#BI WORLD NO ESCAPE

[shojoboy]

Being Bisexual is sooo cool we can be any gender and be attracted to any gender any amount, we lovvvvve women and nonbinary people and men and even if we only ever date or fuck one of those we are still Bisexual. We aren't "half straight, half gay", because that's not how sexuality works. Sometimes it feels like we don't have our own community but tbh that's because, the Gay community? We in there. The Lesbian community? We in there. Trans community??? We in there!!!!!!!!!!!! Yippee!!!!!

[swordgrace]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐑 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 — 𝐈𝐕.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader.

SYNOPSIS: you and jacaerys go to claw isle, the ancestral seat of house celtigar, to treat with your brother. needless to say, tensions are high.

part of a series, read part three here.

{ FORMAT: one-shot, part of a series.

{ WORD COUNT: 11.7K (another long one).

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), creative liberties taken with claw isle & house celtigar, reader has a poor relationship with her brother, canon-typical misogyny, little bit of plot, lots of smut, overprotective jacaerys, p in v sex, unprotected sex, missionary position, mild breeding kink, first time oral sex (m!receiving), handjobs, cunnilingus, oral sex (fem!rec), body worship (f&m receiving), hair pulling kink, multiple orgasms, making out, lots of love declarations, jace only makes love, everything is extremely gentle, very soft aftercare

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: Finally, it’s here! I’m really trying to get this series squared away before the season ends, but that’s definitely not going to happen. 😭 Nonetheless, I’m going to keep pushing for weekly to bi-weekly uploads with this and work on requests! As always, thank you all so much for your continued love and support! It means the world to me! I hope you all enjoy! ❤️

𝐀 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐒𝐞𝐚, 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐦, 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭.

Something about it seemed ominous and dark, as if there was an unseen presence lingering in the fog. The thick scent of saltwater stung your nostrils as you flew above the dark waters. It was not ideal weather for travel, especially upon the back of a dragon.

Vermax maintained a steady pace as you and Jacaerys flew to Claw Isle. The journey was lengthy, but the both of you were filled with an inner fire and determination to subdue your brother and bring the Celtigar fleet into the fold. It had been a handful of hours since your departure, growing closer and closer to your home.

If it weren’t for the constant feeling of peril and dread, you would’ve fallen asleep on the saddle, slumped against Jacaerys as he steered the dragon over a vast plane of coastal cliffs. He seemed quiet, contemplative — you assumed he thought of his mother.

Her disappearance to King’s Landing for reasons unknown had put a stressor on the War Council, all in complete disarray. Rhaenys was at the helm in an attempt to steer what was now a rudderless group, and Jacaerys could think of no better person suited to bring a gaggle of old men to heel.

It was important for you to maintain your resolve, support Jacaerys in whatever he needed. He was going to help fight your battles, but you wanted to help him, too. You couldn’t imagine the inner turmoil he was experiencing, calm on the outside. He was so selfless, rarely placing his own needs before your own, and if he did, it wasn’t done willingly.

The view of the ocean from the back of a dragon was enchanting — dark waters stretching as far as the eye could see, a thick haze hovering above, salty droplets of mist peppering across your cheeks as you flew. You neglected to inform Clement of your presence, preferring the element of surprise.

A serpentine cry escaped Vermax as he swooped over a line of trees atop a peninsula, prompting you to gasp and hold on tightly to the saddle. This was only your second time on dragonback, and thankfully, it wasn’t as frightening as the first — even then, they were unpredictable creatures.

“Are you alright?” Jacaerys asked, chest snug against your back, face nearly brushing your shoulder as he guided Vermax away from any cliffsides — for your sake, mostly. Despite the dire situation of the Council, he was more determined than ever to placate your brother. They needed the Celtigar fleet if they were to win the war.

You nodded, grip beginning to slack upon the saddle as the fog of misty clouds began to break, revealing an island in the distance. “We’re nearly there.” You replied, brows furrowing together as you came upon the island. It was strange to be home under such circumstances — you wish it were different.

Claw Isle was somewhat larger than Dragonstone, and Celtigar Keep rose high above the clouds, appearing in all of its glory. It was carved of white stone, turned gray and dark in coloration from many decades of weathering at seaside. It was pointed and arching with high, spindling towers, much of the castle was built in and around the rocky mass it sat atop.

The coastlines were clear, grayish shores that seemed to match the pallor of the Celtigar stronghold. Crackclaw Point, the peninsula, was more inhabited with towns and fishing villages, able to be spotted from where you flew. A lone fisherman on the beach stared overhead at the sight of a dragon making its descent somewhere far from the citadel walls.

A massive bridge connected Claw Isle to Crackclaw Point, an impressive contraption of thick stone that ferried denizens above the violet swell of the ocean’s tides. The banners of crimson crabs against a field of white fluttered in the distance, and you had to steel yourself from becoming trapped within the past.

The memories you held of home were not all bright and mirthful — some were horrible, others good, others muddled somewhere in between. You wondered how Clement would feel about your intrusion, answering his stubbornness and pride with that of a dragon, and then you realized that he would have no choice in the matter.

“Land far along the beach,” You instructed, feeling the steady beat of Vermax’s wings crawl to a halt as he descended. Jacaerys guided him to the shore, and the landing was hard, causing you to lurch forward within the saddle. “We will walk the rest of the way.”

Jacaerys dismounted first, sliding along the olive-and-sienna wing of his dragon, extending his arms out to you. As you moved down, albeit sluggishly, his hands circled your hips, grabbing you and placing you down onto solid ground.

A crack of thunder resonated overhead, accompanied with the swirling, ominous skies of an encroaching storm. Jacaerys held you still, pressing a kiss against your forehead. “If anything happens, you stay by my side.” He murmured, somewhat afraid that it would come to a fight. As long as he could reach Vermax, the odds were exponentially in his favor.

“Of course,” You reassured him, giving his forearms a gentle squeeze on either side of you. “If Clement is willing, we should have our fleet and be off by tomorrow. Though, I fear it might not be such an easy feat.” With a soft sigh, you stretched up upon your toes, kissing Jace with a brief flutter of passion.

It was soothing, being in the presence of one another. Jacaerys found it easier to simply exist with you without worrying about wandering eyes and being caught. You were somewhere unfamiliar, but he did not let his guard down. He reciprocated your kiss, keeping it chaste before the both of you began to walk down the strand.

Vermax paced along the coastline, flying from the wet sand toward the driftwood-strewn inclines and hills, blending in against the backdrop of tall pine trees. The dragon stayed close to Jacaerys’s side, but away from the wandering eyes of any potential hostilities.

Jacaerys felt your hand slip into his as the two of you made your trek to Celtigar Keep. You regailed him with tales of your home, from the massive stone stronghold to the vast amount of treasures that resided within. The dour curtain of veiled clouds hung low upon the strand, covering some of the Keep’s spires in a hazy fog.

It was not unlike Dragonstone in terms of intimidation — any fortress of such a grim caliber was sure to strike fear into those who saw it. Jacaerys found it to be beautiful, but not when an idiotic ruler sat inside of it. He didn’t want to cast judgment upon your brother so quickly, but he was doing very little to garner any sympathy.

“What is your brother like?” Jacaerys questioned, idly tracing his thumb over your knuckles. He wanted to prepare himself for whatever happened — and he had a hunch that he and Clement would butt heads like two rearing elk. “You rarely speak of him.”

There was a good reason for it, given your strained relationship. You hesitated, casting your forlorn gaze towards the beach instead, deciding on how to proceed. “Clement and I have not always had a good relationship,” You confessed, brows furrowing together. “He is stubborn and arrogant, but my father’s enablement of him simply worsened any negative qualities.”

Jacaerys listened closely, recognizing the frustration etched into your features. Whenever you spoke about Clement, it was never anything good. Your voice was often laced with irritation or a subtle pain. “Do you think he will listen to you?” His voice softened at his inquiry.

“I am unsure,” Admitting the bitter truth of the challenge that this mission presented was a hard pill to swallow. “I don’t think he will, but I must persuade him to listen and do what is right. It will be comforting to have you here with me.” You replied, offering Jace a threadbare smile.

“I wouldn’t have let you go alone,” Jace murmured, a tender smile tugging at either corner of his mouth. He feared becoming tempestuous in your brother’s presence — if hostilities or insults were hurled, there was no telling what he would do. “Is this the Keep where you grew up in?” He asked, motioning to the castle ahead.

The ocean lived within your blood just as much as that of Old Valyria — saltwater and the tides, intermingled with that of ancient ancestry. “Yes,” You replied, gaze drifting toward the scaling fortress of naval power, its walls and towers decorated with some oceanic motif. “It looked much brighter when I was younger.”

Jacaerys could envision you, a wide-eyed child, with a love of the sea, playing somewhere along the coast with the overbearing ire of your father. It was much like Driftmark, only Celtigar Keep was thrice the size and more like some dour mausoleum than a true castle.

“Should I worry about any hostilities from your brother?” Jace questioned, keeping one palm atop the pommel of his blade. The sword had been a gift from Daemon — despite the rift, it was an item of sentimental significance.

“My brother is half the fighter that you are, so I suspect not. His tongue is sharper than his blade — he wields insults instead of a sword.” You explained, and as you walked along the strand, the Keep became close and closer, coming into your focus. “Do not give him any satisfaction, or he will use it against you.”

It was good information to have, and Jace nodded, resolute and stalwart as his gaze turned from Celtigar Keep to you. There was a softness that found his features whenever he glanced at you, and he wanted nothing more than to steal you away and shower you with his affections.

Perhaps, if you were to stay at Celtigar Keep, he would be presented with ample opportunities.

It was foolish to think that way given the dire nature of your mission, providing his mother with an army and a fleet. The excitable, amorous nature of youth prevailed, but Jacaerys had other motives that offered some context to his desire. He’d been mulling it over for some time now, and the way forward had never been clearer.

As the both of you made it to the bridge, you crossed until you were faced with the bolted Gate of the Crab, a massive stone-wrought wall armed with crossbows and footsoldiers bearing the Celtigar tabard. They blocked your path, looking between you and Jacaerys with an air of concern and bewilderment.

“Who goes there?” A guard questioned, extending a polearm to bar your path.

“Lady Celtigar, daughter of Lord Bartimos, and Prince Jacaerys Velaryon of Dragonstone, son of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen and heir to the Iron Throne.” You announced, happening to earn a brief smile from Jace’s end. He thoroughly enjoyed the way you introduced him, regal and with a lengthy list of titles and accolades to reinforce his position, and yours.

Both of the guards appeared shocked, glancing between one another before looking at you and Jace. He stood with his hands interlocked atop the pommel of his sword, crimson cape billowing in the wind. It bore the black-and-red Targaryen sigil, doublet stitched with silver dragons and intricate patterns.

“What business does the Prince have with Lord Celtigar?” A guard piped up, demanding a suitable answer before allowing either of you inside. He addressed Jacaerys with a certain level of sternness, as if it would intimidate him — it didn’t in the slightest.

“It does not matter whether or not I have business with your lord. What matters is that Lady Celtigar is here to treat with her brother — why deny her that satisfaction?” Jacaerys quipped, brows furrowing together. His abilities in diplomacy and action had improved greatly since his time with Lord Cregan Stark in the North.

A wariness grew between the guards, who looked to the crossbowmen supplanted along the walls, and the back to the both of you. Still, they hesitated on letting either of you inside — until Vermax appeared. The dragon let out a screech, flying right over the bridge you stood upon before circling around into the thicket of pines.

Jacaerys smiled triumphantly, head canting to one side. “Surely, you will not deny us now.” He quipped, hovering protectively at your flank, curls billowing with the saltwater breeze. The guards swallowed whatever fear had risen into their throats, and promptly stepped aside, opening up the gates.

You fought to withhold the look of amusement upon your face, passing through the Crabgate with Jacaerys. Having Vermax at your side was an excellent idea, and you had to credit Jace for his ingenious use of dragons. Diplomacy wasn’t something either of you were used to, but it was a role worth growing into.

The grounds of Celtigar Keep were vast, an oceanic aesthetic interwoven into the architecture. The sigil of the red crab was everywhere you looked, repeated again and again. Jacaerys appeared perplexed, brows furrowing together as he observed his surroundings. It reminded him much of Driftmark.

The castle now seemed aware of your presence, the Lady Celtigar and the Heir to the Iron Throne, walking in-tandem toward the Great Hall. The guards allowed you passage through the courtyard and the grounds of the Keep, the hall looming in the distance, wreathed in a shroud of gray mist.

Jacaerys steeled himself for what was to come, meeting your brother head-on in his own home. From what little of him you’d described, he was his own age, nine-and-ten, bullheaded with little knowledge of how to truly rule. A challenge that he welcomed, truthfully — if he was to one day ascend the throne, he would need to know how to deal with unruly subjects.

A set of stairs ascended towards the Great Hall, marked by braziers, crabs holding large bowls with still-smoldering embers inside. The hour was beginning to grow late, sometime in the evening, and you and Jacaerys were both weathered from the journey.

As the guards opened the doors to the Great Hall, it was nothing more than a large room, dome-shaped with windows above, allowing for natural light to trickle through. Each column that held the hall aloft were wreathed in stone motifs of crabs and seaweed, winding down toward the floor.

In the primary seat of House Celtigar, a throne fashioned from the very rock that the Keep stood upon, sat your brother, Clement. He seemed less than enthused with your presence, but perplexed nonetheless, gaze drifting between both yourself and Jacaerys.

“You could’ve sent a raven, sister. I had no idea of your coming to Claw Isle,” Clement sat slumped within his supposed throne, one hand tucked into a fist beneath his chin, the other tapping against the stone arm. “It seems you’ve brought a guest.”

“In your colorful missive to me, you implored me to not send any more ravens,” You retorted, folding your hands together. “I did what anyone would do — came to see you in-person.” It had been two years, and Clement seemed older in the face, but his demeanor hadn’t changed in the slightest.

Clement scoffed, brows furrowing together at your snide comment. You were determined and ambitious, he would give you that, but he was prepared to turn you down immediately. “You’ve come here to do what, exactly? Demand half of my fleet? Admonish me for sending our father away? What outcome did you expect from this?”

Jacaerys answered instead, his tone steely and measured, the kingly voice of a man striving to fight for his mother’s claim and his own. “We expect half of your forces, as promised. Your house swore an oath to Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen — do not make your family look foolish.” He retorted, visage one of stalwart composure, a glare thrown in Clement’s direction.

“Remind me — who are you?” Clement questioned, his tone tinged with an edge of mockery as he looked upon Jacaerys with disdain. Two young men of different morals and caliber preparing to butt heads — you couldn’t imagine that this would go well.

“Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, son of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne,” He declared, hands interlocked atop the pommel of his sword. “Ensuring that you hold your oath fulfilled.” Jacaerys did not like your brother — there was an arrogance there that irritated him.

Clement scoffed, turning his attention to you again, hands folding together within his lap. “Brought your Prince with you, did you, sister?” He sneered, his expression sour before he shook his head. “Where is that dragon of yours? Shall you burn me where I stand if I do not do as the Queen demands?”

“My Lord, your house is pledged to Queen Rhaenyra, surely you will not —” One of Clement’s advisers, Lord Mydas Smythe, an older man with a rather bushy set of brows, implored your brother to listen to reason.

“The fleet is needed here, in the defense of Claw Isle and Crackclaw Point. Ser Criston Cole is parading through the Riverlands, unchecked and unchallenged. Soon, he will turn his sights to us. Though, I will show you kindness and give you two ships — for your troubles.” Clement snapped, waving a hand dismissively at Lord Smythe.

“You seem very worried for a man cowering behind his castle walls,” Jacaerys relented, shoulders squaring up against Clement, dark brows furrowed together in a look of complete and utter spite. “Since you have your armies and acclaimed fleet, why not ride out and meet Cole yourself?”

Clement’s mouth twitched, throat growing thick with rage as he was put in his place before his Court, by a boy with little experience of anything. “I cannot say I’ve heard much of your valor either, Prince of Dragonstone. Instead, you’ve come to play politics with my airheaded sister.”

“Mind your tongue before Lady Celtigar.” Jacaerys’s voice was sharp and smoldering with rage when Clement so blatantly insulted you, and he nearly retorted again if it weren’t for you. He bristled, jaw unnaturally tense as he prepared to fight for your honor.

Your hand slyly tugged upon the sleeve of his doublet, urging him not to act just yet. He remained quiet, adhering to your advice as he silently fumed, glaring at Clement with all of the tempestuous ferocity of a young dragon. If a look could burn one where they stood, your brother would’ve been ash and bone.

“I would ask you to reconsider,” Your voice subtly quivered, anxiousness beginning to get the better of you. “Please, Clement. This is the cause our father pledged to — and it is a worthy one. We cannot have our house branded as oath breakers. Do not throw everything away for the sake of your pride.”

Your brother’s nostrils flared, fingers clenching together into a tight fist as he fought to maintain his composure before his small court. “My pride?” He quipped, tone harsh and unyielding before he exhaled, turning away for a brief moment. “I will have my answer for you on the morrow. For now, you are guests in my Keep — do not take advantage of my hospitality.”

Perhaps, you had gotten to Clement, even if it was for the briefest of moments. Your father had always favored your brother, but pushed him too far — excelling in everything, shoved to the very edge of greatness at the cost of his own sanity.

Lord Smythe seemed rather disappointed in Clement’s lack of action and propriety. The older man looked to you with a withering expression, visibly apologetic before he bowed and took his leave. You offered him a thin smile, one of subtle reassurance.

The halls remained eerily quiet, thick with a strained tension that threatened to erupt between Clement and Jacaerys, in particular. You wanted to avoid a physical confrontation — and you knew that Jace wouldn’t shy away, being twice the fighter that your brother was.

Despite Jace’s desire to continue pressing him, he yielded, hands gripping the pommel so tightly that it threatened to snap into two. He hated the way Clement treated you, as if you were insignificant and unimportant, more of a nuisance than true family.

One of the guards stepped in as Clement stood from the Celtigar seat, giving you a disparaging stare before he disappeared, slipping through one of the crab-adorned doors. Knights in his service followed dutifully, leaving you and Jacaerys in the Great Hall, save for the presence of guardsmen and a handful of advisors.

The halls of Celtigar Keep were incredibly familiar to you, and the guard inevitably escorted you and Jacaerys to your chambers, your quarters down the corridor from his own. Yours happened to be the very same you stayed in for most of your life, until you were made to become Rhaenyra’s lady-in-waiting.

Your chambers were far more lavish than your humble accommodations on Dragonstone, but you much preferred it to Celtigar Keep. Here, everything seemed hollow, and memories stirred with you — most of them evoked a sense of melancholy. You hoped that your time here was short and fleeting, if it all went in your favor.

𝐂𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝, 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

You had barely touched your food, pacing your newfound surroundings, studying the old decorations you had scattered about your chambers.

Many fixings had belonged to you since childhood — relics of your youth scattered atop the mantle above the hearth, gowns tucked away that you hadn’t worn since your teenage years. It evoked a strong sense of nostalgia, perhaps a yearning for the past.

Jacaerys did not want to stay put in his assigned chambers for long. With haste, he stealthily moved through the door and made for your room, unseen and filled with a sense of excitement.

Before you could leave to sneak away to Jacaerys’s room, he was already at your door, quietly slipping inside with his belongings, silvery platter of seafood included. “Are you going somewhere?” You questioned, watching as he hastily stepped across the room to set his meal beside yours.

“No,” Jacaerys replied, facing you with a soft expression. “Just here,” He hesitated, searching your face for any sign of discomfort or protest at his subtle request. He cared very little for the repercussions or consequences — you were no longer on Dragonstone, and the scrutiny of your relationship wasn’t something that worried him. “If you are agreeable to it.”

A smile spread across your features, vibrant and uplifting despite the charged, dour situation earlier that evening. “There is nowhere else that I’d want you to be,” You replied, heart stirring within your chest as your stomach filled with the excitable churning of butterflies. “If you didn’t come, I would’ve found my way to you eventually.”

Content and warmed by your words, Jacaerys found it difficult to suppress a grin of his own, mirth twinkling within his eyes. “There aren’t as many wandering eyes here,” He mused, placing his knapsack on top of your footlocker. “I thought perhaps, I could stay this time — until the dawn.”

A semblance of delight rippled through you, accompanied with your still-flourishing love for him. Jacaerys being here meant a great deal to you, more than he would ever realize. To have him insist that he share your bed until morning made you most elated. “Please stay.” You insisted.

He made himself comfortable, careful gaze absorbing each and every detail of your chambers. The relics and trinkets organized on shelves intrigued him, some of them being handmade dragons and knights. Jace picked up one of them, crafted from stone, turning it over within the light.

“I am sorry for my brother,” You sighed, shrugging your overcoat aside, draping it over the foot of your bed. The gowns you wore beneath were tattered and muddied at the ends, used for traveling and practical purposes. “I did not want you to be the subject of his ire.”

Jacaerys’s jaw tensed slightly at mention of your brother, whose tongue would be cut away if he made another insult against you. “He sullies your good name,” He murmured, brows furrowing together as he studied the intricacies of your chambers. “I apologize if I lost my temper. I loathed the way he spoke to you.”

Admittedly, you felt quite the opposite — his protectiveness over you was incredibly attractive and gallant, qualities that you adored about him. “I do believe that he needs to be humbled, and you do it so brilliantly.” You replied, fidgeting with the ends of your sleeves. It was an old dress made for travel. “Thank you for defending me.”

His brown hues softened once more, dancing with an immeasurable amount of affection for you, a bright ardor that refused to be snuffed out. “You needn’t thank me,” Jacaerys stepped closer, lips briefly pressing against your forehead. “I will always protect you, until my last breath.” His words were a solemn vow, not easily broken.

With a soft exhale, you squeezed his hand, careening into his warm embrace. “Are you hungry? We could eat, if you’d like. I suspect that nothing will come of this evening until we treat with my brother tomorrow.” You sighed, knowing that waiting would make everything worse.

“Plenty of time on our hands,” Jacaerys chimed, yet his honeyed words seemed thick with implications of how to fill your unoccupied time. It was on your mind just as heavily, yet you pretended to be clueless, canting your head to one side. “Let’s eat.”

It would give the both of you ample time to figure out some play or strategy when it came to Clement. You knew that with enough pressure and whittling, he would finally obey your demands. Nevertheless, you didn’t want to plague your mind with doubt — not now, anyway.

Lukewarm seafood sat piled upon porcelain plates, accompanied by generous helpings of roasted vegetables and hunks of half-stale bread. It was better than scraps or rations, and you led Jacaerys toward the small, ornate table situated within your quarters.

It felt so blissful like this — alone with him, basking in the moment, enjoying a meal together without fear of interruptions or speculation. You sat diagonally from one another, candlelight dancing atop the driftwood table as you cut into your filet of fish.

“If we cannot convince your brother to deliver on his oath, what then?” Jacaerys asked, jaw tensing. He didn’t want to fight your brother, but if that’s what was needed of him, he would do it without question. “We cannot return home empty-handed.”

Your shoulders sank in a brief sigh. “Clement is foolish, arrogant, and stubborn — but he knows when to give it up. This is all some display and spectacle meant to goad me, but I won’t give him the satisfaction.” Glancing at Jace, you seemed more determined than ever. “And neither should you.”

That would be a difficult feat, biting his tongue while your brother assailed you with bitter, venomous words. Jacaerys would sooner cut his tongue for it than sit idly by while you suffered. “I won’t let him tarnish your honor, and I will not sit by while he insults you. I cannot do it.” He replied, shaking his head.

“Sometimes, that is what you have to do, Jacaerys. I promise that I can handle it. I just — I don’t want you to fall prey to his viciousness, that’s all.” You loved all of Jacaerys — everything about him was good, even his sharp tongue and quick temper.

Jace stared at you, love burning within his eyes, coupled with that of an unwavering devotion. “I wouldn’t stoop to that level,” He reached for your hand, digits tracing across the ridges of your knuckles. “Not with you.” Solemn and stalwart, he squeezed your fingers, and you returned the gesture.

“You’re a good man, Jacaerys.” You crooned, steadfast in your belief in him, in your own devotion. Part of you always feared that the fantasy would fade and duty would pledge him to another, but so far, it hadn’t happened yet. You hoped that it stayed that way. “I am fortunate to keep your company.”

He brought your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss atop your knuckles before he released you, returning to his food with disinterest. “My heart is yours,” It was the same, saccharine assurance he’d stated time and time again. “Until the end of my days.”

Jacaerys wanted this for the rest of his life — and he could have it. He was going to ask you. Perhaps not now, but the moment felt right, and it could be upon him instantaneously if he wasn’t prepared. The idea of you being his wife, enjoying meals like this in the sanctuary of your chambers together, unperturbed by prying eyes — he wanted this, and he wanted you.

Through deliberate bites of sautéed seafood, Jacaerys gazed at you with a doe-like expression, studying your beautiful features, the way you treated him to a smile when you caught him staring. He was the fortunate one, the luckiest man alive in the realm to have fallen in love with you, and with every breath he drew, he only loved you more.

When you caught his smoldering gaze, you felt a familiar warmth dance along the length of your spine. Smitten, you absentmindedly dabbed at the corner of your mouth with your cloth. “Do I have something on my face?” You questioned, feeling gluttonous for consuming your food so quickly.

Seafood was a commonality on Claw Isle, but it tasted wonderful each time — perhaps it was the familiarity of it and the warmth of home that made you feel this way. Nonetheless, you sat back within your seat, feeling undeniably hot beneath Jacaerys’s tender stare.

“You’re incredibly beautiful, that's all.” He hummed, heart swelling tenfold when you began to giggle. Jace wondered if it seemed too silly, doting on you during dinner, but you didn’t protest whatsoever. “You have nothing on your face, if it makes you feel better.”

His sweetly-spoken compliments made your insides melt, turning to a pool of heat as you played with your fork. You smiled at Jacaerys as if he were the sun itself, warm and vibrant, keeping you in his orbit. “I love you.” You hummed, and as you finished your meal, you gently stood up, pressing a kiss against the top of his head in-passing.

Jacaerys felt his features turn warm with a rosy coloration, though he wondered what you were doing, watching as you paced across your chambers. You knelt beside the hearth, adding more kindling and wood onto the fire before you dusted your hands off on your skirts.

“These chambers were my home for the longest time,” You sighed, peering over the gray walls, decorated in plenty of your own furnishings and personal touches. “It is strange to be back here, but having you with me makes it all much more bearable.”

Removing himself from the table, he joined you in touring your quarters, following you past the small set of doors into the sanctity of your bedroom. It hadn’t been used in years, everything perfectly in-place, the same as you left it. You opened up your wardrobe with a huff of laughter.

“What is it?” Jacaerys asked, head canting to one side as you removed one gown in particular. It was resplendent and beautifully-made, handcrafted with silver embroidery against fields of cream and crimson — the colors of House Celtigar.

“My father had this made for me when he attempted to find me suitable marriage prospects,” You explained, chewing at the inside of your cheek. Thankfully, you were sent away before you could be married to some middle-aged man from the Stormlands. “I never did get to wear it.” You mused.

He envisioned you in it so very clearly — perfection incarnate, in his eyes. Jacaerys’s gaze softened at the sight of you, exuberant and smiling at him with affection interwoven into your features. “You would look beautiful in it,” He murmured, lips twitching into a soft smile. “Though, you look enchanting in anything and everything.”

You loved him so deeply, letting it seep into your bones, filling you with an insurmountable feeling of ardor. Being alone with him without fear of intrusion was a wonderful feeling, something that you wished you could have more of — on Dragonstone and everywhere else.

With a soft exhale, you stowed the dress aside, gently shutting the massive, gilded doors to your wardrobe before peering to the window. It was nearly sundown, the sunset hidden behind darker sheets of gray, thick clouds, but nighttime was close on its heels.

“Did your father ever succeed in finding you a suitable betrothal?” Jacaerys inquired, picturing you in that gown, standing by his side when he asked your father for your hand. The question was innately harmless, perhaps his own curiosity getting the best of him, but he needed to know.

The question blindsided you, filling you with a sense of mild bewilderment as you cleared your throat. “No,” It was better that way — if you had been betrothed, you might’ve never formed the bond with Jacaerys that you had. You wouldn’t trade it for anything. “He did not, and I am thankful for it — I met you.”

Jacaerys gazed at you with true love, brown hues swirling with tenderness and an adoration that drowned out everything else. He could no longer imagine his existence without you in it, and he loathed to think what could’ve happened had you already been promised to another.

Now, that possibility to become a union seemed very real, a reality that was just within his grasp, so visceral and raw that even he could see it in his mind’s eye. Jacaerys smiled at that, briefly pressing a kiss against your temples before he settled down. “I am thankful for it, too.” He confessed, voice soft and assured.

“I’m going to change out of this dreadful thing,” You mumbled, pinching the muddied fabric between your fingertips as you cleared your throat. “Are you tired?” Admittedly, exhaustion hadn’t gripped you yet — you were somewhat awkward, having Jacaerys here in your chambers.

There was no need to hurry, no suspicions, nothing to rush — it was just the both of you until tomorrow. Of course, there were always certain proclivities on your mind, but you held your tongue, for now.

“Not entirely,” Jacaerys replied, removing his leather belt and scabbard, placing both beside the foot of your bed. It was beautiful, with four towering posts draped in a curtain of cerulean silk. Even he felt the unusual tension, attempting to alleviate it with a smile. “I suppose I’ll join you.”

Something gnawed at him — the very same question he’d been mulling over within his mind for a week now, perhaps even before then. Jacaerys observed in rapturous silence as you removed an embroidered evening slip from your wardrobe, the silk nearly translucent, the color of sage.

He swallowed the growing lump within his throat, attempting to quell his nerves, but to no avail. Jacaerys had never known fear quite like this before — there were different shades of terror. The fear of death and loss, a fear of war, perhaps — but none so great as a fear of rejection.

You sluggishly peeled away your coarse dress, tugging at the leather ties as it loosened, slack upon your body. It was tattered and trimmed with mud at the edges, prompting you to toss it somewhere onto the floor. The smallclothes you wore were much of the same, common garments crafted for travel.

A semblance of sweet warmth and ardor seemed to make a permanent residence upon Jace’s features as he watched you disrobe. Those brown hues of his traced over your delicate curves, every facet of your physique committed to memory.

Your beauty was one only described in fairytales and the ballads written by wayward poets — a beauty that Jacaerys often found himself in awe of. As you carefully pried away your smallclothes to put on the silken slip in its place, his breath caught within his throat.

This could be his life — he could not picture it without you anymore. It all seemed so gray and lonely without you by his side, without your steadfast support and belief in him, without your love. If the future was as bright as he imagined it to be, he could see you as his Queen, his wife, his equal in all things.

Perhaps it was his duty to make his intentions known — to have his mother’s blessing before swearing an oath, to have the favor of your father, but it all seemed inconsequential. He no longer feared consequences, no longer feared the brashness of such a decision.

War would continue to ravage the Seven Kingdoms, consuming all with it, perhaps his own life, should it go in such a route. If he perished, what then? The love he had for you would endure, the mark he left upon your life would endure, but what of your bond? What of marriage, of your union?

Jacaerys could not continue on without asking you the most important question he would ever ask.

“Be my wife.”

Time stood still, and you swore that your heart exploded within your chest. You couldn’t believe it, unsure if you had heard Jacaerys right or if it was all a very wonderful fantasy. Turning upon your heel, you faced Jacaerys with a bewildered, shocked expression.

“What?” With your voice barely above a whisper, you felt your stomach swirling with butterflies, an incendiary heat licking across your spine with a fervor. Your hands wrung together, folded across your midsection.

Jacaerys’s lips parted as he stood taller, shoulders squaring as he approached you, hands seizing yours as he reaffirmed his love for you. “I am so desperately in love with you,” He whispered, attempting to catch his breath, thumbs tracing across your knuckles. “I cannot imagine a life without you, and I cannot imagine continuing to go on knowing that I am not your husband.”

“Jacaerys.” You gasped, unable to withhold the swell of emotions that stirred within you. Tears pricked at your eyes, a byproduct of the onslaught of sentiment you felt, all hitting you at once. It was an amalgamation of adoration, devotion, love, passion — it all seemed to wash over you immediately.

“I would ask you to be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms — together, with me. I would ask that you marry me upon the shores of Dragonstone, amongst fire and brimstone, salt and sea,” Jace murmured, gently pressing his forehead against yours for a brief moment. “I would ask that you allow me to hold your heart forever.”

Disbelief rippled through you, the initial shock dissipating into the unbelievable love you had for him — an ardor that transcended any bonds of propriety. You loved him fiercely yet gently, loved him for everything he was and everything he would be. You lifted your joined hands to your chest.

