, taut in anticipation, his newfound optimism receding in their wake. He sits down at the table, rigidly settling into his usual place there regardless of the low hum of violence already vibrating through him. As surely as he ignores the lavish spread of food before him, he advises himself that he must also ignore this particularly loathsome sibling of his.  

"Dream's in love," Delirium chimes in. She's brought butterflies with her, manifested creations from her own realm, and they flutter aimlessly around her where she's sitting on the floor beside the table. She fiddles with one of them, bright purple and shimmering, before it lands atop her head and transforms into a red streak of her hair. "All that bloody bloody light. I see why you like her. She's sooooooo warm."

"In love?" Desire laughs, and the sound of it to anyone outside this room would be delightful in its promise of what's to come. Morpheus only tenses at the noise, thinking it reminds him of nothing so much as nails ceaselessly clawing down a chalkboard. "I don't see what's so fascinating about that. Aren't you always in love?"

Morpheus glares at them. "As it's such a common occurrence, you should not overly concern yourself with it this time, sibling." He glances around the room, both to distract himself and to divert Desire far away from this topic. "Where is Despair?" he asks, though he doesn't think he truly cares. He's not sorry to see that she's apparently missing from this gathering.

"Dream is to bind," Delirium says suddenly and twirls, her butterflies taking flight and haphazardly swirling around her. "The light too. Twined together. He's like a happy, dry cat. Delight would see."

"Bind?" Desire questions, their manner flirtatious. Dream is not fooled in the slightest. "You're betrothed? Why brother, who's the lucky lady? It is a lady, right?"

He must ignore them, he reminds himself. He refuses to speak of May in Desire's presence at the very least, refuses to part with any information that this sibling could use against her. Morpheus tightens his jaw in determination and turns to Death, intent on asking after her and her work.

"Dream of the Endless will bond with the entity who calls herself May Westin," Destiny interjects in his typically unhelpful way, and Morpheus could groan in frustration (if he were given to bouts of such behavior) at his ill-timed mention of her name here of all places. Of course his attempts to keep from exposing his beloved to the rest of the Endless would be for naught. The universe is rarely so kind as to just make things easy for him, and Destiny's meddling is proof positive of that.

Morpheus thinks he should go now, should bid his family farewell and retreat, but he is far too stubborn to demonstrate such cowardice. Instead, his muscles stiffen, coiling like he is preparing for a physical blow while he slides that well-worn impassivity back on his face.

“Westin? May, ” Desire muses, two fingers on their chin as they pretend to consider. “Weeeeeestin.”

“Desire,” Morpheus growls, and his irritating sibling grins at him. Their grin is pointed, nothing more than a threatening baring of their teeth, and he feels his stomach twist in something reminiscent of dread.

“I have heard of someone who calls themselves by that moniker. If we’re thinking of the same entity, that is.”

Desire is far too gleeful, far too pleased, and Morpheus tells himself to get up and leave, to not listen to them, to plug his ears, something. Anything but to hear their manipulation. Their poison is nothing he should pay heed to, nothing he should allow to darken the curious lightness he feels with May.

“I had a fellow not far back, a Roderick Burrrrr- something. He was desirous to seek out a book that she had crafted the spells for. Some grimoire with an incantation in it to capture an Endless…." Desire smirks as they tell him this. "Though why any future member of our family would create such a thing is beyond me.”

Dream has gone rigid, his hands balled up into fists at his side. A feral fury rises in his awareness, struggling to get free of his control, and yet no matter his rage, he's reeling with what he's just been told. She can't have. Not May. “Enough,” he bites out, distantly aware of his sister Death putting a gentle hand on his arm to try and calm him. “You would dare?”

Desire laughs, as if Dream's anger is particularly amusing, which he knows all too well is likely the case for them. “Brother, I only relay the truth to you, I swear. I thought you knew seeing that the two of you are apparently betrothed to be bonded. ” As if suddenly realizing the enormity of what they've revealed, his sibling puts a hand over their mouth in blatantly false shock. "Oh, no, brother. That wasn't the same spell used to bind you, was it?"

Morpheus stands, and it's only Death who holds him back from jumping at his sibling across the table and ending them. There have been many such occasions in their eons of bickering where he has wanted to visit violence on this particular family member, but never one quite as profoundly tempting as this moment is proving to be. What Desire has said must be a lie, must be something deviously convoluted to suit their purpose. His beloved is kind, good in a way that cannot be feigned. May would never contribute to something so dark as the grimoire, never lend her time to creating that which she knew would hurt others, that which she knew would eventually hurt him.

Would she?

He doesn't want to even consider it, but there are so many things in her past that she is secretive about, things that she will not speak of even in the safety he offers her, and he's alarmed at the wariness that creeps over him as he thinks more on the possibility. His fists clench tightly at his sides again, and he can feel his eyes start to fade into that nightmare black that his temper brings on. 

"Dream, don't," Death orders him, frowning at his anger before she turns her displeasure to Desire. "Leave him be, Desire. He's happy. Let's all be happy for him, yeah?"

"Absolutely, sister. Of course I'm happy for him. I only wonder why he would bond with a female who was responsible for decades of his imprisonment? Maybe I'm also a little worried for him. That sort of relationship just doesn't seem…. healthy." The faux concern in their expression is the final straw, infuriating Morpheus beyond his breaking point as he tips into a wrathful rage.

His shadows swell, and he lunges then, a snarl on his face when he gets his hands around Desire's throat to squeeze, intent on finally murdering them. He hates them for their many misdeeds in the past, hates them for their pettiness, but he hates them most of all for doing this, for infecting the wondrous beauty of his hope with their malevolence. It takes much of Death's strength to pull him back from the suicidal act of throttling Desire, to stop him from bringing the Kindly Ones down on him for this attempt at fratricide, and all while his loathsome sibling laughs gleefully at their own triumph.

And triumph it is.

The destructive seed has been planted, the damage ready to grow from the doubt that Desire has given to him this day. They are not lying, despite their many games. The truth, Morpheus knows, is often far sharper of a blade than a lie, and his sibling would pierce him with nothing but their most lethal dagger if presented the chance. 

Breathing heavily, a wrathful storm building under his skin, he excuses himself hastily before shifting from his brother's realm.

PRESENT DAY...

In the low light of May's room, Morpheus sits in a plush chair and endeavors to wrangle his little girl to settle against his chest.

No longer content to stay sweetly cradled in his arms, she attempts to stand by putting weight on her feet where they rest on his lap. Of course, she is still far too young to master such a skill, but she nonetheless tries like this almost every time he holds her now, and he has grown used to having to brace her with his hands while she does so. Though, it's not as if he truly has much of a choice in the matter, really, given that she seems determined to carry on in her efforts without a single thought for her safety, without a single thought for what might happen were she to fall. And as much as this recklessness worries him, he is glad of her fearlessness, glad to see her so unafraid of what might happen that she doesn't even consider it when she sets her mind to something. He is painfully aware, as all parents are, that when she is grown she will learn to be frightened, will learn that there are things that can hurt her. And while he would not hesitate to protect her with his very life, he knows that gaining such knowledge is simply an unfortunate aspect of maturing, one that he is loathe to ever allow her to experience. 

