#-he takes in 'sway' is very on the nose for my vision! for a hint as to another idea I had for a sam x dean martin inspo jaja

[morelikesin]

Everybody loves somebody sometime

And although my dream was overdue

Your love made it well worth waiting

For someone like you.

-

Because I've been more experimental in what I want to do with my art, but I'm also a sucker for Dean Martin and a pretty man in an equally pretty dress.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Victor’s Sand and Sea Date

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 砂海之约, which has not been released in EN! 🍒

Warning: There are mentions of blood and self-injury! 

[ This date was released on 28 April 2021 ]

Legend tells of two lovers. Because of the pressures of their nations, they could not be together, and decided to drown themselves in a river for love.

Because of this, the River Goddess was enraged, and she cursed the land nourished by the river which was under her control.

Since that day, the Socya River gradually dried up.

The Goddess left an exhortation - when the fateful couple reappears on this land, the river will be surge once again...

-

The sand is boundless, and the sandy wind is bothersome. I walk in the desert, wiping off sweat. 

MC: After walking for such a long time, why haven’t I reached the Desert Kingdom? Did I get lost?

Retrieving a map from my waist, I’m just about to verify my direction when I suddenly see a camel continuously pacing around a small sand dune in front.

I walk over curiously. Using my hands to sweep away the sand, a wrinkled, dark red sleeve appears.

MC: There’s a person!

Quickly, I use both hands to dig into the sand dune, digging out a man who has been buried by the sand.

This person probably wasn’t unconscious for too long. His lips are dry and cracked, and his face is pale. Even so, one can tell that he’s handsome. 

I pat his face.

MC: Hey, wake up! Wake up-

After patting him numerous times, I still receive no response from him. I hastily hold him up, opening my waterskin and giving him a mouth of water.

[Note] A waterskin is a receptacle used to hold water!

After a very long time, he gradually regains some consciousness, opening his eyes to look at me.

His voice has not been fully restored, and his tone is cold.

?: ...who are you?

The expression in his eyes gives me a fright. Feeling as though my good intentions were for nothing, I purse my lips and respond.

MC: I’m the person who pulled you out of the sand dune. You were under the sun for too long. If it weren’t for me, I’m afraid you’d have turned into a meal for the golden eagles by night.

Hearing this, his brows furrow. He struggles to stand, but since he was unconscious for so long, he lacks strength, and his knuckles turn white from the effort.

I reach out to support him. The camel leans over, using its head to nuzzle the corner of his clothes affectionately.

When the person stands up, I realise that he’s much taller than me. Even though he’s in a weak state, there’s still a noble aura in his eyes.

He glances at me, his voice a little hoarse.

?: Thank you very much for saving me.

Just as I’m about to wave my hands and say that it was nothing, I watch as that man unties the bag at his waist, giving it to me.

?: The gems inside shall be treated as repayment for saving my life.

I open the bag, and the red gems that fill it dazzle me.

MC: ...

After selecting one piece, I return the bag to him.

MC: I saved you because I happened to pass by, and wasn’t seeking anything in return. You being safe is already the best thing.

The man lifts his head, giving me a serious look.

Being stared at like this makes me feel slightly embarrassed. I pat the travelling bag behind me, asking him in an amicable manner.

MC: Oh yes, I’m MC. What’s your name?

He leads the camel forward, his voice in the sandy wind indistinct and faraway.

?: Victor.

Although this person was overheated for such a long time, he’s as solemn as a mountain of ice. How strange.

Despite my unspoken criticism, I chase after him with good intentions.

MC: Hey, don’t underestimate me. It’d take several days to get out of here. If you didn’t bring water, you can’t last long alone. Since I’ve received your gem, let me be responsible for you.

Even though I just dug him out from the sand dune, his tone remains very calm.

Victor: There isn’t much water left in your waterskin, and it isn’t enough to sustain two people.

He pauses, then continues.

Victor: Don’t care about me. Take care of yourself.

I’m left dumbfounded. Even though this man called Victor doesn’t have a great personality, he’s pretty kind-hearted.

I take a large step forward, standing in front of him.

MC: Who says there isn’t enough water in the waterskin?

Grinning, I reach out to uncover the waterskin, pouring a few droplets of water into my palm.

Victor watches my every action quietly. After a moment, his eyes widen slightly.

Victor: You...

The water droplets in my palm seem to obtain some strength from my body. One droplet turns into countless droplets.

Then, it forms a spring, flowing into the waterskin.

MC: I'm not a typical traveller. If you follow me, you won’t lose out.

The sun is akin to a red wheel, hanging faraway in the sky. Even after walking for a very long time, it only shifts a little.

The travelling bag on my back feels heavier and heavier, and I haul it on my shoulders with effort.

Victor suddenly pauses in his steps, then reaches out to take my travelling bag.

He brings the camel to me, lifting his eyes to look at me.

Victor: If you can’t walk, you can ride on the camel.

After being stunned for a moment, I can’t help but smile while waving my hands.

MC: No need. It looks really weak, so I can’t bear to do that.

Victor doesn’t say anything else. I follow beside him, making bits of conversation with him.

MC: Victor, why did you faint in the desert? Since you’re so rich, did you meet a bandit? Are the bells on your camel’s neck made of gold? They’re so exquisite! Oh yes, are you going to the Desert Kingdom? I also wish to go there...

Victor stops abruptly.

Following behind him, my head unexpectedly bumps into his back.

MC: Sss... what happened?

Victor: We’ve arrived.

I stick out my head from behind him.

An oasis is encased amid the boundless sand, reminiscent of a dark green amber.

MC: The Desert Kingdom? We reached so quickly?

Victor glances at me, as though wanting to say something. But I suddenly feel unsteady on my feet, and my body sways.

My fingertips feel weak. Instantly, I realise what’s going on.

Having stayed in the desert for too long, I had used too much of my abilities and had forgotten about its side-effects.

My vision gradually turns blurry. My legs are no longer able to support me, and I feel like I’m about to fall.

The sound of frantic camel bells drift to my ear. In my daze, a steady embrace seems to surround me.

-

When I wake up, I’m no longer at the place where I fainted, but am in a palace.

Bright coloured gems are used as decorations, engraved into the walls. The curtain is blown up by the wind, and the air is filled with the fresh and sweet scent of orange blossom water.

MC: Where am I?

I peel open the blanket and rush outside. Victor is standing under a veranda, and the person beside him, who appears to be a physician, is talking to him about something.

Seeing that I’m here, he tilts his head slightly. The physician bows before withdrawing.

Victor walks over to me. The dazzling sunlight illuminates the corridor, mottled light falling on his tall frame, warm and brilliant.

Victor: You’re awake. How are you feeling?

Just as I’m about to ask him what this place is, I realise something after seeing his resplendent attire.

MC: You... Could you be the feudal lord of the Desert Kingdom?

He looks at me without responding, akin to a silent acknowledgement. I feel slightly surprised.

MC: In that case, you must definitely know about desert roses, right?! I heard that this flower is a secret that only the feudal lord of the Desert Kingdom knows about.

The rumoured desert roses are able to cure all the curses in the world.

MC: I came to the Desert Kingdom to collect these special roses. Since I’m considered your benefactor, and a droplet of water will be returned with a gushing spring, could you...

My hint is extremely obvious, but Victor narrows hie eyes at me.

Victor: When you fainted, I was the one who rescued you, sent you a doctor, and fed you medicine. I’ve already returned your droplet of water with a gushing spring.

I’m choked off for a moment, before speaking softly.

MC: ...in that case, what must I do before you’re willing to tell me?

Victor ponders slightly.

Victor: I want to make a deal with you. I’ve heard about what you mentioned, and I can you search for it. But in return, you have to help me with one thing. If you’re willing, no matter whether it’s desert roses or gems, I can give them to you once the matter is done.

MC: Sure.

Victor: ...I haven’t even mentioned what it is.

MC: I trust you. We walked out of the desert together, and I know what kind of a person you are.

It might have been a misperception, but Victor, who originally pulled a long face, suddenly lowers his eyes slightly, a hint of a smile flashing past them.

-

And just like that, I stay in Victor’s palace temporarily.

He mentioned that “the deal” was not yet prepared. Before that, I can recuperate peacefully in his palace.

It doesn’t matter to me. During my stay here, I often take strolls in the marketplace, and all use my abilities to help the poverty-stricken citizens who lack water.

The people are kind and honest, so I always fail to take note of how much I use my abilities.

But for some reason, each time my body reaches its limits and faints, I always happen to meet Victor.

-

Opening my eyes, I stare at the familiar gorgeous decorations on the ceiling, the tip of my nose detecting the sweet orange blossom scent floating in the air.

Victor is sitting by my side, eyes lowered as he looks at the topographical map in his hands.

The tips of his hair have fallen to the corners of his eyes, covering those somewhat stern eyes. But he appears much more amiable and approachable.

I know that I was once again rescued and brought back by Victor, so I crack a joke.

MC: Victor, why are you always able to bring me back each time I faint? Are you secretly following me every day?

Victor: ...

Victor places the topographical map at the side, facing me calmly.

Victor: I don’t wish to bring you back from the outside each time, but you clearly lack an awareness on how to use your abilities reasonably. Do you need me to teach you about this?

MC: It’s probably because I can skip and jump about after a few days of recuperating.

I add on softly in my heart: It’d be good if I could find the desert roses soon.

Victor: The fact that you’re able to skip and jump about is thanks to the exorbitant medicine you drink every day and the physician who specially takes care of you.

MC: ...thanks to them, I guess?

Victor is silent for a moment, choosing to put an end to this conversation. He gets up, carrying the medicine bowl as he leaves.

Seeing that I’ve gone too far with my jokes, I quickly get up, following behind Victor to salvage the situation.

MC: Victor, I was wrong. I won’t joke around with you anymore.

I follow after him blindly, and he suddenly stops outside the corridor.

Outside the corridor, there’s a small flower garden. Even though it’s a flower garden, there are only a few tiny crooked saplings in it.

The desert is scorching during all four seasons, and the oasis lacks a water source. During my time here, I haven’t seen a single flower in the city.

But Victor seems to really like this small flower garden. Whenever he has free time, he likes to stop at this veranda for a while.

Sometimes, I think that he doesn’t actually like this flower garden. When he stares at the small bare saplings, it’s as though he’s looking at this barren kingdom.

Even though such emotions are meant to be faraway for me, I can always capture them when I stand beside him.

After pondering for a while, I brisk walk into the flower garden. Uncovering my waterskin, the tip of my finger touches a water droplet.

A crystal clear spring suddenly appears, descending onto the bare branches of the saplings.

I turn my head towards Victor, tilting my chin in satisfaction.

MC: Don’t worry. With me around, your flower garden will definitely become full of vitality. Also, by the time they grow big, this land will definitely have even more sources of water.

Victor stands under the veranda, his gaze passing through the countless water droplets, landing on my face.

He doesn’t speak, but simply watches me quietly. When our eyes linger on each other, I feel my face burning up for some reason, and I avert my gaze frantically.

MC: [blushing] Why... why aren’t you saying anything?

Victor: Have I ever told you that this place didn’t always look like this?

I shake my head.

He suddenly smiles, then sits on a step of the veranda. He pats the empty space beside him, beckoning me to go over.

Victor: There’s a story. Want to hear it?

I immediately shuffle over, sitting beside him. The distance between us is very small. When I turn my head, I’m able to see his narrow, deep and serene eyes.

I hug my knees, preparing to listen to Victor’s story.

The setting sun brings with it an afterglow which seeps through the other side of the palace. The simple moonlight slowly reveals itself in the light greenish blue sky.

As though he’s about to tell a very long story, Victor sends a maidservant to bring over a jar of grape wine.

I take a sip, and the sweet scent of grapes rushes to my face along with the night breeze.

Victor’s tone is unhurried and gentle, mixing with the honeyed fruit wine, and flowing into my heart.

Victor: A long time ago before I was born, it was said that the upper and lower basins of the river belonged to two tribes. A pair of lovers surmounted the obstruction of the river and were in love. But this wasn’t allowed by their respective nations, which resulted in them drowning in a river for love. The River Goddess is responsible for water and life. She lamented these two people who died for love, and put a curse on the river.

MC: The people here mentioned this before! I heard that the river would only be restored when the fated couple reappears. I also heard that you abandoned the honour and glory of leading a comfortable life as a feudal lord... and led the king’s troops here, in order to find a way to resolve the issue of the dried river. Have you tried searching for the fated couple?

Victor: As compared to legends, I prefer believing in the power of humans. I spent a very long time to find this current spring, but I don’t want to stop here. I want to restore the river completely.

His voice is very deep, and it affects me subconsciously.

MC: The people here... including you, are all very kind, and treat me very well. If possible, I hope to witness the day the river is restored too.

Emotions I can’t comprehend gather in Victor’s eyes.

Victor: The current river was dug from quicksand a very long time ago when I led the troops. There isn’t much river water underneath quicksand, so this oasis doesn’t count as an actual oasis. The reason you... met me in the desert back then was because my my troops and I ran into a sandstorm while searching for other underground rivers. I was buried by sand, and only had a camel with me. It was considered a hopeless situation. But afterwards, you appeared before me.

He chuckles softly, his expression so tender that it’s akin to being able to pluck the moon from the sky with just a stretch of a hand.

Victor: Perhaps your appearance is something even the God of Fate couldn’t predict. Maybe with your abilities, the underground river could become a true river. MC, this is the deal I mentioned before. But now, as compared to a deal, this is more of a request. Will you agree?

This is the first time he’s using such a tone and looking at me with such a gaze. Pretending to be calm, I secretly take a deep breath before responding.

MC: Of course. This is something which can bring hope. Even though I’m just an ordinary person, I want to use my own strength to do something. At least... to be of help to you even by a little bit.

Victor pauses.

Victor: The desert roses you’re searching for are flowers that can only be produced by the Socya River. If the river can be restored, I promise you.

The dry breeze brushes my face, and I hear Victor’s soft and low voice, akin to a vow.

Victor: I’ll help you obtain everything you want. No matter... what you want.

I respond with a soft “mm”.

MC: I’ll wait for that day earnestly.

-

Not long after, Victor’s men dig into quicksand. Apparently, some river water flowed out.

Coincidentally, the grandest festival in the Desert Kingdom - the River Goddess’ ceremony, is about to begin. Victor and I decide to try restoring the river on that day.

But the night before the ceremony, I take my usual idle stroll along the streets, and darkness suddenly takes over my vision -

-

The cloth in front of my eyes is removed, and the harsh light of dancing flames enter my vision. Not yet adjusted to the surroundings, I squint while looking around.

A boundless desert is before me.

A few people dressed in attire from a foreign nation are whistling nearby, and a man who appears to be their leader is sitting next to the bonfire.

Seeing that I'm awake, he walks over.

Leader: We finally caught you, the “goddess” who can turn a droplet of water into a gushing spring.

MC: Mmff!

A ball of cloth is stuffed in my mouth. I struggle to speak, but a knife glinting with cold light is immediately pressed to my neck.

Leader: I’d advise you not to struggle or have the vain hope of Victor coming to rescue you. He’s currently leading troops in digging a river, and doesn’t have the time to bother about whether you’re dead or alive.

The blade shifts upwards, patting my cheek threateningly.

Leader: From now onwards, your abilities belong to our tribe. If you agree obediently, I’ll loosen the binds. How’s that? If you agree, blink your eyes.

I keep my eyes open wide, unwilling to let my abilities be used by people with ulterior motives.

Seeing my reaction, the leader laughs coldly, raising the knife in his hand.

Leader: Stubborn even at death’s door. Looks like you’ll have to suffer for a bit.

My heart grows heavy quickly.

While watching as the knife draws closer to me, I hear vibrations from afar which resemble thunder.

I immediately lift my eyes, and see a group of figures in black appearing from the horizon.

Those people are dressed in familiar attire, and the person in front has his usual stern expression, his lips pursed tightly.

The leader turns pale with fright, pulling me over as a hostage.

Victor brandishes his scimitar. The blade reflects the moonlight of the vast desert, outlining its sharp and beautiful shape.

The king’s troops are well-trained. In an instant, the people from the foreign nation are suppressed.

The bonfire seems to be burning out, and it has lost its brilliant flames. After a moment of silence, I watch as Victor’s eyes land on me fixedly. 

Victor: Release her.

Leader: Whether I release her will depend on the great feudal lord’s attitude.

Victor walks over from the crowd, then tosses his knife onto the floor, his gaze deep.

Victor: My sincerity is sufficient. Let her go, and I can guarantee that your nation will not be touched in the future. 

The leader hesitates for a while, but he suddenly speaks ferociously.

Leader: Looks like this “Living Spring” is very precious to you. In that case, there’s more reason not to let her go. Our small tribe has been oppressed by the Desert Kingdom for far too long. With her, we never have to be bullied again.

While threatening Victor, he holds me and inches backwards.

I watch as worry flashes in Victor’s eyes. But he very quickly regains his composure, stepping closer.

Victor: Looks like I’ve indulged your people for too long.

His voice brings with it a mighty pressure, stirring the frantic emotions of the leader.

Victor: So long that you dare to threaten me.

Accompanying his voice is something flashing past, piercing the wrist of the leader. With a shriek, the blade pressed against my neck falls to the ground.

No longer fettered, I fall forward.

Victor immediately reaches out, pulling me into his arms.

Before I can say anything, I hear the soldiers at the side exclaiming.

Soldiers: Not good. A sandstorm, a sandstorm is here!

Lifting my head, I see a billow of sand moving towards where we are.

The person next to me instantly presses me to his chest.

Victor: Grab my hand tightly.

The windstorm at my ear is reckless, and I’m unable to open my eyes. I can only cling to Victor’s chest.

After an unknown duration of time, the sandstorm finally passes. 

I immediately open my eyes, spitting out a large mouthful of sand.

MC: Cough cough... Victor, the sandstorm has passed!

Victor doesn’t speak, leaning against a stone. Lifting my head hastily, I see that his eyes are shut, and his fingers are ice-cold.

MC: Victor? Victor?!

I attempt to shake him awake, but when my hand accidentally touches his back, I feel something damp and sticky. Dumbfounded, I retract my hand -

Fresh blood.

Shifting my line of sight, I see that the sharp flying rocks have left a long gash on his back.

Earlier, he had left his wound exposed to the sandstorm, quietly protecting me in his arms.

My palm is dyed with his blood. I frantically tear off a patch of clothing and try to stop the bleeding, but to no avail.

MC: [crying] What should I do...

I carefully rest Victor’s head on my lap. The moonlight outlines his pale face, stern expression, and dry lips.

This is a sign of a severe lack of hydration.

However, I don’t have my waterskin with me. The only thing I can find is Victor’s knife, half-buried in the sand. 

After hesitating for a moment, I pick up the knife. Gritting my teeth, I slice my own palm.

Bringing my palm to Victor’s lips, fresh blood drips into his parted, parched lips, but nothing happens.

MC: No good, he still needs water...

At a loss, I lift my head. The desert before me is reminiscent of a gigantic beast in quiet hibernation.

The desert is a wasteland, without a single drop of water.

All of a sudden, a breeze rushes past, causing sand to be blown up. The camel at the side seems to sense something, and it tugs on my sleeve with its mouth, pulling me forward.

It tugs me forward for a short while, and my eyes widen.

Underneath the illumination of moonlight, a deep colour appears in the vast desert, which differs from the surrounding coarse sand.

MC: Quicksand? When there’s quicksand, there’s an underground river! As long as I can reach the underground river, I can let it flow... and there will be hope for Victor!

But what Victor once said comes to my mind -

Victor: The quicksands in the desert are extremely dangerous. It’s very easy for ordinary people to get swallowed up, which is why there’s a need to dig it slowly.

The camel whimpers softly, its bells tinkling along with its frantic movements.

Victor lies on the sand quietly, and it’s as though everything has returned to the beginning when we first met.

If possible, I’d really want to see the flourishing city at dusk with him again.

I pat the hair of the camel, speaking to it softly.

MC: Little Camel, even though I often pull out your hair in secret, since I fed you water...

I pause, swallowing some saliva.

 MC: If I don’t come back up later, find someone else to rescue Victor. Remember to run a little faster, got it?

After speaking to it, I take a deep breath, and try stepping into the quicksand.

A soft sensation is beneath my feet. I take a few more steps, and suddenly feel a powerful suction.

Almost instantly, everything beneath my waist sinks into the quicksand. I smell something moist, which differs from the dry sand. With difficulty, I reach out to feel for my surroundings.

The moon in the air is bright, clear, and cold. It observes my every action icily.

The sand beneath me flows continuously. Just as the sand is about to cover my mouth and nose, my wrist is suddenly gripped by someone. 

Victor: Who gave you the nerve to head down the quicksand on your own?

Victor’s face appears before my eyes. Supporting himself with a hand at the edge of the quicksand, the other hand grabs onto my wrist tightly, exerting the remnants of his energy.

MC: Victor, I’m helping you look for a water source. Let go!

Victor: I don’t need you to save me a second time.

He talks through clenched teeth, his wound reopening once again, crimson blood dripping into the sand.

Frantic, I extricate myself from his hand, and the suction from below causes me to sink even deeper, bit by bit.

The moist and fine sand climbs up my neck, gradually sealing up my mouth and nose.

I cough violently, my face red as I speak.

MC: Victor... did you forget what I told you before? I agreed to your request, and now I’m fulfilling my promise.

One side of Victor’s body has also been pulled into the quicksand. He gives me a deep stare, then suddenly releases the hand which supported him at the edge.

I stop breathing, watching blankly as the quicksand swallows Victor’s tall frame.

His gaze undulates like a tide, stirring with many emotions that I've never seen before.

Victor: Since you agreed to my request, you should know that my repayment wouldn’t be less than yours. No matter what awaits you, I’ll be with you.

His words are reminiscent of a vow, drifting to my ear. A thousand waves rise in my heart.

I recall the way he looked at me when I was held under duress. I recall the many moments that I didn’t take particular notice of.

In the many times that I fainted, I had felt someone holding me in his arms in my semi-conscious state.

That person walked very steadily, and I could hear the beating of his heart clearly, which covered all the ruckus in the surroundings.

My heart beats rapidly, and a certain answer is on the verge of surfacing. 

On that night when the arid summer breeze coursed past, he mentioned that it wasn’t a deal, but a request.

At this moment. I finally understand the difference between them -

A deal is a business transaction. But to Victor, a request has always been an exchange of feelings. 

...so this was what he meant.

I try my best to touch him, but even after exerting all my effort, I can only grip his pinky finger.

It turns out that no matter what the ending is, he’s willing to be with me.

Amid the darkness, a faraway sigh seems to drift from beneath the desert.

The quicksand, which was swallowing us like a tide, suddenly loses its oppressive strength.

At the lowest layer of the quicksand beneath our feet, there seems to be a near yet faraway sound of flowering water.

The sound of water grows increasingly louder and clearer. Victor and I look at each other, eyes brightening.

I struggle to reach out, letting the tips of my fingers feel for the water current.

A whooshing sound of wind and sand rises from the desert, reminiscent of blessings being murmured by a pair of lovers.

It’s vast and lonely.

The sound of gurgling water suddenly appears at my ear, and a surging tide bursts from the sand, sending Victor and I out of the quicksand and towards the tip of the current.

The water curling around my fingertips is both powerful and gentle as it surrounds us. I reach out tentatively, and the water follows, sliding from mid-air.

Surprised, I twist my head to look at Victor. In the mist, his expression is filled with gentleness.

The water surrounding us surges forward. Victor suddenly reaches out to pull me into his arms, carrying me out of the water before we tumble onto the riverbank.

After a long while, the gushing water gradually stops. A long, sparkling river appears beneath the moonlight, meandering and coursing faraway.

Several green seedlings appear along the riverbank, the tightly shut flower buds reflecting a little light.

MC: There are...

Victor: Desert roses.

He looks at me.

Victor: MC, the river has been restored.

-

On the eve of the ceremony, the meeting hall is filled with congratulatory gifts from the nobles.

[Note] The timing doesn’t make sense because the whole kidnapping thing happened the night before the ceremony, yet it’s somehow the day before the ceremony now?? I’ll just assume there was an error and the writers meant that it’s the day of the ceremony LOL

I’m hiding outside the main hall, peeking in secretly.

After the news of the river restoration reached the city, everyone was filled with cheer. The preparations for the ceremony this time have become even livelier.

But such a grand celebration doesn’t appear to have any relation to me.

My deal with Victor has been completed. I’ve obtained the desert roses, and have no other reason for staying here.

Still, I want to have one more look at Victor... before leaving.

Victor is sitting on a high seat and propping his head up with a hand, clearly uninterested in the praises and flattery from these nobles.

As though he senses something, he glances in my direction from afar.

I’m given a fright, turning around quickly and leaping down the stairs. But before I reach the halfway mark, someone suddenly grabs my wrist.

Victor: Where are you going?

I have no choice but to turn around and look at him.

MC: I’m leaving this place. Everything’s settled, and I’m bidding you farewell.

I avert my eyes guiltily, not having the guts to tell Victor that I plan to run away with his camel.

Victor: How did you know that everything’s settled?

MC: Huh?

I lift my head blankly. An incredibly small smile flashes in his eyes, and he speaks leisurely.

Victor: Back then, I made a promise to you. As long as you could help me restore the Socya River, all of the roses along the riverbank belong to you, as long as they are under my scope of control. You have to take them all away before the deal is considered complete.

My mouth is agape, filled with shock.

MC: But there are so many roses. How can I bring all of them back?

A scent sweeter than honey permeates the night. The moonlight illuminates the side of Victor’s cold face clearly. 

The instruments and drums in the hall play simple and unadorned music. Victor looks at me, his voice suddenly turning very, very soft.  

Victor: In that case, stay here. Stay by my side.

-

⚔️ MOMENTS ⚔️

Victor’s Post: A certain dummy displayed a row of desert roses on the balcony, but they aren’t roses.

MC: Huh? What!!!

Victor: Before you buy flowers next time, make sure to check their basic information.

