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hawkdaddy1111 · 5 months

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"Let the light in."

Gojo Satoru x Reader

Implies: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Reader is a Jujutsu sorcerer, Gojo Satoru is whipped, Eventual fluff, Idiots in love, crying.

Fueled by numbing drinks and emotional turmoil, you end up at the doorstep of your ex; Gojo Satoru.

Word count: 3.7k

A/N: I love hurt/comfort fics more than anything<3 let me know what you think of this!! I was debating on whether to post it or not but damn did it hurt while I was writing it😭.

🖇Masterlist

Rain.

Drenched and with glistening cheeks from the pouring rain, you stared at the door you had just knocked on. Your gaze lingered, yearning for it to swing open, revealing a glimmer of light and perhaps a semblance of comfort. Strangely, you couldn't quite pinpoint the reason for your presence at this mysterious doorstep.

Your mind was hazy and your steps were jittery, The scant clothing you wore offered little defense against the downpour, just further adding another layer of disarray to your already puzzled mind.

Midway through raising your fist for another knock–

The door swung open.

A pregnant pause enveloped the moment as the realization of the situation settled in. The door, now ajar, revealed not just an entry but a connection to a pair of piercing blue eyes.

Time seemed to momentarily stand still.

“Satoru…?”

Just seeing a glimpse of him is enough to make you blink back tears.

“Are you drunk?” you heard him mutter.

The rhythmic thud of your heart echoed in the charged atmosphere, words caught in your throat as you confronted the consequences of your actions. A replay of the night surfaced – the bar, the numbing drinks, and the desperate quest for comfort.

Your body and brain are contradicting each other.

"Sorry…" you slurred, the word left you as an apology for the late night disturbance and your presence as a whole.

You weren't supposed to be here, it was unfair for the both of you, it was so hard for you to move away, to move on.

the heaviness in your head amplifying with each step as you reluctantly turned to leave, rain-soaked and disoriented.

But a firm grip on your wrist halted your retreat.

"Are you?" Gojo's gaze bore into yours as you blinked back at him, eyes struggling to stay open, managing a feeble nod.

His gaze swept across the quiet streets, revealing a haunting emptiness accentuated by the relentless rain that cascaded with increasing intensity. “Are you crazy?”–

"Come in," he urged, the concern evident in his voice. The soft glow from his house spilled onto the wet pavement. He insisted, "It's late at night. I can't let you go back home on your own like this,"

You paused, caught in the gaze of those blue eyes— the ones you once thought would be a constant in your mornings, a promise of forever.

You gulped, nodding with qualm to his request.

you followed him into the warmth of his home. The familiar scent of his space enveloped you, and the soft glow of lights chased away the chill from your rain-soaked clothes, immediately welcoming you in.

You found yourself wrapped in a blanket, the contrast between the chilly exterior and the comforting interior adding layers to the gnawing familiarity of your surroundings.

A shiver coursed through you, prompting you to nuzzle further into the blanket, only to be enveloped by his lingering scent.

Your heart ached .

Alone in the room, memories whispered from the corners, carried by the very walls that had witnessed the laughter and shared secrets of days long gone. The familiar surroundings stirred a montage of moments – the subtle echoes of shared jokes, the surprise takeouts he would bring on a Thursday, the warmth of lazy Sunday mornings, and the quiet conversations that once filled the spaces now hushed in solitude.

For a second time, you tried to blink away the tears.

Gojo returned with a steaming mug as the aroma of a familiar herbal tea wafted through the air, the same one he would make you on days where you fell sick, or just as similar as the one the two of you would share on a cold December evening.

"Here... sit tight," Gojo gestured towards the couch behind you. You followed his suggestion, sinking into the cushions as he settled on the other side.

Sipping the tea brought instant comfort, a soothing ease that washed over you as it gradually sobered you up. With trembling hands, you clung to the mug as if it emitted a warmth capable of dispelling both the chill in the air and the uncertainties weighing on your mind.

A noticeable silence enveloped the both of you, a departure from the animated persona you were accustomed to. The Gojo you remembered was made of noise, echoing vitality loud enough to permeate the neighborhood. This uncharacteristic quietness left a void, making you long for the boisterous energy that once made each moment pulse with a vivid sense of life.

In fact, it was so ear muffling that you started hearing distant laughs of old memories trickling back into your mind, it was as if the walls of this room spoke volumes of the hours the two of you spent in the comfort of one another.

“You okay?” He finally broke the silence and it seemed to pull you right out of your trance. You turned your head towards him, only to find his eyes lost in the empty void of the television ahead.

“Better.” You replied– slightly moved by his concern.

Your eyes fell to the mug in your hands, seeing a glimpse of your face before you lightly shook it for the ripples to wash away your reflection.

You cleared your throat, trying to deviate the conversation away from your mental state, “Still using that tea I bought?”

You could see him shift in his place from the corner of your eyes, letting an arm drape on the couch as he thought of what to say, “I actually finished that container, so I had to buy another one.– Good stuff, you know.”

“Really? Never knew you were a tea enthusiast.” You raised your eyebrow, he only used to make it for you, rarely ever for himself, was it really because he liked it?

He sighed, still not meeting your gaze, “It happened recently, it does relax me after a long mission.”

You hummed, taking another sip as silence enveloped the air once again. “Collecting Digimon cards no longer relaxes you?”

His head perked up.

"Wanna know something funny? remember that one card I tried so hard to get?" Gojo's voice carried a distinct edge, a mix of triumph and something else, prompting you to pause and turn toward him. He reached for his phone with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

When he showed you the screen, your eyes widened in disbelief.

Tyrannomon Series 2 Gold Stamped (2000)

“What?! You actually bought it?”

“It's supposed to come in tomorrow.”

“I'm actually speechless– for how much did you even buy it?”

“Not telling.~” Gojo's playful grin slowly made its way back to his face, ever so slightly.

“Okay, mysterious. I'll just imagine an exorbitant number then.”

“Should have seen Yuji’s face when he first saw it hehe,” A subdued laugh slipped past his lips, looking back at his screen.

“Oh wait, How are the kids doing?” You asked once again, out of pure curiosity.

At least, talking to him as if nothing happened did distract you from your constant heartbreak.

“My students? Better than ever, they're improving everyday, I had to give Mei-san 10 million yen to recommend them though.” he grinned at the mention of his students, rubbing the back of his head.

“You brided Mei-san into recommending your students?” Your eyes met his, raised eyebrows but really– was it that much of a surprise?

“When you put it that way…” He trailed off.

“10 million yen on top? You're going to go broke at some point.”

He pouted, looking at you almost offended in which you just softly smiled, “Hey… I know how to invest my money.”

You added, “I'm sure they deserved it though, after hearing what happened in the exchange.”

“They did.” He smiled, you could almost picture it as a soft branded-dad smile.

It's like nothing was wrong, and everything was back to where it belonged, it felt like any other day where you would cuddle up in his arms and talk about the most random things.

The only difference right now is the distance between the two of you, to each had their side of the couch.

Your hands instinctively clutched the edges of the blanket that enveloped you, fingers intertwining with the fabric as Gojo's words hung in the air.

"I... They miss you," Gojo spoke, his voice carrying a subtle undertone of longing. "You should really pay them a visit."

The room held a heavy silence as you wrestled with the weight of his suggestion. Your gaze lingered on a distant point, somewhere between memories and the present.

Your lips parted as if to respond, but only silence spilled from them.

"Seriously... They talk about you all the time," Gojo continued, his words slicing through the quiet like a bittersweet melody.

"Who am I kidding? I miss them too," you finally admitted, your voice carrying the weight of unspoken sentiments. "...It's too painful."

“Do you plan on avoiding anything that has to do with me forever?”

“Ignoring it might make it go away, right?”

“Did it?”

You shifted uncomfortably as you held the half empty cup delicately between your hands. Your gaze remained fixated on it, as if searching for answers in the dwindling remnants of a forgotten brew. The room held a hushed stillness, punctuated only by the occasional creak of the floorboards, bearing witness to the quiet struggle within.

You heard him speak your name, but this time, there was an intricate softness to his tone.

“I told you that I'll always be there for you. No matter what happens between us.” His soft voice resonated in the quiet living room.

“Avoiding me won't erase the memories we shared, the love we had,” Gojo's voice held a soothing quality, a hint of desperation laced within his words.

The love we had.

It's not supposed to hurt but it does, and the way he's saying it so effortlessly–

You looked at him, your eyes glistening with unshed tears, the alcohol dulling the ache in your chest. "It's not about erasing the memories, Gojo. It's about surviving without them." Your voice wavered as you struggled to maintain your composure.

A heavy silence settled between the two of you, broken only by the sound of the storm raging outside. The air crackled with unspoken emotions, the weight of your past relationship hanging heavily in the room.

“'Always' feels like a cruel deception when 'now' is so different from what we were," you murmured, the rawness of your emotions laid bare.

“I know things have changed, but that… doesn't mean that I don't care about you–”

You cut him off. “I can't–”

“Please–”

“I just need space! And no, I won't be hanging out with your students nor talk to you. You have to know that your support is a double edged sword.” Your grasp tightened against the mug yet he still persisted.

“You literally showed up to my doorstep drunk. You obviously needed someone."

“Key word, drunk. You think I came here on my own sober account? I even offered to go and save you from any trouble but you didn't let me.”–

“Yeah, drunk.– your words. If you thought for any second that I’d let you out there in this state in the middle of the night then you’re dead wrong.” His jaw clenched, leaning slightly forward to add, “Look– I just… want to be there for you. Regardless of our past, can't we find a way to coexist without it hurting so much?”

It's like he wasn't even listening –

“The mention of your damn name hurts, and the thought of being next to you while being nothing to you fucking haunts me! You think I'd voluntarily sign up to constant pain everyday because the strongest wants to be there for me? Don't make me laugh, I'm already having it hard as it is.”

The tension in the room just suffocatingly grew.

He retorted as his eyes narrowed, “You think it's easy for me? You think that I'm having a field day every fucking time they bring you up?”

"What I'm saying is that I just need to find a way to navigate through this mess, and constantly being reminded of us doesn't make it any easier for me either!” Your voice– once again, broke as you tried to state.

“We fight curses, we risk our lives everyday– we can't afford to feel like normal people.”

A heavy silence lingered in the room, broken only by the faint sound of raindrops outside. Then, abruptly, the rain ceased, leaving an unusual quiet between the two of you. The room, once filled with emotion, now held an eerie stillness, as if the universe itself paused to acknowledge the weight of your conversation.

Pausing, he ran a hand through his hair while softly muttering, “That's the main reason why we broke up.”

Your career was really destroying your life, huh?

For the third time, your tears were so adamant on breaking through.

“I should probably go.”

Did letting him go even do anything good to your life? You've been sulking around the entirety of your time ever since the two of you called it quits, so what exactly have you done this entire time? Drink away your feelings? Ignore your duties for something as trivial as a breakup?– worst of all, in the kind of career you pursue? Oh you weren't mad at him at this point, you were mad at yourself.

So mad at yourself that you can't move on from him–

All because he was… perfect, he always remembered your most important dates of the year, he always spoiled you with gifts, he always showered you with affection, he was always just there.

In every lingering stare, the gentle touch of a finger tracing down your jaw as you slept, the tender forehead kisses, the warm embrace that scooped you up from the ground after a long day of work, or the silent interludes you shared, he left an indelible mark.

No one has treated you with that much care in the world, and he was so clueless to that fact.

He was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of person; you'd bet on anything that you'd never encounter anyone quite like him again.

And now you were walking away from him.

You swiftly placed the porcelain mug on the coffee table, carefully removing the blanket he had given you. Standing on your feet as a cascade of cool air enveloped you.

“...Huh?” He watched you deftly pull out your phone in a matter of seconds, strands of your hair were still sticking to your forehead and your clothes were just as soaked, stubbornly clinging to your form.

This was ridiculous, going to your ex’s house in the middle of the night like it was some kind of K-drama? Embarrassing, now you'd really have to avoid him forever.

“I have a mission tomorrow anyway, and look, it stopped raining, I can just call in a cab and I’ll be gone.” The words, though matter-of-fact, carried a hint of something more.

“Wait–” You moved towards the door, your steps purposeful, as he stood up from the couch, a palpable urgency in his attempt to catch up to you.

Something had to be done.

When you reached for the door, you halted your movements, fingers lingering on the cool surface.

Something just had to be said.

"Satoru,”

This was probably the last time you'd allow yourself to be near him, why not let it all out? It's better than leaving with regrets over unsaid things…. Right?

Your heartbeat raced against your chest as you took a shuddering breath.

“Wanna know why it's so hard for me to move on?”

Your back was facing him, yet you could feel him keep a generous distance, a silent acknowledgment of the delicate moment unfolding. His gaze, though distant, seemed to pierce right through you.

Your hands turned into fists as you gulped.

“You’re… probably the best thing that happened to me,” the words hung heavy in the stifling silence.

"I'm not sure if I'll ever find someone like you, to be frank. Hell, even if there was someone like you, they'd never be you. I already miss everything – your jokes, your smile, your sweets addiction, your eyes, your everything, really…” A familiar glob formed within your throat as your tears started to threaten leaving the corner of your eyes, you sighed, adding, “I'll miss your silly addiction to collecting Digimon cards or… just waking up in your arms every morning.– gosh this hurts.”

The world seemed to have quieted down, as if the two of you were the last ones standing.

"Right now, I need to let go... even if it means losing the best part of me. As selfish as it is… I just… had to see you one last time." You turned around to meet his widened stare, helplessness glimmering within them. As you tried to smile one last time to the fresh blue of summer, the vulnerability in his gaze mirrored the ache in your heart. “I'll make sure to carry on with our memories, even the most painful ones.”

The way he looked at you was devastating you, he looked so helpless–

“I'll always choose you no matter what life we’re in…”

It's almost as if everything stopped.

“Thank you for everything, Satoru.”

Was this what you wanted? Cutting him off completely?

He can't.

He was going through it all over again, where his best friend left him not once, but twice. And now here you were, practically leaving him for the second time—after you had knocked on his door.

He can't go through all of this again, he already hated it just as much the moment he let you leave through this door for the first time.

The existence of the blue you had known off had become overwhelmingly intense.– Everything just skipped a few frames.

Because right now, you couldn't register what was actually happening, or when it exactly happened.

Your back pressed against the door, knees weakened, and your hands clenched onto the fabric of his shirt. Uncertainty hung in the air, a silent battle within you, unsure whether to pry him off or pull him closer. The tension between longing and restraint wove a delicate dance, and his lips practically left you no space nor time to speak.

“I can't let you go again.–” His hand was latched onto your throat to press you even more against him– as if he was trying to erase any distance from between the two of you once and for all, his lips were firm, smashing against yours as your breaths mingled, you could feel the warmth of his body radiate to ease your cold– soaked state. “W-wai Sator–.”

“I'm so sorry– I can't.”

“I missed you.” The tears that built up throughout the entire night finally trickled down the corner of your eyes.

“I missed you so damn much–”

He muttered a series of ‘I can’t.’ between his kisses and in your attempt to pull away for a breath, he only deepened the kiss, pressing his lips onto yours with a fervent passion. Your legs became entangled, the closeness reaching a point where the boundaries between you blurred. Your hands instinctively gripped his shirt, grounding yourself at the feeling of his tongue against yours.

You weren't sure if it was your tears or his that were rolling down your cheek at one point.

You should stop– but why was he kissing you? He started it.

He pulled away, his shaky hot breath lingering against your glistening cheek.

You locked eyes, both breathing heavily in the aftermath. His cheeks and ears glowed with a rosy hue and the corners of his mouth were swollen; you felt like it was your first kiss with him all over again.

Now you really understand why you never wanted to let him go.

You needed him.

He rested his head against your neck, his arms wrapping your waist while he muttered, “Sorry… I had to be a little selfish as well.”

It's like your mind went blank, unable to register the reality of this moment, unable to move or think.

You felt him tense against the lack of your response, only to further relax into you when you slowly brought your hands to his hair, one tangled to his soft strands, and the other brushing against his undercut. Your chin trembled as salty tears continued to pour down.

“you can't… just say all of that and expect me to let you go through this door.” Satoru uttered against your neck, his arms tightening around you, “not when you chose to come to me.”

“I missed you so much. too much– I thought I was losing my mind at one point. I even held onto an empty tea container because you gave it, then you showed up here after months of ignoring me– I thought I was dreaming, I tried to play it off like nothing was wrong even though everything was wrong. the amount of control you have on me is scary.” he sniffed and moved away from your neck, bringing his left hand to your cheek to wipe away a tear before softly kissing the wet trails left on your face. “Loving you is scary.”

“But I need you.” he left a delicate kiss on your eye.

And he needed you.

“ Please.”

“I would happily die of old age– as lame as it is for someone like me. Just if it meant growing up alongside you.” another kiss was left on the corner of your lips.

He pulled away, finally revealing the overwhelming softness in his eyes, his gaze looking at you and only you.

With that, the hands tangled onto his hair pushed him forward to meet your lips in a sweet and passionate kiss.

“We’re idiots,” you muttered against his lips.

He agreed, pressing a kiss on your chin, “We are.”

“We shouldn't have let each other go.” another kiss pressed against your jaw.

“Never.” and another on your neck, he paused.

“Be mine again? I'd make sure to never let you go again.”

“I never stopped being yours.” he smiled softly at your answer.

“For every life we might share together?”

“To the very last one.”

#gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu gojo #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #hurt/comfort #reader x character #gojo satoru x reader angst #gojo satoru x reader fluff #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen

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sevencolorsatlast · 6 months

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Archons Reacting To Their Creator Singing Pt. 2

Part 1 [Venti, Zhongli, Ei and Nahida] || Part 2 [Furina] (You're Here!)

