#I write what I could before my inspo vanished

[mournings-stars]

doubt comes in

happy valentines day, here's my apology in advance for the angst. this is heavily based on the story of orpheus and eurydice specifically in the musical hadestown (my fav) with inspo from the lyrics so a lot of this is written with the intention to rhyme and be in a hadestown-esque song.. I probably wont write like this often, but i hope y'all like it there's one mention of pronouns (she/her) with lilith since i basically swapped the reader for orpheus and luci for eurydice but other than that i don't think there's much to indicate this is a fem!reader but this is an angel!reader if anyone would like a precursor with fluff, i'll compensate yall for the dramatic greek angst

part 2 (prelude) part 3 (prelude pt. 2) part 4 (prelude pt. 3) part 5/finale (semi-alt ending)

It was a long way down; winding, golden steps in a narrow hall that you didn’t know the depth of until you reached the bottom. Your legs ached with each step, and your wings fought not to fly the rest of the way. You could see it in the distance when you reached the ground, the red heat of the pride ring, and the home you were headed to. 

It hadn’t been long since Lucifer fell, maybe a few months since he and his love were banished to the darkness he created with the worst of humankind, but you were given a blessing. 

Sera, the oldest of the angels, allowed you to go down to Hell to retrieve him. There was a catch, however, one that made you wary as you now neared his home. 

You could only retrieve Lucifer. He had to leave his love, and you had to trust that he would follow you. You had to lead the way back up the golden staircase she created for you, all the way to the very top where the golden gates you knew so well waited for you. Lucifer had to walk behind you without a sound; he couldn’t assure you that he was there. You just had to trust one another. To follow, and not to check. 

You couldn’t turn around. 

Finally, you reached his home, knocking on the door and waiting patiently before it was opened. “It’s you…” You knew his voice well, the sound of it making your heart swell as you wrapped your arms around him. 

He was quick to return the embrace, the ache in your legs vanishing for a moment in his arms. “It’s me.” He sighed, hugging you tighter and shutting his eyes with his head on your chest. He could hear the drumming of your heart, and he knew if he held you long enough he’d be back in Heaven when he opened his eyes.

But he had to let go.

“How are you here?” He asked a question and it was like a melody, clear as day and symphonic as the winds that flowed beside you as you descended that steep staircase down to Hell. He stepped back, hands lingering until you stepped away. 

“Sera allowed me to come down,” you said. “She said I could bring you back — that you could leave this place…” You looked around, shifting uncomfortably in the unnatural heat before you turned back to him with a gentle smile. “Come home with me.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “It’s a trick. She’s never liked me—“

“No!” You grabbed his hands, forcing him to look at you. “It’s a trial — or a second chance at one.”

It had taken you days to get down. You hadn’t seen Lucifer in months. A few days without looking back at him would be nothing if that meant an eternity back home.

He squeezed your hands, looking down at them and suddenly feeling that it might just be possible. “How?”

“It took a while,” you said quietly. “She didn’t want to listen, but I knew you had the best intentions. I convinced her, and she’s letting you come home.”

“She’s letting me try.” He looked down, dropping your hands and frowning at the ground. “What’s the catch?”

“You have to follow me—“

“I can do that,” he said quickly. 

“And you can’t touch me, or speak to me. You just have to trust that I’ll get us there and that I won’t look back—“

He cut you off with a dry laugh. “Just?” He laughed harder. “We both know how this will go.”

“I trust you to follow me. Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I do!” His hands went to your face, holding gently. You moved out of his grip, feeling the coolness of the band on his left hand. “We were always close; I trust you, I just… don’t trust her—“

“You should go, Lu,” a voice came from behind him, and the woman you recognized from Eden stood there. Her hair, long and blonde, flowed behind her in non-existent winds. Her smile made you understand why he fell — why he would for her. “Go home with her.”

It was decided then. Just one encouraging push from his love and he was prepared to leave. He looked back at her, giving a smile that made you look away as you turned. 

As they said their goodbyes, you waited quietly, kicking at the ground absentmindedly until Lucifer put a hand on your shoulder. “Ready?” You nodded. “Alright.”

“We can walk together until we reach the stairs… Then, from there, we’re on our own.”

“I won’t leave you alone,” he assured. “I’ll make sure you get back home.”

You frowned at his wording, taking his hand. “We’ll both go home.”

He nodded, correcting himself and squeezing your hand, “I’ll make sure we both get home.”

You nodded. “Let’s go.”

The walk was quiet before it had to be, doubt already coming in and making its way between you. What would happen when you reached the stairs? Would he follow behind you? Who were you to think he would, when his love had to stay in a place like this? 

“How bad was it?” Lucifer asked you. “Are you sure you want to go now?” You nodded. “Aren’t you tired?”

“I can rest when we’re home.” You gave him a smile that made him do the same. “You want to go back, don’t you?”

He had his doubts. He doubted that he could. He doubted he could make it all that way. He hadn’t seen you in months, and all he wanted was to talk to you — all he could do was touch you — but there was silence now. Didn’t that mean it’d be easy not to speak? Not to touch you… After all this time. After he found someone to love—

“Sera said if we make it, she’ll listen to you,” you tried, hoping he’d respond. He hadn’t even realized he didn’t answer you. “Maybe we can bring Lilith up soon.”

“I’d like that.”

The smile you gave him made him reach out his hand, the look on your face forced and sorrowful as you walked ahead of him. He wanted to take your hand for comfort — to both of you — but how was he supposed to go days without it if he couldn’t fight a simple urge now?

“We’re here…” You stopped some time later, silence blanketing the two of you a long time ago. 

But now it was for a different reason. 

Great golden steps stood before you, spiraling high up into thick clouds that shielded the true height of the stairs. 

But even from here they looked endless. 

“We can’t fly, can we?” Lucifer asked, half joking. 

“That’d be nice, wouldn’t it?” You laughed, but it died out quickly. “Are you sure you want to do this? You can turn back now…” You swallowed your pride. “Go home to her… It’ll be days of walking, and going back up is much harder than coming down.”

He took a moment to understand what you were telling him, but surely told you, “If you were down here, I’d come to find you, too.” That brought a smile to your face. There was another pause before he asked, “would you follow me?”

You nodded. “Anywhere.” Even here. 

He smiled, taking your hand like he wanted to before. “Then show the way.”

You squeezed his hand before turning to the stairs and letting go, savoring that last touch until you could do it again; back home. You took a deep breath before taking the first step. 

Immediately, a marble wall surrounded the staircase, and you could only imagine that the steps were shielded, a wall blocking off the first stair as you started to go back up. 

You couldn’t hear a thing, not even your own footsteps as you climbed step after step. 

Lucifer, on the other hand, could hear your footsteps echoing; one after the other, each of your steps right after the other, and sounding like the dull pounding of a drum. He couldn’t tell if it was comforting or foreboding, but he listened anyway. This was how he’d make it through, he decided. To the steady sounds of drumming. 

But you were struggling. Coming down and back up so soon had made you tired already, but doubt weighing you down didn't help any. You let out a breath before beginning to hum as a way to ground yourself to these hellish stairs. 

It was a song both of you knew well; there were no words or swells to make you know what came next, just an endless melody that the winds would sing as they carried the seasons through the Earth. Long before Lucifer went to see the world, this was how you knew it. Through the songs nature sang. 

But now he knew the world much better than you did. He didn’t need this song anymore. You doubted he even remembered it,

but no, he was humming along, hoping you could hear that he remembered your song. He remembered how beautiful it was, and how when you sang it, the entirety of Heaven could feel your warmth — your love. It was why you were given the task to change the seasons, your song persuading nature into the most beautiful summers and captivating winters. But what else could he expect from an angel of Virtue? Could he expect that the love that he felt all throughout Heaven would ever be for him? How could he expect anything from you? 

Pride does not deserve Humility. 

And doubt comes in; he thought about turning back, letting you go alone, but even when he stopped for just a moment you kept walking. You trusted him to follow you, and as you hummed the song of nature, he felt that same love that he used to. The same warmth that was now pushing him up the endless stairs after you. The same winds that made him want to reach out and touch you, just to remind you that he was there. Just to see you look back at him. 

But he knew what you were doing, using your gift of song to bring nature into this empty place so it could push you to keep going. You hoped the winds would push you up, but they weren’t strong enough. 

You weren’t strong enough for this. 

The song stopped after a while, but you continued to climb, up, and up, and further up to no avail. If it hadn’t been that there was only one path, you would’ve questioned whether or not you were going the right way. 

It was harder going back. 

But there was hope; a faint, golden light that led you back home. A faint, golden light that told you you were so close. A faint, golden light that made you want to turn, smile at him, and say, “we’re almost home,” but you stopped yourself and kept going. 

You were much further than almost, but you were getting there. And this light pulled you to keep. Going. 

You didn’t care for the exhaustion, or the pain, you didn’t think about the hunger, or the thirst. You kept in mind that you would sleep, rest, eat, and drink when you made it home with him. 

When he made it home with you. He would worry about how tired you must’ve been. He would worry how much pain you were in — and he would worry about his own once he made it home with you. But he saw how you faltered, hand on the wall to keep yourself going, and he knew he couldn’t make it much longer like this. 

But you trusted him, he had to try. 

And doubt comes in. 

He doubted how much longer he could take this. He doubted how much longer he could watch you fade into exhaustion and pain without doing anything about it. 

He doubted that Sera didn’t expect this to happen.   

He doubted, and doubted, until you were finally there. Until you were almost sure he hadn’t followed you. Until your legs gave out on the final step and you felt him rush to keep you from falling. You felt his hands keeping you up and his wings bringing you onto the pale clouds of your home. 

And you turned back. 

But he was happy that you did. He gave you that same smile he gave her and his hands held your face gently. You reached up to grip his wrists as your eyes pooled. Regret; regret for doubting, regret for tiring, for failing. For turning back. “Why would you?” You asked and it was like a broken melody. Clear as summer rain with no symphony to push away the doubt that just kept coming in.

And he spoke to you. He broke every rule. 

“I couldn’t let you fall,” he said, and you knew how he meant it. You knew he never trusted Sera. She knew he’d fail. So did he. But not you. You were the fool that made him put his trust in you.

And now you knew he had to go. And he knew he could never return. 

He tilted your head down, wings fluttering and lifting him off the clouds. He pressed a gentle kiss to your head and said, “Visit again if you can.”

[angrybathbomb]

“Are you two a couple?”

  MODERN AU

Touchstarved LI x gn! Reader

  SUMMARY: On a coffee date with each ts LIs, both of you are stopped by what one can assume a street interviewer/youtuber who seems to be quite eager on talking to couples. What do our lovely LIs have to say?

WARNINGS:  None, Vere being Vere tbh, makes one suggestive joke or more like advice

NOTE:   This is my first time writing a fanfic, please go easy on me if I made some mistakes as I am still learning. Constructive criticism and tips to improve are very much appreciated. Thank you for reading!

INSPO: I saw a YouTube channel (@meetcutenyc) and felt like writing this for our lovely ts LIs!

WORD COUNT: <2.1K

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-PROLOGUE-

Strolling leisurely down the bustling streets for a cozy, romantic coffee date, fingers entwined, greedily savoring each other’s warmth. Each step the two of you took, resonated with a rhythm on the footpath that stretched ahead in the bustling cityscape. Amidst the bustling chaos of the city, snippets of conversations floating around and the distant hum of traffic, a comfortable silence stretched between the two of you with occasional exchange of shy yet mischievous glances and tender smiles.

However, the romantic stroll came to an abrupt halt when a young guy holding a camera, most likely recording, blocked the path ahead of you two.

“Sorry to interrupt, but are you two a couple?”, he inquired with a friendly smile. His eyes, subtly reflecting guilt, silently apologized for the sudden intrusion.

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

AIS

LEANDER

VERE

MHIN

KURAS

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

        VERE

In the blink of an eye, Vere’s guard shot up, his relaxed easy-going demeanor vanishing instantly.

Before he could do something that might land you both behind bars, you stepped in with a firm grip on his arm.

  “No, we are siblings,” you said flatly, shooting a sarcastic smile at the stranger.

The stranger mistook that for an invitation to laugh loudly, but one withering look from Vere made him choke on it.

  “My bad, I interview couples about their first meetings. Care to share your story with the world?” he waved his camera with a grin that could only be described as overly optimistic.

  You seemed intrigued as you studied the stranger for a moment before turning to Vere who looked equally amused but masked it with an indifferent expression.

  “What do you think? Want to reveal your not so sneaky tactics?” you teased.

  “I never claimed to be subtle,” Vere replied smugly.

  You rolled your eyes which only encouraged Vere to go on.

  “I gave their key back,” he said, feigning innocence.

“You stole my key!” you shot back, scoffing.

  “Me? A common thief?”, Vere gasped dramatically, his hand over his heart. “Oh, the horror!”

His overly pleased smile only irritated you further.

  “Don’t play coy,” you said, narrowing your eyes. ”I was strolling around that fancy hotel, not expecting a heist in broad daylight.”

  “Darling, do you think someone of my stature,” he gestured towards his extravagant robe,” Would stoop to stealing? And your room of all the places? Please give me some credit.” He retorted, unable to contain his amusement.

  The stranger hesitated, caught between your assertive demeanor and Vere’s smooth charm.

“So, you stole their —” the stranger began cautiously.

“Returned,” Vere corrected him smoothly, cutting him off.

  “Uhm...” the stranger stammered, shooting a nervous glance at you.

Vere seized the opportunity before you could interject.

  “Oh, my silly thing,” he said with a chuckle, his gaze flickered towards you. 

“They are not the most vigilant when it comes to their belongings. No surprise they didn’t notice their key missing from their pocket.”

You could see the cunning glint behind Vere’s sweet smile.

“And like the kind and benevolent being that I am,” he continued, finding his own words rather entertaining. “I returned it to them dutifully.”

  You sighed, caught between exposing his lie or playing along.

“Kind and benevolent being, my foot” you muttered under your breath, unable to hold back your bite.

  The stranger attempted to decipher what you muttered, while Vere chuckled, his keen ears catching every word you said.

  “Um… I see,” the stranger chuckled nervously, deciding it was the safest response.

“That's quite the unconventional first encounter,” he remarked, sensing Vere wasn’t quite telling the whole truth.

  You and Vere exchanged a glance that resembled the intense stare-down opponents share in a fighting ring.

  “Forgive my curiosity, I just can’t resist,” he chuckled, as if finding the couple’s dynamic wildly entertaining. 

“But it’s rare for me to encounter partners,” he paused, searching for the right words.” As unique as you guys.” He didn’t want to accidentally step on any toes with a poorly chosen phrase.

  “Don't hold back, use your words,” Vere challenged the stranger with a smug look.

“Never seen two stunning individuals together?” 

His gaze drifted towards you with a sense of pride,” I can't blame you though, we do have a knack for turning heads and capturing wandering eyes.” 

  You weren't about to take his words at face value, for all you knew he could be pulling a sick joke on you right now. 

  “They are just effortlessly radiant,” he purred suggestively, hands gripping your waist with a vice-like grip. 

  “I am not possessive really,” he added nonchalantly,” After all they are quite pleasant to look at — but others better stick to just looking.” He laughed disguising the subtle threat as a joke.

  You give a comically blank stare at the camera.

  The stranger whispered teasingly,” Blink twice if you need help.”

  Matching his playful energy with a mischievous grin, you shot back,” My Hero!” 

  Vere scoffs in disapproval and pulls you closer, as if there were any space left between you to begin with.

“Tell me more about your first meeting,” the stranger said eagerly.

  “Like we were saying, he sto–” One icy look from Vere made you pause. You rolled your eyes and exaggeratedly said,” He returned my key.”

  “And as you can imagine, we exchanged heartfelt thank yous and warm welcomes,” you added with mock sincerity, clearly failing to sound convincing.

  Vere snickered, enjoying your struggle.

  The stranger gave a quizzical look, clearly not buying your story.

  You shot a glare at Vere. If he was going to find amusement in twisting the facts of what really happened, then you might as well give him something to squirm about. Two could play this game, right?

  “You know,” you began, smiling devilishly, “Our first meeting wasn't just about a key. Vere here actually serenaded me in the hotel lobby. He even got down on one knee and sang a beautiful song, confessing his undying love for me.” 

You kept a poker face throughout your ridiculous story, delivering it with such conviction as if it were the most normal thing in the world when it came to your lover.

  "Wha–when? Absolutely not!” Vere scoffed, shooting you a sharp look. “Your sense of humor could use some work.”

  You smirked, undeterred. “He’s just a little shy about it,” you continued smoothly. “It was a surprisingly sweet gesture—but, true to his style, he still collected a few tips from the onlookers.”

  Vere groaned, rubbing his temples. “For the record, that never happened.”

  And the interviewer barely had a chance to react before Vere cut in, his voice edged with impatience. “Any other questions? We don’t have all the time in the world.”

  The interviewer paused, eyebrows raised, then gave a slight chuckle. “Straight to business, I see,” with a wry smile he continued “Alright then, let’s skip to the more pressing matters.” 

  “How long have you two been together?” 

“Uh… it’s been a while,” you admit.

The interviewer raised an eyebrow. “A while?”

You nodded, “Maybe a year? Why?” curious at the look of slight disbelief the stranger was giving you two.

Vere arched a brow, looking amused. “What’s wrong? Don’t think we look the part?”

  “A year is a long time, uh... I mean,” the stranger stammered, flustered by Vere’s offended expression. “Don’t get me wrong! It’s just that, with how lively you two are, I expected it to be only a few months.” 

