#I drew the first one but felt something viscerally wrong

[pourablecat]

Hark! His Grace, small, shiny and heroic in his small, shiny and heroic ceremonial armor.

(How long am I supposed to stand here sucking my gut in, Sir?)

[lupinmoonlight]

Hi! Could you write an alpha prof!remus x omega reader in heat. He gets her to his office after lessons to offer help and she agrees to spend the night( breeding kink)

Masterlist AO3

Alpha, please.

Summary - You are an omega about to experience her first heat. Professor Lupin offers to help and you end up getting railed in the Shrieking Shack (3,416 words).

Warnings - teacher/student relationship, omega verse, alpha!remus, omega!reader, breeding kink, unprotected sex, dubious consent because reader not very in control, age gap, my grammar (english is not my first language), not proof read.

Notes - Throwing this here and RUNNING AWAY. I am SO sorry for the delay, I was hit by a bus (jk lol i'm just burnt out). On a serious note, this was my first time ever writing something in the Omegaverse. Sorry if it sucks :( Thank you to everyone for your patience. I will eventually get to your request!

He noticed your scent before noticing you- a wave of pure, unadulterated omega scent that struck him like a physical blow, a visceral assault on his senses. The classroom, usually a blend of various scents, was now entirely dominated by this scent. Your scent, one of an omega on the cusp of her first heat yet blissfully unaware of it but one that Remus, an alpha, sensed with every fibre of his being. It was rich, sweet, intoxicating, awakening a primal need he had learned to control years ago. An almost uncontrollable need to own, to mark, to protect, to make his. 

As an alpha, the presence of an unclaimed omega, especially one as evidently oblivious to their own nature as you, was concerning. Why were you there without suppressants? How could you not know what was about to happen to you? It was dangerous. Both for you and for any other alpha around, yet there you were, looking as calm and serene as if it were just another day. 

You took a seat at the front of the class, your eyes glued to him. He was tall, commanding, exuding the authority and confidence of an alpha and you hated to admit how much it drew you in. Deep down, you were not interested in following the traditional roles of your status. You didn't want to submit to anyone. The thought alone filled you with dread...except right now. 

The class began and Remus found himself incapable of focusing on his carefully prepared lecture, distracted by the powerful need for something he didn't even allow himself to entertain. It was like all his senses were heightened. He could hear everything, feel everything. Too much. 

The lecture drew to a close, and you began to slowly pack up your belongings, your mind unconsciously reluctant to part from your professor. He made you feel so- 

"Y/N, may I have a word with you before you leave?" Remus asked. His voice was calm but it held an underlying urgency that he hoped you wouldn't notice. 

You looked up to him, your eyes wide and innocent, and in that moment, it felt like you would've done anything this man asked you. What was wrong with you? 

"Yes, Professor Lupin?"

He cleared his throat, attempting to appear casual. 

"Y/N, I... uh, I need to discuss something somewhat personal with you, and I apologize for the discomfort," he began. 

Your brows knitted in confusion, your posture tense. "Something personal, Professor?" 

He paused, gathering his thoughts, carefully selecting his next words. "I've noticed...that is, I've sensed...that you might be approaching a significant time that's inherent to your nature as an omega." 

Your expression shifted from confusion to embarrassment, unsure where he was going with this. "I- I'm not sure to understand, Professor... what do you mean?" 

Remus hesitated, his instincts as an alpha to protect and take charge clashing with his respect for you and your autonomy. "It seems that uh... you're about to experience your first heat, Y/N. It's a critical time for an omega, and it can be very dangerous if you're not prepared or aware." 

Your eyes widened, your embarrassment escalating into fear. "My first heat? But... I- I didn't know... I thought I had more time before... before that happened," you admitted shyly. 

Remus nodded, trying to appear comforting despite the turmoil raging within him. "It's unpredictable at times, especially the first one," he assured you. "It's imperative that you have a safe place and proper care during this period, especially considering that... well I assume, considering you haven't been on any suppressants." 

You looked away, uncomfortable. "No... no I haven't."

"That's okay. That's why I'm offering to help. I can provide a safe place for you, ensure that you have what you need to get through this safely. It's not ideal... but I cannot, in good conscience, let you face this alone." 

You suddenly wanted this very much, despite your habit of fighting your inner nature at every turn- no. You were not going to be a weak, vulnerable omega who needed an alpha to protect her. You could manage. You would manage. This was no big deal. 

"I can handle it myself, Professor," you said, trying to sound confident but failing pretty miserably. 

"I understand, but I assure you, my intentions are solely to offer protection and support. I wouldn't suggest this if there weren't a genuine need." 

At that moment, you weren't sure if he was just very good at being persuasive, or if your pathetic omega nature begged you to bend to his "protection". 

"Are you sure?" the question coming out more as a challenge. 

"Yes, I am. It's my responsibility as your professor and as an alpha to ensure you're safe," he affirmed. 

"O-okay, fine." 

"Just come to my quarters at the end of the day. I'll have everything prepared for you. We'll make sure you're as comfortable and safe as possible," he instructed and this time, his tone was firm, leaving no room for you to argue back. 

You simply nodded and made your way out of the classroom. The conversation had left you disoriented. Your lifelong determination to maintain independence and resist alpha authority was now clashing with an inexplicable trust in your professor. 

You had never expected your first heat to come so suddenly. You thought there would be signs to prepare you, like most other omegas. But no. It was just there. And what was more embarrassing was that it wasn't you who found out first. It was an alpha. And your professor, at that. 

You seriously considered not going to his quarters that night. Not because you were scared or didn't trust him, but just for the shame you felt. That shame, however, was quickly overshadowed by fear. You knew what could happen to unclaimed omegas who were in heat and who didn't take suppressants. Not all alphas were as kind as Remus. Some of them were vile predators ready to pounce on the first vulnerable omega they smelled. Somehow, you knew- rather inherently felt, that Remus wasn't like that. 

Swallowing your pride, you made your way to Professor Lupin's quarters, your stomach an absolute mess from the strange blend of anxiety and odd sense of security. 

Remus was already out by the door, a small bag in hand, a gentle smile, albeit somewhat anxious, expression gracing his face. 

"Thank you for coming, Y/N. I know this must be overwhelming," he said, trying to keep his voice soft and reassuring. 

You nodded, not sure you could trust your voice in that moment. 

He offered a small smile, then gestured for you to follow. "We're not staying here. I have a safer place in mind." 

You obeyed silently, following him through the corridors and then outside, the only sound being the small vials of potion clinking in the bag and the soft thumping of your feet on the wet grass. 

You had no idea where he was taking you, but it didn't matter. In that moment, you were quite literally trusting him with your life, and you hated that. 

Stopping before the Whomping Willow, Remus motioned for you to wait at a safe distance, and you watched in awe as he expertly pacified the violent tree, revealing a hidden entrance to an underground passage. 

Without questioning him, you proceeded in silence, making your way through some damp, sketchy tunnels. This was definitely not how you had expected to have your first heat and your need to be with him was growing stronger and stronger. In normal circumstances, you should have been scared, terrified even, following a grown alpha to Merlin-knows-where, but you actually were starting to feel desperate, aching for something you couldn't explain. 

You finally emerged into an old, creaking building, full of dust and looking like it was about to fall apart. Despite this, fresh blankets were laid out on the bed, candles provided a soft light, making it look somewhat comfortable. 

Remus carefully set down the bag of potions and turned to you, looking a bit sheepish. 

"It's not much, I know. But this place has been a refuge of sorts during my time here as a student... it's secluded, away from prying eyes and other... influences," he explained, deliberately vague about the deeper reasons. 

You looked around, taking in your surroundings. He was right, this wasn't much, but it was safe. "Thank you, Professor Lupin." 

"Please, call me Remus here," he insisted gently. "I'll let you settle down. I'll be just next door. If you need anything, just call for me."  

"Thank you, Remus." 

In the adjacent room. Remus sat rigidly, every muscle tensed, focusing on every breath, attempting to anchor himself to his resolve. He was battling his own nature, his instincts, usually so well-contained, were now threatening to overwhelm him, fuelled by your potent scent. It had been years since he'd felt such a primal pull, and he had never acted on it. So he sat, focusing on deep, steadying breaths. it was all he could do to maintain control. 

Meanwhile, you were beginning to experience the torturing onset of your heat. It was a violent assault of unfamiliar sensations, confusing, intense, leaving you feeling profoundly alone yet achingly in need of something- something, specifically Remus. The room felt too large, too empty, yet suffocating. 

Unable to bear the isolation and the escalating ache, you called out, your voice echoing a desperation you barely understood. "R-Remus... Remus, please... I don't know what's happening to me." 

Remus hesitated at the door, his hand clenched around the frame. "Y/N, I'm here. Tell me what you need," he encouraged.  

"I need... I need... I feel like i'm losing my mind. I need... I don't know," you stammered, your confusion and need radiating from you in a way that tugged relentlessly at Remus' instincts. 

He stepped just inside the room, his expression a mix of concern and fear- for you, for himself, for the line he was terrified of crossing. "I know, I know. I understand. It's your heat... and it's strong. But I brought something that might help," he said, retrieving a vial from the small bag he had brought. "Drink this; it should ease the symptoms." 

You took the vial with trembling hands and drank the potion, your eyes never leaving his as he sat cautiously at the edge of the bed. 

"Why is this happening to me like this? Shouldn't the potion work immediately?" you asked, panic evident in your tone. 

"It should, but... your heat seems to be very strong. Let's just wait for a moment. I'm here." 

"Remus... it's not working. Please, I need..." 

"I know what you need, Y/N. But I can't give it to you. We have to wait it out. It's going to be alright." 

This wasn't going to do. Being far from him was painful. Being close to him without getting what you needed what torture. You needed him in a way you had never needed anything else before. You needed him to consume you, to take you, to mark you, to breed you. 

"Alpha, please," you whispered without even meaning to. The moment the words left your lips, Remus froze, his heart racing as every fibre of his being, of his soul, responded to that word. It was spoken with such raw need that it resonated with the very essence of his being. His resolve shattered, not out of defeat, but out of an overwhelming need to fulfill his role as an alpha. 

Before you could react, you were flipped onto your stomach, the sound of a low growl reaching your ears. You were not even in control of your body anymore. Your instincts were controlling you, and you desperately raised your hips, presenting yourself to him in the most intimate way. 

The sight made Remus' blood travel south immediately. Already hard, he yanked down your trousers before unbuckling his own. You raised your hips higher, whining pathetically, desperate for him to take you. As he looked down at you, his cock throbbed with need and he knew then, there was no going back. 

"Please, alpha," you begged again, your voice trembling. "I need... I need you." 

"Fuck..." he growled, reaching down to position himself at your slick entrance. "I'm sorry," he started, his voice trembling, "this is the only way I know to help you." 

You closed your eyes, bracing yourself for the pain and pleasure that would soon consume you. "Please," you whimpered, "I need this." 

With a grunt, Remus pushed himself into you, your bodies connecting in a way that was both deeply intimate and primal. You gasped at the intrusion, your body trembling as you felt him filling you. 

He felt you tighten and tense as you tried to accommodate his size, your body reacting instinctively. "Relax," he instructed, his voice a low rumble. "You need to relax. Let me take care of you." 

His words, the authority in his tone, something deep within you responded. You forced yourself to relax, even as you felt his girth stretch you. He hissed in pleasure as he felt you accommodate him, your tightness almost too much. 

"That's it, good girl," he rasped out, one hand coming to rest on your lower back to steady you. His hips snapped forward, burying himself fully within you. 

You moaned, your entire being blissfully consumed by the feeling of fullness. 

"Are you alright?" he asked, staying very still within you. 

You could only nod before another desperate plea escaped you. "Yes, alpha... please, more."

At that, he allowed his instincts to fully take over. His hands gripped your hips painfully, and he began to move, his thrusts deep and powerful. A part of him was urging him to be gentle, but the other part, the alpha, was screaming at him to take what was his, to claim, to mate, and it was too strong to resist. He needed to feel you beneath him, to lose himself in the pleasure of your connection. 

You clung to the sheets, your nails digging into the fabric as Remus continued to rut into you. Your body rocked with every thrust, and soon enough, the pain began to fade, replaced by a blissful warmth that spread through your body. He knew he was taking a risk. A huge risk. But he couldn't help himself. He needed you, and you needed him. 

"Fuck, Y/N," he grunted as he continued his relentless pace. He leaned over you, his chest against your back, your bodies moulding together as though they were made for each other. "You feel so good," he growled low in your ear, his voice deep, rasping, reflecting his unending hunger. 

Each of his movement was sharp, controlled yet desperate, a constant rhythm of push and pull and he delved deeper into you, the pulsing throb of him only heightening your pleasure. 

"Alpha... alpha, please... I- I'm going to-" you tried to say but your orgasm tore through you with such force that you lost your voice. Remus didn't slow down. If anything, feeling you clench around him only fuelled his punishing pace. 

"I'm going to knot you," he announced. "I'm going to fill you up. Mark you as mine," he continued breathlessly. "I want everyone to know you're mine, to see you swollen with my seed, to see you bear my mark." 

You whined, barely able to hold yourself up from under his weight, but you managed to keep your hips elevated, desperate to be filled, to be marked, to be owned. 

His movements became jerky, sporadic as the wave of his release began to crest, each thrust of his hips pushing you further down into the mattress. "Take it," he rasped, "take my knot," his voice a harsh whisper against the shell of your ear before his teeth latched onto the soft skin of your neck, imprinting his mark on you. 

You moaned at the mix of pain and pleasure as his hand traveled down your arm, tangling your fingers together and with a final, deep thrust, he surrendered to the pleasure, his body shuddering as he came inside you. His hips flush against yours, his body draped protectively over yours as he poured himself into you with abandon. Finally he stilled, grunting as he felt the knot at the base of his cock start to swell. 

The sensation was foreign, somewhat painful, and you tensed, almost instinctively trying to move away. 

"Shh, it's okay, it's okay," he tried to soothe, still panting from his intense climax. "Stay still for me. It'll subside soon, I promise." 

He remained on top of you for a while, the knot locking you together, securing a powerful and intimate bond between you. His fingers stroked your skin gently, before he carefully maneuvered you to your side, spooning you protectively as his knot was still deeply lodged within you. 

"I know, it's okay. I'm just making you more comfortable. I've got you," he soothed as you whimpered from the movements. 

You stayed like that, your bodies intimately connected, until the knot subsided enough for Remus to pull out. You whined at the sudden loss and the wet warmth spreading between your thigh. 

As he felt you relax into him, Remus gently kissed your temple before carefully disentangling himself from you. With a flick of his wand, the wet feeling between your legs disappeared and a blanket was draped over you. 

Turning to the potions bag, Remus retrieved a vial, his hands slightly trembling as he grasped the small bottle. 

"Y/N, can you sit up for me?" he asked gently, offering his hand to support you. 

With his help, you managed to move into a sitting position, your movements languid, utterly exhausted from what had just transpired. Remus handed you the potion, noticing your confused expression. 

"This is uh... it's just a precaution... to prevent any unwanted consequences," he explained, uncomfortable from the intimate implications of his words. 

Your cheeks flushed with a hint of color as you took the vial, your fingers brushing against his in the exchange. 

"Oh, I... thank you." 

"I know this looks like... perhaps I had planned for this to happen. But I promise, it is not the case. I simply keep this sort of supply for any students who may be in need." 

"I trust you, Remus. And this was bound to happen, one way or another... and I'm glad it was with you." 

"Well, I... erm. It's important to stay hydrated, especially after this. Here," he said, trying to change the subject. 

You laughed softly, accepting the water from him. He had this way of knowing exactly what you needed before you even knew yourself. You were actually thirsty, and the cool liquid helped soothe your parched throat. 

As you sipped your water, a sudden sharp pain caused you to reach for your neck, your fingers brushing against a fresh, deep red mark. You looked at Remus with questioning eyes, seeking an explanation. 

Remus, visibly uncomfortable and with a hint of regret in his eyes, cleared his throat before speaking. "That's... that's a mark. My mark," he began, struggling to maintain eye contact. 

"In the heat of the moment, it's something an alpha can leave on an omega. It's a claim, a deep, instinctual reaction that seals a powerful bond. I didn't mean to- I should have controlled myself better." 

Your fingers lingered on the mark, your initial shock giving way to a different emotion, one of a surprising acceptance and even a hint of joy. "Does this mean... are we mates now?" 

Remus nodded. "Yes, it does. And I'm sorry, Y/N. I didn't intend for this to happen this way. You're a student. I should have been more careful, more in control. But please know, I will take responsibility. I will take care of you, support you, and I promise, I won't be overbearing. I'll-" 

"Remus, stop," you interjected, amused by his words tumbling our in a flustered rush. A smile crept onto your lips, a sense of deep contentment washing over you. 

"I'm not upset. In fact, I'm...happy," you confessed. 

Remus looked up, surprised. "You are?" 

"Yes, I am. To be marked by you, to be your mate... it feels right, despite everything. I don't see myself with any of those young inexperienced alphas..." 

"Young inexperienced alphas," he echoed. "Are you calling me old, miss?"

"Yes, maybe I am..." 

[captn-trex]

consequences be damned

Wolffe x F!Reader

word count: 3.3k

description: commander wolffe likes to berate you when you go against his orders, but this time, you can't supress the visceral reaction it brings.

warnings: not necessarily enemies to lovers but... a decent amount of arguing, mentions of negative clone treatment, i think that's it? idk man I'm tired

a/n: this is for all the girlies that cry when someone raises their voice at them! (me) anyway... i get nervous when discussing the treatment of clones and other kinda touchy stuff bc i just have this nagging feeling that i'm always interpreting stuff wrong, so I hope the stuff wolffe says at the end makes sense lmao

masterlist | join my taglist | read on ao3

You heard your name called after you before you managed to make your escape to your quarters, desperately trying to avoid confrontation. Ignoring the Commander’s calls, you hurried down the hall, your strides much wider than your usual gait. You managed to get the door open, but a large hand wrapped around your wrist before you could evade the uncomfortable conversation.

“Where do you think you’re going?” The Commander snarled, tugging you back into the corridor and slamming his fist into the control panel to shut the door.

You lifted your eyes to his for a moment, your head still angled to the floor as if it would shield you from his foul temper. You had never seen him so angry.

“I asked you a question, soldier” He said, his voice dangerously low as his face drew near to yours, “Did you really think I’d let you off after what you just pulled?”

“Sir, I didn’t mean to—”

Wolffe interrupted you with a sarcastic laugh, “Didn’t mean to? You’ll have to do better than that”

You couldn’t look at him. You knew he’d react like this when he found out, but you still hated when he was angry with you. He was more hard on you than his brothers, he always had been. So much so that you felt there was something unsaid between the two of you, that there was some itch that he wouldn’t stop scratching even though he wouldn’t acknowledge what it was.

“I��m sorry sir” You peeped out. It was the only thing you could say.

You had no explanation for your actions. You had gone directly against his orders, knowingly, deliberately. You knew he would find out, you knew he’d berate you for it, and you did it anyway. You’d do it again if you got the chance.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it” He began, and you let him scold you without interruption, “I have told you, countless times, you do not get involved in the conflict. No matter what. Do you know how it makes me look?”

He paused, but you knew the question was rhetorical. In that silence it was hard not to think about the feel of his hand wrapped around your wrist, still keeping you in your place.

“I makes me look like I can’t control those under my command. If a medic can go against my orders then what’s to stop the rest of the men? Or the other nat-borns? I mean, do you even think? Clearly you don’t. You don’t have combat training, you could’ve been hurt, or you could have died”

He continued on, but you tuned him out. You had heard this barrage of demeaning comments more than once, and it was starting to feel like maybe it had become one time too many. If you had any more backbone you would’ve told him how much you despised when he did this. Although, Wolffe — along with almost everybody aboard the ship — was above you in rank. You couldn’t possibly give back to him this belittling commentary, so once again you stayed silent.

The worst part was that most of the time, Wolffe wasn’t even unbearable to be around, far from it. At any other time he was kind, in his own way. It wasn’t a way in which you’d seen anyone else express kindness, but you’d come to understand the way he operated a little by now. For example, something you had retroactively realised was a display of compassion, was that when you first joined the 104th, he had checked up on you everyday, albeit not in a particularly cheerful way. He had made sure you were comfortable in your new quarters, the ones you were now stood outside of being reprimanded.

There was something gnawing at the back of your mind, the feeling that you shouldn’t have to put up with this. You could hear your father in the back of your head, telling you that you had to learn to stand up for yourself. You hadn’t looked up at Wolffe once through his ranting, and you didn’t plan on it either, especially now as you felt your eyes becoming heavy with tears.

It was a natural response. You never liked being told off, and right now you felt as if you were a child again, your parents giving you a lecture about your shortcomings. Hot tears rolled down your cheeks in a similar manner, silent and unacknowledged.

You didn’t know when Wolffe had finished laying into you, but when you stopped reflecting on the past and came back to the present moment, you realised that he wasn’t speaking anymore. You hazarded a look at him, once again keeping your chin pointed down. He was just staring down at you, his scowl replaced in favour of a more uneasy frown, finally removing his hand from your wrist.

“Are you okay?” He asked quietly, clearly unsure of how to even approach the situation.

“I’m fine” You replied, and your voice was surprisingly even.

He was still just peering down at you through his creased brow, frozen in his place and out of his depth.

“Why are you crying?” He addressed the situation head on.

“I’m not crying”

“You are”

“I’m n—”

“You are”

You looked to your feet, feeling absolutely infinitesimal under the full scrutiny of his commanding presence.

“Alright fine, maybe I am” You admitted in a whisper.

“Why?” He asked firmly.

“No reason”

“No reason?”

“Yep, no reas—”

“Stop it” He interrupted again, “What’s wrong?”

You let out a long breath, your chest heaving before it escaped your pursed lips. You could taste the saltiness of your tears, and you lifted a hand to wipe one of your cheeks.

“I just don’t like being told off okay? I can’t help it”

“I wasn't telling you off, I was—”

When he didn’t finish his sentence your eyes flicked back up to his. His frown had softened, and he was now chewing on his lip as if he was looking for something to say. You huffed quietly, your cheeks scorching with embarrassment at the whole situation.

“If it's alright with you sir, I'd like to retire to my quarters now” You spoke quietly, trying to escape this situation that was nothing if not awkward.

Wolffe stepped back from you, clearing his throat, “Yeah, go ahead”

You turned back to your door and opened it up. You had only taken one step inside when Wolffe spoke up again.

“Wait”

You turned around, your eyes finding his, flitting between the cybernetic and the natural. His usual scowl was nowhere to be seen, and he just looked at you with a plain expression, something unreadable.

“I don't want to have to tell you off” He said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

You mustered up a little courage after his change in demeanour, “Then why do you?”

His throat bobbed as he gulped, “I just want you to be safe”

The way that he was staring at you was entirely too much for you to cope with, so you lowered your gaze once again before you replied.

“Thank you sir, I appreciate that”

Wolffe reached up slowly, gently taking your chin and guiding your eyes to his. He gazed upon you with the utmost sincerity and apology as his thumb swept across your still-wet cheek.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you”

“That's oka—”

“It's not” He spoke resolutely, with no room for argument, then softened his voice a little, “You understand that I don't like to be angry with you, right?”

Something about your expression must have conveyed a sense of doubt, because Wolffe frowned when you didn’t reply.

“Do you really think-?”

“I don't think, remember?” You replied, in a oddly humorous way, despite the previous tone of the conversation. Wolffe gave you a disapproving look, and you backtracked, “Sorry Commander”

Wolffe was still holding you face, and the way his eyes were searching yours was making your stomach erupt into butterflies. His gaze was captivating, cementing you in place and rendering you speechless in a completely different way to when he had been scolding you earlier. You didn’t want to be the first one to break away, and thankfully Wolffe came to his senses soon enough.

“I should go”

He dropped his hand from your chin and stepped back. You nodded subtly in reply to his words, still unable to form your own, and he turned to leave with haste.

You watched him walk away as you leaned on your doorway, stalking down the hall with a pace to rival your hurried steps from earlier. His head turned back to you briefly, and you both instantly looked away, you stepping back into your room and closing the door as you felt your cheeks burn hot from being caught watching him.

It felt like something had shifted in your relationship, like something significant had happened. Perhaps it was your inadvertent show of vulnerability, perhaps it was the way his touch set your skin alight. Whatever it was, it was something that you couldn’t take back. Whatever was unsaid between you was coming to light, and you cursed your racing heart for getting ahead of itself.