Author's Note: 4.2 Update Spoilers! You've been warned! Song used: "Curses" by The Crane Wives. No beta, we die like my heart while playing this quest.

Update: I changed the verse weeee. Also corrected a couple of mistakes.

Content Warning(s): None.

Other Notes: Default SAGAU / GN!Reader / Drabble / 800+ Words / Ao3 Link

[ Furina ]

"There's still cobwebs in the corners

And the backyard's full of bones

Won't you stay with me, my darling

When this house don't feel like home?"

You came down from the heavens weeks ago, knowing Fontaine is in danger but kept your head low and disguised yourself as a Fontainian to seek solutions to their prophecy. No one suspected you aside from the Vision wielders and a few Guardes who eventually left you alone since you seem to be harmless. You also manage to avoid any unpleasant encounters with your followers while roaming around the city.

Visiting Focalors in the opera house when no one was around was... rather an eventful one; she hopes you do not intervene with her plans to save her beloved people. You tried to reason with her: you are her god — you can forgive her and her people but she says it is her duty as Hydro Archon as prophecies cannot be changed. To pursue "justice", so to speak, is via the death of her and her throne.

You no longer attempt to pursue the topic which Focalors tacitly appreciates. Instead, you promised to look after her "human" self... Furina.

She smiles ever so graciously, knowing that such a divine being like you would keep Furina safe and sound - even after she meets her fate. You ask if you can hug Focalors, she happily accepts as this will be your first and last meeting her. You give most of your strength to hug her and you pull away, saying your tearful goodbye.

Everything went down according to her plan; watching scenes unfolding right before your eyes. Furina's trial was heart wrenching to watch, you want to jump and defend her... but this was all part of her "divine" self's plan. You shouldn't interfere, you reminded yourself, you clench your fists as the last puzzle of the prophecy reveals itself in front of you and the rest of the audience.

After the flooding in Fontaine died down and you let weeks pass by to let the country recover, you sought out Neuvillette. He is surprised to see you, easily seeing through your disguise. He bows before you and airs his concerns about Furina who had moved away from Palais Mermonia. You gently grab his hand and hold it in-between yours, telling him to stand up. You reassure that you'll be discreetly visiting Furina and the Hydro Sovereign gives you the address on where she currently lives.

During sunset, you found Furina cooped up in her new home. You knock and it took her a while before peeking through the small gap of the door. To put it lightly, her place is in disarray even when the gap of her door is small — her things are littered on the floor and she... doesn't look too good. She is far from well-presented and she looks like a ghost.

You can tell her eyes are red from crying and lack of sleep is evident on her unusually pale face. Her once kept hair's a mess and her clothes aren't well-presented like they usually do. Her hat is also nowhere to be found, it must've been included in the pile of mess scattered about her floorboards.

She weakly asks who you are and tells you that she doesn't accept visitors. You look around, making sure no one is around to see your transformation. Once you know the coast is clear, you transform into your normal self; soft glow emanating from your skin.

Once you are done dusting off your robes, Furina suddenly pulls you into her home and slams the door behind her - stuttering "Your Grace" under her breath and muttering how she's embarrassed that she's in a mess.

You turn around to speak and, instead, you are met with a tight hug from Furina. She buries her head into your shoulder and clutching onto your robes.

She doesn't understand why you hadn't come down from the heavens sooner... and you tell her Focalors wanted to do her part while you witnessed everything. She remained silent for a while before letting out a few sobs. You finally let your arms wrap around her; like a parent hugging their long-lost child.

To calm her down, you sing a song you know from the depths of your heart; the one that is ingrained to the forefronts of your mind even as a child. You alternate between singing and humming while gently running your hand up and down on Furina's back.

Her sobs subside as the last lyric of the song leaves your lips. She wipes her tears away with her hands and regains her composure. She pulls her head away from your shoulder, her eyes yet to look at your direction.

"My apologies for seeing me in such a state, Your Grace." She says, her voice slightly above a whisper, "And ...That's a wonderful song you've sung. I... appreciate it..."

She sniffles; it reminded you when you were a kid. You smile at the fond memory.

"The song was sung to calm me down by my caretakers." You say, "I suppose it still holds its charm."

She lets out a weak chuckle and meets your eyes, "I... Thank you, Your Grace."

"For what?" You inquired despite knowing the answer. She pulls you into another hug, you could've sworn you had seen her genuinely smiling for the first time.

"For being here with me." She says, a small spark of joy coming from her voice, "For seeing the 'real' me."

As she hums your song, you hold each other close until the sun finally sets from the horizon.

#genshin impact #genshin impact sagau #genshin impact spoilers #genshin sagau #sagau #sagau x reader #furina #furina sagau #neuvillette #neuvillette sagau #focalors #focalors sagau #once again i've used the word 'eyes' like i did with the previous archons lezgoooo #seven's tag #500

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pix3lplays · 1 month

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Argenti has broken his oath to you. He promised to always protect you and shield you from harm. How could he have been so reckless? Now, look at what's happened. Both of you are scarred and battered, his armor has blood stains and scratches covering it's once pure silver and gold colors, and his hair was in disarray. His weapon was broken, just like his heart, as he watches you with empty, sorrowful eyes as you sob and quake in fear. You look so small and vulnerable and his mind was filled with terrible thoughts.

Has he failed as a Knight of Beauty? Did he disappoint Idrila? What about you? Did he even deserve to be your knight? Your hero?

Would you still love him if he was no longer strong and beautiful?

He was snapped out of his negative thoughts by a pair of hands holding his tear-stained cheeks.

"Though your hair is a mess, I still want to run my hands through your locks. Your body is covered in blood and scars but I still want to hold you close to me. Your armor is no longer gleaming but you're still my knight. My Argenti. My hero. You will always be beautiful to me, my love. So please, let me take care of you now."

Tears began to fill his eyes as he sobbed his heart out. He dropped his weapon and collapsed to his knees, bringing you with him as he holds you in his arms. Even as the cold rain fell, your embrace was enough to warm him up.

I just woke up and I am in SHAMBLES HONESTLY I’ve been having a very similar thought with Argenti. Also I thought you were going to kill him and I was really scared, lol.

“Would you still love him if he was no longer strong and beautiful?”

I think about this a lot in regard to Argenti. It applies to his partner too. Would he still love you? When you’re not as young and beautiful as you once were?

Let’s be honest. Of course he would. Beauty does not equal youth. He knows this and yet he feels the same way about himself…how could you love him if he’s not strong enough to protect you anymore?

I’m so obsessed. Argenti so injured he can barely pick up a weapon anymore. He’ll never heal enough to fight well again. His quest for Idrila…it HAS to end. Or at least his method has to change. He can’t keep going on at this rate, he’ll get himself killed…

Maybe you make him take a break. On some quiet, peaceful planet somewhere, just the two of you together.

You’re taking care of him now, trying to keep him from straining himself…sometimes he practices with his lance but…he can’t move as gracefully as he used to. It’s hard, watching him get so frustrated that he can’t fight like he once could. He’s shaky, off his balance…you’re not used to seeing him get so frustrated. Frustrated enough to throw his lance down in anger.

You go to him, give him a gentle hug from behind. There are no words. You can’t tell him that he doesn’t have to fight anymore. That he doesn’t have to be your knight, he only has to fulfill his role as your husband…but that’s what he knows. If he loves you, he’s supposed to fight for you, be your shield, be your hero. But you don’t want him to be your shield…you want him to be safe.

He rarely talks about how he feels about what happened, but sometimes at night, his shaking hand will take yours, and he kisses your knuckles in the way he used to…

He tells you about it. How he wishes he was stronger. How he wishes he could’ve protected you that night. He’s heartbroken that you got hurt, too, back then. But you don’t blame him. He did everything he could. You know that.

He’ll always be your knight.

(Thank you anon, I LOVE Argenti and I will take all the Argenti angst you have.)

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #Argenti #Argenti x reader #honkai star rail Argenti x reader #Hsr Argenti x reader

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kaixserzz · 9 months

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The Fox, the Crow, and the Bunny.

ੈ♡˳ Il Dottore and Gn!Child!Reader *ೃ༄

ੈ♡˳ 2.4k words ┊ Fluff *ೃ༄

ੈ♡˳ Masterlist | JLM Masterlist *ೃ༄

author's note ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

something sweet. dedicated to @idyllic-affections thanks for writing my kaveh rq n this series is inspired by ur acc.. realized i strayed from the real purpose of this fic and made it too long, so just think of it as a 2 in 1 special lol,, (also hi sorry for using dottore he's like my muse and i love writing him) also i hope yall get the meaning of this shit lmao (ref to the scara quest tale)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ cw: strictly platonic/familial, reader is 8 years old, basic dottore warnings, mentions of death, dissecting animals and injuries, implied dottolone (barely), a little ooc but it's canon to me

Dottore's office was once a sacred chamber inside the Fatui headquarters.

While not relatively as pristine as his laboratory, amidst the chaos, there was order. Everything was in its designated place, even though his desk was a nightmare to whoever laid eyes on it (spilled coffee too busy to clean, now dried onto the wood of his table, piles, and piles of documents and papers stacked haphazardly on one another, a disarray of pens and pencils occupying every available niche, and vials filled with who-knows-what dangerously teetering on the edge).

Hazards lurked at every turn within his office, presenting a far-from-presentable façade that seemingly clashed with his position as the 2nd of the 11th Fatui Harbingers. Yet, one might ponder, does the doctor truly concern himself with such matters?

No, not at all. He doesn't have the time to clean everything or keep them in such an organized state. He simply knows everything is in place, and the mess scarcely holds him back (he hires maids once in a while, when the mess gets too much, and in 1 out of 5 maids he hires only makes it out alive).

Yet, what truly imbued this room with a sense of sanctity? For within these walls, he unearthed his genuine solace and tranquility.

In this space, silence reigned supreme. Isolation was his companion, a cherished serenity he embraced. Here, his thoughts danced, inventions took form, and ideas flowed onto paper alongside intricate equations. Occasionally, he'd pass out on his desk and drool all over his papers. This room stood as a shelter inviolable, reserved solely for those few instances of urgency or the presence of a fellow Harbinger.

All other members of the Fatui instinctively bid their time, patiently awaiting his emergence from the sanctum of his office before venturing to approach him. For within its confines, the Doctor was impervious to disruption. No one disturbs the Doctor.

That was before you came along, of course.

The office, ill-suited for a child of your tender years, harbored a minefield of hazards. Within its walls lay various artifacts, concoctions, and intricate machinery, a perilous realm unfit for the innocent curiosity of youth. Regrettably, your presence inadvertently disrupted the serene harmony that had long enveloped this space, unsettling the Doctor who, by nature, dislikes abrupt shifts and deviations from what he was used to.

When you first arrived in his office (he didn't want you inside of it, after all, he wasn't exactly fond of children, but he had no choice) you were immediately injured after stepping onto a shard of glass that Dottore has completely ignored. You tried your very best not to cry for the sake of not irritating Dottore further, but he wasn't very gentle with your wound either.

He took note of keeping his vials away from the edge of his table.

Then a bunch of books topples over you. He puts them into the shelves now, and you helped him organize by using the Dewey Decimal System, to which you had read from a book.

Then, while he was explaining his recent idea (rather enthusiastically) to you, his hand accidentally slammed against his files and flew straight to your face. You also helped him organize his papers.

And then it was cleaning his desk, offering him DIY pencil holders you've made just for him. You've also invented a mug that prevents the liquid inside from spilling (he thinks it was a rather brilliant invention, he no longer has to worry about spilling on his desk).

And then it was putting his rather precarious possessions somewhere else, outside the vicinity of his office and far away from your grasp.

You were very eager to help him in any way possible, and for a child, you quite enjoyed receiving chores. Yet, your contentment was uncomplicated, drawn from the privilege of being granted entry to his treasure trove of knowledge, replete with a limitless collection of books, materials, and tools.

Dottore always thought that you'd be such a nuisance to him once you entered his office and sully the peace he has always known within his office's enclosed haven.

But he didn't expect to welcome your presence at all, on such short notice, too. (Deep inside, he felt a strange warmth in his chest whenever you'd tug on his coat, asking if he needed any assistance with organizing his office. He wonders what it was, though.)

So, here you were, amidst the symphony of pen strokes etching against paper, a solitary melody resonating within the confines of his office.

Contrary to his expectations, the calmness he believed would dissipate upon your arrival had, in fact, been amplified by leaps and bounds. As he observed from the corner of his eye, you reclined on your stomach, legs swinging idly behind you, immersed in a world of creativity. Strewn across the floor, an assortment of crayons bore testament to your artistic endeavors, while he diligently attended to the papers handed by the Fatui.

Then, as if hesitant to break the comfortable silence, you tried to catch his attention with a soft 'psst!', then covered your mouth with your tiny hand to suppress your childish giggles.

The corners of his lips twitch in irritance amusement as he turns his head toward you, his pen on the desk. You broke into a much bigger grin and held your drawing close to your chest, not wanting to expose it just yet. "Hey, Dotdot!" You whispered to him, and he can't help but roll his eyes smile at the nickname you've given him. "Can I show you what I drew?"

Dottore emitted a contemplative hum as if grappling with the decision of whether to engage or remain absorbed in his thoughts. Your evident impatience manifested in a pout, prompting his response. "Well, fine," He yielded, beckoning you forth. You beamed brightly as you swiftly rose to your feet and bounded toward him, your landing generating a muted grunt from him. A steadying hand rested on the desk, enabling him to regain his composure, after which he settled your giggling form comfortably within the space between his legs. "Now then," He put his hands on your shoulder, "What is it you wished to share?"

With another giggle from your ceaseless childish amusement, you gave him the piece of paper. Big, round eyes sparkling against the light of the room looked up at him expectantly. Dottore received the drawing from you, his gaze lingering over its details, drawn into a moment of shared curiosity and wonder.

It was him, and you, holding hands, depicted with earnest effort and the imaginative touch of your youthful artistry. Around you were a bunch of other versions of him, his segments, though you've only drawn five (since they were the only ones who have interacted with you so far). Each had their names labeled beneath them, but Dottore absolutely adores that you've labeled him as 'Dotdot' instead (you've also drawn Pantalone holding your other hand and labeled him as 'Pants', adorned both figures with encircling hearts).

"Truly remarkable artwork," He stated with a smile, his words accompanied by the sound of your jubilant cheers, "This masterpiece deserves a place of honor, a spot where all can admire it. I can already imagine the joy it will bring to the other segments once they lay eyes on it."

"Really!?"

"Of course, I do believe they enjoy your company, little bunny."

As he carefully set the drawing on his table, your inquisitive gaze caught his attention. With a tilt of your head, a gesture he knew all too well, you asked him a question, "Why do you call me that?"

"Hm? Call you what?" Dottore grabbed you gently and settled you onto his desk. Positioned face to face, at eye level, his intent was clear—to engage with you as both an adult and a child, a balance you seemed to relish.

"Bunny! You call me bunny lots,"

"Oh? Do you not like it?"

You vigorously shook your head, "No no, I love it! I get called nicknames, but they're all mean." You furrow your brow as you reminisced, pouting at the awful memories. But then you broke into a big smile again, "But yours is new and cute! So, why do you call me that?"

Dottore's grin widened, revealing his sharp teeth, a sight that enthralled you. Your hands instinctively moved to his cheeks, your eyes filled with wonder, and he welcomed the touch wholeheartedly. "Ahh, ever so curious, aren't you, little bun?" He teased playfully, giving your nose a gentle boop! with his finger, and your giggles were a delightful response. "You see, I call you bunny because you embody its spirit—small, swift, and an endless source of vibrant energy.

You also love to hop onto people a lot."

"I love giving surprise hugs! I'm too small, so a jump, so I can wrap my arms around them a bit higher!" You huffed as he chuckled at your explanation. "What are you, then? What animal?"

"Oh? I've never thought about what kind of animal I'd be... Hmmm..." Dottore mused for a while, his expression thoughtful. Eventually, he arrived at a decision. "A fox, I think. Crafty, shrewd, and sly. A creature that prowls with a purpose and possesses those distinct, sharp teeth." As he said that, he grins once more to show his sharp teeth, then lunges for your finger, mimicking a bite, prompting you to gasp and pull back with a joyful squeal.

"And speaking of bunnies..." His tone took on a mischievous edge, causing your eyes to widen in anticipation. Suddenly, he swooped in, grabbing your legs and lifting you high into the air. "I might just gobble you up!" Dottore's playful pretense of chomping down on you elicited a cascade of laughter from you. You pushed at his head, trying to escape his 'gobbling' jaws, your legs kicking playfully as you enjoyed the moment.

"I don't think you're a fox, Dotdot!" You quipped, retaking your seat on his desk. Playfully swinging your legs, you mused aloud, a soft humming accompanying your contemplation.

Dottore raised an intrigued eyebrow, "Oh? And what am I in the eyes of my little bunny? Perhaps something more fearsome?" He inquired, looming over you in an effort to intimidate you.

Instead, your eyes lit up brightly, and you joyfully clapped your hands together. "Oh, I've got it! A crow!" You exclaimed with a triumphant smile.

A bemused frown replaced his grin as he processed your unexpected response. "...A crow?" He echoed, clearly puzzled by your choice. "Of all animals?"

And you merely smile at him, giggling at his confused reaction, "Mhm! Yeah! A crow that talks on and on and on." Your hands followed your words, almost hitting him in the face, "A crow that is death and prey over rotting corpses, but a crow that saved me! I thought Dotdot was an angel, but angels don't have black feathers, scary smiles, or red eyes."