He chuckled nervously, "You know, like, fresh and new, full of energy?”

  “Fresh and new, full of energy?” Vere repeats his words with disappointment,” tsk..I was hoping for a bit more flattery. I like to think we are rather passionate, quite intense when it comes to our romance.”

“That you two sure are without a doubt!” The stranger replied with a cheeky smile,” The two of you could easily outshine any silver screen romance.”

Vere smirked in approval, “Now you are speaking my language.” 

  “Thank you but honestly, I wouldn’t go that far,” you responded, opting to show a bit of modesty.

Vere couldn’t help but snicker,” Aren’t you such a saint?” he whispered teasingly, leaning in close to you.

  You shot him a warning look. Vere leaned back, casually running his tongue over his sharp canine with a hint of sass and flair.

  The stranger pondered whether to ask for relationship advice. It wasn’t like he had anything against you really, it was Vere.

From the exchange, it was painfully clear that Vere was the last person anyone would seek out for advice—especially on relationships, consulting him on anything involving emotional finesse would be futile if not a mild form of punishment.

But this was his signature question—the final one he asked every couple on his YouTube channel. And this interview would be no exception no matter how awkward the conversation got.

  “Any advice for the audience on how to keep a long-term commitment while keeping the passion alive?”

You paused, taking a moment to gather your thoughts. “Hmm...” 

Vere threw an expectant look your way with a cheeky smile playing at his lips.

  “Give each other space when needed,” you emphasize, speaking from experience, "Distance makes the heart grow fonder, that’s the saying right?” You smile.

You could feel Vere’s eyes on you, his usual smirk softening a bit.

“It’s the best strategy after a heated argument or if things feel a bit… stale,” you continue thoughtfully.

“Take a step back to reflect and recharge on your own. Artists take breaks to create their best work—and love is art.” You finish with a casual shrug, as if it were the simplest truth.

  “Wow,” the interviewer breathed, clearly caught off guard by your answer. “Never thought of it like that—really unique perspective.”

He glanced between you and Vere, visibly impressed. “I think a lot of people could use that kind of advice.”

“Not going to ask me?” Vere interjected, feigning offence as he shot the interviewer a dramatic look. 

You rolled your eyes, knowing full well he was just trying to make him squirm. 

“O-of course!” the interviewer stammered, casting a nervous glance at Vere. “Is there… anything you’d like to add?”

  Vere leaned back, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across his face as he held the interviewer’s gaze. “My sweetheart took the words right out of my mouth,” he replied smoothly, giving you an impressed look.

  “Left you speechless?” you teased, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Really? That sharp tongue of yours has nothing to add?” 

Vere raised a brow, clearly amused. “Careful,” he replied smugly. “I might surprise you yet.”

“Try me,” you challenged, crossing your arms with a playful grin. 

Vere leaned in slightly, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Alright then,” he said, a smirk creeping onto his face. “Just remember, you asked for it.”

  “Like they said just now, love is art, right?” Vere echoed your words, a glint of passion in his eyes. “Show it with the dedication an artist has for their masterpiece. Pay attention to each other—whether it’s through words of affirmation, thoughtful gifts, playful teasing, or even creating something just for them. It’s not about how you express it, but the thought behind it. Let them know you see them.”

Then, with a playful smirk and a wink, he leaned in, “And of course... don’t shy away from a little heat. Hell, celebrate your love with all the passion and sensuality it deserves.”

  You and the stranger exchanged a glance, momentarily speechless. It was rare to see Vere reveal something so genuine, let alone speak with such depth.

  After a beat, he scoffed, breaking the silence. “This is exactly why I keep the deep stuff to myself,” he muttered, half to himself.

  The stranger chuckled, breaking the tension.

  “Well, that was some solid advice,” he beamed at the couple. “I must say, I’m pleasantly surprised.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” Vere replied, shooting a glare at his watch. “Are we done now?”

“Looks like our interview wraps up here,” the stranger chuckled,” It was really fun talking to you two.”

  “Not so fast,” Vere pulls out his phone,” name?”

  “Wh-What?” the stranger sweats nervously.

  “Of the YouTube account where you will be posting this video,” Vere clarified with a dramatic eye roll.

“O-oh, r-right!” The stranger sighed in relief.

  After sharing the details, Vere let out a low whistle and then smirked. “You better have caught my good side while recording, or I might just come find you.”

“Guess he’s safe then; you always look good,” you teased, playing along with his antics. His arrogance, though a bit off-putting, was softened by his undeniable charm and good looks. For you, it was all wildly entertaining.

Vere chuckled, very pleased at the praise, “True. What’s it like to look bad? I wouldn’t know.”

  The stranger watched, still debating whether to take Vere’s word seriously, and the look on his face amused you both.

It sent both you and Vere into a fit of laughter, much to the stranger’s relief as he relaxed into the moment.

  “I suppose we can wrap this up here, hm?” The stranger raised his hand in a final parting wave.

You smiled politely, while Vere turned to leave.

 Just as you two were walking away, Vere glanced over his shoulder with an impish grin. “We should do this again sometime. Maybe next time we could come back for part two.”

The stranger chuckled, relieved by the light-hearted end to their encounter. 

” I will hold you to that! Take care, you two.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------A/N note: the procrastination was high with one lol.

Vere is a bit difficult to write, I tried to capture his personality as best as I could... with multiple drafts, changes and edits lol. And shoutout to that person who gave me the idea for Vere's first meeting under Ais' post, I think, with the reader in the modern au setting, I am sorry I forgot your id, but thanks.

and sorry for any spelling errors I was tired..

Kuras will be coming soon. thanks for reading :)

[anundyingfidelity]

I'M A RUIN — Soldier Boy/Ben (Part IV)

Series summary: After the events of the Seven Tower, you present Grace Mallory a new secret project you're working on already to develop a cure to Compound V. The only problem? You need Soldier Boy for that.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female reader.

Word count: 2.8k.

Warnings for series: set after S3 (spoilers), some OOC!Ben, some depressed!Ben, angst, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, slow-burn, language, PTSD, reader has Compound V (she's no Vought supe tho), Soldier Boy being an usual asshole, reader is a fucking liar.

Warnings on this chapter: Reader's parents are fucking irresponsible and disgusting people, mentions of a dead parent, Homelander!!!! (he's a fucking warning), sexual assault (touching, kissing, etc.) and some after thoughts, you know the usual questionable stuff on TB universe, Ben's point of view and presence=red flag.

Notes: more about reader's past in here! And just want to add that this is how i imagine her suit on this chapter. I'm also using a lot of inspo from Sue Storm of the Fantastic Four because I love her, so yeah. And thanks so much for reading it means a lot to me! ^^

this fic tags: @k-slla @syrma-sensei @mostlymarvelgirl @cheynovak @drasticemotions @blacknoirr @deans-spinster-witch

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

get yourself in the taglist!

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | | Part VIII

GEN MASTERLIST! — SERIES MASTERLIST!

Part IV: Countdown

2009

"Spectrum, turn around, please," the lady on the other side of the camera ordered.

You did as she told, turning slowly and showing a complete view of your suit. Made of unstable molecules, the suit was your best creation at the time. It was all white with black details, and finally you had something covering your whole body that'd turn invisible when you commanded. Your boots were the same, specially built to disappear and blend with your powers when needed.

"Great, show us what you can do," the woman said.

You nodded, your heart beating so hard on your chest. You didn't want to fuck it up. Not for your mother. She was the main reason why you were there in the first place. You took a deep breath, with eyes closed you raised your palms at your chest level and created a force field around your figure. The force fields you learnt to make over the years of self training were like gigantic bubbles that allowed you to float around if you said so, and they protected you or anyone or anything they were covering.

The camera, the couch, the table, and any single thing you found in the room were now surrounded by the fields, lifting them up a couple of feet from the surface. And once you thought it was enough, they landed slowly on their place, the fields vanished just like the one around yourself. Though the lady on the other side didn't seem amused or surprised.

"I also turn invisible," you said for the first time after your personal presentation was over.

"Go on," she plainly answered.

And within seconds, you slowly disappeared from her sight. The fabric of the suit faded away.

"I created this special costume to turn invisible without, you know, being naked," you commented.

Still, there was no clear answer on the face of the woman. She was just busy taking notes and filming your audition with the steady camera on the table. She said nothing, her eyes glued to her writing. Disappointed, you made yourself visible again.

"That's impressive!"

You gasped. It was that voice you heard so many times on TV. His steps came closer and he stopped by your side with a smile on his face.

"Homelander," the woman called with a wide, fake grin. "You weren't supposed to be in here."

"Just passing by, wanted to say hi. I'm really amazed by you, darling."

You tried to smile the best you could. But you were so tense and flustered now that he was in front of you. Your childhood hero, coming to see you at your audition. Even before you got a clear response from Vought. It felt like a dream. Any child had dreamt of it at some point.

You grew up with him and the Seven. He was one of the reasons you forgot every single problem and responsibility your dysfunctional, selfish family put you through from a young age. To them, you were just a doll to play with and show off. The perfect daughter. But seeing the Seven was totally different. You wanted to be like them. Too sad this part was also linked to your mother and her self-centered shit. If only...

"Thank you," you barely answered with a soft voice, looking down on your boots.

"I've been out there, hesitating if I should come in, since you created those force fields. Wow!" he praised, making you chuckle. "You left the door open on purpose, didn't you two?"

All you could do was chuckle again, you felt your cheeks burning at his banter. He smiled along with you before turning his eyes to the lady.

"Hey, Greta. Can you leave us alone for a moment?"

"But I have to-"

Homelander chuckled, cutting her words. "Absolutely no, I can continue for you. Remember?"

Greta, as he called her, swallowed thickly and her eyes switched between you and the supe. "Sure, sir."

She lifted herself up from the chair, took her things and went out. You noticed the camera was still in place, that meant it was still rolling.

Once the door closed. "So..." he began, walking a circle around you. "How'd you create this... costume of yours?"

"Well, I like science," you nervously smiled, playing with your glove-covered hands. He passed by your face this time and paced around one more time. "It took me a while to figure out how but I did something with the molecules, created my own patent of the matter and did this complete costume."

Homelander stopped at your back. He hummed. "Smart. Tell me..."

His pause made you answer what he was looking for. "Spectrum."

"Spectrum, why do you want to be part of the Seven so bad?"

Homelander dragged your alias with a dark voice, one that replaced the long warm and welcoming tone he had with you at first. You licked your lips, anxious and out of words. Once behind your figure, he angled himself so close to one of your ears that you felt his hot breath on your skin.

"So? I know you have something to say, dear."

"I- I just want to help others... Do what you guys do..."

The next thing you felt was the supe's strong body pressing on your ass. You gasped loudly as his hands grabbed the sides of your hips forcing you to fall back against his chest.

"Go on," Homelander whispered.

One of his hands roamed over your stomach slowly, right under your breasts, and you were absolutely caged on his grip. You took deep breaths, closing your eyes as he touched you over the suit.

"I- I know science, I told you. Also I can help the team w-with new inventions of my own... Create technology t-to fight very bad threats," you stuttered.

"Mmmh, yeah, I like the sound of that," Homelander chuckled against your neck, his lips tracing soft and unwanted kisses on your skin.

"Please- ah!"

He harshly pushed you against his groin. Your breath caught in your throat at the feel of his crotch. This wasn't what you thought it was. This was not what your mother signed you up for.

"Tell me, did your father know how much of a fucking slut you are?" Homelander hissed, his hand cupping your covered breast.

Something inside you emerged at his question. His touch was disgusting and it was making you sick and the mention of your father, your dead father, made it even worse.

"What do you know about him?" you asked in a dark whisper, still planning your next move.

Deep inside, you were scared of Homelander, it was a new face he had yet to show to the world.

"Just the basics, honey," he said plainly, forcing you to walk with a grip on your arm. The supe sat on the couch and pushed you to his lap. "He was quite the rich man, Edgar knew you'd be a great deal to the company, well, your money of course."

You let out a gasp. "What?"

"Honey, he was one of our most valuable shareholders," he playfully answered, his hands cupping your cheeks.

And it clicked. Your mother supported your dream just because she'd still be getting profits from Vought. The firm was now under her name, and she needed something more to strengthen the relationship between Vought and your father's inheritance. The fucking witch. And then, your father. He was the one financing this piece of shit sitting between your legs. Were all supes like this behind their masks? If so, fucking crap. Everything you believed in was bullshit. A circus. And they clowned you so well. And above all, the sickening man that had been touching you without your permission the past endless minutes...

"Oh, poor thing, you didn't know," Homelander's intense blue eyes widened when he immediately noticed your confused, blank face.

Your eyes filled with tears and still, you refused to cry in front of the asshole you once admired.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of you here with us," he smirked. His fingers on your neck, feeling your pulse. You closed your eyes so hard, your nose wrinkled and you held back a sob when his hand added pressure around your collar. He leaned closer, his lips finding yours in a sloppy kiss as you tried to resist his touch. "So fucking useful," Homelander whispered against your lips. He gave you that mischievous grin of his. You shivered. "I can't wait to ruin you. Every single inch of you."

The same past memory of Homelander haunted you the next day. The way you found out about your father's business with Vought and how the supes showed their real faces was the main reason you were here now.

You remembered you had to hit Homelander as hard as you could to escape from him and use your force field to protect yourself before running away and leaving the tower, fully invisible. Not that it was a great help since Homelander had a lot of abilities with his vision, and he could hear the beating of your heart miles away, but for you, it was worth the try. It was a surprise he didn't follow you that day. Instead, Vought got a new deal with your mother for the budget and you hated that. You cut all communication with what was left of your family after that day, knowing it could've been so much worse.

Homelander and Vought, however, were after you now. And he was a difficult face to forget. Not only because he was faking everything from the public but because Vought was after your father's money. And deciding to step away from all the illegal stuff they did, you left for college. Science was always a part of you and it's what got you here, under Grace Mallory and the CIA, doing different jobs you were not so proud of, but now, you were looking for a cure. It was all that mattered those days, until you found out that your mother had been experimented on during her pregnancy. A fucking lie. That's what your life was. That's why she cheered you to go to that stupid audition and fell into the hands of that monster at twenty-three years old.

The thought of your father supporting the horrid things Vought and the Seven did for decades was unbearable, and since Homelander's visit the night before caused those memories and nightmares to be back. It took a great effort to get out of bed and come to work that day. You'd make sure to compensate yourself for it later. But now, you were in a hurry to your daily session with Soldier Boy. You saved your phone in the pocket of your trousers after checking the time as you walked down the aisle, grabbing tightly the report of your patient with your other hand. Well, thirty minutes late wasn't nothing.

"Doctor!" you heard a female voice running towards you in the halls that made you turn on your heels. It was your young assistant.

"Hey, Bianca. What's wrong?" you asked as you noticed she was a little out of breath.

"We ran another test. The supe survived," she blurted, handing you a tablet that you didn't take. Sometimes the change in the results was minimal.

"That's great. Any significant improvements?"

"Well, just minimal effects. Right now some fever, fatigue, dehydration, and uhm, low pulse."

You sighed after another illusion. "Right. I don't think those are minimal effects, Bianca. Please check our patient and see how the powers are working. Run blood tests, all tests you can and then you can provide me the results. I'm a little busy right now."

She nodded with a shy smile, looking around subtly. "Sure."

You smiled back as best as you could. "Anything else?"

"No, it's just- I see you go this way a lot," Bianca pointed to the direction you were heading with her gaze. "That's Soldier Boy, isn't he?"

Your brows furrowed. "Why you ask?"

"Nothing, well, my grandpa used to talk about him all the time," she giggled. "I was just curious, sorry."

"No problem. I get it. But I really have to go, please make sure those results are on my desk by the end of the day," you ordered kindly.

"I will."

"Thanks, Bianca."

With that, you gave a last smile and began your walk again away from her, slower than before. For some reason something was off since you entered the building. It felt different. Totally weird. For the record, since Homelander threatened to have your head off, you paid twice the attention to your surroundings and the people around. You didn't know if there was something big planning right now in front of your nose. You just walked a couple of feet when you felt someone following behind, that was probably watching over you. In a swift movement, you turned on your heels but no one was there. The aisle was empty.

Bianca was already gone and almost no one would wander on this wing of the building, for obvious reasons. With caution you resumed your steps, telling yourself that you were not going insane.

"Robert Singer and I have been hard at work bridging the divide between the human and Superhuman communities. I've seen that divide firsthand in my three years running the FBSA—"

Ben scoffed, taking the TV controller to turn the screen off. "Bullshit."

He stood in the middle of the room with nothing but a towel hanging down his hips after taking a shower, taking the last smoke of his blunt. He grew tired of waiting for you, so he just took a shower and now, everything on the fucking channels was the stupid campaign by Victoria Neuman being supported by Vought and the fucking brat he was supposed to call his son.

With a deep breath, he finished the weed and threw the remains on the ashtray over the new coffee table. His mind started to wander away, realizing he had been a little calm the last couple of days after he almost blew up the fucking place to the ground. Inside, Ben knew your words and actions were a lot of help for the small sense of serenity that started to grow within his chest after that moment. Absolutely that was something he wouldn't admit, ever. But if he was to say, he was actually relieved.

Taking a look around, his place was not that big of a mess. You were certainly used to his clothes around the floor and the sofas, so it wasn't really important. What he found annoying though was you pushing him to read the stupid books and write down his feelings. He wasn't going to do that. If you were there to medicate him, so be it. He wondered why you took so long to do it. Probably he should be stoned enough to not feel anything. That was fucking better.