“There is no one else for me in this world, Jacaerys Velaryon,” You crooned, pressing your lips against his palm. “I am yours, until my last day — and I will love you forever.” You felt his breath hitch slightly as you drew closer, snug against his chest as you gave him a rather exuberant smile, eyes sparkling with tears. “Nothing would please me more than marrying you.”

Relief flooded through him, and the weight of fear lifted from his shoulders. It was enough to make him audibly sigh with joy as he reached to cup your face, swiping away at the singular tear falling across your cheek. He was smiling so much that it almost made his chest burst with happiness.

“We are betrothed,” The overwhelming excitement that crept into your tone was difficult to miss, and you wanted to kiss him a thousand times over. “I cannot wait to refer to you as my husband.” An ebullient giggle escaped you when Jacaerys picked you up, spinning you in a circle as he caged you in against his chest.

His mouth sought yours, the kiss charged with an excitable passion as he held you close, hands kneading at your curves through the thin silk. “My wife, the most perfect woman in all of the realm,” He mused, thumbs drawing slow circles into your hips. “You are mine, and I am yours.” Jace whispered.

Again, you clamored for a kiss, turning the joy of your shared moment into passion, manifesting into the first inklings of desire. He was quick to reciprocate, continuing to gently feel along your body, your perfect curves hidden beneath such sheer fabrics.

You kissed him hard, hands dragging towards his tunic, tugging at the collar of it as your kiss melted from sweet and innocuous to passionate. The feeling of not having to limit yourself or fear intrusion was exhilarating — and you hoped that it meant there would be plenty of time for exploration.

It was only when he pulled away just slightly to gaze at you did you realize how much this meant to you, how much you loved him. You wanted all of him — his heart and his intellect, protective nature, his body and soul. Your hands continued to trace across his clothed chest, lips parted slightly.

“I want to take my time with you,” Jacaerys murmured, fingers gently sweeping across the now-faded cut upon your brow, tucking hair behind your ear. “If you’ll allow me the pleasure.” He never proceeded without your consent, gazing at you as if you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

The familiar sting of arousal pooled between your legs, accompanied by a wave of heat. He spoke so tenderly, digits continuing to caress along your brow, swiping down towards your cheek. “Of course.” You whispered, hands skimming beneath his tunic. “As long as you’ll allow me to return the favor.”

A pang of exhilaration rippled through him as he nodded, lips twitching into a smile. He didn’t know what you meant by returning the favor, but it intrigued him. There was nothing that could stop either of you — and he intended on savoring every moment with you.

You gently coaxed him toward the plush armchair near your vanity, easing him down against the cushions. Jacaerys sat upright, hands moving toward your hips again, kneading into your pliant flesh. It allowed you to stoop down, lips molding against his as your fingers found the hem of his tunic again.

Clothing shuffled against eager hands as you removed Jacaerys’s tunic, graced with lean, pale muscle and a canvas of freckles beneath your palms. You planted your hands against his chest, fingertips dancing over every freckle, every line of taut muscle.

Jace shuddered at your exploratory embrace, savoring the feeling of your fingers tracing every inch of him, committing his musculature to memory. “I wanted to try something, if you’ll let me.” You murmured, lowering yourself to your knees before him.

There was an instantaneous notion of shock, Jacaerys’s eyes widened in surprise as he swallowed the growing lump within his throat. “What — What are you doing?” He asked, throat hoarse with desire. “You do not have to, never feel obligated to do such things, I —”

“Jacaerys,” You interjected, ensuring that your voice was barely above a whisper. Your palms soothingly caressed along his thighs, and his cock immediately roused, stirring within his breeches. “I want to please you. I would like to try, that’s all.” He still seemed apprehensive, but obliged nonetheless.

He preferred to serve you, face between your legs, tongue savoring your sweetness. He imagined that it was something he could do after this, but for now, he simply tried to relax and let you try something new. Goosebumps coalesced along his spine as your digits reached for the ties of his trousers, loosening them up.

A sliver of him couldn’t deny the thrill and exhilaration that coursed through him, the excitement. You were breathtakingly beautiful, ethereal and everything he had ever wanted, there in the flesh. “You are beautiful.” He whispered, staring at you with doe-like eyes.

Warming beneath his softly-spoken compliment, you preened, lips twitching into a comely smile. “As are you.” You assured, feeling his lips find yours for a brief moment as you freed his cock, taking his hardened length into your silky palm.

Jacaerys sat back as best as he could, lips parted, visibly flustered as you began to stroke from base to tip, thumb tracing over the flushed head. He groaned, hands gripping the back of the settee with all of his strength. It felt incredible — you only enhanced everything.

Your palm spread out against his thigh, giving you a perch, something to brace yourself against as you wrapped your mouth around the head of his cock. A sharp exhale escaped Jacaerys, whose body trembled from the foreign sensation, hand suddenly reaching down to find yours.

It was intimate, a sweet gesture despite the lewd act, digits twining together atop his thigh. Your mouth was soft and incredibly gentle, exploratory at your core as you bobbed your head in sluggish, rhythmic motions. Jace felt hot, unable to focus, but he did not force you to do anything more.

“Gods, you are incredible.” He breathed, stomach churning with a fiery heat, a sensation that mirrored your own. Molten liquid pooled within the pit of your belly, coalescing between your thighs at the sound of Jace’s pleasure. Instead of tugging on your hair, he simply caressed your cheek, watching for any sign of discomfort on your end.

With Jace’s fingertips carefully tracing across your face, you continued to tease his cock, hand stroking in sure movements as your mouth did the rest. It was brief, fleeting laps of your tongue across the head of his cock or suckling upon it altogether.

It felt strange and slightly sloppy, as if you weren’t doing something correctly, but instinct guided you. Jacaerys seemed to enjoy it regardless, hips occasionally jolting forward, followed by a soft, mumbled apology. He held himself in-check, squeezing your hand when you kissed along his length.

There was a vast amount of tenderness between the both of you, allowing for everything to be handled with gentleness and care. He didn’t push you or coax you further, simply relaxed and allowed you to do however much or little you wanted.

Between the shy laps of your tongue intermingled with the ministrations of your hand, Jacaerys worried about how long he would last in this state. Your mouth was divine, bringing him closer to a blissful beyond, abdomen tightening with a flurry of arousal.

The bitter slick of precum oozed along his length, but you paid little attention to it, continuing to pump your hand along his cock. Instead, you peppered sweet kisses against his thigh and hips, causing him to seize up and groan.

His countenance was one of beauty, contorted into a look of sheer bliss, eyes closed, mouth agape as his head rolled back against the lounge. Your fingers remained interlocked, his thumb occasionally grazing your knuckles as you kissed towards his abdomen.

Your hand remained steadfast, caressing his cock, allowing your fingers to stroke from base to tip. Jace let out a husky moan, hand involuntarily reaching for your hair. His grip was delicate, digits gingerly kneading at your scalp. The sensation was incredible, and even you felt some satisfaction from it.

The suddenness of his release seemed to catch him off-guard, muscles tense and seizing, pleasure unfurling within his stomach like a wildfire. Jacaerys moaned your name, a sound so divine coming from his mouth. He trembled in the aftermath, visage flushed with embarrassment.

He felt pitiful for this, but he couldn’t help himself, shaking from the intensity of it all. “I did not mean to …” Before Jacaerys could speak another word, you pressed your hand against his mouth.

“It was perfect.” You corrected, palm slick with his seed as you stood to clean yourself, finding a towel sitting along the edge of your vanity. You returned to do the same for him, dutifully cleaning the sticky spend from his stomach.

Visibly flustered, Jace cleared his throat, sitting up a little straighter as he attempted to compose himself again. He wanted to give you more — everything, if he could. “I do not want to stop.” He whispered, gazing at you with a look of desire, hand reaching to cup your face.

That alone was enough to make your insides melt, lips parting as you nodded several times over. “Neither do I.” You breathed, and with that, your mouths collided in a fury, ardor and want bleeding through, consuming the both of you in a tidal wave.

His cock twitched again, lust renewed, yet his love for you seemed to outweigh everything else. He made sure to loosely tie his breeches up again — not that they would be on for much longer, at this pace. Jacaerys kissed you again and stood, offering you his hand.

You took it, as a lady would a prince, and he immediately pulled you into his arms, sweeping you right up off of the ground. He carried you gallantly, cradling you to his chest as you smiled, coaxing him in for a sweet kiss. Jace carried you to your bed, placing you down against the silken sheets and feathered duvet.

“I love you,” He murmured, finding his footing between your legs, the silken slip coming to gather around your hips. Despite the sensuality of it all, the lust and carnal appetites you held for one another, love conquered it all, and tenderness prevailed. “Ñuha hūra embar.”

My moonlit sea — the love of his life.

A gentle fluttering stirred within your chest, the sound of your heart calling his name — you would never love another. It was Jacaerys’s name upon your mind, emblazoned into your very bones. You kissed him, the fire stoked, even if it wasn’t a raging one.

As he neared you, your fingers found their purchase within his mane of thick curls, tugging on them incessantly, mouth tangling with his. A breath apart, you held him close, feeling the chill of saltwater air brush along your legs.

“I love you, Jacaerys.” You whispered, allowing it to slip from your lips a few times more, and he was lost in you. Jacaerys’s hands moved to the hem of your nightgown, aiming to rid you of the thin fabric, exposing yourself to him completely.

Each time he saw you bare, it was like the first time all over again — in-awe of your beauty, completely and utterly unparalleled. His mouth found the delicate curve of your jaw, kissing you in a slow, steady trail down your neck, and then to the hollow of your throat.

Every kiss was warm and lingering — he took his time with you, finding no reason to rush. His lips felt like hot brands, emblazoning themselves upon your flesh. Jace kissed across your collarbone, and you began to shift with anticipation. You wanted his face between your thighs, his hands interlaced with yours.

Jacaerys found the plush swell of your breasts, mouth kissing along each one, over your nipples, and through your sternum. He was careful, intentionally savoring each and every kiss, drinking in your presence as if it were his lifeblood.

He delved lower, shuddering when he felt your fingers find his crown of tousled curls, mouth embracing your stomach until he found your hips. The moment was incredibly intimate, with Jace kissing wherever his mouth could reach, ensuring that you received every last drop of his affections.

You were a goddess — perfection incarnate, breathtakingly beautiful beneath him. Jacaerys’s mouth graced your thighs, shoulders spreading them apart as he kissed his way down to your slick core. Heat washed over him in the wake of discovering how aroused you already were.

This was something he’d sorely missed, the taste of your cunt — his patience certainly paid off. You watched with wide, doe-like eyes as Jacaerys’s head buried itself between your thighs, the rest of him flattened against the feather-bed. His hands carefully traced along your thighs before they held your hips in-place.

“Jace,” You moaned, craving the sensation of his mouth against your core. His tongue raked hot embers over your cunt, deliciously slow, ensuring that he took his time with tasting you. Your hand flew to his curls, eliciting a soft groan from him, too. “Gods, don’t stop — please!”

He was insatiable, hunger swelling within him as he took to lapping at your cunt, tongue splitting past your folds. Your thighs twitched and trembled even now, digits coaxing him in for more, to which he gleefully obliged.

His eagerness was palpable through each flick of his tongue, lost within the oasis between your legs. A myriad of soft whimpers and whines escaped you, hand gingerly tugging on Jace’s hair as he showered your cunt in an alternation of steady licks to lingering ones.

Bathed in pools of silvery moonlight that trickled in from the windows, Jace appeared more ethereal than ever, the muscles flexing within his back. If it were up to him, he would’ve been content to stay here forever, pleasure you over and over again until you shook.

The short, dizzying gasp that tore past your mouth spurred him on, as he pressed another string of kisses against your slit. The continued sensation of your digits carding through his curls made him sigh with elation.

He brought you closer, heart leaping into his throat when you began to writhe beneath him, hips tilting forward into each stroke of his mouth. “You are perfect.” He assured, his resonance little more than a needy whisper, a groan stifled within his throat.

Blossoming beneath his sweet compliments, your fingers curled against his scalp, unable to lay still as Jace resumed his previous ministrations. The warmth of his tongue left you with a blistering want, stomach churning with a wave of arousal.

At last, his tongue found your neglected pearl, tracing around your clit with a gentleness. Jacaerys’s tender expression also bore a great deal of concentration, dark eyes flickering toward you. “There?” He uttered, hoping that you would guide him to where he needed to be.

Your head fervently bobbed up and down, wanting him to stay rooted there. “Yes,” You whimpered, nearly shaking when his lips gingerly pursed around your clit, suckling upon the clutch of nerves until your body became tense. “R—Right there, Jacaerys, please!”

Everything felt feverishly hot, as if you would be turned to ash where you laid, bones trembling with desire. His hands kneaded into the swell of your hips, digits drawing soft patterns into your flesh, drawing you closer into his smoldering embrace.

Jacaerys was attentive and loving, following your breathy plea as he pursed his lips around the pearl of your cunt again, alternating between that and greedy, excitable laps of his tongue. Even he allowed himself to be lost within bliss and pleasure, arousal mounting from pleasuring you.

He shivered at the noises you made, sounds that took residence within the recesses of his mind, made for sweet torment. You weren’t shy about your own delight, moaning again, interwoven with breathy sighs and chants of his name until it was the only word you knew.

You reached for his hand, fingers interlocking atop the swell of your hip as he continued to lap at your aching core. He squeezed your hand as a sign of reassurance, buried deep within your sweet cunt, something that he hungered for.

Your back arched off of the blankets, hand pushing through Jacaerys’s disheveled curls, finding their anchor against his scalp. He groaned whenever you tugged upon his tresses, only serving to coax him further into your cunt.

Arousal rushed through you, molten heat oozing from between your thighs, a nectar as sweet as honey. “I—I’m close,” You whined, beginning to lose yourself to the throes of pleasure. “Jacaerys, please!” A throaty moan tore past your mouth, hips jolting forward.

Gods, he ruined you — made a mess of you in the best way possible, tearing down all bonds of propriety. Knowing that he was to be your husband, that you and him were twined together as one — it only sweetened your mounting release.

Writhing beneath him, you squeezed his hand, stomach sloshing with liquid heat, a heat that continued to devour you, making you feel unbelievably hot. You melted within Jace’s hands, reduced to nothing more than a moaning, whimpering mess.

With another barrage of his tongue assaulting your cunt, you whimpered, turning malleable, body trembling with your encroaching release. He knew that you were on the verge, and so he pursed his lips around your clit once more, and that was more than enough.

His name emerged from your lips like a reverent prayer, the only name that you knew in that moment. Your release was hot, like a rush of fire that refused to simmer, unable to be quelled. The residual sensation lingered, and Jace helped you through it.

Your thighs twitched, absentmindedly attempting to clench together, but Jace held you apart, soothing you with kisses along your thighs. The blissful, contented expression that soon followed was a beautiful one — Jace was shocked to know that he could do that to you, bring you to ruin.

It was a white-hot release, one that set your body ablaze, made the tight coil within your stomach unfurl. Your breathing was labored, still wrought with excitement as you steadily climbed down from your pinnacle, grip beginning to loosen upon Jacaerys’s tresses.

“I will never tire of that,” Jace confessed, his voice sweet against the inside of your thigh. Your slick glistened upon his chin, yet any remnants that remained, he quickly lapped up. He needed a moment to recuperate, crawling forward to rest his head against your chest. “The Gods have made you incomparable.”

Preening beneath his delicate praise and soft spoken compliments, you brought your fingers to his hair, gently raking through, correcting the dishevel you’d caused. You kissed his forehead, palm stroking along his broad, freckled shoulder.

Your lips twitched into an amiable smile, and he happened to crane his neck, peering at you with those warm, earthen-colored hues. “My heart calls your name,” You whispered, noticing the way his lips parted, a subtle exhale escaping him. His hands held you close, bodies flush against one another. “I am yours.”

Jacaerys could not wait for each day to be like this — no longer separated by duty or strife. You would be his wife, and he would be your husband, no room to be left to your own devices. The gods fashioned you both for love — and it would be as beautiful as it would be perilous.

“Calling you my wife certainly has an appeal,” Jace mused, crawling forward again until he was fully on top of you, propped up by his elbows, both of which had sunk into the pillow beside your head. “My heart belongs to you, now and forever.” He murmured.

It was difficult not to smile, bright and pearlescent, thighs still shaking in the aftermath of your release. He had made everything so perfect — steadfast by your side, supporting you in all endeavors, just as you would with him. He was your Prince, the future King of the Seven Kingdoms. You would follow him anywhere.

Part of him had always struggled with identity — who he was, who he was supposed to be. It was still a point of contention and deeply-rooted insecurities, but they all seemed to diminish in your presence.

You loved Jacaerys for his heart — blood never mattered.

He moved to kiss you, soft and lingering, allowing you to taste yourself upon his tongue. Jacaerys found his sanctuary between your legs, one hand moving to tug at the leather ties of his breeches. He had no desire to move quickly, delighted to be as slow as he could.

There would be time for haste, but this wasn’t one of those times. Instead, he cupped your face, kissing you again and again, seeking to feel your mouth and commit it to memory, memorizing every delicate feature you possessed.

“I want to be your wife,” Now, if you could. Part of you wanted to drag yourself from your bed and dress, Jacaerys in-tow, and find a septon — be wed and declare yourselves for all to see. “I would wish it into existence this very second, if I could.”

Jacaerys pressed a kiss against your brow, his countenance one of tenderness as he shook his head. “You already are,” He insisted, gazing down at you with such mesmerizing ardor, stars within his eyes. “A septon does not have to say the words for it to be true.”

You couldn’t have loved him more if you tried.

A soft giggle escaped you as you sought his lips for another kiss, even if it happened to be brief, shorter than the last. “Gods, I love you.” You beamed, and Jacaerys smiled too, pressing his forehead against yours. You had taken enough time to recuperate, and he was far from finished.

Desire took hold, and before you could manage to speak, your lips were on his. Jacaerys groaned — a low, pretty sound that made your stomach swirl with heat. You watched in silent rapture as he removed the last of his garments, breeches and smallclothes gone until he was all that remained.

Through the moonlit haze of your chambers, you fell in love with him again — each glance felt like the very first, heart stirring with a raging ardor. There was no one else like him, and there was no one else for you.

Your hands reached for him, loosely looping around the back of his neck, fingertips dancing across the valley between his shoulders. Jacaerys pressed closer, gaze half-lidded and heavy with desire and love, above all. His lips graced your forehead, breathing becoming a touch heavier.

The swell of his cock nestled against your stomach, hardened again, growing with mounting arousal as he kissed you again. You were swift to reciprocate, mouth desperately seeking him as he repositioned himself, hips adjusting to align himself with your entrance.

“Are you comfortable?” Jacaerys inquired, voice a gentle hum through the onslaught of kisses. He watched as you nodded, signaling for him to continue — he did without hesitation, cock pushing past your folds as gently inched forward.

It was a mutual blossoming of elation, with your breath hitching within your throat, a moan escaping from your lips as it tangled with Jace’s breathy groan. Your digits grasped at the nape of his neck, back arching slightly as he pushed into you, inch by agonizing inch.

It was perfection, the way the both of you melded together, two pieces of a puzzle, connected and joined. His cock filled you with such gentleness — Jacaerys never dared touch you with a rough hand. Instead, he found himself slipping into a familiar rhythm, that of lovemaking, hand finding the swell of your haunch.

He gripped you there, other palm splayed out beside your head, lips parted and visage flushed with ecstasy as he sluggishly rocked in and out of you. His countenance flourished with delight, curls framing his cheekbones, brown eyes finding yours.

The tension of his gaze bored right into you, and you happened to lock eyes, a gasp stirring within your throat when he bottomed out inside of you. “Jace,” A needy whimper escaped you as he began to find his pace, adopting a passionate constancy. “Don’t stop.” You sighed, and it only served to spur him on.

The sensation of your cunt clenching around his cock made him groan, belly filled with a fire that demanded to be extinguished. It was divine, something that he savored — and time moved slowly in your presence. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Despite the tame nature of his pace, it was wrought with passion, ensuring that he hit that spot inside of you, over and over again. His wanton groans seemed to caress along the shell of your ear, filling you with a desire that swallowed you whole.

He was lost within you, drowning himself in your beauty, in your radiance — everything he had, he would give to you. Jacaerys surrendered it all — his heart, body, soul, anything you wanted, he belonged to you.

His mouth moved to pepper kisses all along your face, moving towards your neck. It was growing hot, unbearably so, reaching a fever pitch as he deepened each thrust of his hips, cock throbbing inside of you. Jace was becoming desperate, movements somewhat erratic as he fisted the sheets.

Some sliver of him desired to see you with his heir — a child of Old Valyria, a babe to sit the Throne after he passed, and you with him. It wasn’t something he was accustomed to, feeling this way, yet it fueled him with such desire, like the swell of a tidal wave coming to crash against him.

Jacaerys groaned into the hollow of your throat, savoring the sensation of your fingers digging into the curls at the nape of his neck. Your back arched slightly, legs shifting further apart to give way to his thrusts, lulled into submission by the steady repetition of his cock sliding in and out of you.

You rolled forward, creating a delicious friction that brought the both of you to heel, causing Jace to grit his teeth together. He showered your body with kisses, wherever he could reach, continuing to rock into you with a smoldering passion.

The volume of your lovemaking only intensified, between the breathy groans and blissful whines, the squelching of your cunt, the gentle glide of flesh against flesh. It was a cacophony of desire that only made you shiver, hand reaching for his shoulder, fingers brushing across the smattering of freckles there.

It was breathtaking to see you this way, countenance contorted into a look of sheer ecstasy, eyes closed, mouth slack — you were exemplary. Jacaerys could find no flaws with you, awestruck by your beauty in the moment, and he pushed forward once more.

He was disarmingly gentle with each and every thrust of his cock, burying himself within your cunt with such tenderness. Even if he wanted to be rough, the mere idea of it was too off-putting and strange, as if it disgusted him to no end. He enjoyed this, the revelation within each snap of hips, the enthralling charm of your physique.

“Jacaerys,” You panted, leg lifting into his hand as you moaned, face nearly nestled against his own. “Jace, I — Gods, I’m close!” Reduced to a whimpering mess within the hands of your capable husband, you felt him groan with you, cock throbbing violently inside of you.

A sharp exhale left him as he continued his steady pace, never allowing himself to grow erratic or sluggish. He stayed the course, pressing a kiss along the delicate curve of your jaw, hand kneading into your thigh. It was perfect — you were perfect.

That tight coil within his stomach began to wither, unfurling with ecstasy as he joined you in your peak, shuddering when he felt himself release. It was sudden again, seed filling your womb as he neglected to remove himself, chest heaving with breathy pants.

You followed suit, tugging at his curls, hand clamping into his shoulder as you reached your peak. It was all white-hot and blistering, like the lick of an open flame dragging all along your body.

It was akin to soaring high above the clouds, even if the moment was fleeting and brief. You composed yourself through the heaving of your chest, cunt slick and oozing with your arousal as Jacaerys remained still. He pressed his forehead to yours, mouth slowly curling into a warm smile.

Pressing a kiss against your temples, Jacaerys shifted, hips recoiling as he pulled himself from you. A sticky mess of his seed and your slick coated your cunt, causing you to press your thighs together. “Are you alright?” He murmured, swift to ensure your wellbeing.

“Wonderful,” You hummed, dimples forming at either corner of your mouth as you smiled. “I am perfect.” There was a feeling of complete and utter bliss in the aftermath, knowing that you would be wed, that he was by your side for all eternity.

“Good,” Jacaerys hummed, kissing your brow as he moved to lay beside you, pulling you into his arms. “I could draw us a bath.” He proposed, catching your attention as you nodded.

“That would be suitable, I think. I am something of a mess.” You confessed, warmth crawling along your spine as Jace held your hip, digits dancing all along your plush physique. He enjoyed everything about you, every detail, every curve and blemish — it all belonged to him.

“That would make two of us,” Jace mused, sluggishly moving from your warmth to make for the washroom. Handmaidens had filled the basin with water before you arrived, the water lukewarm, having lost its steam and heat. “Seems there isn’t a need for it.” He remarked.

You joined him, fingers reaching for your robe as you draped it over the plush chair sitting beside your vanity. Dipping two fingers into the water, you seemed unimpressed with the temperature, but it was better to be clean instead. “I suppose we do not have a choice.”

As you stepped inside, you shivered, disgruntled by the water, now somewhat cold and devoid of warmth. You sank down into the basin, with Jacaerys following suit as he sat behind you, chest pressed snugly against your back, arms looping around you.

“I’ll keep you warm, my Lady.” He hummed, eliciting a giggle from you as you happened to recline against him, head craning to press a kiss against his jaw. Jacaerys could not imagine a moment sweeter than this, basking in your presence in a blissful aftermath, holding you close against him.

With an amiable smile, you moved into his embrace, hands stroking along his taut forearm, cheek buried against his shoulder as he held you. You felt his lips grace the hollow between your neck and shoulder, mouth blazing as hot as dragon’s fire, a token of his ardor for you — his love was unwavering.

And you were warm.

copyright @ swordgrace ; please do not steal or claim my work as your own. please do not copy or translate my work onto other platforms.

[norikuna]

GREEDY — gojo satoru minors dni

prologue. → pretty, prodigal, and teasing. how far can you push your former teacher before he snaps? gojo's about this 🤏 close from releasing a hollow purple on the world.

pairing. gojo satoru x afab!reader

warnings+. màstúrbation (m.) and rough sèx, creaḿpie. some angst/doubt. angsty love confession before gojo póunds reader into the mattress. incorrect use of reversed curse technique. arguments and stuff. description of injuries. def mean!gojo a bit and he's got vampire tendencies.

reader is of legal age (implied to be 19-20) and gojo is 28 so age gap!romance. obsessed!gojo and popular girl!reader trope. gojo is absolutely a mess in this, and reader is described as wearing short skirts, and wearing makeup.

rather questionable ethics and dynamics (teacher/former student) but rest assured its clear that his feelings are pretty recent. reader has him twirled and whipped around her fingers. reader is also def a baddie and ambiguously bi.

word count. 8.7k words im mad actually. this was meant to be headcanons song inspiration. greedy — tate mcrae

a/n. this is was gonna be from reader's pov but i thought it would be more fun from gojo's 🙂‍↔️

mp3. i see you eyeing me down, but you'll never know much past my name. or how i'm running this room, but i'm still half your age. yeah, you're looking at me like i'm some sweet escape 😛

gojo satoru was not a weak man, no. he knew that he was an anomaly of nature, an unstoppable power that could reduce enemies to dust and make entire clans crumble with nothing more than a flick of his wrists.

so how was it, that when it came to you, his resolve was paper-thin?

every time your open gaze met his, every time you brushed past him, every time your presence filled the space around his infinity, gojo felt something inside him unravel. his breath would be caught in his chest, leaving his pulse to quicken and suddenly, all that strength and control would slip through his fingers.

gojo cursed himself for this, you see. he had never been one to lose control, but he was not quite sure when his entire body has started to betray him.

but no, fuck that, and he did his utter best to run his focus back onto the lesson at hand. unfortunately, the lesson at hand was with you. standing in front of him, arms slightly raised, palms out, and raising your brow as boredom passed over your face.

gojo cleared his throat, "your stance is good, but your cursed energy is all over the place. focus, breathe. centre yourself is what i'm saying," he instructed, but the words felt hollow as they passed through his lips.

unfairly, you're weren't the problem. he was. and now this was getting ridiculous. you had graduated not two, three years past? it would have been a disservice to still call you his student, but even as a mentee, you were still under his tutelage. and as recent as this immature infatuation was, this felt wrong.

but now you were frowning, starting to waver and the sharp, staccato tap of your heeled boot punctuated the wooden floor, click, click!

gojo looked to the sky, briefly, if to pray for patience and a calm of some sorts. he stepped forwards towards you, placing a hand on your waist to guide you into a better stance, and trying to ignore the way your skin felt warm underneath his fingers.

focus.

"don't let your body twist like that when you utilise your own cursed energy. keep it straight, balanced," he muttered, adjusting your posture slightly, hand on your spine — the heel of his palm pressing into a dent. a deity from the sky must have struck him with a cursed arrow, for his whole body was on fire.

because there you were, standing right in front of him, so close that gojo could feel the soft heat of your breath, the faint scent of a sweet perfume wafting off your skin, vanilla?

"you're not focused," gojo grimaced, though he wasn't sure if the rebuke was at himself, or at you — whose eyes widened briefly, and gojo tried not to recognise the curiosity and challenge that flashed across your face.

look at how she's staring at me. and gojo felt utterly ridiculous, and exposed, she knows. but instead of pulling away, you shifted ever so slightly towards him, your body arching as the barest brush of your breasts against his forearm had heat pulling through his body.

would you taste as sweet as you smelt? would you lean more into him if he asked?

he cleared his throat, "okay. relax, not every stance or position works for an individual. perhaps, you'll be able to focus better like this," and with his hand still on your waist, he pulled you into a swift spin. one that left your back pressed against the hard planes of the chest, and you facing the other wall.

you hummed, this time not in the way he wanted. your lips were lightly parted, and there was that soft sheen of gloss catching the light, making your lips look impossibly soft. gojo caught himself staring, wandering what it would be like to press his own mouth to yours, and whether you would squeal or moan.

still, if there was anything that gojo was good at, it was deflecting like a champ, "i think you're distracted," he laughed, low and amused, "is something making you lose focus?"

you tilted your head, and gojo didn't miss (nor did his heart or groin) that your gaze flickered to his mouth for the briefest second before meeting his eyes again, feigning innocence, "don't tell me you're underestimating me, sensei. because i'd hate to think you can't keep up?"

gojo bit back a grin at the obvious bait, "careful," brushing strands of white hair that had fallen into his face away, "if you get too cocky, you tend to miss danger. you start to ignore things that should be noticed."

your voice dropped to a droll whisper, eyes glinting, "you think i don't notice things? i'm aware of plenty."

gojo forced himself to focus, to ignore the way that your lashes flutter with unshakable composure. trying to regain control, or some semblance of mind, he started counting each individual lash painted dark with mascara, lingering on the outermost curls that framed your sharp eyes.

after a beat, he forced himself to break eye contact, "alright," he said, stepping back with a casual shrug that he hoped conveyed just how nonchalant he was, "we’ll call it a day here and continue training tomorrow."

"backing out already?" you teased, leaning in just a little, making him tense at the closeness.

gojo chuckled, feigning nonchalance. "for your sake. you may be powerful, but you have to pace yourself."

you shrugged, nodding, "i'm going out anyway this evening," you said, hopping back a step before bending down to gather your things. gojo politely averted his gaze, his heart hammering from your previous proximity, and desperately hoping to avoid a...reaction, that would be quite inconvenient, as wide and loose as his martial pants were. like a fuckin' school boy with a crush. gross.

but as you slung your pastel bag over your shoulder and straightened up, he couldn't help a quick glance, catching the small, coy glimmer in your eyes as you turned to leave.

gojo sighed, pulling up his blindfold once more, "have fun," he half-heartedly offered, but you were already out the door.

the corridors were now empty, the clang of metal and chatter now silent, replaced with a quiet hum of the air conditioning. gojo wiped his face with the towel wrapped around his neck, the damp fabric clinging to his skin and the muscles in his arms and chest still warm from the intensity of training. his arms and chest glistened, the muscles warm and taut as he stretched, rolling his shoulders back with a low groan. exhaustion settled into him like a weight, each movement of his tired, bare torso slow and deliberate.

"oh, you're still here, sensei?"

gojo's eyes snapped open, drawn to the sound of your inquisitive voice. you stood in the doorway, framed by the dim light from the hallway, and he immediately felt a rush of heat flood his chest.

well, fuck, now his mouth was dry. clearly, your previous iteration of 'going out' was a bit more glamorous than you had led on, and he was certain his wandering eyes betrayed him as it flickered over your figure. it took a titan's strength to keep his eyes from trailing down your long legs, the way your dress hugged the swell of your chest, or over your glistening neck. there was a faint shimmer, a glitter of some sort? it coated your skin, and gojo wanted to lick it off with his tongue.

what? no. who said that?

he swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep his composure.

you scowled at his reaction, clearly mistaking his silence for distaste. "what? i did say i was going somewhere," you retorted, your tone sharp but amused. "i’m more than allowed to leave the campus grounds.”

"of course,” he replied, voice outstandingly steady but his mind still trailing after every curve, every detail that made you look...well...dangerous in the best way, "don't let me stop you. who's the lucky guy?"

you arched a brow, folding your arms over your chest, and now, gojo really did have to look away and pretend that he was busy with retying a dark piece of cloth over his eyes, "who said it was a guy?"

gojo thickly swallowed, wondering if he'd just made a colossal blunder with no return, "that's not what i meant." the words 'my bad' stuck in his throat as you laughed and sighed.