Your words painted a vivid picture of your perception, a whimsical and deeply personal perspective on his nature. Dottore nods along, intrigued, as you rambled your thoughts to him, not even chastising you for grabbing the beak of his mask and playing with it.

"You're a crow! You're very smart, and clever, and creative! You're scary to other people, but not to me! I love corvids, I used to feed them bits of animal after I dissect them, and they always bring me something shiny. They were my only friends, and now you're my friend too!"

He doesn't understand the gentle warmth that began to unfurl within his chest as he remained attentive to your words. While unfamiliar, this sensation wasn't entirely unwelcome... "I beg to differ, my dear bunny. I am unmistakably a fox,"

"Then you're a crow pretending to be a fox!" You pout, stubbornly crossing your arms. "I think crows are way cooler than foxes. They can fly! Plus, you can't call yourself a fox when you resemble a crow more than a fox!" You pointed out, a triumphant smirk on your lips.

Well, you do have a point. He does wear a beaked mask, coupled with a bird-like shoulder embellishment bedecked in exquisite black feathers.

"Should I then consider donning attire that better befits a fox?"

At the notion, you fixed him with a mock glare, your cheeks puffing out in an adorable display of discontent. "Nooooo! I prefer Mr. Crow!" you protested with a playful whine, punctuating your words by delivering gentle punches to his shoulders with your tiny hands.

He chuckles at your small tantrum, and he swiftly gathers you into his embrace. Your arms naturally encircled his neck as he rose from his seat, carrying you toward the door, your precious drawing clutched in your hands. "Very well, very well, my dear Mr. Crow it shall remain," He conceded with a playful tone, his steps filled with an easy camaraderie.

Victoriously, you shot him a smug grin, to which he rolled his eyes at.

"Do you wanna know something, Mr. Crow?" You mutter in his ear as he walks past one of his segments.

"Hm? What is it?"

You made sure to whisper it very quietly, hoping the other segments won't hear you. "Between you and me, I think that your younger segments are like rats!"

He didn't know what came over him, he released a hearty, resounding laugh, its volume surprising not just you but also the other segments who happened to be present, each momentarily taken aback by their own affairs. Such an outpouring of mirth was rare for him (only when he was inside his dark, cool lab, alone with experiments).

A sense of pride swelled in your chest as you grinned widely, his laughter infectious as you burst into a fit of giggles. It was a scary laugh, maybe it was just naturally like that, but to you, it sounded very happy. "They bit me once! I was just poking their face."

"Perhaps give them a treat before you approach them," He says, calming down as he continues his trek toward your room. "This gesture might just soften their demeanor."

"What, like cheese?"

"Oh, little bun, that'll drive them even more mad once they found out you called them rats."

You share another grin with him, finding a cozy spot to rest your chin upon his shoulder in contentment, "Good! I think they're funny when their faces turn red."

- ̥۪͙۪˚┊❛❛ If you like this a lot, consider reblogging! I’ll appreciate it very very much! Don’t repost and/or translate my work anywhere. ❜❜ ┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌

#favoniuslibrary #˚₊໒🔪꒱kai writes₊˚#˚₊໒🩹꒱kai's series:JLM.₊˚#╰┈➤ il dottore #dottore x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact #il dottore x reader #platonic genshin x reader #platonic genshin impact #this is my form of mega copium #uhghghg RGAHGHH #i have so many ideas #make it angst #i wanna take care of dottore too tho :(#i want to give dottore an adult figure that cares about him #protip: if ur sad just think of your fav character as your family relative and it doesn't matter if they're older or younger #:)

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awellreadmannequin · 5 months

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Inazuma’s post archon quest political status quo is absolutely the funniest out of all the nation the Traveller has visited so far. The thing about power is that is a social phenomenon and not a natural one. The exercise of power is entirely dependent upon the perception of legitimacy. The edicts of rulers who are perceived as legitimate will fall on deaf ears as the masses feel no reason to obey them. Inazuma’s civil war was a crisis of legitimacy provoked by a ruler stepping beyond the bounds of what the people were willing to accept as legitimate rule. Its resolution saw the reversal of the illegitimate edicts as well as the removal from power of all those who enabled them with the exception of the Shōgun. In practical terms, peace is made possible not by the restoration of the Shōgun’s legitimacy but rather by the dissolution of the power structures that enabled the Shogunate to act in illegitimate ways. The Kujou clan is in disarray and soon to be replaced within the Tenryou Commission, the Hiiragi clan is likewise on unsure footing (made worse by the possibility of Hiiragi Chisato marrying into the Kujou clan), and the Shōgun herself has proved herself to be not only fallible but easily manipulated by bad actors. Thus, the peace is not being made on the Shogunate’s terms, but rather on the rebels’.

The Yashiro Commission is the only organ of the Shogunate that has escaped from the chaos with its legitimacy intact and it has continually bolstered its legitimacy by holding festival. With the backing of the Grand Narukami Shrine, the Commission is likely the most trusted and well regarded institution in the nation. Additionally, they have a tacit alliance with Watatsumi Island, whose forces still occupy Yashiori Island and have yet to be demobilized. Whether Ei realizes it or not, it is unlikely that she has the power to govern Inazuma without the support of the Yashiro Commission, the Grand Narukami Shrine, and Watatsumi Island. In fact, what little legitimacy she retains resides entirely within her capacity as the Narukami Ogosho, the traditional deity of Inazuma, and not within her capacity as Shōgun. While on paper, the Shōgun remains the ruler of Inazuma, in practice it seems that the exercise of power is likely to require the tacit assent of the Yashiro Commission in order to be perceived as legitimate. Should the Shogunate act in an illegitimate way, the Sangonomiya troops remain in a position to intervene. Further, (and no one seems to talk about this??) the Yashiro Commission purposely stayed out of the fighting, which means that the Kamisato clan has a completely unbloodied armed force that could easily march into Inazuma City should the need arise. It’s even possible that the Yashiro Commission has more troops on Narukami Island than the Tenryou Commission, as the latter have yet to decamp from their fort in Kannazuka.

This means that the status quo is such that the exercise of power in Inazuma requires the tacit consent of a five-hundred year old fox whose main motivation is the desire to alleviate her boredom and the cunning bobba slurping homosexual with whom she has a potent rivalry. Further, their de facto rule is guaranteed by an autistic fish priestess whose special interest is winning wars and her battle hardened guerrilla army. And strangest of all, this seems to be working out perfectly fine for everyone. Resistance to the new regime is minimal as the Tenryou Commission has proved to be more loyal to Kujou Sara than the Kujou clan and the Kanjou Commission is entirely too weak to mount any resistance to the combined might of the Tenryou, Yashiro, and Sangonomiya forces. Of course, it helps that Ei has seemingly no interest in directly intervening in anything but Inazuma’s weather and the odd Genius Invocation Tournament.

#claire thoughts #genshin #genshin impact #inazuma #genshin meta

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bakerstreethound · 1 year

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Madness or Madly in Love?

Relationship: Sherlock Holmes x reader

Warnings: 18+ implied/slightly spicy times, slight angst, marking, and teasing

Summary: When Sherlock notices you refusing to give him affection for a couple of hours, he grows worried, knowing it’s because he forgot to let you know of his whereabouts the past week. Now, he has to pay his penance, asking for your forgiveness.

All writings belong to me @bakerstreethound (Do NOT claim, repost, copy or translate my works to other sites. I only publish here and on A03 under the same username)

Word Count: 1k+

A/N: I haven’t written a spicy Sherlock in a hot minute, but it was nice to get my writing muscles working again and turning back to fanfic mode. Thank you all for sticking around with me, this semester has been rough to say the least. Anyways, I hope you enjoy! Graphic by @firefly-graphics Comments and reblogs are most appreciated!

Sherlock sighs, his cool demeanor faulting with your questioning eyes on him. He’d been bored, utterly bored considering you’ve ignored his need for a kiss or any affection for the past couple of hours. He knew it was foolish of him to act in such a manner, be reduced to almost begging your forgiveness.

Apparently not notifying you of his whereabouts had caused you to worry, but he supposed you did so as he was held at gunpoint and threatened, but you obviously didn’t need to know the other details. Mrs. Hudson had revealed too much to you regardless.

Now you stare at him, glaring daggers, watching him swallow as he turns toward you, pleading desperation in his eyes, asking forgiveness. However, the rest of his face is stoic, not matching the message in his eyes.

I’m sorry. I should have known better. Stay.

The last request is hard to ignore. Of course you want to stay, you were glad it wasn’t him with his head on a pike delivered to your doorstep.

“Do you know how worried I’ve been?” Your voice cuts through the air like ice, frigid, hard, borderline unfeeling, yet filled with subtle desperation of your own. You take a step closer. How you want to cup his face in your hands, brush your thumb along his lips, rememorize him, make sure he is here, safe and sound.

He closes the distance, the rift between you smaller, your gaze locking on to his. You can’t look away too mesmerized already drowning in the depths of the emotion concealed there.

“Exactly how mad would you be if I kissed you?” A hand falls to your waist, and you find yourself falling, despite the anger, the worry the familiar rhythm of his heart beckons to you.

“Right now?”

He dips his head, breath hot along the shell of your ear, his smooth baritone beckoning. “Yes.”

“Extremely, utterly, devastati-” you don’t finish your sentence, can’t before his smell envelops you, bringing you in his captivating sphere, your hands reaching to cling to the lapels of his suit jacket his lips insistent in their quest. He doesn’t give you a moment to retaliate, tasting the soft desperation, a quiet whine escaped from your lips and he smirks, pulling you impossibly closer. You body responds in kind, aching from his absence. Here you feel at home, comforted, wanted, and needed.

How long had it been? Too long. Oh, far too long. The taste of his lips is an addiction you can’t find yourself breaking, falling over and over consumed by him. Your arms wrap around him, finding his curls tugging gently, causing him to gasp into the kiss, and you groan in kind when he grips your butt, before liftng you in his arms, your legs wrapping tightly around his waist while he pins you to the wall.

You groan at the contact his chest heaving, pressed against yours, curls messy and in disarray courtesy of you. You reach out, wrapping your hand around the naps of his neck, tugging the curls residing there gently as you kiss him desperately, pulling him impossibly closer as he adjusts, pushing his thigh between your legs, a soft whimper falling from your lips at the contact.

“Did you like that? Of course, you did, that’s right.” His rich baritone courses through you, setting you on fire, making you melt with each and every word.

You answer in kind, tugging his lips, letting your action speak and he responds, pulling you back to him with every kiss, setting your body and heart on fire with each gentle yet demanding touch. You let the feelings consume you, relearning the way your body molds into his as he picks you up once more, his lips not leaving yours as he strides down the hall before placing you on the edge of the bed. You feel the wake of his absence when he closes the door, needing him, an invisible thread tying you to him, unbreakable.

His eyes glide over your form, watching intently, his fingers working on the buttons of the forsaken button down shirt of his. It’s agonizing but you remain there, ever the attentive audience, your tongue gliding over your lower lip as his beautiful form is revealed to you.

You want to lavish his body in kisses, the planes of his chest littered with the marks only you can give. He will wear them with pride, whether he likes it or not. You are his alone to claim and you, his temptress can’t wait a moment longer.

“Come closer, Sherlock.”

“Impatient are we? I thought you were displeased with me.” He walks over to you, shirt long forgotten, your eyes utterly transfixed as he stops right in front of you letting you drink in the sight.

“Oh I am terribly mad at you, my boy. But perhaps you could change that…”

He chuckles, kissing your cheek, his hand caressing your jaw lovingly. “Let me make it up to you…please,” he hisses at your fingers running along the planes of his chest, down further to his hips tracing along the line of his trousers, a hint of promise tied in with a warning.

“Pay your penance then, my love for I enact a heavy toll.” Your lips brush along his, nipping softly before he crawls on top of you, pulling you to the center of the bed, stroking your sides, attacking your neck with fervent kisses.

He groans, moving against you, discarding your clothing as he continues worshipping your body. “Hell, been so long…”

You smirk, nibbling his lip after he finishes kissing along your body, sighing at the sensations. “”Got lots of catching up to do, yes,” you fall into him not caring the sounds you make. All there is is him. Nothing else matters or ever will.

When you break away panting, gasping for him, clinging to him your reason for living, the air you breath, you can’t help but beg for more, enjoying the sweet kisses he gives as he brings you to the precipice of pleasure, his eyes shimmering in both determination and adoration. Yes, this was a long awaited apology and you aren’t letting him go.

******

#sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock holmes fanfiction #sherlock holmes fanfic #bbc sherlock imagine #sherlock fanfiction #sherlock fanfic #bbc sherlock #benedict cumberbatch #sherlock tv #writing request #writing prompt

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lathalea · 8 months

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The White Raven 7/9

The next chapter of Thorin and Carra's story is here!

Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x OC Carra Rating: G Warnings: mentions of injuries/death/dragon sickness Author's notes: This is the story of Thorin Oakenshield's quest to find the White Raven, a mysterious creature of legends only few were fortunate enough to see. This is the story of love stronger than time, destiny, and laws of gods and mortals alike. You can find this fic on AO3.

Special thanks to @legolasbadass for being a great, great, great beta reader and extra special thanks to Legolasbadass (again!) and @i-did-not-mean-to for our Silm evenings and discussons that helped me write this chapter 💚

The tint of Carra’s face closely matched the crispy white colour of the pillowcase beneath it, her silver-white hair scattered across it in disarray. Her eyes were closed, and Thorin held his breath for a heartbeat—before he noticed the slight movements of her chest.

She was breathing. Still.

Sitting on a makeshift wheeled chair, which Nari, the disgruntled healer, procured from somewhere, Thorin leaned closer towards Carra, biting his lip in an attempt to ignore the pain his protesting body evoked. Another spell of dizziness washed over him again, and his body pleaded for mercy, but he pushed those sensations away. Perhaps Balin and Nari were right, and he should have stayed in bed, but at that moment, Thorin’s own discomfort felt insignificant.

His fingertips brushed against the softness of Carra’s hollow cheek. Her skin was cool under his touch, but warmth still lingered within.

“Carra… Karkûnê…“ he murmured. There was no response. Her eyelids did not flutter to show the iridescent depth of her gaze; her lips did not open to utter his name. She was here, beside him, yet completely out of his reach.

“How long has she been this way?” he asked.

“Since she was brought in here on the day of the battle, Your Majesty,” the healer responded and cast a worried glance at Balin. “Most of her injuries are minor, but she has yet to regain consciousness. We do not know why it takes so long but then again, she is not a Dwarf.”

Thorin thanked him with a nod, and his eyes returned to Carra. Her face and arms were marked with multiple bruises and scarrings—mementos of her confrontation with Azog. He closed his eyes, attempting to get rid of the tightness in his throat. At least a fortnight had passed since the battle ended, and her body seemed to refuse to heal at its regular pace. Throughout the years, he learned how quickly she regenerated; one or two nights should have been enough to cure most of it, and yet, for some inexplicable reason, this did not happen. But…

She was still breathing.

He took her slender hand in his. So soft. So fragile.

“I want my bed moved here,” he turned to the older dwarf, not letting go of her hand.

“Thorin?” Balin raised his eyebrows.

Nari’s stifled cough of surprise reached him at the same time. Thorin chose to ignore it.

“She needs me, Balin,” he looked at Carra’s hand. So delicate in his palm, like a folded wing of a sleeping fledgeling.

The older Dwarf pulled at his beard and cast a meaningful glance at Nari. It was enough to make the healer bow and leave the room, closing the door behind him. Only then did Balin speak again.

“I assume that you are aware of what message this is going to send, laddie.”

“What message…? I told you, Balin, she is my wife.” Thorin’s eyes wandered to Carra’s peaceful, unmoving face. With his left arm bound up, he had to gently free his right hand and reach into her hair. He let his fingers run through the silver-white strands until he uncovered the marriage braid he had pleated himself. “She watched over us on our way to reclaim Erebor. Now I shall watch over her.”

His mentor sat down on a nearby bench with a grunt, his gaze resting on Thorin’s hand, once again clasped with Carra’s. Thorin could almost feel its weight.

Balin sighed heavily, “There will be trouble with the lords when they hear of it.”

“I have never supported any of their plans of political alliances via marriage as you very well know,” Thorin furrowed his brow.

“Indeed. I still applaud you for how you handled the situation with Lord Yngví and managed to convince Fili to marry Lady Tarja. You killed two birds with one stone!” A shadow of a smile appeared on Balin's lips. “The Firebeards are our strongest allies, and if Mahal blesses the couple with a babe, it will rule over the whole Blue Mountains.”

“It was not a great feat. They were already in love with each other,” Thorin tilted his head.

“But you saw the opportunity and took it,” Balin’s smile grew slightly. “And now it seems I will be the one on the lookout for an opportunity to explain the current situation to the lords. And Dain…”

“She is my One, Balin.” The rasp of his own whisper sounded hollow in the silence of the stone chamber. He had said these words only once before and only to Carra. They were meant to be said not more than once in a lifetime, and it felt wrong to repeat them in this stuffy, dimly lit chamber and not under a star-studded sky with his Raveness in his arms.

His old friend remained silent for a long while. Silent and unmoving, like a stone statue. Thorin avoided looking into his face by turning his attention to Carra’s hand, which he still held. He felt the warmth of his own body seeping through her skin, but it remained cool despite his best efforts.

But she was still breathing. There was still hope, he reminded himself.

“How can it be? She is not a Child of Mahal.” Balin frowned. “She could not have been made from the same piece of stone as you.” “I do not know, Balin,” he shrugged and presented their joined hands to him. “But I do know this: she saved me. Twice. Once—at Rivendell. And the second time… Do you remember my feather, Balin? That is how I overcame the curse. In the darkest hour I took it in my hand. And so I recalled my One—and my true self.”