Just as he started to go over his mental plan to get the hell out of your prison, the door opened. He smirked at your sight. As always, an useless armed man standing behind your figure. You dispatched the guard and stepped inside Soldier Boy's place, the door closing with a loud sound.

You stopped your tracks just a few steps away from him. He noticed your eyes tracing his half bare body in a quick motion, before turning to his face with an arrogant smirk on your lips.

"See something you like, sweetheart?" Ben teased.

With a light chuckle, you held your head high. "Don't be delusional, it's just basic instinct."

"Believe me, I fucking know that," he snarked, taking over your figure with his green eyes the same way you did before. "Basic instinct."

You rolled your eyes. "So," you sat down in your usual place to start the session, making a pile of three of his shirts in the empty space. "Make yourself decent and then we can continue."

Ben took some sweatpants and a shirt from the floor and started to dress himself in front of you, without much care. He smirked as you turned away your gaze to focus on the report lying on your lap.

"You're late," he remarked, taking his own seat once he was done with his clothes.

"Yeah, I had some things to do," you mumbled going through the pages. "But I see we can start now."

He took a deep breath, staring into the distance. "Don't make it boring."

You grimaced, looking back at him. "Can't promise that."

Ben sensed a playfulness coming from you. Could it be that, after recieving your comforting words, he was seeing another side of you? Like the side that would actually trust him, because you still arrived. You were sitting in front of him. You were with him, in the same fucking room where the sun was far from getting. Yeah, you were there but he was too full of ego to bring his walls down again. He wanted to convince himself he wasn't vulnerable. He knew he was more than that. He was Soldier Boy, the man who had to stop Homelander and his fucking kid.

He smirked. "Well, sugar, I can ask you to try."

[moonlight-prose]

BLOOD ALONG THE MOON

➛ 03. WICKED NIGHTS

a/n: honestly i didn't expect to take a year to ever post about this fic again. if i'm being honest i figured this would become an abandoned series. solely cause the inspo for this character completely left my head. but i couldn't let go of our reporter and their love story with this bat. so while the updates may take time, i'm ready to keep going with this. enjoy.

summary: halloween was always been your least favorite night of the year, but circumstances make it so much worse.

word count: 8.2k+

pairing: bruce wayne x f!reader

warnings: not explicit, cussing, angst, fluff, awkward beginnings, a small bit of romance, murder, death, crime scenes, grief, gratuitous prose about the darkness of gotham.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

Halloween. Your least favorite night of the year.

The city streets were crowded with people; a sight not unusual to the dark pit that Gotham transformed into. But that didn’t mean you had to like it. Even getting to work was a struggle due to the overcrowded platform of the subway and the scarcity of cabs. If you had your way you’d wish everyone would suddenly vanish—giving you a chance to find some reprieve before the onslaught of darkness that plagued this night every year. Although you were foolish enough to hold out hope. Foolish enough to believe that things would be different; that nothing wicked would befall this night.

If only you’d known.

Work was filled with people milling about, some in costumes, some not. You wore your usual black coat—a pair of boots accompanying your look. If someone were to ask you’d claim you were dressed as you were every other day of the year—as a reporter working yourself to the bone. It would be sure to get a laugh from a person or two in this office.

It always did in the end.

Only this time…you weren’t laughing.

The interview you had with Bruce Wayne yesterday continued to bounce around in your mind; the thought of how to write it, still missing. You didn’t want to sound like every other magazine that sprouted nothing but gossip. There’s a reason why you chose to work at the Gotham Gazette. So you could get into the nitty and gritty of the story—no matter how dark it got in the end. To you this was either a story people would talk about forever, or it would remain a forgotten piece that would later wind up in people’s trash cans come morning the next day.

“Day.” Henry leaned against the doorway of his office. A pencil behind his ear, his glasses propped on the end of his nose, and a cup of crappy coffee in his hand. “I need to talk to you.”

You hoped you would have at least five minutes of time to breathe before you were called into what you liked to claim was the equivalent of the principal’s office. But it seemed that Henry Goldfinch decided to pick on you this week more than anyone else.

The interview notes you’d jotted down during the night were crammed into your small black notebook—nearly burning a hole in your pocket. There was no doubt in your mind that he’d ask you about them; intent on seeing a full story by tomorrow night.

“Look Henry I did the best I could with the guy, but he barely even spoke—” You were cut off at the look on his face. “Am I in trouble?”

“I just got a call from Mr. Pennyworth.”

Shit, you were so fired.

“If he wants to retract any statements then I’ll work with what I've got, but you were the one who gave me this story and I think I can do a damn good job on it.”

“Would you let me talk?” Your jaw snapped shut, cutting off the remainder of your ramble; or what you’d like to call reasons why he shouldn’t fire you. “Don’t unpack your things.”

You felt your eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“Apparently you caught Mr. Wayne’s eye,” he said, settling down in his seat. “That call was Mr. Pennyworth giving me notice that Bruce Wayne is heading down to The Gotham Gazette today.”

“What?” you exclaimed, nearly falling into the chair behind you. “What the fuck for?”

“He wants to take you to lunch, kid.”

You fell into the chair, staring wide eyed at Henry who regarded you with a smirk.

Bruce Wayne wanted to take you to lunch. He was coming to your work in order to…pick you up.

Any way you tried to string it together, the news still remained hard to comprehend. Still you caught on to Henry’s words from before. You’d caught Bruce Wayne’s eye and now you were going to have to deal with the consequences of that. This would be the first time in years since he’d left Wayne Tower to do something as mundane as go to lunch. Let alone with someone like you.

“What do I do?” you croaked, trying not to panic as the reporter in you attempted to take over. Was this only a social call? Or did he want to do a follow up interview?

Henry leaned forward, the damned smirk still on his face. “You go to lunch with him. Maybe he likes you.”

“Likes me,” you scoffed. “I’d no sooner learn the identity of The Batman before Bruce Wayne admitted to liking me.”

You wanted answers like any sane person would, but the idea that Bruce Wayne possibly liked you left words unavailable to you. That was the farthest thing from the truth, except coming up with some other alternative left you with nothing yet again. What the fuck were you being called to lunch for? You hoped it was just him personally asking you to rip up the notes you took from yesterday while he watched.

“They’ll be here soon. I’d get your ass moving.”

“Right.” You stood slowly, a feeling of unease spreading through you with every step towards the door. “Did—um—Mr. Pennyworth…did he sound upset?”

Henry scoffed, taking a sip from his coffee. “And here I thought you didn’t give a shit if you pissed people off Day.”

You felt the switch flip in your mind. A reminder of who you truly were on the inside coming back like lightning cracking across your body, and you stood taller in your place. You didn’t care. You never had.

“I don’t.”

“Atta girl.” He tipped his cup slightly your way, watching as you walked back out into the office—the straight set of your spine once again returning.

You didn’t come to Gotham to make friends. You came here to work, to build a career that would outlast you if you were determined enough. Pissing off Bruce Wayne had never been on your list, but you figured it was bound to happen eventually. It was either now or later in life. Thankfully everyone had their hands full worrying about The Batman and the election—so you pissing off the Prince of Gotham would go unnoticed.

Grabbing your bag, you did a quick sweep of your desk to make sure that everything was accounted for before you left. You weren’t sure how long this lunch would take, but you didn’t intend to come back later.

The elevator doors opened once again with a loud creak, thankfully revealing it to be empty. Your heart thrummed in your chest a mile a minute, the tension still in your shoulders as you walked towards what might be the end of your career. While you knew the possibility of this simply being a social call was high, you couldn’t ignore what might very well happen. The ding of your stop brought you out of your daze enough to get out and head towards the front doors.

Glancing up towards the sky you saw the gloominess still remained—a reminder of where you were, what this city was reduced to. While you may have called it pollution of the environment, others would call it weather. After all there was always a difference in opinion when the opinion came a bit too close to the actual truth.

A sleek black car sat directly outside of the doors, a man in a black coat was hunched beneath an umbrella leaning against its side. You recognized him the second he raised his head, his blue eyes practically singeing your skin. Henry really wasn’t kidding when he said Bruce Wayne himself was coming to pick you up from the Gazette. People stopped and stared at the spectacle that was this man. By all means he was considered a hermit from the rumors that spread through Gotham like poison, and yet there he was, meeting with an unknown woman—a reporter nonetheless.

“You don’t seem like the lunch date type of man,” you said, standing far enough under the awning of the building where you didn’t get wet from the rain, but still felt it splatter against your coat.

His lips twitched, eyes skimming your figure before flicking up back to your face. You wanted to ignore the flutter in your chest from that simple gesture, but your body wouldn’t let you. It seemed that whoever Bruce Wayne was…he had an affect on you—a hold that refused to be severed.

“It wasn’t my idea.”

Scoffing, you turned to glare at a man who stood only a few feet away, clearly eavesdropping in on the conversation.

“So you aren’t here to have lunch with me. You’re simply here by the orders of Mr. Pennyworth,” you retorted.

“Alfred,” he said, finally standing to his full height for the first time since you met him. He was taller than you actually anticipated. “He thought it would be a good idea.”

“He thought going on a date with a reporter was a good idea?”

He shrugged slightly, the tension in his shoulders made the movement awkward. “Would you call this a date Miss…”

“Day.”

“Day,” he repeated quietly, his lips forming around the word as if it was already familiar to him. “Interesting name.”

“Nick-name,” you replied.

He nodded slowly, his gaze so intense you found you had to keep looking away. “Your real name isn’t printed on any of your bylines.”

You smiled albeit rather ruefully as you stepped close enough to be underneath his umbrella with him. “I’m afraid you’ll have to earn my real name Mr. Wayne.”

Again you watched—entranced—as his lips twitched slightly. Almost like he wanted to smile, but forgot how exactly to do it. He’d been in pain so long, suffering the grief of losing those he loved most for nearly his entire life, and not once had he learned what the true meaning of happiness was. For some unknown reason, you wanted to be the first one to show him.

“Okay,” he murmured, turning towards the passenger seat door and opening it for you. “And it’s Bruce.”

The words were accompanied with an outstretched hand to help you into the car, his hold simultaneously gentle yet firm as you sat. Your eyes met his briefly, something flickering to life between your gaze, before the door shut entirely and you were left in silence for a few brief seconds. It gave you enough time to catch what little breath you had in your chest—the interaction far too electric for someone like you.

Get some fucking sense.

You weren’t the type of person Bruce Wayne would fall for. One day he would find someone as wealthy as him, someone who knew his life due to shared experience. You hated those fucking words with a burning passion. Shared experience with people never went over well in your line of work. For a reporter, shared experience meant you had nothing original to say. It meant that you were the same as everyone else around you and to you that was damnation itself.

“Where would you like to eat?”

The question was barely loud enough for you to hear over the traffic and rain, but his soft tone caught you in its hold until you were solely focused on him. Once again that unfamiliar spark of energy crackled in the air. You were afraid that if this continued, you’d walk out of this lunch date with a newfound crush on Gotham’s Prince. That thought alone was enough for you to tear your gaze away—settling in the seat and staring through the front window.

“You invited me, Mr. Wayne. Why don’t you pick?”

He fell silent, hands shifting from his lap to the steering wheel and back again. “I don’t know many places to eat around Gotham anymore.”

Of course Bruce Wayne of all people would eat at home day in and day out. Thus was the luxury of having a personal chef in the Wayne Tower. Although you couldn’t stop the small grin from forming at how funny you found all of this.

Going to lunch with this man. It should have been absurd—almost laughable—but there you were. About to tell him to drive into the heart of the city just to take you to your favorite diner. Reporters would murder you just to stand in your spot. To spend mere moments with him. Yet it seemed that all you had to do was exist.

Rather than dwell on the moment any longer, you told him where to take you and it seemed that he knew the city a lot better than you expected. Pulling out of the spot with ease, he swiftly swung the car around in a rather illegal u-turn before making a quick right turn. You had to hand it to him…he knew how to handle a car. Part of you wanted to call it sexy, but you killed that echo in your head before it could manifest into something else.

Feelings were dangerous in your line of work—having seen the pain several reporters went through when they fell into bed with lethal people. You wouldn’t wind up like them. All you could allow in your life was friendship, nothing more. A friendship with Bruce Wayne wouldn’t hurt you. Not when he refrained from speaking to anyone, let alone the worst of the worst that roamed Gotham.

He turned another corner, the rain getting worse the further you traveled into the city. Driving in this weather would have stopped you from going, but it didn’t seem to phase him. He took it in stride, focusing intently on the road with one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting between you. It would be so easy to pick it up, to run your fingers over the lines in his palm. And for a moment you indulged. You imagined what being with him would actually feel like.

Would he treat you the same way? Or would you suddenly become special. You couldn’t picture him treating anyone in a loving manner, let alone you and that’s where the fantasy died.

“That’s it,” you said, pointing to the flickering sign out front that only read DEM as opposed to its usual bright DEMETER’S TABLE name.

“Is it closed?”

You laughed, barely a puff of air, but you knew he heard it. Opening the door you ignored the downpour that threatened to soak you down to your very soul, and patiently waited until he got out himself. The expression on his face caught you slightly off guard as you watched him get out. You would have figured it was nothing—having seen him wear a grim expression all throughout your interview with him—but this looked different.

“I know it’s not the best place, but the food is—”

“I could have opened the door for you.”

That killed the worry filling your chest in an instant. He wasn’t upset that you brought him to what looked like the shittiest diner in all of Gotham. In fact, he could care less about that. He wanted to open the door for you…like a gentleman.

You nearly laughed in his face, but the rain was starting to seep into your shoes, causing your whole body to shiver and he fared no better. It caused his hair to stick to his face, the coat doing absolutely nothing to keep him dry.

The sign from the diner cast a luminescent glow across his face, highlighting his high cheekbones. You found yourself wanting to brush your lips across them. Though it was daytime and the sun remained stuck behind the clouds somewhere, you still felt as if night encased you in its cold embrace. Yet standing there with him in the rain, keeping his stare, you felt warmth flicker in your chest. As if he had placed a piece of the sun in your heart.

“You don’t have to do that with me,” you said softly, turning away before you grew too attached to this odd man.

The bell above the door rang throughout the building, alerting her of your presence. Your friend Dem stood behind the counter, her graying black hair wrapped up in a loose bun—a pen going directly through it to hold it in place. She looked up at the sound, a broad smile pulling at her wrinkled cheeks and bringing to light the soft lines around her eyes. When you first moved to Gotham she was the person who practically took you under her wing.

“Day! You are soaked hun. You shouldn’t be out in this weather.” She walked around the counter, immediately handing you a hot steaming cup of coffee. “Especially not since you just got over pneumonia. What are you trying to do, kill your…”

She trailed off, her eyes growing wide as the bell rang again and Bruce entered behind you, looking worse than you did. You knew the shock she was feeling, having gone through it about thirty minutes ago yourself, and did your best to drag her back to the present.

“Got a free table?” you joked, knowing the diner was practically empty.

That seemed to do it. The smile—though hesitant this time around—was back as she gestured to the second booth by the door. “I’ll be right with you sweetie.”

“Thanks Dem.”

You slid into the old brown booth, feeling your clothes stick to the fake leather. “Here.” You pushed the mug of coffee his way. “It’ll help with the cold.”

“I’m okay.” He reached up to push it back, but you held it in its place.

“I’m not asking Wayne.” Smiling, you leaned back. “Besides…can’t have one of the most important people in Gotham getting sick on my watch. I’d definitely be fired for that.”

Without another word, he lifted the mug to his lips, placing them directly where yours were mere moments ago. The spark flared to life again, cracking like a familiar bolt of lightning through your body and burning you to the core. Looking away, you clasped your hands together in an effort to seal in any heat that might try to escape your body. You weren’t sure if you liked the feelings that were causing your body to go haywire. For all you knew, you could have been imagining this entire thing.

You wouldn’t put it past your mind to play tricks on you as you sat across from him.

“Why this place?” Once again, his question caught you off guard.

“What?”

He set the mug down, pushing it your way. “Why this diner?”

His blue eyes were fixed on your face, as if attempting to see past the shield you wore day in and day out. When a person suffered enough pain to last an entire lifetime, they tended to become closed off. You were that person and from what you could see…so was he. The temptation to ask him how he survived through the pain, how he managed to come out of it at the end somewhat of a person, was on the tip of your tongue.

But you figured it was better to stay silent—keep it to yourself until the right moment came up.

“It was the first place I came to when I first moved to Gotham. I used to live a block away from here.” Sipping on the coffee, you tried to busy yourself to avoid his piercing gaze. “Though, I had to move because my apartment got broken into while I was sleeping.”

Something flashed in his eyes. Anger? No…something else.

Clearing your throat, you continued in the hopes of appeasing your now racing heart. “Anyways. Dem took me in, she took care of me and it felt nice. So I stayed.”

Before he could reply, Dem arrived with two plates in her hands. You smelled the burger before she even placed it on the table—your stomach clenching with hunger. Her specialty that you first ordered when you came here. It made your heart warm seeing her place it in front of Bruce, her smile kind and welcoming. No matter who he was, Dem always saw the good in people. Saw what they needed and willingly gave it to them without question.

She was a mother to the strangers that wandered into her diner.

“More coffee?” she asked, staring at the single mug that sat empty in the center of the table.

You noticed she didn’t ask if you’d like a second cup, her body language telling you enough. She thought this was a date. You weren’t sure if you should correct her or not.

“Please,” Bruce said, interrupting your thoughts. He handed her the mug, never asking for an extra one, but seemingly happy to share with you.