-

Victor’s Post: A certain dummy displayed a row of desert roses on the balcony, but they aren’t roses.

MC: I was wondering why they looked so different from roses!

Victor: ...they don’t just look different.

-

Victor’s Post: A certain dummy displayed a row of desert roses on the balcony, but they aren’t roses.

MC: ...forget it, at least they can live longer.

Victor: Under your care, that’s not necessarily the case.

⚔️ Phone calls: First l Second

⚔️ Support the cafe by dropping by the tip jar!

[elysianightsss]

When Dusk begins.

Part Two.

Warnings: none yet but there will be smut in upcoming chapters.

SERIES MASTERLIST.

“What just happened?!” You shouted over the loud wind that brushed harshly against your skin. The slight pricks against your cheeks; a hint of realisation hit you as you felt the warm unstable ground you were sinking into. “We’re in Egypt.” You whispered in disbelief. Your eyes widened and a swarm of panicked breaths swirled around you. “Ahkmen! Ahkmenrah!”

“I’m here!” He yelled. You turned to see him climbing over the sand to you. He grabbed your hand pulling you closer as if protecting you while he was surveying the area. You looked over his face, the way his jaw was clenched, his eyes were stern. You couldn’t help but smile thinking of the smiling teddy bear he was earlier.

“That’s my home.” He pointed to the large palace. Your breath caught in your throat. You were seeing an actual ancient Egyptian palace up close. Ahkmenrah pulled you along with the words ‘let’s go’.

“Wait. We can’t go there. We don’t even know if it’s safe. We don’t even know how we got here? How do we get back? What happens if we can’t get back?!” You started to panic; all the horrid thoughts spiralling in your head. Ahkmenrah frowned cupping your face with one hand.

“Listen to me. It’s going to be okay. No matter what happens, I will protect you.” You saw the truth in his words with the way his face shifted. He was serious. You took a deep breath and nodded, putting your trust in him.

Three days earlier...

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. You couldn’t think of one thing to say. Out of the amount of questions you had built up over the years. All the things you wanted to know; why didn’t you just ask something.....he was just so distracting.

“Y/N!” You blinked out of your daze. “Are you even listening to me?” Your friend smirked at your far away look.

“No,” you began sheepishly, “I’m sorry. I am now. Go on.” You smiled.

“As I was saying. He told me I was too mindless to be with him since he was looking for a serious relationship——-“

You loved your friend Alyssa. She was like the sister you never had. But no matter how many times you tried you couldn’t find it in yourself to be interested in her love life. It was huge. Her ‘love life’ stretched across the whole city. She complains about being dumped but you know for a fact that she doesn’t care, especially since she had a plethora of men left at her disposal.

“So yeah we’re not seeing each other anymore. Oh and I got a hot date this Saturday with a guy called Spence. He’s cool.” It caused you physical pain for you not to roll your eyes there and then.

“That’s great hun.” You thanked Larry more than ever when your phone went off with an ‘emergency’ halfway through Alyssa’s explicit story of last nights one night stand.

You got to the museum just before sun down. It looked so strange with nothing walking around. It felt so empty. Standing at the front desk you waited for Larry to show up. After a while you began to wander about, it was not long before you found yourself at Ahkmenrah’s exhibit. You walked inside really examining the place. It felt so much like home to you, so strange.

Your eyes laid upon the sarcophagus. Frowning at the thought that he must have been so lonely all those years stuck inside the box. Just as you placed your hand on the glass case, a glow shone brightly from behind you. The golden shine was magnificent, you watched the tablet come to life in awe.

A loud sound echoed through the walls of the exhibit as Ahkmenrah started to scream. You acted quickly, removing the glass top and pulling out the pins of the coffin. With a grunt you pushed off the lid. Ahkmenrah sat up pulling off the dusty bandages.

“Thank you Y/N.” You really weren’t used to him saying your name. No not yet.

“No problem.” Both of you smiled at one another. He dusted himself off and placed his crown on his head turning to you. You suddenly felt awkward, he noticed you shifting your shoulders uncomfortably.

“So Larry tells me you like Egypt.” He said making you laugh.

“You could say that. More like.. it’s my life.” You giggle sheepishly. His face brightened at your words, happy to find someone who shares the same enthusiasm about his life.

“Well I could tell you abo—“

“Y/N! AHK!” Your head snapped to Larry who was looking about frantically.

“What’s wrong?” You asked standing up, instantly feeling the warm presence behind you. Somewhere in your mind you had convinced yourself that because Ahk was basically dead, theoretically he would be a cold, with lifeless features. But his warmth and comforting tropical scent proved you wrong.

“The cavemen left the museum. I need you to use the tablet to bring them back!” He rushed out. Ahkmenrah nodded with urgency and grabbed the golden tablet out of the wall.

“I’ll go wait by the door.” Larry said before running off.

Your eyebrows raised in surprise at the golden glow that shone when Ahkmenrah pressed a few buttons on the tablet.

“That’s cool.” You grinned like a idiot not noticing the Egyptian King grinning at you, he couldn’t help but smile at the wonder in your eyes. He was so focused on you that his thumb slipped and pressed a button...

You screamed so loud you thought your lungs would burst. You fell into swirls of gold and fluorescent turquoise. With a thump you landed coughing. The unclear air made you uneasy....

You and Ahkmenrah made your way closer to the palace. It was so beautiful and grand. The light colour used made you feel hopeful that nothing bad was going to happen, or maybe that was Ahkmen’s hand in yours.

You stumbled over your feet as you saw guards with spears stationed at the entrances. They kneeled looking down the moment they saw Ahk.

“That means they can see us.” You whispered panicked. He rubbed his thumb gently over the back of your hand in a way of calming you. Pulling you passed them qucikly, practically running. He grabbed a piece of cloth from a pile that a woman was carrying, much to your confusion.

He pulled you into a room closing the big door behind both of you and shoving the cloth in your hands. “What’s this?” You frowned unfolding it to show a very light yellow almost white gown.

“They can see us. Which means they can see your modern day clothes. Until we can figure out what’s happening the best thing we can do is blend in.” He explained, you nodded agreeing. You looked at him waiting for him to turn around.

“Could you, yanno turn around?” You asked sheepishly. He chuckled with a look of understanding before turning to face the doors.

“Right. I forgot that nudeness is a big deal in your time.” He said making you unbelievably scoff at the thought of him being naked 24/7 in his time.

“Okay. I’m done.” Your fingers brushed over the beautiful soft gown. It felt so lushious. It went all the way down to the floor, swaying with the breeze. You looked up to see Ahkmenrah staring at your with an emotion you couldn’t quite decipher.

He stepped forward taking a piece of the material in between his thumb and forefinger. Your breathing increased at the look in his eyes. He tilted his head sideways shamelessly examining the skin on your neck and chest that was on display. He was so near now you could feel his hot breath tickling your nose. You were both inching closer unknowingly, it felt so good to be close to someone. It felt so so so nice.

“Ahkmen?” You both jumped, blinking quickly pulling away and turning to see a woman. She was gorgeous, dark dark hair with braids here and there. Beads of gold hung delicately on strands. A white gown covered her body, a shiny collar clung to her neck. A magenta sash tightened around her waist. Ahkmenrah’s hand squeezed yours tightly, moving his arm to pull you behind him and out of line of vision. Your eyes widened at his words.

“Mother?”

[littlefreya]

The Way to Hell - Part 13

Summary: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escaped Ethan Hunt with his face intact and just won himself the title of being the most dangerous man on earth. Brooding as he is, August is unwilling to back down on his murderous agenda he plots to continue where he was stopped.

Series Completed: Previous Chapter | | Chapters Masterlist | Next Chapter

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild) 🖤

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Mentions of sexual encounters, child neglect, betrayal, hinted physical abuse,  foul language and lots of angst.   

A/N: I thought chapter 13 will be the last one, but I didn’t want to rush the ending or have a chapter too long. So for those of you still waiting, hang in tight! Many thanks to @agniavateira​ who’s my muse and my editor, to @raspberrydreamclouds​ for this amazing cover and to those who’s been asking me about the chapter, means a lot to me. I am going into my usual Way to Hell posting panic attack. So bye for now.

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Please comment, review and reblog.  💖

Title: Paradise lost

There cannot be peace before first a great suffering.  There cannot be love without first a great tragedy.

~*~

Opaline droplets of sweat form on his forehead. In his ears, a constant buzzing rings wretchedly as if an angry hornet is caged inside his skull. What was long buried abruptly awakens, stabbing at the back of his head. Red flashes sear through his eyes while images of Ingvild dissolving to ashes play in his mind, her bloodsoaked feathers crumbling to the ground.

“Why did you go?” August mutters under his breath, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He crumples the little yellow note with sheer frustration before throwing it on the bed. 

‘I told her not to go, I commanded her!’

The air in the room grows thick like the pit of a stygian forest. Tentacle-like branches appear behind his eyes creeping closer, clutching his limbs. Even though lost and abandoned in the thicket of his mind, her angelic scent still lingers on his skin, impossible to wash off. Sniffing at his biceps, he inhales the mixture of their union on his flesh;  what begins as euphoric mirth quickly meets the sharp edge of rage and hatred.

She’s gone and it gnaws at the dark matter of his brain. 

He hates it. 

Hates her for being absent.

Frowning deeply, August reaches a rigid hand for his clothes, forcing himself to get dressed. The very first memory of her hinges on his mind: An icy woman with silver-moon eyes who refused his pursuit. 

‘Did you think the two of you are going to ride toward the sunset together? That’s not you.’

Letting out heavy gasps, he shakes his head. “She’ll be fine,” he whispers dismissively, pulling on his trousers and hastily buckling his belt. 

The new world order awaits, so close he can feel the fresh sun sitting on his open palm. It is his vision, his legacy: bigger than whatever it is Ingvild and him have together. 

There was no her in his plan, to begin with. 

The Devil never had a queen. 

‘You know what they’ll do to her…’

Another ray of daytime terror cuts through his thoughts: her wings plucked from her back, threads of flesh tearing from her naked body. Her screams die in silence.  

“She chose to leave, I asked her not to!” August yells into the empty room, frowning at no one but himself as he grabs the used shirt which hangs from the tall mirror. Turning to his reflection, he tenses at the sight of his body. Crimson valleys lead down his back, courtesy of her claws branding deep into soft tissue and toned muscles.

‘Do you know what is the probability of finding someone like her? A woman who wants to see the world burn with you? Who believes in your cause of building a new one?’

August swallows hard and combs his fingers through his hair with haste, attempting to act normal through the intensifying drumming in his ears. Being completely methodical, he pulls his long trench coat over his shoulders and collects his belongings into his black duffle bag on the bed. With a heavy painful breath, he forces his thoughts away, zipping the bag with urgency and reciting in his mind everything necessary for his trip. Time is scarce, the end and the new beginning are nigh; the smart thing to do is to forget her, erase her existence from the chambers of his heart. 

He doesn’t have one anyway. 

His hand secures the gun in its holster and harsh fingers lace around the black straps of his bag as he stretches himself straight, ready to leave this bedroom. That’s when his eyes fall again to the crumpled yellow note. 

‘You’ll never see her in Kashmir, you’ll never see her again.’ 

~*~

‘Amazing,’ the silver-haired wolf muses while scratching his bristly jaw. For 13 years the evil spawn’s eyes remained exactly as they were the day he picked her from the orphanage. Grey crystal orbs so naive, clueless, and oh so hungry for validation. A child desperate to prove herself worthy to someone, anyone. 

It was her single flaw and his greatest advantage.

Even now in the bloom of adulthood, the pale, scrawny thing standing before him is nothing but a lost little girl who wants someone to hold her bony hand. 

‘How can someone be so smart yet at the same time so blind?’

The cheap motel room smells like mildew and rotten wood. Speckles of dust float between the handler and his prodigy, cascading over his glance that seems rather alien and naked as glass. It pierces through her muscles - this sudden sense of peculiarity and estrangement.     

She chews the inside of her cheeks and sways slightly on her spot, arms hanging loose at her side. Ingvild lifts her chin to look at Liam, her eyes round with what can only be guilt. It makes her look like a child who broke an antique vase. 

“Thank you for answering my call,” she begins, wrapping her fist around a disposable phone before throwing it on the tidy bed.

Liam scoffs and shakes his head, ridicule spreading on his face. “You’ve gotten yourself into trouble over a boy, child?” He stares up and down the young woman, noticing the obvious change in her posture.

‘So, she truly is a woman now; how did I not see this one coming with her constant chatter about how handsome he is when I handed her the dossier?’

“Please don’t tell me you need money to get an abortion.” 

Ingvild frowns with disgust and shakes her head right away. “Never. No, it’s not what I’m here for.”

Displeased as always, Liam emits his usual grunt. He slowly shakes his head at his asset while running his fingers through his lanky grey hair. This is not how he imagined this mission to end. Her lack of emotions was a key element; Ingvild could have had a few good years running several missions for him, but what tipped the scale was for her to run into the wrong psychopath.

“Then tell me Ingvild, why should I listen to a failed assassin such as yourself? You’ve been weird about this mission since day one. Acting discreet, irresponsible, and reckless,” the old man’s Adam's apple bobs up and down in his throat as he speaks. Taking a small stride, he moves closer to get a better look of her diamond irises. So sharp and so strange, they’ve always irked him. As a child she downright looked like something out of a horror movie. 

“You’ve had 445 successful missions, not even 30 years old. Yet here you are a failure, and for what? For a boy?”

Shame traps her tongue and her glance drops to the floor. Failure stings like a rod of hot iron piercing her beating heart. Yet her mind races to the night at the pit where August finally claimed her, the memory of his lips sets glowing embers through her veins. On her skin remains the evidence of his embrace. Microscopic cells, tinted by his DNA. 

She doesn’t want this feeling to go away. 

Liam clears his throat, tearing her away from memories that turn from tar to honey the longer she dwells on them.

“You know why your mother gave you away, Ingi?” Liam asks, giving her a ghastly sardonic smile while cocking one eyebrow.

‘Liam never smiles.’ 

A small frown sets creases above her freckled nose. “I asked you many times before and you always said you don’t know.”

The Dane scoffs at her, his smile widening, exposing cigarette-and-coffee-stained teeth. The rot around his gums makes her curl her nose slightly and flinch as he leans closer. 

“You were a rape baby.”

The words send a pang through her muscles, like stepping on glass. She shakes her head with protest and steps back, yet Liam nods knowingly, standing in front of her.

“You’re lying.”

His small hazel eyes burn holes through her skull, his smile sinister and impish. “Your father was a savage, a rapist. He left your poor mother half-dead and impregnated in the forest you love so much. Who knows, maybe that’s why you kept going there as a child, reconnecting with your true nature.” 

Refusing to listen, she shies from his piercing glare. Liam reaches a coarse hand to cup her jaw, forcing her face back to his. “Your mother hated you. Your very existence reminds her of the most terrible thing that ever happened to her.”

For a child with such a limited emotional range, Liam finds that the muscles of her face are capable of stretching thoughtfully with spite. Pent up hatred creases her brow, her silver eyes turning to hot, molten gold. She bites on her tongue, keeping a vow of silence but he can read her face just the way an assassin would. 

“Nothing but a mistake, disowned by your own mother. So why would this man, this... mass murdering psychopath love you?” Liam shifts her head from side to side, inspecting the healing cuts and bruises that decorates her pale skin. “He saw an opportunity and seized it, used you…”

He pauses, moving away from a stare colder than icy lake water, “just like they will.”

Ingvild parts her lips with wonder, glaring at the person she knew all her life with disbelief. In the glossy reflection of Liam’s honey-brown eyes, she sees several black, long rifles pointed at her head.

Liam curls his thin lips with an utter lack of remorse and shrugs indifferently.

“She’s yours.”

*~*~

If colours had sound then the pale blinding white would be a continuous high-frequency hum. The tunes and shades of death. Like angry flies feasting on a corpse. 

‘Is this Valhalla?’

A small groan escapes her mouth, her eyes hurting from the sickly radiance of the narrow fluorescent lamps hanging from the ceiling. Her wrists feel numb as they’re pulled behind her back in restraints. 

“No,” she opens her mouth to speak, her throat burning, her voice a hoarse whisper. “Definitely not Valhalla...” 

‘You need to be a hero to enter Valhalla, stupid girl.’

Stupid didn’t even begin to describe it. August would never let her hear the end of it.

Loud, angry steps tap on the white marble floor, growing louder as the person approaching enters the room. Ingvild blinks, peering at the silhouette when a smile of comfort paints her drowsy face. Like a god, her lover strides toward her with his usual confidence. His ocean-blue eyes beam at her sight, his palm spread open to embrace his tiny Valkyrie. She chuckles at the mischievous, charming grin on his face as it reminds her the day they first met. 

Oh, she wishes to nibble his stupid chin right now and brush her fingers along his thick moustache.

But as she blinks again, large brown almond-shaped eyes replace the ocean-blue. A panther of a woman stands before her: confident, strong, and impossibly beautiful. Her dark, succulent lips are pressed together and concern shines through as she observes the small woman who has her arms cuffed behind her back and her feet shackled to the metal legs of the chair. 

With her head still heavy, the assassin turns her face from side to side. She quickly observes the armed guards at the entrance, the tall, greying agent standing nonchalantly against the wall awaiting orders, and lastly the sickly-looking, lean man who is positioned at the fore of a metal desk with his fingers laced together. Anticipation is written all over his line-riddled face. 

“Erica Sloane,” Ingvild calls knowingly, the ghost of a wicked smile dancing on her chapped lips as she turns her head to face the CIA director. Dressed in a black power suit and crimson pumps, the director is drenched with big dick energy.

“August told me so much about you, but he didn’t mention how fuckable you are.” Ingvild drawls, fluttering her lashes as she scans her from head to toe. 

Tilting her head, Erica grabs a white plastic chair and places it in front of Ingvild. She then takes a seat, crossing her long smooth legs together. Kindness and motherly concern pours from her dark eyes, expressions Ingvild never received from anyone in her life.

“Poor child, I imagine August Walker filled your head with many stories.”

“No…” Ingvild swallows, trying to dampen her sore throat. Noticing her struggle, Erica snaps her fingers and the greying agent rushes to bring her a plastic cup of water like a loyal dog. Focusing on the translucent beads around the cup, Ingvild flicks her tongue over her lips. “August was too busy filling other parts of me.”

The intrepid woman begins to laugh at her own joke, her voice dragging groggily while Erica rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

“I imagine so.” She answers and then carefully tilts the cup to Ingvild’s lips, offering the drink to the girl who sips with desperation as if she walked the desert. “August was my best agent,” she explains, watching the stream of water that rolls down Ingvild’s chin as she gulps with an incredible thirst, “a really proficient assassin, ranked high in every mission I sent him to. My golden boy. Even though that shit-eating attitude of him was something else...”

Withdrawing the cup, she looks into Ingvild’s cold silvery stare. “Those snarky, arrogant remarks and him going through the whole department like a fox in a hen coop I could overlook. But that fucker had us all fooled, Ingvild, as he fooled you.”

Ingvild flutters her dark lashes and tips her chin up. Her defined cheekbones sharpen even more as a snake-like arrogance poisons her face. “August told me what you did,” she utters sincerely, while Erica commands the agent to refill the plastic cup. Loathing melts her beautiful sullen glaciers as she focuses on Erica. 

The CIA director narrows her eyes at her in return, and curls her lips downward as disdain fills her mouth. “I am not the one who made Walker murder Agent Hartmann, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“You deceived him,” Ingvild retorts calmly and sucks in her bottom lip, collecting the remaining droplets of water onto her tongue. “That’s what you and your little agencies do to people like us. Set up traps for predators and pretend to act surprised as they eat the bait.”

Holding the cup, Erica stares at the young woman thoughtfully, the burning hatred in her eyes reminding her so much of Agent Walker: An entitled spoiled brat, thinking he can wind the world to the direction only he sought to be right. 

“You can’t blame a predator for following its nature, and you can’t expect him to behave otherwise.” 

“Is that how you see yourself?” Erica asks, moving the cup away, though she can see the thirst on Ingvild’s gaping bottom lip. “August poisoned your mind but I assure you, you are not the monster he is. You never had the choice that he did.”

Erica’s voice suddenly becomes soft, and her big brown eyes become round with care that only a parent can express. But the only form of parent Ingvild ever had was Liam, and he was never much of a father, was he? It took less than a few hours for him to give her away. 

She wonders how long it took for her real mother.

Her gaze drops, peering at Erica’s shiny crimson shoes as they counter the lifelessness of the floor like blood in the snow. Memories whisk her away again, a man in pursuit of a woman deep in an icy forest. She should have died that night and yet here she is, shackled to a chair. The voice of the man who saved her echoes through her head with a fair warning: ‘Liam never gave a flying fuck about you.’

Sharp as a needle, it pricks her heart.

“I know what Icarus did. Moulding you into the perfect assassin, depriving you of the childhood and the life you deserved.” Erica’s voice cuts into her trail of thoughts, making her raise her gaze back to the beautiful woman. “Now, I don’t know what twisted fantasies August may have offered but I can assure you, they are empty just like him. You read his file, you know what he’s capable of. Looking at your scars and bruises I assume he hurts you for his own sick pleasure, taking advantage of a woman who only wants to be loved.”

‘She doesn’t know him like I do, the way he drank my lips and called me his angel, the way his fingertips beat the warm blood in my arteries.’ Ingvild shuts her eyes, soaking in the remnants of his touch as it still ghosts across her body.

Erica’s kind, tepid hand wraps around the young woman’s jaw, lifting her pale face with the cautiousness of a human tending a wild creature. Grey and dark-brown collide at the seams as they share a silent stare.    

“If you’ll give us his location, we can arrange for your freedom and protection.”  

Ingvild breaks away from Erica’s grip, pushing herself back in the chair as much as she can. The screech of metal against marble makes the guards cringe. Slow and cold, a sardonic chuckle begins to burst from Ingvild’s lungs. The laughter echoes off the walls while she shakes her head with disbelief. 

“Do I look like a dumb bitch to you? Even if this was true, do you think I’m willing to be a slave to another government? Kept ignorant and tabbed? I’d rather rot in this cell while my beautiful monster dismantles your old world order.”

Drops of water splash at her face as Erica squashes the plastic cup in front of her, sulking with fury. Her eyebrows knit together and she purses her lips as if this young woman is something sour on her tongue. 

Evidently, Liam was right; the girl is far too gone, living in the little fantasy world August built for her. 

“If you think he ever cared about you for a split second, then you are a dumb bitch. No matter how this plays out, you and August are never going to end up happily ever after.” Erica spits, holding her finger at Ingvild’s childlike frown. “He’s never going to come for you. You were nothing but a toy, a plaything for him to pass the time.”

Ingvild scoffs and rolls her eyes, refusing to let these words cut into the beating muscle in her chest. 

`Stick and stones may break my bones...’

Solid, slender fingers wrap around her jaw, squeezing around her cheeks like a big spider. She is met with Erica’s long lashes, while those deep brown eyes slice into her soul. 

“You might think you know him, but I’ve worked with August long enough to know that he never loved anything other than his precious ego. So I would consider this as your final chance little girl, because if you don’t talk right now - this nice fellow here...” Erica pauses and gestures her head to the scrawny man who begins to hum a blissful tune while cracking his knuckles. Twisted excitement shines through his beady eyes as he glances at the set of sharp surgical tools lying on the desk.

“He’s going to make you sing like the precious bird you are.”

Fear shies from Ingvild’s stoic, icy face. The well-lubricated gears in the labyrinth of her head begin to work, observing the possible escape options and scanning every cavity, crease, and man in Erica’s lovely torture chamber.  

The door suddenly bursts open. A man in his mid thirties with bright red hair and a freckle-covered face rushes in, huffing heavily. His pink skin glistens with sweat, the strands of his fiery hair sticking on his large forehead while his hand holds onto his chest with distress. 

“Sloane, there is something you need to see…” he opens his mouth breathlessly.

“Not now!” Sloane snaps at him, looking at Ingvild with contempt. There is nothing she wishes more than to avoid torturing a young woman, especially someone as misguided as this poor porcelain doll. All she needs is to make her see the truth, that August never cared for her, that she was just another pawn in his grand scheme. 

“Director, I am sorry, but you really need to come and see this.” 

Agitated, Erica snaps in her chair to look at him. “What is it, Agent Louis?”

“It’s John Lark’s manifesto, ma’am…” he sighs, shoulders slumping, “it’s… it’s everywhere.”

A shivering hiss escapes her mouth. The shiver that graces the rail of her spine is like a shower of icy water, making her slowly rise from her chair. August’s harmful “poetry” is released into the air like toxic gas, contaminating every fragile little mind in an already unstable world.  

“Do you like my little surprise?” Ingvild asks, making the baffled woman turn to gaze at her. There’s a malicious little smile dancing across her eyes, her brows lifting with an arrogance that strongly resembles Agent Walker. 

Swallowing hard, the CIA woman takes a step back, tugging her jacket straight and looking at the torturer who lifts a small hammer between his pliable fingers. 

“Break her, until she talks.” 

The harsh tapping of her heels dies down and her silhouette becomes smaller until it disappears behind the shutting door. 

“Pretty girl...” The man’s voice is brittle and thin as he is, every word ending with a slight snake-like hiss. He moves to scrutinise her from head to toe, flicking his tongue over his bottom lip with a prying nature. 

“You know August used to mock me…”

“I can see why,” she spits out, looking back at him with both fearlessness and utter disrespect. She killed men bigger than him, hell, August’s kneaded her to submission and his torture was nothing but sweet. 

She can take him on, she can take all of them on.

The lean man beams at her, holding up the small shiny hammer and running his finger over the rim pervertedly. The dead skin around his nails rouses disgust in her gut, yet she rolls her eyes and fakes a yawn.

He chuckles at her theatrics and kneels in front of her with one unstable hand pressing onto her thigh. His revolting fingers scratch gently at her denim, making her shiver. If August knew another man was laying his finger on her… 

But August is not here.

“Well… shall we begin, little bird?”