You were crouched behind cover, your eyes locked on a trooper that had been knocked to the ground. He wasn’t moving, but going over to see if he was still alive was too risky, even if the focus of the enemy’s fire wasn’t in his direction any longer. You lingered, waiting to see even the slightest twitch of his fingers. He continued to lay motionless, his body sprawled in an uncomfortable position from the heavy blow he had received. You hoped, prayed, and they were answered in an instant, the man’s body curling in on itself as he groaned in pain.

You gulped, and slowly turned to look over your shoulder, only to see Wolffe watching you like a hawk.

“Don't you dare” He shook his head slowly, his voice low, almost a growl.

You hung your head a little, squeezing your eyes closed for a brief moment.

“I'm sorry Commander”

You rushed out from behind the cover, hearing your name being screamed after you in a desperate plea for you to do anything else. You didn’t pay attention, you were solely focused on making it to the trooper.

You pulled the man to his feet, throwing his arm around your shoulders and making your way back to cover, but you were not so lucky as to evade danger. Blasterfire ripped through the air surrounding you, causing you to duck out of its path, and take the injured man down with you.

“Get out of here!” The Commander shouted at you, stepping in front of you and shooting at the droids that had focused their fire in your direction.

You dragged to man the short distance back to cover, and as you were giving him a once over, assessing the issue, Wolffe ordered another medic to take over and tugged you further back from the front lines, around the corner of a crumbling building.

“What the kriff is the matter with you?”

He was angry. More angry than he had ever been, more angry than the previous rotation. And yet, there was a far clearer emotion swimming in his non-cybernetic eye, dripping from his pinched brows, washing over you with every heavy breath he exhaled. Worry, concern, utter distress.

“I thought I made it pretty clear that I don't want you anywhere near the action” He growled, evidently struggling to keep his emotions in check.

Despite his afflicted demeanour, you didn’t feel like having a repeat of the previous rotation, and the adrenaline coursing through your veins only sought to heighten you irritation.

“And I thought I made it pretty clear that I don't appreciate being told off” You grumbled back to him, not feeling brave enough to say it with your chest.

“Then stop doing stupid things!” He rebutted, his voice conveying every inch of exasperation he felt.

You shook your head as you dragged your gaze from him, starting to walk away. You weren’t going to be talked to like this again. For the second time in the last rotation, Wolffe’s hand shot out and wrapped around your wrist, tugging you back.

“I'm talking to you”

“Well I'm not talking to you” You snapped, snatching back your arm and finally letting your irritation take over.

At first, Wolffe appeared to be taken aback. You had never so much as argued back at him before, but something about the fire burning in his eye told you that it was welcomed. He wanted you to fight back. He liked that you were fighting back.

“I refuse to be reprimanded for doing the right thing” You continued, letting him hear your true feelings on the matter.

“You refuse?” Wolffe seemed almost amused.

“Yes” You replied, but your confidence was slipping, “I refuse”

Wolffe laughed, taking a step towards you, “And I suppose you think you have the authority to refuse my orders? Seeing as it's the only thing you can seem to do right”

You stepped away from him, but with every step you took, he followed after you. It wasn’t long until he had backed you into the wall, and was towering over you with a challenging look on his face.

“I have free will, is what I have” You puffed out your chest in defiance, causing it to come into contact with his chestplate, “And I will use it to do the right thing, consequences be damned”

“It must be nice to be you, huh?”

You just frowned, not entirely sure what made him say that.

Wolffe’s face became stern, “You just get to flit about, playing the hero when you could so easily become the martyr acting the way you do, claiming it's all about ‘free will’ and ‘doing the right thing’. Well guess what? I don't have those luxuries. If I disobey orders, I get court martialled. I don't have free will, and I don't get to do the right thing, I get to do as I'm told”

You swallowed thickly as your body recoiled from his in shame. From his perspective, your actions certainly seemed silly and plainly misguided. Perhaps they were.

“I'm sorry Commander, I didn’t think—”

“No, you don't think, do you?” He retorted quickly.

You frowned deeply, drawing an enervated sigh from Wolffe.

“I would love to be able to consider what is right and wrong, but I am simply not allowed. Having the ability to think, to form thoughts unique to myself, but not get to enact any sort of ‘free will’, it's—” He breathed deeply, his forearm coming to rest on the wall beside your head, “Oh, the things I would do if I had free will”

His eyes bored into you through heavy eyelids, his self control hanging by a thread. He was so close to you, his body pressing yours into the wall, and it was taking all of your strength to not melt against him.

“What would you do?” You spoke softly, guiding him in the right direction.

He didn’t waste any time in replying.

“I would tell you that the reason I don't want you around the action, the reason I can't stand your stupid moral compass which makes you do stupid things, is because the idea of you getting hurt is my own personal hell. I would grab you and hold you close and keep you safe, I would never let you go. I would—” He puffed out a quick breath, mingling it with your own as he drew impossibly closer, “I would kiss you, and do every other thing I've been dreaming of since the first moment I met you. I would throw all of this away, if I got that chance”

There was not a single one of his words that were processing in your brain. For a moment you just stared at him, shocked, before the surprise melted from your face and you offered every measure of tenderness within you in a single look.

“Wolffe” You whispered, reaching up and placing a hand on his cheek.

His eyes closed at your touch, and his troubled expression eased slightly. He let out a shaky breath as he took in the warmth of your skin on his, but as soon as he had revelled in it for a moment too long, he put up his walls again.

“But it doesn’t matter, because I don't have free will” He stepped back from you but you were determined now, following after him.

“Well I do”

You practically leapt at him, your hands finding the back of his neck and pulling him against you, bringing him into a searing kiss. His hands instantly flung around your waist, tightening around you and drawing you into his body as if he was never going to let go, just as he promised. It was as if he only needed you to be the one that initiated it, and now, he had forgotten everything that was stopping him in the first place.

You let your fingers tangle in the curls at the base of his neck, and he pushed you backwards into the wall again, a soft groan sounding in the back of his throat. One hand came up to cup your cheek, and you were surprised at how softly he held you, a direct contrast to the way that he was devouring your lips, consuming your very soul with only his mouth and tongue.

You had to pull away, gasping for breath, and he did the same. He held you close as you both caught your breath, staring into each other’s eyes with a newfound fondness. It was intoxicating, to see him like this; his chest heaving from having kissed you with such an intensity. You felt like your psyche was being ripped from you with each heavy exhale, and you were watching from outside of your body.

“I'm never letting you go now” He continued to hold onto you like his life depended on it, burying his face in the exposed skin of your neck.

“I thought-”

“Don’t” He rumbled, “I don't care what I said before, there's no going back now”

You sighed blissfully and mirrored him, and coiling your arms around his neck and holding him tightly. The feel of his breath against your neck was heady, deeply exhilarating, but in the quiet of the moment, you couldn’t help but remember you were in the middle of a battle.

“Maybe we should-”

He lifted his head and cut you off with a deep kiss. You were powerless to stop him, but you didn’t care to anyway.

“Just a little longer” He pleaded, his eyes soft and slightly widened, “Please”

You let a small smile lift the edges of your lips, enamoured by the soft side that this kind of treatment brought out of him. It was almost amusing, how different he was acting as compared to his usual authoritative demeanour. He was putty in your hands, and you didn’t quite know how to handle it.

You brushed your lips lightly against his and spoke with a teasing edge, “Yes sir”

taglist: @darthnihila @cdblake1565

[doetic]

What Lingers - Dark!Edward Cullen x F!Reader (18+)

Plot: Edward Cullen doesn't know how to handle his crush on the new clerk at his favourite book store. Warnings: NSFW, Dark/yandere Edward, unhealthy obsessive thoughts, sexual thoughts (Edward descends into being a bit of a weirdo perv), Edward gets himself off Word count: 2436 Part 2 (coming soon, send in reqs/ideas!)

A/N: My first fic on this account! I haven't written in a while so I may be a little rusty, please bare with me! I didn't have much time to fully proofread this because I just wanted to get it out, so it may be a little awkward and have some mistakes, sorry! If you like this, feel free to send in requests for a part 2 (I'm thinking of writing it in in reader's pov?) or just any requests in general!

At first, Edward Cullen had thought he was dying. His throat had tightened more than he had thought possible, his mouth dried of all venom, he suddenly couldn't remember how to fake the motions of breathing, and despite knowing that it was impossible for his heart to do anything, he couldn't decide if his heart was being squeezed by some otherworldly force, or was kickstarted into a rapid beating that reverberated throughout his body and sounded in his ears like a drum. He quickly ran through his knowledge of vampiric bodies and health, but came up with nothing that could explain what was happening to him, nothing that could clarify why the mere sight of you had elicited such a visceral reaction from him.

Initially, you didn't seem like anyone particularly special. From your thoughts he discovered you were a writer, daydreaming about the draft you were working on as you were leaned against the wooden book store counter, head lazily rested upon your right hand while the left absently drew shapes onto the antique surface. Occasionally, the thought of your cat would interrupt your brainstorming daydream. A chubby orange tabby that was intelligent in all the wrong things and stupid in the rest, who seemed to cause you endless trouble. You were worried he had turned on the tap to drink from it again, an irksome habit he had that often ran up your water bill as he didn't know how to turn it off. None of your thoughts seemed to stick out to him as something of importance, but admittedly being present in your mind brought him a sense of peace he hadn't felt before. With shy hesitation he would even admit to himself that it somehow felt endearing.

Edward did have to give you credit, you certainly were beautiful by human standards. However, after spending decades around Rosalie and other vampires that had been blessed with an unnatural level of beauty made you seem more mundane to him than you would have appeared to a regular human. The more he thought about it though, the more he found he liked that about you. The pimple that lay just underneath your cheekbone, the natural reddish flush to your lips from a functioning circulatory system, the slight frizz to your hair, the rhythmic sound of air being pushed in and out of your body, and the oh so human eyes that looked up from the desk and met his. You were imperfect, flawed, starkly different from himself who had been biologically engineered to be irresistibly perfect from the first bite Carlisle inflicted upon him. You were intoxicating. Suddenly, Edward understood.

"Oh- Uhm- Sorry- Ah!" You jolted up, quickly shifting from your relaxed lean into a stiff, well postured, standing position as you tripped over your words. Edward could hear your heartbeat speed up. With your thoughts a current incoherent jumble, he was left to wondering if it was out of shock from his presence, or a flustered reaction to his appearance.

You cleared your throat, "Y/n. Hi. I work here now, just moved into town a week ago. Can I help you with anything?" A smile appeared on your face, but one that seemed to come from a place of general kindness (and a little embarrassment), rather than the normal customer service mask people put on. It was a scene Edward wished could wrap around his whole body, holding him tenderly in a sea of gentle warmth.

Thousands of replies appeared in his head, things he could say to charm you, things that could make you swoon, words that could make you laugh (a sound he was certain would be an imperfect crackling melody he would play on repeat in his mind), but when he opened his mouth, none of the above came out.

"Machiavelli." Edward wanted to disintegrate into the floor. He was supposed to start off with a smooth line to make you want to talk to him more, not the first author to appear in his head. Who even randomly thinks of Machiavelli anyways? "Sorry, I'm Edward Cullen. My family was the newest ones in town until a week ago I suppose. I'm looking for anything you might have by Machiavelli." He recovered, playing it safe but still flashing you a dazzling smile that always seemed to charm those who saw it.

You looked away from him. He tried not to clench his fists in frustration. He decided that he enjoyed when you looked at him, he liked looking at the many flecks of different hues and shades that made up your irises. So sweetly imperfect.

"Machiavelli..." You pondered, a finger pressing itself into the plush, slightly chapped surface of your lips. You were running through the layout of the store in your mind, trying to remember where it would be located. Edward felt a little bad for wasting your time, he knew the book store's layout in and out. He didn't actually ever come here to buy anything (although he did so quite often to ensure it would stay in business), but rather the usually empty store was a haven for him where he could pretend to be human again while escaping the constant barrage of other beings private thoughts.

"Okay! I think I remember where it would be, follow me!" You looked back at him with a smile. You didn't have to tell him twice, he would stay on your tail as long as you would let him (and perhaps even longer after that, if he was being honest with himself), your presence being a strawberry scented sirens song that he couldn't seem to want to pull himself away from.

"Of course, lead the way," Edward spoke with a slight grin, finding the words ironic. In reality it was him, the covert apex predator of the animal kingdom, who would be herding you like a sheep wherever he wished.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

As he stared at your phone number in his hands, the sheet of paper growing softer and more fragile while he toyed with it, Edward Cullen tried to decide that he hated you. It wasn't your fault at all, you had been nothing but perfectly pleasant and kind to him while he was in your presence, but instead it was his own.

You were kind, sweet, caring, imperfect. Those traits flowed through your veins, they even wafted in the air around you, pulling people close to you. After his first slip up with his words, everything between you two went exactly as he wished it would, and your feelings of curiosity towards him combined with the innately biological pull to his honeypot of inhuman beauty led to him getting your phone number. Everything went perfectly in his favour, and that was the problem.

Out of his family it was Rosalie who resented humans the most, and Jasper who kept the most distance from them, but even though he didn't fall at the extreme end of the spectrum, Edward wasn't a big fan of them either. He looked down on them as weaker life forms, sheep disgustingly careless around wolves, a sentiment he was smart enough to know came from a place of jealousy and sorrow, but still not something he harbored enough strength to get over and befriend one... that was until he saw you.

You made him selfish. His hand trembled as the ten endearingly messily inked numbered stared back at him tauntingly. You made him selfish and he hated you and he had to stop being around you. Something about you, your simplicity, your messiness, every imperfect mannerism that overflowed with life drew him in. Edward couldn't deny his nature when you clouded his senses with envy and awe. It was like the scorpion and the frog, Hades and Persephone. He was a hunter designed to lure you into false security before inevitably striking. He knew he couldn't be pure around you, you were a lamb and himself a lion, not a domesticated dog and cat. Biology and the food chain would triumph over his wishes soon enough, he would be an idiot to not know it.

But even so, a voice in his mind nagged at him, making him weak at the knees with bliss at the thought of giving into it. Hadn't he earned the right to be a little selfish? Aside from his rebellious stage, Edward had been so so perfect, a word he grew more sick of by the day. A word that seemed to wrap itself around his throat and tighten oh so slowly as time went on, now an unbearable pressure he was sure could snap his neck. You were everything he wasn't, everything he needed, you were ambrosia while he was on his deathbed. Could he really be faulted for just a sip?

Of course he didn't mean that literally. Although he knew that being close to you would surely end up with his lips stained crimson with blood and sin, there were ways around it. A junkie always finds a way.

Edward Cullen entered your number into his phone, staring at the blank space for him to type in a message for what felt like an eternity before turning it off completely. It wouldn't be the same to communicate digitally. He wanted you in person, laid bare in front of him, your thoughts not even kept private. He wanted to worship you softly, to expose himself to you fully, for his need and adoration for all that you are as an imperfect, truly human, life filled being. And as his thoughts delved deeper into all that you were, his thoughts took on a double meaning.

Edward had never done this before. He knew he was repressed, he was a religious boy from a much more conservative time that had long passed, and he was fine with that. But, he deserved to be selfish. He had never truly indulged himself, who could blame him for what he was about to do? Especially when it was your fault, you were making him imperfect as well.

His porcelain hand brought the now fragile sheet of paper to his nose, and as he breathed deeply he deluded himself into believing a trace of your aura still lingered on it. His hand hesitantly trailed down to his crotch, his fingers lightly touching the bulge through the fabric of his khakis. The foreign sensation made him let out a small whine that he quickly stifled by biting his lip. He was home alone, his family gone to visit the Denali's for a few days during the schools spring break, but it wasn't because he feared being heard that he stopped himself from making noise, but rather a nagging feeling of shame that faded more and more into the background as he slowly rubbed his bulge harder and faster.

He wondered if God was watching him as he undid his pants, pulling down his boxer-briefs with a hesitancy that seemed to flow away the more he melted into the nagging desire to indulge. If he was being watched, Edward decided God had no right to be angry. It was he who decided to put the most tempting creature in the world right where Edward would meet her, he should have known this would happen. Edward wasn't to blame, he was doing what any person would have done in his situation, and what was life anyways without indulgence?

With another deep inhale, Edward grew more confident. Using his leaking tip as lubricant, he began to quickly stroke his length. There was no point in taking things slowly, he had spent his whole life pent up and teased, why would he do it to himself?

Edward thought of what you would do to him. Your deep pink tongue licking from his balls to his tip, your utterly indecent and irresistible eyes, oh so filled with life, gazing up at him tenderly. The thought made him let out a small groan he couldn't stifle in time. Edward thought of how your skin would feel under his touch, smooth and warm with the occasional blemish. He wanted to slowly run his hand up your bare thigh, watching you squirm with need as he showed you just a fraction of what his life was like.

His hand moved faster and faster and he thought of earlier that day, the way you stumbled upon your words when you first saw him. He decided he would coax you into talking during intimacy, wanting to see how you tripped and fumbled the words of praise for him that would flow out of your mouth as he showed you that drinking blood wasn't the only thing his mouth was good for. He would be a bit clumsy in the beginning, but that would be okay for you, wouldn't it? You don't demand perfection, you're soaked in the opposite, and that is perfect to him.

One more inhale had his brain melt, his hand speeding up as much as he can take as he wonders if he'll be your first too. Surely he will be. If this experience taught him anything, it would be that you were made for him, and as he had never felt this pull to anyone else before, he was inclined to believe he was made for you too. He let out a growl as he thought about someone else laying a hand on you, deciding he should just claim you when the opportunity arises, painting your skin with his-

His loud moans turned to heavy pants, not from lack of air that he doesn't need, but from the intensity of what he had just done. The white liquid flowed down his tip and fist, and a sense of freedom rushed over him. He wasn't bad for this, he was doing what anyone else would do. You were rubbing off on him after just one interaction, making him oh so perfectly imperfect.

He grabbed a tissue from the box that had been placed on the table beside his couch for show, and wiped himself off, tossing the soiled tissue into the trash. His eyes went to his phone, which he turned on with a soft click. He felt better about everything, about himself, about you. What was life without indulgence?

Hello, It's Edward Cullen from the book store. Would you like to get coffee together soon?

He smiled to himself after typing out and sending his message, his hand bringing the piece of paper to his nose one last time, craving your essence, not wanting to miss even a hint of what lingers.

[smallraindrops-blog]

Across The River

A ‘Wake me From This Dreaming’ interlude

Word count: 3.5k

Summary: A river flowed onward, heedless of the shades.

Warnings: no beta, angst, mentions of violence, rape, child death, implied suicide and ideations ( in a way)

notes: part of WMFTD. I am still working on the core part of the story but I hope this will help tide over in the meantime. Thank everyone for waiting.

enjoy! 

The Masterlist

In the solemn peace, River Lethe flowed through Elysium. Its pale mist looked soft, inviting like clouds of a childish dream. If one stood close enough, there might be something in there in the waters, calling to them. 

Perhaps it would be a lover’s face, peering up under the fan of lashes. The gentle smile of an exhausted mother as she reached out. A father’s deep voice calling for his children.

Hector of Troy saw only the cloudy waters, the Lethe had nothing to offer him. Yet.

Not for the first time, he allowed his fingers to dip in. It was refreshing, like the cold water that came from the mountains, water so clean it would almost taste sweet. 

It would be so easy to lean down for a sip.

“Hector.” His wife called out, her voice pitched in the way it often did when she saw him near the river. His son was blabbering in those sweet baby noises of his.

With a smile, Hector stood, turning to go over to Andromache and little Astyanax. His son let out a squeal when he saw Hector, his chubby legs kicking. Hector took him, tickling the fat fold under his neck to get a laugh.

Andromache smiled as she watched, shifting her shawl tighter around her shoulders. 

Once Hector had tossed Astyanax into the air as he often did before but Andromeda had screamed in horror when she saw Astyanax mid-air, running over to a surprised Hector and yanking their crying son out of Hector’s arms, shaking with tears.

She had apologized afterwards, her beautiful eyes red and puffy. 

Hector had never done it again.

“Are you behaving for your mama?” Hector asked his baby, grinning at the nonsensical sounds he got in return. 

“He discovered that grass is edible today.” Andromache sighed, looking at Astyanax with a fond smile. Hector liked seeing her like this. His Andromache had always been a gentle soul and being a mother suited her well.

“I can’t say I blame him, it is delicious.” Hector teased, his grin widening at the cool glare his wife gave him. “What? Our son clearly agrees with me.”

Astyanax squealed, bringing both parents’ eyes toward him. With a cheeky smirk, Hector bounced their son in his arms. “See?”

Andromache gave them both an unimpressed look, but there was a hidden smile in those dark eyes of hers.

~

Hector didn’t like to think himself a bitter man. 

When he drew breath, he wasn’t. He had his duties, many that he detested but he was never one to sulk for long unlike stormy and bold Cassandra or his entitled brother Paris. 

But when his son was asleep on his chest, his downy hair brushing Hector’s skin, acid would grow in his guts. 

His son was punished for actions he never took, for crimes committed by others. When he had learned it was Achilles’ son that had killed his son and his father. The brutal way he did…

Hector only felt a dark visceral satisfaction that he at least took the person Achilles had held most dear. Sometimes, Hector thought about how he would have prolonged that man’s suffering, both Achilles’ and Patroclus’ if he had only known what was to come.

Sometime Hector wished that he had killed Achilles’ other son, the one that loomed over almost everyone else.  

There was a chance once, if Hector had allowed his spear to fly, shining in the sunlight. His aim would have landed true, that he was sure of. 

But he felt it was wrong to kill a son in front of a father, even one foul as Achilles so he stayed his hand and took someone else’s life. He took a stranger’s son instead.

Other times, Hector wished that he had tossed aside his damn pride, his own thirst for glory and taken Andromache and their son far away, the gleaming city of Troy nothing but a speck in the distance.

~

It was the flash of red that caught his eye, bright and fiery in the gentle lights of Elysium.

Cassandra.

He watched her stumbled toward the river leate, her copper rich hair spilling down her back like a waterfall. She was so tall, her flesh so golden one could have mistaken her as a goddess.

Maybe he should say something but what could he say? To tell her that she shouldn’t try to feel the heat of a summer sun on her upturned face once more, to never have the ocean white foam rush over her bare feet?

but she was his sister and he couldn’t bear the idea of her existence being eased. 

Not her. 

Hector was yelling out, running down the path toward the river. He was too far away for her to hear.

She fell to her knees, staring down at the river. Hector realized she was crying. However even in all of her pain, she held herself with a grace only a born queen could have.  

He screamed out again, running and running. He felt as if he was standing still.

Cassandra looked up, right at him. Her mouth twisted in pain. 

She took one lingering glance at him, her eyes divinely made and doomed by the treads of fate. Hector thought she mouthed something but he couldn’t be sure.

Then, she turned away, the pain was an iron spear deep in his throat, sharpened to a deadly point. 

Cassandra leaned down, her chest heaving as she tenderly skimmed her fingers on the surface. Her copper fire hair was a simmering veil, hiding her expression from Hector but he swore that it appeared she gave the gentle waters a kiss.

For a breathless moment, Hector didn’t exist, he was back in Troy with her small hand in his as they hurried down the hallways, golden light coming through the windows and they were laughing. 

They were happy.

Then graceful as a swan, his little sister slipped in and under the waters, not a single ripple breaking the surface.

He collapsed onto his belly when he reached it, his arms in the river as if she would still be in reach. The cool water flowed gently around his biceps, his panting causing faint ripples to appear. 

There was nothing there. Not anymore. It was all just a mist now. A dream.

Hector of Troy pulled away and knelt on his knees, uncaring of the water damping his tunic. His cheeks were wet as well, his eyes burning.

He watched the river for a long time after that, but the river flowed onward, the delicate fog dancing over the soft grassy plains. 

~

It didn’t quite settle in that his baby will never grow until he saw the fine grays in his beloved Andromache’s dark hair. The lines around her smile.

They never spoke of what happened to her after the war. The idea of it left a bad taste on Hector’s mouth. The thought of men touching Andromache had made Hector want to pick up his spear and go hunting.

If Andromache had wanted it, if they had been kind and gentle to her, courted her with the respect she was due then maybe Hector could have lived with it but they didn’t.

They never did.

In a hush, broken whisper, she had warned him that Astyanax had brothers. From that monster. Her slim fingers trembling as she let it out, her cheek flushed, damp with tears as she recalled the shameful acts placed upon her. 

In a cruel twist of the fates, Astyanax was bound to his own murderer by his mother’s womb.

It hurt. 

That the fates had allowed Pyrrhus’ sons to live when Hector’s didn’t.

He didn't remember much after he left, his spear in a trembling fist and white hot rage blinding his sight. He had prayed he would find one of them. Achilles, Pyrrhus or his three sons, Y/N or Patroclus although neither of the last two had committed those sins against Hector.

It would hurt Achilles, soul deep like it did Hector and that would have been enough.