Once again your heart fluttered and this time…you let it.

“Dem’s burgers are possibly the best thing to be created.”

His lips pulled up in a small barely there grin. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“You should,” you replied, smiling around a bite of your fry. “As a reporter all I have is my word.”

You didn’t catch the way he looked at you, his eyes shining with something that hadn’t been there in a very long time. Instead you focused on gazing out the window at the rain. The way it transformed the city into something dangerous. Yet even through the darkness you could see it. The small hints of the light seeping through the clouds and shining down on an otherwise grim place.

Carole King played on the old speakers—a favorite of Dem’s you learned early on—and it created a soft symphony of warmth as it mixed with the rain. You wanted to stay there forever. In a place of comfort and love.

You’d even include Bruce in it too.

He bit into the burger, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment as the taste burst across his tongue. The sight caused your heart to lurch in your chest, warmth spreading up your neck and into your face. And you tried your best to shove it down. How ridiculous of you to find the sight hot, but there you were. Speechless, watching as he enjoyed one of your favorite meals.

Dem’s voice humming to the song snapped you out of your ogling; you looked to her to find something else to focus on. Except the small knowing smile she wore on her face and the wink she threw your way did nothing to help your situation. Rather than dwell on it, you began to eat. Content to remain silent until the both of you finished.

The singular cup of coffee was set down in between you two, dragging your gazes back to one another. You glanced at the mug, then back at him. As if that was the defining factor of whether or not this was a date. He chewed thoughtfully on a fry, his eyes still on you, while you mulled over whether or not you could magically turn the one mug into two.

It turned out to be an impossible feat, but one you found you didn’t mind.

“So tell me—” You pried your trench coat off, draping it over the back of the booth. He’d discarded his thirty minutes ago, his black button down now rolled to his elbows. “What’s Bruce Wayne been up to?”

His eyebrow quirked, lips twitching like he was fighting back a smile. “This isn’t a second interview is it?”

You shrugged. “I’ve gotten enough for my article already. This is me asking.”

“Hm.” He leaned forward, hands clasped together and hair falling back into his eyes. “And who are you exactly?”

The smile you’d been fighting for an hour came through. “I don’t think you’ve earned that yet.”

The coffee mug had been refilled three times now, your energy coupled with the spark of attraction (you were still denying) between you brought life back into your body. While he didn’t disclose much about himself—saying bits and pieces here and there—you still found yourself engrossed in his words. You wanted to know more, to see the man behind the mask that was Bruce Wayne.

Maybe if you were lucky enough he’d show you his true self one day. For right now you were content to remain just as you were.

A reporter who shied away from any aspects of love, sitting with a man who was discovering what the meaning of joy was all over again.

“I can wait,” he murmured, his eyes no longer resembling the cloudy skies outside. You could see the lightness in them—the shining blue unlike anything you’d ever seen before.

You glanced down at the mug, seeing something in it you hadn’t before. For whatever unknown reason Bruce Wayne—the man who had been reclusive his entire life—trusted you. Even though he didn’t say it outright he didn’t have to. You saw it well enough and something told you…he knew you could see it. He wanted you to see it.

Time was slowly ticking away, reminding you that you had a job to get back to, but you still remained. Sitting with your elbows pressed to the table—unconsciously trying to get as close to him as possible. Maybe if you never left the world would melt away. If you became a permanent part of this diner, the city that happily ate away at every resident would leave you be. You’d be forgotten in a place that thrived on the lost and forlorn.

“Why me?” you inquired after the beat of silence threatened to swallow you whole.

The soft lilting notes of Billie Holiday echoed in the empty diner. Dem was nowhere to be found and the only two remaining customers were you and Bruce. Still sharing that singular cup of cold coffee. It had created a ring on the table, your lipstick a slight stain on the white mug. The color smudged off from where Bruce had placed his lips. Sharing a hint of a kiss that would never be.

He leaned back in the booth, no longer stiff—the nature of a man who had hid from society for years now traded in for someone different. His body language was enough to make you stare. Transfixed on the way his shirt continued to hug his figure even though it had dried an hour ago.

“Why not you?”

You huffed. “Answering my question with another question. And here I thought I was the only reporter in the room.”

“I’ve had my fair share of interviews.”

“None that I’ve read.” You slid your plate to the side and clasped your hands together in the hopes of looking as intrigued as you felt. “Do tell Mr. Wayne.”

The tension was beginning to set in his shoulders again. A small overlay to the man that lingered beneath. As if he was bringing up a mask he constantly carried with him. He hid constantly day in and day out, but right now he didn’t sit before you the Prince of Gotham, but instead a man who was trying to relearn how to live. Whether you wanted to admit it to yourself or not…Bruce Wayne was like you in ways you couldn’t have imagined.

“Alfred keeps them from printing.” The admission alone was enough for you to change the subject, but he continued to talk—cracking open yet another small sliver to the impenetrable armor he wore. “People they don’t…they always look for something wrong.”

You nodded, digging your nail into your palm. “Flaws are sometimes easier to sell.”

The sad truth of being a journalist is more often than not people weren’t looking for the truth. At least not in Gotham. They wanted something to sell. A piece of the person that one would deem too vulnerable to be shown to the rest of the world. They wanted to satiate the greed that clawed its way to the front. Rarely was the truth their only reason for writing a story.

“You’re not interested in flaws.” His eyes grew softer, hand splaying on the table to trace a random shape as he watched you. Saw through the facade you wore. He dug right down to the depths of your persona and dragged it to the surface—a relenting and brutal act.

Yet you wanted it to happen all the same.

“I like the truth.” You distracted yourself with the shape of his finger, the length of it as it shifted. “It sounds better.”

For a split second you allowed your eyes to flicker up, to meet his in the dim lights of the diner, and you finally caught hold of that niggling emotion. The one that held you captive in your own right. You liked him. Despite only meeting him yesterday, you found yourself drawn in by his haunted eyes. The same ones that practically burned a hole in your skin, until he was forever a part of your form.

Bruce Wayne felt familiar to you.

Not in the way that a stranger finds a face in the crowd familiar. Not even in the way an old friend would feel seeing someone from their past once more.

He was familiar in the way two souls separated beyond time and space were familiar. You couldn’t quite explain it, but somehow you knew these eyes that traced the lines and curves of your face. Committing you to memory. You were two distant beings made up of different particles of the universe. Yet there in that diner you found one another—as if gravity had dragged your cells together all along.

Two halves of a celestial being finally forming to be one.

You almost wanted to laugh at the notion that Bruce Wayne and you had anything in common. Let alone that there was any physical attraction between you.

But there it was. The truth you’d been searching for all along.

You could almost laugh at how fucked it all was.

How horrifically beautiful.

Night was beginning to settle over the city, calling to the horrors that lingered in the shadows. Prompting them to finally emerge for the one night where fear ran rampant in the streets of Gotham. Being scared on Halloween wasn’t an unusual occurrence, but this year things felt different. You could practically taste the blood that would run through the grime filled streets come morning. The same one that you would later have to report on.

Bruce stood beside his car next to your apartment building. You had directed him here after another hour spent in Dem’s diner barely speaking yet saying more than you would have liked. For some reason he was able to unearth more about you than you had found out in the entirety of yesterday’s interview with him. If being a Wayne didn’t wind up working out for him, he’d make a killing out of being an investigative journalist.

You told him as much before you left.

“Got any plans for tonight?” you asked, already knowing the answer you’d receive.

He looked up to the slightly darkened sky, at the way that the clouds did nothing to allow even slivers of the sunset to break through. You had to hand it to the city. There was some irony in the way even nature plagued the city in darkness. As if its legacy was always meant to be this. An abyss that drowned everyone within.

A barely there quirk appeared on his lips. “I’ll be out of the city tonight.”

Convenient.

The thought crossed your mind of asking him to join you for a lonesome dinner and half a bottle of wine. But the line had been drawn in the sand long before you agreed to accompany him for lunch. An invisible border you couldn’t cross. He was a Wayne. A part of a world you could only reach through second hand stories and gruesome aftermaths.

If the lunch had been more than strangers sitting across from one another, you would have joked about your house being Capulet and his Montague. But something told you irony wasn’t his strong suit. Nor would it favor you being able to see him another time. That is…if he even wanted to see you. For all you could tell this was merely a social call placed on his shoulders by Alfred—the man you came to see as Bruce’s father figure.

“Well…”

“Would you—”

You smiled, feigning being professional for the sake of your giddiness. “You go first.”

He cleared his throat. “Would you be available in a few days?”

“Oh…” Rather than take it easy on him, you decided that the best course of action was to jab at his wall just a bit. Just to see if something would crumble even further. So with a smile you stepped closer, watching the rise and fall of his chest quicken just a bit more. “That doesn’t sound like Alfred speaking.”

A heavy breath left his lungs—washing warm across your skin. “It’s not.”

“So this is you asking?”

He nodded, probably irritated with the way you were clearly teasing him. But that’s the thing. He let you tease him. He gave in to your small ruse and let it play out until you felt like you were finished.

If you could get away with this, who knows what else you’d be able to get away with. Perhaps calling him a stupid nickname. Or even getting to know his favorite color.

Something told you it was brown.

“What’s your favorite color?”

His eyebrows rose, mouth parted slightly as if you’d thrown him for a bigger loop than anyone had before. And much to your own surprise…he answered. Honestly.

“Black.”

Ah…you were close.

“Tuesday. The rush of Halloween will be over and my paper should give me some free reign. I’ll be available then.”

Another solemn nod as if you just informed him that you were attending a funeral for a recently departed loved one. You learned to realize that his nods were simply a part of his personality. Eventually you would be able to decipher what each one meant, what they were attempting to say without using words. His voice seemed to be an afterthought—actions speaking louder than words could say.

“Tuesday it is,” he replied with a soft hesitant smile. You wanted to see it again, ask him to never frown again, but this was merely a fleeting moment in the grand expanse of things.

He stood there for a minute more as if leaving was the last thing he wanted. Then got into his car, turned the engine once, and drove down the street. And you watched him disappear into the already dark horizon. The day never existed to begin with, but the storm wouldn’t stop the chaos of the night. So you gave one last glance to the street before heading inside, ready to hole yourself in your locked apartment til sunrise the next day.

The shrill ringing of your cell phone startled you from your small nap on the couch. A throw blanket that was a mishmash of colors was thrown over your body, a half empty wine bottle on the coffee table and the book Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde face down beside it. Ever since finding it in the Wayne tower, you began to look through the old text. With the silly hope that you would find pieces of Bruce Wayne in the words.

“What?” you grumbled, rubbing a hand over your face to rouse yourself from the groggy state of sleep. Your brain was sluggish, body content to remain on the couch for many more hours, but Henry’s grim voice startled you awake.

“The Mayor’s dead.”

You sat up. “What the fuck do you mean the Mayor’s dead Henry?”

A quick glance at the clock told you it was nearing the middle of the night. The noise outside still persisted though. People always partied the worst on this night. Especially in this city.

“If this is a joke—”

“Shut up and listen will you.” Your mouth clamped shut, eyes falling to the book. “They found him in his home. And it’s gruesome. Whoever did it was a right fucked up person, but I can’t get there at this time. The streets are too packed.”

The breath caught in your throat, even as your eyes stung with exhaustion. “And I’m closer to the scene.”

“It’s a favor and it’s a big one Day.”

You sighed. “I’ll leave in ten. Who’s on the scene?”

“Gordon.”

Good. Gordon never gave you shit for being a reporter like the other detectives did. Many wanted your kind out of Gotham all together simply because of how good you were at getting your nose into places it shouldn’t be. With Gordon there at least you would have a chance to do some meaningful reporting—or at least help where you could in figuring this out.

Henry listed out a few details they told him, what was going to occur within the next few days. But all you could think about was Bruce. You’d miss your chance to see him Tuesday after all. Too stuck in the midst of a city wide crime scene that would take up more or less all of your time. Which left him on the outs. You scribbled down in your black notebook a note to call him and ask for a rain check.

At least then one good thing in your life wouldn’t disappear without a trace.

You grabbed your coat, shoved your arms in the sleeves, and locked up your apartment as the weight of the news rested heavy on your shoulders.

With the death of the Mayor came an investigation. One that would no doubt lead to more bloodshed in the streets and leave a city divided amongst itself. You had heard about shit like this happening in Gotham, but you were never around to see it yourself. Yet there you were. Right in the thick of it with no other option but to see the chaos through.

People filled the streets. Some drunk, some not. Which didn’t make getting to the scene easier. You fought through the crowds, managed to catch a train down there, and somehow came out unscathed. And above in the night sky…his sign hung like a full moon. It called out to the chaos of the night, and made a promise to those who liked the cover of darkness that they would only be safe for so long.

“Shit,” you muttered, feeling the rain strike against your cheek. It stung as you crossed the street.

Police cars lined the sidewalk, sirens blaring and bright, and for a moment…there was light in Gotham. You could barely see in front of you, but at least they illuminated the pathway to the front entrance. Many of them were taping off the building, others standing around and gazing at the sky—probably asking themselves if he would show up.

“If it ain’t Miss Day!”

You felt the weight lighten as you reached the top of the building steps. “Officer Martinez. Funny seeing you here.”

“You come to talk to me tonight?”

The smile was involuntary on your lips as he let you head in with him, holding the door open for you. Martinez always had a soft spot for you when things like this befell the city. After all he was usually around when it came to Gordon and with a job like yours, you ran into cops a bit too often for your liking. But Martinez was the exception. He brought you coffee on long nights at crime scenes, cracked jokes at the worst times, and even drove you home if he was around.

“Of course,” you said with a grin, bumping his shoulder. “I’m here to write a piece about the greatest cop in the city.”

He scoffed. “Flattery will get you everywhere chica.”

“Do you know what happened?”

Another flight of steps revealed even more cops scattered around the place. You could see the flash of a camera in the distance, whispered voices filling the air as you entered. Several cops gave you nasty glances, scoffing to themselves at the fact that you were allowed to enter. A reporter. Someone beneath them. To them you were the vulture that came to pick apart the mess they were left to clean.

“All I know is what Gordon told me. And even that’s not much.”

“Where is Gordon?”

Martinez shrugged. “Went out to fetch someone. Figure another detective.”

One more step into the room and you felt it. The pressure in your chest, the pinch of pain in your side where you were still healing. As if crime in Gotham called to crime. A horrid likeness that permeated the air. When Henry said the scene was gruesome he wasn’t kidding. You were ready to bolt the second you could smell the blood—the sight nearly too much for your stomach to take.

“Fuck,” you murmured, eyes wide and body wracked with fear.

“It’s not easy to see.”

“He’s…oh fuck.”

You didn’t need words to know Martinez was concerned about you. His eyes told you enough. They lingered a bit too long, tried to see past your mask you quickly pulled up when it came to scenes such as this. If you were lucky you would make it out tonight without any nightmares.

You were rarely lucky.

Someone called his name, causing him to leave you alone in the room with a few other people. Yet all you could focus on was the Mayor. The message scrawled across his head screamed so loud you could practically hear the voice of the killer. It punched right through your chest, made you pay attention without any barriers. Without mercy.

“What the fuck?”

You turned when someone’s voice filtered through the air, disbelief clear in their tone. Perhaps they found something worse. Something that would make you want to unsee everything that happened tonight. But what came to your attention was not what you expected. Your heart dropped to your stomach, a flutter going through your body, as the sight of him filled your view once more.

For some reason he seemed bigger in the room. He towered over everyone here, eyes still striking against the dark color of his suit. For a moment you couldn’t breathe, nerves filling your body with each heavy thump of his boot against the hardwood floor. How he would react to seeing you again took over your mind. Yet you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe…he forgot about you.

Maybe to him you were just another lost soul in a sea of tragedy.

Someone he saved once and didn’t think twice about second.

He stopped midstep, gaze falling to your form, and for a split second…he stiffened entirely. Recognition flashed in his eyes before something darker took its place. You were reminded of the night he dragged you home, the night he held you as you cried about death. As you begged him to keep you alive.

You wondered if he was thinking about that too. If you stepped close enough maybe you could see it in his eyes. Fragments of a memory that still burned bright and alive in your mind—a bad movie you could never turn off. So there you sat in the theater. Forced to watch it replay.

Maybe if you asked he’d sit with you. Keep you company in the darkness.

“Daywalker.”

Gordon had a habit of using the formal version of your nickname. A call sign that seemed to jolt you from your own mind—eyes snapping from The Batman to the man standing beside him. He regarded you with a confused look. A question lingering on his tongue.

One you quickly overlapped with one of your own.

“What the hell happened Gordon?”

His eyes went soft. “Chaos.”

The pain in your side flared to life again. “And what’s he doing here?”

The thump of his boots echoed behind you as he circled the scene. No doubt taking notes about what happened, what was left behind for them to find. Gordon held up a green envelope, writing scratched into the paper as if it was left there in anger—the pen nearly breaking through. A formal address to the man who still remained behind you. A call out to The Batman himself.

Either this guy was insane…or he understood what The Bat would react to.

“So all this…was for him?”

Eyes burned into your skin when you said the words, another thump letting you know he still remained, still listening in the shadows of the room.

Gordon shrugged. “That’s what he’s here to find out.”

You nodded, stepping back to let Gordon do his job with the others as you surveyed the room yourself. Every once in a while your gaze fell back to him. How he stalked about with purpose, each step measured and calculated. He understood the tension in the room, how cops hated that he stood amongst them.