Thorin glanced at Carra’s face, but it remained unmoving; her eyes closed.

“My blood sings in my veins whenever she is around. Even now. It feels almost like when you sing to the stone and it sings back, showing you the hidden veins of ore in its depths.” His voice was but a whisper. “I shall not attempt to understand Mahal’s mysterious ways, but I am certain beyond doubt that she is my Other Half.”

His mentor pulled at his beard once again. “Let us only hope that this explanation will be enough for our people to accept her as their queen. Our kingdom is about to be rebuilt. We need unity, not dissent.”

“You told me once that I have done honourably by our people. That I had a choice… This is my choice. She is. If Carra cannot be accepted, so be it. We have never planned for our secret to see the light of the day and it can remain hidden,” Thorin admitted with conviction. After taking a brief look at her pale face, he addressed Balin once again. “And before you mention the issue of succession, we both know that I have already named Fili as my heir. The lords have no leverage here. I will do all in my power to unite the Seven Kingdoms again, but I will not be parted from Carra. That is my final word on the matter.”

Speaking of a future with Carra, regardless of the shape it would take, felt like a fresh waft of hope. She would wake up—and soon. And then they would keep meeting in hidden forest clearings, secluded valleys, and forgotten caverns, just like they had done for years.

Thorin never noticed when Balin stood up with a grunt. He barely felt his hand patting him on the shoulder.

“Very well, laddie. I will see what I can do about this matter. And now—allow me to leave you be. You have your wife to take care of.”

Thorin’s eyes met Balin’s in an instant. It was impossible to miss neither the softness of his gaze under those white bushy eyebrows nor the warmth in his smile.

“Balin, I…” he began, his voice faltering. Instead, he covered his mentor’s hand with his.

“I know, laddie, I know.” The old dwarf nodded. No other words were needed between them.

At that very moment, something brushed along the inside of Thorin’s palm, as if a butterfly opened its wings.

“Carra!” He brought her hand to his face, hoping to see the repeated motion of her little finger. Gently pressing his lips against the back of her hand, he breathed in the faint scent of snowdrops.

Her face was as expressionless and pale as before, but when Thorin was about to look away, Carra’s eyes darted about once or twice under her eyelids.

It took him one heartbeat to lean closer toward her; before he knew it, he gave her forehead a soft, lingering kiss. The pain and exhaustion he felt did not matter any longer. Everything besides Carra was of no consequence. His One was still there, and this knowledge imbued him with a new strength.

“Fight, Karkûnê. Do not give up,” Thorin whispered into her ear. “I am here, beside you. Do you hear me, amrâlimê?”

He pressed his forehead against hers in an intimate gesture they exchanged whenever they met. Her skin pleasantly cooled his burning hot forehead while Thorin whispered, “Come back to me, Wings of my heart.”

***

The butterfly circles above the rock basin. Its orange wings flutter gracefully a hairbreadth above the still surface of the water, yet its wings never touch it. Carra cannot seem to tear off her eyes from the afterimages of the spectacle she has witnessed a mere moment ago. More blurred shapes appear in the water, but they are distorted and barely recognizable, fading away quickly.

“Do you see now, Silver One?” The Weaver’s voice fills Carra’s ears. “There are countless possibilities for the thread to run through the loom.”

“But the taint is spreading in the pattern,” the white-haired man, the Water Bearer, says; his words sound hollow. “Everything withers in its wake.”

“There is still hope. Not everything is lost.” The Great Mother walks towards a nearby apple tree. Both its leaves and her gown shimmer in the sunlight. Something tells Carra to follow her creator, and so she does, her legs unsteady.

“Not everything? What about… ” The White Raven’s voice trembles. “Thorin Oakenshield’s life?”

The Great Mother does not reply. Instead, she plucks a large, ripe apple from the tree and smells it with an approving hum.

“Curious creature.” The Water Bearer approaches them from ahead; Carra could have sworn he was behind them merely a moment ago. “Is it the silver dust in your wings speaking or your heart?”

Carra lowers her head—in shame or embarrassment? She does not know which one burns stronger.

She wants to seek redemption—to show that there is still a part of her that is worthy. In fact, she wishes to explain that her question was born solely out of her sense of duty, that her feelings are insignificant, but then her own faint whisper reaches her.

“I speak from my heart,” she says. Always my heart, she thinks.

The Water Bearer and the Green Lady exchange a boundless glance. An eternity seems to pass, as long as one blink of Carra’s eyes.

The Great Mother turns back to her and speaks; a shadow of a smile blooms on her lips, “Then you should already know the answer to this question, my child.”

“I do not understand, Great Mother.”

“Was it not you who alarmed us of the threat to his life?”

Carra recalls the very moment when the Pale Orc attacked Thorin and finds that she does not have the strength to speak. She simply nods as the sense of foreboding tightens its fingers around her throat.

“Your croak echoed so strongly across the tapestry that I almost lost several useful threads!” The Weaver’s voice seems to come from afar, but when Carra turns towards its source, she sees the Weaver standing only a few steps behind her.

“My apologies, my lady,” Carra says faintly. “It was not my intention to cause trouble.”

“Child, you did no such thing. You fulfilled your duty.” The Great Mother shakes her head gracefully, the apple still in her hand. “He is still among the living.”

Something hums in Carra’s ear, and the dread that has been gnawing at her mind finally leaves her; her legs fold beneath her, and she finds herself on the grass, supported by trembling arms. Her heart beats fast, as if after a long run.

Thorin lives. Thorin lives. Thorin lives.

“Thank you, Great Mother.” The world blurs before her, and she needs to wipe away the tears. “Thank you. Thank you.”

“You should be thanking yourself, dear child—it has come to pass through your sacrifice.” The Great Mother extends her hand, and Carra takes it tentatively, lifting herself from the ground on unsteady legs.

The Water Bearer steps towards them. His hands are empty. The butterfly is nowhere to be seen.

“And so the line of Durin remains unbroken,” he says. “So does the pattern.” The Weaver’s elegant fingers move along a thick piece of thread. Its colour makes Carra think of the waters of the Long Lake at dawn. “I was almost certain that this thread would be lost to the tapestry forever.”

The three of them exchange a lengthy glance in silence, and Carra wishes she could understand its meaning.

“Forgive me, Great Mother.” Her throat constricts at her own boldness.” But who will watch over Thorin Oakenshield and his kin now that I am gone?”

“The mettle on this one!” The Water Bearer chuckles, but Carra can barely hear him. A strong gust of wind picks up suddenly, making the leaves rustle in the trees around them. As she looks up, the wind brings another sound with it. A low whisper that reverberates in her ears with longing.

“Carra… Please…”

“Thorin?” Her eyes search the beech grove ahead in hopes of seeing her son of Durin, but there are only tree trunks and shrubbery, and the rustling of leaves. Has she imagined hearing his voice?

“Is that…?” There is a hint of amusement in the Water Bearer’s voice. His white hair dances in the wind.

“That silver in her wings…” the Weaver adds, but before she can finish her sentence, another figure appears in the garden, as if out of nowhere. With a few measured strides, he approaches the Great Mother, who offers him the apple she picked before. He takes it, reverently kissing her on her hand. Even though the newcomer is taller than his companions, there seems to be something dwarven about him. Perhaps it is his robust figure or muscular arms, his long hair, brown as elm bark, or perhaps his thick, braided beard; Carra is not certain.

“Husband mine, it is good to see you here,” the Great Mother says.

“I would not have missed it for the world, my dearest.” The man’s voice is as deep as the deepest mines of Erebor.

The wind picks up again, and the rustling intensifies, but the Great Mother’s spouse remains unmoving; even his hair and garments remain still, as if carved out of stone.

“Karkûnê… Come back to me…”

Carra’s searching eyes frantically move from one tree to the next, from one patch of shrubbery to another, but he is not there.

“Thorin!” Helplessly she exclaims towards the sky. “Where are you?”

“You will not find him here, Winged One,” the Great Mother’s husband addresses her. “He is under his Mountain.”

“But I hear him as if he was here!” Carra does not dare to lift her eyes and look into his radiant face.

“The bond between you is as strong as mithril,” he explains.

She opens her mouth to speak, but then she hears the Weaver’s voice.

“So it is mithril, not silver… What are you up to, Smith?” With her brow furrowed, the ethereal lady glances at her loom. “You are not hammering out a new pattern, are you?”

He gives out a short chuckle, “Nothing of the sort, Spinner. This pattern does not need any adjustments on my part.”

“Because you have already made them,” the Water Bearer interjects, once again standing by the rock basin, the silvery jug resting at its edge. When his all-knowing gaze meets hers, Carra wants to disappear.

“A pinch of mithril has never done any harm to anyone.” The Smith takes a step towards Carra. “Has it, Winged One?”

“My lord, I do not comprehend…” she speaks shakily. “I only wish to know if Thorin is going to be safe now.”

There is something benevolent in his expectant gaze. Is he smiling? He has heard her, surely, but he does not address her. Carra does not understand what is expected of her now. A glance passes between the Great Mother and the Weaver, but Carra remains oblivious to it, her attention caught by a new occurrence. The orange butterfly appears in front of her, its wings fluttering, and then it flies off to rest on the folds of the Great Mother’s robes, as if on a flowery meadow. Standing by her husband, she gives a shallow nod.

“So be it, Smith,” the Water Bearer says.

Carra blinks, and when she opens her eyes again, she stands by the rock basin once more. This time, the water is black and impenetrable, like the sky on a winter night. An image starts forming, but it feels like a mere shadow of the visions she has experienced before.

*** Thorin sits on a gilded stone bench on a high terrace carved out of the slope of the Mountain. A beautifully ornamented walking cane rests against the wall behind him. A thick fur-lined cloak rests on his shoulders, adorned with golden embroidery. His breath turns into mist in the cold air, and several stray snowflakes find their way to his hair, adorned with braids and golden cuffs. His sunken cheeks and pale skin are in stark contrast with the opulence that surrounds him. A guard passes by and salutes him, only to disappear in the bowels of the Mountain.

Time passes as Thorin gazes into the horizon. Although his left arm remains motionless—his left hand clothed in a glove—his right hand reaches under his tunic. Soon, his ringed fingers emerge, holding a silver-white feather. Thorin presses his lips against its tip and closes his eyes for a moment. He whispers something, but his words escape on the wind.

When an elderly Dwarf clad in burgundy robes approaches him, the feather is still in his hand.

“The delegation from the Woodland Realm has arrived, Thorin,” the Dwarf says. “It is time.”“Time, Balin? It feels like mine has already passed,” Thorin replies.

“And yet they say it is time that heals all wounds,” Balin gestures towards the feather.

Thorin rises from the bench with a pained hiss, helping himself with the walking cane. There is a heavy limp in his walk, and as they enter the Mountain, his solemn voice echoes in the corridor.

“But will it heal mine?” ***

“Your Dwarf rules over his kingdom. There is peace and safety for him and his people,” The Green Lady speaks. “Why the tears, my child?”

Carra brings her fingers to her cheek. It is wet.

“I failed him, Great Mother. He needs me. I should be by his side, not here!” With her vision blurred, she can barely see the four luminous silhouettes standing around her, the expressions on their faces unreadable.

“You are on the path to the Timeless Halls of your winged kin where the reward for your deeds awaits you. You have earned it, Carra.” The Great Mother’s voice is like a sturdy nest shielded from the elements, like a warm blanket on a stormy night.

“I cannot draw joy from such honours. Not when my mate—the one I love—suffers. I’d rather…” She stops, terrified by her own insolence. Nevertheless, Carra has had to speak out. The vision of the terrifying king on the throne of Erebor, cloaked in darkness and blood, has been haunting her since the moment she saw it in the water. But this image was not as horrifying as her sudden realisation. Thorin’s gaze in her most recent vision, bitter and devoid of hope, was disturbingly similar to the darkness in the dragon king’s eyes.

The Smith gives out a lengthy hum. It sounds like a rumble of a distant avalanche.

“What is it that you are saying, child?” The Great Mother stands before Carra now.

“I do not have the right to ask, Great Mother, but there is no greater reward for me than seeing Thorin contented and at peace,” Carra explains, and there is no doubt nor fear in her voice now because she speaks for Thorin, not for herself, for the one she has been watching over since she can remember. “His past has been filled with hardships. And now he needs joy, not grief, to heal. I will do anything you ask of me, I will serve you for as long as you wish… Please, Great Mother, do not let the darkness consume him. Does he not deserve a long and happy life now?”

“You would relinquish your place in the Timeless Halls for the sake of this Dwarf?” The Weaver inquires. There are several threads in her hand, but Carra does not see their colours.

“For Thorin’s happiness, I would, my lady. As my last gift to him.” Carra swallows. She has just sentenced herself to oblivion, and yet it does not terrify her in the slightest. Only Thorin’s future matters to her, just like it always has.

“Shall we grant her this reward, husband?” The Great Mother turns to the Smith, who looks at a little pebble in his palm, and then tosses it up, catching it in a blink of an eye later.

“Your devotion reminds me of my own children, Winged One,” he declares. “Know that the path you chose is a path of no return. If you take it, the Timeless Halls will not welcome you. You will become like this stone. Stones do not have wings nor do they dream. Do you understand?”

“I do,” she speaks quietly. “This is the path I want to take.”

“Very well,” the Great Mother grants her a smile as warm as a spring day. In her open palm, a flower blooms. Its countless petals are orange, and it smells like fire.

“You have fulfilled your duty as the White Raven, dear child. We shall bestow upon you the reward you have chosen,” she offers Carra the flower in her outstretched hand. “Accept it, if that is truly your choice.”

“Thank you, Great Mother.” She touches the flower with her trembling fingers. It feels hard, like a piece of stone. “Thank you, Great Smith…”

As Carra closes her hand over the silky petals, a curtain of darkness falls over her, and it is as if the air disappeared from her lungs. She cannot move; she cannot speak. This must be the end, she thinks, and in the cold stillness of oblivion, a familiar sound reaches her ears.

Tap-tap. Swoosh. Tap-tap. Swoosh. Tap-tap. Swoosh.

The loom resumed its work.

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itsscatballou · 1 year

Text

Justified - Chapter 7

A Negan Series

Chapter 6 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 1

Warnings: smut - detailed and implied. Language. 18+ only.

A/n - Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me on this journey! There's one more little wrap up to this series coming (Daryl reunion, anyone?), but this piece feels good to finally finish. As always, feedback is welcome!

Her days bedridden passed lazily and slowly. Negan woke her with long, sensual kisses each morning before leaving her for most of the day.

She read to pass the time, sometimes reading aloud to Negan when he joined her again in the evenings. She liked making use of her vocal muscles, any way to release some of the energy that was returning to her more each day. He liked the sound of her voice, never really paying much attention to the subject of her reading. She noticed this, of course, and began sneaking in some smutty romance to see if he’d notice.

He did.

The IV and the pain of her wound still prevented much physical activity, but they found plenty of ways to work around that. The more time they spent together, the more they seemed to crave it.

In her moments alone, she found herself thinking of Daryl and did her best to push the thoughts away. Often unsuccessful, she sat in self-loathing, remembering the person she was with him. In the months they’d shared, they’d easily fallen into a rhythm of teamwork. Their runs together took longer than any other runs, not only because they enjoyed the time with one another, or because they liked to take advantage of the alone time with stolen kisses (and often more than that). Neither would openly admit it to the other, but they both brought with them a list for others in the community. Items Tara would request, or something that might make Carl smile, or a snack or drink Daryl had overheard Rosita reminiscing about. Anything one of their family would enjoy having. They both loved watching the faces of their people light up when they saw their treats. Both she and Daryl had figured out the other was doing the same thing, but neither wanted to call attention to it. It was an unspoken quest they were both happy to be part of.

On the days they were working apart, sometimes with schedules so opposite they’d only see each other in passing, they had developed a secret code to signal the other for a secret rendezvous. A hideous turquoise and zebra print scarf - found in the bottom of a closet in the room they shared in the Grimes’s Alexandria home - spotted tied around a post, or tree, or car mirror, meant they’d find the other waiting for them at their claimed spot in the woods. It was a small clearing, wildflowers blooming across it in the spring, bordered on one edge by a large, downed tree that was great for sitting, but more importantly hid them from view from anyone who might be wandering from the community. They’d return home together half an hour later, smiling conspicuously, their clothes in disarray and often picking leaves and twigs off each other, before separating again to the tasks they’d been assigned. It was good. He was good, and she was good. They were happy.

The thought of returning to that now left her heart torn in two; she longed for it, for him to look at her in that trusting, happy way; and she knew without doubt that she could never have that again. When Daryl learned what she’d done, who she’d become…she imagined his face, what would simmer in his eyes when he looked at her, and she couldn’t bear it. Pushing the image deep within herself, she’d pick up another book and force herself to focus on the words.

She couldn’t deny that things had changed here in the Sanctuary. The people were mostly the same, though many of the Saviors she’d come to know would send her gifts and cards to wish her a speedy recovery, many stopping by to say hello and offer help. The place seemed brighter, somehow. Lighter. Like everyone was breathing easier. Even Negan seemed to have softened some. He was brooding less, and his jokes not so dark. It was nothing like Alexandria had been, but she couldn’t deny it felt… comfortable. Happy, even.

She almost kissed the doctor on the mouth when he informed her that her infection had cleared up and she could stop the IVs and begin light activity to strengthen her leg.

Negan turned his grin toward her as the doctor left the room. “So, would you like a walk outside or a shower?” he asked her, knowing both were on the top of her list of things to do first. She slowly stood, taking his outstretched hand and limping toward him.