But for now, she is his baby, safe and unburdened by such alarming truths, and so he focuses on enjoying her innocent childishness in the moment. Usually when she has tired herself out from the exhausting task of trying to stand, she collapses on him in weariness and he speaks to her in low, quiet tones, rubbing her back while he soothes her into sleep.

He gathers very quickly that this will not be the case tonight.

Aurora is much too energetic for as late as it is, so he knows she will be dramatically more difficult to ease into drowsiness. She grabs a hank of his raven hair in her perfect little hands, pulling it into her mouth and gumming at it from where she leans her face closer to his, near enough so that her own mess of wild, midnight black curls tickle his nose. 

Unbothered, Dream of the Endless, Ruler of the Nightmare Realms, continues on patiently with his story.

She holds her head up very well on her own, his little girl, and babbles near constantly at him during these visits. It occurs to him that she is growing far too quickly for his liking, maturing at a rapid pace that he rather wishes he could slow down. As that is not possible, he wishes instead that he could devote every last second of his time to her care, basking in her presence for as long as she would tolerate such a thing, but that will never be either. He has duties to attend, and... and there is the issue of May, the issue of everything gone wrong between them, the issue of their quiet avoidance of one another.

Sometimes, he thinks of how different things might be as her father if he didn't feel compelled to only sneak in to see her, if he weren't so lost as to how to improve things with May that he might broach the subject with her of allowing him to come whenever he would like. He tries to never let himself think of how different things might be if May had not been banished and they could be happy together, a loving family without all these unfamiliar, thorny pathways to navigate. And there are some thoughts, the most mournful of them, that he absolutely forbids himself to wistfully dwell on, beautifully sad things such as how he should have liked to feel his babe when she kicked in May's belly and how he might have spoken to Aurora while she had formed, nestled safely in his once betrothed's womb. He refuses to imagine how wonderful it would have been to hear his starshine's first cry when she finally greeted the world, refuses to imagine himself giving his love and strength and support to the mother of his child while she delivered their daughter. 

He tries to never think of it, but sometimes the fantasy of it plays in his mind unbidden, and he's left bitter and sorrowful at what might have been, left grieving a possibility that can never be. 

Giving an adorable growl, his starshine leans over on to his cheek with an open mouth and gums at the high bone of it, getting his face noticeably wet as she does so. Once, such a thing might have bothered him, might have incited his temper, but now he can do nothing other but to chuckle softly at her infantile antics. 

"I assume you've eaten, little one. You need not attempt to consume me." Aurora stills at what he's said, almost as if she's considering it with an uncommon seriousness. And then mere seconds later a brilliant smile lights up her face while she giggles at him, her blue eyes sparkling like she's understood the joke and judged it hilarious before she reaches out to tug at the neck of his coat and pull that into her mouth as well.

"Starshine," he reprimands ever so lightly, fond exasperation on his features as she sucks on the fabric. She squirms back against his chest with a grunt, curling into him as she finally, finally lets out the sleepy yawn that's nearly an hour overdue. It is to his great relief that she begins to settle at last, to calm enough to possibly rest. However, she can't seem to resist smacking him in the chin once more while she does this, utterly startling him with her unexpected assault. Even with such an attack, albeit an adorable one, he can do naught but smile tenderly at her while he rocks her gently, soothing her into peaceful slumber. It does not take long for her to start dozing, and when she is firmly asleep he holds her for a bit longer still, taking his stolen opportunity to relish in the warm weight of her as he thinks over the past few weeks. 

Lucienne, though he hates to concede it, had been right about bringing Viego to the Dreaming for a visit. He's not oblivious to the way that the subjects of his realm have been trying to help May, trying to coax her into decent health, despite how obtuse Matthew might think him on the matter. And still, regardless of all their cosseting, he has watched her weaken and known in the pit of his belly that she was fading from them all in spite of their attempts. He's seen her grow paler, seen her so fragile that he cannot understand how she will ever survive without his own power sustaining her.

There are days that he thinks it is the only reason she still breathes.

It was not surprising, then, that he hadn't wanted to let them leave, hadn't wanted either of them out of his sight. In truth, he still does not. The pang of fear that had grabbed hold of him as he'd thought of May and Aurora trapped in another binding circle, as he'd thought of being too late to get to them should they be taken, had been nothing less than staggering. His family, and they are both family now whether May wishes to accept such a label or not, is worth every universe in existence to him. He does not want to imagine what sort of terrible violence he might summon to keep them safe, what lengths he would go to to see them alive and well. Letting them go, even for a matter of hours, had been near panic inducing, but he had felt he had no real choice.

Though he is loath to admit to it, he is willing to try anything that May might improve. Anything.

It is not love, this desperation of his. How could it be love between them? She'd admitted to her feelings concerning him when she spoke with her brother, admitted that she forgave him for not bonding with her but hated him for banishing her. Though the inferno of Morpheus' own anger towards her has cooled, he's sure he doesn't love her either, but he does owe her. He owes her more than he believes he can ever repay. She is…. broken now, but he recalls when he'd emerged from Roderick Burgess' cage, after she'd saved him, and she'd helped heal him then when he too was broken, even before they knew love between them. She'd helped rebuild his realm, helped give him hope again, helped make him comfortable with touch anew. No matter her betrayal, she had indeed given him that assistance, had offered her time and power freely for him and his need.

Most importantly, she'd given him the beautiful miracle in his arms, his precious starshine, the biggest debt he knows he can never repay, not with anything in this realm or that is in his power to give. And so he swears to himself that he will do all that he can for her, which is to protect her, to keep her safe, to try everything he is capable of to see her whole and hale again, even if that means sustaining her with his power for the rest of her life. 

He carefully tries not to remember those decades ago, before they'd known each other's all-consuming love, when he'd held her in his arms and promised her protection, when he'd asked for her trust and she'd given it so willingly. 

She doesn't trust him now, maybe never will again. Viego had not spoken a lie when he'd said that she was terrified of him. Morpheus had known that to some extent, but he hadn't realized just how deep it went, how evident her fear was to everyone else. He reflects on how much he must have hurt her that she believes such terrible things of him. Sometimes, when he's feeling particularly morose, he wonders if she is right to expect the worst where he's concerned. 