When Hector returned, burnt like a candle on both ends, his form crumbling like the walls of his city, he had buried his head in Andromache’s lap. His hands desperately fisting in her fine skirts like a fool clinging to a deathless goddess for supplication, for her forgiveness.

“Hector.” Andromache whispered, her hands tangling in his dark locks. “Hector, it is okay now. They can’t touch us here.”

He wept like a newborn babe, fat tears rolling down into his beard. She murmured gentle words, comforting him with her gentle touch, when Hector should have been the one to comfort her.

How? How could he tell her that it wasn’t right? 

Astyanax should have grown up. 

The warm sun on his back, the salty spray of ocean waters on his cheeks, his eyes closed in pleasure of a perfect summer day.

His own dark curls should have shone with olive oil like his mother’s. He should have grown strong and broad like Hector. He should have been able to smile at Hector with his own cheeky grin. He never got a chance to listen to his grandfather’s stories.

He should have been able to learn his numbers, to learn of the heroes before him. He never tasted the sweetness of pomegranates, the rich bloom of a red wine on his tongue.

Astyanax should have a chance to fall in love, to make his own mark in Time’s sands. 

So many should haves that it would be impossible to list. Those invaders from the seas had their children grow. It felt like they had stolen the sands from Astyanax’s hourglass for themselves.

Did she cry out for him in the end? For him to rise from the dead to save them all? 

He didn’t ask. It would have been too cruel to them both, to remind her of her darkest moments and for him to know for sure.

One fact remained among the ruins of his soul.

Hector of Troy had failed. 

He had failed as a son, as a husband, as a warrior but most importantly, he had failed as a Father.

They never spoke of it again.

~

He had once seen Patroclus in the markets although the man didn’t spot him, pointing at an open scroll with his son leaning over his shoulder, his bulky arms crossed over his chest. 

It looked as if this was something they did regularly, a father and son shopping trip.

The noise of the crowd had been drowned out by the blood rushing to his ears. His skin had gone cold.

What could Hector say? 

That he was sorry, Patroclus was a needless casualty? That Hector wanted to kill Achilles, to settle the matter once and for all? That a part of him wished he had made Patroclus’ death more bloody, that he had killed Y/N as well, just to make the hurt all the worst?

Hector had turned around and left as his bitterness and rage tried to soak into him like poison. 

~

Hector was staring at the flowing river again. 

The boatman was coming by, new shades in his boats. He won’t stop here, Hector saw there were no warriors on this boat. 

Most of them looked like commoners. They had likely spent their days under the sun, hands in the earth, or selling merchandise in the open air markets. A child was crying, so faint but it was like a lion roar in his ears.

The babe’s mother shushed them, her own tiny form curled around them protectively. There was no man with them, trying to help comfort the child and woman.

Andromache joined him, with Hector helping her sit next to him. They sat there, looking over the cliff. Little Astyanax was dozing in the bassinet they made for him, contentedly gumming on his fist in his sleep.

“My brooding husband.” Andromache sighed. She took his hand between her two delicate ones, her skin so much more softer than his. Hector glanced down, choosing to admire his wife over the river. 

She was paler than he was, often tucked away from the sun to do her weaving on the loom or tend to her duties as Lady of the house. 

The contrast of her hands around his large one, her skin fine as petals while his skin was calloused, deepened by the years in the sunlight and hard work.

Hector covered her hand on top with his, running his thumb on her soft skin.

“Yes, my love?” Hector teased with a playful kiss on her cheek. She flushed a rosy pink, just like she had dozens of times before, like she had done when they wedded in his family’s gardens. 

Andromache smiled at first but then it faded. Her dark eyes glanced at the river, and Hector followed her line of sight. 

They didn’t speak for a long time. 

Quietly, as she was admitting a sin, she whispered. “It isn’t fair.”

”No.” Hector agreed, bitterness growing in his voice. He couldn’t hide if he tried.

They both knew they were speaking of. For themselves and for their son. The river looked so peaceful, so quiet.

Would it be like going to sleep, only to wake up as someone else?

When something wet landed on Hector’s knuckles, he realized that Andromache was crying. Hector pulled her into a tight embrace, cupping the back of her head, letting her cry into his chest and pressing gentle kisses on top of her curls.

“He won’t remember us.” Andromache weeped. “I won’t remember him. Or you.” 

Hector shushed her even as she spoke the truth. 

“I hate them all.” She snarled like a wild thing, pulling away to stare into his eyes. “I hate them all, Hector. They killed him-“ 

Her voice cracked, sobbing once more. “My baby-“

Hector held her as she sobbed, his own tears falling down his face. He held his heartbroken wife as the river flowed onwards, carrying countless mortals’ memories in its gentle waters.

~

When Pyrrhus had stolen away the gentle god of sleep from the House of Hades then his downfall into Tartarus itself, the stories grew like wildfire. It had even reached Hector and Andromache, hidden as they were. 

Hector couldn’t find himself to be sorry about it. He only felt a hard satisfaction that the gods had finally punished the monster of their own making. 

“Let the furies’ righteous hands deal with him. They know a worm when they see one.” He told his wife who had been oddly quiet since the news arrived.

Andromache nodded, fixing Astyanax’s messy hair with a gentle hand. Her expression was distant, her mouth in a tight frown. Hector wanted to call for her, to bring that shining light back to her dark eyes.

Then she began crying, covering her mouth with her hand as her shoulders shook. Astyanax blinked up at her, his little mouth parted in confusion. He reached up to her, his little hand on her chin. He frowned at Hector like he was responsible.

"My love?” Hector fell to her side, his hands on her arms as he tried to understand why the news would make her weep so. She took a deep breath, trying to pull herself back together. 

She gave Astyanax a weak smile, kissing his hand before she sighed. “I- I’m happy.”

Andromache laughed brokenly, looking at him. Her dark eyes gleamed like the night skies, full of stars. “It won’t take back what he did but I can rest now. We can rest now. I won’t have to fear waking up to see him looming by my bedside-”

She began crying again. “Thank the gods, thank gods we never will see him again.” and Hector just held her. 

It was all he could do now. 

Maybe now some of the healing for his family could actually begin. 

~

Eventually, it was Andromache who suggested the idea. And they had been arguing non-stop for hours now, going in circles at this point.

”Well, what else is there for him then?” His patient wife snapped. “We both agree he deserves a chance to grow up too.”

Hector stared at her in muted shock even though he knew she wasn't wrong. He had the same thoughts countless times but he never dared to say it outloud. 

She jutted her chin out stubbornly, her slim hands folded in her lap. Their son was playing with a wooden horse toy that he had found on the ground.

Andromache had allowed him to keep it, claiming that she wouldn't let the Greeks take that small joy from them as well.

”It is a good idea.” Andromache said. “Surely this god of sleep will hear our plea. Especially after meeting that monster. We cannot be the first family who wished to stay together.”

Hector pitched his brow and sighed. “You know of his relationship with them? Right?”

There was no need between husband and wife to clarify about whom they were speaking of. It came out after Pyrrhus had stolen away the sleep god that he had taken Achilles’ other son as a lover.

It was said that the brothers were fighting out of petty jealousy the whole time. Hector had only rolled his eyes when he heard. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.

“He can help us find the pool of memories.” Andromache coaxed, her expression hopeful. “I know he will help us. I just do.”

Hector sighed again, looking at both of them. Astyanax was biting down on the horse’ head, meeting Hector’s eyes with a gummy smile.

“Fine.” Hector agreed, even though his guts twisted at the thought of being near those people again. “Once the House allows outsiders again, we will go and plead our case.”

Andromache beamed at him, hurrying over to hug him. Hector returned the hug, burying his face in his wife’s hair. 

He prayed this was the right decision.

~

It was Andromache's concerned voice that had Hector grabbing his spear as he joined his family outside the home. His wife was frowning at something far away and over the cliff, bending down to pick up Astyanax.

Hector didn’t hear any sound of fighting nor any screaming. But with how Andromache was acting, it was enough to scare her.

Elysium’s gentle lights should have made it easier to see any danger but... Maybe it was just Hector, but it seemed dimmer than normal, darker. It was wrong somehow.

“What is it?” He asked once he was close enough. Andromache nodded toward the river. “Look at it.”

Since Hector’s arrival to Elysium, the river Lethe had been a constant. The river moved so slowly that it appeared still, the beauty hiding the dangerous undercurrent under the fine mist.

Something had changed.

The lethe was racing down the land, the once peaceful waters had turned to rapids, white foamy waves spilling over the grounds. The fogs had grown heavier and grayer as well, thick as rain clouds. 

“What in the Hades?” Hector swore, tightening his hand on his spear. He wasn’t the only one. He saw a few of the amazons on the opposing cliff side of him, watching the river with the same worried expression. 

Their queen arrived, golden in her glory. Hector rarely spoke to her, her own sunlight locks had always reminded him too much of Achilles. She glanced toward Hector with a questioning frown and all he gave a shrug. 

A few of the warriors who must have been fighting near the river had abandoned their battle for now, stepping away from the river as they watched it grow more and more chaotic.

”Hector? Have you ever seen this before?” Andromache tightened her hold on Astyanax. She was looking toward him for an answer, for safety. He shook his head, hating that he had fallen short once more.

”No.” he said, not daring to look away. 

Was this Asphodel all over again? Was the river going to devour everyone in the area, like the blasted river Phlegethon? Hector and his family were high up but who knew how far this river would travel.

They weren’t ready yet. They still needed to find the pool of memories- they needed to go the House-

Then it stopped. The river went utterly, unnaturally still, quiet as a grave.

No one moved.

Hector heard it, the faint rushing of water and he tore his eyes away from the river and toward the tallest cliffside, the only one blocked away from shades, the one with a handful of poppies on the edge.

For a breathless moment, there was nothing. 

Then it came, rushing over the mountains and down on the land like an impossible avalanche of cloudy water. So huge that one could look from miles away and never see the sheer mass of it all. 

Screams of those too close were swallowed up in moments, now stolen away forever. 

”RUN!” The booming roar of the Amazon Queen broke over the sound of the oncoming doom, “Run for your lives!”

He immediately abandoned his spear, grabbing and lifting up his loved ones in his arms. 

Andromache screamed out, curling her body around Astyanax. 

He ran.

Hector ran, faster and harder than he ever had before. 

Only Achilles in his insanity had inspired such speed from Hector, but this time his family was in his arms, and he would not fail them again.

[gabenvrhappened]

MoviesOr... Saltburn

There I was, sitting in the theater, about to watch what had become my most anticipated movie of the year. I was agitated, fearing that I would be disappointed. Well, when they said there was a murder on the dance floor, they weren't kidding. Saltburn is the kind of weird movie that I love, where the weirdness comes slowly and slightly to creep you out. Just enough to leave you wondering: what has happened?.

Emerald Fennell's movie, a brilliant female director, tells the story of Oliver Quick, played by Barry Keoghan, a nerdy shy boy who becomes obsessed with Felix Catton, played by Jacob Elordi. What first drew me to the movie was the Gothic and historic-old look, which I'm obsessed with, but also because of the promissed The Talented Mr. Ripley vibes, that mix obsession with cute guys in a place we all would like to run away to. That's why I was fearful if I would like the movie because it could be just a big queer-baiting two-hour movie.

If I had to point out one problem with Saltburn, it would be the 1:1 ratio (I definitely wasn't expecting that and got really let down — like I said once before, I have a thing for big screens). Other than that, the story is really incredible. Of course, there are flaws. Like the annoying Farleigh Start or the cliché plot twist. For Archie Madekwe's character, the problem wasn't the acting; it was his actions. They weren't wrong, but, also like I once said, I have a thing for hating when someone discovers the real purpose of the "villains" of the movie. I can't help but root for the anti-hero. And when it comes to the plot twist, it felt really anticlimactic. First because the biggest thing in the story was the first death, which wasn't surprising but had an impact. However, when the other ones came, although unexpected, it just hit infinitesimally small. And that's when the cliché was too cliché — even though the fact that Oliver wasn't talking to a courtroom (which I thought it would at first and made me sigh about the commonplace choice) was genius.

Nonetheless, Saltburn has delicious ingredients. An immoral main character I can't help by adore and stand by every action, that makes me want to draw some personality influences to myself. A charming troubled boy that I want to be just as much as I want to have. A fancy aristocratic debauchery aesthetic that I know I will be a part of one day. Also, I just loved the birthday party theme of A Midsummer Night's Dream, and now I just need a deer antler crown. And I gasped so hard when everyone was singing Happy Birthday to Oliver, but no one knew his name.

That's when Emerald's movie comes to show that it's here to stay printed on my mind. The movie has the perfect unsettling scenes that are just too cleverly upsetting. I wonder what was on the writer's minds to make Oliver want to drink the bathtub water that Felix had just masturbated in. It's the perfect example of obsession, and it's so visceral. Or how he would go all-in in tasting the menstruation blood coming from Vanitia's body and how she likes it when he does it. Another choice that shows how insane he is (and she as well). Not to mention the sex on the graveyard scene. Furthermore, the naked dance scene is also too good, even though not that weird, since it's something I guess everoyone would do. And even though seeing Jacob naked isn't news since he did that before in Euphoria, I missed him naked here. It feels empty, like he felt that he is too important to do this.

Ultimately, everything that I was expecting was delivered, and Saltburn has become the movie I will always want to come back to. It feels like I entered that maze and now I can't totally get out, even though I feel glimpses of the world outside. Naked in the fields, hearing the snarky remarks of Elsbeth Catton while wondering how would be the best narcissist way to kill her and get the ultimate reward. If I need to be careful not to get lost in Saltburn-By-The-Sea, at least I know I'll get away with murder, whether on the dance floor, in the weeds, or in Oxford. I know we're all about to lose our minds, and I'm not worried in the slightest.

[indigo-villin]

I watched someone play the whole game of bendy and the dark revival. I absolutely love it!!!

Bendy is amazing.

Audrey is a great protagonist.

The new artstyle is gorgeous.

~Spoilers~

Porter is hilarious I wish we saw him more.

Heidi is a BEAN and no one will harm her under my watch.

Betty is adorable and ditzy and I love her.

I hate the keepers.

I despise Wilson.

Nathan arch was a bad father, but that doesn't mean Wilson had the right to do that.

Seeing Henry was SUPER cool, as was seeing Sammy.

Hearing demon bendy speak was...interesting (this is an sfw account)

Carley is terrifying, like jeez...

Also I just want to say, I saw the story of subnautica below zero recently and I thought bendy and Audrey would end up very similarly... I don't think they did, but I'm not sure...

Also I just want to say I was RIGHT, I knew bendy would be the demon around around the halfway markish, so I'm kinda proud of myself for figuring that out.

I hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate the real Joey Drew for what he did to get Audrey... it answers the end of the first game's questions, but I hate what that doesn't answer and I don't want to know the answers.

I headcannon Heidi as being a previous "Audrey". After all she's very childlike. Canonical only adults are in the studio, so the only way childlike characters would show up, is if they were put there from the real world....to suffer...

Yes I'm an age regressor, and headcanoning her as being one as well is applicable, but I feel she's more stunted at being a child rather than being regressed...

Also the game has a lot of talk about OCs and I'm not sure how to take it... like are they complaining about OCs? I will admit I have a lot of ocs, so I can't talk a lot on the subject in certain respects... but Carley was a character all other characters hated, yet she's an optional enemy with her own form... We have a small quest to collect some guy's oc drawings and he has an entire page long issue with whether he should share his art with the world or not. Audrey is an OC daughter for Joey Drew who went through many physical retcons. And at the end we have Wilson's colored OC that he believes could stop bendy... I feel like the creators are either making jokes about "how dumb OC arguments are"...or they're making fun of people who have OCs that they try to protect their rights over...

Do the bendy creators remember the characters in their game franchise are their OCs? Like literally, even the Meatly himself (specifically the puppet) is an OC...

The oc thing is honestly my only complaint, like Wilson using his colored character, that part is fine as a scene. The idea of a properly fully colored character in the bendy world just feels wrong on its own anyways, so him pitching the idea at all feels wrong enough to justify the oc thing too.

My last note, I hate seeing so much color in the world. Like the weird electricity using color was fine, it was minimal and didn't feel all that bothersome, it was a Wilson based thing and felt like something he'd do or cause. Seeing color on the walls, on Wilson posters, on the floors, it just felt soo off-putting... I hate that Wilson made color a thing in the world somehow...like HOW??? I also didn't mind bendy with a red bowtie at the end, both because normal world AND the fact it was an accent piece. He was still monochrome, he just now had a colored bowtie.

Honestly I just hate Wilson... which is good with him being the antagonist, I feel no remorse and was viscerally BEGGING Audrey to push him into his stupid plan thing to kill her. I was shaking and swinging my t-rex arms around just wanting her to do it. Yes I was stimming, badlyy.

I wish Wilson would get a worse fate than Joey put fake Henry though. Take the yellowing paper color of the world away and leave him there to go through what ink Henry initially went though (ya know, without Aliison around, or any kind to him character).

[juniorgman187]

Malchance (Reid Fic) - Part 2

Summary: The only thing reader can count on is her bad luck and what it’ll get her into. In this case, it’s the lioness’ den - the lioness being Cat Adams.

Category: Angst, Fluffy Ending Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Content Warning: Canon-consistent trauma, brief mention of daddy issues, blood, manipulation, yelling, deceit (Let me know if I missed anything) Playlist: Call Out My Name by The Weeknd Word Count: 5k

READ PART 1 HERE!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

“There’s going to be a key to cracking Cat,” Ms. Prentiss explained to me. 

“A key?” 

“You’ll know it when you find it.” 

That was probably the most ambiguous advice I could’ve gotten, but it’s the one she sent me into the field with and the one that loomed in the back of my head as everything unfolded.

The plan the team and I agreed upon, which ironically Dr. Reid knew no part of, was that after Cat and him went to the rink, they’d come back to his apartment, where I would be waiting. Posing as his concerned girlfriend, the unexpected presence of competition would enrage Cat. With the wrath of a woman scorned, she’ll be furious enough to slip up and make a mistake. 

I’ve heard that she’s done her best, or arguably her worst, when she’s prepared, so this curveball might just put an end to the reign of Queen Cat. 

As far as the outlined plan of events went, sure, it was simple. As for me? 

No shot in hell that I’d be able to pull this off.

There was seemingly no feasible reality where I could outsmart her until she made a mistake or keep on the facade long enough to deceive her. The entire success of the plan hinged on my abilities or her lack of propriety. Not exactly betting odds, if you ask me. 

And yet, against everything, I was still walking into the lion’s den on my own volition, making myself right at home, acting like this was exactly where I belonged. When in reality, this was the last place I should’ve been.

“You got this, okay?” Someone in my earpiece chirped. Just out of paranoia, I pressed the device further in, un-tucking the strands of hair behind my ear to better conceal it. Even that wasn’t enough to lower the specter of my doubt. I prayed that she was lax in her vetting tonight.

“Spencie!” A giggly shriek from outside the door sent one large shock wave through my entire body. It was so sharp like they were right there. The sound of heavy footsteps followed, and my stomach churned in anticipation. I already hated this.

How did I even get here? 

Oh, right - malchance. 

I contemplated cracking my knuckles to self-soothe, but then I remembered what Ms. Prentiss told me about ‘tells.’

“Bodily tells are how people can read the emotions you’re not directly expressing. A majority of what profilers use to study behavior is your body language. Unfortunately, some of the best profilers are the unsubs themselves. She’ll know what you’re feeling if you show her. So stay strong.”

Stay strong. 

Try as I might, I couldn’t keep the fear from washing over me when the pair of muffled voices outside became clearer as they entered the apartment. 

I must’ve caught them in the middle of something, but I couldn’t exactly deduce what, seeing as they stopped when they saw me, which was before I turned around.

Dr. Reid was floored by my being there, but at least, he had a look of recognition. It wasn’t enough that he merely distinguished me to settle the worry I had about the fact that the BAU hadn’t told him I would be here. If I could, I would have, but they each advised against it. They needed his raw reaction just as much as they needed her’s. 

One ghastly look up and down and I could tell she came to the exact conclusion the team anticipated she would - that I’m her new competition. 

“Spencie - who is this?” 

Her dehumanization of me made Dr. Reid viscerally guilty for having extended an opportunity to let yet another person suffer the corollaries of her cruelty. He shook his head softly at me as though to say, ‘I’m sorry.’ An interesting choice - that that was what he chose to nonverbally say to me first. He didn’t even ask me with his eyes why I was here or what I was doing - he just apologized. 

What has this poor man been through?

“I’m his girlfriend,” I answered for him before the silence could get suspiciously long. By inserting myself in the conversation, I was following what the BAU suggested I should do earlier. Stand your ground. You can’t be afraid to speak up to her. “I’m (y/n). You are?”

I held out my hand for a handshake that was never returned. Instead, all I got back was an ice cold stare. 

She’s reading your body language, an inner voice I didn’t even recognize called from within me. Soon after I realized it wasn’t my conscience speaking - it was Ms. Prentiss. I’d forgotten I had an earpiece, much less that there were micro cameras littered all over the apartment so they could have a firsthand view of this train wreck. How could anyone voluntarily watch this mess unravel? 

“And when did this happen?” Her voice went up an octave as she tilted her head with morbid curiosity, then let it roll back in Dr. Reid’s direction. “Spencer?”

“Five months ago,” he replied without missing a beat, keeping his eyes steady on mine. If I hadn’t known any better, I would’ve believed him, but that stare he was giving me said something more. What’s going on? He wondered.

Oh, Dr. Reid, if only I could tell you.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a girlfriend?” She asked through gritted teeth and a clenched jaw. Suddenly, the surface of her expressions liquified then melted away until I could see well beneath the anger, revealing the bodily tells of humiliation. 

I was profiling her, and I didn’t even know that I could. 

“You made me promise not to talk about anyone else except you tonight, remember?” He remarked with an uncharacteristic amount of edge behind his words. 

His outer mask was liquefying and transforming in its own right, too. As Cat became easier to read, the Doctor was slowly morphing into the man I first met - the man who was furious enough to throw an entire set of books off a table. The man who’s darkness made him impossible to read - made it impossible to think he’d ever been seen or touched by the light. 

She huffed and spun her head around so fast, it made her hair whip up and over her shoulder. The stern look upon her face fell for the briefest moment, and if it hadn’t been for everything I knew about her, I would’ve thought she looked pretty. She was pretty. But her soul, her sensibilities, they just ruined her. It was a shame really. 

She was tainted by wickedness in a way that I never would be, and for that, she had already come to the decisive determination that she hated me. 

“So how old are you, (y/n)?” Like a hawk hovering over its prey, she began to walk around me in a tight circle so she could scrutinize my every angle, discover every flaw, and poke at every button she could find. Precisely why she asked that question, too. She wanted to know where the similarities started and ended between us. She wanted to compare herself to me. Size me up, tear me down - lioness v. lioness. If she was gonna play dirty, then so be it. Two can play that game. 

“I’m 28.” A flat out lie. I’m 26. 

“Wow, I didn’t realize you had a type, Spencer,” She ruefully chuckled.

“And what’s that, Cat?” I couldn’t see him, but he sounded so unamused. 

“Jailbait.” 

There wasn’t much I could do besides move on from the subject. “Cat? Is it?” Considering she hadn’t told me her name before, I think Dr. Reid purposefully included it in his response so that I’d have a reason to know what it was. 

Smart move, Doctor. 

I wanted to smile from the way he was helping me out and working together with me, but my poker face stayed on.

“Catherine Adams,” She drew out the name to assert herself. I didn’t get to call her Cat like Dr. Reid did. That was his name for her and his name only. She made that point crystal clear. When I finally shrugged, she pounced once more.

“You really have no idea who I am? I’m hurt.” She fake pouted and put a hand to her heart to feign offense. “Spencer’s never mentioned me? Not once in your five months of dating?” Her emphasis on the timing of our ‘relationship’ showed her knowledge of the deceit, but she needed to do more than just put stress on one word. I wouldn’t back down that easily. 

“Why would he? You mean nothing to us.” Nastier words have never left my lips, and yet, I still made sure they were coated in the harshest tone I could muster up the courage to use. 

She scoffed and stopped walking around me to pull on Dr. Reid’s arm and force her mouth to make contact with his ear. Despite the closeness, he still refused to meet her eyes. He kept them locked on mine. 

“I mean nothing to you? Is that so?” Her breath was a jarring enough sensation on his neck to make his eyes shut. He was beyond uncomfortable. “Why don’t you go ahead and tell her what you told me at the rink?”

“What did you tell her, Spencer?” I was forcing him to speak, not because of the case, but because I wanted to know. Was that wrong?