"joking, sorry. it's a guy, this time." now you were fiddling with your long nails, with a satisfying clack as they ran across each other.

"i hope he shows you a great time then," he offered, half-hearted, blasé.

you took a step into the room, and gojo didn't even need six eyes to know that your eyes were raking over his chest, "i'm sure he will," all sweetness and sugar, "i've been training so hard, i deserve it, don't i?"

the words hit him harder than he expected, and he had to remind himself — she's not yours, satoru. but that didn't stop the gruff irritation bubbling up.

"a real man should be taking you out on a date like this,” he said, his voice a bit too rough for his liking. "not some guy who’s probably just looking for a good time."

you scoffed lightly, rolling your eyes. "are you saying that there's someone else out there who can do a better job?" your tone was playful, but there was a challenge in it — an edge that made his heart skip once more, "sadly, there just aren't many who've handled me well."

he ignored your immature, faux pout, and ran a hand through damp, icy hair — ignoring how his temper flared, rearing its ugly head.

was this all on purpose? to toy with him?

"you want to be handled, sweetheart?" gojo's voice dropped a little lower, indulging your teasing, "i've seen you lose focus easily, you could easily break."

your lips creased up, painted a tempting shade of dried-blood red (what the fuck was wrong with him? was he now just a horny vampire?) as you purred, "i'd need some help testing out that theory." your expression was open just enough for him to see the tiniest flicker of something in your eyes — something that told him you were enjoying this far more than you should.

an invitation of sorts, he wondered. did you want him to move? to make a move? it wasn’t a secret that you had always been a popular student practically a legend, rumours swirling around you like wildfire — whispers of broken hearts and sweetened smiles that could captivate anyone in your path. he had never paid attention of course, gossip always ran wild among students and he discouraged such whispers of who-did-what, for a grade 1 curse would never indulge such behaviour before they would get torn to shreds.

and even now, long after graduation as you worked around your old alma mater, men and women — everyone swooned at the chance to speak with you, and yet, here you were, playing this dangerous game with him.

gojo scowled, trying to push past the desire building inside him, the urge to have you underneath him, right on this mat in the training room. "well, don’t hang around too long," he said, his tone sharp as a blade. "i’m sure your date is waiting. go have a good time."

invitation declined. the morally right thing to do. right?

he didn’t need to look to see the small sneer that curled at the corner of your lips, or the way it turned into a fleeting expression of annoyance. he could hear the click of your heels echo down the hallway as you sashayed out.

what the everlasting fuck was wrong with him?

lo and behold, the great gojo satoru often found himself alone in his own private rooms. for 'the strongest' rarely had time to accommodate some other forms of company.

and frankly, he had no desire to do so now regardless. not when the echoes of your clicking heels still reverberated in his mind. the silence that echoed around him was heavy, suffocating and he was sure he looked erratic.

gojo ran a hand over his face, trying to shake the thought of you. but it was useless. his body was still on fire, the heat of jealousy smouldering in his chest, coiling in his gut like something alive, something dangerous. he had walked to the nearest chair and collapsed into it, his legs splayed wide apart as his shoulders slumped under the soft, amber glow of the setting sun that streamed through the windows. the sorcerer let his head fall back against the chair, eyes closed.

how absolutely ridiculous, he thought, running his fingers through his tousled hair. no, he just couldn't stop it. couldn't stop thinking about how badly he wanted you. wanted you to want him too. and now, with the way you’d left, with that knowing smile on your lips, all he could imagine was the man you were with now, the man who’d be holding the door open for you, who’d be pulling out your chair, whoever the hell he was.

maybe even a casual, non-sorcerer. some random guy that you had indulged because he was no threat. but he wouldn't be able to touch you, not in the way that you demanded. the man would laugh at your jokes, brush his hand against yours, but wouldn't be able to let a real smile bubble from your lips like satoru could.

and what would that man do next?

would he try to take you back to his place? some small poorly-lit apartment where he'd try to kiss you, to claim your lips without even pulling away for air. would you kiss him back, curling into his frame?

before gojo's even registered what he's doing, his own hand has found his hard cock. despite the tattle of assistance, and dreamy-eyed mongers, pleasure is rare for him. relief, even less so. his schedule just doesn't allow it, and so he oft find himself chasing some distant contentment like this, alone in his rooms.

but he squeezes at the wide hilt, at his base, pulling his hands up, upwards as his brows furrow under blindfold, and he tugs the offending fabric off, away from him, as laden balls smack against his wrist.

maybe the man would then trail his lips down your neck, maybe he'd try to slowly sink his teeth into delicate flesh, leaving blooming purple marks that wouldn't fade, not when gojo saw you tomorrow.

he's running his curled hand up towards the fat mushroom tip, almost glowing pink with heat and pre-cum that's leaving his hand slicked with faint moisture, "shit, that's it."

then what? he can imagine your teasing smile as you decide to take your pleasure as you see fit. how you'd suddenly push this faceless man off, and move so you're straddling him, letting his hands wander around the curve of your hips, digging into plush flesh.

now he's starting to pant, open-mouthed, "ah - fuck! wish i had you here, right here." gojo must be a madman, breathing out to the empty, open air.

but in his mind's eye, you're reaching behind your back to undo the zipper on your outstandingly tight dress, giving the faceless man a coy smile as you push the fabric of your dress down, letting your plentiful tits spill out and against the man's chest.

his wrist is moving faster now, and there's a cramp starting to build up as he pistons his hand over his stretched shaft, and one arm is thrown over his face — the soft hairs on his thick forearm tickling his face as he tries not to gasp or whine too loudly, but he's bucking his ups now, pretending that it's not his hand that he's spilling into, but your tight cunt. and later, he shudders and tenses up, with apologies whispered into the air, "look, look - shit, i'm sorry - i'm sorry. couldn't help it, fuck." and gojo's bitten his lips so hard that he's certain he's drawn blood, vibrant red blooming on pale, creamy skin.

and a lamp had exploded as he came. damn, he'd have to replace that.

you don't deserve someone like him, no. not when he's sitting here, absolutely filthy with thick, white seed entirely over his tense abdominal muscles and stiff hand. not when he's trying to catch his breath after imagining how snug your pussy would feel around him, and how you'd beg for him to give it to you harder.

you didn't deserve someone so messed up with guilt, with mistakes, with the kind of weight that made him too much for anyone, let alone someone like you. didn't you deserve better than a tortured man who couldn't control himself, better than an overzealous mentor who was supposed to keep his distance, to do what was right.

but that didn’t stop his thoughts from swirling, as he separated damp, thick thighs from the smooth surface of the chair, reaching for a tissue. he couldn’t help it. and it made him feel like a damn fool.

the meeting room buzzed with tension, voices rising in sharp, clipped exchanges — some angry, some demanding and others clueless and questioning. gojo had woken up in a foul mood that morning, with some ill-gotten storm brewing beneath his chest. perhaps it was the thoughts of you that lingered from the night before, a gnawing jealously that left him feeling too tight in the stiffness of the uniform dress pants.

but he had forced himself to be dragged through this meeting, plastering a snarky light-hearted grin over his face as he leaned against the wall, letting the higher-ups argue themselves into oblivion.

amidst the storm of words, gojo's focus was nowhere near the mission being discussed. no, his attention was fixated entirely on you. you stood at the far end of the table, eyes flashing with ire as you tore into some pompous old fool who’d dared question your power. the others in the room shifted uncomfortably, deferring to you, as they often did, despite your youth. you had that rare combination of presence and bite that made people recoil back when you sunk your teeth into them, and this was not a knot gojo was interested in unraveling.

kojiro, one of the bumbling administrators, had turned his babbling attention to gojo, "you're still planning to face that curse head-on, gojo-san?" the poor man is wringing his hands at gojo's flat look (made all the more unreadable through a blindfold, satoru would wager), "don't you think it would be well - unwise? instead of expending your time and energy on one cursed spirit, you could handle five lesser ones. efficiency, you see."

gojo's gaze briefly flickers back to you, standing with your arms crossed as one hand fiddles with the end of your braid as your petal-pink lips scowl at some other official with words that don't fit his stature. your other hands keeps reaching around your neck, adjusting a plaid scarf over and over, like you're desparate to hide something under the fabric . well, fuck that.

"i'm aware of the risks," gojo turns his attention back to the matter, "but no one here has time for hesitation. if the curse is special grade, don't you at least think that delaying with lead to more destruction?"

"is it really the cursed spirit you’re worried about, takumi-san?" you asked, your voice low, the kind of voice that could make someone forget their own name.

gojo's gaze snapped to you from under the blindfold, but you weren’t looking at him, not even speaking at him. instead, you were locking eyes with one of the other sorcerers — takumi, a grade two with a shaggy mop of golden hair, one who had been a student alongside you and hardly subtle in his admiration for you.

gojo tries to hide a scoff at how takumi's eyes are wandering over you, ignoring the newpapers that have been flattened on the meeting table, with bold inked letters reading doom-portents such as 'unexplained explosion, 4 dead and 12 injured."

time and place, man.

"you don't think i can handle this mission. if you're worried about me, just say so," takumi's now leaning into you, even as gojo tries to train his ear on kojiro's economic-obsessed babble instead.

gojo can see your eyes flicker to the dastardly newspapers as well, clearly curling your lips at the dour news and takami's disastrous attempt at getting his hands under your skirt. but he also knows that sharp glint in your eyes, the one when you toy with those around you, to pull them in without ever committing to anything. clearly, you've decided to indulge this game.

"takumi," and you draw out the younger man's name, "shouldn't you bring more strength to the table? of course, i'm worried about a friend getting hurt. but even if you were stronger, or the strongest, a special grade curse could do some real damage."

and your eyes have flicked right towards gojo, raking over his frame leaning against the pale cream walls. he's glad for the blindfold, so you can't see how he scowls and furrows his thin brows at you, at your blatant hopes for a reaction from him. were you so unobservant that you did not know how much you bothered him?

the pointed sharpness in your words made takumi pause, and for just a moment, gojo could see the man’s grin falter. it was clear that you weren’t impressed by his attention, you had no need for his slimy attempts.

there was no mistake about it — this wasn’t just a flirtation. this was a game you played, and gojo was not only aware of it; he was caught in it. he tries not to feel irrationally angry, fuck, so much of his life revolves around his work, his job and now he can't even do that properly without feeling like you're using your long nails to dangle something in front of him, wanting to snap his teeth out and snatch it.

so you wanted him to see this. you wanted to claim that you could unravel the strongest sorcerer from the heavens to the earth below, to make him lose his composure. gojo feels as if there is crackling ozone in the air, and wonders dimly if the weather forecast predicted a rain storm for later today.

takumi, sensing the shift, finally backed off with a huff, but not before giving all around him a lingering look, as if it was their fault that you weren't interested.

"enough distractions," kojiro's interjected, raking a finger through a beard streaked with gray, and he's shooting a pointed look at you, snapping rose-pink gum, and takumi, shuffling with his hands in his pockets. "we're here to discuss the mission, not flirt." and then, he's off mumbling something about how this was why he hated having younger sorcerers join the meeting rooms.

his ire only grew. gojo stood with his back against the wall, outside the meeting room, once everyone had left with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. you stood in front of him, your eyes flashing with anger, your chest rising and falling with each sharp breath.

"absolutely not," gojo stood his ground firmly, "no-one will let you go on this mission."

you stomped on the floor, once as your heels snapped an echo, "they will if you say so."

gojo stuffs his hands in his pockets, "who said that i would also allow you?"

you scoffed, folding your arms across your chest, mimicking his previous stance but with a clear defiance in your posture. "and why the hell not? i'm more than capable of handling it. it's my fucking choice, and how can extra help hurt?"

"enough!" gojo snapped, feeling a tense pain in between his eyes, "it's too dangerous. and you're too young -"

"too young!" you've interrupted him, "i'm not some helpless child, sensei. i'm a grade 1 sorcerer! one of the best, i don't need to be treated like i can't handle a mission."

"grade 1. not special-grade."

his eyes narrowed, his jaw tight. gojo could see the fury in your eyes, but there was something else there, something deeper, a vulnerability that he had seen before in students, some desire to prove themselves and be heaped with praise. he knew you were good, better than most — hell, better than many of the adults he’d seen. but this cursed spirit was unlike anything you’d faced before. and yet, here you were, challenging him, pushing him, daring him to stop you.

"you don’t get it," he muttered, the words slipping from his mouth before he could stop them. "you think you’re invincible, but you’re not. you're too reckless."

"reckless!" now you had taken a step towards him, narrowing the space between you both. your eyes were fierce now, but there was something else in them — a spark of hurt that made his chest tighten, and gojo began to wander where this would start spiral. "i’m not reckless. i know exactly what i’m doing. the only reckless thing here is you thinking you have the right to control my every move."

"i'm the one in charge here," he said, his voice hoarse, the words coming out sharper than he intended. "and i'm telling you now, you’re not going. you’re not ready for this. don't involve the higher-ups in this."

you were so close now, just inches apart. his eyes flicked to your lips, with the arch of a blooming flower kissed by the sun, for a brief moment, and then back up to your face, where anger and frustration mixed with something else — a challenge.

"maybe that’s the problem," you said, your voice quieter now, but still holding an edge. "you think i'm still some child who needs you to tell me what to do. maybe you just don’t want me to outshine you."

the words are ridiculous, and he can see by the mild quiver as your throat bobs that you don't mean what you say. it takes a rare type of courage to tell the first person in four hundred years to be born with limitless and six eyes, that he could be outshined. but satoru doesn't say a word to rebuke your obvious and false bait.

your body is so close now that gojo could feel the heat of your skin, your breath brushing against his. he could smell the faint sweetness of vanilla again in the air mingled with fresh, crisp apples, could see the subtle shine of your lip gloss catching the light. it was a testament to his spirit, he thinks, that he did not lean in straight away and touch his mouth to yours in this scenario that certainly did not warrant it.

"you want me to stop you that badly?" he hissed, his voice a mix of frustration and something darker, that had not yet snapped. "is that what this is? a game? a way for you to get my attention? to see how far you can push me before i do snap?"

now he's got your tongue, and your expression has flickered for a brief moment before schooling into an impassive mask, and gojo briefly wanders if he's crossed an awful line and misinterpreted everything. if they're gonna stick a white dunce hat on his head and parade him through the streets of outer tokyo for being an assuming fool.

but then you've stepped even closer, your breath coming faster, the weight of your chest almost pressed against his, and gojo doesn't move and he's briefly aware that he's let his infinity down.

"partly, you know it's not just about you though. i do want to go on this mission, but -" you tilt your head and look right up at him, and the older man's head starts to reel from the fact that he was right all along, "i do want to see how far you can go before you snap."

his heart pounded, and for a moment, everything went still. all the tension, all the heat, the anger, and the desire — everything seemed to converge in the space between you. gojo's hand twitched, aching to touch you, but he held himself back, his muscles straining with the effort.

"stop,” he rasped, barely able to get the word out. "you don’t know what you’re doing, or what you're asking for."

he's never felt quite like this before, breathless as if the air has been punched out of his lungs. all gojo could think was how much he wanted to pull you closer, to kiss you until there was nothing left between you.

but he couldn’t.

he puts his hands on your shoulders, fingers digging into the expensive fabric of your top, and gently pushes you away.

"my decision is final. don't make this harder than this, you're forbidden from the mission."

how sick and twisted, that you've fled with embarrassed tears pricking at your eyes, and he's stuck with a raging erection.

well, he had seen worse. but it didn't make this curse any less vicious. it was ancient, he could presume, and maddening. its cursed energy was warping the night air like a violent storm. but again, not the worst thing that he had encountered in his twenty-eight years, and with the right timing, he'd been able to calculate every strike and counter.

but then he saw you.

at first, he thought it was a blur — a trick of the light. but then, there you were, standing at the edge of the pavement, your figure framed by the chaotic crackle of cursed energy. fuck your stubborn nature.

this is not what is meant to happen. gojo's heart has skipped a beat, and he's not sure what he's more furious with. you, for defying his concern for your safety. or himself, for getting so distracted in. a battle.

"what the fuck is wrong with you?"

yes, he knows you're good. good enough to move with precision against a special-grade curse, your stance instantly and suspiciously better than the other day in the training rooms. it's only through his six eyes that gojo has been able to keep a track of your movements as your jujutsu is able to dodge the creature's brutal force.

impressive. but reckless.

and that never lasts.

you had moved to cast your own cursed technique, but the curse was intelligent enough to anticipate it. with a sudden lash of its tail, the creature swung its power straight at you, knocking you off balance. you stumbled, your footing lost, and before you could react, a flash of dark energy slicing across your shoulder.

a scream had torn from your lips as you fell to the ground, blood spurting from the deep cut.

and briefly, just for a flicker of time, gojo sees a dark-haired man in violet robes leaning against a brick wall, with his shoulder torn off, 'at least curse me one last time.'

blood rushing in his ears, before he even realised it, he was on top of you, his body hovering over yours, his jujutsu flaring as he shoved the cursed spirit back with a brutal force that made the earth tremble, an exorcism that will not take long. he kneeled beside you, his breath ragged, eyes locked on the wound on your shoulder. the blood was already soaking your clothes, darkening the fabric as you winced, your breath shallow and unsteady.

"you —” gojo isn't sure if his hand isn't shaking from how irate he is, "what the hell were you thinking? fuck, don't move."

your eyes were unfocused for a moment, but when they snapped to him, there was defiance there — even in this moment (get a grip!), as you gritted your teeth against the pain.

"save it, it's fine," you spat, your voice weak but vexed, "that bitch is still there."

"what did i tell you! what did i say would happen?" he cursed under his breath, focusing his reversed cursed technique as he tried to heal you, but the moment felt like an eternity as bright red blood moved too fast for him to seize it.

an assassin's blade in his throat, his arteries giving way and bubbling out and up.

now you don't answer, your eyes fluttering closed for a brief second. gojo's gaze darted to the cursed spirit, which was now advancing again, enraged by the interruption.

it won’t touch you again.

he stood, pulling you away from him, your body slumping slightly out of his arms. he could feel the heat of your blood soaking through his sleeve, but he had no time to dwell on it. the curse roared in fury, and gojo's infinity flared up around him again, a shield of pure energy blocking its path.

"stay down,” he growled, and all he received was a weak, "fuck, you think that's funny?"

it's only later when he's pulling you back up, that he realises that his reversed cursed energy has done enough to stem the bleeding, but not enough to leave you unharmed as your breath is shallow, your face taking on a more sickly pallor.

"don’t you ever — ever —do that again," he snarled, his voice raw and he wonders when something (or someone) has ever undone him so much. but the anger in his voice doesn't carry to his touch as he gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek, tracing the lines of your jaw.

the sterile walls of your room did nothing to soften the tension in gojo's chest as he stood by your bed, his eyes tracing the curve of your sullen form beneath the sheets. your shoulder was bandaged, with red seeping slowly through the white strips.

"you really are unbelievable," he snapped, his voice sharp as he paced around the room, every step heavy with frustration. "i told you it was too dangerous. i told you not to fucking go."

you lay there, your eyes half-closed, as though you weren’t even listening, but the twitching frown on your lips is sign enough that you're not as sorry. his fingers flexed at his sides, itching to do something — anything — to release the tension building in him.

"are you even listening to me?" he know he sounds bitter, over-reactionary, angry as he moved towards the edge of your bed.

you blinked slowly, your gaze still infuriatingly calm, "i'm fine, now. save the lecture."

he doesn't want to start sputtering so he settles for crossing his arms over his chest, but your voice breaks the silence again.

"you know i want to be a special grade sorcerer, right?"

gojo only looks down, not wanting to indulge an excuse and he studies the tight grip of his knuckles on his slender fingers, "well, i don't know why. the pay isn't that good." it's a weak attempt at a joke, but you're smiling.

"i was told i could only become one if i was the one to exorcise that special grade."

"by who? the higher-ups?" and you nod, wincing as you do.

what a fucking surprise. the way that the jujutsu world works is no surprise to gojo by now, having been surrounded by it his entire life. but the harshness of their reality still shocks him, old and doddering officials who cling to their silk robes are prone to sending out younger sorcerers (those who are still green, barely out of school) to do their dirty work for them, and the cemetery outside of jujutsu tech is ever growing.

he ground his teeth together, his chest tightening as he stared down at you. the bandages, the damp skin, the stillness of your body — it made him want to tear something apart. "fine! if they were giving you a hard time, why didn't you just come to me then?" he repeated harshly.

"would you go ask someone to help you, for something like this? if you were asked to prove yourself?"

gojo runs his tongue behind his teeth, "i'm the strongest, princess. i don't need to ask for help."

you groan, turning your head away from him, but a faint smile dances upon your lips.

he inhales sharply, his fingers digging into the edge of the bed. "you think this is a joke?"

"all four limbs are attached and i'm living and breathing. okay, so fine. my bad. i won't do it again. will you stop snapping at me now, at everything -" and gojo wonders if there's really some hurt colouring your voice, "what's going on?"

the words slip out, rough and unrestrained. "what’s going on is that you’re driving me insane. you act like this doesn’t matter, like i can just stand by and let you throw yourself into danger like it’s nothing — like you don’t matter — but you do. you do matter."

his chest was heaving now, his hands shaking as he reached out and grabbed your wrist. his thumb brushed over your pulse, the tiny fluttering beneath your skin driving him wild. "i can’t — i can’t just stand there and watch you get hurt," he continued, his voice hoarse. "you don’t get to do whatever you want without consequences, damn it. you don’t get to make me feel this way, and then pretend like it doesn’t matter."

for a moment, there was silence. gojo's pulse was hammering in his ears, his body coiled with the intensity of everything he was trying to say. everything he was trying not to say. everything he wanted to act upon.

and then, with a slow, almost lazy smile, you turned towards him, "i didn't know the great gojo satoru was like this. who would have thought?"

his breath hitched in his throat. gojo wanted to say something, to snap at you again, to maintain that distance — but the truth was that the distance between the two of you had disappeared these past few weeks. his chest tightened, his hands trembling as they slid to your face, fingers tracing the line of your jaw, and he relished how your facade almost cracked and you lightly shivered.

at least, he hoped you were shivering because of his touch. and not, like, a fever building up from your injuries.

fuck it.

and then, before he could stop himself, gojo was leaning down, his lips crashing into yours with all the force he could muster, desparate and hungry and that frustration and fear that he had been holding onto. his hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you towards him with a force that made your breath catch, as you responded with a soft gasp.

had he misstepped? no, for you kissed him back, tentatively at first, as if you were testing the waters, but then building up to a sudden urgency that mirrored his own. your hands slid to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you pushed yourself closer to him, before crying out.

"ah! fuck, my shoulder."

small beads of blood surfaced where your collarbone met your shoulder, each one glistening like tiny rubies against your warm skin. they gathered slowly, delicate droplets that clung to you before tracing faint, uneven lines downward. the red stood out, vivid and fresh, dotting your skin in a stark, almost mesmorising gojo as they welled up and began to trick in thin, crimson trails.

"stay still," gojo rasped, his voice low and rough as he leaned in, pressing closer. his mouth met the fresh blood pooling on your skin, tongue tracing over the small rivulets that had seeped from beneath the bandage.

he lingered, almost savouring the taste, his eyes darkening as the sharp tang of iron lingered on his tongue, smacking his lips slightly as he drew back, gaze fixed intently on you, on your heavy breathing as he stole away another kiss from you.

gojo's lips left yours briefly, his breath ragged as he stared down at you, his eyes wild underneath the blindfold, gasping as your nails reached up to hook the fabric down so his hair loosened, falling around his face.

you were staring back at him, breathless and wide-eyed, and in that moment, gojo knew — he couldn’t stay away from you. no matter how much he tried.

your lips were soft, so soft, but there was fire behind the way you kissed him back, your hands landing on his chest, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. he groaned, deep in his throat, and his fingers threaded into your hair, pulling you closer.

his mouth moved urgently over yours as he shifted to stand beside the bed, his body hovering over you, every muscle tense, straining with the desire that he had tried so hard to ignore. gojo just couldn't think about anything else.

and your lips broke apart only briefly, and you let out a soft laugh, that damn, dangerous laugh of yours. "you're greedy, you know that."

his chest heaved, and his heart pounded in his ears, and blood was now pounding to his nether regions. he wasn’t sure if it was the previous anger or the ache between his ribs, but he couldn’t stop himself as he threaded his fingers through your soft hair, "i am greedy. greedy for you. only you - mmph! shit!"

you had run your long, painted nails (with the little painted charms on the end) down his neck before pressing them, hard enough to cause a sharp sting.

"you wanted to put me through hell," he whispered harshly, and his lips brushed against your ear as he spoke, "until i realised i liked it. until i realised i wanted you, all of you."

his hands moved down to your waist, squeezing gently as his lips found the tender spot beneath your ear, trailing kisses there, letting his teeth sink in, to see small bruises appear. gojo's breath was ragged as he fought to keep control, and something deeper inside of him roared with the need to claim you completely.

"you’re mine," he growled against your skin, the words hot and possessive. "i don't care what happens. you’re mine now."

you tilted your head, still smiling, but this time there was something different in your eyes — something that burned with the same intensity. "if i'm yours, what are you going to do about it? hmm, satoru?"

and that final thread, that last remnant of honour that he had been nurturing and holding onto, snapped.

"is this what you want, princess?" he draws out the nickname, letting it roll off his tongue, as you suddenly inhale sharply. his hands are all over you now, large hands exploring and kneading at your torso, and before he can even let you blink, they're under your top.

he's pressing his hot mouth to your sternum, wet and open-mouthed, and he wonders what sort of effect you have on him. what force in the world leave him panting like this, desparate as his hands find their way behind your back, to unclip whatever's holding your tits in place — just so he can reach back and run his palms over your hard nipples, flicking them and rolling them in between his fingers.

and faintly, in the back of his mind, he's aware that his reversed cursed technique must be working overtime, because suddenly you're rolling forward into him with no care in the world for your previously injured shoulder, as your own hands trail down the front of body, right over his bulge.

but he slaps your hand away, pressing you flat against the mattress, "fuck, not yet. you think i'm just going to let you get away with all this," and as you mewl a soft yes, followed by a please, he rolls his eyes, "wait. behave and i'll give you what you want."

and then, softer, "need to make sure you're ready first."

his arms are caging both sides of your head, and he's got one hand on the headboard (although, you will marvel at the burnt imprint that he's left, later) and the other is tearing your top off, just so he can lean down and let his canines press into the soft fat of your chest, so he can slip a pointed nipple into his mouth and tug it, ever so gently.

but gojo needs to continue lower, and his hand squeezes at the waistband of your short skirt, snapping the elastic twice as you heave your bare chest, "please, please, satoru!"

it's heaven down here for him, and gojo's dizzy at how outstandingly wet you are, with just a single swipe of his fingers in the soft, damp fabric of your underwear.

your clear, sticky arousal clung to his fingers, stretching in thin, glistening threads as he spread your thighs apart, knocking your knees to either side so he could slot himself in between them. your slick shimmered slightly under the light, translucent and tacky and he just couldn't help himself, bringing them up to his mouth to slowly taste.

"shit, princess. you taste so good, can't believe this is what i've been missing out on."

he's playing an instrument, he thinks. gliding his fingers along sodden folds, twirling his index finger past a thick wad of skin and pressing right over your clit in hot, tight circles that have you bucking your hips, "hnngh, right - ah, right there 'toru!"

'toru.

as a reward, he plunges his middle finger straight into your gaping heat, your tight wall of ringed muscles that had been fluttering in light pulses for his attention. fuck, he almost reaches his own climax by feeling how you squirm and writhe, moan and mewl as he starts pushing his finger in, and then out.

in, and then out. in, once more. and out, again. and then, another finger.

his fingers sank into your soft, damp pussy — which yielded easily enough with a soft pssh! as the digits pressed in. gojo pulled his hand back out from your thighs, enjoying the tight resistance and suction as your cunt has resisted being empty once more, leaving a cool moistness on his skin.

but now your hands gently cup his face, and he isn't sure how to not crumble with how you look at him, eyes wide and glossy, "wan' more, want your cock, 'toru."

now, gojo feels as though he's truly ascended, gone onto some higher plane of existence. because how can he resist when your hands are weakly pawing at his belt, at his waistband and he's letting you pull his thick shaft out.

it's hot, and already weeping angry tears of pre-cum, and he just loves how your eyes widen at the sheer size and girth.

"yeah, princess was sooo brave earlier, wasn't she? wanted my cock, ah! shit - did she?" and he's letting the wide tip lay heavy against your clit, knocking it once, and then twice, through your heavenly folds.

you've reached a leg up, and around his waist, pulling him closer and gojo has to pierce his lip with his teeth to not let out a gutteral groan from his cock sliding through the your folds, "i don't - don't care, i really don't fucking care if it's too big. just put it in now, m' so wet, i'm wet enough."

your babble is endearing, and he marvels at how easily he has you cock-drunk without even being in you right now. he jostles further, until the tip is right at your flittering entrance, pressing forward and slipping through the heated, slick gummy texture in a way that has the strongest's head spinning.

"easy, princess. oh fuck, you're too tight. way too tight, i'm gonna -" and gojo inhales, steadying himself, as the wet heat enveloped him as he moved, each slide through the soft walls of your pussy leaving him acutely aware of every inch, the warmth coating him further until your slick was dampening the white, stray hairs of his groin.

he pulls your lips close again, one hand coming up to gently cradle your head, and his fingers weaving slowly through your hair.

"you're so deep in me, 'toru! so - hnngh," and your words are cut off by a staccato thrust of his hips, and your teeth clack around a moan that gojo gladly swallows.

"hey, i'm right here. i've got you, yeah? got you so good, just hold onto me."

and he keeps a steady pace, plunging into molten silk, with a sensation so intense and so enveloping that it left him breathless, with a rush of heat that made his head spin.

he's toying with your tits, pressing his face into the shadow that lies between your mounds, and gojo's certain that he could die a happy man like this, exactly like this.

he realises that the faint laugh is coming from him, so distant is he in his pussy-drunk reverie, that he realises he must look and sound like a madman, "pretty pussy is so tight, so fucking tight. haah, i think i'm gonna have to fill you up, gorgeous?" and he must be blathering, "want me to fill you up? shit- want me to stuff... ah! stuff you so full of cum that we just hafta stay in this bed all day then?"

he had his fingers now moving in circles over your throbbing clit, exerting a gentle pressure that had you so beautifully keening and bucking your hips up, jolting right into his pelvis. and gojo bit back as a groan as his heavy balls started to smack, and smack! over and over again, right onto your dampened skin.

"she must be close right, pretty little pussy must be almost tired now," and gojo's now slapping your clit, lifting three fingers up and bringing them down with enough force to not harm you, but make you jolt, "she. must. be. so. close." and each word is punctuated by the slippery spank of his fingers bouncing right off your mound.

"makes me want to have you - you and her," and gojo's revelling in the slick of your pussy, now throwing his head back without shame.

and when your walls start to flutter, when you start writhing in his grasp, pressed right against his chest with your legs knocked back as far as they reach on other side of his broad frame, he feels himself unravel. feels the rhythmic quake of your tight cunt literally milk him dry, letting pools of thick, white seed plug within you, and he almost shakes and tears up himself, at the idea of claiming you like this.

later, he has you resting against his chest and the knot in his chest, that nasty plague that sent him afoul has disappeared, and gojo feels as though he's about to start purring, from the feeling of your nails trailing little shapes over his skin (little hearts, perhaps?) and how soft your hair feels under his own hands. he can't resist himself from pressing his lips softly to your forehead, "happy?"

you laugh, a genuine, soft sound that erupts from your chest as you press your bare body into him, "you have no idea."

[starmocha]

Tagged by @world-of-hearts love any excuse to share my favorite songs 🤭 but why only 5 😔

tag game: share 5 of your favorite songs & tag 10 people 🎵

1. ESCAPE - (G)I-DLE

2. Lovedrunk - Epik High

3. Different - Woodz

4. idfc - blackbear (Tarro Remix deserves special mention, but all versions are my faves)

5. Say You'll Be Mine - Rockell

No pressure, but tagging @rose-tinted-kalopsia @unluckywisher @callilypso @nerdyladyrebel @yourlocalcatscammer @lavlynyan @miudle @nezukoo-channn @irandial @an-ever-angry-bi + anyone else who wants to join 💖

[munson-blurbs]

Rockstar!Eddie x Childhood Best Friend!Reader

Summary: Eddie's got a new girlfriend, which means you get put on the back burner indefinitely. But there's only so much you can take.

WC: 2.1k

Warnings: hurt/no comfort, rockstar!Eddie, takes place around 1989, drinking/tipsiness, Eddie is an idiot, kinda insecure!Reader

--

Lena was beautiful. 