He keeps getting pulled back to her conversation with her brother during their trip to the Waking. Morpheus had listened through Matthew as the siblings had dined outside that eatery together, blatantly eavesdropping to try and get a better understanding of what May was struggling with. It was the most he had heard her speak in so long, since before he'd discovered her betrayal at least, and what she had said had been nearly... devastating to him. He hadn't realized why she was having such trouble taking sustenance, had thought that maybe he had healed her incorrectly, and when he heard her tearfully admit to the ramifications that the starvation from her imprisonment had caused, he had wished for one selfish minute that he had just healed her incorrectly. That, something as simple as shoddy mending, he could fix. Trauma…. Trauma wasn't anything that his power could undo. 

And it is assuredly trauma. Lucienne had not been wrong concerning that either, though Morpheus wonders if it is all to do with her ordeal at Alexander Burgess' hands. When they were kids, she had said while she talked with her brother, and Morpheus had instantly been on alert. He's thought for a long time that something terrible must have happened to May and Viego as children, that they'd went through something horrific together as youths. What that horrific something is, though, he does not know, and it is no longer his place to ask. He'd given up the right to any of her secrets when he gave her up, and he's all too aware of it. It doesn't stay his curiosity, however, especially since he believes it might be affecting her even now, that it might be making what she'd endured in the binding circle somehow worse. But he won't question her on it, as doing so is no longer his place in the aftermath of their separation. Regardless of how much information he is or is not privy to, he simply resigns himself to continue with his own determined attempts to see her mended.

He sighs in an odd weariness, knowing as he does that the peace of his time with Aurora will end soon. He has work that he must finish this night, duties of his function that must be seen to. Tomorrow Thessaly will arrive, the witch that Joanna Constantine had located who she'd sworn might be able to help him in his search for that cursed grimoire. It will be the second time Thessaly has visited this realm, the first having been during May's banishment when he merely sought the acquisition of that cursed tome for his own safety. And while the book and its spells remain a threat to him, knowing that it is still in the waking world when it could be used against his daughter strikes a somehow worse terror in his heart. He had resolved months ago that he would find it and burn it to ashes, that he would make certain his little one was protected from another binding circle for the rest of her life.

He stands carefully, trying to stay as quiet as he can  since both May and Aurora are resting, while he moves his daughter into her crib. He brushes a hand over her silken hair, smoothing it back from her face as he takes a moment to study the perfection of her, smiling at the sight of her tiny pursed mouth and her rosy cherubic cheeks. His love for his daughter, as always, tightens its already taut hold on his heart.

"Goodnight, my starshine," he murmurs before he leaves. "Sleep well."

After the door clicks near silently behind him, May finally dozes off from where she'd been only half asleep, and when she dreams at last, it is of him. It's a common enough occurrence that she's been dealing with since her nightmares had ceased, something she's grown bitterly used to. Most nights she sees snatches of memories of them from the beginning of their relationship when they had been happy and in love, and the dreams are so vivid and beautiful that she often wakes with tears on her cheeks, often greets the morning sunlight of the Dreaming in grief for what she had and what she had lost. Where Morpheus is concerned, May has too many conflicting emotions, more than she thinks she will ever be able to successfully untangle. She had loved him (at first when they’d sworn themselves to one another), and then she was frightened of him (when she had lost him and he’d nearly killed her), and then she yearned for him (his child growing in her belly and she’d thought of course he would come for her), and then she hated him (because he hadn’t, because his own stubbornness had left her practically dead and powerless, causing her to make sacrifices that hollowed out the very core of her), and now she just…. 

Now she just does all of those things at once. 

She's crying when next she lurches in consciousness, her dream still fresh in her mind. It had been one of sweet remembrance, so much love in it that her heart hurts in its aftermath, aching with a distinctly physical pain as she begins her morning rituals. She feeds, changes, and dresses her daughter, all the while trying to ignore the knot in her stomach and the tightness in her chest that is nothing more than her sense of mourning, of grief.

When they get to the library, Aurora is as happy as ever to see Lucienne, babbling and laughing as the librarian hefts her up into her arms. Her little girl stretches tiny hands out, grabbing for Lucienne's glasses as her friend chuckles at the child's antics. 

"Can I help?" May asks softly while her daughter yanks on the collar of Lucienne's shirt to pull it into her mouth and chew on it, leaving a wet spot blooming on the fabric.

"I have new arrivals you could sort through," Lucienne offers with a careful smile. "How are you today?"

"I'm fine." She's wearing her mask of brittle calm that she thinks, that she hopes, might fool her friend. "Are the new arrivals in their usual place?"

Lucienne frowns. Not fooled, then, May surmises nervously. She really doesn't want them all to worry about her so much. It's as if Lucienne can hear her thoughts, though, as if she knows everything May is incapable of speaking aloud, because she doesn't say anything else. Instead, she simply nods, a sad resignation shining out from her rich ebony eyes while she follows May to where the new books are, carrying Aurora in her arms as she does.

And for a few hours, May is granted the bliss of mindlessness, of being able to ignore her many emotions as she loses herself in caring for Aurora and handling the tasks that her friend puts to her.

A person named Thessaly apparently shows up that morning while May is still in the library with Lucienne, and she knows by Matthew's hushed tones three rows over that this is an unwelcome thing. May hovers near Aurora's small crib while she sleeps, a few books in her hands that need sorting, and she can't help but to freeze as their conversation reaches her, can't help but to go still as their words filter through to her hearing.

"The witch is here. She turned up at the gates," Matthew starts.

"Wonderful," Lucienne responds, the bite of sarcasm in her voice clear to any listening. "What does he think he's doing?"

"She's supposed to be helping him with the book, but everyone says-"

"I'm aware of what the gossips are saying, Matthew," Lucienne cuts in flatly, her tone sharp in that way it gets when she's angry about something.

"Oh, man. Is May gonna find out? I don't want her to… to get hurt any more," Matthew croaks out sympathetically, and alarm rises up in May so quickly that she feels as if she might retch. Hurt? Why would she be hurt? She can't... She doesn't... think she's strong enough to withstand any more pain at the moment, either physical or mental.

"There's nothing to be done. You know how he is."

He? Morpheus then. Lucienne must be talking about Morpheus, and that makes May go stiff with apprehension. If Morpheus wants to hurt her, if he wants to withdraw his protection of her, there's nothing she or anyone else can do about it. He's always been more powerful than she has but especially now, especially while she lacks her magic.

"Maybe one of us should talk to him?" the raven suggests, sounding hopeful even as May turns over the idea in her mind of grabbing her daughter up and running with her. Where would she go, though? How would she leave this place without Morpheus or Viego to shift her from it? Not for the first time, she curses her lack of magic, curses her own binding of it even though rationally she knows she'd had no other choice.

Lucienne snorts derisively. "Good luck with that undertaking, Matthew. You and I both know he won't listen."

"Maybe we should just try and keep them away from each other?" 

A few moments of silence pass before Lucienne finally answers, her tone troubled. "We will try."