“I …” The words got caught in his throat. “I told her that there’s some part of my brain, some part that she somehow inhabits.” 

A pang in my chest told me there was still more. That pang would be correct.

“No, go ahead, Spencie. Tell her the rest. Don’t be shy now.” 

He forced himself to look away from me as he said, “And no woman, no matter how good, no matter how kind, no matter how …”

“Say it,” She demanded, firmly tugging on his arm harder. 

“No matter how sexy she is, can ever get her out.” He looked repulsed by his own admission, and if I was being honest, so was I. 

“Are you in love with her?” Although I was venturing far off script, it felt like an appropriate response as his ‘girlfriend.’ It was my response. 

“No. I’ve never loved anyone the way I loved you.” 

He’s such a pretty liar. 

Cat must’ve been annoyed by her lack of involvement in the conversation as she felt compelled to step in. “Prove it. Kiss her like you kissed me out there and I might believe you.”

Pretending to be hurt wasn’t hard. Not when I didn’t have to pretend. 

“You kissed her, too?” I had to ask.

Imagine if I were actually this poor guy’s girlfriend. Forget me - God help that girl. Even if this was all for the sake of the job, that wouldn’t have made it any better hearing what he’d confessed to her or what they did. 

Dr. Reid looked incredibly apologetic for someone that had nothing to apologize for. Sure, I was playing his girlfriend, but I wasn’t actually anyone of value in his life. So why did he look like he felt so goddamn guilty? 

“Ugh hurry up and kiss already!” Cat stomped her foot impatiently. 

As she released Dr. Reid, she gave him a strong shove in my direction, causing him to stumble right into me. He’d caught himself by grabbing onto my hips, while I stabilized him by clutching onto his forearms. 

His eyes were piercing through mine. I won’t kiss you unless I have your permission. His eyes read. 

Fighting against every reflex in my body that was resisting, I leaned closer. Then, right as I closed my eyes, I felt it. 

Not his lips. 

Blood.

My blood.

The coin-like taste shocked my eyes wide open so fast you would think I never even closed them in the first place. Abandoning my grip on his arm, I used my hand to block the sight of my bloody nose. 

(Y/n), what’s going on? Ms. Prentiss asked in my earpiece. 

“My nose is bleeding,” was my answer for everyone listening - Dr. Reid, Cat, and the BAU alike. 

“Are you alright?” He unhesitatingly shifted out of the role he seemed to be playing. His guard fell down to the point where it felt like nothing else mattered but to know that I was okay. It wasn’t Spencer and his fake girlfriend talking anymore, it was Dr. Reid and me again. 

“HELLO?! What’s going on?” The minute Cat’s shrilly voice hit the air, Dr. Reid shut it down with a steadfast hand. 

“Not now, Cat! Time out.” He motioned a T before he let an invisible magnetic force freely connect his hands onto my hips again. It seemed like he didn’t even touch me on his own accord but instead, it was the mere gravitational pull that brought his body back to mine. “This isn’t a game anymore.” His tone was unwavering as he walked me away from Cat and into the bathroom. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He whispered in a familiar tone after shutting the bathroom door behind himself. “You can leave now. You don’t have to keep doing this.” As though I were his grandmother’s delicate china, he hoisted me in the air momentarily to help me onto the sink with an almost unnecessarily large amount of caution. 

“I’m fine.” While I attempted to wave off his concern nonchalantly, traitorous butterflies swarmed my stomach at the feeling of his touch. 

“Don’t tell me you’re fine!” He scolded through an outpouring of laughter. “I can see the blood!” He underlined his words by pressing the toilet paper he retrieved on the spot under my nose where the blood was centralized. 

“Then don’t ask!” I just as playfully responded. 

“Alright, fine, fine,” He jokingly put his hands up in surrender. “What should I ask you then?”

I wish I was more uncomfortable than I truly was. Maybe then it would’ve been easier to lie to him. But there was something about how close he was to me or how unrelenting his stare was that made sincerity spill out from my every seam. 

“‘Why are you even here if you’re just ruining things?’” 

He looked so hurt despite the fact that the depreciation was directed at me. “Why would I ask you that?” 

“Because it’s true, isn’t it?” My eyes flashed to the door to ensure it was closed, but without the ability to guarantee that Cat wasn’t right outside listening in, I lowered my voice. “I’m way in over my head here. I have no idea what I’m doing and I feel like I’m just making things worse.” 

“None of that is true,” It sounded like a reprimand, the way he was defending me to me. “The team wouldn’t have asked you to be here if they didn’t think you could do it … and anyway, it’s kind of nice having a partner in crime.” 

He needed to watch his step before he began charting dangerous waters from which he could never escape. I was already playing with fire by allowing any real genuine emotion seep out around Cat. Except now that he’d thrown me a lifeline with his insinuation of liking my company, I knew, at least to some degree, that the feeling was mutual. I briefly calculated the risk until I ultimately decided to let my boldness rear its ugly head.

With the speed of light, I clicked off my earpiece with one hand and turned off Spencer’s with the other. He caught my wrist only after I’d successfully disabled the devices from allowing the team to hear us and us to hear them. 

“What are you doing?” “Why didn’t you kiss me?” 

Our questions came at the exact same time, and yet I didn’t repeat myself. 

I knew he heard me.

It was out of turn for me, given that I’d only briefly calculated the risk of asking this before doing it. It came out suddenly and then I couldn’t take it back. But I blame his gaze for my oversharing. It brought me so much comfort that I failed to recognize the discomfort my question had posed. 

He sort of laughed, saying, “Your nose was bleeding.” 

Under any other circumstance, I would have believed him. Unfortunately, he was exceptionally unconvincing, precisely because he didn’t look very sure of that explanation himself. 

While I’m sure my nose bleeding was a reason not to kiss me, it was most definitely not the reason. My honesty itself felt something like a nose bleed. For one thing, it annoyed me and was beyond my control. But for another, I wished I could find the source and pinch it off to make it stop. Stop it before I spilled out the words, “Oh, I get it ... you just didn’t want to kiss me.” 

“That was definitely not the problem,” He said a little too quickly and a little too adamantly that it made my head spin. In that response - he sounded very sure of himself, a complete contrast to his previous demeanor. 

“So why didn’t you?” I wish I could tell you why I was pressing the subject so hard. I’d like to think that if you were in my position, you’d want to know the answer as badly as I do now, which is the best rationale I could possibly come up with to justify what I said next.

“If you weren’t scared and if you didn’t not want to, then why didn’t you?” 

“(Y/n),” He averted my eyes by turning his head to the side, revealing a side smirk of contempt. I should’ve been mad that he was visibly frustrated because if anything - he was the one being frustrating. Instead, all I could think about was how I wanted to kiss that smirky mouth. Maybe to make the smirky-ness disappear. Or to control it.

Make it mine. 

“You’re running out of excuses, Dr. Reid. You’re going to have to kiss me eventually, so let’s just get this over with already.” Did I really just say that? 

“I’m not gonna do that.” 

“Kiss me!” Yes, I really did. 

“I’m not going to kiss you.” 

“Just kiss me!” 

“(Y/n), stop.” 

“God, Spencer, just kiss me already!”

“No!” His eyes found me again; This time they were wider. “Not like this!” 

Silence. 

Then he cleared his throat as if they’d somehow cover the confession that had already been said. 

“Not - I didn't mean - I just. We can't like that because that's not … do you know? Like it's very ... that's not what-" He continued to stammer until he mouthed one last “What?” to himself in complete disbelief of the words that had left his lips and the words that were still struggling to. 

Our brains must’ve been working at the exact same speed because while he couldn’t find the right words to say, I was still trying to process everything he already had. 

Without waiting for my response, he fled from the bathroom. When the door slammed shut, I whipped my body around to face the mirror, my fist tingling with the urge to punch the stupid girl staring back at me in the reflection. 

I knew I couldn’t take refuge in here for much longer unless I really wanted to piss Cat off. Which I totally did, but not if I couldn’t guarantee that Spencer wouldn’t be caught in the crossfire. As confused and pissed off as he made me, I never wanted to hurt him.  

Once this realization dawned on me, another one had followed.

This was the key to cracking Cat. I’d found it. 

Like an overexcited bull bursting through the gates, I pushed my way out of the bathroom door seeing red. I saw Spencer first, standing in the corner of the room to monitor Cat from a distance. The aforementioned lioness herself was perched in an armchair, slouching in it comfortably as though she’d sat in that very seat a hundred times before. Not a single display of care in her conduct for the people whose lives she was actively trying to ruin. 

“So you finally ready to kiss your boyfriend yet?” If sarcasm were a liquid, it’d be dripping from her lips. She was so casually destructive when she spoke, like a loose-lipped bomb capable of going off at any minute but deliberately delaying the blow until it was guaranteed to wreak the most havoc on the most number of people. Seeing her in that light only made things easier.

“Forget the kiss, Cat. In fact, forget Spencer all together,” I waved my hand in his general direction behind me. Like him, I was standing, giving me all the power I needed to assert myself effectively. “It’s just you and me now. Exactly what you’ve wanted since the minute you stepped in here.”

She laughed ruefully, if only to make me insecure. “What are you talking about?” 

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you scoped me out. You were doing that to figure out how alike we are, right?” 

She straightened a little more to sit up in her chair. She was hooked. “Why would I want to do that?” 

With my right foot, I swiped the foot rest out from underneath her legs, making her feet fall flat against the floor. Caught off guard by my swift movement, her upper body hurled forward while I took my seat on the foot rest, placing me directly across from her.

It wasn’t for a lack of dominance that I sat down. No, it was that I knew I had power over her, and I didn’t need to stand up anymore to prove it. 

“Feel free to stop me when I’m wrong,” I told her emphatically, knowing that would never happen. 

“You have always wanted Spencer. That’s just a fact. But deep down, you know he’s never truly wanted you. Sure, maybe he likes, even loves, the allure of your forbidden connection, but he doesn’t like or love you. And now that I’m here, the person he claims he loves in a way he’s never loved anyone before, you want to know just how similar we are. Because the more similarities you find between us, the more it kills you inside to wonder why he would love me over you if we’re practically the same. But you’ve only judged me from the outside, and we both know looks only go so far. So I’ll make it easier for you, Cat. I’ll tell you anything you want to know that way you can come up with an answer to the question you’ve been asking yourself the entire night: ‘Why her and not me?’”

She couldn’t pretend to be unfazed anymore. I had moved her beyond that. She was finally starting to react. 

“You would only be this confident if you already knew the answer to that question.” She concluded through gritted teeth. Her body was shaking all over, like the rage inside of her was boiling and her body was the feverish, bubbling water. “Do you know the answer?” 

I had nothing to hide. “Yes, I do.” 

“Tell me!” She threw down an iron fist against the top of her thigh. “Tell me what the answer is.” 

“You have more confidence in my answer than you’re ability to figure it out yourself? Come on, Cat. You couldn’t have gotten this far without your intelligence.”

“I don’t want to figure it out. I want you to tell me.” Her fist clamped around itself harder. 

“You don’t trust yourself to ask the right questions?”

“Just. Tell. Me.” Jaw clench.

“Alright, I’ll give you one similarity to start. We both have daddy issues-”

“I don’t care! Just give me the answer.” Foot tapping. 

“My grandma used to call my dad a ‘Bastard’ in French actually -” 

“Tell me!” Bodily tell after bodily tell, and I knew, I had done it. 

I beat the betting odds. 

“Fine, Cat. I’ll tell you what it is,” I had her undivided attention, and if I had eyes at the back of my head, I’d see I had Spencer’s, too. 

“The fundamental difference between you and me is that no matter what - I would never, ever, do anything to hurt Spencer. I have no compulsion to hurt him as a way to assert power over him or to make him fall at my feet. I can do that without ever having to go to the lengths that you’ve gone to. The power you wield over him is borne from a long-standing vendetta, whereas the power I wield, I resist using against him for revenge because that is what a morally sane person does. While I use my influence to help Spencer believe that he is a good person worthy of good treatment, you are constantly trying to prove that he is a bad person deserving of bad treatment. That he is anything like you.”

Her eyes just barely starting to water marked the last semblance of emotion I’d seen from Cat before the team swarmed the apartment and whisked her away. Then, the proverbial veneer of her mask had glazed back over her face, never to come off again. 

As Luke escorted her out in handcuffs, she gave me one last look over her shoulder. 

“How did you know about my dad?” 

You might think I slipped up when I told Cat that we were similar because of our daddy issues, therefore accidentally revealing that I knew more about Cat’s backstory than I led on, but that was purely by design. I had done that with the specific intention of setting this exact moment in motion. 

This moment where she would recognize that she’d overlooked my ‘mistake’ because of her lack of propriety. This moment where she would have to face the fact that she’d been deceived and outsmarted by me. 

This moment that she would think about until the day that needle went into her arm - the moment she realized - she let me win. 

_ _ _ 

As twisted as it may seem, the end to the reign of Queen Cat called for celebration. Penelope - she told me to call her that and not Ms. Garcia - had prepared cocktails galore in the round table room, which I’d actually been invited to enter this time. 

“You exceeded any expectations we had. The best we could’ve hoped for was no casualties, so I’m thrilled with the way things turned out tonight, and we couldn’t have done it without you,” Ms. Prentiss pulled me aside to say. “If you want it, there’s a spot waiting for you here on the team, and I really think you should consider taking it.”

To her proposal, I said I’d have to think about it, given that I’d hate to bestow my bad luck upon the team, but after tonight, I was about ready to declare my malchance a thing of the past. 

At this rate, I couldn’t distinguish whether I was dizzy from the alcohol coursing through my bloodstream or the job promotion from Secretary to Supervisory Special Agent. In any event, I knew I needed air. I slipped out of the conference room, past the glass doors of the bullpen, and waited patiently for the elevator. 

I must’ve caught Spencer after coming back from his ride with Cat to the prison because when the elevator doors opened, he was standing just on the other side of them, looking lost in thought. 

“Oh, hi!” I chirped, realizing then that he and I hadn’t said a word to each other since the “Kiss Me Bathroom Incident.” 

“Hey,” he called back, his voice already sounding unfamiliar after its lack of use towards me.

“Long time no see,” I joked to first lighten the air that seemed heavy between us. “I was just going to go down to get some fresh air.” 

“I’ll join you.” 

Because I hadn’t expected him to say that, I fumbled awkwardly into the tiny space that seemingly got smaller by the second, especially now that he was filling the space with me. 

The silence was a little too suffocating for my taste, and I couldn’t afford to have my breath be any more restricted by that than it already was being in this slender cage next to Spencer. Just to occupy the absence, I started rambling. “You know I was thinking -” 

No sooner did I start speaking than my words were cut off by the sweet, sweet shut of my mouth because of Spencer’s. His lips wholly encompassed mine just as his hands did to my face. I was surrounded by him and for that my breath had truly been taken away this time, but in the absolute best ways possible. 

There was simply no air. 

His ivy-like enclosure around me somehow made the claustrophobic elevator expand. Or maybe it felt like it had fallen away entirely. Nothing else around. Just us. 

His hands moved wherever they pleased and I followed suit, letting my hands go where they wished, never staying stationary in one place for too long. 

I had to feel him everywhere. Filling everything. 

He’d pulled away first, biting my bottom lip with blunt teeth to take me with him, and then he forced my lip in its place by kissing it back, pushing his lips impossibly closer like he wasn’t close enough. He wasn’t just trying to restore my bottom lip, but rather fuse ours together forever.

He pulled away for real this time but not far. His face and mine were centimeters apart, our breathes mixing in the microscopic air betwixt us. 

Still breathless, he rasped, “I meant something like that.” 

Now, I can say with absolute certainty that my malchance was a thing of the past. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

If you’re on this taglist, I strongly suggest commenting, reblogging, or liking!

CLICK HERE TO JOIN A TAGLIST

malchance tags: @donald4spiderman​ @urie-bowie-mercury​ @rexorangecouny​ 

tags not working: @youhaveabadconnection @gloriousmuffinempathstudent 

complete taglist: @muffin-cup @s1utformgg @no-alarms-no-surprises-silence @jemimah-b99 @justanothetfangirl @kylab @rainsong01 @calm-and-doctor @inkstainedwritergirl @rexorangecouny @ashwarren32 @carooliina @fortheloveofcriminalminds @watermelongubler  @obsessedmaggiemay @k-k0129 @aperrywilliams @eevee0722 @spencersmagic @spencerreid-mgg @half-blood-dork @goldeng1rl8 @just-a-bunch-of-fandoms @random-human-person @masumiyetimziyanoldu @dreamer-writer-fangirl @kalamitykait @jinxy175 @apolloroid​ @spenxerslut​ @you-sunshine​​ @spencerreid9​

[m3kuroshirt]

GrimmIchi Weekend Challenge #4: When time comes

Words: Impact, Silence

Genre/Trope: Enemies to Lovers

Word count: 2793

Warning: canon typical violence, some language

Challenged by @m34gs

Summary: (5+1 - Enemies to lovers) - 4 times they were enemies and 1 they weren’t, then everything changed.

(1)

Seeing Rukia dying right in front of his eyes was the most terrifying thing he had experienced up until that day. The enemy had pierced her body like it was nothing. Ichigo was petrified for a couple of seconds and when the world started to make sense again he launched forth, clashing with that blue haired devil, who was laughing and enjoying all too much the blood shed. He launched with all his might at the maniac in front of him, swinging his sword at every opportunity. Yet, that bastard kept dodging and toying with him. Ichigo felt the lacerations in his skin gushing blood, and he could feel his inner hollow slowly and steadily trying to take control of his body. But before that happened he was on the ground, the enemy towering him and ready to swing a final blow. Ichigo was ready for the impact, but it never came. When he could focus again he saw Tosen right behind the blue haired man. Despite the adrenaline still running through his body, Ichigo didn’t know what to do; he didn’t have the strength to fight at the moment. Then, he heard a displeased sound coming from the blue haired man, and the next thing his mind focused on was the garganta opening and both of them stepping inside. But before it closed completely, the devil spoke:

“I’m the Sexta Espada, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez! Don’t forget, shinigami!”

-x-

(2)

Training with the Visored wasn’t as easy as Ichigo had first thought, specially not with that sly annoying smirking guy. Still, after everything, Ichigo was confident that he could tap into his hollow powers for at least a few minutes now. Fear wouldn’t be the one thing that could make him hesitate in his next battle. The memories of losing control to his hollow were still fresh but he was certain that he was on the path to master its power. He just needed to keep fighting. Fighting with—

“He’s here.”

Ichigo was never good with sensing others reiatsu but for some reason the powerful presence of Grimmjow drew him in like a moth to fire. So, as soon as that spiritual energy hit his senses, he took off.

Facing Grimmjow again was a matter of… something. Ichigo wasn’t quite sure the reason behind his need to square up with him, yet, he knew he wanted to clash blades with the Arrancar again and beat him.

“What happened to your arm?”

“I discarded it. I don’t need it to defeat you, shinigami!”

They clashed and Ichigo decided it was time to test his new found power. The surprised expression on that ever scowling face stirred a dangerous feeling of pride and satisfaction in Ichigo. He was going to show the other that he was strong.

He swung a getsuga tensho.

Grimmjow clashed with him again.

Everything was exhilarating, he felt alive and in control, everything was going well and Ichigo knew that with just one more blow Grimmjow would be the one on the ground. It truly would have been his win if his hollow mask hadn’t cracked. If his time limit hadn’t been reached.

The opportunity to prove that he could take the other was gone. And Grimmjow laughed victoriously as he took his chance to get Ichigo on the ground.

Another victory to Grimmjow.

Ichigo would be finished for good now, if the maniac smile on the other was any indication. However, another Arrancar got in the way. He saw disappointment in Grimmjow’s features, but before he was engulfed by the endless darkness of the garganta, a promise to battle again in Hueco Mundo was made.

Ichigo’s whole body shivered in anticipation.

-x-

(3)

When Ichigo set foot in Hueco Mundo to rescue Orihime he knew deep down in his gut that Grimmjow would be waiting for him. He was stepping inside his lair, right into a trap - or so he thought. However, something stirred inside him when he saw that his enemy had rescued his dear friend from the clutches of whichever monster she was held captive. Seeing Orihime somewhat safe was a relief, a weight - he didn’t know he was carrying before - seemed to have lifted off of his shoulders, and now the only thing left to do was to proceed on wining the next battle.

Grimmjow was waiting for him, expectantly.

Ichigo could hear the drums of a violent battle soon to be unfold, his heart thumping in his chest fast and his whole body trembling from the prospect of seeing the blue-haired Arrancar. He was excited but terrified at the same time as he knew the high stakes of the battle he was fighting. Still, Grimmjow triggered something visceral that was consuming him little-by-little from the inside. Ichigo dared to say he felt pride for being noticed by the other, but the foreign, aching feeling that crawled even on the surface of his skin was— a craving.

Ichigo’s thoughts swirled his mind, still, he tried to keep his usual facade, burying any improper emotion deep down. That proved impossible as every single feeling increased tenfold the moment he saw Grimmjow standing close to him. And when that boisterous voice told him it was time to fight, Ichigo felt like he could let go the trigger of an invisible gun. So, he blurted out:

“Not here”

Grimmjow and his never ending devious smirks got the message loud and clear, both of them sprinting away from the spectators.

They clashed.

Swords lacerating skin.

Gushing wounds painting their skin red.

Grimmjow used his resurrection.

Ichigo released his bankai and hollow mask.

The thrill of battle was something that Ichigo knew all too well, and he wouldn’t admit that the feeling wasn’t all that unpleasant - specially for Grimmjow, who would never let him live in peace if he discovered it.

Then, Grimmjow’s rough voice from exhaustion reached Ichigo’s ears, “You came here to fight me, admit it, Kurosaki!” He laughed as their powers collided in another furious attack.

Ichigo felt a surge of panic as he realized Grimmjow could so easily read him, which made him wonder what faces he was making for the other to get to such conclusions. He wanted to counter, to tell the other that he was wrong, that he was fighting not because it felt good but because he had an obligation to… some greater good or something. In any case, he did have a purpose, he needed to protect the people who he loved. And if that meant fighting enemy after enemy so be it. But instead of denying the accusation, Ichigo chuckled and copied that same smirk the Arrancar usually had on the lips:

“I’ll always fight you.” Ichigo didn’t wait for a reaction from the other, and launched a getsuga tensho.

They fought with claws and teeth, almost literally. And Ichigo couldn’t avoid the thought that if they weren’t in opposite sides, they could have developed some sort of friendly rivalry. Grimmjow and his incessant thirst for the battle field and defeating strong opponents had spiked Ichigo’s interest as he had never seen someone so convicted on battling him. The Arrancar didn’t want to rule worlds, he didn’t care about others, the blue-haired beast just wanted a good fight and to be the king of whatever he thought he should be king of.

Ichigo’s thoughts ran wild and even though his focus was on the battle before him, Grimmjow had almost clawed his face off. Luckily, Ichigo’s quick reflexes saved him. A missed attack didn’t discourage Grimmjow one bit, as another powerful attack reached Ichigo, who kept blocking. For a split second, Ichigo noticed an opening as Grimmjow’s movements started to get sluggish and predictable. He lunged forward, releasing a getsuga tensho right on Grimmjow’s face.

The battle ended not long after.

Out of respect, he held Grimmjow by the wrist preventing his imminent fall on hard sandy ground. He left the unconscious Arrancar there, and shunpoed back to his friends. But, not long before Ichigo had reached them, Grimmjow was back at him, ready to fight - demanding him to fight. Ichigo lunged forward with Grimmjow, but this time Ichigo dropped his sword. He wanted to make a point. Grimmjow and his fight didn’t have to end there with one killing the other, they could go on and on forev— Ichigo paused for a second at the thought.

When Grimmjow barked some insults, demanding him to pick up his sword it was then that Ichigo was sure that they could keep fighting forever. And Ichigo knew he could persuade the other, make a some sort of contract, he was almost convincing Grimmjow that they could meet again at another time. And if it weren’t for the devil Arrancar number 5 to interrupt their exchange of words, perhaps they could have come up with an agreement where they could fight again.

Ichigo would take Grimmjow at any time, anywhere, and he was sure Grimmjow would too. The what ifs in Ichigo’s head kept flooding his mind as he saw Grimmjow on the ground, blood covering every inch of his neck, drenching his clothes.

They’d have been excellent partners. Ichigo thought as he prepared himself to not only defend his friends and himself but also avenge a fallen Arrancar.

-x-

(4)

With everything going to hell as per usual, Ichigo still kept fighting, an obligation to end another battle crawled through his very soul as he knew it was the only way to protect the people he loved. In the middle of all the crisis, Urahara contacted him to update him with some vital information regarding Soul Society and the Quincys. Urahara was in Hueco Mundo, and Ichigo still wasn’t sure what he was doing there, but it didn’t matter Ichigo was sure it had something to do with collecting data and finding a way out of the current situation. What Ichigo wasn’t expecting to hear was a well known voice, a voice that he had wished to hear for a long time now. It had to be HIM shouting in the distance.