After all, he fell lower into their likeability category than you. To them you were the vulture, but he was the thief. He took their image—their reputations—and made it worse. He took their jobs right under their noses. Not because they couldn’t do it, but because with him it would come to a final end.

You caught bits and pieces of the conversations at hand, heard how the Mayor must have died, but your attention still remained with The Bat. How he stood wary with his back to the window. Every now and then you swore his gaze fell to you, but that might have been your imagination. Your mind hadn’t stopped racing since you stepped past the threshold; the crime scene doing nothing but wracking your body with fear and anxiety. Two things that were an enemy to a good reporter.

“Killer may have come through the skylight.”

You glanced up, eyes tracing the metal lines of the glass above and tried to imagine the scene playing out before you. How they’d get in, how they’d hide. In your head it matched up, but something felt off—as if the scene itself was too perfect. Too pristine for you to gather anything notable.

Gordon’s voice peaked your interest, drawing you closer. “What does a liar do when he’s dead?”

“There’s a cipher too.”

Something flickered in the back of your mind. You remembered Henry having a book of riddles on his desk. Some cheap Christmas gift someone in the office got him in the hopes of giving their boss a sense of humor. You had flipped through it once or twice while waiting for him to show up for a meeting. But you could recall the same riddle being printed with all the others—in a list of nearly three hundred, you remembered that one for its dark flair.

“Lies,” you murmured to yourself, attention forced to the outburst towards Gordon.

But it was the darker and much deeper voice behind you that sent a cold shiver down your spine. “He lies still.”

The answer to the riddle.

Yet even that didn’t tell you much. Whoever this guy was, he wasn’t going to give Gotham the easy way out. No, you could see the darkness lingering in the distance. The threat of something more on the way. And there wouldn’t a fucking thing anyone in this room could do about it. Except for him. His name was on the envelope, his sign in the sky and soon…Gotham would be turning to him for more than just an answer to a riddle.

“Happy fuckin’ Halloween,” the commissioner spat, turning away from the scene with enough anger to rival the killer. Grief plagued the air and while you should have stayed, asked for statements, all you wanted to do was go home.

So you bid Gordon goodnight with the promise to call him tomorrow for more than just this. Your stomach was in knots, bile filling the back of your throat, but you could barely move. His gaze still burned a hole in your back, watching as you left on semi-steady feet—the wound that lingered now a reminder that you were nearly this person. You were nearly another story in a newspaper.

Martinez came up beside you as you stepped out into the hall, a cup of hot coffee in his hands. He must have grabbed it from down the street, because he held his own. The rain still pounded outside striking loudly against the window but it had become a drowned out echo. Simply background noise to a tragedy that kept you locked tight in its grasp. You could see the headline of tomorrow’s paper. The words bold and loud amidst the gray color—a color that matched the sky.

GOTHAM MOURNS.

“Want me to give you a ride home?” Martinez asked, eyes still plagued with concern. You wanted to wipe it from his face, place his carefree smile back where it belonged. Except no one would be smiling tonight.

You sucked in a cold breath, sensing the presence of The Bat as he followed Gordon out to the hallway.

“Yeah. A ride would be nice.”

Tomorrow was a new day, but the truth still remained, waiting to break free. Darkness ran through Gotham so deep it would take prying the streets up to see it, but something told you exactly that would happen. This was not the end of the blood that would turn this city red.

It was only the beginning.

[sutherkins]

request / “Soo here's a request for our cutest boy Peter - how about working with Peter as a night agent for years, knowing him better than yourself and being best friends since, together at a mission where reader gets hurt and Peter totally freaking out and panicking leading him to confess his love for reader? Of course it's mutual but neither of them dared to say something until this moment because both thought the other one's not feeling the same way.”

warnings: blood, reader gets shot, bad writing

this kinda sucks, and i apologize for the wait! i wanted it to be longer but i got sick after i started writing it and i literally just finished it today. im also still getting used to writing in general bc i normally dont have any inspo or energy to do it

being part of a top secret organization within the government was certainly not on your list of things you’d wanted to accomplish when you graduated school. having a career at all was something you weren’t sure was in the cards for you, much less being a spy and being on a first name basis with the president. nothing about the job was easy — as you’d expected. living so cut off from the rest of the world was more difficult than you could have imagined.

now, several years later, you realized that the job was much more enjoyable when you had a partner. especially when that partner was peter sutherland. peter was hired about a year after you and assigned as your partner. both of you were still newbies to the other night agents and figuring out how to do the job with someone like him by your side made the loneliness you felt that first year completely vanish. it felt nice to have a best friend throughout all of this. you realized that was the key to this job – besides the training, having someone to lean on was the best way to succeed at being a night agent.

peter was the best partner you could have asked for. he was attentive and always took care of you, even when you didn’t think you needed it. now, you most definitely fucking needed it.

your most recent assignment was challenging to say the least. the both of you were constantly on the move and sleeping in run down motels. and now, much to your displeasure, you just got shot.

laying on the floor next to the bed you shared, blood began to pool around you. you tried to fight your blurred vision and the overwhelming desire to close your eyes but that was a losing battle from the moment the bullet pierced your stomach. you were getting ready to give up — but just then, the door opened and peters voice rang through the air.

“sweetheart?”

you would’ve blushed at the pet name if you weren’t bleeding out on the floor. trying your best to speak, you’re voice hoarse and thick with pain. “peter..”

as soon as he spotted you, peter shouted your name and immediately went into protection mode. rushing to your side and putting pressure on the obvious wound, his other hand cupped your cheek. “jesus christ. sweetheart? can you hear me?”

“yeah, i can hear you. ‘s not as bad as it looks.” even when you were bleeding onto the carpet you still tried to comfort him.

“not that bad?! you got shot in the stomach! if i didn’t come when i did you could’ve bled out on the floor and died!” tears threatened to spill from his eyes.

you whined, the pressure from his hand on your wound producing a stabbing sensation that you’ve never felt from a gunshot before. “please don’t cry, pete. ‘s really not that bad, i promise. just — just call an ambulence, okay?”

pulling his phone from his pocket, your best friend quickly calls for an ambulance and lets your bosses know what happened. his attention is back on you, his hands covered in your blood. “don’t tell me not to cry. you’re my best friend and i love you. honestly, i’m…i’m in love with you, okay? you’re hurt and i love you and when i saw you lying on the ground i thought i lost you forever. i thought i lost you before i even got the chance to tell you how i felt. i can’t lose you.”

a stray tear fell from your eye, your hand reaching up to caress his cheek. “peter sutherland, i love you. i’ve never loved anyone more, to be honest. you’re not gonna lose me, okay? i was serious when i said it’s not as bad as it looks. i’m gonna be fine. ‘sides, once i’m patched up we can spend my newfound vacation time at your cabin.”

peter lets out a small chuckle, grabbing the hand holding his face and kissing your palm. “you got yourself a deal.”

[undertakerslxt]

Hello could you write angst 5 with undertaker,the first time i see your blog so i wanted to request

I absolutely love this request - and thank you for being my first ask! <3

-

title; 'til death do us part

warnings; the usual for kuro! implications that the undertaker turned the reader into a vampire. implied death of the reader. angst sprinkled with romantic tension :)

summary; when the undertaker comes knocking with a deal you can't refuse, it's only a matter of time before you realize why.

song inspo; hollywood forever cemetery

word count; 2.1k

note; for the purpose of this story, his real name will be adrian crevan. if and when yana releases his real name, i'll make an effort to come back and change it here.

Even in death, you put on a show.

Those were the last words he'd spoken to you for years. Centuries, it felt like. You had been a fool to trust a man like him, you knew. No, a being like him. A god of death, one who played with Fate like it was nothing but another amusing game to him. He had driven you down a dark path, one filled with pain and death and blood -

You loved him for it.

You hated him for it.

Your name being spoken made you raise your head, your glowing irises locking onto the speaker a few feet away. Like the shinigami you encountered on occasion, you bore double-ringed irises, though yours glowed imperial red on the outer ring and a fiery scarlet on the inner ring.

"Are you alright?"

You blinked at the man in front of you, studying him. He was your subordinate -- most other vampires were now. Having been an immortal almost as long as that damned shinigami, you were incredibly powerful.

"I'm fine, Erik. Thank you." You waved your hand dismissively, then returned your chin to where it had rested in your palm. Your legs were thrown over the edge of your chair, and to all the world, you looked bored out of your mind. Far from it, truly.

"You can come out now," you called when the other vampire had vanished from the room. A low chuckle echoed, and the shadows seemed to release a figure in all black, his white hair spilling over his shoulders. For once, he didn't wear his hat.

"Sharp as ever, I see, my dear," he hummed out, that infuriating grin playing over his lips. You found you still hated it.

"And you're still as bold as ever," you countered, rolling your shoulders back to release the tension in them. You stretched like a cat, looking away from him.

If he wanted to harm you, he wouldn't have let you sense his presence.

"Tell me, my dear Crevan, what brings you to my humble abode?" You questioned, running sharp sangria-painted nails through your hair. "You haven't taken an interest in me for, oh... five hundred years? Six? I've begun to lose count of the years."

"Well, dearie," he giggled, tapping his long black nails against his teeth, "I have a deal I'm quite positive you'll love."

"That isn't very godly of you." You mocked his title with a shit-eating grin. "Or ethical. Is that why you left that little association of yours?"

His grin sharpened into something dangerous, and you relished the thrill it sent through your dead body. "My, my. You're a bold little thing today."

"I could say the same - oh, I did. You should know better than anyone that deals with vampires tend to go. . . sideways." Unlike demons, or even shinigami, when it came to humans, vampires had no code to follow. You could kill as you pleased unlike reapers, and even if 'contracts' were formed, there was nothing to prevent you from attacking anyway. You thrived on blood and life forces, not souls.

He had wandered closer to you, his long robe gone for once as well. You had to say, you preferred seeing his tight-fitted robe and those knee-length boots. He made quite the sight. . .

Ugh. What were you thinking?

He spread his hands with another giggle, one that sounded malicious, and you raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh my, I'd love to see what you'll try on me," he remarked, raising his head just enough for you to catch a flash of those phosphorescent irises. "If I recall correctly, my blood sent you into a tizzy last time."

You scoffed. He wasn't wrong and you hated that. "What's this deal you're offering?"

"Eager, aren't we?"

"An immortal mortician comes to a vampire of his own volition asking for a deal? Well, color me intrigued."

You weren't just any vampire, though, and he knew it. You both did. You watched as he sauntered up the stairs, teeth flashing in the lowlit lanterns. "I've been. . . shall we say, looking into a certain sort of reversal of death. Humans have worked fine, but why not take it further?" His eyes were fully visible now, and glowed brighter as he leaned over you, his hair creating a sort of shroud. "You have plenty of minions, don't you?"

You remained still.

". . . And you'd like to experiment on them?"

It wasn't the thought of other vampires being turned into the Undertaker's little science project that bothered you. It was the fact that he had come to you when he could have easily overwhelmed a few vampires.

There was a reason other supernatural beings stayed far away from the man currently grinning at you. Even other reapers avoided him, and yet you couldn't help but be drawn to his danger. His insanity.

"Why should I bother helping? Go get your own." You shrugged as best you could in your position.

"Now, now, you haven't even heard what I'm willing to offer." He ran a sharp nail over your bottom lip, a move you didn't object to.

"I don't take laughter as payment."

He laughed. "No, you'd much prefer something else, I wager. Something like my blood, perhaps?"

That got your attention, if he hadn't have already captivated it. Shinigami blood was dangerous - and powerful. Offering it wasn't something even he would take lightly. "You must desperately want more subjects," you murmured.

"And if you cared about them, you would have already told me to get the hell out," he countered.

He had a point.

You smirked up at the god of death above you, fangs bared. "Then I believe we have a deal, Undertaker."

"Excellent, though if you try to renege, you know exactly what will happen," he hummed at you. You did know, and you didn't want a repeat of that kind of showdown. "Shall we seal the deal?"

"You know my name, Crevan. Use it."

If there was one thing that could control a vampire, it was their human name. It was a closely guarded secret, one you had only shared with the Undertaker. It was a mistake and a blessing that you had.

He leaned down further, lips grazing your ear. You felt the familiar jolt run through you as your human name was spoken just before your vampire name, and then it was done.

You were once again bound to Adrian Crevan.

Dozens of vampires. Dozens sent to "guard" the Undertaker and every single one of them never made it back from their assignment. It was a cover so no one rebelled against you - they knew it was dangerous, and they volunteered for it. You warned them they probably wouldn't come back.

Every vampire taken left marks on his skin. Some nights, he came to you, extending an arm or - if he felt generous - even exposing his neck. Some nights, you came to collect, appearing with a deadly quietness in his bedroom, or his lab, and he'd only smile wickedly at you before gesturing you forward. It was a never-ending dance of death, one you both reveled in. You gave him an edge over death with subjects who were already, technically, dead and he granted you the power that ran in his blood.

You grew stronger with every visit, and he even helped you to hone the power that he gave.

And then, all too suddenly, the dance came to an abrupt end.

Minor vampires had become boring to him, and when there were no more nobles, no more knights, you could send, he wanted you. He came to you in the dark of the night, your name on his lips and your body forced to obey. The strength of the wielder of your name determined how much they controlled you, and he was indeed the most powerful shinigami in existence.

And many shinigami were equal to, if not stronger, than vampires.

You refused to move when he stopped using it, but cried out as something in you began burning. It was strong enough that the pain drove you to your knees, and you clawed at your own skin, trying to get rid of the pain. "What - what did you do to me?" You snarled, gripping the side of your bed to stand.

He watched you with a sickeningly twisted smile. It was one he gave to his victims, his subjects, and they didn’t escape him. They never did. “Dearie me, did I forget to mention? Vampires cannot drink blood from reapers stronger than them and survive. Dead or not, you are still in a human body, and human bodies can’t contain that sort of power.”

Surprise stilled your anger.

He let out a laugh, extending one hand to you. “Come now, doll, don’t be so shocked. You knew I would betray you.”

You were an utter fool.

“Take my hand, doll. It will go much easier if you don’t resist. I’ll even do you the favor of making it relatively painless.” He wiggled his fingers at you. “Take my hand.”

“No.” You spat, and you slapped it away. He thought to make a fool of you? You lunged for him, pain clouding your head. Your efforts only seemed to amuse him and he sidestepped. One hand closed around your wrist, and he whirled you so your back was pressed to his chest, and he draped one arm around your waist.

"Every day, you remind me of why I love you," he murmured into your ear, forcing you to sway with him.

"This is how you show love? Creatures like you don't love," you scoffed. His grip was unbreakable, you realized.

"That's where you're wrong." He kissed the back of your head, sending a shiver down your spine. "We don't fall in love often, you see, but every once in a while. . . someone like you comes along and you fascinate me. Draw me in."

"So you kill those you love?"

He. . . loved you. The thought terrified you, because if you were open to it, that meant you had to admit you loved him too. You had, for over half a millennia. And he had something planned bad for you.

"Because love gets in the way, doll," he explained softly. "And if I love you, then you're a weak spot for me. I simply can't have that. But don't worry that pretty little head of yours - I have something much grander planned for you than a simple experiment."

He twirled you, and you snapped your head back, the impact making him stumble for just a second. A second was all you needed to dart forward, and you turned back to face him.

There was a metallic flavor in your mouth from how hard you'd bit your tongue to keep from insulting him.

"Come with me, doll."

"As if." You stiffened. "I will never willingly go with a monster like you. Whatever you're doing to my people - it ends today. Now. No more deal, no more you."

His expression became cold. His smile remained. "Would you like to repeat that, doll?"

"I said, deal's off, Crevan."

"You're forcing my hand."

You raised your head defiantly. "Do it, then," you taunted. "You know how." If he loved you, wouldn't he let you go? "Say my name."

Silence.

"Say. My. Name."

Your name fell from his lips again, human and vampire forever linked, and his blood burned within you. The deal remained, and he held the power. Whatever he planned, it scared you. When he offered his hand again, you were forced to obey, despite every effort not to. And when he whisked you away to his mortuary, you could only watch as he prepared your second death.

You couldn't help but laugh in those moments, tossing your head back. "A simple knife? Come on, I believe I deserve better than that. Make it dramatic. Beautiful."

Your heart twisted in your chest. You loved him, and he was going to kill you. He could prattle on about plans and grandeur, but at the end of the day, the man had made you into what you were today. And he would end you. A beautiful sort of tragedy, wasn't it? He seemed to think so too, and he gave you a sweet kiss.

His lips felt cold.

Your mouth tasted bitter from the weight of his lies.

And as he shifted closer to you, pain blooming in your chest, he smiled at you. It was full of sadness, and he caressed your cheek gently. It was a fitting end for a once-actress turned queen of vampires, he supposed. Your life had been grand and theatrical, and now so was your death.

"Even in death," he whispered, "you put on a show."

[flightlessangelwings]

Control

Comandante Veracruz x afab!reader (smut with no pronoun use, no y/n)

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: smut (18+ only), lingerie, protective!Veracruz, a little bit of sub!Veracruz (until he’s had enough, then back to dom!Veracruz), unprotected sex, teasing, slight nipple play, this is actually soft for V here lol

Request from anon: I love your Veracruz x reader series (I mean that man is just too 🥵) I was wondering could you maybe write (if you’re not too busy 🥺) one where the reader suprises Veracruz in some racy lingerie and tries to take control and vercruz just turns the tables on the reader and takes control - thank you 💓

Notes: Thanks so much for the request, anon and I’m sorry this took so long! I had a LOT of fun writing this one so I hope y’all enjoy it!! Also thank you to my V partner in crime @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa​ for some inspo for this one!

gif by @life-or-something-like-lt (unf that look on his face 🥴)

~

The door to your apartment burst open as Veracruz let himself in with the set of keys you gave him. The sun had just set on a long day for the comandante, and all he wanted was you underneath him to work out all his pent up frustrations. He called out your name only to be met with silence and emptiness of the apartment. After he shrugged off his leather jacket and boots he called your name again, but again he was met with silence.