It took a frustratingly long time to reach him. Finally in front of him, she lifted to her tiptoes, putting most weight on her good leg to do so, and planted her lips firmly against his. When he returned her kiss, she began unbuckling the belt of his pants. “I can think of something else I’d like first,” she mumbled against his mouth.

He pulled away to look her in the eye. “Are you sure?”

“The doctor said light activity was good for me,” she replied seductively.

He lifted her off the floor and she wrapped her legs around him and returned her lips to his.

“Not the bed,” she said against his mouth when he started moving her backwards. She’d spent too much time in that bed lately. He pivoted and instead made his way to the couch with her. He sat, her straddling his lap, and their kisses got more heated. Their tongues in a playful dance, her occasionally biting his lip in the way that drove him crazy. She felt his growing erection pressing into her core from within his jeans.

She made her way to his neck, sucking and kissing the tender spots, eliciting deep growls of pleasure from him.

She slowly moved to put her knees on the floor before him, careful not to flex her thigh too much, and finished the job of undoing his belt. She looked up at him with sultry eyes, biting her lip as she worked on his jeans, the heat in his eyes immediately making her wet between her thighs.

His jeans undone, his member sprung free of its cage, and she felt a tingle deep between her legs. The thick shaft, hard as a rock, beckoned for her to consume it. She conceded to its call, taking his tip into her mouth and flicking it with her tongue. She varied between a light suck and massaging it with her tongue, and raising her eyes, watched as he held her eye contact with every gasp she drew from him. She moved her mouth further down his length, working her tongue underneath his shaft. His head rolled back as she took him as far into her mouth as she could, coughing when he reached her gag reflex. Her hands moved to the area of shaft that remained exposed as she worked him up and down with her mouth, massaging and pumping him. Continuing with her mouth pumping and her hands massaging, she heard his moans and sharp breaths, and knew he didn’t have much further to go before he found release.

She withdrew from him, carefully and timidly standing, and met his eyes as she slowly dropped her pajama shorts to the floor. Stepping out of them, she pulled her shirt over her head and threw it haphazardly in the direction of the bed. Now bare before him, he could not help but reach out and touch her. She let him trace her shape with his hands from her hips to her breasts, where he cupped each in one hand. She moved to straddle him while he massaged her, and lowered herself until she felt his hardness pressed against her. She raised just slightly, enough to place his tip at her entrance, and she paused there. She leaned in, kissing him passionately. She began rocking her hips back and forth, feeling his slick tip rub up and down her center. She moved her mouth to his neck again, continuing the movement of her hips. She wanted him inside her, but not yet. She leaned back to look in his eyes as she continued teasing him and saw a plead in his eyes. He made to push into her, and she pushed his abdomen back down, preventing him.

“Y/n,” he moaned out, the plead moving from his eyes to his voice.

Her lips curled upward in a devious smile, she savored the power she held over him.

“Y/n,” this time a deeper growl, laced with demand.

She grinned wickedly at him, then holding his cock with her hand, moved him to her entrance and lowered herself onto him, fully sheathing him in her tight warmth. She leaned further away from him as she rolled her hips, savoring the way he filled her. He gripped her hips, steadying her with each roll. Negan began pumping up into her, finding her rhythm and matching it. They held eye contact as they rhythmically moved together. She picked up the pace and he groaned as his eyes rolled back in his head. She moved her hand between her legs, but he pushed it aside to replace it with one of his own. She felt her orgasm building as she continued to ride him, feeling him hit every wall within her, while he rubbed her clit in circles. As her moans grew louder and her eyes closed, she felt him pump up into her more vigorously. She shattered, leaning into him and crying out. When he was sure she’d ridden out her high, Negan lifted her and placing her on her back on the floor, quickly pumped back into her. He worked her fiercely, removing his cock almost completely from her and then pounding back in. Out and in, out and in, grunting with each insertion. She couldn’t stop herself from crying out in pleasure at every pump. A second orgasm was now verging on release. His pumps became more frantic, animalistic and he shoved in and out of her, her hands gripping the hair on the back of his head, and she gasped as her second release exploded through her. He followed immediately, erupting within her with a cry of his own. He stilled as he finished, pumped into her a few short times as she rode out her high, and then collapsed on the floor beside her, both panting.

“Fuck, y/n,” Negan said in a breathless voice.

The floodgates opened; they could not seem to get enough of each other after that. Not half an hour later, they were at it again in the shower. Her energy depleted quickly in her recovering state. Following the shower, she climbed back into bed, exhausted and sore. She smiled as she drifted into sleep. She awoke to Negan between her legs again, eager and demanding. After dinner, she did attempt a walk outside, but couldn’t get down more than three stairs before having Negan help her back to his room. Her leg throbbing from all the movement, the doctor gave her something strong for the pain. She slept a fitful sleep, dreaming of Daryl throughout the night.

-------

As she continued to recover, she did not return to her own room. There was no mention of it from either of them. The sex didn’t slow. They found themselves hungrily attaching to each other with every spare minute Negan could find. It did not matter where they were, and soon she was sure he’d had her in every room of the Sanctuary, and even places that weren’t rooms. Each day she got stronger and able to walk further, until finally she was limping around the border gates unsupported.

She was finishing one of those such walks, heading back toward the stairwell entrance where Negan had disappeared - giving her a suggestive nod to follow him inside - when she saw it. It was a brief flash of color in the corner of her eye, causing her to look again. Just another walker chained to the fence, she turned to walk to the door and froze. That was just another walker, but what it was wearing stopped her heart. She slowly turned to look again, hoping she imagined it. She hadn’t.

Draped around the walker’s decaying neck was the familiar black, white, and turquoise scarf.

She scanned the perimeter, panic rising in her. He couldn’t be here; it would be so stupid to come back here. A flash from the corner of a rundown building caught her attention, she squinted to see a figure half hidden there, rotating a small mirror to catch the sun. She moved closer to the fence, and the man stepped out from the building. Aaron. She relaxed a little, selfishly grateful it was not Daryl putting his life in danger. She shook her head at him as if to say, not now. She tapped her wrist where a watch would be, and held up three fingers, then shifted them into a circle. Thirty minutes, she willed him to understand. He nodded and disappeared completely behind the building.

Thirty minutes later, she was hobbling away from a disappointed Negan through the gates and toward the buildings across the street from the Sanctuary. He had been expecting a hot and heavy round in the stairs with her when she told him she’d seen something suspicious in the town. She suspected just a loose walker but wanted to check it out. He protested, but she’d made a solid argument for needing to get her sea legs back. She needed the practice. As she veered left, heading toward an alley two buildings away from where she’d seen Aaron, she heard light footsteps behind her. She grinned to herself as she picked up her pace and ducked around the building. She moved as quickly as she could around buildings, down alleys, seemingly lost and wandering, until she found the cracked door of the building Aaron had been hiding behind. She was met with stairs, and took them to the first landing, where she found another door cracked open. She had just stepped through it when she heard the outside door squeak open behind her.

She located Aaron in the second room on the right and as quickly as possible whispered “We are not alone. Speak carefully.”

Aaron squinted and blinked at her as he processed what she’d said. She began the conversation in a hushed voice, “What are you doing here? Are you trying to get yourself killed? Because that is what will happen if they find you sneaking around out here.”

“Are you okay?” he replied. “Some Saviors came looking for Daryl, said he’d run away. We wanted to see if you were still here, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. You shouldn’t have come here. Don’t let them see you when you leave.” She turned to leave.

“Come with me,” Aaron said. She halted and turned to face him again.

“Why would I?” she asked coldly.

“Why would you stay here? These people… Negan…,” Aaron searched for the words, “you’re better than this. Better than them. You belong with us.”

She scoffed. “I’m right where I should be.”

Aaron searched her face, and she softened it a little. She had quickly liked Aaron; he was such a genuine person. “I’m not going back with you,” she said, more gently this time.

As she turned again to leave, Aaron grabbed her by the arm. Their eyes met, and she saw fierce warning in them. “We’re going to fight, Y/N. Soon. We will not hesitate to take down anyone on his side. You should come back.”

“Aaron,” she gave her own warning, “You can’t fight him. Numbers are not on your side, and you’ve lost enough people. Don’t lose more for no reason.”

She pulled her arm from his grip and made for the door. When she got to the threshold and saw no one in the hall, she turned to Aaron one more time, with a plea in her eye.

“Give me a couple of days. To talk to him, try to convince him to negotiate with Rick. I don’t want anyone else to die.”

Aaron gave her one short nod. She left.

-------

She found Negan and Dwight talking in low voices in the courtyard when she came through the gate. She should have guessed that little weasel was the one following her, now giving a full report of what he’d heard from her meeting with Aaron. Negan gave an order and Dwight nodded and disappeared inside the building, leaving her limping toward Negan alone.

“I don’t see any walker blood on you,” Negan said, giving her a once over.

“I don’t appreciate you having me followed. Especially not by him,” she replied, jerking her chin in the direction Dwight had gone.

“I don’t like being lied to,” he replied shortly.

“What did he tell you?”

“That we’re going to war,” he replied as he moved to the door and held it open, indicating she should join him inside. She saw a couple of guys hanging around a few feet past the entrance. She stopped as she entered the building, and faced Negan as he entered behind her.

“You don’t have to go to war, Negan,” she said, sincerity flooding her voice. “You could meet with Rick, find a solution that works for all of us to keep the peace. Work out a trade deal with him. Not everything has to be a fight.”

“This does.”

“Negan,” she touched his arm, “aren’t you tired of this? Aren’t you tired of losing our people?” The term struck her as odd – our people. But they were her people, too. They had become her people. She knew the guys here, knew their families, where they’d come from and what they’d been through. She’d spent months getting to know them, and she even liked a good number of them. “He kills our guys, you kill his, is it going to go on and on forever?”

“No, I am not tired, and no it will not go on and on forever. We are going to end this, for real this time.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“You can’t just make that decision; you can’t just ignore other options because you and Rick aren’t done measuring your dicks. We’ve lost too many people already.”

Negan looked at the guys standing nearby, who had not even tried to hide that they were eavesdropping. When they saw him looking at them, they immediately found themselves needed somewhere else.

“In private,” Negan looked at her, furious, “you can say whatever the hell you want to me, but you question me in front of my guys again,” he looked pointedly where the men had been standing, then moved in close to her as he said “I will shut. your. shit. down. Are we clear?”

She did not break his stare.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Now, move your ass. You have an assembly to join.”

She entered the large warehouse area and proceeded down the stairs to join the large group of Saviors and workers gathered there. She noticed the two guys who’d heard her conversation with Negan gathered with a group of other guys, talking lowly and watching her as she passed them. Telling them what she’d said to Negan, no doubt. One thing about the Saviors, she could count on them all to be busybodies and gossips.

Negan began from his place on the platform above the assembly, briefly explaining that Rick and his “merry band” were planning on coming for them, and it was time to put an end to them. She waited patiently, watching the crowd as they began whispering and grumbling amongst themselves. The mood of the room shifted - the dissatisfaction was almost tangible. Those busybodies had done fast work.

She raised her hand, willing herself not to shake, not to show the overwhelming sense of fear she felt. This is what she’d been working toward for months.

Negan saw her hand, his eyes found hers, and he could have burned holes into her with the look behind them.

“I am not currently taking questions,” he said curtly. Everyone turned to see who he was speaking to.

“I don’t have a question,” she said, her voice miraculously unshaken. “More of a statement – I think we should take a vote.”

“A vote?” he answered in surprise.

“Yes. You and Rick have been at each other for months now. He’s killed way more of our people than we have of his. We should vote if we want to continue fighting him.”

“We don’t vote here,” Negan said, at a near laugh. “In case you are confused, this has never been, and never will be a democracy. If I say you are going to fight, you are going to fight.”

“Why are we even doing this? They don’t have a food source, they don’t have any weapons, we already took those. They aren’t really giving us anything. This is about nothing but you and your pride. He doesn’t want to keep kissing your ass, and you’re pissed off about it. If you won’t let us vote, then I won’t sit by and watch these people, my friends, die for your sick games and your pride.”

She could hear the murmurs growing in volume around her, felt the tension as everyone waited to see what Negan would do.

“You know where the door is,” he said as he gestured behind him. “No one is forcing anyone to stay here. But if you want to continue living the lovely, easy life you’ve seemed to grow accustomed to, you will fall. in. line.” Each word of his dripping with rage and threat.

“I’m not being unreasonable, Negan,” she pressed, “I just want you to consider less drastic options. I just want the bloodshed to end.”

Negan stared at her, rage nearly visibly radiating from him. Low agreements began filling the room.

After what felt like several minutes of a hate-filled staring contest, she began pushing through the crowd toward the exit.

“I can’t be part of it,” she said as she passed under his perch on the bridge, “I can’t watch you get us all killed.”

She left the building and began walking toward the vehicles parked outside. She heard the doors open behind her and turning, saw three women rushing toward her. “We want to go with you!” Tanya all but yelled at her as Negan’s remaining wives caught up to her.

They hadn’t made it to a vehicle yet when the doors opened again, and men began trickling out - a few at first, then more and more -all heading for their own bikes and trucks and muttering and griping. By the time the wives had loaded into the old SUV she pointed them to, the yard was filled with what looked like every Savior from the assembly, all preparing their own vehicles.

She did not try to hide her grin as she drove through the gates of the Sanctuary, and watched as the yard emptied behind her, following. She was almost giddy - it had worked so perfectly.

-------

No one was there when Rick and the small army he had gathered came to take Negan. They rounded each corner confused, finding every hall, every room, completely empty. Even the workers had abandoned the place, gathering supplies and food, first.

They found Negan sitting alone in his room, sipping his whiskey on his couch. He put up no fight as Rick tied him up and brought him back to Alexandria, locking him in the cell Morgan had built.

#the walking dead imagine #the walking dead smut #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fic #the walking dead daryl #the walking dead x reader #negan fic #negan imagine #the walking dead negan #negan smut #twd daryl #twd fanfiction #twd negan #negan x reader #negan x you #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixion x reader

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ohmenai · 2 months

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Temple of Testicular Tenderness

In the abating heat of a Cambodian afternoon, my quest for human sculpture led me to Than, a muscular local with the insatiable orbs of desire. It was my last afternoon in this place forsaken by the gods, but Than turned into the deity of the moment, willing to swap a photo shoot for some dollars and the whisky in my backpack. His bold gaze and godly bod promised a story that my OhMenFlex was eager to spill.

He stood stark against the temple ruin, the midday sun glorifying the sheen on his Herculean frame. My camera was primed, not merely to capture him, but to devour every carnal detail.

His short, tousled hair was the only disarray allowed, reminiscent of the careless afterglow of spent passion. His beard, an imperfect frame with scarce whispers of a moustache, teased at the boyish yet rugged visage. Standing tall like a deity in relief against the forgotten stones, his skin shone-a temptation forged in sheen and heat, smirking sweetly with both the innocence of youth and the knowing smirk of a man well-versed in corporeal delights.

Than's balls hung heavy, a pair of shadows licked by the sun that slapped against his tribal muscles with every teasing move. They were like exotic fruits, glorious in their power to stir up the most primal lust, firm to the touch yet ready to drench with desire anyone brave enough to get close. They were glistened with sweat and promises, tempting me to imagine the thud of that sack against a ravenous ass.

Then his cock arrested the senses - a thick, languid beast, it seemed to claim the ground itself, with its ebony hue streaked with the angry veins of an elder tree's roots. The foreskin, was retracted in perfect absence, unveiling the monstrous head, splattered with a cosmic palette of white and black streaks, as if hell itself inked its signature on him, was a promise of sins yet to be indulged. His pubis, stretched taut by his humoungous thing, was a smooth landscape, leading the eyes on a lustful pilgrimage, creating a look so utterly slutty it was impossible to look away.

It wasn't just his torso glistening; his entire form radiated a carnal aura, the product of sweat and testosterone. I clicked away, each frame immortalizing the luscious contradiction on his young-adult face - he wasn't inked, but each pore, each droplet of perspiration felt like the calligraphy of desire, stories waiting to be read by fingertips and tongues. In this temple of wanton worship, Than was both deity and offering, and my OhMenFlex - a devoted disciple.

Available now at Patreon and Fanvue!

#gay hot #gay male #gay men #gayhot #gay muscular #gay #gay black #ai men #ai guys #aigay #aibara #aibbc #aimonstercock #airaw #ai gay art #ai gay #ai muscle

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sagau-fruit-bowl · 2 years

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Hiya! I got to thinking recently, what if SAGAU [Name] wasn't the one who created the world but instead was seen as having taken the world under their wing and caring for Teyvat and it's people?

These are my initial general headcanons based on that idea.

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▪︎When [Name] first showed up, nobody from Teyvat thought the effect they had would be good, and although the traveller knew the warmth they felt and the words spoken to them was kind, even they were a bit hesitant to trust [Name].

▪︎Teyvat had been influenced by gods before, one had created the world and then purposely threw it into disarray, so the people weren't exactly pleased with the idea of gods from outside their world meddling in their affairs.

▪︎However, as [Name] progressed with the game's storyline, completing more quests and using more characters, the public view of this newfound outsider god changed, unbeknownst to [Name] who was simply playing the game.

▪︎People were rather happy to see how this unknown and foreign god was so willing to have the Traveller and their other followers fix the problems of Teyvat.

▪︎The Traveller is rather selfish with all information they have about [Name] and the individuals they mainly use as vessels also tend to hold any crumbs of personal information they get about [Name] very closely, only sharing with close friends and other vessels on occasion.

▪︎This lack of personal knowledge for the public results in [Name] being referred to as 'The Guide' and that is the name that used in all texts written about them.

▪︎You may think the people of Teyvat would be against casually using [Name]'s name (if they know it, which only the Traveller and their main vessel do.) Or title but in fact they use at the very least the title as much as they can, with the hope it will attract the gods attention and cause the god to use the speaker as their vessel and cause them to grow in strength.