***

‘When this world ends and the new one begins, what will be of your little Valkyrie? Merely bones and rotting flesh laid in an unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere and mourned by no one. Won’t you be jealous of the insects feasting on her narcotic tissue?’

Cold air seeps through his nose as sharp bullets of hail hit the ground with the fury of angry gods, shattering onto the ruins of an old bridge with a loud, clattering noise. Sheltered from the rage of the heavens, August stands beneath the wreckage, facing the men who came to make the final exchange. 

Blue and green ferns have grown over the decaying surroundings, climbing over rusted metal. Nature reclaiming its place over man’s occupied space. Justice and beauty in decadence and rot. 

‘Memento mori.’

“The plutonium,”  August demands, his thick brows shadowing his eyes in a battle to remain composed. Those same parasitic visions of sheer terror burden him like a daytime nightmare: pale as porcelain, she sinks to the bottom of a lake thick with blood. His hand reaches out for her, fingers trying to grasp whatever he can but she slips away. 

‘How far do you think Erica will go this time?’ 

A rogue droplet of sweat glides languidly down his temple, crossing over a bulging tendon. Unfortunately quite apparent to the three men who scrutinise him with wonder: two well-paid bodyguards and a slimy-looking slug, wearing a dark business suit that does nothing but emphasize his fragile masculinity. 

“The money first!” The businessman whines, attempting to make a tough face.

‘A cock and two balls.’ August jests and does his best to remain indifferent while anxiety threatens to claw its ugly talons in his throat. The seller’s receding hairline is thick with dandruff, his dull green eyes attempt to mimic confidence, as a beta male would do when facing a pure alpha, trying to compensate for lost dignity.  

‘I don’t have time for this,’ August huffs, his chest puffing and the immense shoulders stretching even wider, exhuming his natural overpowering dominance. His patience runs brittle as a dry twig. A restless throb thunders between his ears like a scab, latched inside his brain. 

The slug pries his mouth open to speak, yet his voice becomes dull as if the world just went underwater.

‘Do you think she’ll go as far as to let her men touch her? You know, not just the usual torture they put interrogated suspects through, but the type of touch only you are allowed to.’

‘She doesn’t have the balls, she won’t do that to another woman.’ 

‘Won’t she? It’s personal this time. Erica knows what you are capable of. And your Ingvild, she’s an apostle too now, an enemy of the world…’

Fever burns at his sweaty forehead and his lungs gradually collapse. Visions he can’t even bring himself to imagine attempt force their way into his mind. The yapping of the man who stands in front of him goes on and on; while August can feel himself speak in response, the words spouting from his lips are on autopilot. 

All he can think of is her, stripped naked, torn to shreds by dark shadows.   

‘She holds back a lot, but when she slips, aren’t her screams so beautiful? Her pleasant little voice, stretching so melodically, like skin over bone, thin and light.’

“Shut up!”

All eyes lift to August in silent bewilderment. His fists tighten, nails digging into his coarse palms as the will to rip someone to shreds beats through his blood. These men will be no more than a casualty. 

“Do you know who I am?” He asks in a deep, menacing tone, his hand but a second from reaching his holster. By measured calculation, he already anticipates how quickly he would shoot them one by one without so much of a scratch on his cheek.

“I’m John, fucking, Lark. My apostles are awaiting orders this very instance,” he reaches for his phone, ignoring the flinch in their posture as he draws it from his pocket and shakes it in his hand on display, “and you want to stand here in this shit weather and measure dicks? Spoiler alert,” he takes a stride in front of the little man, careless of his bodyguards who reach for their weapons, “mine is far bigger.”   

The seller peers at him silently, noticing the icy crust of rage in August’s glare. His pale eyes cut like diamonds while the shadow of his brooding figure falls upon the small man’s face. 

“You will get your money once I get to see the plutonium and confirm it’s authenticity,” August calls out assertively, each word distinguished, each syllable emphasised and sharp as a blade. Death is no longer an enemy to August Walker but an old friend, and those trolls under the bridge are a mere joke to the inferno he’s been basking at his entire life.

‘Limb by limb, feather by feather, while you waste your time...’

‘She wanted me here, she wanted me to secure the plutonium. If I don’t do this, it will all be for nothing.’

‘So now you are doing this for her?’

Not saying another word, the seller nods and snaps his fingers. Agitation is evident on his face yet the violence emanating from August forces him to bite down his pride. One of his henchmen approaches with a suitcase and opens it up to show August the orbs.

Thunder rips through the sky and the hail turns into a symphony of wrath. Icicles break across the construction site above, splashing water everywhere around them. Staring at the platinum spheres, August sees his own reflection dulled by the dirty silver curve. 

A dormant thing. But when set into motion, ever so deadly. 

He presses the beryllium rod to test the authenticity of the material and a sigh of relief pipes itself through his nose at the sound of the radioactive note on his testing device. Celebration blooms in his weary heart but the festivity is deemed achingly empty and dies out right away. 

‘Stop thinking about her, she’s gone. Focus on the cause, you’re almost there, just keep pushing through the doors.’ 

~*~

The blizzard melted into shy rain. The soft little drops dampen his hair, perming his large curls with the assistance of the cool winter breeze. Standing with the suitcase on the side of the rural road, August awaits his ride taking him to the helipad to proceed to Kashmir. It has been so long since he last met his true colleagues, since his departure from Lane in Norway. Avoiding any risks, contact was kept only necessary for the last stages of their tasks.

Doom’s day.

Securing the plutonium should have brought him relief, yet his chest continues to sink into his spine as if it’s being filled with coals. August Walker threaded through life alone, yet this sudden solitude is suddenly harrowing, making him feel like a gutted fish. Looking to his empty side he the ghost of her appears, giving him a bratty smirk. 

“Go away,” he chides, refusing to think of her. Of that stupid mouth talking back, tormenting him with sweet saccharine and cinnamon-like kisses. In his reminiscences, the softness of her lips still hinges. Tenderness meeting the bristle of his neck as she lay gentle wet markings up his coarse jaw. 

His fingers press to his mouth trying to harness the memory. 

A large car drives into the side of the road, speeding up and braking right next to his legs, missing August’s foot by an inch. Frowning at the careless driver, he grunts and brushes his hair before opening the passenger door.

“Took you awhile,” he grunts as he slips into the seat and peers at the driver. A bulky man in his early 40s with dark short cropped curls and thin lips. He shoots August a glance and turns back to the steering wheel.  

“Not my bad, you made a fucking mess, Lark.” The man answers and begins driving right away, careless of the fact that August didn’t put his seatbelt on and that he is holding radioactive material. 

Throwing the seatbelt over himself and fastening it, August growls and carefully secures the case on the side of the driver seat, his index finger remaining on the brim. He gently caresses the hard black leather. “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

The driver peers at him oddly before looking down the road, driving fast and passing a large log truck. “Releasing the manifesto. MI6 and the CIA are all over the place,” he says and turns the radio on, letting August hear the news on his own. “I get why you did it now, it’s brilliant to cause another distraction but you’ve made shit a bit harder with those cunts running around. They tracked it back from London and have been surveying the entire area.”

“I didn’t release the... “ 

August stills, his muscles shriveling up as realisation quickly hits him. 

‘Oh angel, what have you done?’

Drawing out his mobile phone, August immediately begins to search the newsite, his eyes an ocean of panic, fluttering back and forth. It’s everywhere, news about an anarchist manifesto, spreading like a virus through every social media outlet, leaked by codename “Jane Lark”. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, reading his own written word as he goes through an article posted on the BBC’s newsite. But she changed the last verse, added a little piece of her own:  

“Valkyries mounted onto beasts,  We will ride eternal to the sun. The blazes will sear us but we will not back down,  United by our cause of just war, Unflinching we will scour the earth, Until humanity comes together in tranquil and harmony.”

‘She loves you, you see? The way she lets you bleed her, use her, spill all your pain inside her. The way she held onto you just a night ago, your name falling from her lips, her body pressing into yours to take all of you. She’s the only one. The only woman who did and ever will. 

And you left her to die.’

________________________________

Disclaimer: I don’t own Mission Impossible and August Walker

[simpingw0lfi3]

rise and fall

happy birthday @yuikishirohana !!! here’s a smol gojo fic >.< hope u enjoy it hehe

Within the abandoned building, you could feel that the brittle concrete was going to give way anytime soon. But you did not move. Nestled in a single corner of a room barely lit by a single ray of sunlight seeping through the cracks, echoes of the relentless croaking and shrills of despair rung in your ear. Everything in your body told you to run, to book it and just hope that they wouldn’t catch you. Yet there you sat, quivering within the expanse of your own fears, paralysed. 

“So you can see them.” Like a tangible ray of hope, the moonlight illuminated the locks of his alabaster-coloured hair as it gently swayed in the breeze that you hadn’t noticed amidst your agitation. The man stood in the middle of it all, nose held up high despite the disturbing creatures crowding around him. You didn’t know why, but there was this sudden relief that washed through you as your gaze lingered on his figure, something bubbling within telling you that if you stripped your gaze away from him for just a moment, you’d return to your pathetic shrivelling self, overwhelmed by your solitude and uneasiness. “Unsightly, aren’t they?”

“So you can see them too.” The words slipped out of your mouth, barely a mere whisper. Your words were no louder than the repetitive throaty screams of those unknown creatures, and yet, you knew he brought his attention to your mutterings from the slight grin that lifted up the corners of his thin lips. 

“Of course~ I’m the most powerful sorcerer after all.”

“Sorcerer…?” Mumbling under your breath, you observed how he leisurely raised his hand up in the air. He did not cower. He did not seem to mind his surroundings. He was... absurd, to say the least. He called himself the most powerful sorcerer and walked into this battlefield of sorts that caused you great discomfort whilst wearing a blindfold… to call him ‘unique’ was an understatement. Questions ran through your mind. Why was he so confident? Was he like you, able to see these creatures that had been denied by everyone else you encountered? Who was he exactly? Despite the emergence of your erratic curiosity caused by this man, he looked like the calm in the tempest you were trapped in. 

All it took was an effortless swipe of his hand. In a blink of an eye, the once-persistent abnormalities had vanished, leaving you stuck in the small corner lost for words. They’re gone… they’re gone. Chanting, a futile attempt of processing what had just occurred. The sight of a hand entered your vision, and you looked up to see the very man that saved you.

“I’m Gojo. And you?”

“...Y/n.”

“Hmm, that’s some nice cursed energy you’ve got there.” Even though he had a blindfold on, you could feel his stare lingering onto you. Observing. Judging. Cocking your head to the side in confusion, you clasped your hands in his as he pulled you up. “I’m sure there’s a lot of things you don’t quite understand yet, but I’ll guide the way.”

Gojo Satoru. There was this aura he exuded that brimmed with confidence and certainty. The man was the complete opposite of you - you were uncertain, not exactly the most outgoing… quiet and reserved. 

All this time, you had been alone - lost parents, people who called you a freak for acknowledging the presence of curses, and a trail of curses would follow you everywhere you go causing you to run away at any destination unbeknownst to you. 

But with his hand outstretched to you, beckoning you to follow him, finally. Finally you met people like you. And you had to thank the sorcerer for that, for bringing this newfound paradise to you.  A journey filled with new knowledge of a new world.

“Hm…” Walking back to the dorms after a mission, Megumi’s hum of confusion put you to a halt. 

“What’s wrong? Did we miss something?”

“No, no. It’s not like that… it’s just, Gojo-sensei has been supervising our missions a lot more ever since you joined us.”

“Oh, that’s true.” Itadori piped in, nodding as he raised his eyebrows in agreement. “I wonder why....” Itadori looked up into the night sky for answers, and you were thankful for the night sky that had encompassed all of you into darkness; blood rushed to your cheeks in embarrassment, thinking that Gojo had been keeping his eye on you.

You were just sitting on your bed, reading a book, when you heard a knock on your door. “Who is it?” Sliding the door open, you were greeted by those incandescent eyes of his languidly gazing on your figure. “G-Gojo-sensei!”

“It’s just us, skip the formalities.” He grinned at your flustered state while he walked over to your chair and sat down, crossing his legs in an overly casual fashion. “So, how are you fitting in?”

“Everything’s been going well, thanks to you.” 

“I’m not doing anything~” Raising his hands in surrender, a slight chuckle escaped his lips. “It’s all your talent.”

Jujutsu, curses, energy… despite it all being a completely new discovery to you, it flowed through you naturally. And that, your cursed energy, uncovered something that changed your life forever.

“W-what? Me? Zenin…?”

“Seems like the clan wants to claim you after all.” Gojo’s voice echoed in the classroom, a hint of irritation in his tone of voice. Behind those sunglasses, you couldn’t see how he knitted his brows in frustration. “Damn those elites.” 

“Do I not have a say in this…?”

“With a clan as powerful as them, no.” He sighed heavily, leaning against the door and looking outside. If someone like Gojo couldn’t come up with a solution then there was no choice but for you to accept it. “Your cursed energy flow is exceptional, sure, but why would they want you after all these years? They even went through the trouble of abandoning you as a child. It just doesn’t make sense.” 

Silence. The two of you pondered, not knowing what direction this was taking. 

“Are you okay with this?” His tone took a softer approach, his sudden concern shocking you. 

“It’s not like I have a choice, right?” A smile of pity formed on your lips as you stood up from your seat, making your way out of the classroom. 

“Y/n, if you ever need help, feel free to contact me. I know that clan, and they aren’t exactly the most forgiving.”

“I know. Thanks.” 

Everything had changed. Gojo would stop overseeing your missions with the other first years, and there were days you could hear him bring a woman into the dorms. Every voice, a different girl. Every laugh, a different girl. It became common practice for him, and eventually the other first years had gotten used to it. 

Distraction? Maybe that’s it… but he’s not acting like himself. Some of the first years had said. 

I knew he was a playboy, huh? Right, Y/n? Kugisaki chuckled while the two of you went out shopping.

Was everything he ever said to you a lie? Were you just another one of his playthings? As you sat alone on your bed, the thought of how you actually believed that your relationship with him was something special… it made you laugh. 

I pity you, Y/n. 

Not a day would pass without the Zenin clan harassing you. As if separating you and Gojo was not enough. They wouldn’t stop, relentlessly forcing clan traditions on you, missions, training... it was hard to keep up, especially as a female jujutsu sorcerer. And before you knew, it rumours about you started spreading like wildfire in the clan. 

If they were going to be so unwelcome, why’d they claim you in the first place? It almost seemed as if the moment you found reason in life, the moment you found joy, it only proved to exist to aid in your eventual suffering.

Itadori, Megumi, Nobara... Gojo... they saw less of you, the clan stripping you of your own qualities and locking you up within their mindset.

“Y/n.”

“W-what- Mhm-!” For once you could see his wavering eyes filled with emotion. Rather than the typical undulating calmness they held, there was this sense of desperation. Gojo’s stare bore into you, never once leaving. As if he could lose you, right then and there, should his gaze linger at something else.

“I don’t care what the Zenin clan says. Superiority? Yeah right, they’re just afraid.” The white-haired man scoffed as his arms snaked around your waist, pulling you closer making your head bump into his chest. “I… I don’t want to lose you.”

There was a slight tremble in his voice, and with your head pressed up against his chest you could hear the vigorous beat of his heart. His body quivered ever so slightly against yours. “Gojo…” He was the most powerful sorcerer in the world, and you knew he would always flirt with other girls in hopes to tame those desires of his. That he couldn’t ever possibly be yours. But here he was, shaking and holding back tears at the thought of never seeing you again. 

He became weak at the thought of you. 

“Hah… I can tell what you’re thinking. Me, of all people, acting like this…” The way he held you even tighter against him so that you were unable to see his face confirmed your suspicions. 

“Why me…? You’ve never been so determined with love before…” It was true - he seemed to have women chasing after him, left and right, and there were many occasions where he welcomed those women in his embrace. 

But now here he was, his warmth encompassing you as he muttered his hidden affections for you. Not that you didn’t hate it, of course - rather, knowing how he became so despondent filled you with this mellowness of sorts.

“I... I’m not so sure myself either. You were out of my grasp before I knew it, and the days that passed when you weren’t by my side had gone completely dull.” There was no longer his typical air of confidence behind his words. They were quiet. Reserved. “You’re a part of my life now, Y/n. And when you became unreachable, I guess I fell even harder.”

Gojo chuckled. Then there was another long silence that filled the room. So quiet, so still... you could only feel the rise and fall of his chest and how his hands were only clamping tighter and tighter on your waist.

“Fuck the rules, Y/n. Because I want you.”

[otonymous]

Remembrance (MLQC Gavin - NSFW)

Description: In a world where strangers abound, friends become foes. Warnings: NSFW/18+:  Explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised.  Spoilers for Shaw’s identity and the latest chapters in the EN server (up to and including Chapter 24; the rest is pure speculation and imagination on my part as I generally try to steer clear of spoilers on other servers), hints of exhibitionism, vaginal fingering, angst Word Count: ~1500 words (~7 mins of smut & angst) Author’s Notes: This story was inspired by one of the many karmas that recently hit the CN server (please see pic above) and Gavin won out in my poll of which boy to write for first!  As with many things MLQC-related, you know I had to inject a dose of angst with my smut 🤣

SPOILER WARNING: For all my friends that are caught up on the latest chapters in the EN server, this story takes place in a timeline where MC is still unrecognized by the boys, but has developed some of that badassery I’m so looking forward to seeing in the future (I mean, just LOOK at the expression on her face in that karma; it screams “DON’T MESS” and I’m ALLLL for it LOL).  That being said, please note the warnings listed above and happy reading! 😊

🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬

He doesn’t know you.

If there was ever any doubt, it is driven swiftly from your mind by the frost in amber eyes, the gaze that once held nothing but tenderness now tinged with suspicion and distrust.

“Who are you?  How did you gain access to the classified files?”

The grip on your wrists tightens, the leathery smoothness of his gloved hand a sharp contrast to the strength in those long fingers, binding your arms behind you with ease.  Gavin’s breath is hot, dancing on the nape of your neck in unhurried rhythm despite the precariousness of the situation.

What did he have to be afraid of, after all?  He wasn’t the one in a compromised position, pinned against a glass wall in the Archives room - the inner sanctum of the Special Task Force headquarters.

“My patience is wearing thin.  You’d better start talking.”

His voice is hushed, low and dangerous and completely out of place when directed towards you.  A lifetime ago, when the biggest worry you had involved convincing a certain CEO not to pull funding from your production company, Gavin had loved you — completely and unconditionally.

Now you knew what it was to stand on the other side of that fence.

The woman you were before would’ve cowered, limbs shaking beyond control as her blank mind raced in endless circles, trying to come up with something, anything, to extricate herself from the desperate situation.

Scared.

Helpless.

All the things you no longer identified with.

Your breath fogs up the glass, mere inches from the tip of your nose.  Each passing second of silence sees Gavin’s brows furrow even deeper in the reflection staring back at you, his handsome features easily made out against the darkness of the surrounding hallways — dim save for the odd crimson glow marking exits and doors.

Shaw said he’d provide you with cover but apparently even he was capable of miscalculation.  No one was supposed to be here, let alone his older brother.  You wondered if he watched you now through the cameras panning the room; wondered whose eyes, if any, fell upon the pair of bodies pressed so tightly together they might well have been mistaken for lovers caught in flagrante.

Lovers.

In another life, you had called Gavin yours.  

The thought settles heavy in your heart, sinking until it reaches the pit of your stomach.  You knew what had to be done, hoped you had the wherewithal to make it happen.  Physically, there is no contest: Gavin is much too strong and fast for you to take on.  Escape now is contingent on the hope that even if he had no recollection of you, his body would still respond to the things you knew he loved best.

“I bear no ill intentions towards the Special Task Force, Commander Bai, least of all towards you.”

Half-whispered, the tone of your voice is sultry, aiming to disarm.  Taking a deep breath, you step back, moving closer into the curve of Gavin’s body as you ignore the awkward angle of your stance.  The lapels of his overcoat brush soft against your bare shoulders and suddenly…

…you recognize that scent.

Soap on skin.  Windblown hair.  The memories wash over you, relentless like the undertow of a tidal wave: the letter you never opened — bloodied and crumpled.  The boy with the bandaged face, thrusting his jacket over your head as he yelled over the din of pouring rain for you to make a run for the school gates.  Your heart had pounded even then to be close enough to catch the subtle fragrance of his soap.

I’m sorry, Gavin.

You feel the heat of tears rolling down your cheeks, see them glisten in the reflection looking back at you.  And when you crane your neck to face him, amber eyes widen at the sight, Gavin’s grip on your wrists loosening just a bit to hear you say,

“You’re hurting me.”

Feigning innocence, you keep your gaze locked on his, letting your mouth fall open just enough to allow your tongue to sweep out and wet pink lips.

“Don’t you remember me, Gavin?”

Exaggerating the arch of your back, your bottom juts against the plane of his groin, hard even beneath layers of clothing.  And when your hips begin their languid sway — tracing figure eights over his body in an attempt to persuade — the prominent bob of Gavin’s Adam’s apple signals that you are on the right track.

“I…I don’t know who—”

“Touch me, and maybe then you’ll remember.”

You let your head fall back onto Gavin’s chest like so many times before, hear the echo of his heart — racing now — when you peer up at him from beneath your lashes.  Fighting against his grip, you slide your hands down and over the outline of his hardening cock…slow…until you reach the hem of your skirt.

Grasp and pull.  Up, up, up.  Try not to shiver when the cool air hits your bare skin.  Let the memories of the love you shared with this man burn bright enough to melt the ice of this Eternal Winter.

“I don’t care who sees if you don’t, Commander Bai.  You have nothing to fear from me.  I’m unarmed.  Check for yourself…”

Barely breathing now, you maneuver — cautious — until your palm is pressed to his.  Gavin’s fingers twitch and you seize the opportunity before it flees.  It is now your hand that grasps his, bringing it down and around the curve of your hip until it slides beneath the lace of your panties.

“Hm…”

Gavin moans despite himself to feel the heat radiating from your core even through leather, distraught at how uncharacteristically he was behaving.  He was seasoned enough to know when he was walking into a trap and yet, there was something about you that told him you weren’t lying; that he did know you even if he had no recollection of ever laying eyes on you in his life.

Maybe that was why he let himself be led, allowing your touch to ease the disquiet in his chest to feel like he finally found something important he once lost without even realizing it.

Your purse slides off your shoulder when you lurch forward, hands shooting out last minute to prevent your face from kissing glass as your knees shake to feel his gloved hand rubbing circles about your swelling clit.  Each stroke is torturously slow, as if Gavin were patiently getting reacquainted with the body that took very little time to respond to his touch.

You could hear it, after all — the wet sounds that accompanied the movement of his fingers, especially now that the middle and index were beginning to traverse the length of your slit, curving at your entrance to gather the arousal that pooled.

And when he holds up his hand before both of you, the sticky sheen that darkened leather in places makes you blush before all thoughts of self-consciousness are swept away by the sight of Gavin licking from knuckle to tip, white teeth biting to pull the glove off one hand, then the other.

You feel the heat of his skin now, the roughened callouses on fingers and palm sweeping gently along the line of your jaw, eyes of molten gold observing every movement in the reflection of you and him on glass like an intimate portrait.  And suddenly, there is no Special Task Force, no NW, no Black Swan…no Evol.  

Nothing else but you and him.

I love you.

The silent echo of your unspoken words settle in the darkest corners of your heart as your close your eyes, giving over to the touch of Gavin’s hands — one cradling your face as the other conforms to the curve of your breast.

“I don’t know why…”

Soft lips brush against the lobe of your ear en route to dropping kisses along the pulse of your neck.

“…but I’ll trust you this one time.”

There is an edge to his voice as Gavin pulls back, burying the tip of his nose into the nape of your neck and inhaling deep before he steps aside to let you pass.

“Go.  Before the rest of them get here.  Don’t ever let me catch you again.”

His eyes fall on you, scanning from head to toe before he reaches out to retrieve your purse from the floor and drape it over your shoulder.

“Gavin, I—”

You’re interrupted when the doors at the far end of one hallway slam open with a bang, STF agents spilling through with weapons at the ready.  Gavin shoves you towards the exit, shouting “GO NOW!” as he makes to step between you and the approaching brigade.

And as you make your escape, running so fast each breath draws the taste of blood, you fight to keep the tears from blurring your vision, all the while unaware of the amber eyes trained in your direction…watching until you merge with darkness itself.

🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬🌬

Thank you so much for reading!  Check out more of my work here! 📚

[theobsessor1]

A Royal Meeting

Summary: Deceit should know better, going through with another one of Remus’s ideas. He thought it would have been a one time deal, just something for them that night to experiment with his more reptilian side. But he’s starting to regret it with the growing nest of eggs, and horrible uncertainty of feelings swirling in his chest…he might be in some trouble here.

Pairings: Demus, Roceit

Warnings: fainting, self-deprecation (let me know if I need to tag anything

Word count: 2963

previous chapters ch.1, ch.2, ch.3, ch.4, ch.5 (read on ao3)

(wish to support me buy me a coffee :3)

Chapter 6 of “Say Something” series

It has been incredibly tense with the other sides...Even more so as of late with the whole wedding and call back debacle.

Everyone seems to have taken a hit with that one. Thomas had gone to a wedding he never wanted to go to in the first place instead of going to that great opportunity for something he enjoyed.

Not to mention the whole LilyPadton incident, poor Patton. He’s in good hands though, he’s sure the others can help him with his newfound animal oddities that are surely to come from the incident…

Even so, it all could have gone so much better, then he so stupidly revealed his name to them all and got attacked. It needed to be done. Needed their trust...but it still hurt.

It’s terrifying being vulnerable like that.

But that brings up the question...Why the hell was Remus dragging him towards his brother’s side of the imagination.

“Remus, not that I don’t love your spontaneous ideas, but could I please go back to not sulking with Emile and Remy?”

Remus huffs and holds tighter to Janus’s hand, making sure the slippery snake doesn’t slip from his grasp. “No, you can not.”