Despite her fear that she will be tossed out of the realm, it becomes abundantly clear what's going on not an hour later when Morpheus introduces May to the witch as Matthew had called her. Thessaly is pretty enough really, May observes detachedly as she sizes the woman up, lingering overlong on her cat-like features and emerald green eyes. The woman has her arm entwined with his, and she's leaning rather intimately against the Endless like they're ready to walk to his room for an afternoon tryst. 

This is what her friends had been trying to protect her from. This is the hurt they'd been trying to avoid. Not for the first time, May wishes she hadn't even gotten out of bed that morning, that she hadn't even survived birthing Aurora, because this... this feels like her belly has been ran through with a jagged edged knife, like her insides are so knotted up with heartbreak that no power in any world could untangle them.

"Oh, the baby's beautiful," the witch- Thessaly- croons, and it's only Lucienne stepping in front of Aurora that prevents the woman from touching the girl. For some reason, it's irrationally nice to think that Lucienne dislikes this stranger too, that she might disapprove of this special friend of Morpheus', and it takes a great feat of mental strength for May to finally find her voice again in the midst of her own shock.

"Thank you," she returns at last, forcing herself steady as she can.

Morpheus seems surprised to hear her speak. "It is good to see you, May Westin." The formal tone he's using towards her cuts deeper than she thought possible with such a simple greeting, the fact that he'd used one of her many false surnames, Westin, somehow making it worse.

"Of course, Lord Morpheus." 

Perplexed, he studies her, his forehead creasing. "It is only Morpheus, May. As you are well aware."

"Then it's only May, Morpheus. As you are well aware also."

He frowns, seemingly unsure as to how exactly he's offended her, but May can't help it. Not really. The appearance of the other woman has set her teeth on edge. She tells herself that she doesn't like her song, that the sharp, harsh notes in its chords are crowded too close together, breaking off in places, the discordance jarring to her. This woman has done terrible things, and her melody, if one could call it that, gives it away. 

But…. she can't completely lie to herself and pretend that her dislike of the woman doesn't also have something to do with her flirtatious behavior towards Morpheus, the male who until not long ago at all had been May's. It hurts to see them so close together, very obviously involved in some manner. It hurts to know that he's moved on so quickly while she is so clearly still struggling from the loss of him and what they'd had.

Of the whirlwind of feelings she always has now where he’s concerned, hatred and pain peak above the rest for the moment.

Lucienne, the clever, wonderful friend she is, politely excuses the both of them as she gathers up Aurora to take her and May to the kitchens (and away from the library) so that they can visit with Minnie, leaving Thessaly behind to assist Lord Morpheus in his task, which May is sure is nothing more than a considerate lie on Lucienne's part. She doesn't elaborate what that task is to May, and May doesn't ask. She tells herself that she doesn't care, that whatever they're doing is nothing to her, but... she knows better. Curiously, her chest hurts as if her heart is breaking further, and that should surprise her. 

Honestly, she didn't know there was any part of it left for Morpheus to shatter. 

When they get to the kitchen, the girls working in there all stop their hushed whispering, and May knows that they'd been gossiping, most likely about the visitor. It's only Minnie that comes forward to greet her, making an obvious face over her wan appearance before she ushers her to a seat at the large island counter in the middle of the room. 

She tsks at her. "Lamb, you look a ghost. Did you eat this mornin'?" May's smile is faint but polite. They are good to her, and no matter what she's going through, she'll return that. She loves them all so much. 

"Of course."

Minnie studies her like a mother might study an errant, intractable child while lies spill from their lips. "Hmmm."

Aurora shrieks for attention, a relief, since May knows that her daughter has just saved her from a lecture or a force-feeding, which mostly consists of Minnie putting all manner of food before May and guilt-tripping her into picking at it.

"You've brought the wee one," Minnie exclaims excitedly, and Aurora makes little noises in response to her. The woman grabs her from Lucienne and cuddles her against her own ample bosom, speaking to May's daughter in her sweetest tone. It warms her heart, that, listening to Minnie tell the girl about the issues with the carrots from the garden in an enthusiastic baby voice. She smiles and lets the comfort of it wash over her.

This. This is what she wants for her child, what she sometimes dared to dream of for her while she was trapped in that circle. Unlike May herself, Aurora will grow up with love and peace and people who care for her. She wants her daughter to never know the horrors she had faced as a child, wants her to never know what it means to feel the darkness stain her very soul and to know it won't come off no matter how much good one tries to do. She wants her little love to never know the harsh bite of suffering or hunger or pain. 

"Would you like somethin' to nibble on, dear?" Minnie asks, her usual affection clear in her tone as she tries to cajole May to eat, but May only shakes her head. 

"No, thank you," she declines, before moving sluggishly to a large window in the kitchen, one facing out to the courtyard. With a start, she realizes that they’re both there walking in the gardens, Morpheus and Thessaly, the sight of them turning her stomach. Morpheus stops their stroll, pointing out the delicate dream orchids to the woman, drawing attention to the beautiful blossoms that May and Mervyn had planted over a decade ago. 

The flowers themselves had been a pain. They'd struggled for nearly a year to keep the damned things from dying, their fragility making it difficult for them to take root. They'd had to take shifts day and night for constant watering (despite a disgruntled Morpheus pouting at her like an angry cat when he'd made the decision to sit outside with her on her nights instead of being away from her), and she'd kept the cold away from them with her magic for months until at last Mervyn had declared them firmly rooted and sturdy enough to keep. And both he and May had shared a celebratory cigar afterwards that she hadn't really liked the taste of, but she'd smoked anyway, enjoying the custodian's boisterous company, enjoying the change of his usual heavy, slow song to a rare one of jaunty, quick-paced happiness.

Something in her snaps (loud enough that she thinks she can hear a crack inside of herself) to see Thessaly reach down and pluck a deep lavender orchid to place over her ear, to adorn her hair. 

The dream orchids are strictly off limits. They have been since they'd cultivated and nurtured them and toiled so long on their planting. Even the garden fairies avoid them. Morpheus knows this, had been charmed by them at the time so long ago, but currently he doesn't even seem to care when the witch ravages one of them, cutting its long life short to decorate her hair, as if the tiny sentient beings are no more than a bauble or jewel that she can callously murder for her own beautification. May can feel the other orchids titter in shock before a few of them scream, shrieking in terror and despair. In a panic, almost dazed by it, she watches the Endless and his new paramour as they tread the garden path, unsure of what she's supposed to do until finally coming to her senses. She steels herself to intervene if Thessaly dares reach for another one, but she quickly discovers that she needn't have bothered because Morpheus and his new mistress soon resume their walk.

When the two of them have continued on, casually strolling away from where they've inflicted so much damage, so much destruction, May wastes no time in marching out to where the remaining ones are crying, awash in their grief. With a gentle hand, she reaches out to stroke the others, unsurprised when they flinch away as if they're scared of hands now, even the ones that had lovingly tended them for so long. 