▪︎Speaking of growing in strength, the way that The Guide treats their vessels is incredibly sought after among those who have never been vessels and those who believe they have no chance of becoming a vessel will spend every moment they can around a vessel to experience the caring warmth that [Name]'s presence provides and witness the incredible increase in strength that is given to a vessel.

▪︎Every nation of Teyvat will compete over how many of their citizens has been used as vessels but folks from Mondstadt will always hold it over people from other countries that they were the first to be visited by a vessel.

▪︎Speaking of competition, the Traveller gets rather sick of people claiming your favor as while they might not be the most often used vessel, you always come back to them and were your first. Traveler has seen people go from commonly used vessels to almost completely ignored and they consider it a point of pride that you always seem to come back to them when they assist people in your name.

▪︎Most people in Teyvat believe The Guide to be incredibly caring and kind considering how much better their lives have become since their arrival and how happy their followers seem to be but the Traveler thoroughly believes their god is a selfish god who has no qualms about abandoning followers who no longer serve a purpose and most abandoned formerly common vessels would agree, but that doesn't change the amount they praise and worship you as they reason that they deserved to be forgotten as they no longer have a purpose and while they may be depressed, they understand.

▪︎Being a vessel is an incredible experience for most and vessels tend to gain a level of respect that others lack, some people even coming to them with prayers they wish to have sent to their god but no one is as respected or revered as [Name]'s main party, occasionally even being given their own offerings and seen as holy extensions of The Guide.

▪︎When it comes to worship, there's very little levels of strict regulation. As previously mentioned, the vessels are incredibly secretive about [Name]'s information and while some, such as Venti, will happily tell tales of their personality, but when it comes to likes and dislikes or ways of speaking, the vessels tend to be a bit selfish.

▪The average citizen of Teyvat may visit a temple resurrected in The Guide's name, but the vessels worship in their own person way based off of their experiences with [Name]. Such as fighting enemies that had been fought together and using their drops as offerings to writing down every conversation to immortalize it.

▪︎Artifacts that are given to vessels are considered holy items and any vessels who have been given them but get them taken away are often considered disgraced and other vessels may distance themselves from them, believing they let down The Guide and therefore not deserving of attention or respect.

▪︎Some people may not approve of [Name]'s influence but no matter how much they try, they can't defy their will. Most who would be against the control of The Guide are swayed when they realize just how much power they truly offer and how caring of a patron The Guide truly is.

▪︎From [Name]'s perspective, everything is going as normal, the pulls they have are average, they find the normal amount amount of artifacts but wow do the characters have good stats and the friendship levels seems to be going up pretty quickly. They aren't exactly sure when the world level is suppose to go up but it's probably fine.

▪︎From inside the game, [Name] is on everyone's minds. Praying that their prayers will be answered or one day they'll get to experience the world under [Name]'s guidance.

▪︎Luckily for them, Albedo has a plan. He would ask for permission from the knights but this is a matter he doesn't want their input on. They'll be more than happy to help their god once they arrive but Albedo wants to learn what a god is truly like without much interruption.

▪︎Meanwhile, the worship and reverence of The Guide grows and [Name] is none the wiser.

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Part two

Part three

Well then, that was fun to write and thank you so much for reading!

Part four

Masterlist

I hope y'all enjoy and feel free to reblog, like, comment, send in an ask/request or even just ignore it if you feel like. Just know any interaction is valued!

#self aware genshin #SAGAU #genshin self aware AU #genshin x reader #yandere genshin x reader #genshin player AU #The Guide

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gachagen · 7 months

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Is Furina a Hydro Eidolon? And other Fontaine 4.1 theories

I finished the Archon Quest and I have a LOT of thoughts, but mainly one solid theory I thought about after I finished it. And I rambled on and on in my friends DMs about this too lol so now I'm rambling about it here.

The reason I believe Furina to be a Hydro Eidolon is that she matches perfectly with the description of Hydro Eidolon replica's that we saw in the Mirage during the summer event. She has the signature blue hair and everything. And I think she could possibly be the Hydro Eidolon of the former Hydro Archon.

Another reason I think she might be a Hydro Eidolon is because I also think she might not even be the archon of Fontaine. During the archon quest, Arlechinno says that she tried to take the Gnosis from the Hydro Archon but that Furina didn't have it. She also noted how Furina practically begged for her life instead of fighting back like all the other Archons would have done.

So she thought maybe it was with Neuvillette but she doesn't disclose why she believes it's not with him either. So if it's not with Neuvillette and it's not with Furina, where could the Gnosis be? My theory, it's probably in those very scales that Furina uses to judge people. If Furina isn't an archon herself, than it would make sense why she relies so much on Neuvillette who is one of the Sovereigns, but also would explain why Furina would even need the Gnosis and has to safe guard it some place important or use it's power.

So far, we've seen that the Archons aren't really that caring about the Gnoses for some reason, but my theory as to why is because unlike Furina they aren't being watched by an old Dragon Sovereign, and have no need to really use it's power anymore. The Gnoses are a catalyst for an Archon's power obviously, but it's not the thing that grants them power. A lot of the archon's we've met already besides Furina seemingly are already really powerful creatures (Venti is a wind spirit/nymph thing who also has connections with the old goddess of time, Nahida has direct access to Irminsul whenever she wants, Ei has the Plane of Euthymia and the Sacred Sakura tree that literally can cleanse traces of the abyss from the earth, and Zhongli can bind anyone to a contract even those "above" him in power.) But Furina can't hold the Primordial sea back at all. She has to rely on Neuvillette, who can't solve the problem forever for some reason. He even says it's a "sentencing" as in its a punishment set by a judge.

I think the reason neither of them can really solve the problem is because 1. Neuvillette isn't as strong as he used to be now that the Sovereigns powers have been split in 7, and 2. Furina isn't an archon and thus doesn't have the power to rewrite the laws of teyvat like the other Archons can. The Prophecy is probably a set in stone rule that HAS to happen, and with no Archon present that means there's nobody around to change that rule. Furina's "plan" that she's been 'working' on could very well be a plan to become an Archon, which is why she's always acting so extroverted and is trying to make everyone love her. She probably believes that if she makes everyone in fontaine have faith in her, than she can ascend and become the Archon and then save all of Fontaine. But she can't possibly reveal that she's NOT an archon because than that will throw everyone into disarray and reveal that Fontaine has been a godless nation this whole time.

#rambling theories #genshin impact #fontaine theories #fontaine lore #furina #neuvillette

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georgies-ftts · 1 year

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⚠️Does contain The Sun and The Star spoilers so continue at your own risk!!!⚠️

I don’t know when Will Solace became one of my favourite Percy Jackson characters but it probably has something to do with the fact that he’s one of those characters that’s deeply traumatised but everyone forgets about it

So (for some reason) i’m gonna sit here and list everything my man’s been through:

At ten years old he and his mother got attacked by Stymphalian birds, found by his satyr and taken to camp halfblood where he, at some point, became a year round camper

He admits that his mother, despite his love for her, could be quite neglectful during her time on tour and he grew to live with it but now he’s scared of being abandoned

Between the ages of 10-12 he’s training to be a field medic in camp

Had to watch his friends and family switch sides to fight against them and probably had to watch them die throughout the course of the books (it’s mentioned that there’s countless demigods deaths from Kronos’ side during the battles)

At 13/14 he fights in a battle to defend his home where his brother, Lee Fletcher, dies along with many other campers including some from the Apollo cabin

Within the same battle he probably has to heal many of his friends as well as watch them die as he believes he ‘fails’ to heal them

At 14 he fights in The Battle of Manhattan where it’s believed the Apollo cabin suffers the most fatalities (four documented, however I remember seeing somewhere that the cabin was practically empty due to fatalities and switching sides by the end of the series)

During the battle he heals Annabeth, which drains most of his energy, he creates a field hospital on Olympus to heal other campers and he becomes head counsellor of the Apollo cabin as Michael Yew was never found after the bridge collapse.

Fought in another battle literally less than a year after the last one and delivered a baby mid way through at the age of 14/15, had two entire camps full of children depending on his skills as the head healer

Watched Octavian willingly hurtle himself to his death and believes he ‘let’ him do it even after being ashamed that he’s related to Octavian.

Let himself be a distraction for six guards that would have happily either killed him or captured him

Spent his days after the battle with Gaea in the infirmary healing other campers, or watching them suffer through injuries they would ultimately not recover from

Has his father just fuckin plummet to earth and pitch up at camp as an egotistical teenager after his own powers were going mental and camp was falling into disarray because Apollo was no longer an Olympian throughout

Has to help his father complete his quests and heal other injured campers during fights and battles all whilst trying to make sure his boyfriend and his father don’t do anything stupid and die

Finally gets a break at camp with his boyfriend with no other campers and gets a prophecy that insinuates that he will have to go to the depths of tartarus which could either drive him insane or just straight up kill him off and be abandoned there

Goes on said quest and before they’ve even gotten into tartarus he’s passed out 3 times, is the colour of literal wax and has wounds that have just randomly opened up on his body after collapsing on a hill of what’s described as glass shards and rolling down.

is plagued by nightmares, gets drawn in by voices of tormented, pain ridden souls and loses his one source of light that’s keeping his barely sane

Comes to the realisation that he cannot heal everything and that not everything needs to be healed. That his boyfriend has dark parts that Will may not like but that’s okay and they can learn to live with those parts of eachother

(i fully believe that, if it came to it, despite his objections, he would have sacrificed himself to stay in tartarus if it meant Nico and Bob got out alive)

I know many people love to talk about Nico’s trauma and honestly fair enough cause his trauma is deep and horrific and he deserves to heal and be happy and his trauma should never be overlooked

however i will never miss an opportunity to bring up will solace and talk about the shit he’s been through

#the sun and the star spoilers #the sun and the star #rick riordan #will solace #nico di angelo #pjo will #pjo nico #bob the titan #small bob #iapetus #mark oshiro #percy jackson #annabeth chase #grover underwood #spoilers #tsats spoilers #tsats

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drmapzo · 1 year

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Hello, everyone!

It's time for your party to have an audicence with the king. Important matters will be discussed and new quests will be given.

But nobody expects the would-be asssassins to strike right now! The group will have to defend the good king with all their might or risk having the kingdom in disarray.

The creature tokens for this map are a Courtier, a King and a Royal Guard. Emerald tier gets the King while Diamond tier gets all three. In addition, Sapphire tier gets extra creature token variants.

You can see a preview of all of this week’s Patreon content here.

Thank you very much for taking a look and be sure to check out my Patreon where you can pledge for gridless version, alternate map versions as well as the tokens pertaining to this map.

#dnd #Dungeons and Dragons #pathfinder #rpg map #dnd map #throne room #roll20

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goingtreasure · 10 months

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whitebeard and the blackbeard's son | p.jw

pairing: park jeongwoo x reader (f)

word count: 8.3k

genre: angst, adventure, slowburn.

warnings: violence, death, toxic relationships, mention of kidnapping.

synopsis: jeongwoo embarked on a quest to prove himself to his father, blackbeard, by attempting to kill his nemesis, whitebeard. however, he was unaware that whitebeard's true identity would completely alter his path.

author's note: after two years since my last update, i'm back! i wrote this fanfiction some months ago and decided to post it now since the reboot is coming (i'm so excited!). i think of this as a origin story for pirate jeongwoo hehe. i hope you enjoy it as much as i did!

author's inspirations: show - our flag means death (max). song - i bet on losing dogs (mitski)

Jeongwoo had finally accomplished it. After years of meticulous research, tracking ships in secret, studying combat skills, habits, and victims, he had gathered almost all the information he needed to defeat Whitebeard, one of the most notorious pirates of the sea. This was his chance to avenge his father and prove himself once and for all.

As the son of Blackbeard, the infamous pirate, Jeongwoo had grown up in a world of ruthlessness and violence. Blackbeard had collected countless enemies and was feared by even the most dangerous pirates. However, when a new pirate named Whitebeard emerged in the Caribbean, he became Blackbeard's worst enemy, taunting him with his name. Determined to confront the newcomer, Blackbeard engaged in a battle at sea.

During the fight, Blackbeard's crew seemed to have the upper hand, but Whitebeard's intelligence and strategic prowess turned the tide. They damaged Blackbeard's ship, disabled his strongest crew members, including Blackbeard himself, and plundered all the treasure. Whitebeard, however, never showed his face or set foot on their ship, maintaining a mysterious identity. Many believed he suffered from a terrible disease that prevented him from engaging in direct combat. Now, Jeongwoo was about to uncover the truth.

Under the guise of trading treasure on a nearby island, Jeongwoo secretly planned his move. He knew that Whitebeard's crew frequently replenished their supplies on a small island to the east. After carefully avoiding attention and hiding in the island's woods for several days, he spotted a large ship docking on the beach. Observing from a distance, he became certain that it was Whitebeard's ship.

Waiting for most of the crew to disembark, Jeongwoo infiltrated the ship, incapacitating anyone who stood in his way. He intended to execute a silent assassination, killing the captain and escaping and leaving behind a letter signed by himself. Jeongwoo was confident that Whitebeard, who never left his room, would be there. However, as he cautiously opened the door, he discovered an empty room, devoid of any presence.

"Where could he be hiding?" Jeongwoo whispered to himself, feeling a mix of relief and unease. This was the moment he had prepared for all his life, yet something felt off.

He scanned the room, filled with disarray—clothes, medicine, and books scattered around. A large world map adorned one wall, while a plush bed covered in fabrics and blankets dominated the center. Suddenly, he noticed a slight movement coming from beneath the blankets—a rhythmic rise and fall. There was no doubt about it; Whitebeard was concealed there.

Jeongwoo steadied his weapon, standing before the bed, prepared to end the man's life. However, a strange feeling compelled him to see the face of his father's greatest adversary before delivering the fatal blow. With trembling hands, he slowly pulled back the blanket, but the sight that greeted him was unexpected.

Instead of Whitebeard, he found a young woman with white hair, dressed in a beige satin dress with long sleeves. The boy was momentarily paralyzed by the sight before him. This innocent girl had been mistaken for the fearsome pirate captain.

"A girl?" he murmured to himself, unintentionally waking you from your slumber. Your eyes opened slowly, leaving him with no chance to hide within the cabin.

"Hello," you greeted, your voice filled with sleepiness.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" Jeongwoo asked, his voice filled with surprise, unable to comprehend the calmness in your demeanor despite the danger you were in.

"You seem nervous." you remarked, observing his reaction. “My name is Y/N.”

"I came here for Whitebeard." Jeongwoo stated, trying to make sense of the situation.

A faint smile graced your lips. "Well, then you found him. I'm Whitebeard."

Jeongwoo's heart pounded in his chest as he processed the unexpected revelation before him. The girl with white hair, Y/N, claimed to be Whitebeard—the very person he had intended to kill. The tremor in his hands intensified, betraying his nervousness. He took a step back, struggling to comprehend the truth. It seemed inconceivable that someone so young could hold the title of a feared pirate captain when he himself struggled to gain respect among his own crew.

"You're lying! Where is Whitebeard?" Jeongwoo demanded, unable to accept the reality unfolding before him.

Your laughter filled the cabin, carrying a hint of amusement. "I'm not the lying kind. The truth is, my name was originally intended to be Whitehair, but people misheard it as 'beard' and I went along with it. I must say, I'm quite surprised you managed to reach here without facing punishment from my crew. You must be a formidable pirate."

Jeongwoo's confusion deepened even more, his conviction wavered. He found himself unable to act upon his murderous intent as he looked upon the spirited girl who awaited her fate.

"I don't understand," Jeongwoo stammered, his disbelief evident. His grip on the knife loosened, his hands dropping to his sides. The confusion within him battled against the impulse to carry out his revenge.

Chuckling lightly, you settled onto the bed, examining the young man before you. "I can see why you're surprised. Most people react the same way, especially new crew members. By the way, that's a good choice of weapon you have there. Sharp and effective for breaking bones. Luckily for me, I've been feeling like dying these past few days. So, what are you waiting for?" you asked, your gaze fixed upon him.

"I... I can't do it. You're a woman," Jeongwoo confessed, his voice laced with uncertainty.

A glimmer of curiosity danced in your eyes. "You've never killed a woman before?"

In fact, Jeongwoo had never killed anyone before, regardless of their gender.

From a young age, Blackbeard had trained Jeongwoo to embody his strength and eventually succeed him as captain. However, the weight of taking a life was a burden Jeongwoo couldn't bear. Fear gripped him, rendering him unable to follow in his father's ruthless footsteps. Consequently, Blackbeard became increasingly ashamed of his own son, distancing Jeongwoo from perilous battles and treacherous islands, effectively dismissing any notion of him becoming his successor. The once-promising young pirate had been reduced to a mere kitchen assistant.

The very reason he was driven to prove himself, came from his father's relentless pursuit of molding him into a fearsome assassin of the seas.

The absence of a response made it clear to you that he wasn't a killer. Despite your preference for staying in your room, you had a knack for understanding people through their behavior due to all the books you’ve read. The boy, who was around your age, appeared scared and confused. It had been a long time since you last talked to someone young. It made you question if this was how you were expected to behave. Should you also be afraid of life and death just like him? You wondered what those emotions were like.

"Well, if it makes you feel more at ease, I could take my own life and you can pretend it was you," you suggested, trying to ease his discomfort.

"What? Why? Why would you do that?" Jeongwoo asked, bewildered.

"Why wouldn't I?" you responded with a nonchalant shrug.

Jeongwoo felt like you were toying with him, playing games with his mind.

"Cause... you're Whitebeard! You possess wealth and power beyond imagination," he argued.