There was no denying that. You’d seen how beautiful she was the night Eddie had picked her from the crowd, dark makeup and denim miniskirt that ended mid-thigh. She walked backstage like she owned the place, with a confidence you could only envy from afar. 

You were used to it: Eddie would find a groupie, they’d hook up for the night, and then she was all but forgotten as Corroded Coffin moved to their next tour destination.

But not Lena. She’d been around for the last six months. Always touching Eddie, kissing him, drawing him in with her gorgeous eyes. She was everything he wanted, and she knew it.

You tried to get along with her and get to know her; after all, she was your best friend’s girlfriend. You asked her to grab a cup of coffee, to hang out at the mall, to get your nails done at the salon. All three times, she’d turned you down with some half-hearted excuse. 

And now she was here, at your birthday party. Her legs were draped over Eddie’s as they sat on the couch, his arm around her and her fingers in his hair. All you could focus on was his smile, that same dopey grin he used to give to Chrissy Cunningham whenever she’d give him an iota of attention back in high school. 

Eddie Munson was smitten, and he had no intention of hiding his feelings.

You downed your drink, the harsh taste of vodka burning your throat, and quickly poured yourself another one. What was the saying? It’s my party, and I’ll drink myself into a stupor if I want to? Something like that.

“Hey, Birthday Girl. You okay?” Gareth spoke up, yanking you from your thoughts. You hadn’t even realized he was beside you. “I haven’t seen you drink this much since the Grammys afterparty.”

You nodded, your head heavy with tears and liquor and lies. “Fine. Just…tired.”

Gareth scoffed. “Tired of watching Eddie and Lena tonguing each other, you mean?” Your wince betrayed your indifferent facade, and Gareth laughed softly. “Yeah, me, too.” He took a swig of his own drink and continued. “I mean, I get it. She’s hot as hell, but she’s also kinda–”

“Bitchy?” The word escaped you before you could stop it, another effect of the booze.

“You said it, not me.” Gareth raised his cup in a pseudo-toast. “But, yeah. Tour went from being about the band to being the Lena Show. And if you try to push back even a little, she just pouts and whines to Eddie that we’re being mean to her.”

You rolled your eyes. There was a freedom that came with confiding in Gareth, with no longer having to keep your feelings to yourself. “He used to call me at least once a week,” you say of Eddie, “and I figured that would change once he got a girlfriend. But the last time he called me was…two months ago.”

Could you even count that? It was just Eddie saying that the tour was good and that he’d be at your party–with Lena, of course. No silly stories from the road, no play-by-play of the shows, no begging for you to come see them again soon. It was as if you’d been a temporary placeholder until a better option came along.

And now, here she was, leaving red lipstick marks on his cheek. Staking her claim.

Eddie was never yours–not like that. Not in the way you wanted him to be yours. You’d been best friends since high school, and your crush had only blossomed from there. You were drawn to him the moment you saw him command the room during Hellfire, crafting and weaving a tale of a fantastical world with magnificent and terrifying creatures. It was as though you could see it right in front of you.

That storytelling talent extended to his songwriting. Sure, some of the songs were about the heartbreak that comes with being a teenager, but so many others were rooted in big problems: war, poverty, and the general injustices of the world. You were in awe of the way his eyes saw beyond the tiny borders of Hawkins.

Gareth slung an arm around you and pulled you close. Though you’d never told him about your crush on Eddie, he knew. All of Corroded Coffin knew—and probably all of the old Hellfire crew, too. Everyone but Eddie. 

“It’ll be okay,” Gareth murmured. “He’s an idiot. He’s always been an idiot, but with her, it’s amped up. Stupidity on steroids.”

You laughed at that despite the sadness brewing within you.

“Go enjoy your party. You deserve it.”

Heeding his advice, you pried yourself from the kitchen counter and over to some of the other guests. You managed to have fun, pushing away the nagging reminder of heartbreak just feet away. It got easier as the night went on—until it didn’t. 

“Baby,” you heard Lena whine. “This party sucks. I wanna go back to the hotel.”

Say no, you silently willed Eddie. Tell her that you want to stay. Tell her that she can leave, but you’re going to stick around and—

“Yeah, babe. We can go.”

Five words that anchored a pit in your stomach. He didn’t even consider an alternative option. Lena was his only priority. 

You blinked back the tears in your eyes as he said his half-hearted goodbye. Lena stood behind him, arms crossed over her chest. 

“Super fun party,” she drawled, donning a saccharine smile. “So sorry we have to leave early.” With that, she grabbed Eddie’s hand and led him out of your apartment. 

The rest of the night was a blur. Even as you ate birthday cake and talked with other guests, your focus stayed on the remnants of your friendship with Eddie. Of course dynamics changed when friends got partners. But to be completely iced out? That couldn’t be normal. It shouldn’t be normal.

You decided that night that you were done. The friendship was already beyond repair. It wasn’t Lena’s fault, though it would be much easier to blame her and keep pretending that Eddie was still the same thoughtful guy from Hawkins High. No, Eddie was the problem, and the solution was letting him go.

Weeks went by, then months, with no word from Eddie. The first few days hurt, your heart still convinced that he’d call and apologize for bailing on the rest of your party. A simple ‘I’m sorry’ that might spark a flicker of hope.

It got easier after a while. You filled your days with work and friends. When you heard a Corroded Coffin song on the radio, you simply changed the station without tears falling. And when Entertainment Tonight declared that “a young woman previously linked to Corroded Coffin frontman Eddie Munson was spotting cozying up to a more popular band’s lead singer,” you only chuckled and snapped off the TV.

The first call came a week later when you were at work. Your answering machine button flashed red, and you pressed play to hear the new message.

Hey, um, it’s me.

You froze, your blood icing over in your veins.

I know it’s been a while, but…a lot has happened. And I’ve been thinking, and I really wanna see you. Talk to you. I miss you. Um, the tour just finished, so I’ll be back in Hawkins. Let me know when you’re around.

Absolutely not. There was no way you’d talk to him again, and you finalized that decision by erasing the message.

But two days later, there was another one.

Hey, it’s me again. I was talking to Gareth, and he told me that I royally fucked up. Which I kinda knew, but hearing it from him…yeah.

Anyway, um, I don’t wanna just hang out–I mean, I do, but I wanna apologize first. In person, i-if that’s okay. I think my first message made it sound like, ‘Hey, let’s go grab a drink and bullshit around,’ but I want to say that I’m sorry. Shit, I’m rambling. Okay, I’m gonna go now. Bye.

And then another the day after that.

Okay, so, you don’t wanna meet up in person, and I get that. But I still want you to know how sorry I am, so I’ll just say it here, I guess. I never should have pushed you aside like that. I got caught up in everything with the band and the tour and…and her, and…y’know. That’s not an excuse or anything, just…explaining my series of fuck-ups. I miss you so much, and I wish we could just be friends again. I know it’s not that easy, but…fuck, I fucked this up. I’m really sorry, and you don’t have to forgive me–shit, Wayne’s home. I’ll talk to you later. Or, um, talk to your voicemail, I guess.

Wayne was home. That meant that Eddie was twenty minutes away from you, leaving voicemails from his uncle’s trailer. You grabbed your jacket, willing yourself to stay focused on the road as you drove to Forest Hills. That asshole wanted to talk to you in person, but couldn’t even stammer out a genuine apology over the phone?

You knocked on the trailer door so hard that your knuckles ached by the time Eddie opened it.

“Wha–did you get my messages?” His eyes widened as he took in the sight of you standing before him.

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms over your chest. “You mean the ones with your half-assed apologies? Yeah, I got ‘em.”

Eddie took a step back. “No, no, I meant them. I really am sorry.”

“Convenient how you found time to be sorry once your girlfriend started fucking someone else,” you seethed. “Couldn’t squeeze out a minute to call after you ditched me on my birthday, but you’ve got plenty of time to grovel now.”

“That’s not–she wasn’t good for me,” he supplied lamely.

You couldn’t help the snort you let out. “What, did she hold the phone hostage? Did she pick you up and carry you out of my party? You,” you jabbed your forefinger into his chest, “are the reason we don’t talk. Not her.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” You snapped. “Because I have a feeling that you think this is on Lena. And maybe she didn’t help, but she certainly didn’t force you to be a shitty friend.”

Eddie rubbed his palm over his eyes. “I know,” he repeated, the frustration evident in his tone. “I…I was a shitty friend. I never should have left your party early, and I should’ve stayed in touch with you. I should’ve listened to the guys when they warned me that you wouldn’t keep putting up with my bullshit for much longer.”

You felt a spark of reassurance that the other band members had stood up for you, but you kept your attention on what you needed to say. What you needed him to hear.

“And now what? You’re back in Hawkins, no groupies around to keep you company, so you figure it’s a good time to reach out to me?” You stepped closer to him as you spoke. “I’m not your back-up plan when your life comes crashing down. I’m a goddamn person, Eddie! And you just threw me away like our friendship meant nothing to you.”

He was silent for a few moments, his sweat sock-covered foot grinding into the carpet. His hair fell in front of his face, but you could still see him chewing on the inside of his cheek as he considered his next words.

“Gareth told me…he told me that you liked me,” Eddie said softly. “Like…more than just a friend.” With trepidation, he looked into your eyes, tears forming in his own. “And he said I’m an idiot for not seeing what was in front of my face the whole time. A really beautiful woman who has always been there for me. Who never gave up on me, whether I was playing to five drunks at the Hideout or to sold-out stadium crowds.”

“Right. All of the things I’ve done for you. But what have you done for me? How have you been my friend?” You waited for him to respond, but he said nothing. “Exactly. I was just a groupie you never fucked.”

Eddie’s jaw dropped, and you couldn’t help but feel a wave of pride wash over you at his utter shock. “I’m–”

“I know you’re sorry. I got it.” You pivoted on one heel and turned your back to him, starting towards your car. Before you got there, you called out over your shoulder. “And if you leave me another pathetic voicemail, I’ll throw my answering machine through your window.”

Then you drove off, leaving him standing where you left him, just as alone as you’d felt all this time.

--

[thebibliosphere]

Playing GK, and I'm doing a "collectibles" run through Gotham tonight and went hunting for the street art in the West End.

(Sorry for the potato quality; I had to lighten the camera to make it visible in screenshots. Also, image IDs are in alt.)

I was surprised when the descriptor "Born This Way" popped up when I added it to my collection, along with a description of the piece being commissioned for Gotham Pride.

"Aw, that's nice." I thought. A nice little bit of world-building that ties in nicely with Tim coming out as bi and Dick offering to go to Pride with him.

So, anyway, art collected, I hopped back on my bike, took off down the street, and then reversed at full speed because I realized I'd just driven over a rainbow crosswalk.

"Aw, cool! That's a nice little touch. Wait a minute... is that an Irish gay bar?"

"It is! It's a gay Irish bar! Huh... I wonder what else is around here."

So I get off the bike, turn a corner, and start counting the rainbow Pride flags hanging over fire escapes and windows.

"Wait... does Gotham have a Gay Village?"

"Holy shit, they gave Gotham a Gay Village!"

"Wait, what does that sign say under the Pride flag... "The Quiet Escape Bookstore"... GAY BOOKSTORE GAY BOOKSTORE GAY BOOKSTORE GAY BOOKSTORE!!!"

So anyway, yeah. I have 154 hours in this game and only just now found Gotham's LGBT district.

[ghouldump]

Love Me | Lestat de Lioncourt x Bi!Reader

ෆ as your companionship seems to be failing, you retreat, seeking comfort from a woman who looks awfully similar.

a short fic from me to you. bi reader, as well as rockstar lestat, has been high in demand. i actually accidentally deleted a few really good ones, but there i honestly write whenever i’m bored, so more is bound to come along.

Throwing the large book, you expected it to hit him in the head, but before it could connect, the book went left, falling onto the floor.

“How long will you continue this, ma chérie, you don't menstruate, so why must you go on like this? Hm, do you want to shop, a new handbag, shoes, a new boy toy?” Lestat asked, smirking. Behind the grin, he was incredibly frustrated. The two of you had been arguing for over an hour, and he didn't even know why.

“What does that have to do with anything? You always have to ridicule, when a problem is being addressed,” you screamed, a few tears escaping. As much as you tried to hold them back, the barrier was crumbling, as you grew angrier.

“Are you serious? What is the problem? Go on”

“That boy that you bought home, he looked like him-

“It was merely a coincidence”

“And the one before that, and before that, and many more. All of them resembled him, your Louis,” you whispered, wiping your tears.

“All of them were also drained and burned”

“After you fucked them,” you said, shaking your head as he chuckled.

“50 years, I have given myself to you, and you alone, but I haven't been enough, I’m not Louis”

“Y/n-

“You revealed your identity to the entire world for him. I let you turn me at only nineteen to fill your lonely void, and you’ve never told me you loved me, do you even love me?”

“What kind of point are you trying to prove? I told you, Louis and I had a very different relationship, than what you and I-

“Right, you loved him, and I was the replacement,” you laughed, grabbing your phone and handbag.

“Where are you going?”

“Out, text me from your iPad, if you need anything,” you grumbled. He was too much of an illiterate man-child to even learn how to use a phone, depending on you and Siri.

“The sun will be out soon”

“I won't be long,” you said, making sure to slam the door.

Your emotions were all over the place, angered at the terrible decisions you'd made over the years. You were a young party girl, in the 70s, when you met Lestat. It didn't take long before he was your boyfriend, and you were bragging to your friends about the sex. After months of dating, he confided in you about a weird call from his former lover’s partner, revealing his identity afterward. Soon, he asked you to join him in darkness, and immediately you agreed.

However, looking back, you felt like an idiot, you should've stayed away when the adults told you about the strangeness of Lestat. The rumors of him not aging, only being seen at night. You couldn't see past his charming personality or handsome face, to realize he was trying to fill the void Louis left.

Walking through the French Quarter, you maneuvered through the crowd. You rolled your eyes at all of the tourists, especially since the writer, Daniel Molloy came out with his book, people were flocking to the city.

Going into a random bar, you sat down, your eyes scanning the menu. Alcohol didn't have much of an effect on you, only making you slightly tipsy, but it was something that made you feel human.

“I bought your drink, the least you could do is give me your number,” you heard the man next to you say rudely.

“What can I get for you?” the bartender asked.

“A pineapple martini,” you said, handing him your card.

“I didn't ask you to,” the girl argued.

“Listen, I didn't spend $20 on an overpriced daiquiri just because you're cute-

“And I told you, I didn't ask you to buy it,” she argued.

“Can you two take that elsewhere, I don't want to hear all of that, while I enjoy my drink,” you said, tapping the man’s shoulder.

“No one cares, and keep your hands off-

The man stood from his seat, lunging forward to grab you next, when you caught his arm, twisting it. You watched the man in satisfaction, thinking of how men hadn't changed, even in the 60s, 70s, 80s, and so on — there were always the disgustingly perverted men.

“You don't know how to keep your hands to yourself, it’s gross, but it makes me feel less guilty for breaking your arm,” you said, shrugging before twisting his arm. He screamed in agony, holding his arm as he ran out of the bar, just as your martini was sat down, along with your card.

“Hey, thank you for that,” the woman started, as you sat down. By her accent alone, you knew she was a tourist.

“It was nothing,” you mumbled, twirling the little straw, focused on the drink.

“How did you do that? Do you take self defense classes?” she asked.

“No”

“Well, that was pretty impressive, I don't think I’ve ever seen-

“Lady, I just want to enjoy my drink-

Your eyes widened at the woman, she was perfect, she looked like Lestat, if he had been gender-swapped. Her blonde tresses were inches away from her waist, sky blue eyes, and full pink lips. Her bone structure was symmetrical, her straight teeth as white as milk. She dressed hyper feminine, wearing too much pink and white. You tried not to be weird, forcing your eyes to stop wandering, despite catching a glimpse of her toned body.

“I’m sorry, I know I can talk too much sometimes, sorry,” she apologized.

“You’re fine, I’m just in a shitty mood,” you shrugged.

“What’s wrong?”

“My partner is caught up on his ex, even though they broke up forever ago,” you admitted.

“Why do you hold on to him then?”

“Everything else is perfect about him, I can’t help but want to be loved by him,” you mumbled, thinking of Lestat. Since he revealed himself, he had been very busy, but when he wasn’t, his attention was on you. Waiting for him backstage, in the hotels, in his coffin, the quality time was incredibly intimate.

“If he’s as perfect as you claim, why are you here, obviously upset?” she asked, scooting closer.

“I don’t think I will ever come close to being loved as much as Louis,” you admitted, gulping down the pressure of the tears.

“I’m sorry,” she said, reaching to touch your hand.

“I will be fine, are you new to New Orleans?” You asked, staring at her hand laid against your own.

“Yes, I’m Lisa by the way, but I want to move here, I’ll be out here for a few weeks, maybe we can hang out, you could be my personal tour guide,” she said, briefly biting her lip. In her thoughts, she was hopeful, wanting more than to spend time with you. You seemed mysterious and she was dying to know why.

“Y/n, What did you want to do?”

“See historical landmarks, try local cuisines, hang out with you,” she said, leaning towards you.

“Me?”

“A woman as beautiful as you deserves all of the attention”

“I could say the same thing about you,” you smirked, remaining still as she leaned closer, allowing her to press her lips against your own.

As you moved closer, your phone dinged, making you reach into your pocket. Pulling away, you rolled your eyes as you stared at the coffin emoji, paired with a question mark.

“I have to go,” you told her, going to stand.

“Could I have your number, we could hang out sometime, if you're free,” she said, fidgeting. Smirking, you couldn't help but think of how much she looked like him, yet acted completely different.

Laughing, you unlocked your phone, handing it to her. After her number was saved, you were making your way to the townhouse. The sun could be seen coming into view, and just as you began opening the door, you could feel the heat burning against your skin.

“I thought you wouldn't be long,” Lestat said from the top of the stairs, as the door was shut.

“I wasn't”

“You left nearly two hours ago,” he said, following behind you, as you walked past him, up the stairs.

“And I’m home, did you want to argue more?” you asked him, rudely. He was stunned by your tone, but recovered quickly.

“No, I wanted you to return to me, in perfect condition,” he said, watching as you stripped from the clothing, holding your phone near.

“I’m okay, it will heal,” you told him, feeling his eyes on your lightly burned shoulder. You didn't say anything else, climbing into your coffin, and he couldn't admit your already different behavior left him feeling embarrassed.

Just as your eyes were about to shut, your phone lit up, as Lisa’s message appeared on the screen, asking if you made it home safely. Lestat stared at your coffin, hearing the sound of you typing, before slowly moving to his own.

“Sleep well, ma chérie”

“You too,” you said, hearing the sound of his coffin closing.

Lestat was confused by the way you were acting. This wasn't the first and most likely wouldn't be the last time you'd get into an argument, but this time seemed different. You'd leave and eventually come home, and he'd pick a fight, and just as you started to argue back, he would apologize for his actions and everything would fall into place.

Now, just two hours later you acted completely standoffish with him, as if you didn't want to be bothered. Was the argument that serious to you? You understood the love he held for Louis, but that it was best that they remained friends alone. He was with you, he had been all these years, he cared for you, he lo-.

Lestat didn't know how to express himself, arguing, being jealous, possessive, then ravishing you with gifts, that's all he knew. What he didn't realize was his failure to comfort and reassure you, not taking you seriously, you were pulling you away, as you began to desire your needs elsewhere.

Immediately, Lestat could see the red flags going off, you were gone every night. Some nights before he even woke up, others you'd silently dress in front of him, before leaving. Even when he left for his music business, you always traveled with him, but now you had excuses.

He didn't want to follow you, but he had to, the jealous assumptions were beginning to pile up in his thoughts. Months, it had been months of you ignoring his presence. You’d look at him, hunt with him, and even talk with him if he wanted — but you weren’t putting your all into the relationship anymore. He was making the same mistake as he did with Louis. Choosing when the relationship could and couldn’t open.

He’d dabble in his different tastes regularly, no strings attached, usually killing the person after. You were different, the only way you’d have another person, was if Lestat was present. You weren’t as open to the idea of having others, and in a way, it satisfied Lestat knowing you would never sleep with another, or so he thought.

He had been following you, all the way to Gentilly, until you stopped at the unfamiliar house. His heart could have shattered, as he watched you through the window. The woman, you touched, touched in a way that was only meant for him.

He watched as you and this is unknown woman made love, his heart throbbing. The two of you, going on for what felt like hours, before you were both giggling, going into the bathroom. As the woman came out, grabbing a towel, Lestat was sure his dead heart would stop. This woman, she looked exactly like him, he couldn’t even say he looked better, because they resembled each other so much.

After your shared shower, you both plopped on the bed, holding each other. Your hearts full of passion towards each other.

“Y/n,” Lisa said, playing with your sharp nails.

“Hm?” You answered, your eyes closed. Her warm skin felt nice against your forever icy skin.

“I think I love you,” she said, making you open your eyes.

“What?” You asked, looking at her.

“I love you, I know it’s only been a few months, but that’s all I needed with you to know,” she said. You could feel the tears building up, as you pressed your lips against her own.

Staring at her, you could only see Lestat, the one who stole your heart all those years ago. No matter how idiotic you’re decision was, at the time. All you wanted was for him to declare his love for you, with his mouth.

“Say it again, please?” You asked her, as you pulled away.

“I love you,” she smiled brightly, smashing her lips into yours, as she pulled you back into a hug.

Lestat had tears pouring down his face, as he turned to leave. He didn’t think he could watch any more of whatever that was supposed to be. He couldn't take the idea of you being loving or being loved by another. All this started because of love, you claiming he didn't love you.

“Lisa, tell me you love me, once more,” you said, as you began to glamour her.

“I love you,” she exclaimed.

“No, you don't, you never met me, you won't recognize my face and you will never approach me, do you understand?” you asked her, watching as she silently nodded, you wiped the bloody tear from your eye, just as it escaped,

“Yes”

“You will sleep now, you're very tired,” you said, watching as she nodded, dozing off. She lay beautifully, as you covered her with the blanket. You couldn't replace him, even with the female doppelganger — especially with her. Lisa was a sweet girl, you didn't want to take away her life, revealing your nature, for your selfish reasons.

Leaving her home, you silently went back to your shared townhouse. It was quiet, Lestat already in his coffin, as you undressed.

“Good night,” you mumbled, getting into your coffin.

If this would be life, then you accepted it, second to Louis. You loved Lestat with every piece of your soul, so much that you could take not being loved, but being liked enough to be in his presence.

As the sun eventually left, you got up, dressing to go hunt. You found a random man, draining him in an alley, but as you made your way back home, your eyebrows furrowed. Entering the house, your eyes widened at the sight.

Exotic dancers, well over ten of them, all with wavy blonde hair and shades of blue eyes. A few of them were fawning at Lestat, but he paid none of them any kind of attention.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“For you, ma chérie, I’ll drain them, but I’ll let do whatever you please with them first,” he grinned.

“What are you talking about? Get them out, now,” you said, shrugging off a hand that was about to rub your shoulder. Watching as Lestat controlled them, sending them away, before he sat down, drained from the action.

“What is wrong with you? Bringing all of those women here? God, why don't you think,” you grumbled.

“I was just trying to appease your passions since they were more of your type, I mean, it only took a few months for you to find out,” he shrugged, making you realize he had been there.

“You can't be serious, you're such a creeper,” you laughed bitterly.

“For months, I’ve reached out to you, and you recoiled at my touch, just for me to find out you're having an affair with a woman, who looks too much like me”

“And how is that any different than what you've done?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“I heard you both, making love to her, kissing her, touching her the way that you do me. Texting her throughout the day, you're in love with her,” Lestat cried.

“I’m in love with you, but you love Louis. I can't replace him, so I wanted to replace you,” you said, turning to storm away, when he caught your hand.

“I will always love Louis but don't think that I don't love you. You are my wife, my companion, the one who saved me from myself. I don't want to see you with another, only me,” he confessed. His face was covered in blood from the tears pouring down his face.

“And you have me, but you have to say it, I know you show it in your own ways, but to hear it from your lips, would help me so much,” you told him.

“I love you, I love you, I love you. I know, I am a hypocrite, but end your affair, I can't take knowing you love another, I love you” he pouted.

“Fine, you won't have to worry about her,” you told him, as he moved closer to embrace you. Swiftly, he lifted you, holding you in his arms.

“Are we made up now?”

“Yes, love”

“I don't know how much I could take of that excruciating cycle of neglect,” he expressed.

“Lestat?” you said, as he sat down, having you straddle his lap.

“Yes, chérie?”

“Tell me again, tell me you love me,” you said, sighing in fulfillment as his arms wrapped around your body.

“I love you and I’ll say it as many times as you need”

…

[spiritsonic]

Hi Evan! Big fan here, hope I'm not disturbing you at an inconvenient time. I love your work as an artist and writer, but it's not just Sonic that you work on. It would be cool to know more about your work Ensouled. What is it about? Who is the ghost guy and the human girl?

Sure, I’ve been wanting to write some new character bios. Check it all out under the break!

CHARLEY PARKHEARSE

Once, long ago, Charley was the best teamster in Santa Alma county. His stagecoach flew over treacherous mountain roads, One crack of his whip could snuff a candle’s flame from six yards, and any bandit who dared to stop his stage would meet the business end of a rifle. Anyone who cared to comment about his sour temper or murky past knew to keep their voices low… and God help any fool who questioned Charley’s refusal to remove his heavy greatcoat, no matter the weather. 

But Charley’s fame was bound to earn him enemies… When the bandit Sugarfoot learned that Charley was in fact born a █████, the secret spread like wildfire through the mountains. Charley was ruined. He thought his life was over, until he was visited by a being dealing in black magic; a devil known in his human guise as Aurelius Flood. This devil promised to erase Charley’s secret from the minds of Santa Alma’s people, restoring Charley’s reputation, in return for his soul. Charley accepted, though he would not learn the depth of his folly until the night he died… and was raised as a ghost by that same devil, now bound to his service. Still, the devil was true to his word. Charley’s secret was safe, even beyond the grave.

At one point in the many decades since his death, Charley thought he could escape Aurelius’ control. But today… he’s given up that hope. He haunts the roads he was once the master of, frightening drivers to meet his quota of Soul and waiting ‘till his memories fade away, taking the pain of his mistakes with them. That is until, in a flash of ill-advised mercy, Charley spares the life of a young woman he scared off the road…

(Charley is LOOSELY based on Charley Darkey Parkhurst, a real historical figure. Look him up! He's a really cool example of a queer, probably trans person ((by today's standards)) in history. The real Charley's dying wish was to be remembered as a man; a wish that has not been respected by history. I want to explore the pros and cons of living closeted or stealth in an ever-changing world, while also honoring his memory and wishes as best I can in a modern context.)

SEQUOIA LOGANBERRY

Sequoia would like you to believe that she is a monster. It’s easier that way. Ever since her father left for a mistress on the east coast in her senior year of high school, Sequoia has been working a dead-end job at the local amusement park and doing her damndest to drink and drive herself into an early grave. And she almost does it… Until a friggin' SKELETON GUY fishes her out of the lake she drove into?! And now she’s getting these insane migraines and seeing spooky shit everywhere???? 

After a close encounter with death (and Charley), Sequoia develops an unpredictable 6th sense that threatens to finish what she started in her car the other night… Until she’s found by the misanthropic wizard Monty and his much nicer siren husband Luka, who help her get her new powers under control… in trade for her helping them with a few odd jobs. Nothing crazy, just, oh, infiltrating the local magical crime lord’s fey court. Sequoia is just the wild card they need to break a fifty-year standoff between the supernatural powers vying for control over Santa Alma. Sequoia will need to learn fast, about both magic and herself, or else end up a pawn in other people’s plans. Will she be able to make the friends she desperately needs and find direction in her life before she’s swept away?

OTHER CHARACTERS INCLUDE...

MONTY MOUROS, aforementioned misanthropic wizard. Older than he looks. Came to Santa Alma in the 1930’s to earn his fortune, and ended up embroiled in one of Charley’s bids for freedom. It didn’t go well, and he still holds a bitter grudge. He’s guarded the local amusement park, the Boardwalk, from Aurelius Flood for years, but other than that has hidden himself from both the magic and mundane worlds for decades.

LUKA, a siren who lost his singing voice in a trap set by Flood. If not for Monty, it would have taken his life. When they were young the two fell in love, and Luka defied his family’s traditions to be with Monty. They’re still together, and Luka is the only person who can get past Monty’s harsh exterior. Luka now runs a speakeasy for spirits hidden beneath the Boardwalk, where he mixes magical cocktails and turns the rumor mill. He is a kind soul who defines himself through service to others…perhaps to a fault. 

AURELIUS FLOOD, The mastermind behind most of Santa Alma’s woes. A cruelly ambitious leprechaun who thrives on greed, he’s been following the money since the time of the Romans. In the 1800’s he came to the new world, where he found fabulous opportunity during the California gold rush. Assuming a human disguise he carved out a business empire in the mundane world, and a criminal one in the magic world. He built Santa Alma himself, engineering the city’s growth. Fattening a pig for the slaughter. Now, the only thing standing between him and his ultimate payday is Monty and the pivotal bit of territory he controls at the Boardwalk. It’s stymied him for years, but he’s got a new plan…

SUGARFOOT, Flood’s left-hand man. As the illegitimate son of a powerful Californio rancher and an Ohlone woman trapped in the California mission system, fate did not deal Sugar a kind hand. After his father’s family lost their rancho, Sugar turned to a life of crime. He got his sarcastic nickname from a festering leg wound he earned in a shootout with Santa Alma’s top teamster, Charley Parkhearse. As his infection grew, so did his hatred… These mountains should belong to him, not some johnny-come-lately from New Hampshire. So he turned to another stranger for help; Aurelius Flood. In trade for his soul, he gained information; a secret that, if it were to get out, would ruin Charley forever. Sugar leapt at the deal, and got exactly the revenge he’d wanted… until Charley came for him, blinded by rage and shame, and shot him dead in the street. In death, Sugar and Charley found themselves in the same situation… bound to serve Flood forever. As coworkers. Hell would have been a mercy. 

(Sugarfoot is also based on a historical figure of the same name, but almost nothing is known about him other than he was a bandit with a very stinky foot. IRL Charley shot him when he tried to raid his stagecoach.) 

ZINNIA LOGANBERRY, Sequoia’s annoyingly precocious little sister. While Sequoia turned to delinquency after their parents’ divorce to avoid her feelings, Zinnia threw herself into her studies for the same reason. She has become the model student and daughter, earning their workaholic mom’s favor… but man, this kid is Burnt. Out. When she finds out about Sequoia’s new adventures with the supernatural, she throws herself into this new world as a release from her demanding daily life only to once again take things too far. And now, the consequences come with fangs, and hair, and claws…

DEBORAH LOGANBERRY, Sequoia and Zinnia’s mother. She knows she could be doing better by her daughters, but ever since her no-good husband left them, she’s been the family’s sole provider. Her job in the city’s planning and zoning department is the only thing keeping them off of the streets, and the price of housing in Santa Alma is only going up. It’s a matter of survival; surely, once they’re more financially stable, she’ll be able to patch things up with Sequoia. And maybe something will come of the new friendship she’s struck up with Mr. Flood. He IS quite the successful developer, after all… perhaps they could be more than friends?

[imagine-darksiders]

Absolute Anarchy

A Darksiders/SCP Foundation crossover nobody asked for but is here regardless.

Summary: SCP-8103. Object class; undetermined. There's a new entity at the Foundation. Four D-Class have already been supplied with weapons and pitted against it, only to be cut down before they could get more than a couple of shots in. Eager to determine which calibre of rifle can pierce its armour, they send you in next - D-1935 - to accomplish what your predecessors couldn't. It's too bad they never taught you how to actually use the rifle...

This has the vague semblance of a plot btw, but I'm trying not to be too finicky, and just to write as it comes to me, so hopefully it'll still be easy enough to follow and enjoyable at the same time.

Tw: Blood, guns, death, imprisonment, threat, violence, trapped, typical SCP violence.

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

If there was ever a moment where you should have felt the stars aligning to determine the path your life might take, it would have to be the moment you decided to steal that godforsaken sports car.

It was an instance born of desperation – a tantalising lure cast by the owner of a chop-shop who made heartfelt promises to lift you out of poverty, only to throw you under the proverbial bus when the heat ventured too close to his illicit operation.

He only wanted the money from that Ferrari.

You reduced yourself to grand theft auto for a chance to escape the homeless shelter and land on your feet.

And where did you land instead?

Behind bars, that’s where. Tossed into some dingy prison that seemed only built for the sole purpose of hiding away society’s miserable, forgotten dregs.

You thought you knew what rock bottom looked like.