Janus sighs and nods, letting Remus continue to drag him away. It was hard to tell if Remus was upset with him. His usual tell being well hidden as the side stares straight ahead, uncharacteristically quiet.

That was his only hint that something was bothering Remus as the duke refused to speak to him, save for the time he really had to...Which really wasn’t much.

He stays silent as Remus drags him to the edge. Roman in clear view with his arms crossed and looking to the side all broodily. He doesn’t seem to be happy about this either.

Janus won’t admit to it but he’d tried to subtly hide behind Remus once they arrived at the border. Watching Roman unhappily look at them.

“Are you going to tell me why you’ve demanded to meet now? And why you brought him with you.” Roman glares at Janus before looking back at his brother. Remus huffs and drags the snake side out in front of him. “I’m not talking to either of you until you get your shit together. Go do your little secret walk around the castle or something, anything! Don’t want to see either of you until your friends again.”

“What? I- Remus please, I understand what you’re trying to do but this won’t help.” Janus runs a hand down his face with a sigh. “It’s very sweet of you to try this dear but...I don’t think this is the best idea.”

Roman nods wrinkling his nose at Janus “Yeah, Re, sorry to burst your bubble but this ain’t happening.” the princely side turns to leave but he doesn’t get far as his brother takes his wrist in a vice-like grip.

“NO, waLK AnD TaLK noW!” Remus growls glaring at his brother. “I don’t care about the petty things either of you did, but you are making up and being friends again.”

Roman flinches but holds his ground, glaring back at the duke. He eventually gives in once it's clear his brother is not going to back down anytime soon. With a sigh, he bows his head and looks away “Fine...I will try.”

Remus lets him go with a bounce and a smile back on his face that doesn’t quite meet the eyes. “Great! Have fun!” He gives the two a wave before bowing and sinking out leaving the two sides awkwardly standing there with each other.

The two avoid looking at one another as Janus steps over to Roman’s side of the imagination, the creative side stiffly turning to leave and head back to his kingdom.

The imagination is usually a very lively-looking place, even when on Remus’s side, but...today it seems far from it. The sky is overcast in dark dreary clouds, with the occasionally chilling breeze that makes the sudden low temperature almost worse. Everything appears almost washed of its color with this desolate frost over most things.

Rather unusual for it all to look so gloomy.

Janus can’t help sighing as he follows after the prince a few feet behind, pulling his capulet a little tighter around himself...this...is going to be a long day.

Out of everyone, he’s screwed up with Roman the most, something that’s very evident with how the prince has changed his attitude towards him. From warm confused delight to cold and with clear disdain. He’s sure Remus has only good intentions with this plan of forcing them to talk but...He’s not sure how well that’s going to work out in this situation.

Roman doesn’t seem keen on talking and well Janus isn’t sure the prince would take too kindly if he tried speaking to the side. So he just silently follows, hands folded nervously behind as they travel into Roman’s kingdom.

It is...Strange to see the royal side so quiet like this, his shoulders tense as he forces himself to keep his back straight and walk on. Exchanging a soft word or two with the few imagination’s citizens that are around as they pass, a...almost forced smile taking up his expression whenever he catches a glance from a citizen.

The citizens ignore Janus for the most part, sparing him a simple glance before continuing on.

He supposes they would reflect Roman’s feelings towards him since this is his part of the realm after all. Or maybe they too were uncomfortable with his scaled half, seeing him as some villain following their hero.

“...I don’t hate you, you know.”

Janus lifts a brow glancing up at Roman whom he inadvertently moved closer to as he stopped in his tracks...there’s no lie...or at least not a strong one. “I hope you know you can’t lie to me,” he warns, giving a flick of his tongue for emphasis.

Roman gives a frustrated sigh, a hand running through his usually perfectly kept hair...now that he’s actually looking, Janus can’t help noticing how the side's appearance is worn...like he’s been battered around too many times.

“I...I’m not lying, I...I really don’t hate you. Or at least don’t want to! I’m...I just...I…” the prince makes another frustrated sound.

Janus stays silent, allowing for Roman to gather his words and watch as the prince’s shoulders fall with a storm of emotions swirling in his green eyes.

Roman sighs again and waves for Janus to follow as he begins walking down the cobbled paths again. The two walking side by side in silence.

It’s eerie to see this side of the imagination almost barren. The closer they move to the center of the kingdom with its large fountain the fewer of the inhabitants they see...Janus takes note of it all ...the changes, all of it reflecting Roman's mood whether the side was doing it on purpose or subconsciously. It’s a helpful clue into how the side is feeling while he’s at a loss for words.

Janus watches Roman closely as they walk, and can tell he’s struggling with himself. Inturn he doesn’t want to stay out here, he can feel the cold slowly getting to him, his joints growing a little stiff. The thought of offering to pretend they had a conversation and the two of them just leaving is tempting but...they really do need to talk this out.

He will just have to stick it out and...offer his hand first...somehow.

“...Roman...you know our little...act we do for the cameras?”

Roman perks up hearing this and squints at Janus unsure “...Yeah? What about it?”

“Well...if...you...if you want we could...how you say...continue our act?” Janus tries for a nonchalant shrug and glances away to hide a shiver. “We are both men of theater are we not? And I do enjoy playing as a villain...of sorts. We don’t have to stop our show just because the script has been somewhat changed.”

Roman hums brows furrowing as they come to a stop in front of the marble fountain and he stares down at his reflection...Contemplating.

Janus tries to ignore how he stumbles, how things almost sway in his vision and clenches his teeth as he forces himself to stay upright. Roman surely wouldn’t let him freeze, and it’s only chilly. He can handle being out here.

He can’t leave, not yet, not when he’s this close.

“...If they...If the others are accepting you then you won’t be a villain anymore...there is no act to continue.” Roman states, finally looking to Janus.

Janus shakes his head “Roman...It’s...I may no longer be a villain off stage but I can still be onstage...an-an act for the cameras, for the videos but…” he tries to hide the shiver at the sudden breeze. “B-but we don’t have to be putting up that act while the cameras are off when we aren't filming. We can get along.” Surely it hadn’t been this cold earlier? He’s been out here too long.

Roman opens his mouth to respond, still seeming a bit confused if the furrow of his brow was anything to go by but…he pauses frowning almost worriedly at the snake side “Deceit are you alright? You’re shaki-Janus!!”

The snake side can’t respond when the ground is suddenly flying towards his face, his left side feeling almost heavy and useless.

Thankfully Roman managed to catch him right before he hits the stones.

Roman is immediately fretting over him, pulling the scales side close into his arms “Janus! What’s wrong?!”

Janus bites back an angry hiss shuddering and can’t stop from trying to curl up against Roman’s chest as the side holds him “I-it’s cold, I-I’m part snake, think you can f-figure it out.”

Roman’s eyes widen “Oh my-Why didn’t you say anything sooner!! You know I’m an idiot I-I wouldn’t realize-I- oh I’ll fix this. Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” he waves a hand shifting Janus’s capulet into a furred cloak and makes sure the side is properly wrapped up before he stands with him in his arms.

Janus does hiss this time at the side's words and wriggles an arm out, lightly papping Roman’s cheek. “Bad.”

That’s the last thing he has the strength for before he’s losing consciousness as his body starts shutting down.

Roman makes a worried noise quickly sinking himself out to his bedroom and setting the snake side carefully on the bed, shifting the blankets to be thicker. Tucking the side in and watching his chest weakly rise and fall.

He bites at his lip and starts pacing at the foot of the bed, hoping that it’s enough to help the cold-blooded side.

Roughly half an hour goes by before Janus starts to stir, warm and curled up in blankets as he wakes, blinking away the heavy drowsiness from his eyes. He peeks out of the blankets to get his bearings and find where Roman’s gone too. Such an annoyance it is for him to drop into a small comma when he gets cold. Honestly.

It doesn’t take much looking to realize he’s in the prince’s room and the royal side very determined to create a rut in the floor with his pacing and yanking at his hair.

He sits up further furrowing his brows “...Roman?”

Roman doesn’t respond, continuing to pace and mumble under his breath. Janus is almost surprised Virgil hasn’t come yet to figure out where all that anxious energy is coming from.

Janus furrows his brows further and shakily climbs out from under the blankets, his legs like jelly as he carefully walks himself over to Roman, thankful for the fur cloak still around his shoulders. “Roman?”

Roman jumps with a startled shout and spinning around to look at Janus. He blushes a little and steps back, clearing his throat before he speaks. “A-ah...I didn’t realize you were awake…”

Janus hums “I could tell...are you alright?”

“A-am I-! I should be asking you that! You just collapsed!” Roman exclaims while quickly pushing Janus back over to the bed and trying to tuck him under the blankets. “You should be resting! I-you should have told me that it was too cold for you!”

Oh yes, let him tell the very side that was angry at him that he was cold. That would have gone wonderfully.

Janus huffs swatting away Roman’s hands, he doesn’t need all the fussing about! “I’m fine, I thought our conversation was more pertinent...And you were upset with me, I wouldn’t want to tell you of my discomforts.”

Roman shakes his head “No-no it wasn’t! You could have gotten hurt if I didn’t catch you or-or sick from being out there. I should have realized-I-I’m sorry!” he uses a hand to yank at his hair, a similar distressed sign that Remus tends to do “Just another stupid thing I’ve done! I should have know-” he cuts himself off when Janus paps his cheek softly

“Shoosh, none of that, this apologizing won’t get you anywhere, you didn’t know, I didn’t tell you, you didn’t notice, but you took care of me after. That’s what matters Roman.”

The princely side shakes his head moving away from Janus’s hand “It’s another mistake to add to the list of many I make, I can’t seem to do anything right as of late.-”

“Ro-”

“I’m serious! It’s just mistake after mistake with everything I do nowadays! I’m no good! I sent Thomas to a wedding none of us wanted to go to, I-I have insulted Logan to the point of him pushing away from us, made fun of you when you revealed your name, was a jerk to the other more times than I can count, tried to force my own dreams on Thomas just because I wanted him to live the great theatrical life of an actor! And now I haven’t even been able to provide him with one good idea! I just desperately tried to follow along with everyone else hoping it would be enough but it only led to hurting Thomas, I’ve just caused more problems than even my own brother!”

He pauses solemnly staring down to the ground “...Maybe you were right to compare us.”

Janus bites his lip looking over the defeated side’s face, “Roman...I-I should never have compared you. It was not fair to either of you even if you had tried attacking me while I was vulnerable. We were all hurting.” He scoots closer to Roman, very softly putting a hand under the sides chin to make the other look into his eyes “Everyone makes mistakes, trust me I’ve made my fair share long ago too...I-...You can’t blame all of this on yourself. You’re not the only one that should be held accountable for anything that’s happened.” He drops his hand to pull Roman close and rub circles into the prince’s back, the two clinging together in a form of a hug.

“Yes you’ve hurt Logan with your insults but you know that they hurt, so you know to stop. You tried pushing Thomas into a life he couldn’t have but you learned and have adapted. Smaller goals that are more attainable...You are learning just as he and the rest of us learn. You don’t have to be perfect, Roman...Being perfect is a fruitless goal…”

Janus feels Roman’s grip on him tighten and the first shudder runs through the princely side before he hears the small sob “It’s going to be ok, I’ve got you, hun.” He tightens his hold around the prince, rubbing circles once more into the sides back. “...I’ve got you.”

It takes some time to calm the creative side back down. Having to gently shoosh him every time he starts apologizing or mumbling some self-deprecating thoughts again. Slowly but surely easing the princely side until he runs out of tears as the two sit together in one another's arms.

Janus idly runs a hand through Roman’s hair, having been absentmindedly humming a tune he can’t recall where from.

“...Thank you.”

Janus pauses, looking down at Roman with a partially raised brow. “...What for?”

“...For this, I suppose.”

Janus hums, going back to running a hand through the sides hair “I would thank your brother, he’s the one that forced us to talk...are you feeling better?” He carefully pulls Roman closer, adjusting themselves so they could lay back against the way too many pillows in the bed and get Roman comfortably partly under the blankets with him.

Roman nods ducking his head to hide in Janus’s shoulder clearly drained from his good cry.

The two silently enjoy cuddling together, taking in each other’s warmth and comforting presence.

There is one thing they haven't addressed yet that should also be talked about.

“...You know...My flirting wasn’t all a lie.” Janus speaks up moments later, twirling a strand of Roman’s hair.

Roman looks up at him with a hum, eyes drooping just a tad, getting sleepy no doubt.

“I was yes being playful and trying to win you over to my decisions...but...I was also flirting to flirt.” wow...that really clears things up, doesn’t it.

Roman stares up at him with his sleepy eyes, quiet for far too long for Janus’s liking.

He opens his mouth to better explain only to make a startled hiss as the sides of his face are suddenly grabbed, soft lips pressing against his, tasting of vanilla and peaches.

He blinks as Roman’s face comes back into view as the prince pulls back, blushing and looking embarrassed.

Janus can’t help smile and dive back in for more.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taglist:

@max-the-quack @legendsgates @enby-phoenix @ab-artist @the-great-fennec-fox-of-whatever @bluerosesbleedred

[yeochikin]

night terrors. | p. seonghwa

a/n: my first ever request 🥺 thank you so much to the anon who requested, and i am so sorry if this wasn't as good as you hoped for djdhdjd hope you like it bb! ✨💖

small tears prickled in your eyes, slightly blurring your vision, as you ran deeper into the forest to find your way out, the snapping of sticks and crunches of dried leaves beneath your feet with a mix of your ragged breath echoing throughout the tall trees surrounding you. you didn't care where your legs led you, all you want is for you to escape from this maze-like forest.

it was when you glanced over your shoulder that you see eight dark cloaked figures running towards you, half of their faces were masked and eyes almost disappearing from underneath the same black fedora they were wearing. the sight alone was enough to make you want to release a loud shriek, as if wanting anyone to come to your rescue just as you increased your pace, yet you started to panic even more as no voice left your dried lips and burning throat. however, once you looked back in front, your eyes widened in horror.

the path to freedom was just a few steps away yet.. yet why couldn't you go through? why did it feel like you were trapped in some type of glass wall? your hands balled into fists, now using all of your remaining strength by pounding against the glass' surface as an attempt to break it numerous times, but to no avail.

"little one, little one. there's no use, you know?" a voice spoke up which caused you to cease your movements, putting on a brave front to face your pursuer, or in this case, pursuers.

your eyes widened in fear as the eight figures surrounded you. a lump forming in your throat once the one in the middle stepped closer to you, his eyes boring into your own with his gloved hand stretched out to graze his knuckles against your cheek, feeling as if a cube of ice was pressed against your skin. the action alone managed to make a lone tear roll down your flushed cheek due to the immense amount of fear you were feeling.

"we can't have you escaping after finding out our secrets, can we?" he spoke in a condescending tone, halting his ministrations on your cheek before grabbing onto your arm with a harsh tug. you wanted to scream out in pain, yet not even a whisper could be heard. and all you can do now, is to struggle against the man's vice grip on your arm just as you were being dragged away by him.

all you wanted was for everything to end. all you wanted was to go back home, your very own safe haven. everything was like a blur. heck, you don't even know how you got here.

"y/n?" the same voice called out but this time, it didn't come from the man in front of you. the tone of his voice was much softer, much more warm.

"y/n!" there's the voice again, this time a little louder. the voice that had always eased your worries and nerves. the voice that always made you feel at home.

"y/n! wake up!"

it was only from words that had you jolt awake with a sharp gasp escaping your lips, wide eyes frantically looking around the place. your heart that was rapidly beating against your chest slowly started to go back to normal as you realised that you are in your room. your house. your safe haven.

"are you alright?"your head snapped towards the owner of the voice, only to make your eyes start to sting due to the tears gathering in them. 

seonghwa was already sat up in the bed, his dark brown irises stared down at you in concern along with a hint of sleepiness in them. almost immediately, you threw your arms around his neck, face buried against the junction between his neck and shoulder. his scent that wafted in your nose made you release low whimpers against him, shoulders shaking, and teardrops staining seonghwa's striped pajama top as you started to break down.

worriedly, your boyfriend encircled his arms around your frame, a hand reaching up to stroke the back of your head in hopes to calm you down. his lips pressed multiple kisses against the top of your head before trailing them down to your temple, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as he held you close against his chest.

"shh, it was only a dream, my love." seonghwa cooed, looking down just enough to wipe the remaining tears away from your face. your tearful gaze bore into his, as if making sure that he was there and it wasn't really another nightmare you are having.

with the way you were being quiet, your lover could feel his heart aching at the sight of how scared you looked. whatever your dream was, it must have shaken you to the core. without a word, seonghwa wrapped his arms around you and got up, you being carried in his embrace. you didn't even have the energy to protest, only pressing your cheek against his shoulder as he walked out of your shared room to the small kitchen.

upon arriving, he settled you on top of the counter before making quick work of making your favourite hot drink, softly singing underneath his breath and sending you little smiles every now and then to make sure you wouldn’t start breaking down again. once done, he poured himself a mug and handed another one to you, which you accepted thankfully into your cold hands. a contented sigh left your lips after taking a sip of the drink, feeling the warm liquid just warming your whole body up.

"do you wanna talk about the nightmare you had, lovebug?" seonghwa asked, the nickname making the corners of your lips twitch up into a little smile.

looking over at him with an apologetic smile, you merely shook your head, claiming that you needed some more time to ease your emotions before going over the nightmare. you were thankful that your boyfriend nodded understandingly at your choice and didn't push you about the said topic, instead, picking up his phone, his thumb making quick work of something.

suddenly, the soft tune of 'aurora' started to play. as the light instrumental at the start played, seonghwa reached out his hand out in front of you, grinning as he awaited for you to accept the silent offer, which of course you did just that. he then rested his chin on your head once you were in his arms yet again. the two of you stood in the middle of your kitchen with seonghwa lightly humming to the melody, your bodies swaying to the beat.

you felt a pair of lips pressing against your forehead and looked up, only to see seonghwa already staring down at you with fondness evident in his handsome features. leaning down closer to your face, he gently planted a soft peck against your lips, leaning back ever so slightly just to whisper against them.

"i'm always here to protect you from your night terrors, my little one."

and with that, you smiled softly to yourself as the two of you succumbed yourselves into another sweet yet kiss.

as long as you were with park seonghwa, your night terrors will go away as soon as it came.

[leapyearkisses]

Orbs Are Bad News Part 1/2 - (m/m) Gerrit/Llewellyn

I ran out of Eliseo/Padgett stories, so I’ll post the rest of what I’ve got. Thank you to everyone who has liked, reblogged, and/or left nice comments. This community is truly so kind!

Anyway, I love these characters, so much. :)

MESS, sorta NSFW probably, sneezing on person (who likes it) - Elven sorcerer Llewellyn gets his hands stuck to a magic orb while he has a cold and has to be taken care of by his FWB(?) half-elf fighter Gerrit Truestride who gets off on that sort of thing. 

I fricking forgot Gerrit’s last name. This might be it??

---

"Okay, we don't know what we're dealing with here, so let's be careful." Gerrit pushed open the heavy wooden door and lifted his torch to illuminate the room inside. The firelight played over several tables covered in intriguing objects and glinted teasingly off of more than one hint of gold. Gerrit himself spotted a stolid wooden chest in the corner and his heart rate quickened. "Jackpot," breathed Remembrance, the party's resident ne'er-do-well. She rubbed her hands together, sharp nails clicking. Gerrit was sure she was assigning price tags to the lot of it, except for whatever she hid in her bags for herself, of course. "I know a guy in the capitol who'll pay through the nose for that pervy little statue there." "That is a religious object," chastised Cordes with a haughty tsk. "It's used in rituals of worship for the goddess Fortuna." "Oh, I'm sure he'll be worshipping," cackled Remembrance, and she slipped past Gerrit into the vault. "Few hundred gold and he'll be rubbing out a grand ol' prayer." Her pointed tail waved with greedy delight. "Hey! The proper course of action would be to bring it back to a temple!" Cordes went after her, pushing Gerrit aside. The half-elf grumbled but wasn't surprised. "At least TRY not to touch anything cursed," he called. He'd been the one to organize this little band, but although he was the one who reported to their patron, he had precious little influence over what they did. They were happy to point to him when some upstart had a problem with the party, though. Ingrates. He turned to the last member of the group. "What about you, Llewellyn? I thought I saw some books on the far table."

"Lead the way," replied the sorcerer, and his usually mellifluous voice sounded strained. Purple shadowed the hollows under his faintly luminous silver eyes, and he had his nose tucked into his handkerchief again. Gerrit hadn't spent much time around full elves, but he'd always believed they couldn't get sick, at least not like a human or dwarf. Llewellyn had been dragging since Saints' Day, though, and seemed to have come down with a flu. His skin, where visible under his fitted robes, was wan. "Sure," said Gerrit, and he stepped into the room, holding the door out so that Llewellyn could join him. "You, uh, you don't look like you're feeling any better." "Oh," said the sorcerer, "I'm not. I ran out of tonics." He entered the vault and walked over to one of the tables, investigating a strangely shaped glass bowl. "But as we were already down here, I'm not sure what you want me to say. There's no inn at which I might rest my weary bones."  "Cordes could make you an herbal remedy," Gerrit grumped. He went over to the chest he'd seen earlier and smashed the lock off with the pommel of his dagger. He didn't need any fancy lockpicking tools like Remembrance's. And hitting something felt good when his companions were all intent to be annoying, acerbic, or both. "I suppose," Llewellyn replied, sounding uncertain as his voice wavered. Gerrit tried to ignore the way his ears heated at that. That was the tone that overtook the elf when he was preparing to sneeze. It wasn't any of Gerrit's concern. His occasional roll in the hay (literal and figurative) with Llewellyn did not make it easier or more appropriate to acknowledge his odd attractions, especially since they were currently ransacking a dungeon with a priest and a psychopath. He focused his attention on searching the chest, and he was rewarded with a heavy coin purse, a stack of calfskin-bound journals, and a ruby the size of a robin's egg. He whistled. Llewellyn gasped. "Hah- hahttsch-ow!" "'Ow'?" Cordes appeared from behind a bookshelf, one arm wrapped tightly around a thick rug, the other reaching for his pack of salves. "What is it? Cut? Burn?" When Gerrit looked, their sorcerer was rubbing his nose with his left hand. "Bruise," Llewellyn said. He lifted his right hand, in which he held a blue crystal orb that was knotted inside a thin lattice of gold chain. "I got my hand caught." He'd apparently run the thing into his nose when trying to cover his sneeze. Llewellyn's thin face was already dusted pink from the embarrassment. Gerrit couldn't help but laugh. "Very graceful," he chuckled. "I will thank you for keeping it to yourself," Llewellyn replied, and that was elvish dialect for "fuck you." Gerrit laughed again.  Cordes had leaned over to see the orb better in the firelight. He was the only one among them whose vision was hindered by the dim light. "What kind of artifact is this?" he asked. "It doesn't resemble anything I've studied." "I'm not sure." Llewellyn held it up to the torch. The orb lit up like a lamp, but otherwise nothing happened. "Whatever this chain is, though, it's very prone to tangling." He tried to shake it off his wrist and failed. This was a task for both hands, and he set to freeing himself. And kept trying. And trying. Gerrit frowned. "What are you doing? Cordes, would you get that off of him?" "Sure." The priest reached out to help, but Llewellyn suddenly backed away out of reach. "Uh... I'm not trying to steal it, elf." "Oh, I would let you take it," Llewellyn said, scowling. "But I have a feeling we would be in for some trouble if you touch it now." He held up both hands. His palms were wrapped around the crystal and bound with the ball in that thin gold chain. "I am... I'm stuck."