“This voice… Is it…?”

He heard some more yelling and cursing before the call went silent for a second and then Urahara kept explaining… something. Ichigo didn’t pay that much attention, his mind was still swirling over the fact that he was sure he had heard Grimmjow’s voice. To think that maybe the Arrancar was alive and doing well stirred something in his very soul. Excitement and anxiousness ran through his body like wildfire, and Ichigo wished that he could see Grimmjow again.

-x-

(5)

Hell went loose. That was one definition of what was going on. Yet, Ichigo was ready to launch into a messy bloodied battle field once more. Another fight that in all reality wasn’t Ichigo’s but somehow he got dragged once more into it. He had fought too many “gods” and tricksters already, one more wouldn’t make a difference now. The only difference was his surprise to know that the remaining Arrancars would help. Even more surprised he was when he saw a Garganta opening and a very familiar blue haired Arrancar appeared before him.

“Grimmjow!” Ichigo gaped, suddenly the air he breathed wasn’t enough and he felt a knot forming in his throat.

Eyes immediately locking in Ichigo’s figure. Those electrifying blue eyes were as mesmerizing as Ichigo remembered them, and that scornful face hadn’t changed a bit. Grimmjow didn’t waste time, closing the distance between Ichigo and himself ready to have a quick fight. They stood in front of each other, eyes trained observing and waiting for any movements, any remarks, anything that could trigger them clashing their swords.

They probably would’ve started fighting already in any other situation, but another familiar green-haired Arrancar crushed him in a hug. At that moment, Ichigo not only heard but saw Grimmjow's annoyance. And for a second Ichigo thought he saw a glimpse of possessiveness in the other. After that, Ichigo got too involved with all the new people arriving and asking questions to really pay attention to Grimmjow. When he finally got the chance, however, he sat down next to the other and tried to talk. Grimmjow mostly scoffed and replied with dry and sarcastic remarks, nonetheless, listening Grimmjow bickering with others and hearing his hoarse deep voice directed to Ichigo affected the substitute shinigami in ways that he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. It wasn’t like they were friends, they barely even had anything in common - as far as a Ichigo was aware of. Yet, Ichigo was excited and glad to see Grimmjow again.

“Why are you helping us?”

“If Hueco Mundo is gone… Where else would I fight you?”

Right then Ichigo was sure that their bickering wasn’t only because they were enemies. Something had changed, the Arrancar Ichigo was looking at wasn’t his enemy anymore. Grimmjow was an ally but more than that the blue haired man was Ichigo’s rival, someone who brought to the surface Ichigo’s true nature; someone who understood Ichigo; who showed their feelings through actions more than words.

Which was why Ichigo panicked the moment Grimmjow lunged himself in the enemy's territory, chasing his opponent. And Ichigo’s heart skipped a beat when he had lost Grimmjow from his sight.

Despite Grimmjow’s reckless actions, Ichigo could see it was his usual pretend game of ‘I don’t care’ to cover the truth behind it: to have Ichigo advancing faster to the final battle. To have Ichigo unscathed as possible.

-x-

(+5.5)

Ichigo wasn’t sure what he expected after the war was over, after they defeated a God. However, he wasn’t expecting to not find Grimmjow. His heart sunk when he didn’t hear from the Arrancar. And even though the days passed by in a blur, Ichigo still felt an emptiness inside of him. Ichigo’s life went back to a mundane pace, he didn’t have anything overly difficult to handle, perhaps the most difficult thing now was his collage classes but he still aced them anyway as if they were the easiest thing he’s ever done. Still, it didn’t matter what he was up to during the day, once his head hit the pillow at night silence and peace wasn't something he had. Ichigo's mind wouldn’t quiet down, Grimmjow still haunted his thoughts night after night. By now Ichigo had realized what was going on with him. Not fulfilling the one thing he wanted long ago had made his mind swirl with thoughts of ‘what if’.

What if he had let his hormones talk when he noticed he had indeed a crush on Grimmjow.

What if he had kissed Grimmjow when he had the chance.

What if Grimmjow came back.

That thought alone branched a thousand more scenarios in his head. And even though no one had ever said anything whether or not Grimmjow was dead made everything worse. Because that gave Ichigo hope. A hope that kept growing day after day that Grimmjow would appear out of thin air in front of him.

Ichigo sighed. Another night he was having trouble sleeping. He had tossed and turned in bed a couple of times by now. Yet, the only thing he could think of was strong arms that could be embracing him if Grimmjow was there.

Ichigo turned around again, facing the wall. The window's curtain open, letting the moonlight dimly lit the room. Ichigo’s eyes glanced up to the night sky. He stared for long minutes, watching the bright stars flicker. He was almost closing his eyes, almost falling asleep when a shadow loomed in front of the window. He jumped out of bed fast, immediately grabbed his shinigami badge and without a second thought he let his body fall flat on the bed and he was in his shinigami form.

Just then he took a good look at the figure at the window.

He gaped.

Mouth slightly open in surprise.

Heart beating fast, feeling like it would burst out of his chest.

He swung the window open, and before the man hovering outside could say anything Ichigo drug him inside and crushed the other in a tight hug; face buried on the other’s neck, hands clutching a white jacket.

“So you missed me.” The man’s hoarse voice came out low and right at Ichigo’s ear.

“Fuck you, Grimmjow!” Ichigo blurted out, but he didn’t release the other from his arms.

“Eh? Took you long enough to tell me that.” Grimmjow laughed, as he nuzzled Ichigo’s neck.

Ichigo had a thousand and one questions for Grimmjow. And another thousand and one curses to be directed at the Arrancar too. Yet, all he could think of now was to have that man in his arms and not let him go; not to let him out of his sight ever again.

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

The Iowa Caucus Happened

A job offer slides into Rafael’s DMs as he waits to find out if it’ll be a new start or prison on February 8.

Accidental Feminist Icon

Delete the Twitter app, Mr. Barba

“Mister Barba?”

Rafael didn’t like hearing his name from the young woman behind him, especially not given what he’d done. He’d texted Carmen on the first day of the trial, and she’d agreed to look into the offers from attorneys he knew, and some he didn’t, while he sat beside Dworkin and emotionally prepared himself to testify. The ones he’d looked at the night before came from people he didn’t like or were last resorts. He’d moved from his visceral response to finding law to back his actions. Applying logic could let him detangle himself from his conflicted emotions. Catholic guilt wrestled his humanity. That said, he also found himself desperate to introduce Ollie to music as Carmen worked from his apartment that first afternoon, not caring for once as the toddler drooled or sneezed or spilled all over him.

“Yes?” he asked, taking his coffee from the cart. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

“We haven’t. I follow you on Twitter.”

“Ah,” he said, shifting awkwardly. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss-”

“Rachel Sullivan. I have, like, a reading Twitter.”

“I’ve seen that! Read with Rachel? Your icon is a copy of Howl?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, chuckling. “I just- listen, I know it’s bad what’s going on and a lot of people are really hurt and going after you. Do I get it? No. But, I think you didn’t get a good choice, and you did what’s right for you. When it seems impossible, it’s not my place to judge something I can’t fathom. And a lot of people feel the same. A bunch of us have a group chat and we hope everything goes well and you get to start again.”

It was a stark contrast to his interaction with mami or emails from church ladies. There was an acknowledgement of disagreement, but he needed more people to respect that they weren’t there like she did. He also remembered watching his father die, and while he didn’t like the man, he regretted not ending that pain. It only drew out hurt for everyone. 

“Thank you, Rachel. That really means the world to me.”

“Good luck today,” she said, giving him a wave when she took her coffee and left. By the end of the day, Rafael hated Peter Stone for being a damn good prosecutor, and he wondered if there were any cases he’d tried, especially the ones before SVU that he was wrong on. He made his way into a new bar, definitely not his usual during all of this, and he sat and drafted his resignation. It took longer than he cared to admit, and he restarted and reread it time and time again. By the time he was drunk, he’d written something he could proofread the next morning and ignored calls from Olivia, Carmen, and mami. 

He decided it was time to do what he had been dreading, logging into Twitter. Since Carmen had cleaned it up, more people had found him, and he was able to easily ignore anything hateful by skimming for murder or murderer in the body of the tweet. He skipped those, and Rafael was surprised to see some apathy, sympathy, or respect for his reasoning. Lazily, he scrolled his direct messages. A select few of the people who knew him contacted him with revulsion, but his filtered messages were filled with vitriol. He found Rachel’s account again, following her back and deciding he could break his unspoken rule of only following people he knew or the occasional blog/podcast/museum/celebrity. If anyone contacted him with kindness, he was now more open to the reciprocity of Twitter; no one would be asking him to prosecute their case soon.  

He saw a message from Tripp Greene. In Harvard, they’d had an unspoken alliance as the two scholarship kids in their cohort, a silent allegiance that continued into law school. There were very few people Rafael respected personally from Harvard, but Tripp had remained kind, even if he worked in something as ruthless as politics. They’d been reunited by Rafael’s uptick in Twitter popularity. He was more proud than he should be by the potential presidential candidates that had followed him. Rafael should have known Tripp would reach out; he was ever the silent cheerleader and had watched a sibling die on life support when he was at Harvard. They’d discussed the morality of pulling plugs and the selfish desire to keep people alive, though most of it had been Tripp talking and Rafael listening.

While moving to Iowa seemed extreme, he was acutely aware that he would end up haunting the DA’s office and Manhattan SVU like some ghost of ADAs past instead of moving forward. His mother had a boyfriend and looming retirement that seemed likely to take the pair to Miami, where she could play grandma to his grandchildren. There was nothing left for him here but Carmen, and while a great friend, she was not enough to erase the last twenty-one years of his life. When Carmen called for the fifth time that night, he ignored it, but it was quickly followed by Answer the phone or I tell Olivia I haven’t heard from you. With a groan, he answered when Carmen called again sixty seconds later.

“I’m fine. I don’t want to delve back into a play by play of my day.”

“That’s why you’re drunk at seven o’clock,” she said, her tone thick with sarcasm as she pretended that solved everything.

“It’s only been two hours?”

“You’re not at Forlini’s.”

“I’m not hanging out with Stone.”

“Send me your location. I just picked Ollie up from mom’s.”

“Take your son home, Carmen. I’ll be fine.”

“But we could talk about how much I also hate Stone. I’ll even stop and let you grab take out from that Cuban place you like.”

“Deal,” he acquiesced, motioning he wanted to close his tab. “Call me when you’re close.”

“Deal. ETA is about fifteen minutes.”

He polished off his scotch, signing the check and tipping well before taking his briefcase and leaning against the wall as he waited for Carmen’s SUV. She waved at him out the window, and he hurried into her passenger seat. Though he always knew that she was a great secretary and assistant, Carmen was proving to be the friend he needed right now. Olivia, in the few phone calls they had, was unwilling to discuss anything but the case. She was in cop mode, and she talked to him like she could swoop in and fix what he had done. While she thought he didn’t know, she’d talked to McCoy, talked to Stone, talked to anyone who would listen. But what she didn’t understand is that he’d accepted going to prison was a possibility, but it was one he felt was worth it.

“Barba!” he heard from the backseat, smiling softly to see Ollie more awake than he’d expected. He’d seen the boy periodically, mostly during evening handoffs when Carmen’s mother would drop him off so Carmen could take him home. There were a lot of single mothers in his life, and all were exceptional. The last few days, Carmen and Ollie both had spent a lot of time with him. He kept introducing Ollie to music and movies and foods like he could make up for everything Drew wouldn’t experience by making sure Ollie did.

“Oliver!” he smiled, twisting around to smile at him. The boy kicked his leg, and the blue stripe on the rubber of his sneakers lit up. “I like your shoes.”’

“Thanks,” he giggled, kicking again. 

“You’re good with him,” Carmen smiled, the navigation now leading her to get his take out. 

“He’s a good kid. Noah made me better with kids. Liv said I held him like a sack of flour at first.”

“You’ll be ready by the time you have your own.”

“I work too much.”

“That can change.”

“I don’t deserve to have a child,” he shrugged, and he could see Carmen purse her lips. “I don’t. I wouldn’t be good at it anyway. Wouldn’t be fair. Besides, I might end up like dad. No kid deserves that shit.”

“Bad word!” Ollie scolded, tablet in hand as he watched a movie.

“Sorry, Ollie. Stuff.”

“You’ve never told me what he did.”

“He wanted heterosexual, toxic machismo and got a swarmy, emotional bisexual.”

“You’re not that emotional.”

“He took care of that,” he said darkly. “I used to cry when he went after mami. That turned his attention to me.”

Carmen knew there was nothing she could say, so instead she silently took his hand, squeezing softly. He was taken aback at first, but he kept her hand loosely in his as his head lulled against the headrest. It was strangely grounding, the physical affection. He’d felt like he was swimming the last few days as memories of his father, his father’s death, his childhood, and each case he tried bubbled up. That wasn’t including the vision of baby drew and Maggie in the hospital room that lingered everywhere. 

The conflicting guilt and conviction he’d done the right thing also broke a damn and the feelings he’d suppressed- loneliness, guilt, abandonment, distrust- were all bubbling to the surface. He’d spent so much of his life trying not to process them so he could focus on a conviction rate and moving forward that he didn’t have the tools everyone else did sometimes. Right now, Carmen felt like an anchor, and he was grateful for her. 

He got out of the car when Carmen parked, ordering enough food for three adults, one take out container containing whatever he thought a toddler could handle. Soon enough, they were settled in his living room and eating, though Ollie had minimal interest in the pork, beans, and rice in front of him. The thought crossed his mind that when he took one of the out of state jobs, he wouldn’t have Carmen there like this. He was sure this friendship would be short lived; when he didn’t need her anymore, she’d leave him. That’s what usually happened, wasn’t it? She just felt bad for him.

“I’m moving to Iowa,” he blurted out before he was able to spiral into the self loathing he’d recently discovered.

“That’s far,” she said, and he thought he could detect sadness in her voice.

“There’s FaceTime.”

“Not quite the same, but I’ll take it.”

“Tripp understands,” he said, sobering up as the food hit his stomach. “He lost a sister. Watched someone dying like with my dad except she’d been born that way. It was years, Carmen.”

“That’s a lot. I’m going to miss you, Rafael. Ollie will too.”

“Come visit. If the tickets are bad, I’ll pay. Or cover renting a car.”

“You’re drunk,” she chuckled. 

“Sorry. Best friend. It’s the rules.”

“We’ll come. But I can afford tickets.” 

“Promise if it’ll make things tight, you’ll let me. You’re raising a kid. No kids means I can afford to get my friend the occasional plane ticket.”

“Deal.”

“Next week, will it be Des Moines or prison? Who knows! I’ll probably grow a beard either way. Think they’d recognize me in prison if I grow a beard?” 

“I’ve never seen you with a beard. Stop shaving and we’ll find out.”

She could see Rafael getting tired, head leaning back against the couch and closing his eyes. She preferred when he joked about all of this. They were stuck waiting, and this time the next night they’d probably know. Ollie climbed between them on the couch, and she realized her boss wasn’t the only one almost asleep. 

“You two can stay,” Rafael yawned, hand smoothing Ollie’s curls back. 

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. It’ll be nice not being alone in the morning. And you can stay here to work. We didn’t talk about it, but I know you hate Stone. He’s a good attorney. Doing his job.”

“His job is wrong.”

“That isn’t his fault. If another ADA had done what I did? I’d be prosecuting them.”

“Go get ready for bed,” she chuckled, rolling her eyes. As she scooped Ollie up, she kissed the top of Rafael’s head. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

“Carmen?” She turned in the doorframe. “Thank you. For all of this.”

“I’m glad to, Raf. Promise you’ll actually sleep.”

“I promise.”

“Night, Barba,” Ollie yawned, waving over his mom’s shoulder as they entered his guest room. Maybe Iowa was going to be too far if he didn’t go to prison. He was getting quite fond of having Carmen around quite quickly. He wasn’t going to be her superior anymore, so this friendship could be something he maintained. 

Olivia would be a given; even if they were primarily united around work, she was also one of his closest friends and maybe not working together would make him relax. Hell, maybe the end of his life in the city would do it. Rafael couldn’t remember a time he hadn’t felt he was chasing an upward trajectory in New York City. Even at Harvard, the plan had been to return. Maybe coming into Des Moines established would let him feel comfortable just existing. 

He liked cooking and reading in the park and going out dancing on occasion. He rarely had time for two options, and the latter made his cheeks red with embarrassment at the prospect of a colleague seeing him during the outing. In Iowa, maybe he could go dancing and take up a new hobby and wear jeans without feeling like something was out of his control. 

He woke up before Carmen, excited to be able to cook for her. He appreciated the fact she was happy to help him, but she had paused her own life for the last few days. Their friendship was relegated to offices and dinners by the office. He’d come to her baby shower and birthday parties and even a holiday party, but that was it and that had other colleagues present. Except maybe the baby shower, but he was determined to buy up whatever was left on her registry when the day came, using mami, abuelita, and the older women at church as pseudonyms to pretend he’d just let family know. 

“You can cook?”

“I just never had time,” he shrugged, tray coming out of the oven.

“You made pastries?” 

“Pastelitos de guayaba.” Carmen didn’t miss how proud he looked as he admired them. They were something he’d always made with family. “They aren’t hard, but abuelita used to make them for me all the time. Puff pastry, sweetened cream cheese and guava paste. Cafe con leche on the way.”

“You couldn’t sleep?” He shook his head, pouring the espresso and adding the milk before placing mugs at the breakfast counter. His mouth was set in a line now, the corners sucked in as he focused on the countertop. Her hand rested on his, giving a squeeze and he rewarded her with a soft smile. “We’ll be helping you pack for Iowa in no time.”

“I hope,” he nodded, biting into a pastry. Ollie came out, eyeing the countertop. “Want one, Oliver?”

“What are they?”

“Delicious,” Carmen groaned, having torn into her own. That was enough for Ollie, who accepted a pastry from Rafael with a soft Thank you before biting into it carefully.

“Wow! It is good!”

“I’m glad you like it.”

It felt a somber affair, despite the pastries, when Carmen saw him off to court. She chose to wait in his apartment, ringer on high and news coverage on. Ollie was easily entertained by the toys she had in the car, and the phones were forwarded to be answerable on her cell phone. By the end of the day, she’d put dinner in his slow cooker and cleaned most everything at least once. And then her phone rang with his ringer. She’d picked one of the other presets for him long ago, and she watched Ollie with his blocks as she answered.

“Rafael?”

“Not guilty,” he exhaled, still unable to believe it as he surveyed his office to begin packing. Her desk was empty, and he didn’t mind today because if she had been here, McCoy would’ve had her helping Stone. Carmen was his assistant, his friend, and it was bad enough to know Stone would probably take his place at work.

“Thank God,” she whispered. “Did you turn the letter in?”

“I put it on Jack’s desk. I’m hoping to be gone buy his return. I think three heavy boxes will cover it. Plus anything I hung, but other than diplomas most of it came with the place.”

“I put dinner on. Ollie and I ran to the store and picked up short ribs and potatoes and carrots. I needed something to do.”

“Nervous you’d be visiting me in prison?”

“You know damn well juries can be swayed. You’ve done it.”

“And I’m safe. I’ll be there in a couple of hours, okay?”

“Okay,” she said softly. “I’m really glad you get to go to Iowa.”

[trillgutterbug]

ellic 4.0?

Tbh I'm like, there is Tanis fic?!?! Which, of course there is, it just never occurred to me to look for it 😅

there BARELY is tbh, and only one good nic/ellis fic (this one), which is really too bad because i ship it ferociously!!!! and i would love it if anyone wanted to come talk to me about it 👀👀 i really hope i finish this fic someday, but unfortunately doing so will require actually listening to tanis again lmao. i just did a whole relisten and barely survived it. (to be fair, i could just totally halfass the rest of this fic and that'd be about as canon-compliant as i could get, but i can't bring myself to do that.) anyway, it's set in season..... idk, 2...? whenever nic is working at pacifica, and so far it's all just ust.

(tw: aftermath of animal death)

At the end of Nic’s first break, Ellis stopped him on his way out the door. He was wearing his jacket again, zipped to the neck. His cheeks were flushed with exertion and he smelled of bright, fresh air. 

“Nic,” he said, hands tucked in his pockets. “I’d like to show you something, if you have a moment.” 

Nic hesitated, already gripping the door handle. “Okay… I’m just going out for my second period, though.”

“I know. What you need to see is in the woods. A discovery an employee just made.”

Something began squirming in Nic’s chest. A fluttering dread. “What is it?”

“I would prefer to show you.” Despite its gentleness, there was no room for negotiation in Ellis’ tone. His gaze was very direct, the position of his body next to the door as clear a message as the bright red EXIT sign above it.

Nic chewed the inside of his cheek, weighing his options. Without any surprise, he found the scales entirely unequal. As usual. “Alright,” he said at last. “Sure.” Taking his hand off the handle, he gestured Ellis forward. “After you.”

~*~

It wasn’t a long walk - seven minutes by Nic’s watch. Still, that was a third of his shift. He’d never known twenty-two minutes could fly by so quickly until he started this job. Ellis said very little, leading Nic down a winding series of trails that were vaguely familiar in the way every trail in these woods was familiar. The shades of dirt and trees, the shape of the land, were as recognizable to Nic as the quality of light in a Rembrandt.

“Where are we going?” he finally asked, when the quiet and the briskness of Ellis’ pace had worn through his last nerve. He'd turned on his voice recorder as soon as they left the facility, but so far it had mostly recorded dead air and a few birdsongs. 

“Just up ahead,” Ellis replied without looking back. 

“But what is it?”

“You’ll see.”

That was hardly a satisfactory answer, but, as it turned out, it was an accurate one. Nic knew what was coming before he even saw the clearing. Between one step and the next, he knew. His whole body seized. His muscles clenched like the hard involuntary shudder of incipient hypothermia. His feet dragged, slowed, and stopped. The Blur rushed up on him, snatching him under its thick cotton cloud before he could even consider fighting it. Distantly, through a high-pitched haze, he watched Ellis turn around. 

Ellis didn’t seem surprised he’d stopped. He regarded Nic with a calm, curious expression. “Nic? What’s wrong?” 

“I don't want to,” Nic heard himself say. His voice was low, firm. “I don't want to do this.”

Ellis took a step toward him. “What don't you want to do?”

“I don't want to see.”

Ellis watched him without speaking. It was unbearable, the inescapability of his gaze. Nic’s fists clenched. His heart began to pound. He thought about turning and running with an urgency so visceral his breath caught. If he was fast, if he was smart about it, he could get back to the facility before Ellis could stop him. He could get back to the road. He could run all the way back to his car, he could -

“It's alright,” Ellis said. “There's nothing here that can harm you.”

Nic shook his head. His chest hurt like his heart was going to burst through it. “You don't know that.”

Ellis came closer. He took his hands out of his jacket pockets. “Nic, what do you think I'm about to show you? What do you think is out here?”

Tears stung the back of Nic’s eyes. His mouth filled with the taste of salt.  “I don't know,” he whispered.

Another step. “Are you sure about that?”

Nic shut his eyes. “I don’t want to know.”

“I think it's important that you do.” Ellis touched Nic’s wrist. “May I?” 

Nic tried to say No, but when he opened his mouth, nothing came out. His throat had shut tight.

Ellis drew him forward with a warm, unyielding grip. “I'm right here with you,” he said. “I won't let anything happen.”

That was bullshit, of course. Even if Ellis had been trustworthy, he didn’t understand what the Blur was capable of, what Tanis could do. He just didn’t understand. But Nic obeyed the tug of his hand anyway. He followed, blind. 

It was only around the next corner. Nic nearly walked into Ellis’ back when he stopped, then stood as still as he could, holding his breath. If he didn’t move, it wouldn’t see him. It wouldn’t catch him. 

“Nic?” Ellis’ voice was very quiet. “Open your eyes.”

He didn’t want to. But he did as he was told. 

Ellis was standing between Nic and the clearing, but Nic could see it over his shoulder. He could see the corpses, the piles of fur and feathers, the guts and the bones. He could smell rot. And, as if that seeing and smelling was an inoculation, an exorcism, the Blur receded. It drew away like a wave sucked back down a long beach. Nic was left standing cold and sick in the woods with dead animals at his feet and Cameron Ellis next to him, alone in his own mind. 

“I didn't do this,” he said, before Ellis could speak. “I didn't.”