How were you to know the depths this pitiless world could drag you down to?

“D – One-nine-three-five!”

A strident voice bellows a set of all-too familiar numbers at what must be the top of his already bursting lungs. The door to your cell is wrenched violently open, spilling light into a room that’s a damn sight smaller and bleaker than the one they pulled you from in St Ives.

Bureaucracy had been your ultimate enemy, in the end. A signature in the wrong place, a ‘t’ dotted where it should have been crossed, and an ‘i’ absent from your paperwork had all lead you to a place you couldn’t have imagined in your most turbulent nightmares. A place that shouldn’t - and so far as the public is aware - doesn’t exist.

The SCP Foundation.

Specifically, site 12; a rancorous offshoot of what you’ve come to learn through eavesdropping and rumour, is a worldwide operation.

It turns out the people in charge here couldn’t less of give a hoot whether you’re a petty thief or a renowned and unrepentant serial killer. If your name is on their list, they won’t bother to see a difference. You’re all Disposables, in the end, and no amount of pleas for your innocence or requests for an evaluation will get you any closer to that glorious taste of freedom.

You’ll serve your time or die trying. And as of yet, you haven’t heard of anyone who’s reached the end of their ‘sentence.’

The bed springs underneath you shriek with relief as you scramble up onto your feet, nearly tripping over the long hems of your jumpsuit.

Heart thundering like a jackhammer, you cower before the imposing shape silhouetted in your doorway, warily eyeing the M9 Beretta that’s being aimed directly at your forehead.

You’d hoped that by now the guards here would have learned that you’re not a threat. Hell, it didn’t take you long to figure out that anybody even vaguely considered a troublemaker in this place will earn themselves a one-way ticket to a fate that would make you beg for a bullet between the eyes.

That first week, you ended up trying to plead your case to the wrong scientist and wound up on the bi-weekly rota to clean SCP-173’s cell. Twice.

How you got out of there with your neck facing the right way is one of life’s greatest mysteries. If it hadn’t gone for your poor cellmate first…

“You listening, Scuzz!?” The handgun jerks to the left of your doorway. “Get your ass outta that cell!”

Ah... Mullins. One of the guards assigned to your particular block.

A meaner son of a bitch, you’ve never known. Rumour has it that the towering brute used to be a D-Class, like you, but through shows of force, an unflinching disregard for his fellow man, and an uncanny ability to survive, the Lab Coats bumped him up to guard status, if for no other reason than to keep the inmates in line.

You’re loathe to admit it, but he is damn good at his job.

Ducking your head, you scurry from your bed through the open door, pressing yourself as close to the frame as possible to squeeze past the Beretta that he keeps trained on your head. You don’t even have to look at him anymore to know that there’s a wide smirk on his face when he jabs the barrel at the back of your skull, shoving you into an awkward stumble down the hallway.

“Move. Got a new assignment for you today,” he goads, falling into step behind you, his thick, rubber boots thudding purposefully on the linoleum.

In contrast, your plimsoles make rather pathetic ‘slaps’ with each, hurried step you take.

You know the drill by now. Head down. Eyes front. Mouth shut.

You’ve walked this path to the lifts a hundred times before.

It's been weeks since you stopped asking him when you can go home.

‘When you’ve served your sentence,’ became ‘When we damn well feel like it,’ became ‘You still think you’re getting out of here?’

“SCP-Eight-One-Oh-Three~,” Mullins sing-songs at your back, entirely too cheerful all of a sudden, “This one just came in. The Lab coats don’t know nothin’ about it. And guess who’s the lucky little D-Scuzz who gets to ‘further the advancement of science?”

Although your body trembles like a leaf in a hurricane, you don’t make a sound, not even when the moisture in your eyes wells up into a fat, salty teardrop and breaks over the dam of your lash line, carving a damp path down your grubby cheek.

An unknown SCP?

Your odds of making it to the end of the day in one piece have just plummeted into the single digits, and you once again find yourself asking, 'why me?'

‘We’re doing this for the good of humanity,’ one doctor with a particularly punchable face had once announced to a room full of orange-clad prisoners, and you can still remember wondering when you and your fellow inmates stopped being a part of that same Humanity this Foundation seems to keen to protect.

The cold steel of a gun jabs you again in the base of your neck, pushing a quiet sound of protest from your lips that you hurriedly clamp down on, fists balling up at your sides.

“That’s right!” Mullins continues, “Damn, you gotta be feelin’ proud as a peacock, kid. Not every day someone gets to be the first to make contact. Hell, maybe you’ll get lucky, and it’ll be a Euclid.”

The row of lifts appears as you turn the next corner and come to a stop obediently in front of the closest one, head still hanging nearly to your chest as you wait for Mullins to reach past you and jam his thumb on the ‘down’ button.

“Wouldn’t bet on it though… That thing has Keter written all over it.”

With the damning chime of a bell, the heavy, metal doors slide open, and Mullins shoves you roughly into the claustrophobic space with one fist to your spine. Jesus, trapped in this finite space with him, the smell of cheap brand cigarettes wafts from his jacket and drifts up into your nose, sitting stale and musty on the back of your tongue.

The walls are dull in here, unreflective, which you nearly count as a blessing.

It means you don’t have to see the mess you’ve become.

----

It’s only when you’re standing outside the containment cell that you realise Mullins was either lying, or just plain wrong.

You aren’t the first D-Class to make contact with this SCP.

In fact, if the stiff-faced scientist shoving a rifle into your hands is to be believed, you’re precisely the fifth.

“That,” he begins with an aloof air of bored professionalism, watching impassively while you fumble to find purchase on the heavy gun, “Is the CZ-Five-Fifty. And today, you will be testing its armour-piercing capabilities.”

‘Armour?’ you think, swallowing thickly, ‘What the Hell kind of monster have they brought into this place?’

The cold circle of steel still pressed to your shoulder blade reminds you of Mullins’s unpleasant presence.

“No funny business,” he growls, “You couldn’t get the safety off before I put you down like a lame bitch.”

Charming.

You don’t fancy telling him you couldn’t get the safety off anyway. And that it... hadn't occurred to you to even try and turn it on him and the scientist, though it probably should have been the first thing you thought of.

The weapon sits like a dead weight in your hands, heavy and fundamentally useless. You don’t know how to fire a gun, let alone one this powerful.

But the scientist doesn’t seem to know that, lazily racking off the terms of your contract and your ‘obligation’ to the Foundation.

Yes, you imagine it would get tiresome having to rehash the same speech five times in a row… Perhaps he just assumes you know how to use it?

Bastard.

Wetting your lips, you peel them apart and croak out a question, wincing at the pathetic crack in your voice, dry and reedy from disuse. “What happened to the others?”

At that, the scientist’s lips purse, and an eyelid twitches then settles.

They all hate being interrupted. Especially by a D-Class.

At least the guards acknowledge your autonomy through rage and demeaning names and acts of violence.

To the Lab Coats, you’re just cannon-fodder. Nothing. Empty vessels for them to use as they see fit.

Even so, the one in front of you straightens up and peers down the length of his nose at you, sighing as though he were trying to explain the concept of algebra to a dog. “The D-Class personnel-“ he begins, and you have to bite your tongue to hold in a scoff. ‘Personnel’ is a funny way of pronouncing ‘Prisoners.’

“-who came before, all failed their assignments.”

Behind you, Mullins pipes up with a distinguishable sneer. “Emptied their whole clips into the thing before they got turned into Swiss cheese.”

Oh… God.

“Didn’t even make a dent,” he concludes, sounding not in the least bit sad to have wasted four lives.

“Yes, well-“ the scientist clears his throat, “The first step to knowing your enemy is knowing how to kill it. And the supplied Rugers proved… ahem… inefficient. But at least we now know the three-five-seven calibre isn’t strong enough. We’re hoping the point six hundred will be.”

 “Six hundred Overkill…” Mullins whistles appreciatively. “Elephant killers.”

Your stomach twists into a tight, clenching ball. You think you might be sick if there was anything to bring up except bile.

So, this is the SCP that finally kills you.

Shit.

In a whirlwind of sudden, dizzying movements and barked orders, you’re unceremoniously surrounded by three more guards who bodily ‘escort’ you into the loading dock – an empty room set in the midway of two descending doors that are made from several feet of a solid titanium alloy. The primary door slides open with a mechanical hiss, and you’re shoved roughly into the space between it and the secondary door.

On trembling knees, you gape up at the grey metal, noting with no small degree of alarm that it’s tall and wide enough to admit the shipping container of something titanic.

Above your head on the wall, an orange light pulses as the primary door slams shut behind you, and the sound of enormous locks sliding into place fills the room. Your rifle almost slips from your grasp, leaving you to fumble for it with sweat-slicked palms.

The drawback of not being a hardened death-row inmate is that when it comes to moments of great danger, you’re inclined to neither fight nor flee.

Instead, worst of all, you’re the type to freeze solid.

Now is no exception.

As the light flashing above you turns green, signalling for the second door to ascend into its slot high in the ceiling, your spine promptly goes rigid, fingers locking up around the gun whilst your feet turn to two blocks of cement.

All of a sudden, you can’t help but let out a shriek when something flops down onto the ground on your side of the door once it’s been raised a couple of feet, and at first, you assume something is trying to crawl through the space to get at you.

Once you realise what the dark object actually is, you almost wish your initial assumption had been correct.

What lays on the ground, spread across the threshold between the dock and the cell, is a body. ‘A human body!’ your addled brain registers.

Or what’s left of a human…

Swiss cheese might not have been an exaggeration after all.

Entry and exit holes have torn the poor bastard apart from head to toe, shredding to ribbons what remains of a grubby, orange jumpsuit, much like the one you’re currently garbed in. Bones and muscle and sinew show through torn flaps of skin, and the stench of blood mingles with gun smoke, seeping into your nostrils before you can scrunch your nose up to block it out. You could have done without the acrid taste of iron resting on the back of your tongue.

‘That’s gonna happen to me,’ you gasp silently, choking on a sob, unable to tear your gaze from the body, ‘Oh god, that’ll be me in a minute!’

Jesus Christ, they hadn’t even waited for the blood to dry, the assholes!

With a ‘click’ and a ‘thud,’ the door slides gracefully to a halt, utterly and completely open, exposing you to whatever entity lays in wait beyond the threshold. The fear of what lies ahead outweighs your horror of seeing a fellow D-Class on the ground. In an instant, you wrench your eyes away from the body and gape out into the room in front of you.

Sturdy, grey walls lit by an overhead fluorescent light are a familiar view, as are the bloodstains spattered across the stone slabs.

The pockmarks littering the adjacent wall are new however, each about the size of your fist. There are hundreds of them, like someone took a gatling gun and sprayed it all over the cell. They look… far too large to have been made by any ordinary rifle…

A hard blink sends twin tracks of tears leaking down your face. The room beyond angles sharply to the left right outside the door, and it plucks at your frayed nerves to realise you can’t see what’s around the corner…

Nearby, facedown on the floor just several feet from the entrance, is the second body, a gun laying close to their side and an arm outstretched towards you, their final act in the throes of death. They must have skidded around the corner and were making for the door when they were cut down…

Despite the carnage, the cell is eerily silent, not a breath nor a shift to give away where the SCP might be.

Is it lurking just around the bend to ambush you?

Is it seconds away from tearing into the pocket of space and doing to you whatever it did to these sorry sods?

Aside from quivering fit to bust, you can’t move a muscle.

You won’t.

You won’t go in there, they can’t –!

“D-Class!”

A sharp staccato shout is thrown from a speaker in the corner of the dock, causing you to nearly leap out of your skin. But worse than your visceral flinch is the sound the voice elicits from something inside the cell.

It’s like a roll of thunder, soft then loud then soft again, a guttural growl, so rich and deep it shakes the walls and travels up through your plimsoles, undulating across each section of your spine until you can feel it hum behind your eyes.

The reverb hasn’t even faded before the same voice barks, “Proceed into the containment chamber at once.”

“To Hell with that!” you retort, feet still rooted firmly to the ground.

“You will proceed or you will be reassigned.”

It’s a threat that’s worked before.

And Hell… It works again now.

Reassignment is an absolute. A guaranteed death sentence. At least in here, even with an unknown entity, there’s a slim, albeit nearly imperceptible change of survival or at the very least, a quick death. Besides, the previous victims look well and truly dead, and that’s frankly a fate that’s a Hell of a lot better than becoming a living hive for a colony of insects or a tumour-riddled larder for giant, cave-dwelling rodents.

“D-Class. You have precisely three seconds to-“

The inescapable terror of a worse ending is your greatest motivator down here. You don’t even wait for the countdown to start.

Heaving in a wet breath, you squeeze your eyes halfway shut and yank one leg stiffly into the air, planting it forwards, once, twice, three times until you pass the body on the threshold and step out into the cell. Into the open. Like a doe entering a meadow when she damn well knows there are hunters lurking in the trees nearby.

Your eyes are still clenched almost shut when you turn yourself to the left and spot the remaining pair of bodies, one almost laying on top of the other, weapons still locked in their cold, dead hands,

Another, blood-curdling growl blasts through the air around you, sudden and violent enough to nearly send you toppling over onto your backside.

Flinging your eyes open with a gasp, you immediately wish you’d kept them closed instead. You wish the SCP had just killed you outright.

You wish you never stole that wretched car.

You were expecting big.

This SCP is bigger.

You can see why the scientists want to find a calibre that can pierce armour.

The creature that hunches before you, eating up ample space between the floor and the ceiling dozens of feet overhead, is almost solid metal from top to bottom. And armoured, you realise in horror, covering flashes of grey, scaly skin the colour of iron.

Bipedal, is the second thing you note, towering all the way to the roof on a pair of long, lithe legs, each ending in a three-toed foot with claws that remind you of some long extinct theropod.

A scrawny waist feeds into a contrarily powerful chest and monumental shoulders that are made even larger by the armoured struts encasing them.

Your eyes, wider than saucers, travel along the length of its arms – the first hanging down to its bent knee with a hand that looks large enough to wrap around your whole body and crush you between its fingers. The other arm, however, doesn’t end in a hand – clawed or otherwise.

It ends instead, from the elbow down, in a four barrelled gun the size of cannon.

And all four of those chambers are aimed directly and unwaveringly at you.

Behind the sights, several cylinders spin over one another like a minigun ramping up to fire, clanking angrily in an obvious threat.

You don’t dare pull in a breath, not when your gaze locks onto one of the chambers of the gun arm, and from somewhere deep in the pits of those long barrels, a dim, red glow sparks to life, the same light you imagine the fires of Hell would kick out if Satan ever eventually sets foot in this horrible place.

And that’s without even mentioning its other apparent weapon.

You think it must be some kind of tail, arched up and over the SCP’s head like the tail of a scorpion, swaying very gently from left to right and back again. Whip-like, it tapers to a point, and from what you can see from down here, the grey of its scales beneath the armour fades into an angry red right near the tip, glowing the same colour as the lights in the barrels of its gatling arm.

Vivid images of your body being impaled on the end of that wicked appendage flicker through your mind’s eye, and you have to drop your gaze to banish them, moving on to take in the rest of the monstrosity.

A pair of metal horns sweep forwards from the sides of an avian helm, long and sleek and ending in deadly points perfect for goring, like the tusks of an elephant. There’s a mane sprouting from its back too, a vibrant purple that stands out fiercely against the silver of its armour. Each strand of hair seems to wave and snake about through the air as if they’re alive.

And then you make the mistake of meeting its gaze.

You’ve seen SCP’s with no eyes, some with too many eyes, a few that are made up entirely of eyes and even those that have eyes in places where eyes have no business being.

These though… you don’t like these eyes at all, even despite the fact there are a regular number of them.

Gold as gleaming bullion, unnaturally bright and forward-facing, all nature’s warning signs that you’re staring up into the eyes of a predator.

Once they’ve locked you in their sights, it’s nigh on impossible to tear yourself free.

The snarling visage opens up like a steel trap, baring black fangs the size of axe heads, and a burning heat behind its jaws that rises like-

“D – One-nine-three-five!”

“Shit!” You don’t mean to yelp aloud, nor do you intend to nearly drop the gun, scrambling to secure your grip on it before it can fall from your hands. In the blink of an eye, the entity’s gigantic head swings around to hiss furiously at something you’d missed completely when you stumbled into its cell.

An observation window dominates the far wall, and behind it, several figures donned in white coats stand watching, their faces only slightly blurred behind the thick – presumably bullet-proof – glass.

Just above the window on this side of the cell, another speaker has been fitted into the wall, and from it, the same nasally voice as before barks a command.

“You are to proceed with testing the Overkill’s capabilities.”

… Are they serious?

The SCP’s tail has swung around to follow its head and aims warningly at the glass, though its weaponised arm stays fixed on you.

Your own weapon remains useless, hanging from your grasp, pointed at the ground. You can’t muster the courage to raise it.

What defence could it possibly provide? What could such a tiny rifle do, really, against a weapon that made holes that size in the concrete walls?

The scientists are insane. The lot of them...

Well, to Hell with them, and to Hell with this stupid experiment.

Still blurred over by salty tears, your eyes reluctantly trail back up to the entity’s head. If you’re to die, you want to look this thing in the eye when it kills you. You might have lived as a coward, but you’re not so eager to die as one.

You’ve been afraid to defy them for so long, terrified – paralysed by the possibility of what these people might do to you in retaliation of defiance. But somehow, being here surrounded by the bodies of your fellow prisoners, knowing you’re about to meet the same fate, you can’t think of anything more satisfying than not giving the Foundation what they want.

Oh certainly, you imagine they’ll soon get some other D-Class to do the job you failed to do, but if causing the Lab Coats a mild inconvenience before you die is how they remember you, you think you’ll be okay with that.

You have to be okay with it. There’s nothing else you can be now, seconds from having your body turned into, as Mullins so eloquently put it, Swiss cheese.

Stiffening your upper lip, you aim a shaky scowl at the window, eyes bloodshot with tears and fatigue. And in an act you hope looks as rebellious as it feels, you open your arms and let the gun fall to the ground with an almighty clatter, drawing the SCP’s attention back onto yourself.

A strangled noise escapes the speakers before you hear, “D – One-nine-three-five! Retrieve your weapon at once!”

Ignoring him, you roll your gaze over to the SCP and let your arms flop defeatedly to your sides, teeth clenched shut to try and hold onto your sobs.

That enormous, horned head cocks sideways at you, and through your tear-streaked vision, you almost believe you can see its gatling arm drop ever so slightly, and the glow in its barrels fade from red-hot to warm-orange.

“Please,” you find your voice, blindly toeing a plimsole forwards and giving the gun a weak kick, listening to it slide a few feet away from you. You’re unaware that the beast’s gaze tracks your discarded weapon across the room. “Just… make it quick?”

The body closest to you still has his eyes intact, and they stare up at you from the floor, glassy and unseeing. You wonder if his death was quick. You hope so. It looks like it should have been.

The entity regards you with its wide, fiery snarl, unblinking, calculating. As the seconds tick by, you find yourself fidgeting and sparing glances between its gun and its armoured face.

What the Hell is it waiting for?

All of a sudden, two slitted nostrils appear above the SCP’s mouth, glowing with the same liquid gold that shimmers in its eyes. They flare hotly for a moment, kicking out a noisy whumph of air, and then…

Against every odd…

The SCP snatches its head away from you and… and drops its gun arm with a gruff snort, glaring at the wall opposite the scientists.

You blink once.

Seconds later, you have to blink again, clearing your vision slightly.

Why… are you still alive?

“Um…” you utter, for lack of any better ideas.

The SCP doesn’t turn to acknowledge the sound of your voice. In fact, it seems entirely adamant in subjecting the concrete wall to a fearsome glower instead as it thumps the barrels of its gun to the ground and leans its weight on that arm, its mighty chest heaving in and out with a huff.

… Perhaps you’re going mad. That’s it. That must be part of its power. It makes people go mad. Why else would you be plagued by the feeling that you’re being deliberately ignored?

On the other side of the glass, a young scientist hovers over the microphone, trembling with unprofessional agitation and apprehension.

“D-Class!” he barks shrilly, pushing down on the button so hard his fingertip turns white, “If you don’t pick up your rifle at once, I will have no choice but to-!”

“- Quiet Spencer…” Another voice - older, authoritative – snaps, causing the shrieking man to immediately fall silent and cower away from the microphone as obediently as a beaten dog. It even hushes the mutters of every other scientist in the observation room. Narrow eyes stare unblinkingly through coke-bottle spectacles, observing the interaction beyond the observation window with cool interest. “This is the longest a D-Class has survived with this specimen…” she points out, listening to the intern beside her scribble down the minutes, “I’d like to find out why.”

She watches the Disposable’s face turn towards the glass, trying to meet any of the scientists’ gazes, apparently seeking some sort of explanation to the SCP's behaviour.

Join the club.

“… Ma’am?” someone asks after several seconds pass without an answer, turning to face her, their expression inquiring.

For a further minute, she elects to stand there in silence, thoughtfully tapping a manicured nail against the microphone button, contemplating the magnificent creature and the miniscule human currently sharing a space.

Then, with a deliberate slowness, she slides her finger from the button and folds her arms, lab coat wrinkling around her elbows.

“The D-Class gets five minutes inside before extraction,” she declares, shooting a nod at her intern who scrambles to fish a stopwatch from his pocket and stabs his thumb on the button. Once she hears the sharp ‘beep,’ she returns her attention to the staff around her and adds, “No external input.”

There are murmurs of varying approval rising and falling all throughout the room, but once again, she only has eyes for the SCP.

“Let’s see if this D-Class proves more useful than the predecessors…”

---

“Hello?” you whisper-shout at the scientists behind the window, keeping the entity in the corner of your eye, “Um...”

Christ, this is awkward... "Can I... Can I leave, or...?"

Silence.

Impassive, boring silence.

Aside from the occasional motion made to scribble something down on a clipboard, none of the scientists seem inclined to offer anything more through the microphone.

Gradually, the tired muscles in your shoulder tighten.

You’ve seen this before. D-Class call it the ‘silent treatment,’ where scientists are more interested in seeing what you can find out about SCPs of your own volition.

Are you supposed to have survived for this long? Your mind races with the thought that your predecessors might have been subjected to the same thing before they met their end. You may end up a smear on the wall yet. Half of you is weary enough to hope that’s the case. You’ve just defied a direct order from one of the Lab Coats. You shudder to imagine which SCP they’ll toss you to after this.

It’s that thought alone that spurs you to take a single step towards this entity, intending to get this over with, but no sooner have you moved closer than it whips its head towards you again, and that gun is back up, the cylinders clicking furiously in response to your proximity.

You realise at once that you’d become too bold without its weapon pointed at you because now, that same fear has returned tenfold, sending you staggering backwards again to put some more distance between you and that deadly arm.

Slamming your eyes shut, you raise your hands up in front of your face, breath hitching as you wait to feel the first of many bullets slamming into your flesh.

… You count no less than ten heartbeats without feeling a thing.

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

“Two minutes to go, ma’am,” the intern quibbles at her side.

Eyes gleaming, she watches you stand shaking in front of the SCP, arms lifted in what she presumes must be surrender. “Fascinating,” she murmurs, “The entity still hasn’t fired a single round…”

“You think it’s run out of ammo?” one of the other scientists asks, bolder than his fellows in the face of their superior.

“Perhaps,” she muses, eyeing the SCP’s ‘tail’ that hangs slack behind it this time, not poised to strike over its head like a cobra, “But perhaps it’s just as likely that it won’t fire unless it’s fired upon first.”

The intern, apparently emboldened by another voice speaking up before him, says, “Um, would that class it as a Euclid then?”

Someone scoffs derisively.

“That cannot be determined at present,” she returns cooly, “We haven’t enough data… That being said...”

Stepping closer to the window, arms coming to clasp loosely behind her back, she tilts her head sideways and regards you with the mild interest of a spider watching a fly struggle in her web. “Thanks to this D-Class, we now know far more about the SCP than we did before… And all because an order was disregarded…”

“Impertinence,” someone spits.

“Initiative,” she returns sharply, the beginnings of a rare and pensive smile lifting her cheeks, “Mullins.”

The guard near the back of the room snaps to attention.

“Prepare for extraction in one minute’s time… And return our lucky D-Class to isolation. Forty-eight hours, I think. Regular meals. That should give us enough time to make arrangements for the next test.”

“Ma’am,” he grunts, moving up to the primary door.

“Er…” The intern beside her shifts on his feet, casting apprehensive glances between the SCP and the D-Class, “What is the next test…? Oh-! Um, Ma’am?”

What indeed? Her mind is already swirling with possibilities, the first of which sticks in place as she contemplates the logistics of it, turning it over and making mental arrangements that’ll need to be put in place.

“The next test?” she replies absently, gazing up at the entity’s fangs that are still being bared down at you, though it hasn’t made a move against you yet, “We’re going to see what, if anything, this SCP likes to eat.”

[kiskisur]

Xiao x male demon!reader (heheh conquer of demons 🤭)

Ummm.. basically Xiao fucks the “evil” out of him ykykyk 🤭

I’d also like to request you take a break 👿👿 Don’t force yourself to write when you’re not feeling well

TY and have a good day 💟

Instead of being such a brat across the world how about I put you in your place?

warnings: NSFW, dom!xiao x demon!sub!male reader, xiao fucks the "evil" out of him, degradation kink, reader has a tail and horns so xiao takes advantage of it this is NOT dub-con and noncon it's just reader being bratty asf, breeding (?) kink

note: I just got home from guidance and I'm going back to therapy so really sorry it took a while but thank you for caring, anon <3

IMPORTANT <- must read

face red, your ass up in the air and your head buried in the pillow as muffled moans escaped your lips.

"oh? what happened to the bratty slut now?" the guy behind you scoffed, taking advantage of your tail and pulling it as he earned a cry of both pain and pleasure from you.

"x-xiao! let go o-of my tail you stupid assh- aAahN~!" you were cut off by him slamming his dick deeper into you, your eyes rolling back at both the pleasure and pain as he groaned.

"f-fuck.. you little slut, you like getting fucked and put into place?" he let out a breathless chuckle, his golden eyes savoring your pathetic form.

you just responded with a whine, panting heavily under him as he kept thrusting and abusing the same spot that made you tremble.

"y-you fuCking bi- aH! bitCH! fuck y-you..!" you cussed at him, pissed off as he kept making you oh feel so good.

"fuck me? but sweetheart, it's the other way around." he leaned in and whispered in your ear before thrusting in you again roughly.

you swore you saw stars by now, a silent moan coming out of your lips as you struggled to even keep your knees still.

"you look so breedable right now, yeah? you want me to breed you full of my cum?" he huffed, still fucking you as if you were just a toy to him as you kept your bratty attitude.

"no, n-nggg.. oh fUcK~! so d-deep and good, please!" you pleaded, pre-cum leaking from your cock before he grabbed your horns and lifted your head up to face him, earning a pathetic moan from you.

"you like that? being fucked so good you can't even think straight.." he purred seductively, pulling your tail again and nibbling on your neck to remind you that you were his and ONLY his.

[cocoreallylovesraiden]

Bi Han living with reader hcs

(bullet points and blurbs) THIS WAS FOR AN INBOX ASK BUT I DELETED IT NOOO SHAWTY IM SO SORRY!!! I HOPE DIVINE INTERVENTION SENDS YOU THIS POST TELEPATHICALLY UR A STAR!

-Unless it’s for marriage, you would only move in with him if it was a matter of your safety. 

-Otherwise he would just trust you to manage on your own since if you can handle him you can handle anything in the world 

-Let’s say during a moment of conflict where a large percentage of earthrealm was a risk, he would ask (more like order) you to stay with him with the Lin Kuei. 

-Going to his quarters is like walking into an expensive furniture store and being afraid to get your commoner hands on anything at all. 

-You are left to settle your meagre belongings yourself, with strict instructions not to wander into the training compounds without a guide (read: himself), and though there were the usual lin kuei members patrolling about, you still felt incredibly isolated. 

-But the feeling goes from loneliness to an almost childlike wonder. It eventually leads to you taking a museum tour around the place like DAMN! This is what rich people's shampoo looks like! It’s… not very used… which is a little gross. 

-He comes back from his duties and is surprised when you greet him! Not in a cute way, in the way that you have to dodge tree trunk arms being swung at you like baseball bats. 

-The time you spend together is very mundane. Any energy he has is used on the Lin Kuei, which is understandable and honestly preferable because you get to be around a SLIGHTLY less high-strung bi han

-That doesn’t mean he doesn’t have the energy to be insufferably tungsten-like when it came to nighttime

It seemed as though he had long settled his belongings into the intricate bedside drawer. He had yet to answer your question, leaving you to wonder if it had been in bad taste. You nervously tilt your head, trying to get a better view of him. You see Bi Han’s broad back, blocking the blue moonlight in a way reminiscent of Batman standing above Gotham skylines. The thought makes you snicker, a sound that���s soft in theory but almost echoes in the deathly quiet room. It makes his tense shoulders jump to his ears, and you can see his dark eyes dart to the very corners as if trying to get a glimpse of you without physically turning around. He stays perfectly still, like if he just didn’t breathe he could melt into the fabric of the bedsheets. 

The realisation dawns upon you like a humouring punch to the gut. Was he nervous? The big, bad grandmaster of Lin Kuei, nervous to have his partner in his bed? You have to throw yourself to face the other way, hand covering your mouth like it was a hostage situation. Unfortunately, a few stray cackles manage to escape you and this time you hear Bi Han scoff out a ‘is there something funny?’ 

It’s uncharacteristically strained, like a defensive child having to explain their search history. My god, he was really thrown off-kilter by you! The unintentional ego boost goes straight to your head as you readjust yourself, using your elbow to prop yourself up in a position you could only hope came off as comedically seductive. The face you met with is priceless, a mixture of second-hand embarrassment and horror etched onto his sharp features. 

You let out a laugh that sounds more like a chicken squawking, one that’s unfortunately interrupted by a rock-hard grain pillow being hurled at your head. It lands perfectly, because Bi Han only ever does things perfectly, and the speed that you slump onto the bed has him wondering if he accidentally murdered the one person who tolerated him non-professionally. 

He barks out your name, and groans when he hears you laughing from under your potential murder weapon. It’s not as amusing to him as it is for you, seeing as by the time you’ve freed yourself he’s turned his back to you with the air of an unforgiving housewife. No matter how much you grovel and paw at his head and back he refuses to say anything, but you know he’s awake because he flinches whenever you poke his sides. 

Bi Han huffs like a guard dog when you stop pestering him (because common misconception, you did need to sleep as well) and right as you're drifting off to sleep you feel the bed shift, and the pleasant coolness of his body temperature a little closer. 

-He wakes up early in the mornings and I personally do not think this guy eats breakfast but he definitely drinks tea

-He wakes up early in the mornings and I personally do not think this guy eats breakfast but he definitely drinks tea

-You two can share the wonderful joy of standing shoulder to shoulder making your respective morning drinks and judging each other for it

-Bi Han have you considered that you are a cranky bat because you don’t have coffee in the morning 

-Haha. You are so Funny. Have you considered the fact that you are stuck in the bathroom for an hour in the morning because of it.

-Too far Bi han too far

-During his daily duties, like while he watches his little foot goons do their drills he sometimes spaces out and wonders what you are doing back in his quarters. 

-If he sees you walking around the compound, god forbid trying to get your 10k steps in he has to do a triple take, then storms towards you with the intention of an air strike. 

When he sees your familiar mop of head peek through the intricate pillars of the Lin Kuei compound, it’s like an alarm goes off in his head. Thankfully he had been alone, travelling from supervising two training grounds; so he has time to get to you personally. The way your face lights up almost qualms the lecture brewing in his mind, but then he remembers what happened the last time you were left alone with a room of his men (the lin kuei had never been so close to unionising. God fears the scorn of a charismatic woman.) 

“What did I tell you about leaving alone without a guide? I cannot have you wandering aimlessly like a lost child.” It’s a tirade that he’s gone through countless times, and it’s more of a custom than meaning any of the words. You also seem to know, with how you barely raise an eyebrow at his stern words. A cheeky smile carves your cheeks as you stick out an elbow, and even as he continues his rant he subconsciously goes to link your arms together. 

“I have a guide, do I not? And a very handsome one.” You sound collected and suave, but even he can see the way you high-five yourself for thinking of that pick-up line. He wants to frown, but the dopamine he gets from the flattery has him frowning happily, trying to bite back a snort.

-Hes not kicking his feet giggling when he sees you after a day of work… but hes not NOT twirling his hair and shuffling in place

-Gets mad when you don’t run up to him the moment he goes through the door

-Ok diva

[chillinglyadventurous]

Pissed Off

Thank you for the request, anon! As someone who is also pissed off today, I hope this calms us both. However, I took a bit of a twist.