"I can understand why you might think that," you replied calmly. "But having everything doesn't guarantee happiness or fulfillment. There are things in life that money and power can't provide."

Your words brought a pause to the conversation as Jeongwoo tried to process this perspective. The idea that there could be something missing from the life of someone as influential as Whitebeard intrigued him.

“For instance, I've never had a pet dog because I’m afraid it might fall into the sea. Why would I live if I can't have a dog?”

Wanting to die because of a dog? It didn't make sense to him. After all, many ships had dogs as companions, and the fear of losing one to the sea seemed excessive and irrational. The boy couldn't help the thought that perhaps you were just a crazy person, he found it difficult to take your words seriously.

You rose from the bed, stepping onto the wooden floor with your bare feet, standing directly in front of Jeongwoo. The boy remained frozen, unable to move in your presence. Your intense gaze made him feel self-conscious.

"Will you do it?" you asked, your voice filled with anticipation.

"No..." Jeongwoo admitted, his voice filled with resignation. "I can't."

"Coward." you snapped, your anger replacing your previous calm demeanor.

Without warning, you forcefully pushed the knife out of Jeongwoo's grip, catching him off guard. A struggle ensued as both of you fought for control of the weapon. You pushed the knife towards your own neck, while Jeongwoo desperately resisted, pushing back.

"Stop it immediately!" Jeongwoo pleaded, his voice filled with fear.

"No! I want to die!" you exclaimed, your voice filled with frustration and despair.

The fight abruptly stopped as you both heard the sound of an explosion coming from outside. The sudden noise caught your attention, momentarily distracting you from the intense struggle and bringing a sense of uncertainty to the room. Momentarily stunned by the unexpected blast, you released your grip on the knife, which clattered to the floor. The urgency of the situation overshadowed your previous conflict as you instinctively turned your attention towards the chaos unfolding outside the cabin.

"The ship is on fire!" one of your crewmates screamed, her voice filled with panic, as she desperately tried to open the door to your room. Despite her efforts, the door remained stubbornly locked.

Jeongwoo's eyes widened in alarm, and he turned to you, searching for answers. But instead of panic, he found you smiling to yourself, a strange gleam in your eyes.

"The ship is on fire," you repeated softly, almost in awe.

Confusion and concern filled Jeongwoo's voice as he asked, "What are you talking about?"

Ignoring his question, you hurriedly rummaged through your belongings, searching for something specific. Your hands found a large box of gunpowder, and without hesitation, you tossed it onto the floor of the room. The contents spilled out, forming a dangerous circle of flammable material.

Realizing what you were about to do, Jeongwoo lunged forward, desperately attempting to stop you. But it was too late. The room was already filled with thick smoke, making it difficult to see and breathe.

A struggle ensued between the two of you, the suffocating smoke clouding your senses and heightening the chaos. You fought against Jeongwoo's attempts to restrain you, pushing him away with a desperate strength fueled by a strange determination.

In the chaos of the struggle, Jeongwoo lost his footing and fell to the floor, his body slumping unconscious. The smoke continued to billow around the room, its suffocating grip tightening with each passing second.

Jeongwoo had made many mistakes in his life, but none compared to the decision to kill Whitebeard. Despite knowing that it could lead to his demise, he had hoped for an honorable death, a valiant battle against one of the revered kings of the sea. Now, he was dead, and his crew would remain in perpetual waiting, unaware of his fate.

However, as Jeongwoo surrendered to the embrace of death, a peculiar sensation washed over him. Instead of the anticipated darkness and stillness, he felt a gentle breeze upon his face, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of the ocean. In the distance, a captivating voice sang a haunting melody, unfamiliar yet oddly comforting. It was not the symphony of death, but something entirely different.

Slowly, Jeongwoo opened his eyes, his surroundings shifting from darkness to a blinding brightness. And there he lay, not in the clutches of death, but on the sandy floor of a beach, safe and unharmed. Beside him sat Y/N, the source of the melody that had captivated his senses.

Confusion and relief washed over Jeongwoo as he struggled to comprehend his current state. "Am I alive?" he questioned, his voice filled with a mix of astonishment and gratitude.

You turned your gaze towards Jeongwoo, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. "No, my friend, we both died and unfortunately, we didn't make it to heaven. Welcome to hell." you joked, adding a playful smirk.

Jeongwoo looked at you, slightly taken aback by your remark.

"No, we're not dead. Well, at least you are not dead," you clarified, your tone now more serious.

As Jeongwoo settled down, his eyes adjusting to the sunlight, he couldn't help but inquire about the fate of your ship. "What happened to your ship?" he asked, evident worry in his voice.

"Oh, it burned down completely. I had to carry you all the way up to the beach cause you refused to wake up." you explained, a tinge of exhaustion in your voice. "My crew already gave up on trying to find me. Whitebeard is finally dead."

The weight of your words lingered in the air, mingling with a sense of irony and regret. Jeongwoo absorbed the gravity of the situation, his thoughts drifting to the consequences of his actions and the unpredictable path that lay before them.

"What are you going to do now?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.

"I don't know," you replied, your eyes tracing the vastness of the ocean. "But I'm happy I'm not really dead. And now you can say that you killed Whitebeard as well.”

Jeongwoo clutched his knees tightly as he contemplated the implications of your words. A mixture of guilt and disbelief washed over him, realizing the weight of his actions and the role he inadvertently played in Whitebeard's demise.

"Can I ask you something?" Jeongwoo said. You nodded, signaling your willingness to answer.

"Your room was full of medicine, what is that for?" he inquired, his eyes reflecting genuine interest.

"Oh, that. I have a weak body, you see. That's why I never actively participated in battles. The medicine I had in my room helped me manage the pain and discomfort that came with it." You maintained a positive demeanor, even when discussing serious matters. "I should've thought about that before I burned my room down. Now I have no access to those medicines anymore."

Jeongwoo listened intently, realizing the extent of your struggles and the sacrifices you had made. It deepened his understanding of who you were beyond the legendary figure of Whitebeard.

"Can I ask you something too?" You said with a hopeful look in your eyes.

"Of course," Jeongwoo replied, curious about your request.

"Could you take me with you on your ship?"

Jeongwoo's eyes widened in surprise. "What?"

"See, I want to experience life as a pirate without being the captain. I've always been sheltered and protected, spending my days confined to that room because my crewmates feared for my safety. I want to be a regular crewmate and see what life is like beyond my previous duties. Please, bring me along to your ship."

Jeongwoo hesitated, taken aback by your request. "I'm sorry, but..."

"Please, I promise I won't be a burden. I was always the brains behind our quests, I can help out if you need it. I'll be good company, and once I find a new place to live, I'll leave, I promise!"

"Y/N," he interrupted, seriousness in his voice tone, "I'm a Blackbeard pirate." He braced himself for your reaction, unsure of how you would take the news.

But instead of being devastated or shocked, you looked at him with a knowing smile. "Oh, I already knew. The moment I laid eyes on your knife, I recognized it. That type of blade is exclusively crafted for Blackbeard's crew. I intentionally left yours in my room to make it look like you're the one who caused my death."

Jeongwoo's eyes widened in surprise, his secret now out in the open. "You knew all along?"

You nodded, a playful glint in your eyes. "I told you I'm smart."

"And you still want to join my father's crew?" Jeongwoo asked, concern etched on his face.

"Father? Oh, that's news to me," you replied with a hint of surprise. "But yes, I do!"

"Listen, if he finds out you're Whitebeard, he might do something drastic. I am his son, but I have no idea what he's capable of." Jeongwoo warned, his worry palpable.

"That's a risk I'm willing to take. After all, I'm already familiar with pain." you said, a tinge of determination in your voice as you alluded to your health condition.

Jeongwoo carefully considered the situation, contemplating his father's nature and your resolute spirit. Finally, he made a decision.

"Alright. You can come with me. I'll help you get the medicines you need and we'll disguise your appearance so that your crewmates won't recognize you if they happen to come across us. Having white hair won't exactly blend in well with my crew."

You listened attentively, ready to fulfill your part in the plan.

"But there's one more thing," Jeongwoo continued. "We will have to convince my crew that I killed you, I mean, Whitebeard. It's crucial to ensure your safety. Can you do that?"

A mischievous smile crossed your face as you accepted the challenge. "Consider it done. Together, we'll weave a convincing tale that even Blackbeard himself won't question."

With an agreement in place, you and Jeongwoo embarked on a journey filled with secrets, transformations, and the unpredictable dynamics of a notorious pirate crew.

The crew of Blackbeard was going about their usual activities. Some pirates diligently cleaned the deck, others sharpened their weapons, and a few studied maps. Amidst this routine, the sharp-eyed navigator, Jaehyuk, spotted a tiny boat approaching their ship. He recognized it instantly—Jeongwoo had returned after two long months.

"Jeongwoo is back on the ship!" Jaehyuk’s voice echoed through the air, grabbing the attention of the sailors.

The crew quickly gathered, eagerly awaiting their comrade's arrival. As Jeongwoo stepped onto the deck, he was warmly embraced by his friends.

"Welcome back, mate!" Jihoon, Blackbeard's trusted right-hand man, exclaimed with joy.

However, Jeongwoo's demeanor betrayed a sense of terror rather than excitement. He surveyed the surroundings, his father conspicuously absent. Soon, he would have to reveal the lie he had planned.

"Where's the captain?" Jeongwoo inquired, his voice tinged with apprehension.

"Blackbeard is in his cabin. We're preparing to dock at a new island." Jihoon responded, noting the unusual behavior displayed by the young pirate. "Is something the matter?"

Without uttering a word, Jeongwoo swiftly made his way towards his father's quarters, leaving Jihoon with unanswered questions.

"Well, look who we have here..." Doyoung, the ship's chef, remarked with a sly grin as he peered down at the boat beside the ship, catching sight of you.

Jeongwoo hesitated for a moment before mustering the courage to knock on his father's door. He did it and Blackbeard's voice boomed from within, "Who is it?"

"It's me, Captain. I'm back." Jeongwoo responded, his voice slightly shaky.

There was a brief pause before Blackbeard granted him entry. Jeongwoo pushed open the door and stepped into the room, which resembled more of an office than a living space. A large desk cluttered with papers and boxes of weapons dominated the room's center.

"Hello, Father," Jeongwoo greeted, standing before the imposing desk. Blackbeard remained engrossed in his maps, not bothering to look up.

"I have something important to tell you," Jeongwoo continued, his voice earnest. "I lied about going to trade treasure. In truth, I've been working on a plan to eliminate a rival captain. And... I succeeded. I killed him and burned his ship, leaving one of our knives as proof. I'm certain the news will reach you soon."

"I understand. But you didn't mention the crucial part," Blackbeard stated, his voice laced with curiosity. He fixed his intense gaze on Jeongwoo, waiting for the revelation. “Whom did you kill?”

Taking a deep breath, Jeongwoo summoned his courage and spoke, his voice tinged with both apprehension and resolve. "I... I killed Whitebeard, sir," he confessed, the weight of his words hanging in the air. The significance of his action was not lost on either of them.

He looked down, awaiting his father's reaction, but to his surprise, Blackbeard remained focused on his maps, seemingly unperturbed by the revelation.

"Father?" Jeongwoo stammered, seeking acknowledgment.

Without looking up, Blackbeard replied with a dismissive tone, "I heard you. If what you say is true, then I will wait for the news to reach me in due time."

"Additionally, I brought someone back with me to the ship. I hope that's not a problem." Jeongwoo said.

"Your guest is your responsibility. Now, return to your usual duties. "

Jeongwoo's heart sank at his father's lack of response. It seemed that his confession had fallen on deaf ears. He couldn't help but wonder what lay behind his father's impassive facade.

After leaving his room, Jeongwoo hurried to the boat to bring you up to his room. However, to his surprise, you were no longer there. His crewmates had already taken the initiative to escort you to Jeongwoo's quarters. As he entered the room, he noticed Doyoung lingering by your side, a flirtatious smirk on his face.

"Here's some clothes from our shortest crewmates. These are men's outfits, but it might fit you for now!" Doyoung said, placing the garments in your hands. He made a subtle move, his hand briefly brushing against yours in a flirtatious manner.

Jeongwoo's annoyance grew as he witnessed Doyoung's advances. It seemed that his friend couldn't resist flirting with any woman he encountered.

"Oh, Jeongwoo. Hi!" Doyoung greeted, his playful tone evident. "Did Jeongwoo tell you he's my assistant?"

"I think that's enough, Doyoung" Jeongwoo interjected, his voice tinged with annoyance.

Noticing the tension, you decided to break the ice. "Hey, how did things go with your father?"

Jeongwoo glanced at Doyoung and then turned to you. "Doyoung, could you excuse us for a moment? I need to talk to Y/N privately."

Doyoung shrugged, his flirtatious demeanor fading slightly. "Sure thing, Jeongwoo. I'll catch up with you later."

As Doyoung left the room, Jeongwoo closed the door behind him, creating a sense of privacy for your conversation.

"Did you tell him?" you asked, your curiosity piqued.

"Yes, I did. But he didn't believe me," Jeongwoo replied, frustration evident in his voice. He paced back and forth within the confines of the small room, trying to process his father's disbelief.

"I see," you nodded, understanding the situation. "Let's not dwell on it for now. It's only a matter of time before news of my... his death spreads throughout the Caribbean."

Jeongwoo sighed, releasing the tension in his brow. "I hope you're right," he murmured, his thoughts preoccupied with the uncertainty of their plan. He shifted gears, changing the topic. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm doing well," you replied, a hint of a smile playing on your lips. "The medicine we got on the way is helping a lot with the pain. Your crew has been welcoming and friendly."

Jeongwoo's expression softened, glad to hear that you were finding some comfort amidst the unfamiliar surroundings.

He took a better look at you, taking in your changed appearance. The clothes you wore were clearly mismatched and of questionable quality, and your long hair was concealed beneath a knit cap. The shoes on your feet seemed ill-fitting and out of place.

"Once we land on a commercial island, I'll make sure to get you proper clothing," Jeongwoo assured you, his voice filled with determination.

You nodded appreciatively, grateful for his consideration.

"This is my room. It's very small compared to yours, but it's the only one on the ship. At least I have one advantage as the captain's son," Jeongwoo chuckled, a hint of self-deprecating humor in his tone. "You can keep it to yourself."

"Really? But where will you sleep then?" you asked, concerned about his sleeping arrangements.

"With the other crewmates on the deck," he replied nonchalantly.

"Well, if you can sleep on the floor with them, you might as well sleep on the floor here," you suggested.

"I'm fine, don't worry," he assured you.

"Come on, we've been camping together all these past days. There's no difference between that and sharing a room," you reasoned.

"Fine, I'll think about it. But for now, I have to attend to my duties. Stay here, and we can talk later," Jeongwoo said, his attention turning to his responsibilities.

"Your duties as the cook's assistant?" you teased playfully.

"Hey, stop it!" he exclaimed, a faint smile gracing his face as he left you alone in the room.

The rest of the day deviated from your usual routine. In your previous life as Whitebeard, your days were consumed by studying and strategizing. However, in these past few days with Jeongwoo, you had taken on the role of his mentor, teaching him the art of combat and imparting your knowledge. It has been an enjoyable experience for both of you.

Now, with a moment of solitude, you seized the opportunity to remove your knit cap, allowing your hair to cascade freely. As you explored Jeongwoo's belongings, you stumbled upon a knife. Remembering his words from earlier, you made a decision. Determined to embrace this new chapter in your life, you courageously chopped off all of your white, long hair, leaving it shorter than Jeongwoo's own hair. It symbolized a fresh start, a declaration of your commitment to this new identity.

When Jeongwoo returned to invite you to dinner, he was taken aback by your new visual. The sight surprised him, but it also reassured him of your determination and commitment to this new chapter. You informed him that you weren't hungry at the moment, so he kindly brought you a plate of food to enjoy later.

As the night settled in, Jeongwoo made the decision to accept your request to become roommates. He settled himself on the floor while you took the bed, contemplating what the future held in store for both of you.

The next morning, a loud knock on Jeongwoo's door jolted him awake. Doyoung's voice came through, urgently informing him that Blackbeard wanted to see him. Panic surged through Jeongwoo as he realized you were no longer in your bed. He sprang into action, hastily making his way to the deck, anticipating the worst.

To his astonishment, instead of a tense confrontation, he was greeted with lively music and jubilant celebrations. The crewmates were in high spirits, reveling in the festivities.

“He’s awake!” Doyoung called out, drawing everyone's attention.

Blackbeard turned towards his son, his eyes filled with pride and joy. He opened his arms, welcoming him with warmth.

"My son," he said, placing a hand on Jeongwoo's shoulder. "Last night I sent Jihoon to the nearest island to verify the information you shared. He found this." Blackbeard retrieved a newspaper from his coat and handed it to Jeongwoo. The headline read: "Pirate Whitebeard killed by a member of Blackbeard's crew."

Jeongwoo looked up, his confusion deepening as he saw his father's wide grin. "I am proud of you, son." Blackbeard proclaimed, turning to address the rest of the crew. "My son has killed Whitebeard!" His words were met with cheers and applause, filling the air with jubilation.

Jeongwoo stood in disbelief, his emotions swirling. The truth had been accepted, and his father's pride washed away any doubts he had carried. It was a moment of validation and a turning point in his journey as a pirate.

"Where's Y/N?" Jeongwoo inquired, scanning the surroundings.

"Your new companion? She's over there, reading books to the boys!" Blackbeard pointed towards the stairs where you sat, engrossed in storytelling for the crew members. "It's a rare find to have someone so smart and well-read among us!"