Ellis took a moment to respond. His hand, still on Nic’s, tightened. His thumb touched the bone of Nic’s wrist. “I’m afraid evidence suggests otherwise.”

The smell roiled in the back of Nic throat, churning his stomach. He turned his head to gag, but nothing came up except some sour spit. He breathed fast and ragged until he thought he could speak again. “What evidence?” he asked. It emerged as a croak. 

“The test results for the blood swabbed from you on Friday,” said Ellis. “It's all animal. Birds and small mammals, some reptiles. The scraping from under your nails contained fur and feather keratin.” 

Ellis’ soft words permitted no misunderstanding, even though Nic very badly wanted to misunderstand. He chanced another glance over Ellis’ shoulder. It was no less horrific this time, but he forced himself to keep looking, to comprehend what he was seeing. The eviscerated birds dangling from branches, the heaps of sticky flesh among the roots. Flashes of white bone, piles of feathers, torn flesh and fur. The flies. The flies were buzzing so loud. 

“I couldn't do this,” he said. Even to himself, it sounded more like a question, a plea for agreement. “How could anyone do this?”

Ellis didn’t reply. He was looking at Nic, not the carnage around them. 

Nic swallowed, twice and then three times. He began to shiver. “You don't think I did this. You can't think that.”

“I think…” said Ellis, measuring his words, “that you were not in your right mind when you were involved in what happened here. Whatever that was.” There was nothing judgmental in his gaze, only concern. Nic wanted to shrivel beneath the weight of it, recoil like something delicate and wet withdrawing from the sun, scalded by perception. “Do you remember anything at all?”

Nic shook his head. “No. No, I -” He trailed off, distracted again, aghast. “How would someone do this?” He felt like a broken record, the needle of his mind trapped in this one deep, gouged groove. “How would someone even catch…” There were crows, sparrows, squirrels. He saw the dull stretch of something spotted and leathery, a frog or salamander skin. A rabbit’s head, attached to the stump of its spine by a thin string of flesh. Was that the bloody, disembodied leg of a wolf, or was it... 

His voice cracked. “How would I even catch all these animals?” 

“I don't know, Nic,” Ellis said. “That's what we were hoping you could tell us."

[maleficar-writes]

A Battlefield Between Them

Pairing: The Darkling/Alina Starkov

Fandom: Shadow & Bone | The GrishaVerse

Rating: Explicit

Additional Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot

Summary: How easy it would be to sink backwards into him, to let a man made of shadows and dreams embrace her.

On AO3: Link

He followed her from the Bone Road to Os Alta, always on the edge of reality. He appeared on the roads, at the end of long hallways, on the edges of a room, a nightmare only she could ese and no one else would believe.

Alina grew used to his haunting presence. He lingered in the war room and her bedroom. She sometimes woke to find him sitting at the end of the bed, and she wondered if she wasn’t losing her mind from the pressure of everything.

Dragging her hand down her face, she rested her hands against the spines of the library books and let her head come to rest against a shelf. Eyes closed, tears burning against her eyelids, she took a shuddering breath.

Hard, this was so hard, and Mal couldn’t—wouldn’t—give her the support she needed.

She felt his presence.

He was silent when he appeared, but he took up so much space, had so much presence, that he was impossible to ignore.

“He doesn’t understand the weight. The burden.”

“A burden you’re putting on me,” she said, unmoving. Maybe if she kept her eyes closed, if she refused to see him, he could become nothing more than a dream.

He made a soft grunting sound, and she couldn’t tell if it was agreement or censure or something else entirely. How had she ever thought she understood this man?

Silence stretched between them. She was so unused to silence even as the loneliness of the Little Palace smothered her.

“It’s not a burden you need shoulder alone.” His words whispered against her ear; she felt him at her back. Warmth from his body reached through the thin fabric of her tunic, sinking beneath her skin.

For a man made of darkness, he felt so much like the sun.

Alina spun about.

His forearms hit the shelves, bracing him mere inches from her face.

Intense, dark eyes met hers. Ravenous eyes. Dark crescents marred his skin, giving him a wan, gaunt appearance. Haggard. But, Saints, he was still so beautiful. The most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

A thrill went through her, a visceral hunger rising inside her to match the greedy interest she saw in him.

She hated that thrill because she didn’t want to feel it. Shouldn’t feel it. He’d lied to her (except that he hadn’t, he’d merely mislead her, and her anger was at her own stupidity, at how she fell to his deceptions) and manipulated her. She shouldn’t want someone who had done those things.

But in the darkness, under the heavy blanket of hot summer nights, she imagined he didn’t just sit at the end of the bed. He came to sit beside her. He stroked his fingers through her hair. He bent down to brush his lips against hers, only once because he was still a gentleman, and that kiss would wake her, rouse her, and they—

“How dare you?” she hissed. “How dare you say that when you hide with your armies, preparing to strike against the country you claim you love.”

An equal fury flashed in his eyes. “I love all of Ravka, not just the parts of it that aren’t Grisha.” The fury faded, and his gaze softened. “He doesn’t understand, does he? Your tracker?”

She bristled. “Leave Mal out of this.”

“He doesn’t listen to you because he can’t understand this. Does he think you’ve abandoned him?”

The question lanced her, tearing open a fragile wound that never quite healed.

Gently, he brought the tips of his fingers to her jaw. He didn’t hold her, didn’t cradle her jaw. He simply stood there, his touch the lightest caress.

She ducked under his arms, striding away from him. He’d never done this before, never lingered or spoken to her at length. The time she’d spent with Nikolai taught her to question people’s changing behaviors, taught her to be much more suspicious.

“Would someone who truly cared about you leave you to suffer the weight of a war on your own?” he asked softly, and the softness of his words cut worse than anything ever had before.

She went still, shoulders hunched, head bowed, hands clenched into fists. She trembled, overwhelmed by too many emotions. Sorrow for whatever she and Mal had that was dying, anger that he couldn’t understand the importance of the war, of the firebird, of any of it. She’d spent her whole life waiting for him, and now that she’d found something to walk toward, now that he had to wait for her to complete a journey, he wielded that waiting like a knife against her heart.

“Can you not talk with him at all?”

“Aleksander,” she whispered. “Stop.”

He fell silent, at her back once more.

She thought he’d vanish like he had all the other times. Thought he’d disappear into the ether and leave her alone.

Instead, he brushed her hair over one shoulder, baring her neck. Just as lightly as he’d touched her face, his brushed his fingers down her arm. Back up. They lingered on the curve of her shoulder.

“Being alone is unbearable.”

She didn’t know if he meant for her or for him—or for them both.

“To stand at the head of an army is to be alone. The only one who understands is the one who stands opposite you.” His lips brushed against the naked line of her throat, and she sucked in a sharp breath.

That thrill inside her became a burn, blotting out her anger toward him, toward Mal.

“There’s comfort in another’s arms. He doesn’t come to you?”

She swallowed hard. “No.”

“Doesn’t let you rest in his arms?”

How easy it would be to sink backwards into him, to let a man made of shadows and dreams embrace her. He was a fantasy, and he offered her the illusion of empathy.

She tensed, and his hands ran down her arms, a comforting a caress.

“What’s wrong?”

“You… Mal and I… we aren’t…”

Now, she felt his surprise in the momentary pause of his hands, in the shifting of his body behind her as if he drew back.

“The boarding house in Novyi Zem?”

She shook her head and stared down the aisle of bookshelves without seeing any of them. “We’ve never more than kissed.”

“Foolish boy.” There was no arrogance in his words, just truth.

Beside a man who had lived for hundreds of years, of course Mal would seem like a child.

Again, his lips brushed against her throat, a soft caress. His hands stayed loose on her arms, and she realized he was making a deliberate choice not to hold her tight. She could step away. He would likely let her go—he’d never needed something as crass as force to convince her to come to him. She’d kissed him first, after all, and she wanted to again.

Even though a battlefield stood between them, he was the only one who saw it the way she did. Who understood it the way she did.

With a shaky breath, Alina let herself sink back. She half expected to pass through him. Instead, she found his form solid at her back. His hands closed around her arms. He still didn’t trap her in place, but now he held her with more strength. With certainty. Not the certainty of a man who’d won some kind of victory, but the certainty of a man who knew he was welcome.

He kissed her neck. His hands stroked down her arms, over her wrists. He laced their fingers together and pressed another kiss to her neck.

Heat kindled to life inside her, a soft simmer low in her belly and between her legs.

Taking a deep breath, she gathered her courage. “Would you—” Catching her lower lip in her teeth, she paused. Reconsidered her words. Felt the tension in him. When she spoke again, her words were so quiet, they were lost in the ocean of print that surrounded them. “Would you do more than kiss me?”

He lifted one of their twined hands. She watched it rise, watched him bring it to her shoulder. He turned their hands, facing her palm and curled fingers toward them both, and he kissed her knuckles. With a gentle tug, he bent her wrist back and kissed the heel of her palm. Let his teeth drag over her skin. Flicked his tongue against the sensitive skin of her wrist.

With three touches, he made her want more than any of Mal’s kisses ever had. With three touches, he made her ache.

“Go to our room, solnishko.”

Their room?

Her room. Except all she did was sleep there. She’d planned to redecorate his room, but she hadn’t.

Their room.

Their room.

A giddy excitement washed through her. Her lips turned up in a smile, and she felt him press closer in defiance of his gentle command.

“That makes you happy,” he said. “Calling it our room.”

“Maybe. Maybe I just like what you’re implying.”

His fingers squeezed around hers. A sound that might have been a chuckle rumbled against her neck. “Go,” he told her, and he released her.

She turned, but he’d finally vanished.

Nervous anticipation made her grin. Without a second thought, she hurried from the library. Tolya peeled away from the door, but she paid him no mind. Her attention was focused elsewhere, was focused on the next turn, the turn after that, the hallway that led to her room—his room—their room and the promise of what happened behind closed doors.

All the nobles thought she tumbled Mal. Half of them probably thought she was with Nikolai or Vasily when Mal wasn’t there.

So why not embrace those rumors, at least in some small way? Why not take a man to her bed who didn’t hate her for her power or her birth or her command?

At her door, she glanced back at Tolya, but he’d already made his way to the guard quarters adjacent to her room. Their room.

Alina stepped into their room, shutting the door behind her. After a moment’s pause, she locked it.

Aleksander materialized out of the darkness the moment the deadbolt slid into place. He took three steps into her space, drove his fingers into her hair, and kissed her.

He kissed her like a starving man, a dying man, a drowning man in desperate need of air he could get only from her lungs, and she surged against him. He kissed her without hesitation or fear or even artifice; there was nothing hidden in his intentions, just open desire for her, and that delighted her.

Wrapping her arms around him, she clung to him as he drew back, gazed at her mouth with ravenous intent, and then kissed her again.

Her own hunger churned in her belly, a heat that spread through her. Every limb tingled with awareness of all the places they touched—his chest against her breasts, his stomach against hers, their hips pressed together, his fingers in her hair as he turned her head to kiss her again and again.

A delighted laugh bubbled out of her, and he drew back once more, studying her.

Slowly, as if he were fighting the expression, a faint smile curved over his lips. “You smiled like this the night of the party,” he murmured, brushing his thumb against her lower lip.

“I was happy then.” She licked her lips, catching the pad of his thumb with her tongue. The look that shot across his face, a savage need she’d never seen on a man’s face before, made her body arch into his.

“Are you happy now?”

Her fingers caught his wrist as the smoldering embers between her legs grew to a delicious ache. She drew his hand down, her eyes never leaving his.

She’d kissed him first. She’d surprised him then. She wanted to surprise him now. Even though she’d never done more than kissing, she wasn’t a fool. She knew—in theory if not in practice—what people did when no one else was watching.

She pressed his hand low on her belly, his fingertips resting against her pubic bone over her pants.

His dark eyes grew even darker.

“Miss Starkov,” he murmured. The way he said her name made her gasp, made her arch against him. His fingers slipped just a bit lower, and that was a wickeder tease than what she’d given him. “Not many people surprise me.”

“I seem to be rather good at it.”

“You do.” Instead of sliding his hand even lower, he slid his hand to the small of her back and drew her with him as he stepped toward the bed.

Without his mouth on hers, with the reality of what they might do a handful of steps away, anxiety rose like a sudden wave inside her. Her fingers caught on his sleeves, grasping the fabric.

He stopped and bent his mouth to hers again. When they’d kissed before—in her room, at the party, just now—he’d been all hunger and desire. Now, he offered reassurance in the way his mouth moved against hers. And in the space of a breath, he whispered, “At your command, Miss Starkov.”

A shiver wound down her spine. She saw the moment he felt that shiver, saw the comprehension in his gaze and felt compassion in the brush of his thumb along her jaw.

“You like that.”

“Like what?”

The corner of his mouth ticked upward. “Miss Starkov,” he murmured against her lips, and she pressed against him, her kisses demanding instead of comforting.

“Aleksander,” she whispered back, almost in challenge.

He spun them around, pinning her body between his and one of the bed’s thick posts. She gasped, her fingers curling in his hair, and she kissed him again as his hands settled on her waist to hold her tight to his body.

Against her belly, she felt the press of his half-hard cock. Between her legs, she felt the wet heat of her own desire alongside an ache she couldn’t entirely understand. Was this, she wondered, what women meant when they talked about needing a man inside them? If it was, it felt incredible. She wanted to drown in this needy sensation, to bask in the warmth of it until she could no longer breathe.

His hands left her hips. His body bowed and curved around hers, the backs of his hands brushing against her breasts as he pulled at the buttons on his tunic.

Knocking his hands aside, she replaced them with her own. She wanted this; she wouldn’t let him take one moment of the experience from her.

He nipped her lip as her fingers made short work of his tunic, pushing it off his shoulders. “Demanding.”

Maybe, but this was her choice, her moment, her desire.

Before he could take her mouth in another kiss, she did something she’d dreamed of doing for months now. She licked into his mouth, curving one hand behind his head to hold him in place.

The broken, hungry sound he made as his hips rocked hard against hers made her purr with delight.

Her free hand ran down his chest, slipping beneath his undershirt.

At the brush of her fingers against his stomach, he jerked away from her mouth and let out a curse.

“Do you—you like my touch that much?” she asked, feeling strangely powerful. It was so much like that moment before the king that he’d taken her hand and she’d called the sun, but different still.

“I’ve imagined what your hands would feel like on my skin since the party, solnishko.”

Her other hand joined the first. Eyes on his, she slid her palms up his chest, and watched her touch unmake him. He shuddered, his lips parted on a silent gasp, his cock hard against her hip. And she burned, the heat of the sun licking beneath her skin as she realized a new kind of power.

Catching his shirt behind his neck, he yanked it off and tossed it aside. It joined his tunic on the floor, and his hands swept up her sides, trailing fire beneath her skin, as if he called the sunlight inside her with every caress.

“You’re overdressed,” he whispered against her mouth.

His lips ran down her throat, and she arched against him with a soft moan. Between them, his fingers freed the clasps of her own tunic. He drew back only to help her lift the shirt over her head and discard it, leaving her in her stays.

Instead of immediately taking her out of those, he bent his mouth to the swell of her breast and pressed more kisses against her skin.

She shivered beneath his touch, lifting her fingers to his hair to hold his mouth against her as he kissed and licked his way across her skin. Every touch made her burn, made her ache, made the wetness between her legs grow. Her body arched against his, and he pressed against her in turn, fitting his hips between her legs. One of her own legs lifted, wrapping around his hip, and he let out a soft, satisfied noise against her skin.

Dragging his hands down her sides as if he couldn’t get enough of touching her, he caught a bit of skin between his teeth. She sucked in a sharp gasp as he worried her skin, as he slipped his hands beneath her ass and lifted her up with a casual strength that left her reeling in the wake of a wash of heat and desire.

Now, he pinned her against the post with his hips tight against hers, the line of his cock a brand between her legs.

She shifted restlessly against him, but he seemed in no great hurry.

Two of his fingers hooked in front of her stays, pulling to create just enough room that he could urge her breast from the fabric.

Cool air kissed her nipple just before his mouth wrapped around it. A harsh gasp escaped her as wet heat pulled all the air from her lungs. She keened, her nails scratching against his scalp as her eyes fluttered shut.

His teeth dragged against her nipple, worrying it to a hard peak. When he bit down, he applied a pressure that built and built, and just when she thought the pressure might turn to pain, he released her nipple. The tingling pleasure of it made her gasp.

“Again,” she demanded.

Obliging her, he freed her other breast, sucking the hardened peak of her nipple between his lips as his hips flexed against hers.

He bathed her in sensation, holding her against the post with his body as his fingers found the laces of her stays and pulled them free. The fabric fell away from her, and he released her breast, straightening and catching her lips in another kiss.

His hands swept up her sides, and she expected him to fill his palms with her breasts. Instead, he held her tight against him, no space between their bodies as he licked into her mouth and let their tongues tangle together. The crush of his chest against her breasts felt almost as decadent as the line of his cock between her legs, and she moaned into their kiss as her fingers tugged at his hair.

“More?” he asked against her mouth.

“More,” she agreed.

Palming her ass, he smiled. She felt the curve of his lips, delighted that she could make him smile. He pulled her away from the post and, turning, fell onto the bed with her over him.

She followed him down, bending over him to press hungry kisses against his neck as his hands swept over her back.

“Boots, Miss Starkov.”

“Can’t we ignore them?” They could just get their pants out of the way and finish this without taking their shoes off. She knew that.

He slid his fingers into her hair, carding it out of her face as he urged her to look at him.

The expression he wore took her breath away. “I will have you naked in this bed, Alina,” he said, and her body reacted to that with such profound heat that she gasped. The hunger in his eyes sharpened. Saints, he was a predator who was clearly pleased to have caught his prey.

Except she wasn’t prey. She hadn’t been since that moment in the tent when he’d pierced her skin and let out the light, even though she hadn’t known it at the time. As much as he’d manipulated her at first, they were equals now. Their powers existed in a balance, and he could no more consume her completely than she could consume him.

That thrilled her. That excited her.

And his eyes reflected that same feeling.

Bracing her hands on his chest, she pushed herself back. Mindful of his body, she slipped between his legs, going to her knees at the foot of the bed.

He followed her, followed every inch of her progress, pushing himself up. When her knees hit the floor, his shaky exhalation filled the room like a physical thing.

A smile curved her lips. The way he looked at her filled her with more of that new power. With that intense, dark-eyed gaze devouring her, she felt like she could conquer the world.

Her fingers pulled free the laces on his boots, and she tugged them off his feet.

With her hands braced on his knees, she rose over him. Again, he whispered a ragged oath. His eyes raked from her waist up her stomach, over her breasts, up to her face.

“You have enchanted me, solnishko.” His hand cupped her jaw, drawing her close for a lingering kiss. “Take off your shoes.”

She did him one better.

After kicking off her own boots, as she stood at the foot of the bed with his hungry eyes fixed on hers, she smoothed her hands down her breasts. His eyes followed her hands, lingered on her nipples, and then jumped back to her hands as they caught on the fly of her pants.

His breath hitched in his chest.

She tugged the laces open.

He leaned toward her, naked want sharpening his features.

She could do anything, she realized. If he weren’t just a vision—a vision that had substance and weight for her and her alone—she could take this moment to destroy him. The most powerful man in the world was vulnerable in her room. In their room.

She could end the war.

She could kill him.

She could snuff out his power and have all the time in the world to solve the problem of the Shadow Fold without his armies bearing down on hers.

Instead, she swished her hips from one side to the other and let her pants whisper down her legs. She didn’t even hesitate—how could she when the desire in his gaze filled her with confidence and power—to let her small clothes follow.

Naked before him, just as vulnerable as he, she felt more power than she ever had in her life.

“You’re a vision,” Aleksander told her, holding out a hand to her.

She placed her hand in his and climbed onto the bed. When he tugged, she fell into his arms, and he rolled her under him, his hands sweeping down her ribs, her hips, her thighs as he settled beside her.

His lips brushed against her breast. His tongue curled around her nipple. “I want to kiss every inch of you.” He spoke the words against the underside of her breast, his fingers circling around her knee and sliding up the inside of her thigh.

A little gasp from her stopped his hand. He glanced up at her, and she let out a shuddering breath—not of fear or anxiety but of anticipation.

No one had ever touched her like this. She’d fantasized about it, first with Mal between her legs and then with him, with Aleksander. Even as she fled him from Ravka to Novyi Zem, she’d imagined what his hands might feel like on her.

Rough calluses. Warm. Strong.

“Alina?”

Licking her lips, she shifted beneath him, drawing one leg up so that she was open to him.

His breathing sped up, matching hers. His fingers stroked a featherlight caress down the back of her thigh as she caught her lip between her teeth. “Please,” she whispered.

Two of his fingers parted the lips of her cunt and caressed her from entrance to clit—and sunlight shimmered beneath her skin.

He froze. The shadows in the recesses of the room darkened, a gathering gloom that should have been a threat. Instead, desire spiked through her, a wicked snap of electric heat.

“More,” she told him, her eyes on his. “Please.”

“Why did you call the light?”

She took a moment to consider his question even though all her brain wanted was to shut off and let her body enjoy more of his touch. “I didn’t,” she finally said. “You—your touch did.”

He studied her in silence, considering her words. His fingers stayed where they were, resting against warm, wet skin just above her clit. The persistent weight of his touch built anticipation beneath her skin, and she trembled ever so slightly.

Almost experimentally, he circled one finger around her clit.

Light followed his touch, a glimmer of noon in the darkness of their room.

His eyes widened with wonder, with desire, with an avalanche of hunger. He pushed himself up the length of her body, his mouth crashing against hers in a wild kiss.

Wrapping her arms around him, she let herself drown in that kiss as her body twisted toward his.

His fingers moved against her. Long, languorous strokes that matched the drag of his tongue against hers.

He explored every inch of her, his fingers running back and forth between her legs and spreading her slick arousal over her skin. Each caress ended with his fingers flicking against her clit as his tongue flicked against hers.

When she started to moan into his mouth, he drew back. Propped on one arm above her, he watched her. Watched her face as she arched and gasped, rocking her hips into his hands in search of more. But he seemed content to play with her, to make her burn with more of that heat as his touch drew light across her flesh.

His fingers circled her entrance, and she keened for him.

One finger pressed against her, and she raked her nails down his back.

A pleased laugh rumbled out of him, and he eased one finger into her. Now, he gasped. His hips jerked against hers, and that lack of control from him thrilled her. “Tight. You’re so tight.”

He dropped his forehead against hers, and Alina let her eyes meet his. “More,” she demanded.

His finger sank inside her, and the light that he called inside her with his touch glittered beneath her belly, her chest. She felt the warmth of it as it spread through her, felt the warmth of the pleasure created by his finger slowly thrusting into her.

“Should I tell you how I’ve touched myself to the thought of having you like this?” he asked her.

A moan spilled past her lips, and her hips arched. “Yes.”

“I wondered if you’d burn with the heat of the sun.” His lips brushed against her forehead, the length of her nose, her cheek.

A keening whine caught in her throat. One of her hands fisted in the sheets beneath him, the other clutched at his shoulder. She burned—surely he felt how hot she burned.

“I never expected you to glow, too.”

His finger drew out of her, and she made a plaintive little noise. “Don’t stop.”

Two fingers ran over her entrance, and she gasped. His thumb dragged over her clit, and she shook beneath him. Slowly, he pushed those fingers into her, his cheek resting against hers. “You’re the sun itself, light and heat poured into flesh.” His fingers curled inside her, and she keened again for him. “Move with me, solnishko. Rock your hips in time with my fingers.”

His words rumbled against her ear, as much a physical caress as the fingers inside her.

“That’s it.” He drew back, and she forced her eyes open, watching him watch her.

Light shimmered beneath her skin, a prismatic array of silvers and golds that grew brighter as she grew hotter. Beyond the frame of the bed, the shadows grew darker still until she couldn’t see the ceiling, the door. Not that she cared to.

He slipped his hand beneath her head, still braced on that same arm above her, and urged her head to turn toward his. “Close your eyes, Alina.”

After a second of hesitation—she didn’t want to lose his face, the expressions he wore—she let her eyes close.

“Keep moving with me.” His thumb brushed over her clit, and her hips jumped. For a moment, she lost the rhythm of his fingers inside her, but he kept going. Kept stroking her. “You burn me.” His mouth brushed the corner of her lips. “I’d always imagined you would.” His fingers curled inside her, and she let out a strangled moan. “In winter, I’d lay before the fireplace to imagine the heat of you as I stroked my cock.”

She couldn’t quite picture it—not him naked with his cock in his hand, but the rest of it? Oh, yes, she could easily imagine him in front of the fire, that dark-eyed look of desire on his face.