Tags: fighting, toxic relationships

Fiddleford had caught you off guard as you sat in the kitchen with a book in your hand. You had heard the screaming, the yelling, but your friend’s chest heaved now. His gaze was unfocused and bewildered. “That machine ain’t safe and yer fiancé’s tinkerin’ with it like it’s a toy. It’s gonna end the world!”

“Fidds,” you stared, “what happened? Are you okay?”

He didn’t answer you, running from your home as if he had just escaped certain death. You knew Fiddleford was right. He’d been warning Ford for months, trying to get you on bis side, but Stanford had insisted and brushed the two of you off with that genius air of his. He had said over and over again that he was in control. His muse was an expert.

You couldn’t keep quiet anymore. Enough was enough. Whatever happened scared Fiddleford so badly he wouldn’t even explain, storming out, so you stormed down the stairs, ripping into Ford’s lab with a wild look in your eyes. Your glare fixed itself onto the giant, triangle portal which dominated the room, making you feel small. Fiddleford’s warning echoed in your mind and fueled your exhaustion with this, with being second place to everything in his life. 

What pissed you off the most that Ford didn’t even look up at you. His attention was fully focused on the loose sheets of calculation in front of him. “Stanford Filbrick Pines, are you out of your mind?”

It was like he didn’t even hear you. Your fists clenched, knuckles white as the anger filling you boiled over. In one swift motion, you grabbed the stack of notes off the table in front of him and threw them into the air. Pages flew everywhere, floating down in a fluttering mess. You met his glare with your own. Your eyes were full of rage.

It was as if his whole body shaked is disbelief. You caught him off guard, lost in his wondering of where his muse had disappeared off too. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“This isn’t worth it, Stanford! None of this is worth it!” You shredded the papers that landed at your feet, ripping them apart mercilessly. You watched the pieces fall to the ground. You didn’t care how many hours he had put into it. You didn’t care how meticulous he was. Fuck this.

You kicked over a chair, not knowing what had so quickly come over you. It didn’t matter. You needed to get a message through his thick skull. The chair crashed against the wall and the wood splintered. The sound boomed through the room. You didn’t care. You couldn’t care. All you could see was that portal and the man you loved throwing his goddamn life away for the sake of some mystery, some fucking puzzle. 

You hurled one of his many gadgets across the room. The sound of glass shattering startled you, but you didn’t stop. You truly didn’t know if you were capable of stopping. Not yet anyways. So, you threw another, watching it smash against one of his many workbenches. The wires and circuits scattered across the floor like every single one of his broken promises. 

“Stop! [Y/N], please, stop!” 

Ford’s voice cut through the chaos and you turned to him, eyes blazing. “You promised me!” You screamed, pointing an accusatory finger in his direction, “You said this wouldn’t consume you! You said this was safe! Did you see Fiddleford’s face? What did you do to him?!” A hateful laugh escaped you. You gestured wildly around you, “Is this worth it? All of this? Is it worth losing your best friend? Is it worth losing me?”

Ford stood frozen in front of you, your words cutting deep. You lunged at him, you fists pounding against his chest in a plea for him to stop this, whatever it was. You weren;t sure, but it could kill him. It could take him away from you. You didn’t want to lose him.The heel of both of your fists met his chest again and he grabbed you. 

He needed to stop you and you fought him the entire way, even as he pinned your back to the far wall. Tears streamed down your cheeks then and you tried to fight him off, but he was too strong. “I didn’t realize-”

“You never realize!” You screamed into his face. You struggled against him, never stopping until his body was pressed flush to yours, hands pinned between you. “You are always so wrapped up in your work that you forget about everything else. About us! Do you even care anymore?!”

He did his best to hush you. A hand cradled your head and hid your face in his neck. You shook your head, tears burning in your eyes, but the anger was fading now, replaced by exhaustion. “I don’t want to lose you, Ford. I can’t stand by and watch you throw your life away for this obsession.”

He held you as you screamed, tears rolling down your cheeks. Your hands covered your face as he tried to kiss away what you were feeling. He didn’t speak, just trying to calm you. You knew it, you knew, this wouldn’t stop. You were going to lose him to this portal, to his muse, whatever, whoever, it was. Ford wasn’t yours, not anymore. Instead, you let him hold you, savoring what was left. You knew, deep down, he wouldn’t be yours for much longer.

[imagopirateversion]

Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales; Why It Shouldn’t Exist

Or how I invested time and energy into an analysis of a relatively dead franchise instead of doing it for my actual media analysis university course.

An essay by: a bitter and obsessed PotC fan since they were 7, with a lot of free time.

Lads, this is going to be long. You have been warned.

The Beginning

At the very beginning of the movie, we see a young Henry Turner looking for his dad.

Now, we're not talking about characterization problems or how likely it is that a ten-year-old child would risk his life to look for a man he technically only saw once; we're talking about plot problems, actual logical fallacies. My questions are:

How? The Flying Dutchman is a legendary ship, impossible to be found unless She wants to be found. The only reason we see Her in Dead Man's Chest is because Davy Jones himself is looking for Jack to collect his debt, and in that occasion the Dutchman's captain wasn't even doing what he was supposed to do, so he was most definitely in the living world. Will otherwise, he's doing the job Calypso gave him, so he's constantly in between. Is the movie trying to convince me that a kid was able to do something no one in the history of piracy was ever able to do? And even if he did, why hasn't anyone explained me how? He simply looks at a map and throws himself on the bottom of the ocean. How did he know The Dutchman was there? How did he know it would've come to surface?

Where is his mom? We got to know Elizabeth in the first three movies; we know she's a smart woman and we can assume she's an attentive mother. She didn't notice her son preparing himself for a trip in the middle of the ocean to go look for his dad? Was she distracted? Was she outsmarted by a 10ish-year-old? Or is she just not contemplated in this scenario?

Why does Will look like that? Will is doing his job, so... why does he look like he's slowly corrupting? That kind of corruption is the punishment Calypso reserves to The Dutchman's crew when the captain fails her, which isn't the case. Did they forget about it? Was the idea of putting algae on Orlando Bloom's face just impossible to resist to?

Alright, this isn't actually from this movie but it's bothering me, so I have to write it; also, it would make this whole movie unnecessary, so it's somehow related to it. Why (and I can't stress this enough) can't Elizabeth be on the Dutchman? Why can't they do the job together? Is it because she's not a pirate? I'm pretty sure se actually is. Is it because she's a woman? Last time I checked she was the KING. She wants to stay with Will forever, Will wants to stay with her forever, they can literally live forever on the same ship. Why aren't they?

Whatever the Hell Happened to Jack Sparrow

Imagine creating a character that is so iconic whenever you ask a person who was a kid in the early 2000 to imagine a pirate, they imagine said character.

Now imagine fourteen years pass and you decide to ruin that character by making him the most hideous, annoying, idiotic person in the whole saga, and we're talking about a saga that has Philip the Missionary in it. Why? Jack Sparrow is THE anti-hero. Never on the right side, but never on the wrong one. You can tell he's doing something morally questionable, but you still find yourself rooting for him. He's stupid enough to make you laugh, but he's secretly clever enough to always get away with it. Now he's just... drunk. And that's not even an excuse for this horrendous new characterization, because he was always drunk. The guy FORGOT HE WAS ROBBING A BANK, the same guy just one movie earlier was able to escape from the King of England's palace and steal a lady's earring (by pretending to be a literal slut) in the process. He just switched from the iconic drunk bi bestie everyone loves to my cringe uncle that drinks too much at Christmas parties and makes everyone uncomfortable. Please, if the risk is ruining an entire generation's beloved character, either don't make the movie or find a better explanation than "Bad luck dogs you day and night".

The Pearl in The Bottle

So... what you're telling me is that Jack Sparrow, the guy who was able to defeat Hector Barbossa, Davy Jones and Blackbeard thanks to his slyness, and who loves his Black Pearl more than anything else in the world, had said ship in a bottle in his pockets for FIVE YEARS... and he never thought about breaking the bottle to free Her. That's what you're telling me. This is the pivotal point upon which the entire Jack's plot hinges. I... I don't even know what to say. Was this supposed to be funny?

What an Incredibly Lucky Coincidence

A guy needs a treasure to save his father. To find it, he needs the help of a notorious and legendary pirate. He looks for him everywhere, sailing on dozens of ships just so he has the remote chance to stumble across the pirate. The last ship he's been on has sinked, he's the only survivor. He's been found in the middle of the ocean and someone brought him to the nearest city. Which city? I mean, the one that has both the pirate he was looking for and a lady who's the only person in the whole planet who's able to find the treasure he was looking for! And, oh my... he finds the both of them! In that same city! Without even LOOKING FOR THEM! A hell of a coincidence, if you ask me. Also known as lazy writing.

What's Wrong With the Guards?

Now, I know Pirates of the Caribbean isn't exactly known for its accurate historical reconstructions, but why are the guards in this movie acting like they're some sort of hellhounds ready to kill anyone in sight? Even pirates and traitors as Jack and Henry were supposed to stand trial before being sentenced to death. It would've probably been an unjust and barbaric trial, but there should've been one. We literally saw it, in the previous movie. Why's Jack been sentenced to death for simply existing here? He gave pirate vibes and they decided that was enough?

Paul McCartney

This is not an actual point of the analysis, I just wanted to remind people that Paul McCartney is in this movie and that's the only valid reason to watch it.

Salazar

I am confused. Once again, I have questions.

El Matador Del Mar was so good at his job he had almost defeated piracy. "The last ones joined together to try and defeat me". The last what? Pirates? There were no pirates left? This happened when Jack was young, so a lot of time before the first movie, right? Where were, I don't know... Blackbeard? Davy Jones? Barbossa? All the other Pirate Lords? I might be wrong, but I guess Salazar didn't kill them, did he? Why weren't they there during that "last battle" in which "the last ones joined together"?

The Devil's Triangle. I just don't understand what's the logic behind it. So, this is a cursed place. Whoever enters there, can't get out. One would think it means that if you get there, you die; and Salazar does die, but he somehow also becomes a ghost whose only purpose is to find Jack Sparrow and have his revenge. So, do people become ghosts when they get in The Devil's Triangle? We have to assume people have gotten stuck in there before; otherwise, there wouldn't be legends around the place. So why isn't it like full of spirits ready to haunt people? Why are Salazar and his crew the only ones?

Poseidon or Calypso?

What's the Trident of Poseidon? Does Poseidon exist? Isn't Calypso the Goddess of the sea? Breaking the Trident, you break all the curses of the sea, so the Trident must be more powerful than Calypso, which leads to a question. Where is she? She IS the sea, right? So she must have known someone was about to find the Trident and brake all curses, including her one. She just decided it was okay? It really feels like someone decided to suddenly change the world's mythology without giving explanations.

The Compass

This is possibly the most blatant plot hole in the whole saga. Probably the most blatant plot hole I've ever witnessed, and man, I watched all the Harry Potter movies. In Dead Man's Chest, Jack meets Tia Dalma in her "shop" and he tells her he's looking for the Davy Jones' key. She asks him "The compass you bartered from me, it cannot lead you to this?", making another pivotal point of Dead Men Tell No Tales factually senseless.

That man couldn't have given his compass to Jack, because that wasn't his compass.

So either Salazar is lying while telling his tale or they forgot about that line in the second movie. Anyway, let's pretend that line doesn't exist; even if that captain gave Jack his compass in that exact moment, why would it be the key to free Salazar, exactly? How is the compass in any way related to The Devil's Triangle or to Salazar? In the movie, they try to explain it with a sentence: “if you betray it, your greatest fear comes true”. So, is Salazar Jack's greatest fear? I really doesn't seem right, Jack almost didn't remember Salazar when Henry mentioned him. To Jack, he's only a guy he outsmarted decades earlier. Also, Jack technically already gave the compass away, twice: to Elizabeth in Dead Man's Chest, to make her find the chest, and to Beckett in At World's End, when they're negotiating.

That's... That's Just Body Shaming, Mate

Let's talk about her. So, the woman's ugly. It can happen that a woman is ugly. Was it necessary to build an entire scene around some blatant body shaming? This scene wants to mimic the similar scene in Dead Man's Chest: Jack's on an island, running from the main villain, and he's forced to do things he doesn't want to do until someone saves him, then it was Will, now it's Hector.

Except in Dead Man's Chest it was LITERAL CANNIBALISM he was facing, and yet he looked LESS TERRIFIED and DISGUSTED. What's exactly the message here? Lads, is marrying an ugly woman worse than cannibalism? I don't know... that was just bad.

Justice for Hector Barbossa

If you know me (you probably don't, but if you do) then you know about my obsession with Hector Barbossa. I truly believe he's the best written character in the saga, and he's in my top five of the characters I love the most in all media. I watched The Curse of the Black Pearl when I was seven and I am autistic, so I had all the time to develop a literal relationship with these characters in my head. As much as Geoffrey Rush's interpretation was impeccable, as always, it really hurt to watch Hector in this movie. He just doesn't sound like him. First of all, why isn't he on the Queen Anne's Revenge? Why's he letting someone else sail around on his ships? He would've never. Why's he just sitting on a throne and shooting musicians instead of, I don't know... being a pirate? Being a pirate is the only thing that matters to him. He says it at the end of On Stranger Tides, and he even says it in this movie, to the witch. "I'm a pirate. Always will be".

So, why isn't he pirating? What happened to him? And what about the pact with the witch? He made her curse all his enemies; that's honestly the most out-of-character thing he could've done.

Seriously, watch this movie, and then The Curse of the Black Pearl and tell me he sounds like he's the same character. Then there’s his death... was it necessary? And I don't mean if it was necessary to the plot (it wasn't), but the way he died, did it make sense? He takes the sword and sacrifices himself to kill Salazar, but WHY? Salazar was back a mortal. They could've brought him to surface and then shoot him. What was the point of his death, Disney? I will never forgive you.

I would've preferred if they never showed him again. He's alive and living his best life in Tortuga, if you ask me.

How does Carina Smyth exist?

Let's do the maths. Carina Smyth has approximately the same age as Henry Turner, who was born around nine moths after the end of At World's End. At the end of that movie, Barbossa once again stole the Black Pearl (he's iconic we stan a legend), so we have to assume it is during that time (between the At World's End and On Stranger Tides) that he conceives Carina. He stays with this woman during the whole pregnancy, bacause he says he was there when she died. So nine months, at least, right? Except; Jack makes it clear that he and Barbossa met Carina's mom, Margaret, together.

When, exactly, did this happen? It can't be between On Stranger Tides and Dead Men Tell No Tales, because Hector himself says only five years passed between the two, and Carina doesn't look like a five-year-old;

it can't be between At World's End and On Stranger Tides, because we know Jack and Barbossa weren't together, and Hector was too busy losing a leg and planning his revenge by working for the King of England; it can't be during At World's End, because Barbossa was too busy rescuing Jack and then slaying (literally and metaphorically) Beckett's men to save piracy; it can't be during Dead Man's Chest, because he was dead; it can't be during The Curse of the Black Pearl, nor during the ten years before it, because he was... he was a skeleton, I hardly believe he could reproduce, despite what’s written in some fanficions; it can't be before, of course, because Carina would be too old. The only chance, but it's a stretch, is that Hector and Jack met this Margaret Smyth years and years before, and that at a certain point (while he was still busy slaying, losing a leg or planning his revenge), for some reason he decided to come back to her and accidentally had a daughter. That would mean that Jack remembered Margaret Smyth's name DECADES after he met her.

The Post-Credit Scene: What?

WHY'S DAVY JONES BACK? The Trident technically broke all the curses of the sea. He is THE cursed man of the sea. AND HE'S DEAD. The only answer I was able to give me, is that the moment the Trident broke the curses, the curse that said if you stab his heart he dies was also broken, so he technically didn't die, but it makes even less sense, because if the curses just aren't real anymore, then a man shouldn't be able to... carve out his heart and put it in a chest, right? (Which by the way, makes Will Turner being alive senseless as well). Even if so, Davy should've come back as a human.

My conclusion is that this movie should not exist, and we, as a community, should pretend it was never made. Hector is alive. Bye.

Imago

[lovely-peace]

After last night...

Summary: After meeting and talking with a certain brown haired boy with those lovely scars in the hospital wing, well let's just say you think about giving people a chance.

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Gryffindor!reader

Part 1 Part 2

I think this is the last part tbh but tell me if you want more. 2.1k wc.

"And he really said that??" Amy looked at me as if he proposed.

"Yeah, I guess." This was so confusing, I couldn't make anything out of it.

"You guess?!!" I shushed Amy, since other people at the table were looking at us. And we shouldn't be so loud on a monday morning at the breakfast table.

"I mean, I don't really know what he means with that and-"

"You don't know what he means? Bi- I mean- Stupid, he means what he says! He wants to know you!"

Her eyebrow raised a bit.

"But-" I searched for the words in my head but there was only blank. "Why?"

Amy facepalmed hard and sighned. "You are hopless. Really hopless."

"Kinda harsh." I whispered.

Amy smirked as she looked behind me. And as if to throw me in a cave of waiting lions, she said: "James, Sirius! So good to see you."

I felt myself tensing at the exclamation of their names and at the fact they were standing not so far behind me.

Amy's smirk widened. "You know my friend and I were just talking about your friend Remus. How is he? We were kinda worried. Is he still in the hospital wing?"

Oh sweet death. Sometimes I wonder, when will you release me fron this torture? This torture which is also called embarrassment or humiliation.

I heard James' laughter.

"Oh, are you now? I will tell him that." I turned around to see him smirking at me. "He is out of the hospital wing, no worries. He got something else that's keeping him in his bed."

Sirius cleared his throat. "And before you think anything not so good of him, he got something we call cowardritis. He's a scaredy-cat."

Amy leaned forward. "And why does he has this sickness?" I could hear her smirk.

"Well…" James raised his hand towards his hair and tried to tame it, which would never succeed. "He may has said something he's embarrassed about."

"To someone, he doesn't know what to expect from." Sirius coughed and quickly looked away from me. But his smirk said more than any word could.

What should I do? I didn't even know him. Like, at all? And I didn't know if he was even serious about anything he said.

"Well.." I started. And I almost just stopped at that. Like always I almost just ignored everything around me. But this time-

"Tell him to get well soon from me."

. . .

James and Sirius stared at me as if I said I wanted to marry a Werwolf. Both of them slowly looked at each other. And then there it was. The smirks of them slowly grew.

"But oh! look at the time!" I grabbed my things and stood up. "We have DADA next, Amy! Can't be late!" I hurried down the hall as I heard Amy say:

"Don't mind her guys. She's just shy."

~~

"Soooooooo…" Amy slowly catched up to me. "You and Remus, huh?"

"Amy." I tried to stop her, but who in this world could ever stop Amy?

"Well, you wouldn't look bad together, I must say that." I could hear her devious smirk. "And he is even tall! And has those brown curls…"

"AMY!" I hid my face between my hands. "Please."

"What? I'm just saying, I can understand you. He IS handsome. And even though the bookish silent guy is not my type, I can understand it."

She sounded so proud of herself. Somehow it made me laugh.

"And those scars? They do make him mysterious and cool."

I couldn't stop my laughter escape my hands. "Amy, Stop."

"Who are you talking about?"

…

Never in my life. Did I turn so fast. Did my laughter die so fast. Never.

Marlene grinned at us. "Perhaps Remus Lupin?"

Amy looked at me and laughed. I bet I had the most horrified expression of the century. This scene could be out of my worst nightmares.

"What did you hear?" My voice was shaking as I looked at her.

Her grin widened even more. "Well that answers my question."

And with that she just turned and walked away.

~~

"Please get a hold of yourself! This is really pathetic." Amy shook her head as I hid myself under my blanket in our dorm.

"She heard us."

I could practically hear her rolling her eyes. "Yeah she did."

"And she thinks I would date Remus."

"I mean is she wrong?"

I threw my blanket to the other side of ny bed and looked up at Amy.

"What?"

"What?" She looked at me clueless and I sighed. I grabbed my blanket again and hid my face again.

Amy almost groaned, like one of those alpha males in these fanfictions- and that was ridiculous, I mean we aren't in a fanfiction.

"Would dating him be so bad?"

I looked up at her again. "What? No, of course not. That's not my point."

She tilted her head. "Then what is it?"

I don't want anyone making fun of me. I don't want to be hurt. I don't want that.

But I do want to know him.

"I don't know."

Amy raised an eyebrow. "Come on, let's go to the common room."

"Why?" My blanket felt so warm.

"Maybe they are there."

And as if that was convincing me to go there. As if the option of seeing his beautiful deep eyes again would make me leave my bed and go the stairs down to the common roo-

~~

"Oh look who the cat dragged in!" Sirius' voice startled me a bit as we came into the room. But he smiled nicely at us and waved us towards their group. James, Lily, Marlene, Sirius and, well he was there.

I tried not to look at him too much, but his eyes were like magnets for my eyes. But somehow I managed to look away.

"Wanna join us? We planned a little get together. And we even managed to get food from the kitchen."

I'm really pathetic.

And my mind was constantly screaming at me. This would never end well, at some point I would be only a joke for them. My mind was going crazy.

But something somehow changed. I don't know what it was. But my mind wasn't the loudest in my body.

No my heartbeat was going crazy.

"Oh, that sounds wonderful!" Amy smiled and looked at me like a mother trying to get her kid to say something. And this kid was struggling. I didn't want to sound mean, but also not to desperate. How do you even talk normal with new people???

I cleared my throat. "Yeah, that wouldn't be so bad I guess."

OH MY GOD I WAS SOUNDING LIKE ONE OF THESE TRY HARDS

But somehow no one looked at me weird. Lily even smiled at me and nodded next to her towards an empty spot on the couch.

And on this side of the couch was next to it the chair Remus was sitting in, but that was obviously beside the point.

Amy sat down next to lily and I sat next to her.

"Sooooo…" James looked at me and Amy. "Why were you two coming down at this late hour?"

"Oh we just wanted a little bit of fresh air, you know?" Amy smiled as she said this lie. And we all ignored that in the common room wasn't even fresh air.

"Well we were just talking about our favorite foods!" Marlene started and looked at me mischievously.

"But didn't we just talk about Re-" James started but Marlene cut him off while looking at him with a look that could kill.

"What's your favorite food?" she looked at me expecting.

"My favorite food?" I blinked two times, somehow suprised that I was already asked something.

"Yeah, or maybe like favorite sweet or something you just really like to have as a snack."

"Well…" That wasn't a so easy question to be honest. But the first thing that came to mind,when I was sitting here… I even smelled it… "Chocolate. I really like Chocolate. Like chocolate cookies or cake."

I laughed. "I love chocolate since I first ate one of these chocolate frogs. Blew my mind."

Now everyone was looking at me like I said something really really mind blowing. Like chocolate was a extraordinary answer, what it really wasn't.

And even those brown eyes, which color reminded me of light chocolate, widened a bit as I looked at him after I said that.

I cleared my throat again. "Well, I dont eat only chocolate obviously. It's one of my favorite sweets, like who doesn't like chocolate?"

I looked around searching for a reason they were being so weird, but I only saw knowing smirks.

"Me." Amy said and smiled at me knowingly. I rolled my eyes.

"How could I forget, your highness?" I remarked at her and she laughed quietly.

"Well…" Marlene looked at me again and I just knew she was not finished with her Cross-examination. "Do you like Valentine's Day? I mean it is next week."

…

Oh. The conversation was going in this direction.

"It's.. I don't know, I mean… It's not bad, I guess?" I couldn't keep the nervous laughter inside of me.

"What do you mean with not bad?" Marlene really seemed like one of these Aurors trying to get information out of me.

"I mean I don't really know how it really feels like… Well no, that sounds dumb, that's not how I meant it! I mean I… Just never, like... had a date on Valentine's Day, so it's not really a special day for me."

Oh my god was I a rambling mess. Why was I even talking that much??? AMY SAVE MEE

"You never were taken out, on Valentine's Day?" James asked bluntly and Lily shot him a scolding look.

"Yeah, I guess." I mumbled.

This was going horribly. I was only making a fool out of me. After my embarrassing monolog I couldn't look into Remus direction, because this was almost humiliating.

I tried to subtly sink more into the couch and more into invisibility.

"I mean, of course we both spend time together in hogsmeade on Valentine's Day."

Amy slid into the conversation like the lord's savior himself. "Then we drink while looking at all these happy couples. And sometimes there is even Drama! It's very amusing."

"Would you like to-" Marlene started and I tensed. But then…

"Marlene stop it, you are making her uncomfortable."

Was Remus' voice always this beautiful? It was so soothing and still steady.

What was I even thinking?

Marlene looked at me now a bit embarrassed. "Sorry, I got a bit carried away. You can just say if I'm being to much."

"But then you could never say anything?" Sirius looked at her teasingly.

"Hey!"

I felt myself smiling now and I couldn't believe it. I was beginning to enjoy myself here. I was sitting next to the marauders and I was laughing. What has gotten into me?

"Well if we are talking about Valentine's Day, I find it very unpleasant." Lily stated while yawning.

"The overpriced chocolate with someone -" a glare shot at James. "Making always a big deal over a day on which we still have school."

"The so called 'big deal' is called being romantic." James looked at her with a hand on his chest. "But you wouldn't know anything about it, wouldn't you Evans?"

"Oh please, the stuff you do isn't romantic, just embarrassing." She shot back unimpressed.

James gasped loudly, while Sirius loudly laughed. And I couldn't help myself and chuckle.

And then I felt it.

His look.

I knew he was looking at me I could feel it. But it didn't bother me. No it just made my heartrate go up and I felt lightheaded.

Crazy, right?

It felt so cosy here, next to Remus the fire. The presence made it so warm here.

"Do you want a bit chocolate?"

I looked to my left and almost drowned in those eyes. WHAT WAS HAPPENING, WHY WAS I SO…??

"Me?" I dumbly asked. He looked down and I almost regretted.

"Well you did just say you liked it? And I have more than enough." He held chocolate towards me but still didn't meet my eyes again.

I softly took it while my mind was silent for the first time as I brushed his hands.

"Thank you."

He didn't react at first but then just nodded.

For someone who said he wanted to know me last night, he was really not so social now. But somehow that didn't bother me. It was a start.

"What's your favorite food?"

I was not a fast person. In fact I would always take things very slow. I mean in what reality are you dating someone after two conversations?

For me? Unthinkable.

He doesn't have to tell me if he likes Valentine's Day or not. He doesn't need to tell me what he likes in girls. Not in our second conversation.

But with food you can really start to know a person, you know?

That's what I searched. A start.

"Chocolate."

[deadend-if]

DEMO TBA | INFO | 17+

Most people would describe your life as normal. You live in a small apartment in the middle of a bustling city. It's a city bursting with life and opportunities, things you’ve grown accustomed to. It's been a few years since moving here with your former college roommate, turned best friend. Life pulled the both of you to the city to pursue your careers, living comfortably since. So, when someone comes knocking at your door with wide, panicked eyes, you feel the urge to just move on with your day. That is, of course, not possible when they drop the fact that your roommate is dead, followed by an invitation to get them back.

This IF is written in twine and will be posted on itch.io. It is currently a work in progress. Advice is appreciated due to this being my first attempt at something like this <3

This story will delve into grief, death, and dying, all while exploring everything the underworld has to offer. Face ghosts of everyone's pasts, get into trouble with Underworld Law and become closer along the way.

Play as a fully customizable character, choose your character's name, pronouns/gender, sexuality, appearance, college degree, and more!

Travel through the underworld, explore the vast layers the city of the dead has to offer and meet the people who reside there.

Determine how you traverse loss and all the things that come with it. Either ignore or come to terms with what might happen at the end of it all.

Build a relationship with 1 of 4 character options (or 1 of 2(?) poly options!), two gender selectable, and two set genders (non-binary spectrum). (Play as aro, gay, straight, bi, trans, etc. Platonic relationships will be just as important in this game!)

This game is for 17 and up. There will be NO sexual themes, but there will be heavy topics, explicit language, and graphic descriptions of death. More Content Warnings will be listed in the demo.

The Best Friend | Abel/Abella Robinson [he/him or she/her] - RO

Your best friend since freshman year of college, once random strangers sharing a dorm, now living together of your own free will. A is an elementary school teacher with a calm, gentle heart. They are a bit of a doormat but are kind despite the world being cruel. For years they have been a loyal friend and helped you whenever you needed it, now it's time to help them escape the clutches of death.

The Guilty Reaper | Mortimer/Mort/Mortie [any pronouns] - RO

Mortimer has your best interests in mind, at least that's why they tell you when they pop up at your doorstep with tickets to the underworld. Being out of touch with humanity is supposed to be an asset for reapers, but Mortimer has always wanted to know everything there is to know about humanity. Can you even believe someone like them? Mort seems a little too honest, and a little too curious, but they're the only tour guide for the underworld that you know of.

Your Best Friend's Best Friend | Santiago/Santina "Santi" Vega [he/him or she/her] - RO

You know A has other friends, but what you don't know is why they hate you so much. Santi has never liked you, not four years ago, not today. They are sarcastic and confident. They will always take the opportunity to outshine you, it's hard to understand why someone like A would even tolerate being around them. Whether you like it or not, they're still A's other best friend, and are just as determined to get them back safe and sound... Even if it means having to do it with you.

The Guard | Kyo [he/they] - RO

A (begrudging) friend of Mort and one of many guards of the underworld. They're a mystery to you and even to their closest friend. Kyo doesn't speak much. They are blunt, easily annoyed, and strictly there to keep an eye on everyone. He prefers to follow the rules and stay under the radar, especially since he seems to have something to lose. They seem to only tag along to keep Mort out of trouble, but there has to be something more to their goals. Why else would they risk so much for people they don't know?

Poly Options <3

A & S K & M (A secret third option, perchance?)

DEMO TBA | INFO

[areyouwell]

Algophobia

Noun: An extreme and irrational fear of pain. Children and adults may have Algophobia if they possess an extreme aversion to feeling pain, typically physical.

Ch.7

Ch.6, Ch.5,5, Ch.5, Ch.4, Ch.3, Ch.2, Ch.1 <-

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: nightmares, vomit, uhhhhhhh nothing intense really, for once... honestly can't remember and i literally JUST reread it :')

Word Count: 14.5K

A/N: told ya i'd keep writing. sorry this one took a little extra time, i'm literally on a train in France having finished editing and proofreading the chapter like, two minutes ago so slay boots. can't believe this fic is almost over like holy shit... congrats to anyone who's ready all of it so far because it's well within the world count of a novel and by the end will probably be over that threshold... so slay of us good job teamsquad also sorry if the layout is janky i hate posting from my phone

Taglist: @badbishsblog @reidsworld @idioticstar @toogaytofunctiondangit @ghostyv @wolviesgirl @over-bi-the-wayside @justice4billiam @holyhumorliteraturelight @cxptainbuck @sseleniaa @sadslasher13 @yallgotkik @whyamistillontumbler @maddiedinosaur @bethexo07 @pwpwppeepeoor

Birds. The chittering of swallows, to be exact. Beyond the soft beams of sunlight through the quartered window, the chittering of swallows had caressed him awake, a gentle breeze rustling the orange leaves against the glass, whispering secrets into the light of the morning.

It wasn’t rare Logan woke up before you, in fact, considering how little of a morning person you were, it was rare you woke up before midday full-stop—and this morning seemed no different. Occasional snores bubbled from your chest, you lightly swiped at an invisible irritation around your nose as you turned in his arms, nestling tighter into his chest. Logan hummed a tender smile, smoothing your brow with the pad of his thumb. Your features furrowed as you attempted to escape his touch, unappreciative of the disturbance no matter how gentle.

Huffing a small laugh, he allowed you to burrow further into his embrace, tightening his arms around your body. Six months of this. Six months of the quiet peace of escape. Honestly, he couldn’t be more thankful for the raid on the mansion that day. Here he was, the love of his life tangled in his arms, slowly waking on a sunny, breezy autumnal morning.

His eyes raised to beyond the window, smelling the rain on the air even from inside. Maybe an hour away? An hour and a half at a push. He groaned, realising he’d need to get the bike into the barn before the showers hit. Was leaving the cosy confines of the bed really worth saving and having to scale off some rust later? Absolutely not, but Logan knew you’d be mad at him if he let a splash of rainwater ruin all his hard work.

Pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your brow, your features scrunched in disapproval as she shifted you out of his embrace having to move quickly before you searched for him again and attached yourself to his arm. You whined gravelly protests but settled back down when he pulled the covers back up over your shoulders. He’d make a coffee for you when he came back in. One of those strong ‘morning’ coffees you called them. With at least three heaps of espresso, no sugar, no cream, just caffeine.