Veracruz clenched his jaw as he suddenly went on high alert. The space looked untouched, but he couldn’t help but think about the last time he entered your apartment and was met with silence. His heart pounded in his chest as anger and adrenaline rushed through his system. He couldn’t live through the nightmare of you being taken again. Not when he took so many precautions to keep you safe.

“Cariño?” Veracruz called out as he moved swiftly through your apartment towards your bedroom.

It wasn’t until he got closer to the back of your living space that he heard movement from the bathroom that was connected to your bedroom and Veracruz let out a heavy breath of relief. Before he reached the closed door to your bedroom, the comandante collected himself and put on more of a serious face. He didn’t want to let the rush of emotions show on his face. But when he opened the door, a brand new rush of emotions flooded his body.

You had just emerged from the bathroom in nothing but a skimpy piece of lingerie. It was new; he hadn’t seen it before, and Veracruz froze in the doorway as he took in the sight of you before him. Your skin glistened in the low light of the room, which told Veracruz you had just come out of the shower. And he now knew why you didn’t hear him at first. Every word that was on his tongue evaporated as you leaned against the doorway in the sexy little lace lingerie that barely covered your body. It also didn’t go unnoticed that you didn’t have any panties on either.

“You alright, V? You look...” you didn’t know what word to use. He looked flustered, but there was something else there too. Was it relief? 

Before you found the right word, Veracruz crossed the room in a flash. He grabbed onto your hips as he pulled you flush against his body. He didn’t answer with his words, but captured your lips with his in a heated kiss instead. When you moaned into his mouth and deepened the kiss, he tightened his grip on you and dragged your body back towards your bed.

Just as he was about to spin you around to push you into the mattress, you turned the tables on the comandante. You stopped him as he tried to shift your body and in his momentary confusion, you pushed him down onto his back on your bed. He looked up at you with confusion in his eyes and a snarl on his lips, but you weren’t intimidated. 

“Let me this time… Comandante,” your voice was low and dripped with lust as you straddled his waist and held tightly onto his wrists. You felt the tension in his arms and his hands were balled into tight fists, but you were determined to get him to loosen up.

Veracruz growled your name in a warning but was hushed when you kissed him again. At first, he wanted nothing more than to flip you over and turn the tables back on you. But the more you kissed him and rocked your hips against his, the more he was content to stay pinned underneath you. For now at least. His fists unclenched slightly and you felt the tension in his body dissipate. 

You grinned into the kiss as you slowly grinded your hips against Veracruz’s. When you broke away for a breath, you kept your eyes on his face for every little reaction your movements had on him. You could tell he tried to fight it, but he secretly enjoyed the feeling of your body on his. And his hardening length under your pussy also gave him away.

"Can I trust you to be good?" your voice was soft and earnest as you leaned forward and hovered your lips over his.

When the comandante whispered a soft "yes" in response, you took his lips with yours again in a more needy kiss. 

You trailed a line of kisses down his neck just like he liked to do with you. While your mouth worked his skin, you released your grip on his wrists and moved your hands to unbutton the front of his shirt. You were desperate to feel more of his bare skin against your body, and you could tell from how he strained underneath you that the feeling was mutual. 

Veracruz took full advantage of his free hands and immediately grabbed into your hips again, desperate for a little sense of control without breaking his promise to you. Although, if he was honest with himself, you were the one person he wouldn’t mind giving up some control for. Your actions and how you spoke to him told him that you didn’t see him any differently for showing just a hint of vulnerability. The comandante was always a force to be reckoned with, in his life, his military career and sexually, and it took a lot for him to allow your actions. But he trusted himself in your hands.

It was as if you read his mind, because you broke away and sat upright to look into his dark eyes. The two of you stayed still and silent for several moments, as if you could tell what the other thought. It was an unspoken moment of intimacy that you were all too familiar now with Veracruz. But just as quickly as it started, the moment vanished and suddenly you both felt filled with need and desperation.

Veracruz used the leverage of his hands on your hips to lean you forward and captured your lips in a more heated kiss. While your tongues danced together, you frantically clawed at the buttons of his shirt in desperation. Neither of you broke away from the passionate kiss as you ripped open his shirt and you couldn’t help the short laugh into his mouth as you felt a button or two hit your skin. He didn’t even notice.

You broke away and your breath caught in your throat when the comandante’s chest was completely exposed to you. There was something about him at this angle that made him more enticing to look at. You shrugged his shirt back in an attempt to remove it, but Veracruz did not make it easy for you. If you wanted to be on top, you had to earn it. He kept his body flat against the bed and used his strength to keep you from fully removing his shirt. He let out a low growl as he grit his teeth in amusement at your growing frustration. It was his way of keeping some control over you.

But you gave up and left his shirt open and instead trailed your hands along his chest. Veracruz couldn’t help the involuntary hiss when your fingers grazed over his nipples. You smirked down at him through half lidded eyes. But as you were about to tease him more, a stern look of warning stopped you in your tracks. He allowed your actions this far, and you didn’t want to push your luck so you decided to move your hands down his stomach and shifted yourself down to unfasten his belt.

That rush of need swept through you again and you were much smoother and faster in opening his belt and pants. Once you got a good grip on them, you looked up and gave Veracruz a stern look on your own. He flashed a half smile and lifted his hips for you and allowed you to remove his pants completely. He couldn’t deny how much he enjoyed watching you so desperate and heated for him and the thought crossed his mind that giving up control for you wasn’t so bad.

It didn’t take you long to reposition yourself on the comandante’s hips again after you discarded his pants on the floor. You kept your hands on his chest for leverage while you rocked your pussy along his length. He groaned at your touch as he gripped your hips so tightly that you were sure would leave marks. But you didn’t care; you wore marks from your comandante with pride.

You picked up your pace and rocked against his cock harder and faster, and you felt yourself get wetter and wetter the more you moved against him. Veracruz tried to resist the urge to give in to how good it felt when you worked him, but you were his weakness. He couldn’t deny your touch and growled in pleasure as he bucked his hips up against yours which pulled a loud moan from your lips. That pulled a grin from you; it was your one goal to get him to relax and let his inhibitions go, and you accomplished just that.

But soon, you both wanted more, and you could tell from the fire that burned behind the comandante’s eyes that he needed to be inside you. You had teased him enough, and you both knew it. Without a word needed, you gave him a nod and a smile through your own half lidded eyes as you lifted your hands up off his chest to tug at the lingerie that still adorned your body.

“Wait,” he growled and you froze, “Leave it on,” he commanded. Veracruz usually preferred you naked and bare, but there was something about seeing you in the sexy little piece that really set something off in him and drove him wild. Especially with how enticing you looked on top of him.

With a nod, you bit your lip and lifted your hips to line himself up with your entrance. Veracruz never took his eyes off of you as you slowly inched down into his cock. Your mouth fell open and your eyes fluttered shut as you felt the familiar stretch of him again.

“Eyes on me cariño,” Veracruz’ voice was low, but just loud enough for you to hear.

His voice went right to your core and you only felt yourself get wetter at his instruction. It took a lot of willpower, but you opened your eyes and kept them on his as you lowered yourself onto his cock agonizingly slowly. He let out a deep growl as he watched himself disappear inside you, and the warmth of your cunt around him was more than welcome.

Both of you exhaled deeply when your hips met Veracruz’s and he was fully sheathed inside you. You took his wrists in your grip and covered your breasts with his large hands. Veracruz’s eyes blew wide as he gave you a hard squeeze and rolled your nipples between his fingers through the fabric of the lingerie. As a reward, you lifted your hips a little and crashed yourself back down on his cock.

You couldn’t help the moan that you let out and you quickly picked up your pace. He moved his hands from your breasts down to your hips again to help guide your body. Veracruz growled as he watched his cock disappear inside you over and over again. He finally got the stress release he chased since he entered your apartment. And you were more than happy to be that release for him.

It didn’t take long for you to feel tired and you slumped forward a bit and rested your hands on his chest. You felt his eyes on you as his hands squeezed your hips in a silent question. When you lifted your gaze to meet his, you could practically feel the need within Veracruz to flip you over and just pound into you like he always liked to. But you wanted to make him feel good your way for just a little bit longer.

Instead of lifting your hips again, you clenched your inner muscles around his cock, and you grinned when he let out a loud groan. Clearly he did not expect you to do that. 

“Does that feel good, comandante?” you asked in your most seductive voice.

His answer came with just an affirmative grunt. 

You clenched your muscles again as you dug your nails into his chest, “What about this?" 

Veracruz growled your name as he ran his hands up and down your sides. He stopped to give your breasts another firm grasp before his hands ran down your body again. You whined at his touch and involuntarily gripped his length at the action. That was what drove the comandante over the edge and he couldn’t take it anymore.

In one swift movement, Veracruz wrapped his arms around your waist and flipped you over so what you were on your back. He stayed inside you throughout the entire movement as he found himself on top of you, just like he liked it. And the cry you let out only spurred him on as the action drove his cock even deeper inside you.

Veracruz wasted no time and pounded into you with his usual fast, relentless pace. He hiked one of your legs up as he watched your breasts swing underneath the lingerie as he pounded into you. And the sounds of your cries and moans that filled the room only turned him on even more. 

He wrapped his arm around the leg that he had propped up on his shoulder and rubbed furiously at your clit. He grunted at the way you arched your back for him. Your hands gripped into the sheets as if you would fly off the bed if you let go. Maybe you would have, but there was no way Veracruz would let that, or anything, happen.

“Does that feel good, cariño?” Veracruz mocked your question from earlier as he thrusted into you. When you just moaned in response, he spoke again, “Answer me,” he growled as he pushed himself inside you as deep as he could get and stayed still as he watched for your answer.

“Yes… V… Fuck...”

Satisfied, Veracruz resumed his pace and rubbed your clit even harder, determined to make you cum. It didn’t take long for your climax to wash over you and you came with a loud scream. Your entire body trembled as you tugged at the sheets so hard they almost ripped. But the comandante didn’t stop and just as he fucked you through your first orgasm, a second one immediately washed over you.

You screamed his name as you came twice more, all the while Veracruz did not let up at his pace. It wasn’t until you thoroughly soaked his cock that the comandante finally let his own release take him over. With a snarl, he came deep inside you and groaned your name as he rode out his own climax on your body. 

Spent, Veracruz collapsed down onto you and stayed with his body covering yours for several moments. Maybe it was the fact that he gave up control for a time, or the fact that he thought you were taken when he first entered your apartment, but he just wanted to feel your body underneath his for a little bit. But when you let out a groan, he knew he had to get up and slowly, Veracruz pulled out of you and dropped down next to you.

You didn’t even open your eyes when you nuzzled yourself into his embrace and you smiled warmly when you felt his arm wrap around your body protectively. Veracruz always managed to pull several orgasms from you, which you never thought was possible. Yet you wouldn’t complain; he always made you feel so good and the exhaustion was more than worth it. So it didn’t take you long to fall asleep tucked safely and securely in his arms.

Veracruz, however, stayed awake and just watched as you slept soundly. You were soft and warm against his body, and it was a feeling that the comandante never thought he would ever feel. He knew you bought the lingerie to surprise him and fire him up, and boy it sure worked. You looked so delicious in the little piece, and he found that he was more attracted to you than ever when you rode him while wearing it. Perhaps Veracruz would be willing to relinquish control for you again in the future… but he’ll never admit it out loud or outright ask for it. He just hoped that you would be in the mood to do so again, and sooner rather than later. 

“Rest now cariño,” he mumbled softly against your scalp, “You earned it,” Veracruz placed a soft kiss to the top of your head. He listened to the sound of your breathing for some time and it wasn’t until he was satisfied that you were there and safe in his arms that he let himself fall asleep as well. 

[in-superbloom]

did you ever hear about the girl who got frozen? (a.i.)

right where you left me: prologue

pairing: ashton irwin x olivia jones (oc)

warnings: uhh a kinda grieving theme i guess? but no deaths. it has a sad tone overall, but nothing major (in this chapter hehe). foul language because i can't help myself. the tiniest mention of alcohol, but as a memory. think i should probably warn you that this contains a very sad ash. also not much dialogues. this is mainly for explanation and introduction, but very important for the story. if you find anything else that might be triggering, please let me know so i can add it here !!

author's note: oof okay. so. this is the prologue of a series very very dear to my heart that i've been working on for what it feels like my whole life but really it's been just a few months. but i'm in love with the story (which rarely happens with my own writing) so i hope you can enjoy it too !! this is also my very first time posting a fic since 2013 so pls keep that in mind <3 no i am not shaking as type this ofc not also: although i have the full story ready in my head, this is the only chapter that's written. i wanted to wait until i had at least a few ready before posting this but i'm too anxious for that lmao just saying this bc it will take a good while until i have any more chapters, so <3 (p.s.: i went over this thing a million times since may so if you find any errors pls look away, i'm not fixing this thing anymore. thanks <3)

another note: anna from the future here to say that i completely forgot about the playlist i made for the story lmao here it is in case you're interested k thanks bye <3

credits: title is from taylor swift's song right where you left me. model in the picture: paola locatelli. banner by me.

i also wanted to take a minute to thank some really nice friends that i've made here over these past few months & that i'm extremely grateful for @wastelandcth @suchalonelysunflower @littledrummerangie i cannot thank you babes enough for inspiring me the way that you do & for letting me yell about this to you && for encouraging me so much 🥺 i'll never be able to explain just how much this means to me, so i'll have to settle for saying thank you at any change that i can get <3 i love you all 💜 also gem my baby, thank you for the inspo with the banner 💚

@bluesdelis look babe i did it 😌 you know how grateful i am for you & for you letting me have a breakdown every week about my writing for the past 8 years so let's not dive into that or else i will write something bigger than this prologue jsjsjdjd love you 🖤

i hope you all have a good reading and a nice day ♡

let me know what are your thoughts about the fic ! ♡

word count: 4.1k

☆☆☆

Cold. That was the first thing that Olivia’s brain processed.

Still with her eyes closed, she buried herself more into the duvet, while her arm blindly reached for the furnace in human form that she calls boyfriend. However, as soon as her arm was only met with cold sheets, her eyes shot open.

Blinking the sleep away, she sat up on the bed, searching for the infamous red clock resting on Ashton’s bedside table that was supposed to look like a vintage alarm clock. Olivia had ordered it online at an auction website a couple of years back, as a gift for his 23rd birthday, since it was something he had mentioned multiple times prior that he was looking for, but still hadn't found. But when it finally came in (two weeks after the due date), it looked nothing like the picture she saw on the website. Feeling beyond frustrated, she wanted to send it back immediately and ask for a refund and maybe leave a not so polite review on the seller's page. But Ashton stopped her right away, laughing like the situation was absolutely hilarious to him, while saying, 'I like it, it’s quirky'. So, the clock stayed and found a home right next to him in their room.

Some days, however, she would wake up at some ungodly hour because of the blaring noise of the only ringtone the clock had. But whatever annoyance she could feel towards the object, it always vanished as soon as she felt Ashton's lips gently touching her face in a good morning kiss before he would get up to start his day, leaving her to catch some more hours of well deserved sleep.

As the furthest from a morning person as a touring musician could possibly be, Olivia had always feared that living under the same roof as Ashton would turn her into an early bird like him, but she's thankful that it never happened (not that he needs to know about that).

When she sees the red clock, she smiles at the sudden but welcome memories of them flooding her foggy brain, but frowns slightly when she realizes it reads 12:13 pm. Ashton rarely lets her sleep past 10 am.

Gathering all her strength and will, she rises up from the bed, smoothly picking up a grey wool sweatshirt from the chair (way too baggy on her slim body, but it smells like him), pulling it over her head and relishing on the soft material warming up her body. Making her way to the door and calmly going down the stairs, she can’t help but stop for a minute to admire the picture frames on their walls, one in particular catches her attention – probably one of the most prized pictures and memories they had. It felt older than it actually is, but it was around 4 years ago, she's sure – a little while after the two of them met. The picture was of their group of friends that still remains the same: Ashton and his best friend, Luke; Olivia, her best friend, Calum and their old hometown friend, turned into Calum’s new friend at college, turned into everyone’s friend, Michael; and her then newly band members, Suki, Eli and Ravi. Together, their group was the life of the party through all their college years, and it showed by the big smiles and drinks in hands they all had in the picture. It was a very special night, the first time Olivia’s little band played for the public – for a small audience sure, but it was a wonderful night nonetheless. What a long road it had been since that night.

Her nostalgic thoughts were interrupted by a shiver that went through her whole body, and it made her realize how oddly cold the whole house was, not only their bedroom. Which, granted, it was November in New York and the weather was just getting colder, but that’s exactly why Ashton always made sure to keep the house warm enough. As much as she loved the chilly season, the warm weather always reminded him of his hometown, and who was she to deny him that?