Jeongwoo's heart swelled with a mix of emotions as he watched you captivate the crew with your storytelling. Gratitude, pride, and a lingering sense of guilt churned inside him. He had never felt valued by his crew before, and his father had never expressed pride in him until now. The conflicting emotions gnawed at him, but he couldn't deny the happiness that bloomed within.

Doyoung, ever exuberant, nudged Jeongwoo towards the festivities. "Let's celebrate!" he exclaimed, urging him to join the merry chaos unfolding around them.

And so they celebrated, laughter and music filling the air throughout the day. Jeongwoo revealed the joyous atmosphere, savoring the newfound recognition and acceptance. Yet, underneath it all, the weight of his guilt remained, a constant reminder of the choices he had made.

The following day, Jeongwoo found himself relieved of his duties in the kitchen. Blackbeard had a different plan for him - to train his battle skills under the guidance of Jihoon. It was a clear indication that his father saw potential in him beyond being a mere cook's assistant.

Meanwhile, you were slowly carving out your own place on the ship. Your ability to read and your intelligence had garnered respect from the crewmates. You found yourself aiding them with your knowledge, and even Blackbeard himself sought your assistance. In return, you received new clothes more suitable for a female pirate, as well as supplies of medicines and books to feed your thirst for knowledge.

Jeongwoo, too, experienced a transformation. He was bestowed with a new sword, a stylish monocle, and a pirate hat that accentuated his growing stature within the crew. Everything seemed to be falling into place, almost too perfectly.

As the months passed, Jeongwoo vowed to prove himself even more, to earn his place honestly and make his father truly proud. Yet, deep inside, despite the newfound recognition and joy, he couldn't fully embrace it without confronting the truth that simmered beneath the surface.

"Land ahoy!" Jihoon shouted, breaking the silence in the ship.

Blackbeard, standing beside Jeongwoo, turned his attention to his son. "Do you think that's the right island?" he inquired, testing Jeongwoo's knowledge and instincts.

"Yes, sir." Jeongwoo responded confidently, his gaze fixed upon the island ahead.

You, too, recognized the island. It held a special place in your memory, as it was rumored to be the location of an ancient treasure. However, you had never had the opportunity to search for it, as your fellow sailors deemed it too dangerous for you to venture ashore.

“Let me see…” Blackbeard assessed his crew, pondering who should accompany him on this expedition. After a brief pause, he made his decision. "Jihoon, Junghwan, Jeongwoo... and Y/N," he announced. "The four of you will join me. The rest can remain on the ship."

The crew members were taken aback by his decision to bring you, a girl, along on the expedition. They were well aware of the island's dangers, knowing that other pirates might be lurking there. However, despite their surprise, no one dared to intervene or question their captain's choice.

Blackbeard's trusted right-hand man, approached you with a serious expression. "Can you handle a sword?" he inquired, assessing your combat abilities.

"I'm actually better with guns," you replied confidently, recognizing your own strengths.

Jihoon nodded in understanding, reaching into his pocket and retrieving a gun, which he handed to you. "Good choice." he remarked, acknowledging your preference and arming you accordingly.

As you accepted the weapon, a sense of determination washed over you. “Thank you.”

You noticed Jeongwoo stealing glances at you with his familiar anxiousness. Understanding his concern, you nodded reassuringly, silently communicating that you were prepared for the journey ahead.

After the ship docked on the island, the five of you disembarked and ventured into the forest. The dense vegetation made progress difficult, but Blackbeard and the other two crewmates forged a path ahead, diligently following the directions on the map while clearing obstacles along the way. Jeongwoo and you trailed a few steps behind them, engaged in a quiet conversation.

"You should have said you didn't want to come," Jeongwoo voiced his worry.

"Why would I? It sounds like an adventure," you replied with a hint of excitement in your voice.

"But it's dangerous, especially for you." he expressed his concern.

"Don’t underestimate me, Jeongwoo. Despite my limitations, I still possess a wealth of experience." you assured him confidently. "I was once a great fighter before my health condition started to manifest. In the early days of my crew, I always embarked on new adventures.”

Jeongwoo's apprehensive expression softened as he took in your words. He couldn't help but appreciate your bravery and determination, even if it worried him.

"I'm actually glad you came with us..." Jeongwoo admitted. "I don't think i could do it without you."

"Absolutely, we're a team now," you replied. "A crew within the crew!"

The boy couldn't help but think about how different you and Blackbeard were. While you were known for your kindness and care, Blackbeard was renowned for his strength, brusqueness, and his position at the forefront of battles. The juxtaposition of your gentle nature and his fierce demeanor struck a chord with Jeongwoo, prompting him to realize that not every captain had to conform to the same mold.

As you continued your trek through the dense forest, a sudden shift in the atmosphere caught your attention. Your instincts heightened, and you swiftly halted your movement, causing Jeongwoo to turn towards you, a questioning look on his face. With a finger pressed to your lips, you silenced him, your senses alert and focused.

A strange, almost imperceptible sound reached your ears, causing a shiver to run down your spine. It was a sound that didn't belong in the natural rhythm of the forest. Gripping the gun that had been entrusted to you, you prepared yourself for the unexpected.

Breaking the silence with a commanding voice, you called out into the surrounding wilderness "We know you are here! Show yourselves!"

The declaration startled not only Jeongwoo, but also Blackbeard, Jihoon, and Junghwan. They turned their heads, scanning their surroundings with wide eyes, suddenly aware of the imminent threat.

In a matter of moments, the once seemingly tranquil forest came alive with movement. Figures surged from the foliage, surrounding you and your crew in a threatening formation.

"I see you have a map here," one of the enemy pirates jeered, a mocking laugh escaping his lips. "Give me that, big boy," he taunted.

The audacity of the pirate's words sent a ripple of amusement through the crew, as they witnessed someone daring to challenge the infamous their captain. Blackbeard's laughter echoed through the air, a deep, menacing sound that reverberated with power.

Without hesitation, Blackbeard drew his sword and his crewmates followed suit. The clash of steel filled the clearing as the two opposing forces collided in a fierce battle.

You and Jeongwoo fought side by side initially, hwever, the sheer numbers and tenacity of the opposing pirates overwhelmed you. In the chaos of the skirmish, you found yourself pushed back, stumbling and falling to the forest floor. But Jeongwoo remained in his protection, his unwavering loyalty shining through.

The battle raged on. Each swing of a sword, each evasive maneuver, and each determined strike propelled the conflict forward. The forest floor became a battleground, marred by the footprints of those engaged in the struggle.

Despite the enemy's relentless assault, Blackbeard's crew fought with a ferocity and skill that set them apart. The enemy pirates, though formidable, paled in comparison to the experienced warriors under Blackbeard's command.

Finally, the tides of battle began to turn in your favor. The enemy pirates, weakened and disheartened, succumbed to the relentless assault of Blackbeard's crew. The forest grew quiet, the heavy breaths of combatants punctuating the stillness.

As the final enemy pirate fell, defeated and broken, a sense of triumph and relief washed over the clearing. The remaining combatants stood tall, their bodies bruised and bloodied, but their spirits unyielding. Blackbeard's crew had emerged victorious, their reputation for strength and indomitable willpower reaffirmed.

Blackbeard firmly grasped the pirate who had dared to speak insolently before, his powerful hand closing around the young man's neck. Bloodstains marred the defeated boy's battered face, yet he still managed a defiant smile through the pain.

As you struggled to rise from the forest floor, Jeongwoo hurried to your side, concern etched across his features. He noticed that your white hair, previously covered by a knit hat, was now exposed. A sense of urgency filled the air as you frantically searched for the lost hat amidst the sand. Jeongwoo, ever attentive, joined in the search, determined to find it for you.

However, before the hat could be retrieved, Blackbeard's commanding voice broke through the commotion. "Jeongwoo? Come here, son," he beckoned, his grip on the pirate tightening as he pressed him against a nearby tree.

Jeongwoo obeyed, making his way towards his father's imposing figure.

As Jeongwoo stood beside Blackbeard, his father's piercing gaze bore into the captive pirate. Blackbeard's free hand reached into his coat, retrieving a knife adorned with the unmistakable mark of Blackbeard's crew. The knife, reminiscent of the one he had used when he first encountered you.

"Take this knife," Blackbeard commanded, placing it in Jeongwoo's hand. "Let's teach this kid a lesson. Show me exactly what you did to Whitebeard."

Jeongwoo's heart pounded in his chest as the weight of his father's expectations settled upon him. He tightened his grip on the knife, his fingers trembling ever so slightly.

Blackbeard callously dropped the defenseless pirate to the ground, creating a space for his son to reenact a murder that had never occurred. His request bore down on Jeongwoo, leaving him disoriented and unable to think straight. He had never imagined his father would be capable of demanding such a horrific act, yet deep down, he knew he shouldn't have been surprised.

"Go ahead, son," Blackbeard urged, his voice cold and demanding. "Kill this bastard and burn his body afterwards. Show us that you're capable of being my successor."

Jeongwoo stood frozen, his mind in turmoil. Every fiber of his being rebelled against the notion of carrying out his father's command. The weight of the knife in his hand felt like an anchor, dragging him into an abyss of moral conflict.

Time seemed to stand still as a deafening silence enveloped the forest. Blackbeard's frustration boiled over, his anger erupting in a primal scream that reverberated through the air.

"SHOW US!" Blackbeard bellowed, his voice filled with rage and disappointment.

But Jeongwoo couldn't bring himself to carry out such a heinous act. He refused to become a mere pawn in his father's ruthless game, to succumb to the darkness that Blackbeard represented.

"I won't..." Jeongwoo whispered, his voice barely audible.

"What? What the hell did you say?" Blackbeard seethed, his face contorted with anger.

Summoning his courage, Jeongwoo spoke with a newfound strength. "I said I won't kill him!" he declared, his words clear and resolute.

Instantly, his father's fist collided with his face, a brutal punch that sent Jeongwoo sprawling to the ground. The force of the blow reverberated through the air, the sound of impact echoing in the silence that engulfed the scene. The crew stood frozen, their gazes fixed upon the fallen young man, a mixture of shock and disbelief etched upon their faces.

"Enough!" a commanding voice rang out, cutting through the tension. Surprisingly, it was you.

Standing tall and defiant, you aimed your gun directly at Blackbeard himself.

"Put an end to this madness, Blackbeard," you demanded, your voice steady and unwavering. "Your son has made his choice, and you will respect it."

A stunned silence descended upon the forest as all eyes turned to you, the unexpected voice of reason in this chaotic scene.

"Who do you think you are to talk to me like this?" Blackbeard screamed, his voice filled with fury and disbelief.

"Whitebeard..." a voice interjected, joining the tense conversation. It was the defeated pirate whom Jeongwoo had refused to kill. He spoke slowly, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "I've always heard whispers on my island, rumors that a young girl was kidnapped from our church to serve as a scribe on a pirate ship, but instead she became the captain. The girl with the unmistakable white hair. Now I see, my people were right all along.”

The revelation hung in the air, casting a spell of astonishment over the assembled crowd.

Blackbeard's face contorted with a mixture of emotions—shock, denial, and a flicker of recognition. The realization that the formidable Whitebeard, revered as a fierce male pirate, was in fact a kidnapped child who had seized her own destiny.

In that moment, the power dynamics shifted, eroding the foundation of established hierarchies.

As the crew stood frozen in shock at the revelation, the fallen enemies seized the opportunity to strike back. Swiftly, they immobilized Junghwan and Jihoon, their movements deft and calculated. Meanwhile, Jeongwoo remained sprawled on the ground, still recovering from the forceful blow he had received.

Blackbeard regained his senses and unsheathed his sword, charging towards you with lethal intent. His eyes burned with rage and his sword gleamed menacingly in the sunlight. But before he could reach you, a resounding gunshot pierced the air, causing Blackbeard to halt in his tracks.

He clutched his chest, his hand stained with crimson blood, as his body crumpled to the ground.

The source of the gunshot was not you, however; it was the defeated pirate who had found an opportunity for redemption. He had chosen to intervene, taking justice into his own hands.

You rushed to Jeongwoo's side, your hands cradling his face gently as you tried to convey the depth of your emotions. The confusion in his eyes slowly gave way to clarity as the reality of the situation settled upon him.

"Jeongwoo..." you whispered, your voice trembling with a mixture of sadness and compassion.

He looked at you, his gaze filled with uncertainty and searching for answers. "Y/N... What happened to my dad?" he asked, his voice tinged with apprehension.

"Jeongwoo..." you began, your voice catching in your throat as tears welled up in your eyes. "I'm so sorry..."

Before you could finish your sentence, the assassin who had intervened earlier, stood before you, interrupting the somber moment. He addressed you respectfully, seeking confirmation of his suspicions.

"Milady," The boy spoke, his tone filled with reverence. "Was I right? Are you the girl who was kidnapped from Pueblo Esperanza?”

You nodded amidst your tears, acknowledging the truth. "Yes. It is true."

"My name is Haruto. I lived there as well. I think I recall seeing you when I was young. A white-haired girl like is not easy to forget.” He said, extending his hand towards you. "We should leave. Their crew is now aware of our presence, and they'll come searching due to the gunshots. I can guide us to safety."

Your gaze shifted briefly to Jihoon and Junghwan, who were bound and held captive by Haruto's crewmates. Then, your attention returned to Jeongwoo, his expression clouded with conflicting emotions.

"Jeongwoo, please, come with me." you pleaded, tears streaming down your face.

"Did you kill him?" He asked, his mind still confused because of the attack he suffered.

"I didn't kill your father. I never wanted any of this."

Jeongwoo's eyes narrowed as he processed your words, the weight of his own emotions evident. He uttered his thoughts slowly, his words heavy with regret and pain. "I should've killed you first."

The anguish in his voice pierced your heart, and you recoiled as if struck by his words. Desperate to reach him, to bridge the growing chasm between you, you moved your face closer to his, your voice filled with a mix of sorrow and determination.

Desperately, you pleaded with Jeongwoo, tears streaming down your face. "Please, listen to me… I can't do this without you…" you begged, your voice filled with anguish.

But Jeongwoo's response was a soft whisper, barely audible. "Don't touch me."

The weight of his words struck you like a blow, leaving you stunned and heartbroken. Slowly, you rose to your feet, your eyes devoid of any remaining hope or emotion. In that moment, you felt a profound emptiness settle within you.

You turned to Haruto and accepted his outstretched hand. "Don't kill them," you uttered, your voice barely a whisper, but filled with a resolute plea.

Haruto met your gaze, his expression unreadable. "As you wish," he replied, his tone tinged with a mix of understanding and restraint.

As you bid farewell, there was a bittersweet feeling in the air, knowing that your time together had come to an end. And thus, your journey took a different path from Jeongwoo. The circumstances had led you to part ways, each pursuing your own destiny.

After regaining his senses, Jeongwoo found himself confined to his father's bed on the ship. For two weeks, he secluded himself in that room, needing time to process the overwhelming events that had unfolded. Memories and emotions swirled within him as he struggled to come to terms with the loss of his father.

When he finally mustered the strength to step out of the room, the crew's solemn faces confirmed the grim truth—Blackbeard was no longer alive. The weight of grief settled heavily upon Jeongwoo's shoulders, a reminder of the void left by his father's absence.

In the midst of this somber moment, another revelation awaited Jeongwoo. The crew had chosen Jihoon as the new captain, recognizing his strength and leadership qualities. However, Jihoon surprised everyone by stepping down from the position. He declared that Jeongwoo had always been the true successor, even if his father had never explicitly acknowledged it.

Jeongwoo's heart swelled with a mix of emotions — grief for his father's passing, astonishment at Jihoon's unwavering support, and a newfound sense of responsibility. The weight of his heritage and the expectations of the crew now rested upon his shoulders.

For his first order as the new captain, Jeongwoo didn't request weapons or treasure. Instead, he had a different goal in mind. He gathered the crew together and instructed them to bring forth all the maps they had in their possession. It was time to embark on a quest to uncover a specific place, a place of significance.

As the crew members spread out their maps on the deck, Jeongwoo's eyes scanned the collection. He studied each map carefully, searching for a particular name that held deep meaning to him.

"I found it..." Jeongwoo spoke the words aloud, his voice filled with a mix of anticipation and determination. With a steady hand, he traced the outline of a small island on his own map, marking its location.

Pueblo Esperanza, the village you were born in.

You awoke in a cozy bed, the gentle breeze and melodious chirping of birds filling the air around you. As you rose from the bed, the cool touch of the concrete floor greeted your bare feet.

Casting a glance at the mirror, you took in your appearance. Your hair had grown, cascading down to your shoulders, and you wore a comfortable nightgown. With a sense of purpose, you reached into your bag and selected a simple dress, swiftly changing into it. Slipping on a pair of shoes, you completed your morning preparations.

Exiting the room, you made your way to the living room of the house. There, seated at the table, was a woman dressed in a religious outfit. As she patiently waited, a warm smile graced your lips.

"Good morning," you greeted her, your voice filled with genuine kindness.

"Oh, good morning, dear," she responded kindly. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes," you replied. "I'm still adjusting to being on land instead of the ocean, though."

"Well, you better not get too used to it if you plan on returning," she responded, a hint of amusement in her voice. "Haruto seems quite eager to come back to the sea."

You contemplated her words for a moment before expressing your thoughts. "Well, he only came here to visit, but... I still haven't decided if I want to continue my life as a pirate."

The woman nodded with a sense of understanding. "That's perfectly alright, my dear. You are welcome to stay here at the church for as long as you need."

"I appreciate that," you replied, a sense of gratitude in your voice. "I have a feeling that Pueblo Esperanza has many things in store for me."

author's note 2: i'm so sorry about the sad ending T-T... please don't be mad a me haha. i'm thinking about writing a part 2, but i'm still not sure... anyway, i'm sorry again!

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