"Shhhh, sweetlings," she murmurs, sinking to her knees before them, her magic sense rising up inside of her, the only part of her power that wasn't dulled by the binding spell she'd performed on herself. Their anguish curdles in her belly, and she fights the urge to throw up the few bites of food she'd managed to choke down that morning.

The broken stem flutters in the breeze, nectar leaking out of the jagged end of it like blood. 

She sobs then. She's too far gone to care that anyone sees, to care what anyone might think as she breaks down amongst the pitiful song her lovely flowers are trilling out. They’re broken now too. Forever. Irreparably. One more loss in a sea of loss that she's drowning in. It's as if that last drop of misery is all she needs for the sorrow to overflow inside of her. 

"May?" He's behind her. Morpheus. "Where is Aurora? Why are you-"

She cuts a glare at him, suddenly indescribably angry. He's taken aback at the vehemence he can surely see in her eyes. She stands, resentment giving her strength she doesn't usually have anymore.

"Fix it," she orders, her voice harsh with her fury. He’s shattered so much in his carelessness, and she irrationally wants him to put it back together. 

"Fix what?" he bites out, seemingly on edge. "What is the meaning of this?"

"The orchids." Her vision blurs for a moment, and when she reaches a confused hand up to her face, she feels tears there, still spilling over her cheeks. When had she started crying again? "They're….. screaming. She… She murdered one of them. Right in front of the others, and now…. now they’re…. they’re broken." 

Confusedly, he glances at the flowers. They're shivering in their hysteria.

"You gave them sentience?" he breathes in sudden horrified understanding. 

"Fix it," she repeats, the sorrow in her melting into something like desperation. "Please." She's not too proud to beg him, not if it will stop their hurt, not if it will stop the hurt, not if it will all stop hurting. She just needs it all to stop. "Please. It's…. It's terrible."

"I… cannot. You gave them life, not I," he tells her earnestly, and May turns away, unable to bear looking at him any longer, hopelessness threatening to overwhelm her further while she sinks to her knees anew, trying to settle the others, trying to soothe them as best she can without her magic. It's all she can do now, this meager bit of comfort. Many times since she'd been required to lock her power away had May felt the loss of it, but this is so acute that she wants to scream in frustration. She's useless now. The sound of them crying is heart wrenching, and May gazes over them forlornly, more tears splashing down her face at the utter woe of her creations' ruin. 

Beside her, he crouches down on his haunches.

"May…" His voice is soft, as if he’s speaking to a wild animal that needs calming, but she doesn't care. She hates him now, she thinks. Hates him still. Hates him again. "Allow me to take you inside."

"Go away," she commands firmly in response, despite that she feels as if she’s trembling apart on the inside. She doesn’t want to be alone like this, doesn’t ever want to be alone again, but she’s so very angry at him. For a moment, she sees that terrible night they had fought, a flash of his power aimed at her so long ago and fading to sand at the shield of her magic. What was she doing in his realm now? He'd almost killed her, hadn't he? Shouldn’t she get far away? Why is she still here? Why... is she... in the Dreaming with him? Unless... Had she ever left? Had she ever came back at all? 

The gold paint of that damned binding circle flashes through her mind. The fear and the pain almost choking in their intensity. What if she's not here, but instead... instead there? Could she still be trapped in that hopeless hell? Her child dead? Sweet Aurora nothing more than a cold corpse on the floor? Her cruel death meant as another inflicted brutality to make May cooperate? 

May squeezes her eyes shut, grounding herself, her fingernails digging into her palm as she makes a fist. It stings, but the pain is welcome now because it... it reminds her that this is real. 

"May," Morpheus calls yet again, and she can't bear the gentleness of his tone, not when she's so frightened and furious and... out of sorts.

"I'll make my own way inside."

"I am... sorry for your loss," he offers, and he seems sincere enough for all that she doesn't care. 

"It's not my loss. It's theirs. They're the ones screaming in agony."

"I cannot hear it." He holds out his hand, moonlight pale and strong. She had once thought that they were beautiful, his hands, had once admired and stroked his long pianist fingers when she’d had the right to marvel at them. He’s offering something now, but she can’t think what it is, can't fathom what he could be suggesting to her. "But I should like to." 

Oh, right. He wants to hear their cries. Flinty-eyed, she glances down at his proffered hand. Should she do it? Will he even give a damn? She bites her tongue on asking him what the point is, on how a cruel bastard like him could ever be bothered about something so insignificant as her orchids when he'd been so callous with her heart. But then she changes her mind, shoving her own palm roughly in his. Even if he doesn’t care, she wants him to see the mess he’s made, wants him to understand what his carelessness has cost someone that isn’t him, what it always seems to cost someone who isn't him. Despite that May never did this while they were in love, it's easy enough to expand her magic sense to him so that he can hear what she does. She watches him while he starts at their shrieks, looking at them as if he's seeing them for the first time. Some of the newer blooms, alarmed at the sorrow from their elders, whimper and shake like small children afraid. May takes her free hand and reaches out anew, willing them to understand that she won't hurt them, that she won't let anyone hurt them again for as long as she breathes. Morpheus can clearly see them jerk away from her, can hear the sobs and the wailing and the keening cries that they make. These flowers have only known peace and gentle care and complete safety, and one careless action has ripped all of that away from them. They will never have it back, no matter what anyone does. He pulls his hand away at last, and May lets it go without struggle. Their eyes meet, his sparkling blue with tears that overflow a little, making a few shining trails on his cheeks. 

"I am sorry," he rasps out. 

"Sorry doesn't make it better," she tells him as she sluggishly gets to her feet on shaking legs, tears still falling over her face while she does. Her head hurts, and she doesn't quite feel right. She's a little disoriented, but Aurora has started fussing in the kitchen, and May must go to her. "Next time, tell your mistress to stay away from my orchids." 

His forehead creases in what might be confusion, though she isn’t sure. "My mistress?"

He calls out for her as she leaves him behind, but May doesn't answer, too hollowed out by anger and melancholy and something unspeakable to even think about interacting with him any longer. When she gets to Aurora, May gathers her up, incredibly relieved to have her daughter’s warm weight in her arms. Holding her tight, she ducks into one of the rarely used small pantries adjacent to the kitchen, sitting on the floor in there with her back against the wall as she soaks in the quiet and tries to just… re-center herself, to settle the fuck down.

She’s not surprised when Matthew swoops in not five minutes later, though, yapping at her about his mom’s garden when he was a kid. She knows that Morpheus has likely sent him in to keep an eye on her, but as she calms a small fraction at a time, she can’t be angry at the raven for that. He really has no choice but to obey the Dream King. After an hour or so of his chatter, she eventually finds herself stretching out a hand to stroke his head absentmindedly. 

“Thank you, Matthew,” she offers faintly. 

He seems startled. “Sure, May. Are you …. Are you feelin’ all right?”

Unbidden, her eyes water again and she attempts to hold back the flow of yet more tears. 

“No! No…. I’m sorry! Please don’t cry. I didn’t mean-.”