The smell of fresh made coffee could be sensed even before she reached the kitchen. Arriving there, the curly haired woman still found no signs of her boyfriend, so she went straight after the coffee maker pot sitting on the far left corner of the cream marble counter. Smiling softly at the tons of memories of Ashton's sleepy figure making their favorite beverage, she reached for a coffee mug on the cupboard on top of the counter and poured the remainder of the hot liquid on it (it's her favorite mug, if she must choose – it was a gift from a fan, and it had printed on it a collage of the pictures of her and Ashton that were posted on social media through their first year of relationship).

Moving to the glass doors that lead to the mini garden they cultivate, she didn't have to open them to spot the 6-feet-tall man sitting on a bench outside, looking oddly small in his oversized clothes, coffee mug tightly held between strong hands. Something about his figure made Olivia frown, however: he was staring with an unwavering look at her small but eye-catching pot of yellow daffodils that were almost as much of a pet to them as Stitch at this point. Sensing that there’s something definitely off about his semblance, she made a mental note to talk to him and find out what’s wrong later. So she goes back to the kitchen, knowing that he might need this quiet and private moment for himself.

She lost count of the minutes that went by (couldn't have been more than five) before she hears the garden's door opening and closing, and then his bare feet are dragging his brawny body to her. Except, he goes over to the sink, walking right through her, not showing any sign that he even saw her hunched figure over the counter table in the middle of the room.

Alright, someone's in a mood.

Olivia tries to swallow the annoyance already bubbling inside her – he knows how much she hates to be ignored, no matter how mad he might be – by trying to think of what she can say that won't piss him off. This is always a hard feat to accomplish when Ashton gets in these moods, but there’s a reason for them to work so well together.

“I missed my favorite body heater when I woke up,” she says in her best sweet voice, knowing how quickly his resolve crumbles when he hears that voice.

Still, no reaction.

That settles a worry at the pit of her stomach, because Ashton is never like this. Even when he's not in the mood to talk, he always gives some kind of reaction to her words; it doesn't matter how small, just enough to make her feel acknowledged.

When he's finished washing his mug and the few scattered dishes across the sink – she noticed that he already had lunch, if the lone plate in the drying rack is anything to go by –, he dries his hand in a towel, turns around and throws it on top of the same counter Olivia was leaning up against. Once again, he walks away not even sparing her a look.

Indignant, she leaves the now empty coffee mug on top of the table and follows him as he walks up the stairs, any determination to not aggravate his mood now well gone.

“Hey! In case you didn't notice, I'm right here. Whatever got you in this sour mood, I'm certainly not to blame, so can you stop being a child now and talk to me?!”

Ashton just keeps walking – more like sluggishly dragging his body – until he reaches their bedroom and suddenly stops just merely two feet inside the room, looking around with vacant eyes; like he was expecting to see something that wasn't there.

“Okay, that's really mature of you. Are you planning on ignoring me all day then?” Olivia questions exasperated, staring angrily at the back of his neck, where the condor tattoo lives – her favorite of his, but that sight doesn't bring her any peace today like it usually does.

Her glare only breaks when she hears the familiar sound of dog tags swaying on her right side. Shifting her gaze to the direction of the sound, Olivia notices Stitch, their small, black & white French bulldog – who she thought was outside in the garden – slowly trudging his way from around the bed until he stops at Ashton's feet, looking up at one of his humans with sad eyes. That realization only makes the worry in her stomach grow uncomfortably.

“Hi buddy,” Ashton's voice cracks a bit from the lack of use, but he smiles softly at the sweet dog, and crouches down to pet him.

Olivia can't help but gasp as she notices three things all at once that leave her overwhelmed: first, how she didn't even notice Stitch was in the room when she woke up – which never ever happens, in fact, most days he wakes her up whenever he deems her bedtime as finished and can't ever contain his excitement when she finally gets up; second, how the windows blinds are closed, which, again, rarely occurs under their roof, not if Ashton can help it. And third, how sad and melancholic the whole scene in front of her is – how sad and melancholic Ashton is. Pointless to say by now – that's also a very rare occasion.

A chill creeps up Olivia's spine, putting her body into high alert and also serving as a reminder of how everything looks out of place today. Trying to keep her head from spiraling down way too soon, she wraps her arms around herself and crouches down beside her two favorite boys, trying once more.

“Ash? Can you hear me?” even with her throat closing, she softly asks, purposefully putting her face in Ashton's point of view. Her only answer is the low whispers he's letting out to Stitch, while cradling the tiny dog in his arms, spreading gentle kisses on his head.

“I know, bud, I know. I miss her too,” is the only whisper she could understand and immediately wishes she hadn't. The weak wail that comes from Stitch's throat seems to fit perfectly with how the three of them feel.

Ashton then looks up and for a couple of seconds, and Olivia can swear he’s staring right into her eyes. But when he shows no reaction, she knows he’s just staring ahead and not at her, with that look that says there’s too much going on inside his head. She feels the urge to embrace him and get him to talk about whatever is on his mind, so they can share that weight like they always do, but when Ashton gets up from the ground and settles on the bed with Stitch, Olivia can physically feel the crack in her heart caused by the feeling she’s left with.

While Ashton is pulling the duvet over him and the dog, with clearly no intentions of getting up anytime soon, Olivia stands up on her feet with a new-found determination – she needs to figure out what the hell is going on.

This nightmare had to be just that, right? Nothing but a very vivid dream – she's had those before. Scary sure, but they always go away, and soon enough she's back into Ashton's arms, with Stitch jumping on the bed ready to lick their faces off. She just needs to wake herself up from whatever fucked up dream this is – right?

She's running down the stairs this time, frantically in search of something, of what exactly, she doesn’t know – but she knows she needs an answer. The more she looks for something, the more desperate she gets, not knowing what to look for. Then suddenly, something catches her eyes.

The white and blue calendar that's held up by magnets on the side of the fridge. She knows their calendar is red and yellow. They got it from their favorite flower market. Slowly, as if scared of what it might be there – “It's just a calendar, for fucks sake” – she approaches the damn thing. Upon inspection, she deems it as a normal calendar – she really doesn't know what she was expecting – until.

She knows what's wrong with it now.

It's November. She knows it, because the Asian and last leg of her first world tour is about to begin November 21st, eleven days from today. Right after Mike's birthday, she knows this.

Then why does the calendar say today is January 14th?

☆ ☆ ☆

Ashton woke up with a jolt. He quickly sat up, frightening the little Frenchie that was asleep right next to him on the bed. Trying to make sense of his surroundings, he roughly rubbed his face to get some sleep off of it and soon reached for the dog that was staring at him with sleepy but sad eyes. Ashton is sure Stitch understands far more than a dog is supposed to understand about their current situation.

The room is covered in shadows, almost pitch black, but he can see the sunlight even through the thick dark grey blinds covering up the windows. Ashton knows he won't be able to sleep again at that moment, so he gets up from the bed – much slower than he used to. His heartbeat is still out of control because of the nightmare that woke him up, but he can't bother to pay attention to it when Stitch is softly wailing beside him. Ashton lets out a ghost of a smile when the dog rests his head on his right upper thigh, looking up at him with an expression Ashton knows all too well.

“C'mon you little ravenous creature, let's feed you,” the bulldog excitedly jumps to the ground, already running his way down the stairs, not even waiting for Ashton to get up.

That gets a real smile out of him, but it vanishes as soon as he glances at the alarm clock on his bedside table. It reads 5:13 am, nothing out of the ordinary for him. But that small and inoffensive clock, with its red paint peeling off, holds a lot of memories for him. Memories that two months ago would bring joy to his heart, but now he almost wants to throw the object across the room.

It was a stupid thing, really. He had been wanting a vintage alarm clock and Olivia got one for his birthday. But the product they received was definitely not the one she bought, and if he's being honest, he didn't like it as much as he made out to. But seeing her so excited in the weeks before it arrived, and how disappointed she was when it did, he couldn't help but try his best to make her smile that luminous smile again. It's part of his nature by now.

That's also the reason why he lets her think that he doesn't notice when she wakes up at some ungodly hour (her words, not his) along with him, because of the annoying and only sound the alarm clock is able to produce. He always leaves soft kisses in every inch of bare skin he can find on her sleeping figure, so she goes back to the dream land and doesn't wake up before 10 am. No one wants to deal with that kind of bad humor, not even him.

As much as he likes being a morning person and absolutely enjoys her company in the mornings, he knows she'll take any and every extra hour of sleep she can get before starting the day. And that's why he loves that she's so stubborn that his early bird tendencies never got to her – he knows she feared that this would happen when they moved in together, but he met her like this, fell for her like this. He wouldn't change a single thing about her.

Ashton drags himself out of the bed, wincing slightly at how cold the wooden floors are under his bare feet. He doesn't bother putting some socks on, or a sweater – the cold weather in the house is uncharacteristically comforting to him. Nothing feels warm without her anyway.

While descending the stairs, he mentally curses himself for not being strong enough to look past the picture frames on the wall. One in particular catches his eyes – a picture from the night of Olivia's first concert with her band. The memories of that night are still painfully vivid in his mind: the laughter among their group that eventually infected everyone at the pub, Suki and Luke's first kiss and the silly smile that didn't leave his best friend's face all night, the standing ovation Olivia got after her three-songs set, and her captivating and breathtaking smile that made him realize right then and there, while watching her sway to the music, that he was definitely falling in love with her and there was nothing he could do to stop it – not that he wanted to.

So many memories held up on that wall, in the relatively short time since they met, that he can't help but wonder if that's all they'll get in this lifetime.

Ashton is abruptly taken out of his thoughts by Stitch's barks coming from the bottom of the stairs. He quickly jogs down the few steps left and goes straight after the dog's food in the kitchen's cabinet. After Stitch starts to happily devour his breakfast, Ashton goes to make his coffee, doing enough for two people like he always does, since Calum drops by most days for a chat or to drop Duke before going to work. Although all three of them know he just can't bother to make food for himself in the morning, while Ashton is the group's elected chef. Ashton always says he just needs a boyfriend – Olivia says Calum already has one who makes him breakfast every day.

He grabs an apple from the fridge and makes his way outside to their garden. Even though a lot of their memories took place there, the garden is the only space in the house where he doesn't feel like suffocating all the time. At least here, he can breathe some fresh air and look at the sky when he's feeling overwhelmed – which is basically all he's been doing for about a month now.

Yet, a lot of the garden has Olivia's name written all over.

He remembers vividly the day she came home after spending two weeks in LA doing some pocket shows, with a pack of daffodil seeds and the largest smile. She excitedly told him that a friend gifted it to her when she mentioned the little garden they were planning to build together at their new house. The friend told Olivia that daffodils symbolize rebirth and new beginnings, so as the good lover of symbolism that she is, Olivia loved the idea of having those flowers to symbolize their new beginning.

Ashton, on the other hand, wasn't a fan of the flowers at first – he just didn't see the appeal to them. But nonetheless, he indulged her, letting Olivia plant the seeds near the bench they used to sit during the quiet and unrushed afternoons, so they could admire the sunset, and she could happily look at the daffodils.

Pointless to say – the damn flowers grew on him.

Now, however, looking at them without Olivia and her contagious joy next to him, they were back to be as dull as they were before, if not more so.

Still lost inside his head without any sense of how much time went by since he sat down, Ashton doesn't hear the front door closing, and doesn't notice that he's no longer the only person inside the house until someone sits next to him on the bench. Yet, he doesn't show any sign of acknowledgement to them.

A few minutes go by before either of them speaks up.

“Luke said you didn't go to see her yesterday,” Calum starts softly, not wanting to disturb the calmness of the morning.

Ashton takes a few seconds to respond, “No point in doing that.” The black haired man licks his lips while thinking carefully about his next words.

“You know staying inside this house all day by yourself won't help either,” Calum turns his head to his left and takes a good look at Ashton's uncharacteristically hunched over figure, and immediately thinks that anyone can tell this man is not himself anymore. His second thought is that Olivia would hate seeing him like this.

“And what exactly do you expect me to do? Move on with my life like nothing happened? Like I'm not slowly and painfully losing the love of my life? Just because it’s easy for you doesn't mean it's easy for me.”

Calum closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He knows Ashton doesn't mean it, it's the anger and frustration talking. He knows it. Doesn't make it sting any less.

“I'm not telling you to move on with your life, because that's far from what I'm doing, and I certainly don't expect you to do it. I'm just saying you need to occupy your mind or else–”

“I'll go insane? Think it's a bit too late for that,” Ashton interrupts with a bitter tone that doesn't belong to his usual chirpy voice.

“You know it's not,” Calum sighs and drinks the rest of his coffee, moving his body slightly, so he's facing the blonde man, “I got a job interview for you at that school you talked about so much last summer, the principal said you can go any day this week. I went ahead and sent her your resume as well as explained everything that she needs to know about Olivia, so you don't have to. You just gotta put on some decent clothes and show up.” he sees Ashton's face softening a little and takes it as a victory. A few beats go by and then, “Maybe take a shower too. That's gonna make you feel better.” Calum leans in closer to his friend's personal space and takes a sniff, causing Ashton to deflect from him slightly, but not to push him away – another small win.

“Definitely take a shower, you stink. When was the last time your hair saw shampoo?”

“Fuck off,” is Ashton's only reply to the younger man's inquest. But Calum can see a smile creeping up on the blonde's face, which brings out a smile of his own.

“I'll send you all the details later today,” he checks the hour on the watch on his wrist and gets up, “Just please, Ash, go. I can't lose you too.”

Calum gently lays a hand on Ashton's shoulder and squeezes a little. The man doesn't look up, but gives a curt nod to his friend, who's satisfied enough. Calum stops on the threshold of the garden glass doors to give some kisses to Stitch – who came to make Ashton company as soon as he finished his food –, and then he puts the coffee mug on the dishwater. And soon enough, he's on his way out of the door. But not before snatching a tangerine from the fridge.

Ashton is left by himself once again. As he hears the sound of the front door closing, he thinks that this might be his life from now on. Just him and Stitch, trying their hardest to make it through another miserable day without the love of their lives. While everyone else comes by just to make sure he's still breathing. Breathing, maybe, but alive?

Swallowing the tears, he looks up at the sky. It's a deep, beautiful mix of orange, pink and blue, but he knows that it won't last long and soon the rain will be pouring down. He thinks about how much Olivia loves the rain.

God, he needs to pull himself together. She would hate to see him like this. Maybe he should take Calum's offer after all, he really needs to occupy his mind.

Making a mental note to thank Calum later, and also to apologize for how rude he was to him this morning, Ashton slowly gets up from the bench to put his mug on the sink and makes his way to the living room, with the small dog loyally following his every step. He puts on some cartoon that for once doesn't remind him of her (she always lovingly made fun of him for still watching those) and cuddles with Stitch on the couch. He can take a shower later.

Not half an hour goes by, he falls asleep and has a good dream for a change. He dreams of the days he spent with Olivia in the Philippines last February, right before her first world tour started. Some of the most magical days of their lives – surrounded by delicious food, a whole new culture to learn about and the warmth of the sun. Infinite counted days full of love and passion, where they were the only people in the world.

Even his subconscious knows to hold on to that brief moment of happiness, because he might never live that again.

[nyx-aira]

Destiny Awaits

Chapter 6: Feel My Wrath

Summary: Enraged of what happened to her lover Agatha seeks revenge

A/N: Would you believe me if this whole thing had been a cute little adventure through the centuries based on fluff.

But seriously, please read this chapter with caution, it's the most brutal one so far.

TW: violence, death, description of violence, blood, description of death

PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION

PSA: Do NOT copy, steal, translate, plagiarize, republish, etc any of my works on Tumblr or any other platform. Also, do NOT claim any of my works as your own. All of these works are either requests I’ve gotten that people have wanted me to write or original ideas I’ve had for works. If you happen to take inspiration from anything I’ve written and want to write something inspired by that, please a) ask me first and b) IF I say yes, credit me as inspo in your post by tagging me and link whatever work of mine that inspired you. Thanks.

PSA c/@ynscrazylife

November 27th, 1703

Their screams still echoed in her mind as she walked through the bloodied street, littered with bodys horribly deformed and ripped apart.

Her footsteps the only sound as she walked through the village, magic surrounding her and letting everything die she touched, leaving behind a trail of dead bodies and wilted flowers.

When she stepped out of the village it lit up in flames, the fire swallowing everything that had been untouched of her wrath and burning it to the ground.

She could hear shouting nearby but she continued to make her way through the woods, death and destruction following her path.

A twig snapped and she didn't even need to turn around as she caught the arrow that was destined for her heart.

Looking at the poor archer tremble in her grip she thought about letting him go for a second but when Agatha looked at him again she saw your dead face.

You didn't get a second chance.

You didn't even have a chance.

She snapped his neck with a flick of her hand and didn't even hear his body drop to the ground as she flew away, already planning her revenge for her next target.

December 3rd, 1721

It was another cold night, snow was falling and the moon was shining up in the sky, not a single cloud in the sky.

It was peaceful.

It was peaceful until the snow stopped. Mid-air.

It was peaceful until the first person noticed and within seconds half the town was on the streets.

It was peaceful until a little boy tentatively stepped outside, clutching his little teddy bear, curiously touching on of the snowflakes.

That was when hell broke loose.

The snow turned into ice and the ice turned into a blizzard, shredding through the town until no one was left.

After the screams had died down it was eerily silent, a little teddy bear sitting abandoned on the street, the once brown fur drenched in red.

Footsteps echoing in the streets as the snow glowed purple, burying the remaining townsfolk in an icy grave.

A blackened hand picked up the bear, the figure looking at it curiously before it vanished in the blizzard, the bear the only thing that survived that night.

April 29th, 1768

By now everyone knew to run if you heard those telltale steps but this didn't stop the witch that was hellbent on getting her revenge.