Slipping on a fresh pair of jeans and a deep green flannel that you said brought out the colours in his eyes –utter bullshit in his correct opinion– Logan tip-toed down the stairs almost comically slow. He knew you wouldn’t wake. The sun could have exploded and you’d be more irritated if it had woken you up before 1 pm, but he still liked to take care not to disturb you, more out of principle than anything else.

The morning was as crisp as he initially thought, his skin prickly with the cool breeze. He hadn’t bothered with his jacket, since he would only be out for less than thirty seconds. Pulling the tarp from the bike and flicking up the kickstand, he wheeled it back up the small slope and into the barn. If things continued going the way they were going, Logan thought about perhaps clearing out some of the rusted old machinery, maybe making room for a chicken pen, or maybe a stall for a cow or something. You’d be good at raising animals, he thought. And he preferred the idea of getting fresh produce rather than having to head to the store every week or so.

It was an idea that refused to leave his head as he looked around the small space. Just against the far wall, he could imagine a little coop where the old, rusty plough now lay discarded. It would be a ballache to remove it, and Logan didn’t doubt the sharp edges where the metal had rusted away would get a good few swipes in, but it seemed worth it in his mind’s eye to see you crouched next to the nest, holding up a single egg proudly as if you’d laid it yourself.

But if he was to get started, he’d need his jacket. And maybe a thick pair of gloves. Sure, he could heal, but that didn’t mean you didn’t get pissed at him when he wouldn’t take these kinds of precautions, bringing up that one time he said he wanted to do things like a normal couple, to which you’d use to your advantage. “Normal people don’t simply heal their wounds three seconds later, Lo’.”

It was endearing, how much you cared. How hard you tried to keep him safe despite the fact he literally couldn’t be hurt. With a fond smile tugging his lips up at the thought of you, Logan draped the tarp back over the bike, securing the tags around the frame before patting the motorcycle, much like Todd did.

Todd.

Logan blinked. Why did he suddenly have the urge to tear into the man’s chest and rip out his fucking heart? Was his anger returning? But Todd hadn’t done anything, at least not that he could remember. Sure, he was flirtatious with you, but you never let it go too far and it made you laugh, so there wasn’t much harm there. So where the fuck did this sudden urge to split his skull come from?

Taking a deep, calming breath, he attempted to release his anger with his exhale, feeling the rage simmer down slightly, though still extremely accessible beneath the surface. Maybe he was too far away from you. Oh, he was down so bad if that was the reason. He refused to believe it until he left the barn, pulling the bolt shut, and turning to see you in the doorway, two mugs of steaming coffee grasped in your hands.

Was there a better view? He couldn’t think of anything sweeter than what he was seeing, the woman he loved, leaning against the doorframe to the cabin he shared with her away from the rest of the world, safe and free and at peace. Your soft smile could start a war, and your laugh could end it. There was no clean line to where you started and he ended, your very souls totally and completely intertwined.

And you lost her.

Logan whirled at the trees above, searching for where he swore he’d just heard a voice hiss. But he saw nothing other than clouded blue skies and fluttering leaves like an artist’s palette of a sunset. You called his name and he slowly turned his head back to you.

And froze completely.

A small crimson stain started to spread from the centre of your chest, sanguine blood flowing from a fresh wound down your front. Panic leached the colour from his face as he lurched forward, only for his feet to be stuck to the ground. He looked down frantically, tugging at his thighs in an attempt to pull himself free. You were supposed to be safe. He was supposed to keep you safe.

A strangled gurgle was ripped from your throat and he looked back to you just as you opened your mouth, a fountain of blood bubbling from your scarlet-stained lips. Trying to scream resulted in nothing but a rippling stream of sanguine with a guttural yelp. A hand gripped your shoulder from the dark beyond the doorway, a serrated knife dragging a thin line across the hollow of your neck as your palms flew to the arm holding you still in a weak attempt to stop him.

Logan desperately clawed at his legs, eyes unable to look away as Dr.Kreva stepped out from behind your bleeding body, the knife held in his closed grip. A roar tore up his voice, scraping up along his throat as the serrated edge of the blade inched further into the tendons of your neck, snapping through the muscles with a sickening squelch. Your eyes widened as your voice cut off, hands gripping Kreva’s arm falling limp by your sides, light fading from your irises.

Smoke rose from somewhere behind the cabin, and Logan could only blink before the wood erupted into flame, licks and tendrils of scorching reds devouring the exterior. He could do nothing, stuck in a quagmire of his guilt, hands of fire clawing up your legs, igniting your clothes, melting the flesh from your bones. Kreva’s glasses shone in the golden glow, stepping back into the inferno and disappearing as the support beam collapsed.

Staring in abject horror, Logan fell forward, finally released by whatever held his fast. His knees bit as he struck the earth, facing your skeleton lying face down, blackened bones of your hand outstretched towards him in a final, desperate plea for help.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…” He whispered to your vacant corpse. He’d failed you. Keeping you safe was his only fucking job and he’d failed. He promised you he wouldn’t leave, he wouldn’t abandon you, and he’d fucking failed.

The shadows rippled and contorted around your skeleton, rising from the ground to conjure seven figures. The same silhouettes he’d woken up to stare him down six months ago. Simultaneously, their hands stretched out over you, void-like fingers splayed, and your bones began to sink into the earth.

The ghost of your body rippled beneath the surface of the darkness before the black smoke curled up from the soil, an eighth shadow figure reforming from the void to complete what he had suspected ever since he’d read the file. There were eight of you. Eight Subjects.

Nine Lives Minus One.

They were the literal shadows of your past. And it terrified him that you had now become one. Logan’s heart thundered in his chest as he looked between the eight figures, shadowing faces simultaneously snapping to look at him, head cocking at unnatural angles.

The one he knew to be yours reached up to its neck, wrapping its long thin fingers around its own throat, before squeezing. A scream echoed in his ears, tearing at the walls of his mind before he was thrust forward, falling through to reality.

Nausea roiled in his gut as Logan jolted awake, bolt upright. The image of your charring body, flesh dripping from your bones burned in his mind’s eye, and that slight nausea shifted to the undeniable urge to vomit.

Staggering from his bed to the bathroom, bile burned his throat as he emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet, the sounds of his own gagging echoing about the empty stall.

Two months. It had been two months since he’d lost you. And every day felt like thirty. Rage and grief accompanied him like a constant companion. The memories of your laughter, your smile, your teasing comments haunted the halls of the school, corridors once alight with comfort and giggles now felt cold damp. Absent.

They were making progress. They reassured him every long, long day, they were making progress with locating you. Charles had almost locked himself away with Cerebro to locate you, but it was difficult to get a read on anything when any signatures he felt from the once-destroyed facility kept slipping from his mental grasp. Subject One, or Obscurity, was somehow hiding all and any neurotransmitters from the old environment centre. Either that or what whole place was coated entirely with steel, which was also a possibility.

But none of them knew because nobody could get close enough to fucking find out. It was damn near impossible without alerting upwards of sixty armed guards to their approaching location. And whilst Logan would tank the bullets and take them all on alone, Scott wouldn’t let him, and neither would he let him endanger any other member of the team by storming a full frontal assault.

So Logan was forced to wait. And wait. And wait. Every day, you slipped further from him. That first night without you, he’d borderline commandeered the Blackbird to get to Todd. He needed to know what happened. Why he did do it? And it wasn’t a polite conversation.

Rage coursed through his veins as he sliced open the lock to Todd’s garage, throwing up the doors with enough force to break the mechanism completely. Pausing only to sniff the air, Logan growled as he scented Todd’s presence, a frantic Ororo trailing behind after him, placing a weak attempt at a placating hand on his bicep. But he didn’t want to be calmed down. Logan wanted blood. Fuck that, he craved blood. Wanted to taste it as he ripped Todd’s throat out with his damn teeth.

Though the office light was off, Todd’s scent was stronger in that direction, and Logan was fairly certain he was hiding. Good. Smartest decision he’d made in the last six months. Although he would have been smarter to start running the second he betrayed Logan’s trust and had you ripped away from him.

With a balled fist, Logan thrust his hand through the glass on the door, barely wincing as shards of glass embedded themselves in his knuckles. It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to that kind of sensation. And true to his senses, Todd swore from behind the desk, his voice shaky. Good.

“It better have been fuckin’ worth it for ya.” Logan snarled, ripping the desk from its roots and tossing it aside as if it weighed nothing. Various effects scattered about the floor, a lamp shattering upon impact, files and paperwork strewn like flyers in the wind.

“Jus’ w-wait a minute. I didn’t ‘ave a choice. Bastard threatened my family, what would you ‘ave done?” Todd held his hands up in defence, bowing his head as Logan’s adamantium claws slid from his freshly healed knuckles. The man’s eyes widened in horror. “Yer a fuckin’ mutant?”

Ororo’s eyes blanched, lightning crashing through a telephone pole beyond the doors outside. The blood drained from Todd’s face, as the realisation dawned on him that, they were all mutants.

Logan hated how he understood the man’s fear. And he was right. If the roles had been reversed, if it had been you who was being threatened, he would have cracked in an instant. If your safety was compromised, there was nothing he wouldn’t do to ensure right whatever had happened.

“Fuck. You’re a fuckin’ weasel, Todd. I fuckin’ trusted you!” It was taking every fibre of his self-control not to plunge his claws through his throat and rip through his tendons, but he took a deep, steadying breath.

“What happened, Todd?” Ororo asked, her eyes fading back to their natural colour.

Todd sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Round three months after y’all moved in, this glasses-wearing sleezebag waltzed into this shop like ‘e owned the fuckin’ place, askin’ after the pair of yous. I told ‘im to get lost, I weren’t in the business of information. Till ‘e asked about me wife. And me daughter, Lisa. Put the fear of God in me I tell ya.

“I didn’t ‘ave a choice, Logan, I swear it. I’d never ‘ave told ‘im anythin’ if I knew this were gonna ‘appen.” He pleaded, and Logan had to step away to stop himself from at least punching the shit out of him.

“That’s why you called me, isn’t it? Not cuz of the money, but cuz you knew what was gonna happen.” The question was rhetorical. Of course that was the reason. And if he could turn back time, he would have picked up the phone in an instant, no questions asked. Maybe he could have avoided this altogether and you’d be safe and sound, curled up by his side, back at the mansion.

But as it stood, Logan’s mutation wasn’t time travel.

“I didn’t know exactly, but yeah, I knew somethin’ was gonna ‘appen tonight…” Todd admitted, resting his elbows on his bent knees. “I liked ‘er Logan. I did. She was–”

“Shut the fuck up.” He hissed, running a stressed hand through his hair. It was only 4:36 am. You had roughly two hours on him, but if he left now and took the bike, maybe he could catch you. Or better yet, if he took the Blackbird…”

“Logan…?”

No. He’d have to land the Blackbird, which would take far too long and he also wasn’t used to piloting something like that.

“Logan?”

He’d take the bike then. Head back to the cabin with the truck and exchange vehicles. But that would take too long, even if he floored it. Fuck! The truck was nowhere near fast enough either. He had to make a choice here, sacrifice time with the small possibility of catching up to you, or possibly sacrifice you and tail Kreva so he leads him straight back to the facility.

“Logan!”

He blinked, turning back to Ororo, who had her arms folded across her chest, her brows pinched in sympathy. “You can’t go after her. It’s too late. We need to strategise this because clearly, they’re expecting you to follow her immediately,” she explained, and he grit his teeth. She was right, and he fucking hated it. Because every second wasted here was yet another second you were in their capture, and fuck knows what they would do to you this time. The thought terrified him. “Come on… we’ll head back to the school, figure something out.” Logan didn’t move, his eyes hard as he glared at Ororo, the thought of leaving your behind had his gut writhing like a ball of vicious, furious snakes. Storm sighed, realising he wasn’t going to be convinced so easily. “She was a member of our team, Logan. She was our friend. We’re not abandoning her…” There was a determination in her eye that genuinely gave Logan a kernel of hope. She was right. You were their friend. You’d made such an impact in their lives, and they weren’t about to give you up so easily.

With an extended sigh, he nodded. Fine. He’d play by their rules. But the moment things stagnated, he’d fucking find you himself.

“I’ll look after yer truck. She’s–”

“I don’t fucking care.” he snapped, not bothering to spare so much as a glance over his shoulder before returning out to the jet.

That was two fucking months ago. And he was certain things had stagnated and he just wasn’t being told. Scott had banned him from surveillance missions, claiming his fuse was too short for missions such as those, and that if he saw where you were being held, he’d snap and tear through anything and everything in his path to get to you.

Not something Logan could disagree with, but he only acquiesced because Jean convinced him it was their best bet at finding you. It physically fucking hurt not to be involved in your rescue missions, but he knew it was for the best. He didn’t particularly want anybody else hurt or captured or killed or whatever the fuck they’d do to them.

Making sure his stomach wasn’t about to surprise him with another surge of bile, Logan stood to the basin, running the cold water from the tap and cupping his hands, splashing his face vigorously in a lame attempt to wash away the nightmare. Because that’s all it was. Just a nightmare. And despite him having intimate knowledge of your mutation, the fact that the last he saw of you, you were bleeding out on a floor of tarmac, scared the shit out of him. He knew you could heal. There was documented proof of you healing from several bullet wounds, however he couldn’t shake the image from his brain.

You barely knew what had happened before you dropped to the floor, your delicately concerned smile for him morphing and shifting to an expression of complete and utter shock. The crack of your skull on the pavement, the harsh gurgle of your coagulated blood as you spat at Kreva….

You didn’t have a choice. He knew that. He knew your body would have given into the shadow in a desperate attempt to heal yourself of the bullet in your chest, but that didn’t make the memories hurt any less.

That was the last he saw of you, and it fucking haunted him. Exhaling a shaky breath, Logan stared into the droplets in the sink, before raising his head, limp strands of dark brown hair hanging damp around his eyes. His gaze shifted to the reflection of the shower. It had taken him almost a week after being back to garner the courage to use it. Not only because every time he closed his eyes he saw your bleeding chest and blanching face, but also because it was identical to the shower in your ensuite, and it fucking hurt to be near it, let alone in it.

The porcelain cracked beneath his grip, pulling him from his memories back into the present. There were times he wished he could simply let himself be lost to the past. At least he was with you there. But he promised he’d find you. He promised he’d never leave you. And he didn’t intend to break it.

Shrugging on the same flannel he’d been wearing for days and a pair of extremely worn jeans, Logan checked his watch. Two minutes past nine. His lips tugged in a bittersweet smile. You’d be furious. Running a hand down the side of his face, Logan opened the door.

Only to find Scott standing on the other side, balled fist held up as if to knock a few times on Logan’s face. If he had the energy, Logan would ask him what the fuck he thought he was doing, but it seemed the team was taking it in turns to make sure he was alright now and then. Poor Scott. It seemed he’d drawn the short straw on a particularly shit morning.

“What?” He asked blankly, fighting the urge to silently barge past the man. Sure, they may have shared a sweet moment of understanding after he’d lost you, but that was two fucking months ago. And moments of sweet understanding weren’t enough to make up for the fact you were still missing.

Scott blew out a sigh of relief, clearly expecting Logan to simply walk past him. “Uh, Marie’s looking for you. Says it’s urgent? She wouldn’t talk to any of us…” Scott sounded almost suspicious, but the moment he mentioned it was urgent, Logan was gone, shouldering past him and down the hallway. “She’s out the back!” Cyclops called after him as if he needed any kind of help with directions. He could smell a plan brewing from a mile away.

True to his nose, and annoyingly, Scott’s directions, he found Marie out by the pond, alongside Kitty, Bobby, Peter, Jubilee, Julian and to his heartwarming surprise, Artie. All of them were dressed in their gear, other than Artie who’d simply donned a black pair of trousers, a black t-shirt and a matching beanie.

“We want to help,” Marie said by way of greeting, and Logan folded his arms across his chest, releasing a slightly exasperated breath. Honestly, he was shocked it took this long for them all to catch on. He was back, and you were nowhere to be seen. Classes had all but ceased completely and the Professor wouldn’t be seen for days, sometimes weeks on end. The rest of their little team nodded with boundless determination.

His chest ached with the knowledge there was no way he was about to let these students, your students, run head-first into danger, no matter how much they wanted to. “Look, kids, as it stands, we don’t even know–” he paused, having to steel his nerves. “We don’t even know if she’s still alive.” It was entirely true. He knew you were alive. You had to be. He’d feel it if you weren’t, right? That’s at least how it felt to him. You were part of each other now, neither whole without the other. If you were head, he’d know it.

Kitty clenched her jaw, her hands balling into firsts by her sides, and Logan felt a pang of guilt. She knew. She must have known he was lying. She was somewhere between a student and an X-man, hovering between still learning and a member of the team. Being so close to you, however, it also seemed she had been left out of all the fun. His sympathy morphed into empathy, feeling her frustration as his own.

“She’s still alive.” Your friend whispered through clenched teeth, and Logan blew out a sigh. “They won’t let them help, sure, they’re still students, but I’m not. I’m part of the goddamn team, Logan. And so are you!” She hissed, and Marie and Bobby shared a look of concern before Rogue’s hand touched her shoulder compassionately.

“We don’t care that we’re students. You said it yourself, we’re stronger than anyone realises. We can help.” Bobby urged, and if Logan was being honest with himself, their argument was fairly convincing. They were strong, much stronger than even you realised. But he also knew that if–

No. Not if. When they got you back, if you ever found out that he’d allowed the students to help on the mission, he was pretty sure you’d castrate him.

“I’m sorry, I can’t let ya. Not only cuz you’re still students, but you all know, if she found out I was the one who let you help, I’d be killed.” Huffed a smile of understanding. Of course, they wanted to help you, you’d helped so many of them in the past. But he didn’t think that was it. This wasn’t out of some favour for a favour obligation towards you. You were loved. You were so so loved, by so many.

And by nobody more than him.

“Be our spy then.” Jubilee offered from behind Marie, to which Logan raised a brow.

“And how would I do that when? I’m not involved in the planning.” He tried so hard to keep the frustrated growl from his voice, but Artie's slight step back proved his failure. Fuck.

“You gotta convince them. Please? For us?” The hope in Marie’s voice took him right back to where he’d found her almost three years ago now, running from her past. Running from herself. It made sense how you and she got along so well. You were both running.

Pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, Logan could feel seven pairs of eyes all trained on him. He wasn’t one to bend to peer pressure, but at the same time, he needed an excuse for himself to get involved, and if doing it for the kids was enough, then that’s what he’d do.

“Alright. Alright. Damn, you sure none of you has a persuasion mutation?” He asked in a lame attempt to lighten the mood. At least Artie found it funny, the kid giggling away to himself in the back.

Marie beamed in gratitude, leaping into his arms and giving him one of the squeeziest hugs Logan thinks he’s ever received. “I knew you’d help! Thanks, Logan, as soon as you hear anything, please let us know, kay?” She stepped back and Logan once again felt that familiar stab of guilt impale his gut. He knew he was going to have to lie to them, because the moment they found out some kind of progress had been made, they’d be out the door like a shot before he could even start to yell ‘wait’.

“Yeah yeah, just don’t mention anythin’ ‘kay? They don’t let me know anythin’ as it is, so this’ll be hard enough without them thinkin’’m feeding back information to the damn students.” Logan grumbled, running a hand through his hair. “Okay?” He repeated after a beat of silence, only this time to a chorus of nodded heads and various ‘yes sir’s. “Good, now back to classes, all of you.”

“But… Professor Grey didn’t turn up to teach us…” Julian chimed in, to Logan’s irate twitch of his brow.

“Then go and study.” His voice left no room for argument as each student bowed their head in defeat and dragged their feet back inside until his was just him and Kitty left behind. Logan studied her face for a bit, much more crestfallen than he’d ever seen her. “Y’alright?” He asked, though instantly kicking himself for the ridiculous question. She was probably just as alright as he was, which was absolutely not alright at all.

Kitty clenched her jaw again, unable to raise her eyes further than the blades of grass at her feet. “She left again…” Logan’s heart cracked for her. You hadn’t had time to explain anything eight months ago after the attack. He didn’t even think you saw her before you left, unable to say goodbye before you were on the road with him. And now, he’d returned and you were still gone.

“She didn’t want to, kiddo. She didn’t have a choice…” he didn’t know how much Kitty knew about your situation, but he assumed anything regarding who you were, what had happened in your past and who had taken you was kept on a need-to-know basis. He hated every tear that spilled from the poor girl’s eyes, her frustration conflicting her her confusion. Wordlessly, Logan stepped forward and enveloped her in his embrace, finding the way she instantly fell into his chest heartbreaking.

“I miss her so much…” she managed to sob, her fingers clutching onto the arms of his jacket. Tears pricked his own hazel eyes, having to tilt his head up to stop them from falling. He hadn’t heard his own agony spoken aloud like this, and pain wracked the centre of his chest.

“Me too.” was all he could utter back, fighting to keep his voice stable, clearing his throat in an attempt to loosen the lump constricting his breathing. Kitty stepped back from his arms, furiously wiping the tears from her cheeks with the heels of her palms.

“Right, yeah, ‘course you do. Sorry, I didn’t mean–”

“You’re good. It’s actually kinda… refreshing. Everyone tip-toes ‘round me like ’m gonna bite their head off. Can’t really blame 'em.” He shrugged as if it wasn’t that big of a deal. He guessed he should be grateful for the way people were trying to be respectful, but it only resulted in pissing him off monumentally.

“You have been looking like you want to tear the school down recently…” Kitty giggled lightly, and Logan relaxed, thankful he was able to bring a smile back to the girl’s face. His chest constricted as he thought of your proud smile. Teaching the kids he could do. Making them feel better in any kind of capacity? That’s where he fell short, but you excelled. “S’just… Jade was like a sister to me. I hated her for what happened, but we leant on each other so much, she became the sister to me Jade used to be. And I never told her I didn’t hate her anymore. Because I did, or, at least part of me did, but I let that go…” Kitty took a deep breath, tilting her head to the sky as fresh tears stung her eyes. “What if– what if I don’t get to tell her that?”

Logan grit his teeth. “You will. Listen, I still gotta buncha shit I wanna say to her, and there’s nothin’ that can stop me from sayin’ it. We’ll get her back, aight? I promise.” He sounded a lot more confident than he felt, but Kitty blew out a long breath, her tears remaining behind her lashes. If he could bring her some kind of comfort, then perhaps he could start believing it himself. You weren’t dead. He was set on that. But you were in pain. He knew that too. Because whatever they did to you in the past wouldn’t hold a candle to how things had changed in the last seven years. New technology, new information, new drugs.

New weapons.

He shook his head. Thinking about what you were going through wouldn’t help to get you back. And as if sensing his train of thought, Kitty stepped forward and put a hand on his arm. “We will get her back.” She reiterated, only this time it was for his benefit. He offered her a weak, grim smile, before turning back to head into the mansion once again.

Only to be stopped in his tracks by Jean who came sprinting out the door, almost colliding straight into him. She skidded to a stop, pausing as if she couldn’t find the right words. Logan raised a brow.

“We have a lead.” Was all she said, though her words took a moment to register, Kitty came barrelling up behind him. “Or rather, we found a way in.”

Rap rap rap!

A groan rumbled from your lips as you held your pillow over your ears, your head pounding. Your shift last night had been long and brutal, and that was without the endless shots your coworkers poured for you.

Rap rap rap!

“Fuck off!” You called back, hearing a light giggle from beyond your messy bedroom door.

“C’mon, it’s almost midday! You can’t sleep forever!” You attempted to hide beneath the covers of your bed as Morgana opened the door, her face as bright as it usually was this early in the morning. And by this early, you really meant eleven-forty.

“I’m serious Morgo, fuck off. My shift was exhausting and I just want to sleep forever…” you complained, almost hiding as she drew back the curtains to your window. “Morgana?!”

“Get. Up!” She leapt onto your bed, hardly mindful of wherever your limbs lay, before snuggling in next to you, crimson strands of curly hair falling into your face. You sighed heavily. You loved Morgo, you really did, but she could be a total pain in your ass sometimes.

“She still not up yet?” Rowan called from the door, and you swore lowly as he too stepped into your room, followed by Atlas.

“Yeah sure, party in my room. Free real estate up in here!” You called sarcastically from beneath the covers as Rowan attempted to pull them from your body. You gasped in horror, clutching the duvet like your life depended on it.

“Don’t you fucking dare Rowan, I will drown you in shadow I swear to fucking god!” You bit, earning yourself a fit of giggled from Morgana and an appalled gape from Atlas. Your brother placed his hands on his hips, raising a light gold brow as he looked down at you.

“If you could control your powers like I can, maybe I’d believe you, freakshow. C’mon, ouuuuuut of bed.” He strained against your strength as you briefly played tug of war, before you gave up when Atlas stepped in to help your brother, ripping the covers from your clutch with their combined strength and dragging Morgana with it, the girl falling off the foot of your bed with a heavy thump.

“Hey! What the hell?” She slapped Atlas’ thigh and the poor boy jumped back, offering her a shrug of an apology. She stuck her tongue out at him.

“Ya know, I don’t know a single twenty-two-year-old who lays in bed all day. Oh, wait, yeah I do. It’s you.” Rowan poked your now exposed foot and you went to kick him half-heartedly. He took a single step back, out of your range.

“Yeah well, none of you fuckers work nights so–”

“I do!” Erin poked her head around the door, toothbrush sticking out from between her white frothy lips. It seems you weren’t the only one out late. “Well, shometimes, it–”

“Take ya brush out ya mouth, Erin…” Atlas sighed, a hand braced against his brow as if being around you all was exhausting. The girl rolled her eyes, tilting her head up so her minty saliva wouldn’t drip all over the wooden floors.

“It depends on the rota, I don’t work late every shift, unlike you.” She finished, placing the toothbrush back in her mouth and dipping out of sight. You heard the tap run as Erin spit out her toothpaste, returning around the door as she wiped her mouth, “We need to get you a new job, girlie. This one’s destroying you. Honestly, you could carry my weekly shop in the bags under your eyes.” Erin crossed the room with the sole purpose of prodding the centre of your nose, before plopping her ass down on the bed next to you.

You looked at the four of them individually, finding a bubble of happiness blooming in your chest. You loved these people. They were your family. They were everything to you. And despite your shitty job, your long hours, the tiny apartment that the seven of you were supposed to share, and how antisocial Naji was, you found yourself feeling extremely grateful for your circumstances.

“I’ll look into it…” you sighed, much to Erin and Altas’ shared glee. Clearly, he was getting tired of healing your various bar-wounds, coming home with various cuts on your palm from where you’d completely misjudged the fall of your knife when slicing up garnish.

“Knew ya would!” Erin chimed, twirling a strand of her badly dyed green hair between her fingers. Her justification was that she could control nature, so surely she should look green, no? But her original black roots had started to show through and she couldn’t be bothered to go through the faff of dyeing it all over again, so she’d just decided to grow it out.

With an irritated sigh, you stretched your arms high above your head, rolling your shoulders in an attempt to rid yourself of the crick in your neck. “Fine, I’ll get up. God, I hate Saturdays. None of you motherfuckers seem to work weekends either.” You grumbled, shooting an exasperated look to Atlas as he muttered ‘language’ under his breath.

“Did you have ya dream again?” Morgana asked, finally removing herself from your floor and dusting herself off. Rowan and Atlas went to head back down the stairs, where you could now smell bacon rising from the kitchen. Maybe it was worth getting up if Rowan was making breakfast. Or lunch, you guessed.

“Hm?” You asked, having not listened to her question at all. The girl rolled her eyes, slapping your arm as she followed you to the bathroom.

“Your dream? Did ya have it? I need to know more about Mr.Sexy and his hot claws.” She grinned and you snorted a laugh, before taking a moment to try to remember if you even dreamed at all last night. Though your awakening had been rude, you’d awoken feeling a slight panic in your chest which had nothing to do with Morgana storming your room. Although if you were being quite honest, you didn’t really want her to know more than she already did. You had a sneaking suspicion she was writing down your dreams in the hopes that she would dream of your nighttime visitor.

“Yeah, actually, I did…” you started hesitantly, giving her reflection in the mirror a flat look as she clapped her hands excitedly. Erin scooted over across your bed so she could be involved in the conversation, listening through the open door. “I don’t remember much of it,” you confessed, rolling your eyes as Morgana’s face fell. “But it was pretty mundane. We were just…” you took a moment, pretending to try and remember what it was about. “We were just chatting. On a bed, but like, a four-poster bed. Same one as last time, with the whole crossed gun thing above the headboard” It was one you’d genuinely had before, and Morgana’s shoulder sagged in disappointment. “Sorry Morgo.”

“Wait that’s so cute, why’re you apologising?” Erin called from the bed, and you snorted a laugh.

“Because I’ve had that one before. It seems to be recurring.” You shrugged, feeling a little nugget of guilt swell in your gut. Now you’d thought about it, your dream last night had been harrowing. You were caked in blood, lying on the road. He was reaching for you, stationary, the world around swirling and blurry with shadows before you blinked and he was gone. Two months you’d been having dreams similar to this one, or at least starring the same man. He was incredibly attractive, hence Morg’s nickname for him after you described him to her, but you knew nothing about him. Each dream he was silent. You were too. You were just near each other, either doing mundane things or going through what you assumed was the worst moment of your dream self’s life. It was really fucking weird.

“Awww… I wanted something new.” Morgana pouted and you narrowed your eyes at her reflection, spitting your toothpaste into the basin before splashing water across your face in a lame attempt to freshen up and wash away the memory of your nightmare.

Twirling to face her, you placed a hand on your hip. “Yeah well, seems my mind’s just conjuring shit on repeat now sooooo…” you made a face and Morgana stuck her tongue out at you, before padding out the bathroom with you in tow.

“Still, s’interesting you get dreams of the same guy. S’like you’re having a relationship in your head… wait no that just sounds sad.” Erin furrowed her brows in an attempt to think of another way of putting it, but gave up almost instantly. You flopped back down on your bed, leaning forward to your chest of drawers against the left side wall, and the fact you could easily reach the drawers from your bed was a testament to just how small your room was. Pulling out a loose pair of sweats and a grey hoodie, you didn’t hesitate to strip in front of the two girls. Having known them since childhood, it was an uncommon occurrence for the three of you to change in front of each other. And this was no different. Though Morgana’s brows furrowed as her eyes found a scar cutting straight across your chest, from just above your left breast, over the centre of your breastbone, to down below the right-hand side of your ribcage. It was gnarled and jagged, a slice made without much care, but you couldn’t remember a time when you didn’t have it.

“That’s new, when’dya get that?” She asked, eyeing you suspiciously. You’re head cocked to one side, raising a brow in confusion.

“I’ve always had this, whaddya mean?” An ember of concern ignited in your gut as you regarded her for a moment. You watched the way her eyes lost focus, almost dissociating for a moment, before she shook her head to clear the haze behind her eyes.

“Right… yeah no you totally have. Sorry, must be goin’ nuts.” The girl grinned, and you inhaled a relieved breath. You didn’t need Morgana careening off the rails right now. She was the one who kept you stable, or at least less grumpy.

“S’alright. Tough few days?” You tugged on your sweats, already hating the fact that in two hours, you’d have to be getting ready for work. It took an hour to commute to the bar, that’s if the buses were on time and not disappearing randomly. God you fucking hated the public transport here.

Morgana nodded a little absently as if still fighting back whatever brain fog she’d just encountered. “Yeah, something like that…” She trailed off, and you didn’t push any further. It happens to all of you from time to time. You were talking to Altlas the other day about the way you’d all graffiti the walls of your first hideout when you were kids, talking in detail about the first sketch you’d done before transferring it onto the wall. Only, he didn’t remember it that way. You went back and forth for a while, until he had that same faraway look enter his eye, and all of a sudden he was agreeing with you, as if a switch was flipped in his brain.

“Oh! Before he left Joseph said you could have the rest of his milkshake, by the way. In payment for the pasta you made him yesterday.” Erin chimed in, examining her nails, her legs sprawled across your bed like it was her own. And honestly, you all acted like that. The rooms were all pretty communal at this point, you’d known each other for so long.

You perked up a little. Milkshake and bacon? Maybe getting up before midday was worth it after all. Not that it was much before midday now, and in fact, the small alarm on your watch just told you it had just gone twelve. Only two hours til you needed to leave.

Fucking great.

“Kind of him, I’d take it with me if Carlos wasn’t such a stickler for company drinks. I think he’d stab me if I brought in my own…” You half-joked, to both Erin and Morgana’s morbid shock.

“Girl we really need to get you a new job.”

“Like, ASAP…” Morg finished, and you scoffed slightly. You didn’t need one that badly. Just one within the next few years would be nice…

You blew out a breath, standing from your bed after pulling on a pair of warm socks. There was a winter chill in the air, and you were certain this year was going to be a cold one. You could feel it in your bones. Rubbing at your arms, you almost slipped down the stairs, Morgana’s hand instantly steadying your steps in a hand clutching your arm. How fucking tired were you? It felt like your legs straight up didn’t damn work.