---

"STUCK," hooted Remembrance again. She was crouched at the entrance to the dungeon - a root-cellar-like set of doors they'd found in a small bandit settlement - and hauling out a heavy pack stuffed with loot. In the daylight, she looked menacing and out of place, her horns, dusky maroon skin tone, and black eyes setting her apart from this land's primarily human residents. "And you even said not to touch any curses!" "I recall you said so as well," said Cordes, who looked exactly like a run-of-the-mill human resident except for the star-like scar on his left temple. He reached down and grabbed Gerrit's hand, steadying the half-elf as he climbed out of the hole. Llewellyn was hanging uncomfortably on Gerrit's back, arms looped around the other man's neck. They'd tried to find a more dignified way to get him out of the dungeon, but he couldn't manage the ladder well enough without the use of his hands. "The artifact didn't react to my detection spell," sniffed Llewellyn disdainfully, and Gerrit was quick to set him down before that sniffing could become another sneeze. He didn't want to blush in front of the others. "There must be someone in Veigh who can help you," Gerrit said. "We'll just swing by on our way to the capitol." The city was three days out of their way, but they couldn't have Llewellyn stuck this way for the two week trip back to their patron. With his hands bound, he couldn't cast any spells that required him to gesture, and that was almost all of them. He'd effectively rendered himself completely useless in combat. Veigh had a chapter of the Mages Guild in residence, though, and if no one there could help, they might at least be able to send Llewellyn on ahead via a transportation spell.  "I will hope there is." Llewellyn looked pale and worn, though his fine features still exuded the otherworldly beauty of the high elves. His hair was a silky black, although mostly covered by his hood, and the contrast made his silver eyes look even more curious. He fumbled for a minute at his waist before scowling heavily. "I can't get into any of my bags, of course..." "What do you need?" asked Gerrit. Remembrance had started off through the trees, humming, her bulging pack swaying with her sinuous movements. Gerrit really didn't want to let her get too far ahead, not least because she was scary good at concealing herself in the foliage and might slip the party completely. However, Cordes was with her, and Llewellyn couldn't exactly fend for himself right now. "My handkerchief..." The elf's voice had gone wavery again, and Gerrit watched as his nostrils flared. Fuck. Gerrit hurriedly patted his pockets until he produced his own handkerchief, or what he bothered with when necessary. It was a large square of flannel, rough around the edges. It wasn't embroidered or monogrammed like Llewellyn's, but he figured by now the flannel was a hell of a lot cleaner, and it was soft for an irritated nose. "Here, take mine." Llewellyn held out his hands plus the orb for it, breath hitching, but no matter how Gerrit tried to drape the cloth, it kept slipping off of the artifact. He supposed he could try to tie it around the- Llewellyn made a desperate sound and tipped his head back, exposing the long line of his throat. His breath was coming in soft pants now. And he was raising the orb reflexively.  Gerrit couldn't let him whack himself in the face again, so he did the only other thing he could think of. With one hand he reached out and took Llewellyn by the shoulder. With the other, he lifted the handkerchief and pressed it over the elf's nose. His fingers settled firmly on either side of Llewellyn's nostrils, and none too soon. After another half-hitch, Llewellyn ducked forward again with a quiet but insistent sneeze. "Happtsch! Gerrit was sure he was beet red. “Bless you,” he mumbled. Through the cloth, Llewelyn’s nose felt hot, and any gentle pressure resulted in a bit of a squish. “Let me just…” "Whh- wait-" Llewellyn leaned into the handkerchief. "I'm nh- I'm not done hhH-" His eyes slipped shut and he gasped again. Gerrit swallowed and tried to ignore the tenting of his breeches. "R-roger that." He could feel Llewellyn's nostrils twitching against his fingers. "Hh...Haah- Hapttschuh! Snrk... Aptschiu!" His body rocked, and he took a half-step forward. Gerrit could hear the thick sound of congestion in the elf's nose as he tried to stave off another sneeze. "Blow your nose," he said. "It will help." Llewellyn hesitated, but in the end, he had to comply. There was nowhere for the mucus to go except out. He started to blow with a gurgle. Gerrit moved the hand from his shoulder to start rubbing Llewellyn's back. The handkerchief and his fingers were rapidly growing damp, but he really didn't mind. "There you go."  He held the handkerchief to Llewellyn's nose until the elf moved back on his own. His nose was red and tender looking, and his cheeks were flushed rosy. He didn't seem to want to meet Gerrit's eyes. Gerrit didn't mention it. He didn't really want to look at Llewellyn either right now. It had been a while since the elf had looked so very fuckable.  He put the handkerchief in an easily-accessible outside pocket of his vest.  "Ready to go?"  Llewellyn coughed lightly. "Yes." "Excellent." Gerrit gestured for Llewellyn to precede him, and the two of them headed out through the trees, following the sounds of Cordes negotiating the underbrush and swearing about it. --- Travel proved easy enough once they made it to the road. They were fortunate not to meet anyone else along the way. The party could handle a group of bandits without their sorcerer, but they had their treasure to worry about, and Remembrance always drew stares, and sometimes aggression, even from normal travelers. Gerrit thought her skills more than made up for the extra negative attention they drew. And anyway, Remembrance was crazy but she wasn't evil. She did better out on the road than in town, but that was probably true of all of them. Llewellyn kept up with her pace, but it was clearly a struggle. He was usually fairly quiet, but he didn't speak at all as they walked, focusing on breathing and not devolving into coughing or more sneezing. There were a few times when Gerrit hastily reached into his pocket, at the ready, but Llewellyn fought back the itch with admirable determination. He kept his nose from running by sniffling heavily, which sounded somewhere between awful and revolting. Cordes commented on it multiple times with disgust, but nothing could be done. Llewellyn held his tongue, and Gerrit was reluctant in this case to offer the handkerchief without being asked. They found a place to camp about half an hour outside the small village of Tewks. Remembrance cleared out some brush to make a flat area for the bedrolls and then promptly decided she'd rather sleep in a tree with everything she owned. She found a good, solid oak a few yards from the camp and ensconced herself in the crux of its branches. She had a good view of the road in either direction and volunteered to take the second watch in the middle of the night, which was her favorite time. Gerrit agreed to take the first watch as Cordes started to set up his tent. The priest refused to sleep on the ground and always took an extra fifteen minutes to erect a curious one-person canvas canopy. It wasn't even large enough to sit up inside, but whatever. The priest never asked anyone else to haul it along, so Gerrit wouldn't complain. These arrangements left him and Llewellyn alone together on one side of the fire, and he supposed that was preferable during the orb situation anyway. Llewellyn couldn't handle his own bedroll, help with the fire, or unpack any of their supplies. Gerrit realized he would probably have to help the elf eat, too. And... Well, when he noticed Llewellyn fidgeting uncomfortably, Gerrit took him out into a thicker copse to see to his other needs. They didn't talk about it... Llewellyn could hardly undo his own buttons, though, and it wasn't the first time Gerrit had taken over. By the time the fire was hot enough to cook over, Llewellyn had tucked himself up to sit on a tree stump, exuding an aura of furious self-reproach. Cordes took some jerky into his tiny tent with him - for some reason. Gerrit made up two bowls of pottage and sat himself on the ground at the roots of the stump. He put one bowl on the ground for himself and then held up the other. "Hungry?" "Not particularly," Llewellyn replied, voice blunted with congestion. He coughed. "But you're going to make me eat something, aren't you." "I'd prefer you do it willingly." Gerrit tapped the spoon on the side of the bowl. "Come on. It's hot. You'll feel better." Llewellyn growled in a manner more suited to orcs than elves. "I feel like an invalid." Gerrit sighed. "Well, if it makes you feel better, we can pretend you lost your arms in an owlbear attack very tragically." He could feel Llewellyn's fiery glare on him and smiled a little. "Look, we've all done stupid things while adventuring. I'm sure you remember when I tripped and knocked myself out on that knight's shield during the tournament." "I remember," replied the elf, begrudgingly. "Besides, you're sick on top of the whole orb thing. Maybe your detection spell wasn't sensitive enough. Maybe the thing's not even cursed! Maybe it's supposed to do this, and we just don't know why." "I have a hard time believing that. What possible purpose could this serve?"  Gerrit shrugged. "Don't ask me. Dad says my mother was a druid, but I haven't got a magical bone in my body." He tilted his head. "We could always try smashing it?" Llewellyn's rejection was forceful. "Do you want to explode?!" Gerrit chuckled. "Not really." Llewellyn sighed. Gerrit held out a spoonful of pottage. Feeding both Llewellyn and himself was a bit difficult, but Gerrit did well enough when he could alternate. It would be better if he could use both hands equally like Cordes, but he couldn't, and so he didn't. He just thought about it wistfully as he worked. Llewellyn ended up eating most of his bowl, then went back to sitting quietly and sniffling. Gerrit finished the rest and put the utensils aside to deal with later. And... Even though Llewellyn hadn't asked, he drew out his handkerchief again. "Hey," he began, trying not to sound awkward. "You wanna blow your nose?" No one else was paying attention and Llewellyn didn't need to inhale any more of that crap. The elf gave him a shitty side-eye. "Come on," said Gerrit. "Don't be like this." He patted the ground in front of him encouragingly as if Llewellyn was a recalcitrant cat. "I'm fine," said Llewellyn, and then betrayed himself with a quick breath. "Hah--" "Come on," Gerrit repeated, "before you make a mess." Llewellyn came down off the stump to sit in front of him, legs tucked underneath, and rested the orb on Gerrit's thigh to balance himself. His eyes were pinched with reluctance, but Gerrit could see that the elf's nostrils were already damp. "Hah- hh- hurry," Llewellyn gasped. Again, Gerrit reached out with the handkerchief, enfolding his companion's nose. He could feel Llewellyn's breath fluttering against his hand through the fabric and hear quite clearly how it kept catching on congestion.  "Hah-hngk- Hahgkttscht!" Llewellyn ducked forward with the force of it and Gerrit steadied him with a hand on his hip. "Ngkttsch! Hnggktxch!!" Gerrit bit his lip sharply to keep from saying anything, but his body was singing with arousal. Llewellyn hiccuped a short gasp and Gerrit pulled the handkerchief away to present a clean corner. The current spot had become soaked and silvery. "Bless," he managed after a moment, and he carefully readjusted the cloth. "Are you going to sneeze again?" Llewellyn nodded, eyes teary with the effort of the first bunch. Gerrit wasn't surprised; the elf had been holding back since they left the dungeon. He couldn't imagine it had been comfortable, but Llewellyn had his pride. He never would let Gerrit give him love bites either. Annnd Gerrit was going to have to stop thinking about that. "Haptsch!" Easier said than done. Really. But Llewellyn's comfort came first. "Hahkptsch!" The sorcerer groaned softly. "Hah- hh- Hgnaptscxhx!"  Gerrit did his best to assist Llewellyn through the fit. He kept the handkerchief secure, moving it when necessary to keep it dry enough. He steadied the elf when the sneezes bent his body or when he felt faint from lack of breath. He even massaged Llewellyn's nose for him when he was trying to blow it and the congestion was stubbornly refusing to move. By the time he felt finished enough to lean back, Llewellyn was flushed and light-headed, swaying where he sat. Gerrit was sweating and needed a towel. "........Thanks," murmured Lleyellyn, eventually. "Yeah," said Gerrit. "Sure." He swallowed. "Let's wash up." He helped Llewellyn to his feet and they went a little way to a creek (generously; it was little more than a ditch through the woods). Gerrit gently washed Llewellyn's face, careful of his tender eyes and nose, and sent him back to camp to lay down for the night. He lingered at the water's edge to wash the handkerchief and, well, to take other matters in hand. Llewellyn was completely out when he returned, and Gerrit was grateful. He smoothed the elf's bangs back and then settled beside the fire to take watch. The woods in the dark were full of the sounds of insects and small animals moving in the undergrowth. And Llewellyn snoring and sniffling in his sleep. Safe sounds. Gerrit rested his chin on his hand and looked toward the road. Damn orb. It was going to be a long way to Veigh.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Lucien’s Whimsical Date (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

Disney Dates Collection: Gavin // Kiro // Victor

The date begins with MC in the office at around 9pm

She has been working tirelessly on a program for about half a month

She’s worried and stressed because she can’t think of something innovative for her program

 Lucien suddenly calls to ask if she’s still at work, and suggests that she sets her work aside and relax i.e. by going to the amusement park the next day

MC hesitates, but Lucien goes into science mode and tells her that her efficiency might actually decline if she keeps focusing on one single thing

MC caves in, and immediately feels happier <3

The next day, the weather looks fine and perfect

And then it suddenly starts POURING right when they are two streets away from the amusement park

Lucien covers her head with one hand, and pulls her hand with the other to find shelter from the rain

They end up outside a shop

Lucien: Come to think of it, our story seems to always be associated with rainy days. 

[Note: I did this translation while listening to a Chinese gameplay commentary, and the commentator said, “Your story is associated with rainbows, but you just can’t see them...” T^T] 

Lucien notices cute Disney character plushies in the window of the shop and smiles

Lucien: I think I can understand the meaning of this sudden rain. 

Lucien: Perhaps it was meant to sound a prelude so that would come here. 

Lucien: Since it’s still raining, why don’t we go in to take a look? 

A pair of Mickey and Minnie plushies catch MC’s attention, but she can’t reach it. Lucien tries to get them for her, but he keeps grabbing the wrong ones 👀

Because she's trapped in between the shelf and Lucien’s fine chest, she turns into a Gavin i.e. her ears start flushing

Lucien finally gets the correct set:

Lucien: This pair?

MC nods vigorously, and says they can get one each

While saying this, I reach out to take Minnie from Lucien’s hands. However, Lucien suddenly retracts both hands. 

MC: Eh? 

Lucien sways the Minnie in his left hand lightly, then smiles faintly as he reaches out his right hand, which is holding Mickey.

Lucien: If possible, I actually prefer to keep her. If MC wants to use these dolls to represent the both of us... I’m thinking this would be more meaningful, right?

 After hearing his words, I feel the temperature of my cheeks rising even further. I gently poke the doll in Lucien’s hand. 

MC: [blushing] ...put these back first!

Lucien: Hm? Why?

Lucien raises his eyebrows slightly, his smile gentle and calm. There’s a hint of mischievousness in his narrow eyes. 

MC: [blushing] There seems to be other styles over there. Let’s go and take a look!

With this, I turn around and run towards the other end of the plushie section. Behind me, I hear the sound of Lucien’s faint, low laughter. 

~

By the time MC leaves the shop, the rain has reduced to a drizzle. Soon after, Lucien walks out of the shop too.

I walk up to grab Lucien’s hand, and swing it twice. 

MC: Lucien, let’s go!

Lucien: Judging from your expression, you seem to be in a much better mood?

MC: It’s because even before I’ve done anything, the heavy rain has already run away!

Lucien: You’re not wrong. Even though we don’t have umbrellas, the rain has dissipated on its own. This is why even when you meet temporary difficulties, don’t blindly immerse yourself in the feeling of loss. Everything has a solution, am I wrong? 

MC agrees, and they finally head to the amusement park, which is still as crowded as ever despite the rain

Lucien suggests that they try something different today - instead of being participants, they become observers

Lucien: Sometimes, people’s emotions have an influencing effect, especially in this place. 

As they wander around aimlessly, MC feels delighted because she doesn’t have to consider what attraction to go for next, etc. 

The smiling faces of the visitors, the vibrant colours, the colourful balloons, the inter-dimensional cartoon celebrities... I can more clearly feel the charm of the amusement park. 

I also have his company at my side...

I turn my head, sneaking a peek at Lucien. Similar to what I was doing just now, he’s watching the visitors queuing up to take a picture with a cartoon celebrity.

As though noticing my line of sight, Lucien turns his head over, meeting my eyes directly.

Lucien: What’s wrong?

MC: Nothing!

I shake my head, but the corners of my lips curl up involuntarily. Suddenly, a colourful castle enters my vision. I point excitedly at the one which has a spire.

MC: Lucien, look at that castle! Isn’t it very pretty? Since young, I’ve always liked colourful castles with spires. I’ve even dreamt of them! 

MC: I once dreamt that little monsters took over a castle, and I turned into a little super warrior, bravely sending those monsters running! 

MC: The moment the monsters disappeared, there were colourful rivers of light outside the castle.

Lucien blinks slowly, then his eyes bend at a nice angle. 

Lucien: Sounds like it was a righteous yet intriguing dream. 

I purse my lips and smile, then look at my surroundings. 

MC: We seem to have walked around the entire park. Let’s go for the attractions!

Lucien: All right. I’ll have to trouble MC to be my guide. 

Immersed in the joyful atmosphere, I even forget the time. When I come back to my senses, I realise that the sky has started to darken, and the rain has long since stopped. 

MC: It’s already 6pm...

Lucien: After this, do you want to have something to eat and have a rest, or continue playing? 

MC: Let me think...

The lights in the park start flickering on one by one and MC decides to bring Lucien to the spinning teacup ride

MC asks if Lucien finds the light installations pretty

Lucien: When I’m with you, it seems I can always discover a different scenery. 

All of a sudden, there are dazzling lights in the sky. 

[Note: The original word used here is “流光”, which can mean (1) “rivers of light” (like an aurora...?), or (2) streamers (i.e. party confetti). I picked the “rivers of light” interpretation because it seems more appropriate. But I’m really not sure which one the writers are referring to so please don’t scold me if it turns out to be party confetti LOL]

MC: Too perfect... we were just talking about rivers of light just now, but I never thought that we’d see them. It’s so magical!

Lucien stands next to me. His expression is calm as he lifts his head to look at the lights. Then, he leans down slightly. 

He laughs lightly, and I feel his warm breath brush against my cheeks, as tender as a feather. 

Lucien: In the amusement park, nothing is impossible. That includes the whimsical lights in your dream. 

Hearing his words, I’m left stunned. In the next second, a thought flashes across my mind. 

MC: ...! Lucien, did you...?

With a sudden realisation, I look at him, my eyes filled with disbelief. Lucien doesn’t say anything. He just smiles faintly and straightens a finger to do a “shh” posture.

I was right! These lights were created by Lucien! 

-- in order to complete the whimsical dream I once had. 

Lucien rubs the top of my head, the corners of his lips turned upwards slightly, the colours in his eyes tender. 

Before he retracts his hand, I hurriedly hold onto it, and then entwine my fingers with his. 

MC: ...Lucien, thank you.

I originally planned to say even more, but my eyes are drawn to the couple in front of us. 

They are lifting a Mickey doll in their hands, happily taking a selfie with the almost vanishing lights as a keepsake. 

Thinking about how we ended up not buying the dolls from the shop just now, I suddenly feel slightly envious, and a little regretful towards my earlier decision. 

Lucien: What are you thinking about? 

MC: ...N-nothing much.

Following my line of sight, Lucien’s eyes sweep towards the couple in front of us, then holds my hand to walk forward. 

Lucien: Let’s go, it’s almost our turn.

They ride the spinning teacup

MC confesses how she feels:

MC: I regret not taking photos of those beautiful lights, and regret...

I bite my lip, letting out a light sigh. At this moment, a low laugh travels to my ears. Lucien turns his face over, drawing nearer to me. 

He pinches the tip of my nose gently. 

Lucien: Do you still feel regret now? 

MC: Eh? 

Before I can react, Lucien takes out a pair of dolls from behind his back. It was the pair we saw at the shop!

My eyes widen in surprise, and I have no idea what to say. 

Lucien: After you left the shop first in the afternoon, I bought them. 

Lucien: As for why they could appear here, it’s thanks to the enthusiastic helpers in the shop.

Lucien: As for your other regret... want to take a photo? 

Without waiting for me to react again, Lucien suddenly places the dolls into my arms and takes out his phone.

“Kacha” “Kacha”

Facing me, he takes several photos.

MC: ...eh, are you going to create more rivers of light? 

I take the phone from him in confusion. After swiping through the photos, I realise that the photos only feature me, looking silly while holding the plushies. 

MC: Why am I the only one in the photos... I even thought you’d capture the lights!

I purse my lips, pretending to be unhappy. Even so, the gradual heating up of my ears reveal my inner happiness. 

Lucien laughs and sits even closer to me, gently wrapping an arm around my shoulders. 

His body temperature seeps through his shirt, travelling from my arm to the depths of my heart.

I lift my head to look at Lucien. Neon lights flash across his face, casting a reflection in his eyes. 

In the midst of the mottled, changing lights, I can clearly see a tiny me. 

Lucien brushes my hair which has been messed up by the wind, then places a hand on my back, speaking in a low voice.

 Lucien: Only you. Only the time spent with you are worth treasuring forever. 

His warm breath lingers on the tip of my nose. He gazes at me tenderly. In that moment, my heartstrings are tugged, as though making contact with electricity.

The surrounding scenery and neon lights follow the movement of the spinning cup and continuously change. Only the starlight above us remains bright. 

However, no matter how beautiful these lights are, they can’t compare to the tiny universe in Lucien’s eyes - the ones that reflect me in them. 

MC: ...it’s the same for me.

Hugging a doll each, Lucien and I are nestled together quietly. As the music gradually reaches an end, the speed of the spinning teacups also slows down. 

As though noticing my reluctance, Lucien suddenly asks. 

Lucien: I wonder if MC’s “battery” is fully charged? As compared to the library, isn’t the relaxation from this trip to the amusement park even more fruitful? 

MC: You’re right! My entire body is full of energy! Tomorrow, I can definitely welcome the new day of work with vitality!

Looking at my brilliant smile, the corner of Lucien’s lips curl upwards as well. 

Lucien: In that case, it’s my turn to gain energy.

After saying this, he takes my hand in his once again, pressing his forehead against mine. His eyes drift shut.

In our arms, Mickey and Minnie’s foreheads are also leaning against each other.

As though energy could really transfer from my body to his, the space between Lucien’s eyebrows smoothens out, and his expression is one of a rare, complete state of relaxation. 

I close my eyes too, feeling my throbbing heartbeat and his body temperature. Our skin is tightly pressed together, allowing our breaths to gradually mingle.

Perhaps more magical than the amusement park is Lucien - a miraculous existence.

As long as I’m by his side, I am always surrounded by happiness and joy.

-

Lucien’s Post: The amusement park at night seems to possess an even more unique charm. 

MC: I think so too!

Lucien: Perhaps next time, we can consider staying here overnight.

-

Lucien’s Post: The amusement park at night seems to possess an even more unique charm.

MC: Eh? What charm?

Lucien: I feel very close to you.

-

Lucien’s Post: The amusement park at night seems to possess an even more unique charm.

MC: It’d be great if today never ends.

Lucien: Even if it ends, it will remain in our hearts.

[perriewinklenerdie]

Yours. Mine. (Ethan Ramsey x f!MC)

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x Claire Herondale

Word count: 4 k

Summary: Chapter 20 rewrite. Ethan and Claire share a night of passion, then define their relationship.

Warnings: NSFW

A/N: My two idiots are now officially dating. PB could never. 

He’s never felt this kind of hunger before. He couldn’t quite explain it, but the notion of even an inch of distance between them drove him mad.

His lips found hers in an instant after the decision to move to the bedroom was made. They were going to have endless occasions to make good use of every surface possible in his apartment, visible to the public way below them or not. But not tonight. Tonight, was about them.

Claire’s body fit against his like two pieces that were designed to be together. Layers of fabric between them interfered with the transmission of the warmth of their skin, but the way their lips moved against each other created enough heat between them to make up for any losses.

Her fingers lost themselves in the strands of his hair, brushing them back and pulling on them with slightly increasing strength. All the while, Ethan searched in blind desperation for the doorknob to his bedroom. Sighing in relief when he finally found it, he threw the door open, neglecting to close them after they entered the room.

His hands, now that they were free again, grabbed her hips to grant himself the leverage he needed to turn them both around, then push her onto his mattress. He stared at her for a little while, a feeling of pride and warmth spreading through his entire body as he watched her look up at him, spread on his bed with an inviting smile. Lowering himself on his arms, he leaned close enough to make their noses touch, teasing her with the promise of a kiss.

“Now you’ve got me all to yourself.” He muttered, grinning widely at how her eyes lit up because of his words. Claire hasn’t made a single move to change their current situation, observing him, amused.

“Just the way I like you. Though, there’s one small problem…” trailing off, she ran the back of her finger along the lapel of his jacket, sighing thoughtfully. “You’re still wearing clothes.”

“Funny, I was about to say the same thing.”

“Then I guess we’ll have to help each other out. Don’t you think?”

Smugly, he smiled down at her, nodding his head before diving in to kiss her, every move of his lips against hers sending a spark of fire through her. Every nerve ending in her body came alive, making her even more responsive to his attention than usual.

With a steady hand, Claire reached for the button of his jacket, pushing the material out of the way as soon as it was made possible. Delicately, she brushed her palms over his arms, covered by the sleeves of his shirt, feeling the warmth and the strength of his muscles that were holding him up above her. Once she reached the buttons of his shirt, she didn’t waste even a second, working them hastily, searching hungrily for any patch of his skin she could touch.

As soon as that piece of clothing fell to the ground and Ethan’s arms weren’t constricted by it, he let his hands wander her body, all the lines and curves he had committed to his memory by now. Once he reached the hem of her dress, there was no hesitation in the way he quickly dragged it up her body and over her head, discarding it somewhere over his shoulder. The underlying feeling of voraciousness followed them everywhere they went that night and was present in every, even the smallest move they made. It was new for both of them; felt like something between them has changed, for better.

Claire’s hands reached for his belt, unbuckling it hastily and discarding it onto the growing pile of their clothes. His pants followed soon after; a choked gasp slipped past his lips when she brushed the growing bulge between his legs as she dragged the zipper down.

Their underwear came next, both of them rushing to expose each other’s bodies, staring shamelessly at every newly uncovered part. His fingers itched to touch her everywhere, but he knew that if he got started on that even a second early, he’d be a goner and it would all be over too soon.

Ethan leaned over her once again, his breath brushing against her neck as he spoke. “Claire, I need you.” he slowly moved himself up her body, kissing her cheek softly, then whispering against her skin. “Now.”

Reversing his previous movement, he descended towards her neck, sucking on her flesh there, then soothing it with his tongue. His lips skimmed over the rise and fall of her breasts, moving lower to focus on the soft line between her hipbones.

At the same time, his hand found its way to the apex of her thighs, brushing against the soft skin there before finding her clit and applying a steady rhythm of pushing and pulling away, increasing the pressure slightly every time. Her breaths were getting shorter, a clear indication that the bursts of energy rocked through her core, induced purely and singlehandedly by Ethan. It was at that moment that her mind threw an idea at her, making her sit up slowly, causing him to stop.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, concern coloring his words. Claire nodded her head, grinning as she stood up. He followed suit, running his hand up and down her arm as she explained what caused her to request a pause.

“More than okay.” A suggestive smirk on her lips was all the convincing he needed to silence his worried thoughts. She squeezed his arm, then took a few steps back towards the door. “I just thought this occasion deserved a little something extra. More specifically…” winking at him, she ran to the kitchen, fetching a can of whipped cream, shaking it as she came back into the bedroom. Swaying her hips to tease him, which worked like a charm every time.

“Whipped cream? What are you going to do with that, make us sundaes?” Ethan’s confusion gave its manifest when he eyed the can suspiciously, then melted away to make space for the affectionate banter they participated in more and more these days. “I already have a sugar high; you’re sweet.”

“Aren’t you adorable, too.” Claire laughed, pecking his chin softly, then danced her way around his body, Ethan turning towards her like the sunflower towards the sun.

Instead of telling him what the cream was for, she decided to just show him. With a mischievous grin, she sprayed a line down the middle of his chest, stopping it just below his belly button.

Watching him catch onto her line of thoughts was delightful. His face lit up in recognition, his lips curling into a smirk and eyes darkening at the vision of what his immediate future might hold.

“I think I get your meaning now.”

Her hands wrapped around his shoulders, giving him a gentle push to drive him up against the wall. Without saying a word, she kissed his neck, slowly making her way down towards the line of cream, following it thoroughly and painfully slowly. Almost like she was making him wait for it on purpose, which, for the record, she absolutely was.

When she, eventually, reached the end of the line, the anticipation was almost enough to make him come undone. Their eyes met, the dim light of the room making their irises appear even darker. With one final playful look, she pressed her lips to the tip of his length, the touch featherlight, but enough to evoke a surprised gasp from Ethan. Her tongue ran along the underside of it, teasing him with a series of sensations that made him gasp, but weren’t enough.