“It’s... nothing to do with you. I... I promise.” 

“Okay,” the raven says just before Aurora kicks a tiny foot at him. “Ow…. May, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but I’m pretty sure your kid is trying to kill me.”

May snorts out a watery laugh, surprising even herself. It doesn't feel hollow when she does this but instead like a comfortable heat on a freezing day, like stepping into the sunshine when one is chilled. ”You waved the wing in front of her face yesterday morning, Matthew. You don’t have anyone to blame for your new bald patch but yourself.”

“I didn’t think she’d yank some of my feathers out. It hurt!” Matthew exclaims in mock protest, and May knows that he's just trying to divert her, to cheer her up in whatever way he can, and she loves him for it.

“She might end up being a terror like her father,” May predicts wryly, looking down at her whole tiny world while she sleeps, letting her gaze rove over the plump cheeks of Aurora's face and her long lashes, focusing on the pout of her rosebud mouth as she purses it in slumber, and Matthew caws out an easy chuckle as May does this. Gratefulness washes over her, and she is suddenly overwhelmingly thankful for her family here (and they are family to her whether they accept such a title or not), for Lucienne and Minnie and Mervyn and sweet Matthew, all the ones who radiate such warmth for her while she shivers with the cold of what she's going through, the iciness of misery that aches all the way down into her bones.

But Morpheus… 

A shiver goes through her, the implications of what’s just happened whirling around in her mind. She’d yelled at him, would absolutely yell some more if she weren’t so tired. Could this be the thing that prompts him to banish her again? Is he already planning it? Possibly tired of her disrespect and the strain of keeping her alive?  May shakes her head, trying to remind herself that he won’t do that, but her fear lingers, its icy grip holding tight to her, even as Matthew begins talking again at her side.  And it’s all May can do to keep herself together, to stall the inevitable breakdown until she manages to escape to the safety of her rooms. 

"May?" Lucienne calls as she twists the doorknob to May's chamber, giving her friend no chance to actually answer her before she barges in. It's not that Lucienne's being rude, but she knows better than to permit May the opportunity to disallow her entry, to turn her away in the midst of the no-doubt overwhelming emotions her friend is suffering at present. 

News of the incident in the garden had reached Lucienne quickly, one of Minnie's assistants rushing into the library to breathlessly relay it to her, and as Lucienne had listened, she'd fought the urge to seek out Lord Morpheus and smack him over the head with a heavy book. Not that it would hurt him, to her great displeasure, but she'd been furious enough that it had been a real possibility for a moment or two until her senses had came back to her. 

Now, she finds May lying on the bed, the covers pulled up over her head as if she's hiding from everything around her, and Lucienne cannot blame her for that in the slightest. She'd known as soon as Lord Morpheus had told her of Thessaly's visit that it was going to go sideways. The rumors had abounded on the witch's first sojourn to this realm with sordid gossip of the Dream King having taken another lover so soon, and while Lucienne is almost sure that is not what's really going on between them, even she can admit that it appears … far more factual than Lord Morpheus seems to realize. Lucienne has always been respectful of him, always tempering her responses on his feelings and sometimes questionable behavior, but in this… in this she thinks he is being nothing less than an idiot, a fool showing no consideration for how his actions affect others. 

And yes, it makes her angry. Rageful even. 

However, she resolves to address Lord Morpheus later. Currently, May is in a state, and Lucienne is fairly certain she's the only one who might get through to her in it. Carefully, she sets the tray she'd brought on the bed before taking hold of the edge of the blanket to yank it up, uncovering her friend. 

"Leave me alone," May murmurs, sounding disjointed, her voice clearly rough from crying. "Please, Lucienne. Just…."

"No," is Lucienne's firm answer. She glances towards Aurora's crib, grateful to see that the girl is fast asleep. "I've brought food, and you must eat."

"I'm not hungry."

Lucienne fixes her friend with the sternest stare she's capable of. "You are never hungry anymore, but you will sit up and have a few bites regardless."

"Lucienne-"

"I will not leave until you do so, May." Gentling a bit, Lucienne settles herself on the bed, stretching out a hand to brush her fingers against May's hair, smoothing it back despite how May flinches with the contact. This is another thing that she's noticed since May's return here, since her captivity in Alexander Burgess' basement. Her friend cannot seem to handle touch any longer unless she is the one to initiate it, which is something she almost never does save for tending to Aurora, and it is a pitiful thing to see. May had always been so tactile before, generous with her embraces, and the hesitancy emanating from her now concerning this simple physicality is sorrowful, a clear sign of just how badly May has been hurt. "You should speak to me. It… It might help."

Sniffling, May finally sits up, and Lucienne's heart twists as she studies her friend's appearance. Her eyes are red rimmed and wet, her face gaunt and sickly. She looks a mess, a mournful, grieving shadow of how happy she'd seemed mere years ago. Lucienne is not ever fooled by the brittle calm that May wears like a mask these days, but she knows all too well how daunting a prospect it can be to drop that facade of being mentally well, to permit anyone to bear witness to all the vulnerability beneath. When Lucienne had been struggling through her own ordeal with captivity and its aftermath, May had been the only one Lucienne had let down her guard around, the only one who'd been understanding enough to cajole her into it. And Lucienne, loving May as she does, intends to make sure that May can do the same with her. 

"I'm fine," May says, delivering this blatant lie despite that there are tears falling over her cheeks. 

Lucienne raises an eyebrow. "I should think you are not fine, and that is… a fair way for you to feel."

She's quiet for a a couple minutes, and Lucienne resigns herself to patiently waiting her out.

"One of the orchids is dead," May supplies tremulously at last, her breath catching like she might begin miserably sobbing anew. "The others are… are terrified."

This, Lucienne had heard as well, and while Minnie's assistant hadn't quite comprehended why this would affect May so greatly, Lucienne herself had. In those long years following Lord Morpheus being freed, she had seen the care that May wove into her creations, the kindness with which she tended them. It is not outlandish to her that May had been attached to something she'd so lovingly made. And as for the orchids being terrified, who better to relate to that lately than May? Lucienne is under no delusions that her friend isn't constantly anxious, that she doesn't struggle with an almost crippling fear at all times. 

"If Thessaly makes such a trespass again, there are several nightmares ready to ensure she is set straight. A few of them seem overjoyed at the prospect of undertaking this task."

Lucienne means it to be lighthearted, an attempt at humor to cheer the overwrought woman, but her words have more than a touch of honesty in them. The subjects of this realm like May, respect her for her goodness to them when they had all felt neglected and abandoned. The nightmares, vicious and violent though they can be, are no exception to this. 

"Thessaly." Hastily, May wipes at her face. "I didn't know… I didn't…"

"It's only gossip. You know how rampant that is here, especially regarding him."