“I’d wrap my hand around my cock and pretend it was yours, that you were beside me, that the heat of the flames was the heat of your body. And when I came, I’d whisper your name and imagine the crackle of the fire was your laughter.”

His fingers curled, and she keened. The fire consumed her, burning her from the inside out. She was lost in the heat except for the weight of his body at her side, the easy warmth of his fingers inside her.

“I’d wonder what your cunt would feel like around my cock.”

Her cunt clenched around his fingers, a sharp contraction that had her gasping. Tension lined her entire body. Her nails dug deeper into his shoulder, her other hand twisting the coverlet beneath them as her body strained against him, chasing a pleasure she craved more than the air in her lungs.

His lips brushed her ear. “I’m going to be inside you tonight, Miss Starkov.”

She came with a broken little cry, her back bowed. Pleasure washed through her in waves of heat. Light burned against her closed eyelids for just a moment before heavy shadow plunged them into darkness.

She was still shaking when his mouth brushed her belly. She hadn’t quite made sense of what he was doing when his tongue laved over her clit and his fingers began moving inside her again.

Her eyes flew open, and she let out a sobbing moan. Her hips arched, her back bowed again, and he laughed against her. The sound was full of pleasure, of dark satisfaction.

Tendrils of shadow whispered down her body. They curled against her breasts and played over her nipples like the bow of a violin as he sucked her clit between his lips and worked his fingers inside her.

When she tried to thrust her fingers into his hair to hold his mouth against her, silky shadows drew her hands above her head.

“Just feel,” he commanded.

The fact that she was helpless to do anything but obey made her tremble with pleasure.

The closer he worked her to orgasm, the brighter the light beneath her skin became. If not for the streaks of darkness between the light, she would have been afraid one of her guards would see the light and come running. But his shadows contained the light, twined around it until sun and night braided together.

She broke for him a second time, whimpering as her legs dragged along his sides, as she rocked against his mouth. He licked her through her orgasm, the stroking of his fingers prolonging the pleasure until she thought she might come a third time.

He worked her to that edge, and then he drew back. His fingers slowed but didn’t leave her, and he leaned over her body.

The shadows holding her arms released her, and now she did drive her fingers into his hair to pull his mouth to hers for a long, needy kiss. The sharp taste of her desire on his lips only served to reignite the desperate fire inside her and remind her of that aching, empty feeling. Even with his fingers inside her, she didn’t feel the way she wanted, needed to feel.

“Please,” she whispered, hating the feel of his pants against her legs.

“Do you need me to fuck you?” he asked, and the rough language drew a ripple of sunlight down her body and sharp heat between her legs. “Do you want me inside you?”

“You promised,” she reminded him, and her fingers dropped from his hair to his back, sweeping down his skin to wiggle beneath his pants. She grasped his ass and yanked him against her.

His groan of pleasure made her shiver with delight. “You’re better than any of my fantasies.” His tongue flicked against her lips. She sucked it into her mouth. “Wicked girl. And they call you a saint.”

Instead of cooling her ardor, that made her burn hotter. “I never wanted to be a saint.”

He drew his fingers from her cunt and caught her chin between his slick index finger and thumb. She had no idea why that made her cunt throb, but it did, and she shifted restlessly against him.

The intense look in his eyes only made her ache more. The fact that he wasn’t between her legs, guiding his cock into her left her frustrated—and desperate.

“Must I beg?” she asked.

Heat flared in his eyes—and that delicious power spread through her.

“Do I need to beg for you to take me, Aleksander?”

He drew back so fast, a cool breeze washed over her skin. She watched him yank his pants open, his eyes dragging down the shimmering length of her body. As he shoved his pants down, her eyes slid over his muscled torso to the arching line of his cock.

Need pulsed inside her. Her mouth felt suddenly dry. She’d seen animals mate, and it wasn’t easy to maintain privacy in the army. None of those things prepared her for him. Or, perhaps, didn’t prepare her for the sight of him when he’d already given her two orgasms. Soft with pleasure and hungry for more, the sight of his cock thrilled her.

He tossed his pants aside and laid himself over her. His hands framed her face as he kissed her, as she shifted beneath him to bring his cock against her slick cunt.

He gasped into their kiss, and she raked her nails down his back as she arched. His cock dragged against her clit, and the pleasure of it left her breathless.

“I want to know what you feel like inside me,” she whispered against his mouth. “And I want you to tell me if I’m as hot as you imagined.”

He swore, rolling to his back and taking her with him. His hands swept down her body with an urgency she’d never seen from him before. Long, fine-boned fingers curved over her hips, and he showed her where to settle over him.

“On your knees for me, solnishko,” he told her, his voice rough.

This was where her knowledge dried up. She’d heard soldiers brag about their conquests, so she understood there were a variety of ways two people could come together, but all that knowledge was theoretical. She followed the guidance of his hands, rising above him.

One of his hands slipped between them, and she understood what he wanted.

As his cock nudged against her, he braced his free hand against her chest, between her breasts. “Sometimes, this hurts the first time.” His voice was ragged. His hand shook. The starved hunger in his eyes made heat roll through her. “I can’t promise—”

She bent forward, her lips against his. “Fuck me, Aleksander,” she said, delighted by her own daring, by the way his eyes widened, by how the tendons in his neck suddenly stood out sharp with tension.

He arched beneath her, and his cock slid into her.

She eased down, and his cock pressed deeper, filling her, stretching her, and her head fell back as pleasure burned through her. Shimmering shafts of light spilled speckling patterns against his skin as his hand settled on her hip and drew her down his length, and the only thing she felt was the exquisite pleasure of it.

Fire. Maddening ecstasy.

“How?” she gasped, her head lolling forward. Her lips found his. “How did you only fantasize about this?”

Ragged laughter warmed her lips. His hands smoothed over her hips, a gentle pressure showing her how to move now that he was seated deep inside her. “No pain?”

Her hips rolled forward, and she moaned. His cock felt so good in her. She felt incredible. Full. Here at last was the feeling she’d been chasing since the first brush of his lips on her neck in the library.

She moved against him again, unable to answer his question when the pleasure consumed all her focus. Her eyes met his, glittering in the darkness, and she let out a soft, stuttering gasp. “Aleksander.”

“Incredible,” he murmured in reply, his hips rolling in a soft counterpoint against hers. When they came together, she felt him slide deep, felt him fill her until there was no space between them, no room for light—no room for darkness. There was only them in the center of a glittering halo of light ensconced in the solid, protective weight of his midnight.

“Again, Alina.” His words were rough, broken by the staccato rhythm of his breathing. “My name—say it again.”

She had a moment of shocking clarity. No one called him by his name. He was General Kirigan or the Darkling, but never Aleksander. Not even Baghra used his name.

Carefully, she lowered herself against him. Her breasts brushed against his chest, and that made his breath stutter. Her arms braced on either side of his head. Her hands cradled his jaw. “Aleksander,” she whispered against his lips. “Tell me how I feel, Aleksander.”

His fingers dug into her hips, but the faint pain only made the pleasure of his cock moving inside her sweeter. “Like summer.”

“Do I burn, Aleksander?”

He thrust deep into her, and pleasure seared her. Light spilled from her skin everywhere they touched, flinging glittering light into the darkness surrounding them. “Like the sun.”

“Am I as good as you imagined, Aleksander?”

The laugh that spilled from his was incredulous, and the disbelief in it flattered her. “You are so much more than hundreds of years of imagining,” he told her. “So much better than any fantasy.”

His words made her ache, made her cunt ripple and clench around him. When he groaned, arching under her to drive deeper, she whispered his name.

One of his hands stayed on her hip. The other dipped between their bodies. His fingers played against her clit as they moved against each other, losing themselves in the hard pounding of their hearts and the harsh panting of their breath.

She tucked her face against his neck as he petted her, as he stroked her, as he helped her come apart around him. The feel of her body clenching around him was indescribable. It sated some itch inside of her she’d never quite understood before; coming from her own hand felt good, but there was a visceral satisfaction in coming with him inside her.

“More?” he asked against her lips.

Her pleasure drunk brain took a long moment to comprehend that little word. “There’s more?”

He wrapped his arms around her and rolled them over. Urging her legs high on his waist, he tangled his fingers in her hair and gripped her waist hard. “Move with me, solnishko.”

When he started fucking her, it was rough and hard and fast. She lost herself in the rhythm, in the punishing pace of his thrusts. Beneath him, she twisted against the bed and arched to get him as deep into her as possible.

Just as good, this was just as good, but for completely different reasons. She dragged her hands over her body, pinching her own nipples to the sound of his hungry growls.

“Touch yourself,” he told her, and she did.

She played with her clit, her eyes fixed on his as he drove into her—at least until the light from her skin grew to be too much. Her back arched, and he surged hard against her, kissing her with a savagery she felt down to her toes.

His tongue slid into her mouth, muffling her sobbing moan of his name as she came again.

He seemed to lose his rhythm, his thrusts coming harder, until he went still against her and the shadows surged around their bodies. For a moment, the darkness was so intense she could see only the glimmer of his eyes.

Slowly, he relaxed against her. The tension eased out of him, and he rolled them both to their sides.

As her breathing steadied and both light and shadow receded, Alina found herself a little uncertain. None of the books—none of the soldiers’ stories—told her what she was supposed to do now.

“How do you feel?” he asked her, his hand settling on the curve of her waist.

She studied him in the dim light, his face mere inches from hers, and realized she didn’t know how to answer that.

“Any pain?”

“No.” That answer came immediately. Her body felt heavy, her limbs leaden. She only now felt how slick with sweat her skin was. “Lethargic, I guess.”

“Then you’ll rest well tonight,” he said, his knuckles brushing against her cheek.

“After you disappear, will we be enemies again?”

Now he looked thoughtful. His gaze fixed over her shoulder for a long moment, and then he turned back to her. His eyes drifted shut and his lips pressed full against hers, not to arouse but to offer something else. Simple intimacy, maybe.

He lifted his lips from hers, his eyes still closed. “We are what you make us.”

[spacebatisluvd]

Summary: Hordak is having a bad day. Until Entrapta intervenes. 

Content Warning: Totally SFW. Nothing but cuddles. Brief ableist language and dealing with chronic pain/disability, but the focus is on fluff and comfort.

-

It had been a very long day. He’d spent the morning arguing with Mermista over his plans for rebuilding Salineas—he was beginning to suspect she was shooting down his ideas out of pure spite—and then the rest of the day had been a series of small inconveniences and trials. 

A nearby village had sent a representative to Dryl, demanding—not requesting; demanding—aid in rebuilding their infrastructure after the collapse of a small bridge. The castle servants had ambushed him after that, begging him to ask Entrapta to decommission some of her traps—and when, exactly, had he become the more approachable of the two? Finally, Kadroh had cornered him in his lab, asking about everything he did and why he was doing it and did he like Entrapta? Were they friends or were they more than friends? And what, exactly, was Imp, anyway? 

To top it all off, his armor simply wasn’t managing his pain. Not to the degree he needed it to. Everything hurt and everyone he spoke to seemed intent on trying his patience.

He was done.

“Oooh, what does this—“

“Kadroh. Get out.”

“—do? Hmmm? Did you say something, Brother?”

“I said; Get out!”

“You sound angry. Should I—?”

“OUT!”

Kadroh gave him a concerned look, walking slowly out of the room. “Okay. But I’m worried about you!”

Hordak rubbed the spot between his eyes, trying to figure out when, exactly, yelling ‘Get out!’ stopped earning him privacy and instead started netting him concerned looks. Either way, Kadroh—no matter how reluctantly—had left. It was the first moment of peace Hordak had been allowed the entire day. He leaned against the table, head in his hands. He took a breath, cataloging his various aches and pains, from the bone-deep soreness in his strained legs to the absolute agony of his shoulders and upper back.

He would have happily taken a sedative and gotten himself some restful sleep, but there was daylight left, and he had work to do.

He took a breath and returned his attention to his plans for Salineas, growling softly as he erased or edited the aspects Mermista had objected to. His shoulders burned as he leaned over the drafting table, but he just clenched his hand and shifted position, trying in vain to find a pose that relieved the ache.

A clanging in the vents made him growl. He expected Imp to come flying through—then he heard Entrapta’s soft giggling, and he wasn’t sure what or who to expect anymore. Until Entrapta’s lower half appeared, hanging from a vent-shaft overhead. Uncertain, he dropped everything and walked toward her dangling legs. “Is everything all right? Do you need assistance?”

“Nope!”

He waited, watching her. Though he wasn’t fully sure what he intended to do should she fall. Even with his armor, he was in no shape to catch her at the moment.

(He’d definitely catch her. Personal consequences be damned, he’d catch her without a moment of hesitation.)

Thankfully, she had everything in hand. Or in hair. She lowered herself out of the vent with her hair, jumping down when she was close enough to the ground that the risk of injury was minimal. His hearts steadied a little and he nodded at her. “This is unexpected. I thought you were occupied with repairs to your Beast Island mech.”

“Oh, yeah! She’s still running rough, but with a little more TLC, she’ll be good as new! Well. Kind of. Kadroh said you were being grumpier than usual?”

He blinked at the abrupt change in topic, then crossed his arms and looked away, ears folding back. “He is...disruptive. I asked him to leave. And I am not grumpy!”

“Did you ask? Or did you just yell at him?”

Hordak threw his hands up and stalked back to the table. “Why does it matter!? He’s a distraction, and not one I can deal with at the moment!”

She popped up on the other side of his drafting table as soon as he started working again. “You are in a mood, aren’t you?”

“I am not—!” He growled, leaning forward until they were nose to nasal ridge. “I am not ‘in a mood’. I am busy. I am trying to get my work done and no one seems capable of respecting that.”

She just ‘booped’ him on the nose and started to run her fingers through his hair. “I think you need to take a break.”

“I need to get this done!”

“Does it need to be done before tomorrow?”

Realistically, he knew that would not be possible. “No,” he said, voice still undercut by a soft growl. “It will take several days to finish, at least. Which is why I must get as much done as possible now.” He brushed her hand away from his hair. “Stop that!”

“I thought you liked it when I did that?”

“That is not the point!”

“What is the point?”

“I’m trying to work. You are distracting me.”

“So? What’s wrong with a little distraction? This isn’t urgent.” She gestured to the drafting table and the diagrams displayed. “Why not take a break? Especially if it’s putting you in a bad mood.”

“I can’t just take a break!”

“Why not?”

He floundered, not sure how to answer that. She ran her fingers through his hair again, causing his scalp to prickle pleasantly. “Entrapta.” He stopped, not liking his tone. It sounded too much like he was begging.

“Come on,” she urged, hopping off the drafting table and wrapping her hair around his waist. He glanced at his plans and diagrams as she started to tug him toward the door.

He could fight her, if he really wanted to. He was in his armor. He had the strength to pull free, though it would cost him later. Even that was likely unnecessary, though. He suspected that she would stop if he put up more than token resistance.

If he truly wanted her to stop, he could make it clear, and she would stop.

He dragged his feet, but ultimately allowed her to pull him from the room. She smiled at him as the door shut behind them, and she pushed him down the hallway. He started to fuss again when they passed his door. “My bedroom is here.”

“I know, but mine’s more comfortable. We really should get you some comfy chairs or something.”

“My furniture is perfectly adequate.”

Ignoring him, she pulled him into her suite of room and smiled. He crossed his arms, returning her smile with a glare. “There. I am ‘taking a break’. Are you pleased with yourse—elf?!”

She plucked the crystal from his suit with a nimble rope of hair. Before he could react to the sudden heaviness of his armor, she was already stripping it from him. “That is what the applicator in my bedroom is for,” he said pointedly.

She lifted herself up so she could cup his chin. “I know. This is better, though, right? No pinching. No pain.”

He huffed and looked away, unwilling to admit that she was right. “I can do it myself.”

“Yep!” she said, sounding pleased with herself, “But there’s nothing wrong with getting a little help once in a while. Especially when you’re hurting.”

His ears folded back, and he dropped his gaze. “Is it...that obvious?”

“No. I think most people just think you’re grumpy.” He huffed, scowling. “But Kadroh said it looked like you were in pain.”

His ears drew down. “I was not aware he knew of my defect.”

“He doesn’t—or, well, I didn’t tell him about it. I think he’s just....” Her mouth rucked to the side as she thought about it. “I think he sees people the way I see robots. Anyway, he said you looked like you were hurt, and I figured that might be why you were in such a mood.”

“I am not in a mood!” Free of his armor, he crossed his arms over his chest to hide the fine tremor in his hands. Everything ached, and now that he didn’t have his armor supporting him, he felt close to collapse. Not that he would admit that, even to her.

“Hmmm...bed? Or chair?” she wondered aloud.

“What?”

“Which would be more comfortable?” He knew the answer to that, but it was also embarrassing, so he said nothing. “Probably the bed.” His cheeks warmed, but he couldn’t find it in himself to protest as she caught him around his hips and shoulders with her hair, supporting him as she walked him into her bedroom and shoved him—gently; she was always so gentle with him, even when she was being forceful—onto the mattress. A stray rope of hair flipped on the lights, casting a warm glow over the plush mattress and pillows.

“See? My room is way more comfortable than yours.” She considered that. “We should do something about that...unless you don’t mind staying in here with me when you’re having a bad day.” She smiled brightly, and he glanced around the room, taking in the varying shades of purple and violet, the heavy canopy the hung over her bed, and the various disemboweled electronics that lay scattered across her furniture, in stark contrast to the softer elements of her decor.

It was not decorated to his tastes at all, but there was something peaceful in being here. This was her space. Her room. And she’d invited him in. That spoke to something visceral inside of him, warming him, but how it made him feel was hardly the most important consideration. “I am certain your staff would start to gossip if I spent too much time with you in here.”

She looked at him blankly. “About what?”

Her hair was rearranging the pillows around them, and before he could answer, she asked, “Are you comfortable?”

He should resist this. He should have stopped things before they got this far, should have insisted she leave him in his room—alone—but he was tired and everything hurt, and the threat of gossip seemed so distant. Surely, they could have this. It was innocent enough, and her staff would know that. “I...wouldn’t mind if you allowed me to use some of your pillows.”

She nodded, the two of them shifting him and the pillows until he was as comfortable as he could physically be at the moment—without drugs, at least. He ended up propped slightly to one side, his ribcage and upper back cushioned by pillows. He leaned back against them, sighing softly. He opened his eyes when she drew a heavy blanket overtop him, the weight of it settling around him like an embrace. She was, partially, under the blanket as well, her hand on his side, thumb slowly running over his exposed skin. He hadn’t thought he could get more comfortable—not on a day like today—but her other hand crooked overhead to run her fingers through his hair. This time, he shut his eyes and allowed himself to appreciate the way his scalp prickled when she did that. The nerves all down the back of his neck and trailing across his upper back tingled pleasantly. The deep ache in his body lingered, but the affected muscles loosened, making it easier to bear.

The soft thrumming—too low for Etherian ears to hear, but strong enough that she could probably feel it in her chest at this proximity—started up. He should be embarrassed that he had so little control over his body, but he found, in that moment, he didn’t care.

He shut his eyes, ears drooping and relaxed. “Thank you,” he murmured, “You don’t have to stay.”

Her hands stilled. “Do you want me to leave?”

His thrumming quieted, and he looked at her. “You have more important things to do than babysit an invalid. I don’t want to keep you from anything.”

She resumed her ministrations, and a soft moan—definitely audible, even to her ears—escaped him. He flinched, but she just leaned close and brushed her lips against his. “If you don’t want me to leave, then I’ll stay. I like helping. And I like hearing the sounds you make. Or feeling them. It’s fascinating. As far as I’m concerned, this is very valuable data for our intimacy log. And...” she drew the word out, pressing their foreheads together. “I don’t like it when you call yourself that. It reminds me of the ‘r’ word.”

“‘R’ word?”

“I’ll explain later. It makes me uncomfortable and right now, I’m very comfortable and happy, so I don’t want to think about it.”

He nodded, but worry clawed at him. Carefully constructing his sentence to make sure he didn’t use any word that began with ‘r’, he asked, “Is it something I might say incidentally? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” Especially after she’d taken such great pains to keep him comfortable.

She giggled. “Don’t worry. You wouldn’t. It’s not a common word, and not one I’ve ever heard you say.”

The concern lingered, but her hand had moved from his hair to his ear, rubbing the pointed tip. His eyelids slipped shut, and he relaxed into the pillows. His shoulders were still sore, but this position relieved the deep ache of before. 

She leaned close. “Hordak?”

“Hmm?” With her hand on his side and her fingers alternately running through his hair or over the tip of his ear, he was finding it difficult to form words.

“Would it be okay if I got a little closer?”

He opened his eyes and reached out to her, though he stopped before he could make contact. “You may get as close as you like.”

She smiled, laying her cheek in his palm. He shifted his fingers, running the blunt side of his claws against her temple. A small shudder ran through her, followed by a soft coo. “Oh, that’s nice. I like that,” she said, scooting closer to him.

Soon, they were both tucked under the heavy blanket. She pressed herself against his side, curling there. One of her arms reached over his waist and up his side. The other was pressed to his ribcage, sandwiched between their bodies. All along that side of his body, he could feel her pressing against him, and the contact revived the steady thrumming once again.

“May I...?” He cleared his throat. “May I put my arm around you?”

“Oh, yeah! I think I’d like that.”

He moved carefully, afraid to disturb this tableau. He’d never been so close to someone before, never been held like this. Unless someone intended to harm him, that is. It was strange to feel safe in the arms of another person—strange and wonderful—and he was afraid he might ruin it somehow. Nonetheless, he snaked his arm alongside her shoulder, careful not to catch his claws on her hair, and held her to him, one large hand resting on her hip. She sighed and, somehow, snuggled closer, leaning her head on the place were his chest and shoulder joined.

“Is this good?”

He nodded. “Is it good for you as well?”

“It’s even better than anticipated.” She sighed happily, squeezing his waist. “I’ll have to remember that this position seems to be ideal for cuddling.” She nuzzled against him. “I can feel your purring.”

He frowned, though the steady thrumming didn’t stop. “I do not purr. That is not a purr. It is a subsonic vocalization.”

“You know...feline purring has been shown to have some positive effects on healing and pain management. I wonder if the same is true for you.”

“It is not a purr.” Despite his insistence, the way her fingers ran up and down his bare side made it difficult to maintain his irritation at the term.

“Well, however you want to classify it, it’s definitely cute.”

He should have found that irritating as well, but a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and his breathing contracted in a brief, soundless laugh. “I am not ‘cute‘ by any definition.”

“You are by mine.”

His cheeks burned, but he had no response to that. He just allowed himself to shut his eyes and relax beside her, enjoying the warmth of her body alongside his.

Before he knew it, he’d already drifted off to sleep.

[realm-sweet-realm]

Close Call

Okay, so this is going to be heavier than the stuff I usually write. If that’s not your cup of tea, don’t worry! I have something much more fun and visceral in the works and I plan on dropping it next Wednesday (nine days from now).

---

It was the early morning hours when Shawn returned home from a night of drinking like any other. He and Grant and Lacie had played cards, pool, and darts (the latter they'd played in such a state of intoxication that it was lucky they hadn't hurt anyone). Shawn was glad that Grant had showed up this time. They'd been dating for several months now and probably still were. It was hard to tell. Grant hadn't had the time or "hadn't been up" to going out anywhere in a month, and it had Shawn wondering if he'd just tapped out of the relationship. He had seemed worse for wear lately and of course things at Joey Drew Studios hadn't gotten easier on anyone, so maybe he wasn't lying. At very least, this night had been great, just like things had been before (well, before Grant left a bit early in tears. Sometimes booze just did that to him and he needed to sleep it off), so maybe everything was about to go back to normal. On that comforting note, Shawn dragged himself to bed.

Shawn was awoken by the ringing of his phone. The voice on the other side struck him with fear- it was Grant, and he sounded terrified.

"Shawn, get over here right now. I did something stupid. Please, come here. Help me."

"I'll be right there," Shawn promised.

The door to Grant's house was unlocked. The house was deafeningly silent.

"Grant?" Shawn called. Nothing. Shawn checked around the house. Once he came upon the bathroom, which reeked of alcohol and vomit, he knew he'd found the place. Clicking the lights on, he found his boyfriend passed out face-down on the floor, surrounded by empty or half-empty bottles of pills.

The next twenty minutes were an absolute blur, not helped by the substantial amount of alcohol still in Shawn's system. Shawn remembered calling an ambulance and waiting for it to arrive with his boyfriend unconscious in his arms. He remembered picking up two sheets of paper, which he'd vaguely identified as a suicide note, from the floor. He remembered crying, and panicking, and confusion. Soon enough, though, Shawn was being reassured by a paramedic that given how recently he'd consumed the pills, Grant would almost definitely make it.