Ethan muttered her name like a prayer, watching her with intense eyes. The sound made her finally wrap her lips around him, moving down slowly. Inch by inch, she took him in, retreating and then going back, guided by the way his breathing faltered with every move of her tongue and every squeeze of her lips.

Her pace picked up, mirroring the way his hips started to move along with her mouth, his moans being carried through the entire apartment. Ethan’s fingers stroked her hair, a soft contrast of the two very different but connected emotions: desire and affection.

Feeling himself getting too close to the edge, he guided her away from him and onto her feet, picking up the can himself. Their eyes locked in a giddy stare, the lightness of being able to be together without a single worry adding another layer to the moment.

“My turn.”

Claire’s eyebrow shot up in surprise and she was about to say something, but she never got the chance. Ethan sprayed a bit of whipped cream onto his index finger, then pressed the tip of it to her lips, nodding for her to open her mouth. She defied him playfully, pressing her lips together tightly and shaking her head.

Seeing as he was going to use a different mean of persuasion, he leaned towards her ear, whispering hotly. “Open your mouth, Claire.” He bit her earlobe, then kissed her right below her jaw. That seemed to do the trick; she flashed him a wide grin, then loosened up the muscles of her face, allowing him to push his finger into her mouth gently. “Ah-ah.” He shook his head when she bit his finger teasingly, a wide grin displayed on both of their faces. “No arguments.”

Nodding, she wrapped her lips around his digit, sucking on it gently before letting it go, all without breaking eye contact with him. The act had a bigger impact on him that she could have expected, causing him to spin them around, pressing her against the wall with his entire body, his lips hanging over hers.

She stole one kiss from him after the other, getting drunk on the taste of him, utilizing every moment she had while he strategically planned where to put the whipped cream on her body. He pressed his finger to her lips when he made up his mind, taking half a step backwards to give himself enough space to make his idea come to life.

The first contact with the cream caused her to gasp, the cool sensation sending an unexpected spark down her spine. The line didn’t follow any specific path, except for the parts in which it bordered with her nipples, giving her a hint regarding his plan.

It seemed like a payback of some sort. Ethan followed the trace he left at an even slower pace than she did when the roles were reversed, paying attention to every part of her skin he stumbled upon. When he reached her nipple, he licked the cream right off, then took the sensitive flesh into his mouth, sucking and biting softly, giving it all the attention he didn’t give when he first kissed her body that night. Moving towards the other breast, he repeated the action, rolling the neglected one between his fingers to stimulate her further.

The sensory overload wiped her mind clear, leaving nothing else than what she was feeling and experiencing right in that moment. She waited just until he licked the last drop off her body, then gripped his head and pulled him all the way up to make their lips meet in a deep kiss. Ethan hummed deeply, falling into her arms and kissing her back with just as much fervor.

Claire’s hand trailed down between their bodies, gripping his length with her fingers and moving them slowly. “I need you.” she paused, squeezing him a bit tighter, echoing his own words from just minutes ago. “Now.”

She could feel his smile more than she could see it, with both of them occupied in a longing kiss. He guided her back to the bed gently, maneuvering them both while holding onto her hips. Delicately, he helped her lie down on the mattress, climbing in right after her. He threw one leg over her hips, straddling her to keep them both in place. With light touches, he traced the lines of her waist, looking down at her and waiting for her to say what she wanted.

Sitting up as much as she could, she stroked his broad shoulders, then continued up towards his face, gripping it between her hands and pulling him closer. “Don’t hold back.” She spoke clearly to get her message across, then leaned back against the bed again, sliding her palms down his chest, smirking suggestively. “Get rough.”

His breath caught in his throat; if he were standing up, he was positive his knees would give out from underneath him. “You have no idea how hard it’s been to control myself this long.” he muttered, already leaning down to grant himself access to her upper body.

Ethan brushed his teeth against her collarbone, testing the waters, before nipping at the soft flesh of her neck, pulling a surprised breath out of her. Her hands wandered towards his hips, trailing off towards his sides from time to time.

“Now that I can finally let go…” he continued, breaking the sentence off in the middle again. He bit down, sinking his teeth into her harder, with force that wasn’t enough to cause any harm, but was just right, making her gasp for air at the delicious sensation. Creating such a stark contrast, blurring the line between pleasure and pain. The sound she made caused him to halt and lean back slightly to look into her eyes. “Too much?”

“Not enough.”

Smiling down at her, he went back to his previously occupied spot, continuing his path along the side of her neck. His teeth bit and pulled on her skin, sending short sparks of pain through her, only for the pleasure of his kisses to follow, soothing the skin with his tongue.

“Yes…” her moans were like a road map for him, telling him just how much strength to use and just how much pressure to apply to make her say his name again. She pressed her hand to the base of his neck, pulling him closer to her, and bent her legs, her lower body rising off the bed, brushing against his. The gasp that left Ethan’s mouth was like music to her ears.

That’s how they found their balance. His every bite made her hips snap up to meet his, making them both moan, much louder than they usually did. Everything felt magnified, as though they both felt like a significant change was coming, and every touch, every kiss, felt groundbreaking.

“Ethan.” Claire muttered, squeezing his neck slightly. He leaned back, his eyes taking her in hungrily. Her nod was all she needed to do, kicking them both into the higher gear.

He caught the wrist of her unoccupied hand, pressing it against the bed and holding it there. His other hand disappeared between them, guiding himself to her. Eyes locked with hers, he entered her in a swift motion, catching her gasp with a heated kiss.

Wasting no time, he stared moving, searching for the rhythm they both desired. His thrusts were precise and gaining strength, his hand holding onto hers tightly. The buildup made them impatient, neither of them willing to wait for things to escalate on their own.

“Fuck…” he growled when she sank her nails into the skin of his neck, pushing him down against her, the kiss getting rougher. Pleasure and pain were mixing into an intoxicating concoction, blinding them both with its intensity.

Their pace picked up significantly, pushing them both further towards the point of no return. The more he gave, the more she took, digging her nails even further into his skin and dragging them down to his shoulder blades, leaving scratches that would without a doubt take days to heal. A satisfied groan the sensation elicited from him told her he wouldn’t mind wearing her marks.

Ethan’s thrusts gained speed, their bodies overtaken by shivers that each spark of ecstasy initiated. Claire writhed beneath him, biting her lip softly at the heavenly feel of him against her. Each move they made sent waves of heat through her, the intensity making her feel lightheaded.

“Claire…” Ethan panted, dropping his head to hide his face in her neck. “Yes…” a long moan of his rang in the room when she wrapped her leg around him, pushing him into her even further. Determined to hear him cry out, she waited for the right moment, then squeezed her inner muscles, making him stumble and fall into her arms momentarily. “Yes!”

Any remaining thoughts either of them had, had vanished. The intensity had them both in its vice-like grip, like never before, their nerve endings receiving so much stimulation that the sparks might as well have been literal.

“Ethan, I… I’m…” Claire gasped, grinning as she looked up at him, waiting for him to look down at her again. The indication in her voice was clear; Ethan got the message without missing a beat, going back up to face her fully.

Chasing release with wild abandonment and needing to hold onto something, he grabbed her other hand, pinning it to the bed, their hands now locked on either side of her head.

“Give it to me, Claire.” His thrusts pressed her deeper into the mattress, the speed and strength of them being the final push she needed to reach her high, crying out his name and letting the air carry it through the empty space of the apartment. Like a tidal wave, it washed over her, never receding, but pushing her further, each lick of flame magnifying the last one.

Desperate to release the built-up tension, Ethan continuously snapped his hips against hers, panting heavily at the feeling of her giving him one squeeze after the other. Claire pressed her lips to his, moaning breathlessly in between kisses, while maintaining the rhythm of her thrusts to push him over the edge.

“Make that sound again.”

“Feel it.”

“Come for me, Ethan.”

Choking on air, he finally reached the peak, moaning her name and shaking in her arms as the climax rocked his body. Holding onto her hands, he rode out the last bits of the mind-blowing ecstasy, then he fell onto her, releasing his hold on her wrists and wrapping his arms around her middle to pull her closer.

It took them solid few minutes to catch their breath, their bodies still sensitive from the overload of stimulation. They somehow managed to get themselves under the covers, his hold on her still as secure as ever. Claire’s head was resting on his pillow, eyes focused on the ceiling as the details of what they just did replayed in her mind.

“That was incredible.” Ethan laughed, turning to look at her. He heard her giggle, his eyes founding hers when she twisted in his embrace and touched her forehead to his.

“You’re incredible.” Leaning down just a fraction, she brushed her lips against his before retreating to look at him again. Her face was gently illuminated by the faint lights of his bedroom, but he still could make out the expression of utter happiness and a bit of disbelief that was displayed on it. “I can’t believe I get to do what we just did whenever I want.”

Ethan hummed, tightening his hold on her waist. He had trouble believing it himself if he was being honest. Long gone were the days in which he had to restrain his need for her; he could be with her openly now, for as long as they’d like, doing whatever they’d like. The idea used to be just a mere fantasy of his that he often revisited in his dreams but was almost certain he’d never get to experience in real life. Now that it was his reality, he couldn’t start living it soon enough.

“It takes a little while for it to sink in, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t think it has, yet.” Grinning, she climbed up his body to press a lingering kiss upon his lips that gained intensity faster than either of them expected. “And on that note, I think it’s time for round two.”

“Mad with power, are we?” he teased her, biting down a low moan that almost slipped out of his lips when she pressed her hips to his in a suggestive manner.

“Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t want more of what we just had.”

He gave her an enigmatic smile, kissing her again and pushing her onto her back for the third time that evening. Before her hand could travel anywhere, he muttered against her lips.

“I always want more of you.”

---------------

Four hours and a few more rounds later, they were sitting on the edge of the bed in a dark room. Lights were turned off, the only source of it being the moon that kept on disappearing and reappearing from behind the clouds.

Her frame was covered by his shirt, hanging loosely off her shoulders, leaving not much to his imagination. Well, he didn’t need his imagination to know just what the fabric he owned was covering, but the view was to die for.

Ethan extended his hand to her, pulling them both up and towards the window, overlooking the bay. He guided her to stand in front of him, his arms wrapping around her waist, hugging her from behind.

“So many people live here.” He muttered, his words muffled by her hair. Claire hummed, leaning back against him. “And yet you’re here with me.”

“What are the odds, huh?” she teased, turning around to face him. Fully expecting to see the smile on his face, she was surprised to see the serious expression instead. The moon reflected in his eyes, giving them a softer tone.

“I want you all to myself.” Ethan whispered, his hands stroking her back softly. Claire felt another witty remark at the front of her mind, but judging from the look he was giving her, she knew that’s not what he meant. With a nod, she responded, the corners of her mouth rising slightly.

“I’d like that too.”

Some tension left Ethan’s body, but he was far from considering himself relaxed. It was the moment of truth for him; something he’s been wanting to say for weeks now but could never find a proper occasion to do so. Leaning his head a bit further down, he looked deeply into her eyes.

“I want to be your partner.” He held his breath, giving her time for any sort of reaction. She didn’t push him back, didn’t reject him, just looked up at him with shining eyes, full of trust. “For me to be only yours. And for you to be only mine.”

Claire’s eyes stung with unshed tears that wouldn’t remain unshed much longer. The warmth that spread in her chest was enough to provide heat for the whole city; that’s how much she adored him. Her mind felt fuzzy with emotions, throwing a million of thoughts at her.

Ethan held his breath as he waited for her to say something, focusing on the way the bright light of the moon brought out the contours of her face. He wanted it; for everyone to know, officially and without a shadow of a doubt, that they were each other’s. He’s never seen a smile more beautiful than the one she was giving him in that moment.

“There’s nothing I want more.” She nodded, throwing her arms around him, and pulling him into a tight hug, hiding her face in his neck. From this day forward, they were officially together. They were going to be okay.

Notes

In my mind, that’s how OH2 ends. That’s the only ‘we’re going to be alright’ I accept. It’s been a ride, let’s hope OH3 is a roller coaster that will snatch our collective wig.

Denise, think the balance is still in place? :D

Tag list (I):  @paleweasels | @kittykatchoices | @valiantlychaoticbarbarian | @usuallyamazinglyaverage | @awhmilkywey | @cordoniaqueensworld | @princess-geek | @faithhasnowords | @mightyfangirlofthefandoms | @drakewalkerfantasy | @jamespotterthefirst | @timmagicktoad | @laceandlula | @greywitchyshots​ | @llamasgrl​ |  @gingerjane15​ | @marywrites-things​ | @ethanplaysfavorites​ | @mfackenthal​ | @betelgeusebee​ | @simsvetements​ | @owleyes374​ | @aworldoffandoms​ | @l822​ | @cream-ray​ | @silverlitskies​ | @justendlesssummerfeels​ | @togetherwearerapture​ | @desmaranj​ | @edgiestwinter​ | @friedherringclodthing | @waytooattuned​ | @choicesgremlin​ | @lapisreviewsstuff​ | @writerapprentice​ | @chasingrobbie​ | @x-kyne-x​ | @thisperfectmemory​ | @drakewalker04​ | @rookie-ramsey​ | @jlynn12273​ | @thepinknymph​ |  @dr-brianna-casey-valentine​ | @a-i-n-a-a-s-h | @justanotherrookie​ |  @mvalentine​ | @starrystarrytrouble​ | @akshara16​ |  @maurine07​ | @natzz-blog1​

[imjusthereforbatfam]

Never-Ending Encore, ch. 4

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5

Chapter Summary: Eden is just fine, thank you very much. Stitches? Hospitals? Noooooo thank you, sir.

Warning: minor swearing, minor blood, injured character, nonchalance towards death

—

Chapter 4:

“Hey, you okay?”

“Gah!” Eden snapped toward the sudden voice — too fast. Her vision went black.

Someone swore as the earth careened under her, spinning like a carousel gone wild. She slipped into the darkness, her stomach doing somersaults. It was as if a powerful storm had caught her and twisted her outrageously high into the air, leaving her hurtling blindly toward the earth.

Something strong grabbed her, holding her steady. Eden blinked, her sight gradually returning from the blackness. Everything continued to sway and she groaned in dizzy displeasure.

“Easy there,” the strange, familiar voice urged. “Easy.”

She did her best to focus on the red figure in front of her. It swam around in her vision before eventually settling in place. A shiny red… something above a strong pair of shoulders. A… head? No, no. It was a… a… Eden furrowed her brows, trying to pull the word from her murky mind.

A helmet. That’s what it was. And she knew the man wearing it. She remembered the angry look of his “eyes” and the way he’d towered over her. He’d frightened her. But then he laughed with her — and then he laughed at her. She squirmed as the memory grew clearer.

“Hold still,” he ordered, his voice sounding more robotic than human. Under his brown jacket, a red symbol popped against the dark grey of the rest of him. A red bat.

Was that his name? No, no— it was Red Hood. He wore a red helmet and a red bat, but Red Hood was his name. He’d made a joke about it. She remembered.

“Shit,” he hissed, looking down. “You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

Blood?

Slowly, Eden became aware of the pressure on her neck and the sticky wetness there that went all the way down her shirt. Then she noticed the same with her left hand. She tried looking down at them, but Red Hood forced her chin up. For that brief moment, her hand was empty.

“Hold still,” he said again.

“Okay,” she murmured, still struggling to come out of her daze. She felt the pressure on her hand again. “Are you holding my hand?”

“No. I’m trying to stop the bleeding.”

“Oh, okay.” She furrowed her brows. “Why?”

“Because you’ll die if I don’t.”

“Well, that’s not such a big deal,” she mumbled, confused by the gravity of his words. “It’s fine if I die, you know.”

Red Hood shifted and stared straight at her. Despite being unable to see it, his gaze was piercing. It drilled right through the fog in her mind, making Eden realize what she’d said. More importantly, she realized what it sounded like. Especially to someone who didn’t know.

“I’m sorry!” she said jolting forward. Red Hood pushed harder against her neck, forcing her to lay against the building again. “That wasn’t—” She glanced down, embarrassed but trying not to move her head. “That wasn’t what I meant to say, I swear. I meant to say… um… I don’t know what I meant to say but it wasn’t, uh, that.”

Red Hood didn’t respond. The angry glare etched into his helmet’s white eyes amplified the intense, unreadable emotion coming off him.

Eden looked away, her face hot. From the corner of her eye, she caught the sight of one of her dead attackers.

“Um. So. About those guys…”

“Don’t worry,” Red Hood said gruffly. “They’re not dead.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed,” he scoffed.

“I’m not disappointed!” she said quickly. “Just…”

“Surprised?”

“No! … Okay, maybe a little,” she admitted. “But are they really not dead? You kinda shot them, Mr. Hood. Where I come from, that generally kills people.”

He made a short noise. “They’re alive, I promise.” He moved her head slightly, readjusting the pressure on her neck. “You’re the cookie girl,” he said after a moment.

Eden blinked at him in surprise. She didn’t think someone like him – a masked vigilante, an ex-mob boss and killer, a hero – would remember a random spaz like her.

It wasn’t a question, but she still nod—

“Don’t nod.”

She totally did not nod.

“I’m the cookie girl,” she confirmed with a smile. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Hood. Though I wish it was under better circumstances.”

Red Hood hummed, then quietly dipped his head. He glanced down to where the two men lay in the street, apparently still alive.

She couldn’t know for sure, but Eden had the sneaking suspicion his face held the same pensive look Mama's sometimes did. The one she slipped on when someone hunting for their spouse or kids started crossing a line. The look that warned people just how dangerous her mother could be. The silent reminder of what she could, would, do to scumbags stupid enough to push their luck.

“I’m glad you liked them by the way,” Eden suddenly chirped, relieved when his attention returned to her. “The cookies, I mean. I got your note; it was very sweet of you to leave one. I guess everything went okay with the, uh,” she gestured vaguely in the direction of her apartment, “the vigilante thing on my street last week?”

He stared at her a moment. “Uh… yeah. Yeah, it worked out,” he said sounding more than a little baffled.

Eden grinned, pleased to have distracted him. “Glad to hear it, Mr. Hood." 

After another moment, Red Hood suddenly moved forward, tilting his head as the pressure on her neck lessened briefly. Then he did the same with her hand, checking it.

“The bleedings almost stopped,” he muttered to himself, almost in disbelief.

“Well, that’s good!”

He looked up at her again. She lifted her brows, smiling innocently. A small sound escaped him, either a scoff or a chuckle.

“And it doesn’t sound like you’re choking on blood.”

“More good news,” she said happy to hear the amusement in his distorted voice.

“And you have your chatty, chipper attitude back.”

“I’m not chatty and chipper,” she shot back. “I’m a witty bundle of nerves that doesn’t know how to shut up.”

“Oh, is that what you are?” Red Hood asked with a snicker.

“Unfortunately, yes. As you can see, it’s worked out very well for me so far.”

He mumbled something – too garbled by whatever it was that garbled his voice for Eden to understand – and shook his head. He looked over her wounds again. She could almost feel him frowning at her neck.

“You’re gonna need stitches for that.”

A hearty chuckle came from her throat. Her – her! Eden Smith! – with stitches! The boys would howl at the moon if they heard!

But her humor quickly evaporated when a sudden, sharp pain followed the laugh.

She gasped as her body jerked. A stinging, burning feeling in her neck dug down into her chest. Every ounce of air hissed out of her lungs. She clutched at Red Hood’s hands — already on top of the deep cut and forcing more pressure back onto it.

“Don’t move. You’re okay,” he urged. “You’re okay, Cookie Girl.”

Eden – gapping like a fish out of water, blinking through the pain – still had the good sense to glare at him.

“Breathe,” he told her.

She forced a deep breath of air into her lungs. Then another. And another.

“There you go,” he soothed. “You got it, Cookie Girl. Keep it up.”

“My name’s—” wheeze “—not���” wheeze “—Cookie Girl!”

“No offense, but I really don’t care right now.”

“Well, I do! My name’s Eden,” she said stubbornly. “Eden Smith.” She took one more good breath then forced her body to relax as the pain slowly ebbed. A few seconds passed; Red Hood kept applying the same amount of force to her neck. “You can stop that now. I’m fine.”

He made a gruff noise. She gave him a small shove with her good hand but was like a breeze pushing against a rock; ridiculously ineffective. He got the hint though, and the pressure eased. She took another big breath right after, to reassure him.

“Thank you.”

“Yeah,” he grumbled. “You need to get to a hospital.”

“Absolutely not, but thank you.”

Red Hood tilted his head. “Did you hit your head, too? I already said you needed stitches, and after that little episode—”

“No, I’m fine, thank you,” she said hurrying to her feet.

The world veered off its center again and Eden leaned too far over trying to correct it. Her body stumbled and fell into Red Hood as he came up after her. He caught her with unfair ease and Eden’s face exploded with heat.

“That was on purpose,” she grumbled, desperately ignoring how firm his muscles were as she used his arms to balance herself. “I’m fine.”

“You are definitely not fine, Cookie Girl.”

“Eden.”

“Whatever. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

She’d just about gotten her footing back when he moved his hands around her. Surprised at the action, she jolted and slipped. Red Hood caught her a second time, with even greater ease.

“Did you do that on purpose, too?” he mocked.

“I might’ve,” she said indignantly, her nose in the air.

He shook his head at her. He turned her so she could lean into his hold as he budged her forward, but Eden just used the position to dig her heels in. He huffed.

“You realize I can just throw you over my shoulder if you're gonna keep being difficult, right?"

“Mr. Hood, please!”

He stopped, startled perhaps by the seriousness of her plea. Eden took the opportunity to turn and face him again. She took a gloved hand in her good one, holding it as tightly as she could, begging him to listen.

“I’m sorry I’m being difficult – I really am – but you don’t understand. I can’t go to the hospital, Mr. Hood, it’s… I'm...” She looked down, not sure what to say.

It wasn’t dangerous, necessarily. Or bad, or unsafe. She could go to the hospital and get treated. The victim of a mugging-gone-wrong needing some stitches wouldn’t raise any red flags. And if they told her to come back for a checkup, she could just cancel the visit later or skip it entirely.

The problem was her name. Specifically, them putting her name into their databases.

Did hospitals let patients go by Jane Doe if they asked nicely? Maybe. But anonymous patients still have to tell the staff their name at some point, don't they? For payments or whatever? That was a risk Eden couldn't take, especially not for something as small as two little cuts.

Chances were, Mama already knew where she was. That was the first thing a person learned living under her roof: Louanne Smith always knows more than you think she does.

She was probably just leaving Eden alone for now; giving her space until she was ready to reach back out unprompted. She probably checked in on her from time to time, too; in some invisible way Eden could only guess at.

But if her name popped up at a hospital, or an urgent care, or – heaven forbid – a morgue? There was no doubt in her mind that her mother would swoop into Gotham City and be standing face-to-face with her in mere hours. Eden couldn't handle that right now. And if Frank somehow caught wind of it, too? Now that he – apparently – cared about her well being again?

Eden really could not handle that possibility right now. Or ever.

“Alright.”

Eden peered up at Red Hood's sudden verdict. “Alright?” she said.

“I won’t take you to a hospital.”

"You... You won't?" A breath of relief spilled from her lungs as her worries left her body. With a sincere, gracious smile, she put a hand on his chest. The metallic-like material of the bat symbol was cool against her sliced palm. “Thank you, Mr. Hood. Thank you very, very much.”

Red Hood shifted, moving his hand up and across his helmet as if to push his hair back, then gripped the nape of his neck. “Yeah, you’re welcome,” he grumbled. The distortion nearly garbled his voice completely, making him sound more embarrassed than he probably was.

Eden snickered at the idea – the dangerous, infamous Red Hood embarrassed by little ol' her – then gagged and shoved her good hand on top of her stinging neck. She put up the other hand to stop Red Hood from grabbing her. The pain wasn’t as intense this time, nor did it dig quite as deeply into her throat and chest. She was starting to heal — not that it sounded like it, the way she was gasping.

“You still need help,” he said, serious again as she took long, deep breaths. He tilted his head upward, toward the rooftops. After a moment of silent contemplation, he huffed and wrapped a tight hand around Eden’s waist.

Her entire face went up in flames as he pulled her close. She wanted to ask what he was doing, but what came out instead was a very proper and dignified “Gyuhh!?” sound.

“Hold on tight,” he said pulling out and aiming a— a grappling hook!?

“Waitwaitwaitwaitwait!”

Red Hood, with his finger on the trigger, jerked to a halt. He looked down at her, his head tilting to the side.

“I almost died going to the store so I could make some bread,” she said pointing to her nearly forgotten grocery bags. “I sure as heck ain’t leaving my stuff behind now!”

He stared at her, his hold on her faltering. Eden felt her face heating up again. She wondered if he was beginning to regret coming to her aid.

Even so, she did not dip her head or back down. She’d paid for those ingredients fair and square, and if dying wasn’t on the menu tonight, there was absolutely no reason for her to have to go back to the store and buy the same things a second time.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” he muttered.

“Incredibly so,” she said nodding firmly.

He stared at her another few seconds, then sighed. Letting her go, he went and quickly collected her things. Picking up the last bag, he glanced into it and looked back over at Eden.

“You seriously went to the store in the middle of the night to bake bread?” he asked in disbelief.

“I just said I was serious."

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you were serious serious.” He shuffled her bags around as he walked up to her again, looking through them. “This is literally just eggs, flour… yeast...”

“Yes. We’ve been over this, Mr. Hood. I just told you I was serious, like, two seconds ago.”

“There’s not even any booze,” he said mystified.

Eden blinked at him. “Mr. Hood, I’m starting to think you need more medical attention than I do.” She reached out to take the bags from him, but Red Hood just slid them up his arm, scoffing.

“I think you need help in the head, Cookie Girl.”

“Keep it up, mister," she said with a glare, "and I’m gonna start calling you Red Bat.”

“You know,” he contemplated, pulling her close again and taking out his grappling hook, “I could just bring you to a hospital. It’d be much faster and easier than me—”

“Actually!” She threw her arms around him, talking in a high, fast pitch. “I suddenly feel Cookie Girl growing on me, Mr. Red Hood, sir! It’s a real sweet nickname; you can 100% call me that anytime!”