May's expression is one of incredulity, which is wholly understandable given how the witch had been practically draped over Lord Morpheus for the entirety of her visit here, but Lucienne bites her tongue on telling her friend that she's almost certain he isn't romantically entangled with Thessaly. In all truthfulness, though, Lucienne isn't exactly sure, and she'd rather not end up lying to her friend in case she is wrong.

"You are aware that he's an idiot, are you not?" she settles on instead. 

"He's dangerous," May answers, her words hushed even in the near silence of the room. "And he… he could banish me again tomorrow, could keep Aurora for himself, and I… I'd be powerless to stop him."

Lucienne might not know all the details of her lord's personal affairs, but she knows for a fact that such a thing will never come to pass. The fact is that, however difficult this situation is, Lucienne isn't blind to the way he seems so… concerned for May, invested in her health in a way that sometimes even reminds Lucienne a little of love. "He would not do so, May. I can promise that."

It's not enough to stay her friend's fears, and May buries her face in her hands, giving up the fight as she starts to sob silently, her shoulders shaking. She's so afraid, terrified of Lord Morpheus' cruelty, that Lucienne is suddenly painfully cognizant that paltry reassurances won't lessen her apprehension in the slightest. It's instinct for her to lean forward and wrap her arms around May, to try and hold her despite that she jerks a bit at the contact, obviously ill at ease with such a thing as an embrace. 

"Shhh," Lucienne soothes nonetheless. "You are well. You are safe. Everything will be better eventually."

She's not sure how long they remain like that, but at some point May finally loses some of her tenseness, melting into Lucienne almost desperately until at last she's clinging as well. Only when her cries have devolved into small sniffles does May pull back, creating distance between them slowly, though she keeps hold of Lucienne's hand as if doing so is tethering her in some way, keeping her focused and centered in the icy storm of her grief. 

"I'm… scared of… of him," she confesses hoarsely. "I'm scared of what he… what he might do, but… his power is keeping me alive, and Aurora is… is protected here. I don't want to take her away from that if I… don't have to."

Protected? Why would May fear for Aurora's protection? Viego had killed Alexander Burgess, and Lucienne knows that May has been told of his murder. "May-"

"Would you tell me… if he… if he planned it? So that I could… try and get free? So that I could attempt to get Viego here and escape?"

What she's proposing is treason, the sort that could see Lucienne sent to the Dreaming's dungeons for even considering it, but Lucienne doesn't hesitate to nod, to agree. "Yes. It will not come to that, but… I would not sit idly by while Aurora was stolen from you."

May nods, seeming relieved for a second before that relief fades into weariness, the kind that only being drained by terror and tears can bring about. "Thank you, Lucienne. Thank you…. so much. For… For everything."

"Will you eat now? Please?"

"I… can't. Later, but… I'll just throw it up if I try now. My nerves are too…" she trails off, looking ashamed, as if she's embarrassed of this weakness on her part. 

Lucienne frowns, but she tightens her hold of May's hand as she does. "Very well. Would you like for me to… read to you? Perhaps it might take your mind off of less pleasant things for a while."

"No, thank… you. I just… I'm tired. I think I want to… to sleep."

"If you mean to rest, I will find a chair, and-"

"No," May cuts in. "I... I'd like to be alone. If it's okay with you."

Lucienne doesn't want to leave her, doesn't want to go, but… if May is asking her to, then she will honor her friend's request, albeit reluctantly.

"If that is what you wish." Lucienne hates the hopelessness she can still sense from her friend, though, that broken fragility that speaks of feeling defeated. "I will return tonight."

She lets go of her friend's hand, getting to her feet and gathering the tray as May lies down, as she pulls the covers up over her head anew. Lucienne scrutinizes her as she drifts off, and it takes mere minutes until May is seemingly in a deep slumber. She'll likely have a headache when she wakes, Lucienne knows, and she makes a mental note to have May drink a full two glasses of water upon rousing to mitigate any dehydration the crying has assuredly caused. Then Lucienne makes her way to the door, pulling it softly closed behind her on her way out. 

And she supposes she shouldn't be at all surprised to see Lord Morpheus on the other side of it, standing in the hallway like a lost puppy who's been barred from coming into the house on a rainy day. He looks… drawn, his face paler than usual, his eyes dull and empty as if the sorrow he feels has crushed their ever-present stars and nebulae into nothing more than dust. She might have pity for him were this any other situation, were he not the one responsible for this mess, but it is impossible for her to dredge up any sympathy given his actions this day.

"How is she?" he demands, his voice rough and haggard. 

"Unwell," is Lucienne's tart reply. "She is mourning her orchid."

He seems uncomfortable, which is fitting as far as she's concerned. Let him squirm with guilt over what he's permitted to happen with his own callousness.

"I cannot... mend it as she has requested. It is beyond my power."

She wants to immediately launch into a reprimand, but instead she finds herself studying him, measuring how great his resolve seems to be for actually fixing this catastrophe. That care, his unsettled distress from her upset, is emanating from him, almost tangible in its intensity. "Then let us discuss what you can mend. I believe that I need not tell you how that display with Thessaly earlier appeared."

He frowns, his eyebrows knitting together, his mouth pursing into an expression of confusion. "Of what do you speak?"

Lucienne sighs, loathing his cluelessness in this instance. Obviously she does, in fact, need to tell him as much, to spell it out clearly enough that even he can understand how foolishly he's handled this matter. She glances back at May's door, all too aware that she doesn't want her friend to hear anything that might be said in this soon to be heated exchange with Lord Morpheus. "Not here. We should talk of this elsewhere."

Lord Morpheus does not answer right away, and when she turns her attention back to him, he is gazing down at the tray she still holds, presumably noting that it is untouched. The worry on his face is plain as day. "She… did not take sustenance."

"No," Lucienne answers. "She was unable, sir." 

Because she's frightened of you, and hurt beyond measure, and carelessly you broke her heart all over again, she does not say, though she certainly wishes to. The tray disappears from her hands, as if he can no longer bear to see the proof of May's turmoil before him, and it makes Lucienne somehow more angry than she'd been prior, her blood feeling as if it's boiling from the force of her fury. Without another word, she shifts to the library, unwilling to have this conversation right outside May's room, and he follows in an instant, appearing in a rather secluded spot amidst the general fiction section as she readies herself to respectfully lecture her king on his egregious behavior. Even if respect is absolutely the furthest thing from her mind at the moment.

That night, May is lying in bed when he comes in, the gentle click of the door alerting her to his presence. She's gotten used to the steady cadence of him slipping in at night and sitting in the chair by Aurora's crib, murmuring to their daughter in a low voice while he holds her and tells her a story. His tenderness towards their child tends to bring tears to May's eyes if she thinks on it, and so she resolutely tries not to. 

She mostly just pretends to be asleep, unsure of what she would actually say were she to speak. She's felt that way often lately, uncertain of what to say, unwilling to open her mouth much. She thinks that if she does, if she starts verbalizing any of her emotions, giving voice to the entire maelstrom of her feelings and pain, that she'll just scream and scream and scream until her lungs collapse in on themselves.