The next day, Shawn took out the letter. It had clearly been written ahead of time, unless one of Grant's hidden talents was managing such neat handwriting while heavily drunk. Shawn wondered if that meant that Grant had planned to do this. Slowly, he forced himself to consume its contents, line by line.

If you are reading this letter, I am dead of suicide. I promised myself that I'd never do this. It's been a temptation at the back of my mind for long enough, however, that I thought I should get out what I would want to have out, just in case. I feel like if it ever does happen, it will be in a moment where I'm barely in control of myself.

The first thing I'm going to do is to write out why I promised myself I wouldn't. There are three reasons why. The first is because my mother is the kindest, most loving person in the world, and I know she'd be devastated if I killed myself. There's a good chance she'd end up dead of suicide as well in that situation, and I would never want to cause that. The second reason is for the light of my life, Emily. She has so much promise in her. She has my eyes, the curiousity I had when I was younger, and thankfully just a touch of my sensitivity. She loves me, and I'm trying to be the force for good in her life that my mother was in mine. I would never give her the pain of losing a parent, and I want to see her grow up. The third reason is that I have friends that make me happy, and days when I genuinely want to be alive. Sometimes it feels like life is drudgery, but that's when I most need to remember that it isn't always like that.

Unfortunately, because this will be written ahead of time, I won't be able to say what specifically caused me to go through with this. What I will say, though, is that my life feels like it's falling apart, even when it isn't. My worries about losing my job aren't completely unfounded, given that working at Joey Drew Studios is most often like bailing water out of a sinking ship. I don't know how realistic it is to believe that my career in this industry will be over after that, since I'll have two failed businesses on my record and nothing else. It's hard to tell when I'm being realistic and when I'm letting pessimism get the better of me. I worry constantly about losing the people in my life that make it tolerable, and I don't know if that's realistic either- whether they're getting sick of me or not. Sometimes, it feels like like life is a pointless struggle against the inevitable. I have better days and worse days of course, but, well, if I didn't feel like this a substantial amount of the time, I wouldn't be writing this letter.

Whoever it is that's reading this, you could not have prevented this, it is in no way your fault, and I'm sorry for putting you through it.

—-

There was a banging on Lacie's door. "Lacie! Lacie, open up!"

Lacie, groggy and still in her pyjamas, opened up. "What?"

"I need your advice. Badly."

Lacie could see how distressed he was. "Come on in."

A few minutes later, They were sitting across from each other in Lacie's living room, Shawn had explained what had happened the night before, and Lacie had read the note. It might have been a violation of privacy to show it to Lacie, but he needed her advice.

"Wow, that is serious. Is he okay?"

"Yeah, that's the way they made it sound. I'm going to see him as soon as there's visitin' hours. Just... what do I say to him after this?"

"I don't know."

"Well, if it were Abby what would you do?"

"Abby wouldn't put me in this situation." Lacie saw Shawn getting indignant. "Calm down, I'm not saying 'because she's so strong and he's so weak.' But we've been together for two years, we live together, and we're at the stage where we owe it to each other to look after ourselves and be honest if we're going through issues like this. So, yeah, she'd never catch me off guard like this. Clearly, you two aren't at that point, or at least he doesn't think you are. So, here's my advice: make sure he's getting professional help, and then ask yourself if this is the person you want a partnership with. Also, to temper your expectations: whatever his problem is, you can't solve it, it won't go away immediately, and it's ultimately his responsibility to fix it. If he won't be honest with you about stuff like this, you're under no obligation to help him with it. Honestly, if you do stick with him, chances are that nothing in your relationship will change and in a couple weeks this'll just be an awful memory."

"Well, that's a bunch of heartless nonsense. But you're probably right." Shawn honestly didn't know how to feel about any of it, but he felt like he had to say something. He didn't find it terribly useful since his problem wasn't that he didn't know whether to stay with Grant, it was that he didn't want him to die or to want to be dead.

Lacie shrugged. "I mean, I'm just an untrusting old sea hag. If all you want is dating, or if you honestly think a partnership with him is possible and a good idea, knock yourself out, I guess."

"Okay." Shawn got up to leave.

"Hey. Best of luck, Shawn. I'm always here for you. No matter what you choose to do, here."

—-

Grant was still asleep when Shawn was allowed in to see him, but there weren't any obvious signs of physical damage on him. Shawn gently shook him awake. "Hey... ah just wanted to check in and make sure everything was okay with you. Ya gave me quite a scare last night."

Grant turned to look at him. His movements suggested that he was feeling pretty weak from whatever he'd taken last night. "Oh. Hey, Shawn. According to the nurses, I'm fine. I have to stay a few more hours to get tested for organ damage, but that's it. What... happened last night? I remember I was with you for a while. How did I end up here?"

Oh, Shawn did not like this situation. He didn't like it at all. "How much do you remember?"

"I was drinking with you and Lacie for a while. And... I had a dream last night where I killed myself. But it had to have been a dream, see? I woke up for a minute and I felt you holding me. You must have come home with me after we went to the bar, right?"

"Oh, well, yes. That's what happened. But you... you got alcohol poisoning."

Relief rushed over Grant's face. "Thank God. That's all it was?"

"Yeah. You were trying to keep up with me shot for shot." Shawn gave Grant a little jab with his elbow in a sad attempt to act casual. "Ya really shouldn't do that. I'm a professional, after all."

Grant forced a smile. "Got it."

"Umm... listen, Grant? I love you, and I care about you, and you said some pretty concernin' things last night. Is there anything you need to talk about?"

"No, I'm okay. Sorry for worrying you."

"No. It's fine. Ya want company?"

"Honestly, I'm feeling pretty sick. Can we catch up another time?"

"Okay. See you then."

"Okay. I love you, Shawn."

Shawn got up and left. In the hallway, he dug the note out of his pocket and looked at it one last time, trying to wrack up the courage to go back and admit everything. Instead he crumpled it up and threw it away. Nothing had happened last night. Soon, Grant would go home, find the empty pill bottles on his bathroom floor, connect the dots, and knowing him, probably keep that revelation to himself. And that was okay, right? As Lacie said, it was his responsibility to take it as a wake-up call and deal with whatever it was that had made him do it. Lacie would think this was okay, right? Shawn hoped so. It felt so wrong.

[insomniac-dot-ink]

Breadcrumbs

It was Saturday night so you knew it wasn’t going to be a good time. I mean, someone would probably be having a good time, but that was usually the problem. I work as an EMT downtown and a “good time” didn’t always turn out right for everyone. Weekends in particular often saw a good number of drunken brawls, passed out Freshmen on lawns, people accidentally locked out of their homes and close to frostbite, and all sorts of mild concussions.

I had been dreading this particular day for the entire week. Madison is a college town, meaning that most of the population is young adults trying to get a degree in psychology or international relations or getting alcohol poisoning by the age of 22. It also meant that when things happened at the college, the rest of the city felt it.

It was the weekend after finals and we felt it. The night before had seen a tiny girl in a rainbow shirt puking in the ambulance three times (and on me) and a pre-law student having a nervous breakdown over their test results while I asked them over and over what they had taken. And at the very end of my shift around 3 am a frat boy tried to punch me and then cried, asked to call his mom, and fell asleep all in the span of ten minutes.

I was actually one of those students just a few years earlier with the same panic and sleep-deprived wildness in me. I tried my best to help with sutures and calming words and a very large puke bag. “Doctor” had been the dream job since I was old enough to google youtube videos of live-surgeries, but getting to “Dr. Braginsky” was a thing far in the future.

For now, it was just me and my crew and the frigid streets.

It was the regular gang that night for the Ford pick-up rig: Mary Keynes who was at least forty but drove like hell and texted her kids every few hours. She had been there longer than any of us and often regaled us with the story of how she left her husband and decided to make several “life changes.” Driving an ambulance was one of those changes.

And then there was the other paramedic on duty: Jimmy Newark. He wasn’t even that interested in medicine as far as I knew and worked as an accountant during the day. He told us he just wanted something to fill his nights and was a slow-talking calm man with a sad-dog look about him, like he had been kicked a few too many times as a puppy. I also knew that I only ever saw him really come alive was when he was staunching a head wound or trying to resuscitate an old lady from heart failure.

It seemed he got some weird thrill from it, but he was good at his job so I never said anything.

It was me, Mary, and Jimmy. We were pretty chummy at that point and worked well together and the first few hours flew by.

We picked up a kid with a badly sprained ankle after he took a spill on some black ice and visited two seniors who had taken some party drug that had them picking at invisible scabs and babbling. I didn’t think anything of it.

It was a ten hour shift and we were four hours in. Downtown was all lights and red faces and bad music coming from somewhere. I had my flash cards out. I had been studying for the MCAT for almost a year and a half by that point and being an EMT was good practice, but it wasn't a replacement for the actual book knowledge med school would take. And I kept getting nervous.

My hands are steady and there was no end to my fascination with the weird things of the human body, but thinking about testing into competitive schools like Johns Hopkins always got me a little stomach sick. I was getting that nervous sick feeling thinking about applications when we got the call.

It came in over the radio and Mary took it right away. I didn’t hear most of the conversation since I was absorbed in my own thoughts and figured it was something like a college student slipping on a beer bottle. But it was different.

“Right, Sherman Avenue.” We made a quick U-turn and turned on our lights just as I stuffed my flashcards away into a separate compartment as to not get in the way. “Good Samaritan call-in.” Mary said over her shoulder, “an injured man off Sherman avenue. Near the park.” Jimmy leaned forward, “Cuts? Broken bones?” “Didn’t say,” Mary said and made a sharp right turn. “He said it might be a homeless guy. That he just looked bad.” “Okay,” I said and mentally prepared myself for any of the “worst” possibilities. There was a relatively small homeless population in Madison, but they were the most vulnerable to violence and the worst of the Wisconsin winter.

We made it in good time to Warner Park and I looked up just in time to see the slate grey skies starting to release little tiny puffs of snow. “Oh great,” Jimmy sighed and looked up with me. “I left one my house windows open.” 

I rolled my eyes and we pulled up to Sherman Avenue with a Goodwill across the street and dark stretches of park on the other. I sighed, “I don’t suppose there was a better tip-off for where this person actually is?” Mary stopped the engine. “Better get out and give it a quick sweep.” We usually only spend a little while looking for an injured person on busy nights like this, but Jimmy pointed first.

“There,” he said and jerked a finger up. “By the light.” There was an upright figure caught in the pure white light of the street lamp on the sidewalk and standing perfectly still. “Is he… hurt?” I asked and squinted and Jimmy was already out of the car. “What are you talking about?” He pinched his gloves on and was running, I got my own gloves on and ducked after him.

“Don’t you want the stretcher?” Mary asked, but I didn’t pause. The man looked like he was standing just fine by himself.

Snowflakes kissed my cheeks softly and I followed Jimmy’s hurried steps toward the figure. “Hold on sir! We’re coming.”

My heart was pounding and I didn’t know why. It beat it in my ears with a hot sticky pulse and my breathing was feverish and far too fast for our light jog. I blinked once, twice, and then the man was farther away. Standing in the light of the next street lamp.

“Wait,” I didn’t like this. I turned to reach for Jimmy, but there was only air besides me. I slowed and looked left and right, “Jimmy?”

Soft snow landed on the tip of my nose and there was a red and visceral scent on the breeze. I took a deep breath of it and recognized the rusty hardened stench of old blood. The type that’s been left there to turn to copper and old musty globs.

I tensed from head to foot and when I looked down there were several tiny drops of blood spattering across the sidewalk. Leading me forward. They were wet and must have been what gave the air a putrid smell.

“Jimmy?” I looked around again, but the street was empty as the wind whipped through the branches of the park trees nearby. I turned to get away from this new eerie twilight feeling.

I took a step and the toe of my shoe dipped into a small puddle of blood. I jumped back, I wasn’t a stranger to blood but it looked darker than normal and seemed to sit...wrong. It was too thick and too shiny in the light.

I stood there as if transfixed, and a soft moan crawled through the space. It matched the wind itself and crooned almost sweetly. I jerked my head up and there was the figure again.

He was standing this time inside the park itself by a bench and tall beech tree. I scanned the area around for Jimmy one more time and then figured maybe he got ahead of me. The moan weaved through the air and I reached out a hand toward it.

“Sir?” The smell of cooking meat and winter chill filled my mouth and I covered my nose with my sleeve. The man stood next to the bench, unmoving, and I tried to be rational, there’s blood. Someone’s hurt. Do your job.

I walked quickly on autopilot to get closer to the stranger. Nothing about him came into sharper focus: he was still a faded silhouette among long shadows. I did notice however there was a light I hadn’t seen before.

It was so faint you might be able to convince yourself it wasn’t there, but it burnt pale and tinted blue around his form. An outline a very determined child might have painted around someone.

I sucked in a deep breath and swallowed down the brackish scent once more as I drew closer to him. Spots of blood appeared as shiny pools on the ground. The moan was even softer now and barely audible.

“I’m here to help.” I heard myself say as I indicated the medical insignia on my jacket. The wind slapped me in the face and I winced.

I looked up and there was no one by the bench, but my gaze was driven deeper into the wooded park by a gentle light. And the figure.

I shivered and knew I needed to turn back, I needed it like water or air or a hug after a long day. But there was this smooth line of blood slithering toward him and I was walking. I tried to make it make sense- I couldn’t just leave the fellow and surely once I had him I could drag him back toward the ambulance and find Jimmy again.

I walked past the park bench and past the leafless trees and some of the slush left over from a storm a few days earlier. The snowflakes caressed my cheeks and I squinted ahead.

The moan was musical at this point and I almost started swaying along to it. I didn’t, but I found that I was still walking and walking.

The park passed by and my eyes were filled with the soft glowing blue light and the deep melodic groan that led me toward the earthy blood scent and faded outline.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away and barely noticed as the landscape opened up. The trees fell away and the wind died down and all I was left with was the smooth ground and shiftless dull winter skies. I was however aware of the crack. There was a crackling, electric sound alike to fireworks or eggshells being crunched on the floor.

The moan fell away altogether and it was quiet with only the crackling of the ground and the lovely blue light that seemed to seep inside me. A strange beckoning feeling followed. “Sir,” I whispered as I finally, finally, reached the outline, “You’re injured…”

That’s all I got out before the thing turned around and something stood before me. Featureless, blank skin and something in the middle of its face like a tearing, violent slash that you might describe as a smile. No eyes, no nose, but a jagged smile that split the face in two with the same sick crackling sound as the ground. Something shifted under me.

I gasped and looked down to see that I had stepped out onto the park lake and that’s when the utter cold swallowed me whole.

Cold and cold and freezing water engulfed my head and my vision went white. I tried to pry my eyes open, but the water was black and thick and there was only the barest hint of shine ahead. A shine like long teeth and something looming and huge just beyond me.

“Ah!” A yell like a battle cry erupted from above and I was being wrenched out of the water just as quickly as I had fallen into it.

I sputtered for air above ground.

“Don’t follow the glowing man.” A hoarse voice wheezed into my ear like a chant over and over. “Never follow the glowing man.” I passed out in a twinkling haze of shaking and murmuring.

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

I was saved by a homeless man sleeping on one of the park benches by the lake. No one on my shift remembered me leaving or where I went. All I knew was that I had followed something thoughtlessly out onto the Warner Park lake and fell in.

I asked a nurse, once, if she thought there was something in that lake, but she just gave me a funny look and said that the lake wasn’t deep enough to house much wildlife. I shut up after that.

In the years that followed I never stopped trying to help people, but sometimes I hesitated now. When it was dark, hard to see, and drops of blood littered the ground. I stopped and listened for melodic moaning in the distance.

I didn’t see anything like it again, but working the ambulance wasn’t the same. I looked around corners too much and jumped too easily at different sounds. I took the MCAT as quickly as I could and things become easier in well-lit fluorescent rooms. 

I do stop whenever I can though and give out blankets to anyone sleeping on the street and avidly tell college students and locals to avoid the lakes at night. And not to follow any trails of blood that lead you onward and onward into the dark.

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

If you enjoyed the story I have a patreon for long term support and exclusive bonus content and a ko-fi for one-time tipping and $3 coffee trips, please consider giving to the artist if you can! Even a little helps 🤗

[eirian-houpe]

All Our Past Mistakes - Chapter 10

Read previous chapters on AO3

Chapter 10 - Running On Faith

They moved in almost complete harmony around the kitchen to finish warming the food, and Gold opened a bottle of wine for them to share while they ate. Belle leaned against the counter, watching him as he put the finishing touches to the table, turning the simple kitchen table into an intimate, warm setting in which they could enjoy their meal.

He smiled when he looked up and caught her watching, and then reached out a hand in her direction. She, too, reached and he caught her fingers, tugging her gently away from the cabinets and lifted her hand to his lips to plant a delicate kiss against her knuckles. Then, he pulled out one of the chairs beside a place setting, and invited her to sit.

“You don’t have to wait on me,” she told him softly as he moved the short distance to pick up the two plates of food and carry them to the table.

“I thought,” he teased softly, “we had already established that you’ve done enough for one day,”

Before he took his own seat he poured them each a generous glass of wine, and Belle reached for the glass, to breathe in the heady scent of it, in tandem with the food.

“It all smells delicious,” she said.

“And none the worse for the delays, I hope,” he offered her a smile and then picked up his own glass, and with a slight chuckle offered, “To calmer waters.”

“I have faith,” she answered, touching her glass to his.

“Faith,” he said, and she looked into the pensive expression on his face. “I haven’t really considered such a thing in a long while, but, you know…?” He shook his head, and then took a sip of the wine, set down his glass, and told her, “Please, eat. It has been a long day, and I’m certain you’re hungry.”

She took a breath, and for a moment stared down at her food. She was hungry. A deep aching hunger that spread through her limbs; an insistent prickle in her blood that made her skin long for touch, for the warmth of another - his warmth. She flushed, feeling the color come to her cheeks, as a fresh rush of want went through her.

She cleared her throat, and took a mouthful of the food, alive to the flavors, as though everything were suddenly brand new. She washed it down with another sip of wine.

“Did I…” Gold began, and his hand reached slowly across the table toward where hers rested beside the handle of her fork. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, no of course not, I—” she broke of as his fingers touched hers, soft, suggestive in the way  they slid to cover them. She swallowed, and turned her hand to entwine her fingers with his, and said, a little hoarsely, “We should eat.”

“Yes,” he agreed, but made no move to remove his hand from hers, and she could feel his eyes on her face. She imagined him taking in the blush on her cheeks, the way she drew her lower lip between her teeth, and took a trembling breath. “You’re beautiful.”

She looked up at him then, into eyes that were as dark as she knew hers would be, desire moving like a current at the deepest depth of his gaze. “Sabrael, I… you—”

“Belle, you know I would never do anything you didn’t want,” he said softly.

“That’s just the point,” she murmured equally as quietly. “I do want to… with you, I just…” she swallowed again, feeling the gulf between what she wanted, and what she could have so keenly it felt as though she were balancing on the sharp edge of a knife.

“I understand,” he said and gently squeezed her hand.

“No,” she said. “No, you don’t. I want you to, but I don’t… I don’t think you do, or maybe can.” She took another trembling breath, hardly daring to in case she broke her own momentum. She wanted him to know, to understand, but more than just that she wanted, needed to speak the words to herself. “I haven’t,” she continued, “Not since… Gaston.” She felt a flickering of panic, the thought that she might be chasing Sabrael away with this baggage she carried. “Never even felt I wanted to,” she spoke in fits and starts, and through it all, Gold sat, holding her hand, tenderly caressing her fingers, not interrupting, laying himself open as she laid herself bare. “Until now.”

“I’m honored,” he said with such sincerity it made her feel unworthy.

“Don’t,” she said, and looked away again. “I’m nothing special.” Words bubbled up inside her, remembered words, mocking - hurtful. “Just another two-a—penny whore who—”

Gold moved before she knew what was happening; released her hand, was suddenly turning her chair, and crouching in front of her a he took her shoulders and held her fiercely, his eyes now burning into hers with a kind of anger reserved only for delivering justice to the most heinous of villains.

“Don’t you ever call yourself that,” he growled. “Never again, do you hear?”

“But I—”

“You are not,” he said fiercely, “Not now, nor were you ever, and if that is what Gaston called you; if that is truly what he believes then he is the one unfit, not you.”

Belle stared at him for a moment, wordless, without moving save for a nervous little trembling in her lips where she was holding back tears. He did know. He did understand.

“Sabrael,” she whispered.

“Right here, sweetheart,” he answered, barely above a breath. “Always.” He stayed like that a while longer before with a breath, he stood from the semi crouch he was in, and picked up both wine glasses in one hand, and offered her his free hand. “Come on,” he said, “Let’s go somewhere we can be more comfortable.”

“But… the food,” she came to herself, just enough to protest.

“It’ll keep,” he said. “There’s a warm fire in the lounge, and a large couch with blankets we can snuggle beneath while we finish our wine.” She took his hand and he offered her a smile. “I’d have you at your ease, Belle. I know that the likes of Miss Boyd, or the Milahs of this world would have you believe me cruel and heartless, but—”

“No,” Belle interrupted. “I don’t care what other people think. I know what I see when I look at you; what I feel when I’m with you, and if you were either of those things I wouldn’t feel the way I do. I couldn’t.”

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips gently before handing her the wine glasses he carried.

“Why don’t you go through and get comfortable,” he suggested. “I will clean up here, and then I’ll come to join you.”

She nodded, dislodging a wave of her hair that fell across her cheek, and he reached out to tuck it back behind her ear, allowing the backs of his fingers to trail a caress against her cheek, and then crook beneath her chin to raise her face to his. He leaned closer to bestow a gentle peck against the softness of her mouth with his own.

“I won’t be long,” he promised.

He watched her as he let her go, giving her a guiding, almost-push in the direction of the lounge. She was, quite simply, perfection, and until that moment he’d not really admitted, even to himself, how much he actually felt for her.

At first it was protective, a visceral reaction to the behavior the Legume boy - Chief jock, and lord among assholes - had displayed toward her. Afterwards, and he worried greatly at this, his attraction had been kindle by the way she was so wonderful with Bae, and his son seemed to like her a lot. Even so, he tried to build a wall around the baser of his feelings. He didn’t need his misplaced need to feel… what? Alive? Like a man? Like a husband and father.

Before he could second guess himself, he turned his attention to clearing away the food that they still had not eaten, covering the plates, and dishes, and rinsing the serving spoons and other cutlery that had been used - but barely. It didn’t take him long, and soon he was making his careful way along to join Belle in the lounge.

He found her already snuggled at one side of the couch, staring into the flames as they leaped and danced in the fireplace. She had wrapped herself in one of the soft throws from the back of the couch and drawn up her legs, her feet on the cushion beside her.

He crossed to the fireplace and carefully dropped another piece of firewood into the heart of the fire and then, turning, gave Belle the softest smile; the kind of smile he felt he hadn’t used in almost a lifetime. She returned the smile, and shifted slightly, moving her legs and feet in what was a clear, non verbal invitation to join her. He did.

As he lowered himself to the couch beside her, she shifted so that she rested against him, tugging on the blanket so that it covered the both of them instead of being a barrier between them.

“Penny for them,” he said softly, but she shook her head.

“I wasn’t really thinking,” she said. “Just enjoying the warmth, and the firelight.”

She snuggled closer, and he wrapped his arms around her, feeling her hand settle against the skin of his chest where she had unfastened the buttons, it felt like a lifetime ago. Her fingers were cold.

“And yet,” he said softly, “You’re cold.”

She nodded against his shoulder. “Because you weren’t here,” she said.

“Belle,” he whispered softly, and even he was uncertain whether it was invitation, worship, or warning.

“No words,” she whispered in return, and trailed her fingers up from where they rested just inside his shirt to cup his cheek in her hand and turn his face to hers. “Not any more.”

“No more,” he agreed, and lowered his mouth to cover hers.

Their kiss was unhurried, a tentative exploration. He teased her lips with the tip of his tongue until she opened to him, and her tongue tangled softly with his own. He released her as she moved again beside him, though the kiss did not break, and tossed the blanket away to then turn until she facing him, straddling his lap.

He reached up to cup her cheeks between his hand, fingers skimming her hair where it tumbled around her heated cheeks, and deepened the kiss. He took her mouth and made it his, and then withdrew to invite the same. He moaned softly as she mapped the heat of his mouth with her tongue. What was once hesitant, slow, became passionate, needful, breathless as she pressed herself tightly against him, and he felt her damp heat through the fine fabric of his pants. 

Oh, how he wanted her, and overcome… breathless and a little light headed, he broke the kiss, breathing still in the grasp of his need as she, also breathlessly, laid her head against his, only to murmur, “Take me to bed, Sabrael.”