Red Hood chuckled at her. The vibrations from his chest ran through to hers, reminding Eden just how tightly he was holding her. “Then hang on, Cookie Girl.”

She nodded, lowering her head and tightening her grip on him. This wasn’t her first time traveling through Gotham via grappling hook; she’d done it once before, years ago, on her first visit to the city. She could still remember the breathless thrill of soaring across the city's skyline; her remaining fears transformed to smiles and laughter. Her hero had laughed with her.

She would try not to do that now that she was an adult. Especially not with Red Hood. He would certainly tease her.

"Ready?"

"Ready."

He lifted the grappling hook and lowered himself slightly. Eden followed his lead. He pushed off the ground and they were brought high into the air.

Eden immediately grinned, weightless and free in the city's skies. It was as amazing as she remembered it. —

Any feedback is loved and appreciated! 💕🥰💕

Chapter 5

[litniche]

Love Will Find a Way

Damie fic

Read it here on ao3

Chapter 14 

“You’re the coolest,” Flora stage-whispered to Jamie. She was standing barefoot on Jamie’s feet, holding the gardener’s hands in a dance.

 “I thought I was your favorite, Flora,” Owen said. He was dancing with Hannah next to them. His brows were scrunched together and the man was downright pouting.

 “You are,” Miles answered for her, “but she’s right. Jamie’s the coolest.”

 “This is your fault, you know,” Owen told Dani who was currently attempting to allow Miles to twirl her.“You’re the one that started them on that American lingo, as I recall.”

 Dani let her jaw drop in mock offense. The expression made Jamie’s laugh bust out like it had been waiting to escape. Blue eyes followed the sound and they trailed Jamie’s form before meeting her gaze. As the song came to an end, Sheryl Crow’s I Shall Believe began to fade in.

 Jamie cricked her neck in a gesture for Dani to move closer. She twirled Flora, delighting the young girl and said, “Not a bad dancer for a gremlin.”

 Flora merely giggled in response and ran to Owen. “You next!” she demanded as she wrapped her arms around his waist, looking up at him with glee.

 Hannah raised a brow, laughing good-naturedly. “I suppose my feet could use a rest.”

 Miles, though, had other plans. “Ms. Grose, I was hoping you would honor me with a dance next.” He held out his hand in a gentlemanly offer and gave a slight bow.

 Hannah gave him a warm smile and her hand. “Very well, dear.”

 In the meantime, Dani had returned to Jamie’s side, an arm wrapped around the slim waist of the gardener. “I’m really going to miss them,” Dani sighed.

 A corner of Jamie’s lips turned up in a small smile. “Well, uh, some good news on that front.”

 Dani’s brow creased as she  turned to face Jamie in silent question.

 “Henry says they’ll be moving to America, after all. Says it’s time to move on from Bly. Too many ghosts.”

 “What?” Dani asked with wide eyes, disbelief and earnest hope battling to display themselves in her expression. “America? Where? How? Why?”

 Jamie rubbed the au pair’s arms up and down as she faced her with an amused smile. “Easy, Poppins. One question at a time.”

 “Okay,” Dani agreed, attempting to remain calm. “Let’s start with where.”

 “He hasn’t hammered out the details quite yet. Says he’s been talking to a few firms - places in New York City, Boston, Philadelphia, D.C. - but he doesn’t see any reason he couldn’t work remotely from anywhere.”

 “Wow, okay. The kids know?”

 “Not yet. Henry doesn’t want to tell them until he knows more.”

 Dani nodded, turning to watch the children as they danced with Owen and Hannah. “That’s three down, two to go, then.”

 The gardener tried to control a laugh, but failed, which resulted in a snort. She pulled the au pair closer to her and began swaying to the music. “Determined to keep us all together, are you?”

 “Owen can open a restaurant in New York, is all I’m saying. Or, you know, Montpelier.”

 Jamie hummed as she kissed Dani’s shoulder. “We’ll see, love. Hannah said we shouldn’t be afraid of our lives moving forward, and I reckon she’s right. We’ll keep in touch with everyone one way or another. Meantime,” she pulled back to lock gazes with her wife, “I’m going to enjoy married life.”

 Dani’s smile spread. Her cheeks were aching from such a common occurrence. “Just how do you plan to do that, Mrs. Taylor?”

 “Ooh, is it too late to take your last name? Last person I knew who went by that name was my mum, and well, yikes.”

 Dani grimaced. “Sorry. I was trying to be cute.”

 With a chuckle, Jamie nuzzled Dani’s nose with her own. “Success, regardless, Poppins.”

 “But um,” Dani averted her gaze, looking down a mite shly. “You could,” she said softly.

 “Could what?”

 “Take my name. If you want, I mean.”

 “Right. Jamie Poppins it is, then.”

 Dani rolled her eyes and leaned away, but Jamie held her close, disallowing escape. “You love it.”

 Shaking her head, but grinning like a fool, Dani nodded. “I do.”

 ***

 Dani tip-toed in the kitchenette of the Airbnb Jamie and she were renting in Barcelona for their honeymoon, doing her best to quietly make a pot of tea. Now, was it tea leaves, water and milk in the kettle, and then the addition of sugar after the tea had brewed? That seemed right. She’d try that.

 “What do you think you’re doing?” asked a sleepy voice behind her.

 The au pair’s stomach gave a pleasant turn when two arms wrapped around her waist from behind. She closed her eyes and smiled as Jamie’s hands roamed, one crossing Dani’s front to massage a breast and the other travelling from her hip to her thigh, devilishly slow and firm.

 “Making tea?” Dani tried to say, but her words were barely audible amidst the small gasp she let out. She revelled in the casual intimacy that came with them truly being on their own. Turning in Jamie’s arms, she draped her own over the gardener’s shoulders as the other woman effectively pinned her against the counter.

 “Tea?” Jamie asked with a hint of incredulity, tipping her head at an angle so that her lips were hovering above Dani’s. “You sure about that, Poppins?”

 Dani gave a small laugh. “Not really,” she admitted.

 “Right,” said Jamie, “this has gone on long enough. I suppose it’s my duty to show you how to make a proper cuppa now that we’re married. Come now. Turn around.”

 Dani's expression became serious with concentration as she turned back to the tea. She nodded and followed Jamie’s directions, asking questions as Jamie began to make what she called a 'white without.’ Except, a few seconds in, Jamie started brushing her lips softly at Dani's ear. She took a lobe between her teeth and, well, maybe Dani could learn how to make tea some other day.

 “How am I supposed to do this with your tongue in my ear?”

 “Complaining?”

 “Never.”

 “Thank Christ,” Jamie said as she brushed Dani’s hair to one side. She rucked up Dani’s nightshirt, making Dani’s breath hitch when her arms wove around the au pair to each hold a breast. As she massaged them, she dotted kisses along Dani’s newly exposed shoulder and neck. Then all at once, she ran her hands down Dani’s stomach, to the inside of her thighs.

 Dani, in the meantime, was doing all that she could to remain standing. Her heart skipped a beat with every kiss that brushed against her skin and her lungs couldn’t seem to hold enough air. It was as if her body was determined to fall apart at the seams for Jamie, and Dani was far too occupied with the ecstasy of it to mind.

 Another ragged breath, and Jamie coaxed Dani to turn in her arms, to face her once more, and at last let their lips collide. And, just like that, it was like Dani could breathe again. Jamie had somehow become the very air she breathed all the while taking her breath away - a puzzle Dani had no intention of solving.

 At some point, Jamie had decided Dani was wearing too many clothes, ridding her of her nightshirt in what Dani had momentarily felt was a rude interruption of their kiss. A gentle grip on Dani’s wrist guided her hands away from Jamie’s waist so that the gardener could kiss her way down Dani’s middle until she was kneeling before her. Dani’s hands, aching to touch Jamie somewhere, to hold her somehow, wove themselves into Jamie’s curls as she whispered her wife’s name into the cold morning air.

 Jamie hummed in question, her mouth otherwise affording Dani’s hipbone with attention.  

 “I love you,” Dani answered. Simple as that.

 Jamie paused to say the words back: “I love you, too, Poppins.”

 “Marry me, then?” Dani said with a grin before Jamie’s tongue began to work, inching toward Dani’s center, but stopping just before it came to where Dani needed Jamie most. The heat of her breath made Dani shiver and she bit her lip to unsuccessfully stop an ingracious moan.

 “Too late for that,” Jamie said as she retreated to pepper kisses along the inside of Dani’s thigh.

 “We could renew our vows,” Dani suggested through another gasp as Jamie nipped at her hip.

 “I think, traditionally, there’s a bit of a waiting period on that, Poppins. Say...a  week?”

 Dani chuckled amidst her panting, her hands gripping Jamie’s hair harder of their own volition whenever Jamie ghosted her lips over a particularly sensitive spot.  “Shame. I really enjoyed marrying you.”

 Jamie hummed her ascent before at last diving in to the very center of Dani’s sex, effectively ending the conversation. Dani felt tension climbing as Jamie made her tongue flat and rocked it back and forth, the sensation something like molten lava against her. In merely a few moments, Dani gripped the edge of the counter, the heels of her palms pressing into it as her hips canted forward. Jamie hummed her approval and the vibration made Dani throw her head back. “Jamie,” she managed, “please.”

 And Jamie knew what she wanted, what she needed. She pressed harder into Dani with her tongue and quickened the pace. A digit teased at Dani’s entrance, and, finding Dani more than ready, slid inside. The movement was slow but firm at first, but rapidly came to match the pace of Jamie’s racing tongue. Dani couldn’t imagine feeling anything more pleasurable until Jamie added a second digit.  Her vision went dark. The pitch of her voice, as she moaned out Jamie’s name, climbed higher, until finally, she and the world collapsed at once. Jamie held her in place while Dani pleaded for her to never stop.

 And Jamie didn’t. Jamie would never.

 After an uncertain amount of time had passed, Dani felt her presence of mind return and she caressed Jamie’s jawline to indicate that she needed a break.

 The gardener rose, her fingertips slowly tracing her way up Dani’s body, followed by her mouth, until she stood before the au pair. She wrapped her arms around Dani’s waist, kissing her shoulder, her neck, then her jaw ever so gently.

 Dani let her head rest on Jamie’s shoulder as she caught her breath. “To think,” she began, chuckling at first and then outright giggling.

 “What?” Jamie said, pulling back with a sympathetic smile.

 “They gave us a license to do that,” Dani laughed.

 Jamie snorted before she rolled her eyes and swatted Dani’s rear playfully. “I don’t exactly consider you heavy machinery, Poppins. I can operate you well enough without a license.”

 “Still,” Dani pressed on, too amused to stop. “You have one.”

 “As do you,” Jamie grinned on Dani’s lips.

 “Hmmm,” Dani hummed as her thumbs tucked themselves underneath the hem of Jamie’s shirt. “I suppose I should use it, then.”

 “Reckon you could do, yeah.” The words said were a bit of a tease, but Jamie’s tone had shifted to something heavier.

 In answer, Dani’s grin faded. Her expression shifted to something hungrier and more determined before she pressed her lips to her wife’s. Her brows rose upon tasting herself there, but the reminder of what Jamie had been doing a few minutes ago made her realize how much she wanted to return the favor. She parted them only to lift Jamie’s shirt. She hitched one of Jamie’s legs around a hip, then the other. With her wife’s weight resting on her hips, she walked them over to the couch that came with an ocean view. Yet she only had eyes for the sight beneath her: Jamie, hair mussed from sleep and Dani’s own hands tangling themselves in her curls; her lips kissed to the point of being swollen; her eyes searching and dark.

 Jamie’s brows twitched together as she smiled sweetly up at Dani. “What is it, Poppins?”

 “I really love you, you know,” Dani said, surprised to hear her voice shaking slightly.

 Jamie sat up to cup the au pair’s chin in her hands. “I do. And, I really love you, Poppins. Far too much, maybe. But, maybe that's all right.”

 Dani felt herself melt as she hovered nearer. “What’s too much, anyway?”

 “Haven’t the faintest,” Jamie smiled, drawing Dani further down into a kiss. “Though I wouldn’t hate it if you gave it the old college try.”

 Dani giggled on her wife’s lips. “I can do that,” she said, before doing her very best.

 ****

 “Well, how is it?���

 Jamie lifted one brow toward her phone’s screen at the question as she popped a mini pretzel in her mouth. “Need a little more, mate. How’s what?”

 “Married life!” Owen said, scoffing as if it were obvious.

 “Oh,” she said with a gentle roll of her eyes and a smile. She looked toward Dani who was behind the counter, currently fussing with a bouquet for a customer that would be arriving to pick it up soon. “It’s good. Wonderful. Much the same, really, just...more.”

 “And the honeymoon? How was sunny Barcelona?”

 Jamie tried not to let her mind wander, but…

     “Jay,” Dani said breathlessly against her neck as Jamie teased her. “Please, more.”  

 “Chm, good. Good. Fine. Yeah.”

 “Must’ve been better than fine,” he laughed. “You’re beet red.”

 “Fuck you, mate.”

 Owen barked out a laugh and apparently threw his phone amidst his fits. A few expletives later, he had his camera trained back on himself. He was still wearing a shit-eating grin that Jamie was hard pressed to forgive.

 “Are you two playing nice?” Dani asked with that teacher’s voice that downright made Jamie shiver.

 “Yes,” Jamie and Owen said at the same time.

 Dani laughed as she sat on Jamie’s lap. “Everything set?”

 “Hannah has it all planned,” Owen affirmed. “We’ll be arriving the twenty-first and can stay a full week. I’ll need to be back at the restaurant for New Year’s Eve. One of our regulars has rented it out, full service.”

 “We’ll get you for Christmas, at least, then,” Dani smiled. “Can’t wait. Henry and the kids will be here, just after you, on the twenty-second.”

 “We can’t wait either. There’s nothing more we wish for this Christmas than to be in your presents.”

 Dani turned to face Jamie. “Bad,” she said.

 “So bad,” Jamie nodded in agreement, mirth dancing in her eyes.

 “Tough crowd. I feel downright sleighed.”

 “Goodbye, Sharma,” said Jamie.

 With a bow and one last chuckle, Owen waved. “It’s literally the season of giving. Don’t be elfish.”

 “Goodbye!” Jame said again and tapped her phone, ending the video call. She felt Dani bounce a little in her lap as she stifled her laughter.

 “So bad,” Dani whispered, but there was a smile in her voice.

 “The worst,” Jamie agreed as she looked up into Dani’s eyes, wearing a grin despite herself.

 Dani nuzzled her before dipping for a kiss. “Christmas in Vermont. Think it’ll snow?”

 “Here’s hoping.”

 “How hard does it have to snow for flights to be cancelled? Maybe they’ll have to stick around a little longer.”

 “Poppins,” Jamie chastised with amusement.

 “That’s Mrs. Poppins to you.”

 “Right,” Jamie said, smacking herself in the forehead gently. “Apologies, Mrs.Poppins.”

 Dani decided to forgive her with a grinning kiss.

[harringtonstudios]

nonsense.

plot: LA clubs lead to LA problems, not always the bad kind of problems.

A/N: SMUT!!!! this is my first time writing smut so pls let me know what ya’ll think. this was inspired by an interview where kells admitted to being bad at flirting lmao & ‘nonsense’ by comethazine (blast it, it’s dope)

taglist: @iamdorka​ @no-shxt-sherl​ 

Visiting Los Angeles for winter break was one of the best ideas you’d had. Being a full-time college student with a part-time job didn’t leave you much room to party during the semester, and once finals were over, you’d booked a flight with your best friend to the City of Angels. Instead of shelving out money for a hotel room, you guys had rented an AirBnB out. Two days into the trip and you were already feeling better than you had in months. Something about the city lit you up inside, and going out every night boosted that feeling, clearing your head.

Tonight, you had decided to drag your friend to the infamous Sunset Strip. It wasn’t too far from the place you had rented out, and the weather in LA was great despite it being late December. Wearing one of your newer dresses, you’d done a quick makeup look and thrown on a pair of sneakers. Wearing heels to clubs was a bad decision that you’d learned the first night out, leading to an emergency shopping spree at the nearest Walmart to buy cheap sneakers that would be better for partying. 

Posing in the mirror, you eyed yourself up. The dress was leather red, accentuating all the right curves on your body. It ended mid-thigh, and you rubbed lotion on the rest of your legs, happy with the feel of them. The dress was a type you’d never worn before, and the way it hugged your body brought up a few insecurities, but you tried to push them to the back of your mind. LA was about confidence, being the best version of yourself, and you looked fucking hot. It was time to conquer the Strip.

Walking into the first nightclub, you were already feeling the buzz. The lights were dimmed, music blasting as you walked over to the bar. You’d quickly found that if you waited around the bar a little, free drinks would start flowing your way, so you sat down, smiling as your best friend plopped next to you. Tonight was going to be special, something was in the air, and you couldn’t wait to find out what it was.

-

Four tequila shots in, you were on the dance floor. Hands wrapped around your best friend’s neck, swaying to the music. The alcohol had hit just right, and you were tempted to start grinding but you knew she’d hate that, something about cockblocking her, so you looked around trying to find someone who would catch your eye. Just as you were about to make eye contact, a commotion broke out near the doors. You turned just to see a group of people walk in, and soon the dance floor was emptied out, people flocking to the new clubgoers. Making no attempt to chase the people, you dropped your hands and leaned over to whisper over the music, “Hey, I’m gonna get another drink. You okay here?”

She gave you an enthusiastic nod. As soon as you walked off the floor, you spotted her making a move on one of the guys left on the floor. Laughing, you shook your head. She never wasted an opportunity. Placing yourself back down on a barstool, you smiled as the bartender passed you a cocktail. You’d definitely miss the free drinks when you went back home. Swiveling around, you watched the dance floor slowly fill up again. You still had clear eyes on Y/F/N, and you sat there, perusing the club to see if anyone sparked your interest.

There was another commotion, people gathering on the club floor, and you winced as you saw a girl get elbowed in the face. You’d quickly learned that getting into a crowd, especially when there were potential celebrities involved, was always a bad idea. People got mean when they wanted something bad, especially if you were in their way. Turning back around to the bartender, you watched in appreciation as they shook up a few drinks.

Thirty seconds in, someone plopped down on the stool next to you. Eyes wandering slightly, you appreciated the man sitting there. He had messy bleach blonde hair, wearing a white long-sleeved shirt with a couple of red stripes on it, and nice hands. That one was important, hands could show you a lot, and his hand a couple of rings brandished on them. You saw him clock you, and then he leaned over a little before uttering, “Great legs, what time do they open?”

You scoffed before turning to face him. He was way cuter than you had thought, a nose piercing, blue eyes that were highlighted by the bar lighting. You took a second to think about exactly how you wanted to respond, if he had said anything fucking else, you would have played along, but this one just didn’t hit at all. “They don’t,” you smiled as you spit it out.

His brows furrowed, and he grabbed his drink, taking a sip. You stepped off, deciding to walk around. Finding your friend in a corner wasn’t a surprise, and quickly passing by, she threw you a thumbs up. You were happy for her, and you took a breath before getting back on the dance floor. 

-

It’d been an hour of dancing with multiple people and you still hadn’t hit it off with anybody. The greatest ten minutes you’d had was grinding on the girl with hair the prettiest shade of pink and even then, she’d blown you a kiss before her friends had dragged her off. The alcohol had worn off, but you hadn’t made your way back to the bar yet, trying to stretch your time dancing. Glancing around, you accidentally made contact with the guy from earlier. He was surrounded by people, bopping his head to the beat. He smirked as you stared for a little too long, and then he was breaking apart from the group, walking over. You braced yourself as he came to a stop in front of you. 

He was tall, standing calmly as the crowd started to thrash to a new song. He leaned over, placing a hand on your shoulder, and suddenly you were burning. “Can I get you a drink?”

He moved back, watching your face. Biting your lip, you nodded. Yeah, he fucked up with that pick-up line, but you needed to kiss somebody before you went crazy and the skin contact had you feeling some type of way. He smiled before tilting his head toward the bar. You got the hint and started walking, feeling his hand casually rest on your hip as he followed behind. 

Leaning against the wall, you saw him chat up the bartender and within seconds, he was in front of you holding two drinks. “We’ve gotten off on the wrong foot, haven’t we? But you do have very pretty legs. I had to say something,” he started off and you laughed before taking a sip, crunching on the ice. 

“Next time, try not to. I’m Y/N,” you said as he licked his lips. 

“Colson.” Reaching over to place a hand above your head, he leaned into your space. “So, what are you doing here tonight?” he questioned. 

“Wondering why you’re wearing a long-sleeved shirt in a club,” you responded, poking your tongue out of the side of your mouth. Raising his eyebrows, he laughed, “You’re cute.” 

He leaned over, letting his lips brush your ear, “It’s a fashion statement.” He was so close to you, his body caging you in with the wall. You could feel the heat of his breath against your ear, and you felt the fire start to glow in your stomach. He moved his head back, and you looked up at him, seeing him smirk again and all of a sudden the fire roared. Pushing up, you met his lips. His mouth was warm, lips softer than you expected. Wrapping an arm around his neck, you brought him down a little. A few seconds and then his other hand found its way back to your waist. It was cold from the drink and you gasped as he trailed it down, ghosting over your bare thigh. 

“Sorry,” he muttered, breaking the kiss. He moved his hand, and you grabbed it before he could bring it up. 

“Keep it there,” you whispered, and he grinned. Taking your drink, he dropped it on the counter before leaning down to kiss you again. Putting a hand in his hair, you pulled it a little, not expecting the little moan that came out of his mouth. Suddenly, all you wanted to hear was that sound on loop. His tongue slipped into your mouth, his hand pulling up the side of your dress a little before reaching around to grab your ass. 

You arched off the wall as he gripped your ass, breaking the kiss. Keeping you against the corner, he licked the side of your neck, kissing at the junction of your shoulder. Your hands were both in his hair now, and you pulled him closer as he nipped at your skin. Biting down slowly, he smacked your ass a little.

 “Fuck,” you whispered, closing your eyes. 

“You like that?” he muttered and then he was sucking down on your neck. 

Blowing on the spot he just sucked, he brought his hand back to your thigh, fingers trailing up to your underwear. His rings were cold against the warm heat of your inner thighs and you whined at the contrast in temperature. Raising his head again, he stopped moving. 

You were a vision to take in, flushed, hair messy, leaning against the wall, eyes closed. You moved your hips, trying to get some friction and he kissed you softly, pushing your underwear to the side as he traced a finger over you. You leaned into the touch, trying to create more pressure and he moved his finger away. 

“Nope,” and he grinned as your eyes shot open. 

“Don’t move,” he said, staring into your eyes and you swallowed as he brought his fingers back to where you wanted them. Slowly, he traced circles and you bit your lip as he hovered over your clit. 

Throwing your head back, you grabbed his shoulders as he inserted a finger inside you. “Shit,” you murmured and then suddenly, the pressure was gone. 

Looking back, you saw your best friend standing right in front of you where Colson had been. He was pushed against the bar and he looked at you, eyes widened. 

“Y/F/N, what the fuck,” you barked out, pulling your dress down, fixing your hair.

“I thought you were in danger, you didn’t give me the thumbs up,” she rationed. Her eyes took in your composure and you grimaced before responding, “My eyes were closed. I was fine.”

“Yeah, well I know that now,” she gestured to Colson, who was still staring at you two, “um… well continue!” 

She walked away, and you stared as she flounced to the bar. Pushing yourself off the wall, you felt yourself blushing as you looked at him. He was snickering as he picked up your drinks from earlier, popping a small ice cube in his mouth. His eyes were sparking and you made a face before taking the glass from him. 

“Hey,” he protested but you threw him a look. 

“Trust me, I need the alcohol way more than you do,” and then you were both laughing and things felt just right. You’d found something special tonight and that’s all you wanted, so you let yourself feel the music and swallowed another gulp of room temperature whiskey sour, eyes trailing over the man who’d had you weak a couple of minutes ago.

[visual-explorxtion]

The One That Got Away [Leon S Kennedy x Reader] - One Shot (NSFW)

Synopsis: You caught your boyfriend cheating and you're looking for an emotional getaway in a bar. Until you met Leon and you both instantly hit it off. But not everything is what you hoped it would be.

A/N: This one took way too long. I've started writing this prior to everything I've posted and it was on and off in between. Imagine this as older Leon (RE Damnation and up). I had a basic outline of the plot but kinda got derailed further I wrote and now it's a smutty, angsty and depressing fic (Three for the price of one). I thought I wrote too much and also not enough but it turned into a 5 page fic. And I also didn't realise I was writing in first person until halfway through. So, bone apple tea.

Word count: 3,842

The low murmurs and whispers of conversation surround the dimly lit bar, just two blocks away from my own apartment. I thought I could catch a break from my reality and sit silently with a drink in my hand. Hoping that I would get drunk enough to let my thoughts shut down, even just for a little while. But my mind circles back to him. My so-called boyfriend. Even though we are dating, our relationship just seems so...platonic.

I shake my head and took another sip of my drink. The ice cubes are slowly diluting the burning sensation of whiskey down my throat. Soon, this wouldn't be enough to forget all my problems. Irritated by my drink, I set it back down on the bar table, hoping that the aftertaste of alcohol would take my conscious away. I place the glass gently back down on the coaster and nudging it back and forth until it is exactly in-line with the circumference.

I leaned forward, pressing my forearms against the chilly, oak bar table. The sharp sensation ran up my arm, sending goosebumps along with it, awaking my drunken state. That was the last thing that I want. Reality setting back in.

The place was illuminated by the strip lights underneath the bar table and several backlights coming from the shelves of liquid. My bleary eyes tried to focus as I lift up my hand to signal one of the bartenders. But, to no avail, they do not seem to notice my presence. "Goddamnit..." I muttered under my breath. At this point, I could just slip out of this place and they won't even know it. I thought about it for a second but decided that it was a bad idea.