“Enjoy your trip?” You heard Rowan call from the stove, and you clenched your jaw against your dumb smile. God, you hated that joke. Or, at least, you told yourself you did, when in actual fact it made you smile every damn time he said it.

“Ha-ha, yeah ‘see you next fall’ you’re so fucking funny Ro’.” Smoothing your brow with your hand, you went to sit at the breakfast far, the rest of your found family having forsaken a dining table upon moving in and instead opting for this slightly decrepit, unstable wooden bar with garish-coloured seats that were various heights. Even the lighting matched the anarchy of the decor, the scrappy bulb flickering every so often. None of the furniture matched in your apartment but to be honest, that was part of the reason you loved it so much. It was chaotic, but it was home.

Your heart spasmed in pain, to the point where your brow furrowed. What the fuck just happened? Rowan seemed to have noticed as well, sending your an inquisitive look, which you instantly brushed off. Nothing to worry about. At least, not yet.

Rowan shrugged, shimmying the pan of baken in his hand before removing three slices and placing them on a plate before you, alongside a freshly washed fork clearly leftover from last night’s takeout they all had that you weren’t invited to because you were at fucking work goddamnit.

“Thanks, Ro’, smells great.” You offered him a small smile, one he returned, before heading over to the far too-small fridge to dig out the rest of Joseph’s milkshake he’d said you could have. You didn’t mind making pasta for him yesterday. In fact, you kind of enjoyed it. Most of the time, when the rest of your family ate, you were at work so you never got the opportunity to cook for them. That was mostly down to Rowan unless he was working the late shift at his apprenticeship, in which case the two of you would leave together and the other’s had to fend for themselves.

It was often a bombsite when you’d return.

With the first mouthful of crispy, smokey bacon, you quickly decided getting out of bed was worth the aggravation, even more so when you dumped a whole load of maple syrup onto your plate. You don’t think you’d ever met a Canadian in your life, but if and when you did, you might just have to kiss them for even being associated with maple syrup.

Speaking of sweet treats…

“Anyone want one of my special hot chocs? I’m annoyed and up early so my treat for having to deal with me,” you grinned a little wickedly into your milkshake, the room whirling in complete surprise, to the point where you had to hold up your hands in defence. “What did I say?”

“Whaddya mean ‘special hot choc’?” Rowan asked accusingly. “I’ve never taught you how to make hot chocolate before!”

“Yeah, I’m with Ro on this one. Since when did you have a special hot chocolate recipe?” Erin almost pouted, as if you’d deliberately been keeping it from her.

You thought for a moment. They were right, you didn’t always have a hot chocolate recipe. You only learned that from…

Wait, who?

And when you went…

Wait, where?

Maybe you didn’t have a special recipe after all. Were you just remembering things wrong? YOu must be. Where and when would you have picked up a special recipe for Christ’s sake? You haven’t been anywhere with anyone to have done that.

Must have been the exhaustion talking. The lights flickered again.

“Must be going crazy…” you mumbled, accepting the fact that no, you didn’t have a special hot chocolate recipe.

You felt something wither away and die in your chest.

“You really gotta stop all those late nights.” Rowan placed a hand on your shoulder, concern etched in the pinch of his brow. It hadn’t been too long ago you and Rowan had fought, the argument you’d had still echoing in your brain. It was over your mutation, and his since it was so similar yet the complete opposite. He’d berated you for not having gained control of it yet after accidentally plunging a supermarket in a blanket of shadow upon finding out they were out of your favourite bread. It wasn’t your fault, really, but you’d made the whole situation worse when you lost complete control.

Three people were taken to hospital.

Two of them died.

You shook your head. Now was not the time to be thinking about that. You’d managed to repair the relationship between you and your brother, there was no point dwelling on the past.

The idle chatter of the kitchen continued as you fell silent, turning your attention instead to the strange series of dreams you’d been having. Most of you only remembered because Morgana would remind you multiple times a day by bringing it up all the time. But there was one thing you hadn’t told her that had occurred in almost every single dream you had.

One word.

Or an animal you guessed.

Or a bug.

Were bugs animals?

Did the animal kingdom include fish and birds as well as mammals?

Shit, you were getting off-topic. Your brows furrowed in concentration, trying to remember your train of thought. What the fuck were you just thinking about? Your jaw clenched with the effort of remembering. You swore you were deep within–

Firefly.

The chair clattered behind you as you shot from your seat, eyes round and wide in panic. What the fuck was going on? Where were you? You could barely register the faces of those around you, but you knew you hadn’t seen them all in a long long time. You weren’t supposed to be here. None of this was real. You were back, he’d found you again. Shit! Where was L–

“You okay…?”

The tension left your body as Morgana settled a hand on your shoulder, her auburn brows pinched in worry. Darkness swam at the edges of your vision, before you shook your head slightly, freeing yourself of your daze.

“Yeah… shit, yeah, sorry. Fuck, what is wrong with me today?” Your voice shook slightly as you gave your family a slightly nervous smile, bending to pick the chair back up. Fuck, you really needed to sleep more. Fucking job was going to kill you off. For sure.

A quick flick of your wrist and you saw you had around an hour and a half before you needed to leave. A heavy sigh blew from your lips as you downed the rest of Joseph’s milkshake he’d so kindly donated to you, before shooting an annoyed look to the bulb as it briefly turned the kitchen into a club dancefloor, before winking out completely.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me…” Rowan lamented, placing down whatever protein shake he’d opted for the morning and dragging over a barstool to stand on. “I told Naji we needed to get this shit fixed and he told me he’d text the landlord, but this is just–”

None of you were strangers to natural phenomena. You were fucking mutants, for Christ’s sake, your very existence was a natural phenomenon. However, watching a barstool blink out of existence entirely wasn’t exactly on your list of things you’d ever seen. Or even things you would like to see. Rowan was cut off midsentence as he crashed to the floor.

You all stood in utterly stunned silence.

“Y’all saw that too, right?” Erin asked, glancing warily around the room before taking a small step toward Atlas next to the window. Well, that was one suspicion you’d had confirmed then. Tension thickened the air, static apprehension making your saliva sweet and your breath hot. What the fuck was going on?

Rowan stood from the ground, dusting himself off, his gaze tracking warily around the perimeter of the room. Another mutant, perhaps? It wasn’t exactly common in the area, but it wasn’t unheard of. Some poor kid with shitty control over their new mutation discovers their first big act of power was accidentally erasing a barstool out of existence. “Chill out, it’s most likely a power cut or some new electromagnetic mutation. We’re fine.” Rowan attempted to soothe, though his voice was anything but convincing. Especially when a squeaked gasp emitted from next to the window, where Atlas had flipped up the blind to the outside world.

“Does the sun get power cuts too? Or did you just absorb a bunch of light this morning, Ro?” Morgana asked, though her eyes were trained on the pitch black outside the crummy window. You crossed the kitchen alongside Rowan, the five of your leaning out of the window to get a good look at whatever the fuck was going on.

Or rather… not going on.

“What the hell…?” Rowan muttered as you all watched the outside world flicker in and out of existence. One second it would be the neighbourhood you’d come to know so well, the next the sky turned grey and grainy, like an old TV trying to find signal. The flat next door would completely disappear, replaced by walls of steel. Your heart raced, stomach flipping.

“Joseph’s still at work…” You breathed, and Morgana turned to you as if she’d only just realised it too, fear flickering in her dark crimson eyes.

“I’ll text him, let me–” Atlas was cut off swiftly, the floor beneath your feet flickering, before that too completely disappeared, and you were all plummeting to the ground. Wind whipped at your hair as you desperately flung your arms out in search of a shadow.

“ERIN!” Morgana screamed as Erin’s hand extended before her, attempting to search for some kind of plant life. But your flat had become nothing, merely glitches of light around you. A strong arm circled your waist and turned to see Rowan’s golden eyes wide with fear.

“My shadow!” He called, flipping the two of you so you were beneath him. You didn’t think twice, trusting he had a plan before your molecules dissolved into the darkness across his front. You could still hear the rush of wind, Morgana’s cry of pain before the descent started to slow and you could sense various shadows around you growing. The moment your world seemed solid enough, you reformed, your eyes taking a moment to adjust before you registered Altas healing the nasty looking cut on Morgana’s hand, blue glowing particles rising from where his palm encased her hand.

She must have slowed your fall, the steel floor now a pool of blood where she’d borderline drained herself to save the rest of you. Wordlessly, you crossed to where she swayed slightly, placing her arm around your shoulder to act as a support.

“Thanks…” She murmured, closing her eyes to recover from that woozy feeling of using too much of her power. You went to brush off her gratitude, to tell her it was the least you could do after she’d just saved your lives, before part of the wall before you started to close in an inch. With a hiss and a screech, the steel split in two, casting a rectangle of blinding light and causing you all to throw up your hands.

“Guys?”

You all knew that voice, and there was a collective sigh of relief when Joseph stepped through the door. But the voice you knew to be full of jokes and laughter sounded exhausted, beaten. Defeated. Where the fuck had he been?

“Joes? What the fuck is going on?” Rowan called, dimming the light so you could all remove your hand-shaped shields from your eyes. “Where’ve you– Holy shit are you okay?” Rowan ran forward, catching Joes as his knees buckled and he crumpled to the ground.

A gasp flew from your lips. He was caked in blood. And not in the way Mogana would be if she somehow lost control. He’d been hurt. Badly. Almost surgically. Various parts of his skin had been removed to leave behind raw, pulsing muscle exposed to the outside. His face had been all but completely disfigured, where his eyes used to be dark and inviting, the whites were now bloodshot and his pupils dilated.

“Move,” Atlas instructed sternly, Rowan shifting slightly to the side before he lay his hands on Joes’ chest in the same way he did for Morgana, those same blue particles rising and winding around Joes like grapevines, dipping into his various wounds and closing them over.

“They’re here to help us,” Joes muttered, his head lolling to look back out the gap in the wall. What the fuck was he talking about? Help you do what? One moment you were all having brunch and you were sipping a milkshake, the next your fucking flat had disappeared and you’d all plummeted fifty feet straight down.

You cast Morgana a confused glance, now recovering quickly, and she sent you one right back. “Who’s here?” You asked, eyes lingering on the fear in Morgo’s before Joes pointed out beyond the darkness and into the light.

Three elongated shadows shrouded the light, but it was the one in the centre who drew your attention. Broad-shouldered, strong-armed, with two little flicks of hair licked up either side of his head. You knew that outline, like a memory forgotten, or a faded dream. With the light behind them, you couldn’t see their faces, but you could see they all wore the same suits. The girl on the right gasped, her hands covering her mouth as she almost fell to her knees.

Morgana tilted her head in confusion, and you shrugged, not taking your eyes from the three shrouded figures.

Though you felt a well of unspecific emotion rise in your chest as the man in the centre spoke, his tone soft, voice deep and gruff.

“Hey, firefly.”

Logan didn’t know what he would say to you when he saw you again. When Jean had told him they’d found a lead, he expected it to be at least another month before anything would actually happen about it. He wasn’t expecting the entire team to have assembled already, suits and all, prepared to head out that night. His chest constricted with impatience when the team were stalking the halls. He knew they all had the element of surprise, but if he was being honest, stealth was never really his strong suit. He just wanted to find you. He just wanted to hold you and apologise as many times as he needed to in order to ease the heavy weight of guilt off his shoulders.

What would he say to you? How much he’d fucking missed you? How sorry he was he couldn’t protect you. How he’d promised he’d keep you safe and then lost you? But the moment those doors opened and he saw you, with Sanguine leaning heavily on your shoulders, all and any words quickly left his mind. You looked tired. That wasn’t to say you didn’t always look tired, but you looked fucking exhausted. Dangerously skinny, as well. The muscles on your arms had all but faded, your cheeks had hollowed, and your neck looked like it could be snapped with a light breeze. Fuck you looked so fragile.

“We’re gonna get you out, okay?” Logan took a step forward, only for you and the rest of the mutants to take a step back. A spear thudded into the centre of his soul as he watched you try to figure out what was going on. But it was the look in your eyes that shattered every fibre of his being.

Unfamiliarity.

You had no idea who he was.

“They don’t remember,” Joes said, rising from the floor once Atlas had taken a step back away from Logan, Scott and Kitty. She’d insisted she came with the rest of the team and said she’d just hide in the walls anyway, so they may as well take her along willingly. Scott begrudgingly agreed.

“We don’t remember what?” Logan’s eyes slid to the man with the golden hair and eyes, who looked remarkably similar to you. Rowan. His eyes narrowed. “Joes what the fuck is going on? What don’t we remember? Who are you fuckers?”

“Rowan!” The man next to him hissed. Judging from his appearance and general attitude, Logan guessed that must have been Atlas, or Harmony. He’d already run into Joseph, and rescued him when Ororo controlled enough lightning to short out their electrical units, plunging the facility into total darkness. All that was left of that practice room was blood and entrails.

Logan had made sure of it.

“None of this is real, Ro’. They’ve been forcing Naji to fuck with our minds, man. Every time one of us goes to ‘work’, they take us out into the real world and fuck with us. You saw the state I was in, man. C’mon!” Joseph pleaded, and Logan could see the cogs turning in your brain as if trying to process what he was saying.

“The fuck are you talking about?” The girl with the bright green hair piped up, boldly stepping towards Joseph and dragging him back towards the rest of the group protectively. “Who’s ‘they’? Whaddya mean fuck with us?”

“Naji wouldn’t do that, Joes.” Your just managed to keep the tremor from your voice, dropping Morgana’s arm from around your shoulders and taking a cautious step towards your brother. What the fuck was going on? You looked between the three newcomers, the girl on the right stepped forward, and your eyes narrowed on her. “Another step and you’re dead.” You hissed, extending your hand behind you to the shadows as if you could do anything but disappear into them. Morgana drew out her knife from her boot and sliced open her palm, blood swirling and morphing until three sharp spears floated above her head.

“Let’s all just take a breath…” Logan murmured in an attempt to soothe the rising tensions in the room. Why he’d thought this would go smoothly, he had no idea and found his present self kicking his past self for making such stupid fucking assumptions. He held out his palms in peace, trying in vain to come across as non-threatening as possible, his eyes trained on you. “It’s okay…” His brows pinched as you looked at him with disdain.

Who the fuck was this guy? Sure he looked and sounded exactly the same as your dream visitor, but you refused to believe they were one of the same. Just some freaky coincidence, and you didn’t even know if his mutation was the same. He hadn’t shown anything yet, and for all you knew, it could be something completely different.

But a hole of doubt had burned through your gut.

“Wait… isn’t that–”

“Shut the fuck up, Morgo.” You hissed before Morgana could even finish her inquiry. You knew exactly what she was about to ask, you’d felt her eyes flicker between you and the man ever since he’d called you firefly.

Total coincidence…

“She has a point though. Naji wouldn’t do that to us. Sure he’s antisocial and spends most of his time in his room, but we’re still his friends. His family. He wouldn’t do that… would he?” Uncertainty laced Erin’s tone as she eyed the three outsiders suspiciously, reaching into her back pocket. You glanced her way, holding your breath. You knew what he had stored away in her cargo pants, not just in her back pocket, but in all of them. Various seeds for every variety of plant you could think of, her favourite being the Venus fly trap because of course that was Erin’s favourite plant.

Logan’s chest spasmed at Erin’s words. He knew he was going to have to take them all to Charles and return their memories to them. Not knowing what would happen to the bonds you’d all made with each other terrified him. What if that just made everything ten times worse? What if you and the others remembered everything and decided to go along with Kreva’s plan? He’d already seen Rowan, Morgana and Joseph working for Kreva…

What would stop them this time?

“This is taking too damn long…” Scott muttered, throwing a glance behind his shoulder to make sure nobody was sneaking up on them. Logan couldn’t help but agree. It was taking far too long. He didn’t want to take any of you by force. That was a last resort, and only if you couldn’t be convinced. If it went against your current wishes, he honestly didn’t give a fuck. You weren’t safe here. You were back where you started, and he’d be fucking damned if he was leaving without you today. Taking the others was a luxury, taking you was the priority.

“Let me talk to them. Please. They don’t know what’s going on. Naji restores our memories before the testing begins, but they’re always erased and replaced when we come back. They don’t know anything, just give them time.” Logan couldn’t help but feel sorry for Joseph. He was the only one out of the group, perhaps other than Naji, who knew what was going on and was stuck between saving his friends and getting the fuck out of there.

“You have thirty seconds.”

“Scott!” It was the first time Kitty had spoken up since seeing you, and to be honest, Logan had almost completely forgotten she was there. She’d been non-verbal, dealing with whatever she was dealing with after seeing you in the state you were in for the first time in two months. Now, however, she seemed to have recovered.

Unlike Logan, who still found it difficult to look at you, yet equally difficult to look away.

“Thank you, man,” Joseph nodded his head in gratitude, before turning back to the rest of the group. “Look, I don’t know how to convince you, but they got a mutant back at this crazy mutant school that can help get your memories back. He’s like, the only one other than Naji who can do it.”

“If this is true,” you began, folding your arms across your chest in a way that had Logan holding his breath, the familiarity nauseating. “Then why don’t we just ask Naji to restore them? He’s our fucking friend, Joes. Why would he do this?” You implored him to see reason. To see that there was no reality where Naji would work against the group, antisocial or not.

“Because they’ve–”

“Now now, Subject Three. Don’t go spoiling all of our secrets now, will you?”

The hairs on the back of your neck prickled, though the voice meant nothing to you. You didn’t recognise it at all, but you noticed the way the three newcomers all bristled and the way Joes seemed to shrivel in fear. Following ‘Scott’’s gaze, you looked up to see Naji, bruised and beaten, his neck held in a vice grip by some formless, faceless figure with a large gun slung over his back. The mirrored window had been smashed open, blood leaking from Naji’s knuckles as his legs dangled over the side, held out over the shattered glass by the throat.

“Joes…” Rowan growled in instruction, the rest of you already being on the same page. Joes could teleport not only himself but various other people of different numbers depending on size and mass. But the man just stood there, his eyes wide, nostrils flaring in utter terror as Naji gurgled and fought against the hold around his neck.

“Kreva.” You heard the muscular man behind you snarl, and your mind did somersaults as three long, razor-sharp claws slid from his knuckles. There was no point in denying it anymore. It was most definitely the same mutant from your dreams.

“Ah, The Wolverine. How darling to see you again. Here for Subject Eight, I presume? There’s no point. It remembers nothing of your cosy little forest getaway.” Dr Kreva covered his mouth theatrically, gasping as if he’d made a terrible mistake. “Oh no, have I said too much? No matter. Once all you X-men are disposed of, this will be nothing but a bad dream to them. Isn’t that right, Eight?” It took a moment to realise the skinny, crooked-nosed man was addressing you, but how the fuck were you supposed to know that when he wasn’t even calling you by your name. And what the fuck did he mean by ‘cosy forest getaway’? You’d never even left the city.

“The fuck is going on…?” You asked aloud, taking a step back and towards Joes, who was still stuck in frozen, abject horror. “Joes… you gotta get him. He’s gonna fucking kill him!” You hit his arm with enough force to break the man from his terror-stricken paralysis, only for him to blink away from you, shaking his head wildly as if his mind was a wasp’s nest, his nails digging into either side of his temple.

“No no no nono nononononono–” Your mouth fell agape in fear as he fell to his knees, small rivulets of blood leaking down either side of his face as he clawed at the sides of his head.

“Joes?”

“Joes!”

“The hell?”

Adrenaline pumped through your blood as you slowly started to realise whatever the fuck was going on, it very much was not good. In fact, it was most likely that all of your lives were on the line. And you knew that right here, right now, you had to make a choice. You all did.

“You got a clear shot, Scott?” Kitty asked, stepping behind Logan slightly. Though he didn’t mind. As long as she was safe and out of the line of whatever fire could come their way, he was more comfortable. Now if only he could get you in a similar way.

“Lined up.”

“Don’t shoot!” Rowan waved his arms frantically as Scott’s fingers braced against his glasses, jumping between the mutant and his friend. “If you shoot Naji’s dead, for sure. Just– just hold on, okay? We can figure this out.” He pleaded, to the amusement of Dr. Kreva from above, his cackling laughter sure to haunt your nightmares for a good long while after.

“Oh, Five… always the peacekeeper. Always the pacifist. It’s a shame you’re such a killing machine, though nothing like your sibling. We should showcase that, Eight. Show them all what you’re capable of…” Kreva placed a thumb and forefinger beneath his chin mockingly, once again making a show of having you all at his mercy. “In fact… One, if you could. Not too much though, just enough to unleash the Phantom.” You felt your blood turn to ice in your veins. That was your mutant name… how the fuck did he–

Pain ripped through your mind as you fell to your knees, your hands biting painfully as you caught yourself before you broke your nose on the ground. Though where you should have felt cold steel, you instead heard the groaning of tight leather and a low grunt of impact.

It felt as if you were being unstitched, torn open with a rusty knife. Your head split apart and searched inside as Naji’s mutation invaded your conscience. You heard a scream coming from somewhere but were too focused on trying to stay sane as memory fragments of pure agony were thrust into the inner walls of your mind, scraping down your subconscious. White hot pain laced through your throat and you finally realised it was you screaming, your voice cracking and breaking as you fought Naji’s hold.

Rowan screamed your name as Logan lunged forward to catch your fall, dragging you into his lap and holding your arms by your sides. “We gotta go!” He roared to Scott, who nodded in agreement, barking out orders just as Kurt bamfed into existence. Morgana reached for you as Kurt placed his three-fingered hand on her shoulder, her desperate scream cut short as she was teleported from the room. Logan turned his attention back to you, back to the searing torment etched on your face as you writhed in his arms. “I know baby, I know, it hurts, just hold on.” He called your name soothingly, though his voice shook. Seeing you like this, in such pain, ripped at his self-control. And he loathed how you would have to do this all again when he got you back home.

What Logan didn’t know, was that you’d heard his voice, and held onto it. You wouldn’t let yourself be manipulated so easily. Fighting Naji hurt. It hurt like hell. He was fucking strong, winding a white-hot thread of memories throughout your head, but you thrashed and flailed from his twisting web, using your dream visitor’s voice as an anchor point.

“What’s happening to her?” Logan’s eyes left your face for two seconds to meet with a pair of golden ones he’d only ever seen fighting against him. Rage flared in his gut as he thought of the man who’d assisted in your capture, but this wasn’t the same guy. Sure, he had his body and his face and his powers, but this was a sibling. A brother. He was your brother, and Logan could see that in the way terror pinched his brows and widened his eyes.

“I don’t know, but we need to get her out. Now.” Logan responded, removing a hand from your arm to smooth back your hair as your neck all but snapped backwards, head almost rolling off his lap completely as your entire body contorted violently. It was getting worse.

Rowan nodded, a flicker of determination glittering in his golden eyes, before extending his hand out towards the light. “I can buy you time. Get her safe,” he instructed, and Logan found his rage toward him settling slightly. “I’m R–”

“Rowan. Yeah, I know. She spoke about you a shit ton.” He gave Rowan a half smile as his head tilted in confusion. Logan held out his hand. “Logan.”

Though the bafflement didn’t fade, Rowan shook his hand nonetheless, before getting to his feet, his hand still extended towards the light. “When I say run, run.”

“Thought you were a pacifist?” Logan asked, holding you tight against his chest as he lifted you from the ground, the shadows in the room now quivering in anticipation. Naji was winning. With a glance to both Scott and Kitty, he could see they’d been listening in and were ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.

“Not when they threaten my fucking sister,” He spat, the skin along his forearms and neck beginning to glow a bright, blinding white. “Go.” Was all he said, before the room erupted in sunlight, and Logan took off at a sprint, keeping you close to his heart. He had you back physically, your strained breaths and grunted whimpers told him that much.

Now he just needed to get you back mentally. And for that, he needed Charles.

“S’okay, you’re okay, just a little longer baby, I know…” he soothed as he raced round the corner, struggling to hold you still as you fought his hold, the darkness of the corridor lashing out in great, spiked tendrils, slashing at his arms and legs and leaving searing lines of crimson through the leather of his suit. His stomach flipped as he looked down at you, your spine arching back, head snapping, eyes rolling up behind your skull leaving behind nothing but black, hollow darkness. He was losing you. Fuck, he was losing you.

“C’mon on sweetheart, c’mon.” He ground, feet pounding against the floor as one of his shoulders was ripped back, knives of pure shadow tearing through flesh. He grit his teeth against the pain, racing through a set of open doors and launching the two of you towards the stairs, taking them two steps at a time. Your mouth opened as you released a strangled scream, your limbs jerking and flailing in his grasp, Logan almost losing his grip on your writhing body. Tucking your head between his collar and jaw, he pressed on until he could finally see the service door they’d snuck in through. “S’okay, not much farther now. Keep fightin’ him, firefly. You gotta keep fightin’.”

Serrated knives tore through your memories, flashes of pure, unadulterated agony rushing your nerves, setting your veins alight with liquid fear. Thrashing your head back, you attempted to clear your mind’s eye of Naji’s hold, razorwire slicing at the base of your brain. You had very little knowledge of brain anatomy, only knowing the basics, but you knew for certain he was attempted to break through your hippocampus both physically and hypothetically. But you held onto him. Onto the man who, in turn, held you. A kernel of safety shining within the ocean of fiery anguish. You held onto his voice, their meaning.

Shadows swirled around your wrists, encasing your hands in two sets of obsidian claws, raking down both sides of Logan’s arms. You were losing the battle, he knew you were, if Joseph was right and you didn’t remember anything, there was no way you’d have this kind of control over your mutation. Using his already-healed shoulder, he burst through the locked service door and barrelled down the stone tunnel, out into the night-air. He didn’t know what Obscurity’s range was for his mutation, but he had to assume it was limitless. Anything less and he was likely to let his guard down.

Breath burned in his lungs as he sprinted for the jet, hearing the door behind him open and close another two times for both Scott and Kitty. He didn’t know how many of your friends Kurt had managed to rescue, but it didn’t matter to him. You were there, in his arms. And as long as that was his reality, he didn’t give a shit about anything else.

His feet thundered against the metal of the ramp, and ducking into the deck of the Blackbird, he was greeted by an extremely concerned-looking Jean the moment her eyes lay on you.

“Help me…” Logan begged, collapsing to his knees, and the redhead wasted no time in extending her hand towards your rapidly twitching head, veins of pitch black etching their way up your neck towards your temples. Instantly, Jean grimaced, her mouth gaping in some unseen pain as she entered your mind. All Logan could do was sit and watch helplessly as she engaged in some kind of mental battle with Naji. Her brows pinched with effort, the tendons along the backs of her hands flexing and tensing with strain. Logan desperately swiped your sweat-matted hair from your brow as if to clear a better path for Jean’s mutation.

“Jean!” Scott barked, fear echoing around the deck of the jet as he lunged forward towards his girlfriend, only to be held back by Ororo, who looked utterly exhausted. She’d been high above the facility, concentrating on keeping the power down with various surges of lightning. And now she looked completely spent.

Slowly, gradually, your twitching started to cease, each muscle in your body relaxing separately as Jean managed to exorcise your mind of Naji’s manipulation, until you sagged in Logan’s arms, your breathing steady, your eyes closed as if you were just sleeping. Scott broke free of Ororo’s hold, rushing for Jean before she collapsed onto the hard ground. “You okay?” He asked, bracing her face in between his palms. Jean offered him a tired nod, a small smile pulling at her lips.

“Got her back.” She murmured, and Logan clenched his jaw to stop tears welling in his eyes. He gently manoeuvred your body to lie comfortably in his lap, the back of your head nestled in the crook of his elbow, his arm encasing your waist. You were back.

You were back.

Kitty knelt beside you, a hand grasping your limp, skeletal one, tears silently sliding down her cheeks. Logan knew what she was thinking. What she was contemplating. What had they done to you? What fresh horrors would you be battling once they returned your memories? Logan’s thumb slowly caressed your protruding ribs. He’d be there with you. Whatever you had to endure next, whatever fresh hell awaited you when you woke, he’d be right there next to you.

“We gotta go…” Scott muttered urgently to Ororo, who looked out beyond the ramp to the Blackbird, awaiting Kurt’s next arrival.

“We can’t… they’re still in there!” Morgana raised her head from where she’d been sat on one of the seats. “Atlas, Joseph, Naji and Rowan are still–” she was cut off by another puff of blue smoke, Kurt falling to the ground and releasing Rowan’s arm from around his shoulder. Blood leaked from the blonde’s nose, his hands braced against the steel as he caught his breath.

“Is she okay?” Were his first words, barely looking around before his golden eyes rested on your unconscious form and Logan’s protective hold. He could almost smell your brother’s disdain, his nostrils flaring as he slowly pieced together the narrative in front of him. “Logan, right?”

Logan nodded once, returning Rowan’s cold look with one of his own, baring his teeth ever so slightly as he tried to gauge the threat of you being taken from him again. Rowan visually backed off, his expression to exhaustion. “I guess a lot can happen when you don’t see someone for eight years. As long as you take care of her, that’s cool with me.” Rowan shrugged, having recognised just exactly what he was looking at.

As the Blackbird rose from the ground, Morgana clicked the belt across her middle and shakily made her way over to sit next to Rowan, eyes flickering between you and him.

“So… those dreams she had… they were actually memories?” She asked him slowly, and it took a moment for Logan to process all the subtext of the question before he nodded again. Even with your memories replaced, you could never truly forget him. The realisation made his chest swell and his heart ache. He was acutely aware of Rowan listening into the conversation. “Holy shit…” She breathed, tapping your arm lightly. “I hope you’re listening, you lucky bitch. He’s fucking gorgeous.”

So this was the Morgana from the reports. This was the girl he’d read about, not the one who aided in your capture two months ago. What the fuck had Kreva done to you all? How could he get Naji to manipulate you all in such a way? To the point where you’d all help him. Although it was a nice breath of fresh air for even a thread of humour to be woven into the cockpit. “Right, Erin? You’re with me on this, yeah?”

Morgana turned to the green-haired girl who’d curled up against the wall, her hands hugging her knees against her chest. “Erin…?” Morgana asked tentatively, and only then did Erin look up.

“We fucking left them.” She spat, her eyes rimmed red with unshed tears. “Atlas… Joes, Naji…. We just fucking left them. You got your precious Phantom back and just abandoned the rest of them.” Her hands flexed around her knees, chest tight.

“I’m sorry…” Kurt piped up from where he’d been nursing a small graze on his arm. “I couldn’t… It was carnage in there. I rescued who I could but–”

“Yeah well, it wasn’t fucking good enough. Who said we even needed rescuing anyway? This could all be total bullshit.” She hissed through gritted teeth, and Rowan placed a hand protectively on your shoulder. Logan knew he shouldn’t have bristled the way he did, the man had proven himself loyal, but he couldn’t help the memories of that night flashing to the forefront of his mind.

“Erin, we’re not abandoning them. We’re gonna go get them back, right?” Rowan looked to the rest of Logan’s team, who in turn looked at each other in uncertainty. They had you back. That’s what they came for. But something niggled at Logan’s mind. You wouldn’t stop there. If the tables had been turned and you were saving him, you wouldn’t stop until everyone was safe. He himself included, but that was given.

“No. We’re not abandoning them,” He spoke for his team, five heads snapping towards him, each with their own look of shock. “Ya know she’s just gonna go after them herself, right? And she wouldn’t stop til they’re all safe. And I dunno ‘bout you, but I ain’t letting her do that alone.” He finished, and Kitty smiled at him with tearful determination.

“Agreed.” She said, turning to the rest of the team. Ororo nodded and Scott sighed heavily, only swayed when Jean placed a hand on his arm.

“Alright then… guess that’s our next mission.” Scott sighed, irate.

“Thank you. They’re our friends so we really– Joes?” Morgana’s head tilted to the side as suddenly, seemingly out of thin air, Joseph blinked to existence, Rowan’s wrist held firmly in his grasp. Logan’s heart stopped. This wasn’t the same mutant they’d saved from testing during the mission. His eyes were glazed over, subdued hatred burning in his pupils as Rowan turned to his friend.

“Just Five.” He rasped, white foam leaking from his cracked lips.

“Joes? What’s–”

“ROWAN!” Logan roared, lunging across your form to take hold of your brother, only his fingers grazed nothing but thin air. Whatever Naji had done to Joes, it was the same thing he’d done to Morgana that night. And Rowan all too often.

But he was gone. Your brother was gone. And now there was no debate about what you’d do when you woke.

He just hoped, that whatever Charles restored, would be enough to get your brother back too. For your sake.