His voice, as wary of him as she is now, is actually nice. Beautifully soothing even, though she'd never admit that to him. Not that she's actually talking to him at the moment anyway. He won't consider it a great loss, she's sure. Not with his new paramour to keep him occupied. It shouldn't bother her, she reasons practically. After all, they are no longer beholden to one another, no longer betrothed for marriage and bonding. They're held together by a child and their common love for that child and nothing else. He doesn't answer to her, and he's free to have sex with whomever takes his fancy. 

It still hurts, though.

And May…. May is so very tired of hurting.

NEXT CHAPTER

#morpheus x oc #sandman oc #dad!morpheus #PreciousFragileThings #morpheus x reader #sandman fic #dream of the endless #sandman fanfiction #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus fanfiction #morpheus fic

[helunar1]

TUA FIC IDEA (2)

Writing this here before I forget.

Really wanting some dark klaus and five fics and ended up dreaming of an AU where Five, working for commission and having a undercover mission to protect a major drug/crime lord somewhere in the early 2010s. The man is meant to play a major role in the timeline, and despite the abhorrent crimes he commits, he must stay alive.

Of these crimes involves sex trafficking/pimping out addicts from the streets.

Five believing this mission would be a quick, easy task. Routine. He's seen and protected horrible people, and he's also killed innocent people. All for the timeline. All to get back home and back to the family.

Unfortunately, while working undercover, he comes across some of the victims. Amongst them was a boy, young - maybe early 20s, he assumes. His skinny lanky frame making him seem small and fragile despite his tall frame. It takes a minute, maybe more, to see the the familiar green eyes, mop of curls that he remembers could never be tamed and the flash of his wrist exposing a tattoo identical to his own.

For a second, Five feels his breath stop along with his heart stop. His eyes wide, and normally quick mind screeching to a halt.

It couldn't be - it - the Handler wouldn't send him somewhere...but oh, she would. She would, and he knows this is some sort of cruel test. Because right there, crouched in the corner, with glazed, red rimmed eyes and marked, bruised skin is his brother.

Klaus.

Fuck.

AU where Five has to make a hard desicion

Spoiler stuff if i ever write this. None of this is edited, im genuinely just dumping ideas on my phone and storing it somewhere I do not forget

Some notes to remember (spoilers??? If i ever write this out)

youngKlaus (early 20s?)

Older Five, fic maybe in all or mostly thru his POV

Five must work undercover to protect the crime lord, acting as a right hand man for the man and needing to uncover who may kill the drug lord. Truly heinous shit involving drugs and sex trafficking.

Five has learnt to compartmentalize, keeping his emotions down despite the cruelty shown before him. Really dark stuff involving the events he witnesses.

Deciding where he wants to find Klaus as theres a bunch of options tho leaning towards being shown thru photos or thru a showcase where he's being sold.

Five knows that this is the Handler's sadistic way of testing his loyalty. He knows it.

He knows he shouldn't meddle. He needs to keep away.

But 45+ years of without his siblings has made the yearning strong. The need to protect. He knows Klaus will be there at the end for whe Five will return. He knows from burying an older version under hot rubble and dirt.

He knows.

But at what cost.

Against better judgement, he ends up talking to him, singling him out while undercover. His yearning to protect becomes stronger, and he knows this is dangerous, that he needs to focus only on the mission, to protect a man he so desperately wants to kill.

He needs to focus.

But he also needs to save his brother.

More stuff i think id want to add:

Five first thinking that Klaus is hallucinating but ends up discovering Ben

Klaus not recognizing Five at first due to the latter being 45+ years old (klaus later making a quip about Five needing a better skin care regime - and yes klaus is still a shit despite everything). Its only until much later that Klaus sees signs and Ben finding out and reporting back to Klaus - this makes things worse for Five when Klaus begs him to help him

Five having to witness the shit being done knowing that his younger brother has gone thru and will go thru the same unless he intervenes. But he cannot without getting on the Commissions radar

Vanyas book not yet written - in the original timeline, klaus escapes a year or so later as he dies (tho unaware) from an overdose and is body discarded as he was presumed dead. The book comes out after. Five doesn't mention the book.

ETA: may write a scene in a sequel of Klaus finding the book in Five's things - and despite the messy equations and writing littering the pages and the general state of the book, goes down a spiral. Five having to comfort Klaus, but unsure how as the book was (is) important for figuring out how the stop the apocolypse, his loyalty to Vanya but also because the book is biased and unfair towards klaus and the other siblings

Scene where Klaus ends up getting killed early due to being assumed as a spy. Lots of guilt and angst as Five blames himself

Spoilers for the end

Five ends up killing the drug lord. Finds Klaus alive - discovering immortality

Commission not happy - more trouble

Five can no longer bear to leave his brother - too much has happened and every part of Five yearns to protect his brother from the world.

Handler intervenes and, despite her taunts and cruelty, tells Five that the Commission will allow Klaus to come back to work alongside Five due to the unforeseen potential in his immortality

Five knows, though he doesnt say, that the Commission now has found a tangible weakness that could be use to manipulate Five. Despite this, he turns to Klaus and grips his hand, unwilling to let go.

Klaus agrees, albeit because he knows he has little choice.

Potential promise from the Commission for help with Klaus' powers

Maybe a prequel cuz i would love to write some bits of missions the two must go on and potentially apocolypse week

Older brother five and younger brother klaus- Would be funny to see, i think, this dynamic when they return back to the timeline with now five physically younger. May make klaus his age that his body was last in or also have the equations mess up and he is also little

Maybe its own one shot fic, maybe in the apocolypse fic -

After the death of the crime lord, many of the victims are set free with the police alerted. The undercover fbi/police that were taking the drug lord down (that Five was meant to protect him from) take down part of the ring and discover the major drug shipment. Along with this, the pictures of the victims that were used to sell them were uncovered through files/dark web

Diego, working on the force at the time, training under a detective to help uncover allies and connection to the ring and locate missing victims and/or where the bodies are being dumped, though the detective notes that most of these victims are addicts and/or prostitutes, easy victims who won't be missed

Diego looking through the files of the victims, locations and of the identified bodies. It's where he discovers pictures of Klaus (similar pictures to the one Five has seen in the first part). He is amongst the unidentified victims.

Cue angst. Klaus has been under the ring for over a year and has left with Five only weeks ago. Diego searching for his brother, only to come up short. Klaus is presumed dead or taken somewhere else. Diego is unsure which is worse

His vigilantism gets worse - he attempts to contact the others but it doesnt work.

At this point, Vanya publishes her book the following year. This leads to Diego to further spiral, dropping out of the police Academy

#luna fic ideas #tua fic ideas #klaus hargreeves #five hargreeves #will add more later cuz my thumbs hurt vjck