"Bad night, huh?" A low, raspy voice called out. I looked towards my left, where the voice came from. A man sat two seats away from me. His fringe covered most of his face so I couldn't tell what he looks like, but his chin was in view, chiselled and full of stubbles that could be seen even in a place with poor luminosity. "You wouldn't even know it," I answer, surprised that someone notices my existence. I've seen this man before. He's always here when I come to this bar, sitting in the exact same seating. I assume he's one of the staffs here, but he could just be a regular. Either way, it isn't any of my concern.

He chuckled, "I've had a handful of those before. I understand how you feel." His head angled slightly towards my direction. His face is now just peeking out from behind his golden hair. His eyes are piercing blue, like a vast ocean full of mysteries. He's handsome, beautiful even, but full of pain and hurt beneath it all. How could a man be so beautiful, and yet, so fragile?

I scoffed at his response, taking another sip of my now watered-down beverage, eyes returning to his gaze. "I'm sure you do," I spoke, resting my chin on my palm, giving him a smug grin. Maybe this is what I need, talking to a stranger, surely this will take my mind off a lot of things. He shook his head and smiled. "Hey, I'm Leon. You come here often?"

My brows furrowed and a little smirk came out of my lips. "If you're looking for someone to warm up your bed, then I can assure you, you've got the wrong girl," I paused, "I'm already seeing someone." Those words made my stomach wrench. I know full well that I'm the one that's seeing them, but they don't see me. No, not in the same way. Not anymore.

A breath escaped through his nose as he replied, "Well, I guess that makes the two of us...kinda." He takes a final sip of his bourbon and signals. "Another round...and make that a double." The bartender nodded and pulls out two glasses from under the bar table, now half-filled with alcohol, the bartender place one glass in from of me and slid the other one in from of Leon. I raise the glass up with my thumb and index finger by the rim, inspecting its content. The backlight is shown through the transparent liquid and dispersed in all direction, it's pretty and hypnotic. Though, the effect of the drink itself isn't as pretty as you'd think.

"Glass half full or empty?" My question sounded more like a statement. Leon gave a little laugh to my expression. My cheeks slowly burned up into a pink hue as I relived those words inside my mind. How stupidly naive I must have sounded.

Leon took the hint of my embarrassment and also raised his glass. "I'm neither an optimist nor a pessimist. All I know is that this is a good bourbon. And sometimes, that's all that matters." He reached out with the drink in his hand. I stared at it for a good while, "I think we could both agree on that." I smiled to myself as I return the gesture. Our glasses emitted a small clink to our small celebration. Bottom of the glass now upturned and down goes the alcohol, the scorching feeling made my face scrunch up. The bourbon slowly making its way into my bloodstream as the room that surrounds me spin like a carousel.

Hours go by, the muttering of conversation comes and goes, I have no recollection of our exchange, yet some faint pieces of memories spark up in my head. Knowing that you were a stranger, I spilt all my secrets, my fears and weaknesses, but you just listened and nodded along. An emotion blooms inside me, a warmth, telling me that we are the same type of people, the way we understood each other. We are lonely and just wanna belong somewhere.

Every day, I look forward to the moment when the sun hangs low and the moon comes up to dance, almost every night, I wander back into the bar with a light flutter in my heart. Knowing full well that Leon would be there, in the exact same seating, a glass of bourbon to accompany him. I found my life with meaning once again, understanding that I am not alone. Our conversations found their way of chatting about my life, to his. The story of his life and the things he had done shaped the person he is now. Though I know he speaks truthfully, I can't help but notice the gaps in his biography that he decided not to fill in. Whether to think after everything he revealed would make me scared of him, or I would look at him in a pitiful way, but that did not matter. The Leon I met, he's nothing like how he described himself. In my eyes, he's a soft and gentle soul, who got a few humorous tricks up his sleeve.

Sometimes, I think I'm somewhat emotionally detached, even if the sky topples, my mental state will remain calm as the world crumbles around me. I wouldn't scream, nor would I cry, I'll just quietly accept this as my fate.

And fate's plan came crashing down on me in one swift motion. Not even a second too early or too late. My most traumatic and emotional experience, all happened in a small time frame of one sunny morning. When you live through a memorable moment in life, good or bad, they become forever etched into our brain. Just like a movie. But, that same scene plays over and over again, until you can't handle it anymore. The sight of your ex-boyfriend in bed with a woman that's not you. Her hair and eyes resemble your appearance, eyes gleaming in a dark hue with their soul still intact. But, you're not her. And she's not you. He didn't choose you.

The lookalike gripping her hands around his toned arm, trembling in fear of what might happen next. What I would do next. My vision holds not her, but the so-called of a man, whom I just realise is nothing but a coward. The air around the room is thick and heavy, no words were spoken, not even an explanation or an apology. Under the hint of light, silence can be heard, from his blank expression, I knew the answer. I left not because of a broken heart, but because I don't belong there anymore. And I'd be lying to myself if I say I wasn't sad. Deep down, you knew this was bound to happen. You knew this from the very beginning, the spark wasn't there. You just weren't ready to admit the facts because you are afraid. Afraid of being alone again.

Waves of emotions hit one after another. Exchanging between grief and relief, this emotional loop cycles on. The crystal glass in my hand mirrors my mental suffering. Once empty, then full again and empty once more. Now drowning in a pool of liquor, until I can no longer distinguish between night and day, I hope this cycle never ends.

"Isn't it a little too early to hit the bottle?" A familiar voice came into my earshot, "Well, if it isn't my new-found buddy, Leon! Come, drinks are on me!" The laughter in my throat refusing to cease, everything is now on autopilot. The room sways back and forth to the beat of the music, every bassline played made my head blurrier each time, the lights in the bar almost seem like someone crank the exposure to the highest level. He sighed and took a seat, seeing there's no other option. "Jesus...how many have you had?" His concert did not reach me as I just skimmed over his question. "Hmm...4? 5? I lost count...but who cares?! I'm here to have a good time!" I exclaimed, both fists pumped up in the air and chuckling idiotically to myself.

Leon's brows scrunch, a finger rubbing at his temple, the crease on his forehead gets deeper by the minute. His drink arrived but his focus was elsewhere, he would take one sip, then looks back at me, contemplating. "H-hey, aren't you supposed to...protect the city or s-something, Mr detective-man-or-whatever?" I hiccuped, with half my speech slurred. "I'm not a cop. I don't...can't protect people." He took another sip. "Isn't that...hic...what you've told me?" I pressed on, this isn't what I've intended to do. He exhaled, "It's complicated." A drunken smirk left my nose, the alcohol had intoxicated my system and left my mouth defenceless. "Is it really that complicated? Or do you just not want to tell me the truth?" Jesus! Shut up, me! I can see the rage boiled behind his darken eyes, his fists gripped and nails digging deep into his flesh. "You. Need to stop drinking."

The clock strikes midnight, but neither one of us had any intentions to sober up or face whatever reality has prepared for us. We laughed, argued and make flirtatious jokes to one another. The air between us shifted, hot but still intoxicated. Even so, my mind still lingers on the images that shattered my heart into a million pieces. I don't want this anymore. "Hey...what if I kiss you right n-now? How would you react?" I giggled. "Sure. I'd be glad to," he said, facetiously. "Pfff, come on! I'm serious!" another hiccup. "You're drunk and trying to take the piss out of me." I locked eyes with him, setting my next words in a serious manner. "Am I? Why don't you come and find out?" I slid my hand from his forearm down to the back of his hand, drawing circles with my index finger, tempting and testing his borderline. A small grunt caught in between his lips, gaze running up my skin and idly to my mouth, his fixed stare lingered what feels like an eternity until we meet eye to eye.

What happens next came to me like a blur. I took his hand and led him away from the bar. The place was too packed for anyone to know if we were gone by the next second. We stumble away through the crowds of drunks living on cloud nine, but our hands kept a grip tight on one another. I pushed on; wanting to feel something, anything, even just for tonight. The burning desire inside has reached its limit, but so was Leon's. He twirled me around and constrained my backside up against the bathroom door. His body leaned in close to mine, our faces just an inch apart. The feverish breath touched my neck, turning me on even more so. I can feel his hesitation as his lips close within range, just hovering close to yours. "Would it really kill you if we kiss?" my words were hushed, giving him the final push. And those were the few words to make him let go of his rationality. Before I could acknowledge my next thought, his hand slip under the back of my neck with a firm grip and our mouths collided in the heat of the moment. His kiss was strong and passionate, everything that I imagined it would be, my hips feeling every inch of his, teeth gently grazing my bottom lip as I parted them to deepen his taste. Heat radiates off his chest as our tongues now intertwined with the taste of bourbon and sweetness, Leon showed no signs of backing down as his hand squeeze my hip tighter. But we had to break our physical contact when the chatter grew louder from inside the bathroom. Our hearts still racing, panting breathlessly and aching to be together again, though both of us would rather avoid being caught in an awkward situation.

My body mindlessly took us further down the deserted corridor to a backdoor that leads to an alleyway, the door itself could easily be missed if not observed carefully. I extended a hand to push open the door but was abruptly interrupted by Leon's demanding kiss. Eager to be whole again, he hoisted me off the ground effortlessly, binding my leg around his slender waist. The faint sound of music could be heard from the interior of the building, imitating the beat of our hearts. My back is up against the rugged wall once more. His nails dug into my thigh as I whimpered at the pain but Leon's kiss grew more hungry and impatient, urging for something more. The heat between my legs burning white-hot for this man with absolute longing. As if he could read my thoughts out loud, his hand travelled up to the waistband of my jeans, a finger hooked underneath and running it across my waistline and stopping just before where the buttons clasp. His tease sends chills along my lower abdomen, I'm struggling to keep up my composure.

Leon's icy blue gaze pierced through me, signifying his needs. "Do it." With the sign of my approval, he ripped the jeans clean off my sweat-covered legs without a hitch. My bare limbs glistening in the moonlight, reflecting off the moisture with the gentle breeze caressing them. The heat on my face grew, knowing that my lower parts are only concealed with a thin layer of fabric that's half opaque. Leon smugly grinned at the sight presented to him, licking off the residue from our kiss, he lets me down delicately as my feet touch the sturdy ground. He shifted and on both his knees, positioning himself in between my legs, feeling nervous being fully exposed to him. I stifled a gasp as Leon steady my balance with hands on either side of my hips, his kisses trail down the torso, leaving marks all over my stomach, down to my v-line. His soft fingertips skim the hem of pants then he dipped his head low, the black, lacy underwear caught between his teeth, removing them until I'm left bare and vulnerable.

I can feel his eyes exploring every inch of uncovered skin, like a wolf with his hunting instinct. His mouth found its way to your folds. The next thing you know, a foreign feeling spreads open your lower organ, heat escaping from your core and drip down to your inner thigh. You squirm and twitch with every movement of his tongue, chest rapidly rising and falling with each breath taken, you know you are close to the edge. Your hands clench his hair gently as he continuous drive over your sweet spot, humming, until you unravel your senses upon him. Knees giving out as everything tingles from head to toe, Leon catches you in his arms as you recover your strength.

Cleaning you off with the tip of his tongue, he reclaims his posture to tower over you and returns lips onto yours. The passionate kiss filled with desire, you can taste your own thirst mixed with his own saliva. Sultry and sweet. Chest to chest, every curvature and dips of his toned muscles embrace my own, our heartbeats synchronised. His scent of cologne mixed with sweat gives me a sense of comfort. I can feel the outline of his bulge through the thick fabric. One hand placed on the small of my back, the other desperately uncuffs his belt and down to his pants, revealing his length. My eyes widen in awe at the size of his...thing. It's pressed up against my abdomen, from shaft to the tip, Leon seems to be satisfied with my reaction as his egotistic smirk painted across his face. I swallow, mentally preparing myself before any attempt on riding him. Holding the base of his cock, now positioned near your entrance, you draw a hand near it and gently massage it. As if it's fragile, my hand gave it a few pumps then guide his tip inside. All that foreplay made it much easier for him to enter.

His tip without any difficulty. "Breathe" his deep, husky voice whispers in my ear, then inch by inch, until he fills up all my crevices inside. He took a pause, letting me adjust to his size for a minute, then slid back out again. Without a word of warning, he thrusts his cock back in all the way to the hilt as I let out a lusty yelp. The electric shock sends my pelvic muscles twitching and tensing around his cock, the repetitive motion causes me to ache for him even more. My hips sway and grind along to the beat of his movement, harder and faster, making him let out a soft cuss. The twinge at the back of my mind resurfaced again, flashbacks of this morning's event, haunting my thoughts again. Standing in the same doorway, looking at him and her on the same bed, same stiffness in the air. But, I'm looking at me through her eyes now, situated in this dark alley. The fear crept in. I can't love him. I know better than this.

"Hey. Just focus on me." Leon's hands cupped my cheeks, radiating the warmth I know, calling me back to the light. His tongue has taken up my mouth once more, diverting my focus from my own broken mind to the love he's providing. But you shouldn't. Hips picking up the pace, every bump and vein hitting my sensitive spot as I cry out, calling his name out in ecstasy. Leon's breathing is getting heavier with every beat he thrusts, bringing me and him closer to coming undone. Hot liquid spilling out, filling you up to the bream, overflowing like my emotions. The feeling he provided which shifted something inside, a beacon of light into my own soul. He pulled out, the inner content spilling out slightly as we redress ourselves again.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw it. The pang of guilt hit him. Just like everyone else. My feet stumbled a few steps back, almost tripping myself up in shock. The tears behind my eyes threaten to fall out. I have to get out of here. I spin on my heels and made a run for it. This isn't how it is supposed to turn out. I know better. Knew. "Wait! At least let me take you home-" "No!" My feet kept on pushing me, yelling at me to keep going. Hot tears pour out inevitably, unlike tonight. It's all my fault. I naively believed that we were the same- wanting the same thing, am the same type of people. I was wrong. All I ever wanted was to stop being alone, but you chose this. You wanted to be alone. And I've made a mistake. "Wait, goddamnit." I stopped in my tracks, tears falling nonchalantly. I turned, leaving him with only a few words. "I'm sorry...but I fell in love with you tonight." But we both knew the answer.

---

[voidandradiance]

hint of a spark | 2.8k

(a direct sequel to stars burn out)

their champion serves them well.

he doesn't want to turn against his dear friends; he tempts them toward the dark of his own free will. it is a careful, masterful work, a dream of clever comments and timely suggestions. "my patron treats me well," the captain says with a smile, his eyes darker and clearer than they have ever been before.

the other champions have noticed many of the changes, but not all of them. they have noticed that he seems stronger than before, but not that he avoids sunlight as when he can. they notice the way that his blows hit harder, but not the way that his shadow stretches longer than it should. he dances in the dark, and they scarcely notice. for heroes of the light, they aren't all that observant.

of course not. why would they think to scrutinize their friend, their leader, their dear captain? he would never betray them.

but he would sway them.

he would begin to resent the light for constantly placing them in mortal danger. he would begin to question the way that the hunt for the stones seems to pit them against each other. he would plant those seeds of doubt deep in their chests, and water them carefully.

the darkness constructs yet another gauntlet for the heroes to run, unyielding at the request of their own champion. they cannot raise suspicion, the captain had insisted. instead, when trapped between a horde of minions and a fatal drop, he takes his own way out. he makes his own way out, in a flash of brilliance and stubborn pride, as immune as he would be.

mianite's champion comments on his stubbornness. their clever champion grins. "i never like to accept the obvious options," he says casually, and spins his netherite blade in a flourish. "didn't we ever tell you about how i ended up with milady?"

"no," the caveman says, fascinated at the promise of yet another absurd story, another insight into his friend. "you'll have to tell me later."

the captain smiles. "we'll have to tell you about ruxomar as well," he replies. "with the shadows and all. i think we should all be on the same page, if we're fighting the parent of the gods."

his shadow stretches long and dark on the stone floor, curling with smug delight. none of them notice. the darkness is so very proud of their champion.

he and the zombie tell the caveman of a world where his god was cruel and cold, a world that burned at the hand of the dark, a world where gods died. it discomfits him, but both assure him that the gods change across the realms. they tell him of a world where chaos tore balance to shreds, and order hardly said a word against it, a world where a mortal killed his god, a world where mere children both defeated and restored the divine. the caveman, as is only fair, is alarmed and concerned.

the darkness already has a hold in him, and it grows more solid as the seeds of doubt begin to unfurl in his chest. he has resisted their attempts to ensnare him after he was caught once, but he easily agrees with all the captain says.

their champion has done so well; the darkness grants him a chance to not just rest peacefully, but to curl beneath the silken sheets of his own bed in the mirror realm, cradled in their power, relaxed and utterly safe. they themselves take the shape of his usual nightly guardian, and he looks at them with such gratitude that they, a primordial divinity, are almost dizzy with the rush of loyalty and worship and power.

it will likely take more work to begin to sway the zombie; chaos has begun to grow suspicious of them, despite balance repeatedly siding with all that the captain says.

oh, how strange that conversation had been. she has always held a bias; now, she has set herself on the side of the dark, with a surprisingly well-planned argument as to why. "the light wants total eradication of the dark," she had said, as if they hadn't already known that. "but you know that no shadow can be cast without some light. it isn't balance, but it at least keeps the scale intact. one of you will win, and i would like it to be you. i will not bow, but i will take your side when necessary."

"and i will accept the favor of the scales and tank," the darkness had told their wild, wayward daughter. at least one of the little godlings has seen sense, which is one more than they had expected. ideally, chaos would have been the one to join them, but this does grant the captain far more stable of a cover. she claims that any questioned action is done in the name of balance, which is not quite a lie.

still, the caveman figures it out after the captain summons his bow and saves both of their lives from a horde of monsters that would have otherwise overwhelmed them. a pity; the darkness had rather hoped for a little longer to silently make their case to him. mianite's champion, of course, reacts with fear. with a devastatingly powerful weapon appearing from writhing shadows, it's to be expected. "you. you're with the darkness. you're a fake."

"i'm not a fake," the captain retorts, far too offended for a man who spars against his best friends' shadows on a regular basis. "honestly. do i look like a bad copy to you?"

the caveman still steps back. "even if you aren't, that's not what you should be worried about denying first, cap."

their champion shrugs. "well, i won't try to deny the truth. my patron has been very good to me. i'll claim them gladly."

"and what about ianite?" the caveman demands, frightened and furious. "you've always been loyal to her! why would you betray her? why would you betray us?"

"i wouldn't," the captain says easily. "i am still loyal to my lady. she has seen that the only chance we have at balance is with the darkness. total defeat of the shadows, angrec says. does that sound like balance to you, then?"

silently, the caveman shakes his head.

the captain lets his bow melt away, and steps forward with an outstretched hand. "have i hurt you, karl? have i taken your gear, or stolen your supplies, or flooded your house, or burned your trees? have i left you behind, let you die when i could have helped? have i?"

"no," the caveman says, his voice small and afraid, though he tries to hide it. from the tiny pockets of dark, they watch him, and see the intimidation written in his tense shoulders and curled fists. he truly didn't expect this. "no. i don't- i don't know why, the darkness is evil, why-"

"they aren't evil," the captain snaps, and the other tenses further. he takes a breath in, out, and forces himself to calm. "i have served the gods for nearly a third of my life," he says softly, intently, furiously. "i have done everything they ever asked. and for what? the constant punishment, the constant threats, the wedge driven between my best friends and i? the pain of feeling my goddess die and shatter apart into countless universes? the privilege of dying a thousand times over and again in their quests and purges? the ceaseless nightmares and visions that i have seen every single night since i first swore myself to ianite? karl, do you have any idea how long it had been since i last slept through the night before my lord let me rest?"

"you never escaped," the caveman says slowly. "they let you go. they let you come back to the isles. they want you here."

the captain spreads his empty hands. "i didn't need to escape. the mirror realm is a lovely place, once you get used to it. no mobs that haven't been summoned for a reason. no petty infighting or squabbles. no forced fighting between friends. i know that the darkness cares for me. can you say the same about the gods?"

the caveman hesitates.

"the gods are still so young," the captain pushes, so gently. "they don't know how to handle their power yet. they haven't even settled into their roles. they don't know yet what's best for the world."

"and you do?" the caveman asks bitterly.

their champion just smiles sadly. "i have seen more worlds than you can count. i have lived and died and lived. i have killed the father of gods, and revived a goddess. i have spent so long as balance, so long setting things right. yes. yes, i do."

mianite's champion has nothing to say to that, only offering a stunned stare.

the captain sighs. "look. i know that this might seem like a betrayal, but you've only seen one side of things. just because angrec is the light doesn't mean that she's good. they're not the same thing. they can lie to us. they can manipulate us."

"so can you," the caveman insists. the darkness sits silently in their champion's shadow, and watches as the other man tilts his chin up defiantly. "you're probably lying about all of this! you're dark!"

"i'm still sworn to ianite," the captain says. "my ianite. if i lie, there will be pretty obvious consequences. ask tom about that part, if you don't believe me. you've seen it happen, when i lied to gandus about the fake stones."

they're both silent for a moment. the other hesitates. "that was before you were- were gone," the caveman says. "prove it."

the captain inclines his head. "i'm a little offended that you asked me to," he replies. nothing happens. "i am still sworn to the ianite of my home realm. i am still trying to do what i think is best for everyone. the darkness has done more to help me than any god ever has. the darkness has given me more protection, more power, than any god ever has. the darkness has been more concerned for me than any god, has been kinder, has been more patient- do you see my nose bleeding?"

"no," he says reluctantly, after a beat.

their champion spreads his hands, and steps forward. "i would willingly hurt you or tom when there was still another path left," he says, and dark red blood trickles down over his lips, a deeper shade than any of the other mortals, a strange shimmer to it. it isn't ichor, but it isn't quite human blood. it hasn't been for a long time.

silence hangs heavy in the air as the too-dark blood winds down his face, the crimson droplets slipping down his chin, to his jaw, down his throat. the champions stare at one another, quiet.

"it's still me, karl," the captain says. "i just have a different patron. tom played at being ianite's follower, lied about it, as his god commanded. i don't hold it against him anymore, and neither do you. how is this any different?"

"i," the caveman says. "i need to think."

the captain nods easily, despite the wary look he gets. "that's fair. this was not a good way to find out. i understand. oh, don't look so surprised, i'm not going to threaten you or anything. you're my friend. just… don't tell tom yet, alright? i want to tell him properly. we've surprised each other too many times."

slowly, so slowly, mianite's champion blinks. and nods.

seeds take root.

the darkness wraps their captain up in approval and shadows and pride, and he curls into them gladly.

mianite remains troublesome. his little champion does not. the caveman does not stand beside them, but like ianite, does not stand against them. he makes a handful of little concessions, helps in a handful of small ways, covers a handful of tiny flaws in their plans. dianite continues to have his own designs on the realm, not that they will ever come to anything.

and dianite's champion is far less trouble than expected.

"i want you on my team," the captain says bluntly, his purring shadow draped across his shoulders, the moonless night rich and dark outside the windows of his tower. the zombie sits across the room from him, in the midst of a supposedly irrelevant conversation, alone. there are no gods here to interfere.

"mate," the zombie says. "you know i'm on your team."

the captain crosses his legs casually, and reaches up to pet his shadow. seated as they are, its absence from its usual spot hasn't been noticed. "we both know that's not what i meant. i want you with us."

the champion of chaos pauses. "i'm not much good at balance. we both know that. i'm not even any good with pretending at it."

"i'm not talking about ianite," the captain replies calmly, not looking away from the cat. they are dancing around what they both know, testing the limits of one another with their gentle phrasing and purposeful ignorance. they each know the truth.

the zombie exhales slowly. "i didn't think you were," he says, and looks up at him with wary eyes. "why?"

"because you're my best friend," their champion says, unshakably loyal. "and i know that dianite has always been… less tolerant of leaving than the others. i didn't want to put you in a place to lie to him."

"why did you turn, i mean," the zombie corrects, though his expression has fallen into something gentler and calmer. "if you of all people found a good enough reason to betray your god, then it must be the best damn reason out there."

the captain looks back up at him. "you know about the dreams," he says, and the other nods. "they swore on their own damn quintessence not to hurt either of you, after i asked, and then they made the dreams finally stop. they stopped blinding ianite, and she sided with us anyway. they've done more for me than all the gods, all but my lady at home. and she's not here."

"it would be useless to fight you," the zombie guesses, folding his arms. "you've always been stronger, and now you have their power on your side."

the captain shrugs. "everything has a shadow, tom. even you. i spar against them. you're better than anyone else, i can promise you that."

there is a long, quiet pause, and the pair politely avoid eye contact as they both struggle with the situation. the zombie drums his fingers on the hilt of his sword, hesitating, then draws it-

and throws it away.

the sword of chaos clatters against the stone bricks, sharp and sudden as it pierces nothing but the silence. the captain looks at it, then to the zombie, a quiet question in his eyes.

"i trust you, jordan," the zombie says, no waver in his voice, no fear in his eyes. "i won't follow the darkness, but i would follow you. you know i would. i killed my first god for you."

"i know," the captain agrees. "thank you. there are a few ways we could keep you from having to fight him, if you like."

the zombie shakes his head. "you need someone to watch your back, if your lord is going to be busy fighting the gods," he says, then pauses. "...karl?"

"knows," the captain admits. "i asked him to keep quiet. he and ianite likely won't stand with us, but they won't interfere. this is the closest chance this world has for balance. limitation of light, or destruction of darkness. they know that."

the zombie nods, and sighs, and holds out a hand. "us against the world, then, with one god between us," he says. "just like old times. what do you need me to do, then, cap?"

the captain smiles, and takes his hand. his shadow stands, stretches, and slinks down to curl at the other man's feet. "just like old times," he agrees. "here's the plan for now."

the darkness watches from the night sky, from their shadows, from the insides of their coat pockets and the soles of their boots. they seem to have a lieutenant now, a right hand to their right hand. they had not expected it; they had predicted at least some resistance, some doubt, if not a full confrontation. and yet, they can feel that burning loyalty in his chest, tied to the captain as firmly as the captain is tied to them. they have followed each other into the void.

how is the darkness any different?