She didn't hide away anymore, walking up to the governors house with cold determination, killing everyone that tried to stop her.

By now everyone knew you couldn't stop her but they tried nonetheless.

She didn't hide in her disasters anymore but basked in their fear and recognition.

By now everyone knew Agatha Harkness but they didn't know what happened to make her like this.

The next day the governor and his family were hung from their balcony, a single purple flower at their feet.

Soon everyone would know to run away when they saw the flower but for the governor it was already too late.

August 13th, 1808

For over a century people had tried to hunt her down, Agatha Harkness, the witch who terrorised villages and killed people seemingly out of nothing but cruelness.

But if you looked closer you could see she was a broken woman. Those who dared to bring it up were always found dead only a couple hours later.

Not many lived to tell the stories but those who did were either deemed crazy or burned at the stake as well.

Many believe she was a myth, nothing more than a rumour that was spread to keep the people placid.

If it was a rumour or not, people were scared and rightfully so.

Parents told children to stay away from the woods and to avoid anything purple as they believed the colour to be a personification of the witch herself.

Not a month went by where you didn't hear about a house that burned, a well that was poisoned, a man was found dead or a storm swept over the lands near Salem.

It seemed like the town and the land around it was cursed, destined to be the target for the only witch that survived the trials.

June 20th, 1834

You would think it was a myth, a woman so powerful she could destroy towns with a flick of her hand, wreck havoc with nothing more but a few whispered words.

But it wasn't a myth, it was real.

Only by now people didn't believe in it anymore.

They made the many dead people and natural disasters look like they were only that.

Maybe it was because its been over a century since the witch trials, maybe it was because people had other priorities than figuring out strange occurrence from the past or maybe it was because it had been over twenty years since the last occurrence.

But what people didn't knew was that there were still people dying, still people fighting for their life.

Only it weren't humans anymore but magic users who tried to stop her, who tried to stop her murder spree but they didn't have a chance.

There was no one on the planet that could rival her in power and even if there was they would still loose because it was impossible to win against the witch that spent centuries studying the dark arts, gaining powers that were feared even in the magic world.

You couldn't win against Agatha Harkness because you couldn't win against someone who had lost their heart a long time ago.

Maybe cruelness was nothing more than the absence of love in someones life but maybe it wasn't just the absence but rather the yearning for it.

-----

Taglist: @escapetodreamworld @midnight-lestrange @ynscrazylife @sokovianheadtilt @procrastinatingsapphictrash @ineffablebean @cliint @wlwlovesreading @satxnsupreme @ycfwmalise14 @eilarch @sapphic-stress @booklovinbi @mysticfalls01 @adorkwithaplan @nathaslosttheirshit @agathaharkness-simp @paulawand @sarahp-stan @amethyst-bitch @emril-osvigne @celasteria @danvers97 @scruffyumbreon @mochiadria

[hazelhalfpint]

Closing the Distance

Surprise another Inu/Kag one shot because I have zero will-power lmao. I just can't stop myself they are so fun!

Based on a prompt you can find here

You can also read this one-shot on AO3 here

For @fawn-eyed-girl, the main inspo behind my return to writing.

Closing the Distance -

The city is quiet, the click of her small law firm office door almost seems out of place as she closed for the day. The normally busy streets of Akasaka had lulled to a quiet hum around her. Kagome sighed, glancing down at her phone. The time glared up at her, nearly 12:00AM. She made a noise in discontent, “Poor Buyo probably thinks I abandoned him this time.”

Her heeled suede boots clicked on the pavement hurriedly toward Akasaka station hoping to catch the last train to Meguro. She sighed in relief, stepping onto the train right before departure. Kagome let her body sway with the motions of the train, opting to close her eyes as she stood, fingers gripping one of the over-head handles. She felt grateful her ride was a short one, only taking her 15 minutes total trip time.

When the train pinged its arrival to Meguro, Kagome smiled stepping onto the concrete platform. She waved to the train staff, a younger man who usually worked the evening train route in Meguro.

“See you tomorrow, Hojo-kun.”

He smiled in return, waving cheerfully, “Have a good night, Higurashi-san!”

Kagome tightened her scarf, once again glancing at her phone as she walked the distance from Meguro station to her apartment building. She scrolled through her notifications, pursing her lips as she read them aloud. “Email, email, another email,” she rolled her eyes but kept scrolling,” text from Sango, (2) missed calls from Kaa-chan, two new Instagram likes.” She let out a loud whine; not a single message from the one person she had been hoping to hear from.

Kagome opened a message thread, the name ‘Inu’ glowing at the top with a red heart emoji. She typed a message as she continued her path, just like she had done the last three nights. She knew he was outside the reach of cell service, somewhere in the mountains of Washington, USA, attending a business conference with his father.

<New Message to: Inu ♥

I miss your voice. ☹ I hope your trip is going well; call me when you can! ♥>

She clicked send, tucking her phone into her jacket pocket. She wasn’t trying to be clingy, truly, but her and Inuyasha had spoken nearly every day for almost a year and a half. Kagome smiled fondly at how their relationship had started, “Hah!” She snorted out a laugh, ‘if you could even call it a ‘relationship’ at first.’

They’d met in an online anime forum, both looking for recommendations to fill their generally boring day to day routines. She’d recommended Bleach, one of her all-time favorites, and Inuyasha had roasted her alive in the comments about the length of the series. She’d retaliated hard though, noting that in his bio he had One-Piece listed as top favorite, and that if he were going to be a hypocrite to at least try to hide it. They bickered incessantly in the forum comments, and eventually moved to private chat, the conversation taking on a more playful tone as time went on.

After that they had pinballed anime suggestions back and forth, building a repertoire of anime they both could enjoy, either together via Zoom or separately. It wasn’t long until their conversations turned more heated, and affectionate. She’d learned what he liked and didn’t like (curry being at the top of that list alongside Bleach) and that unfortunately for their budding relationship they lived on opposite sides of the world. He worked for his fathers growing tech corporation as head of marketing, and Kagome worked full time at a law-firm as a child advocate lawyer.

She had also learned that like her, Inuyasha had grown up in Japan, in a prefecture close to where she had grown up. He’d only moved to New York with his father after high school to get a head start working for the family company, and now he was in Washington laying groundwork for the company’s’ north-western sect. She blushed remembering a previous conversation they’d had six months into talking, and four months into dating.

“Do you think you’ll ever come back to Japan?”

It wasn’t meant to be a loaded question, they hadn’t known each other for long, but Kagome couldn’t stop herself from chewing on her lip nervously. She drew in her knees, letting them tuck underneath her on the couch.

She could hear him chuckle into the phone, “Do you want me to come back to Japan?” Kagome felt her cheeks tinging pink.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” She defended, “I mean of course I wouldn’t mind seeing you but…” She continued to babble on when he interrupted her.

“I would come back for you.” The words were quick and effective, going straight to the butterflies in her stomach, her heart rate increasing.

“You would?”

“In a heartbeat.” He offered the words to her like they were second nature.

“Inuyasha?” She smiled into the phone, waiting for his response.

“Hm?” he hummed a response, followed by a yawn.

“I really, really like you.” She could picture him smiling now, “I really like you too.”

They both had busy lives, but the part she loved most was that even in the mundanity of their daily lives they still managed to find time for each other. Except for the last three days.

“Keep it together, Kagome. It’s only been three days. He has no cell service,” she reminded herself fishing in her pocket for keys as she approached her unit.

Kagome pulled out the apartment keys, flipping through them easily to the correct one. The door opened with a click, and she shuffled into the genkan. She dropped her small purse onto the entryway table calling out into the dark as she always did, an inside joke to herself.

“Honey, I’m home!” She flipped on the entrance light and slid out of her jacket, chuckling, “Oh yeah that’s right...I live alone.” Well, not exactly, she did have Buyo after all. The fat cat normally came running as soon as she called out her inside joke, making it even more hilarious to Kagome. Buyo her fat sort-of roommate cat.

Her body stilled when this time instead of the mewling of her cat, a male voice called back out to her from the kitchen, “Oh good, you made it home,” the voice purred.

” I picked up some pizza,” the entry way to the kitchen was dimly lit, but Kagome didn’t need the lights on to know who was standing in her doorway holding a pizza box. A tall figure with silver hair swept into a bun, golden eyes gleaming with amusement and an undeniably familiar voice. One that she’d been hearing the last year and a half.

Kagome kicked off her boots in the genkan, launching herself across the apartment. Her arms locked around the figure’s waist, “Inuyasha!” She cried out his name, tears mercilessly streaming down her face as she hugged him tighter.

Inuyasha dropped the box of pizza onto the closest counter, tucking the crying woman into his arms more securely. He dropped his lips to her hair, placing a tender kiss to the top of her head. He was committing her scent to memory, lavender and soft vanilla. He inhaled deeply, letting out a content sigh.

“What are you doing here? How did you find my apartment? What about Washington?” Kagome managed to croak out the questions through tears. His fingers moved to tilt her face up to him, wiping the tears from her cheeks. He smiled a lopsided fanged grin, “I told you I’d come back to Japan for you.”

He said it with ease, like it was the most logical thing in the world. Kagome couldn’t stop herself as she pressed onto the tips of her toes to reach him. Her lips found his, and she pulled him closer, afraid he may vanish if she let go. He didn’t resist but instead melted into her touch, cradling the small of her back with his hands. After a few moments, Kagome released him with a pant, her chest heaving as he braced them against the closest kitchen wall.

Inuyasha dropped kisses onto her exposed shoulder, and Kagome stopped him with small hands fisted into his shirt. She had to tell him.

“I love you.” She blurted out the three words, cheeks flushed from their heated encounter and her confession. They had danced around the subject, but she’d known for a while. Kagome loved Inuyasha. She chewed on her lip, pulling it between her teeth but was stopped when he lowered to pull at her lip himself, sucking it against his mouth, and kissing her again sweetly.

“I love you too,” he said softly, cupping her face with his hand, “even if you like bleach.” Kagome let out a loud laugh at that, shoving his shoulder but then pulling him back for another kiss, just one of many more that would come now that she was truly home.

[abbysfrenchbraid]

Kissed by a Wolf - Chapter 10

Masterlist

The Yuletide begins and the reader is in awe at the traditions and celebrations. They finally speak to Eda again. A terrible incident occurs.

Thank you all for your support, I wish you all the best for 2021!

CW for alcohol and food consumption, blood, death/loss, open wounds, animal sacrifice.

Inspo pic by @classicnovaproductions​

You woke up sore and cold the next morning, each muscle screaming at you as soon as you moved under the covers to feel around for Eivor. She was not next to you anymore. You sat up.

The room was empty, but there was a small note at the foot of the bed next to the curled up white cat. Birna rolled herself to the side when you reached out, expecting belly rubs, and you humbly obliged before finally grabbing the small piece of parchment. Next to it lay the small branch with dark red buds you had brought back from your walk yesterday.

My beautiful heather, my delicate dove, my strong, skilled warrior.

I received urgent message from a nearby village early this morning - they have been overrun by bandits and need our help. I took my men and hope to be back in time for the feast.

May the sun shine brightly on your face today and illuminate your spirit as the solstice blesses us all. Find Valka and join her in preparing the celebrations, she will take care of you. I leave my heart in your hands, keep it safe for me until I return.

Yours forever,

Eivor

You pressed the note and the branch to your chest. This was a love letter. A love letter from your rescuer, your suitor, your drengr , the woman who had devoted herself to you. No one had ever carried you the way Eivor did, literally and figuratively. You were sure now; she was the one for you. Tonight you would tell her. Tonight you would let her have you.

Energized and enthusiastic, you jumped out of bed and got dressed. You chose the beautiful dresses Eivor had bought you for your welcoming ceremony, the fabric a soft caress for your skin after days in prickly tunics and dirty pants on the training grounds. You combed out your hair, an easy task after Eivor had helped you detangle it in the bath.

Your thoughts wandered back to that evening in Valka’s warm tub, Eivor kneeling behind you and her soft fingers on your scalp. Her shaky breath on your forehead as you let your head fall backward, her quiet apologies for pulling on your hair, the water she poured over your head before stroking it with her big, warm hand.

Birna called you back to the present, giving you a judging look as you quickly put the comb down. You really were a lost case if a cat could make you all flustered and embarrassed about your feelings. Head over heels.

When you stepped outside, the sun really was shining down on you. The air was crisp and clear, the snow was glittering like tiny diamonds and everyone was already up and working. There was a gigantic pile of wood in front of the longhouse, people were hanging up decorations and candles everywhere, every house smelled like a different delicacy and you could hear singing in the longhouse.

You turned your back to the bustling village and made your way up to Valka’s cottage. She was crushing herbs in her mortar when you entered and let out a delighted sigh at your appearance.

“Y/N! You’re already dressed up, how wonderful! Will you help me today?”

“Good morning Valka. I am all yours.”

She shooed you around for the next few hours, binding together branches of pine and heather, making little bundles of incense and flowers, preparing things for the offering, and trying to teach you the songs that would be sung tonight.

“The winter solstice is my favorite day of the year,” she said, excitement in her eyes. “Everything that was dark will lighten up, everything that seemed dreadful and sad will show its good side, the days will get longer, the sun will shine brighter, we will feast and sing and laugh and forgive.”

“Forgive?”

“Yes, it is common in our clan to make your peace with the people you have quarreled with over the year, to give each other a new chance and let the returning sun melt away any resentment or hate.” She paused for a moment, then she gave you a side glance. “I think this could be an opportunity for you to speak to Randvi. Or to your friend, the lord’s daughter.”

You finished tying a knot around a bundle of herbs and wiped your hands on a rag.

“Do you think I need to? Randvi and I haven’t spoken in days, but there is no resentment left between us. And Eda seems to want to be without company.”

“No one truly wants to be alone. Besides, I do not think she was alone those last few days.”

You turned to her in surprise.

“What do you know?”

“Not much.” She smiled. “Randvi seemed less grey lately, less lonely and stone-faced. She is the one who gave Eda her freedom. I feel like they might have spent some time together.”

You had not thought of that, but she was right. Of course she was. Randvi had vanished for hours on end, leaving people asking for her all over the village since Eda was free, and she really did seem more cheerful. After all, they had a lot in common. Both instruments to their fathers’ politics, disregarded and to be married off for alliances. Both suddenly distanced from those they loved.

“I think you would do well to speak to Randvi and clear the air if you want to openly be with Eivor from now on.” The seeress gave you a knowing look and nodded. “Tonight is a perfect time to commit to this relationship.”

She took your hands into hers.

“I truly believe that you and Eivor are the perfect match. It would make me very happy to see you together.” She ran a hand through your hair. “Now, let me tame this mane for you, will you?”

You sat down obediently and Valka began to braid your hair, beginning with two small braids starting at your temple and running down and back along your hairline. A second braid on either side above the first one ran back the side of your head so only the top part of your hair was still free. Valka took some rosehip oil and massaged it into your scalp, then she took a wooden hairclip with a beautiful wolf carving and fastened it at the top of your head so your hair fell freely down your back without getting in your face.

Then she took some of the red powder she had used on you once already and dabbed it on your cheeks and lips.

“You look beautiful. Eivor will not be able to control herself.” Valka chuckled. You had to laugh, too. She had been so wise and mysterious, strange and stern when you had met her. Now you were joking and telling each other your secrets like actual close friends. It was so refreshing to not think about your every word and its consequences.

“Do you think so? Did you know she kissed me once already?” You looked down at your hands.

“I guessed it, but I knew you were still hurting after seeing her and Randvi together. You were right to make her wait. This way she knows you are serious about this and she can’t make any more mistakes.” She sighed and stared into the flames in the fireplace. “But I can assure you that Eivor would never hurt you or anyone purposely. She has a pure heart and by the way she looks at you, I can tell she will love and protect you until she takes her last breath.”

You folded your hands in your lap, your eyes still fixed on your fingers. How could anyone love someone this much? How did you deserve this, to be adored and cherished so purely and strongly?

“I will tell her tonight." Your voice was strong and unwavering now. "I am giving myself to her completely, no more hesitation and distance and uncertainty. I want to be hers.”

It felt like your heart was tearing itself apart in longing for Eivor. Now that she was gone, you could not wait to see her again, to feel her touch and hear her voice. Why had you waited so long? If only she was here right now, the things you would say and do…

“This night, the solstice, it has a special meaning. Special powers,” Valka interrupted your thoughts, “that can steer the course of the future.”

You shot her a questioning look. What was she hinting at? She gave you a smug smile.

“All I am saying is that a bond sealed during the solstice is charged with strength, luck, and resilience. Not only will the forging of the bond be… ecstatic, but it will have a lasting impact.”

Oh. She was talking about more than just telling Eivor you were hers. Your cheeks were burning now. Valka patted your hand and started looking for something on her large, cluttered table. Then she found a small tin and opened it to reveal the red paste that had stained your skin the night of your welcoming ceremony.

“Free your back for me, will you?”

You slipped out of your dress and crossed your arms to cover yourself. Valka dipped her digit into the mixture and gently began drawing on your warm skin. She seemed to write sigils, beginning at the back of your neck and then wandering down your spine, leaving a straight line of runes all the way from your head to your hips. Then she stepped in front of you and you lowered your arms so she could draw another rune between your breasts. She let the paint dry on your skin while she made some tea and handed you a jug, then she took a wet cloth and rubbed off the remainders, leaving behind perfect shapes on your skin.

“There. Now you are more than prepared for tonight. This will set everything in place.” Valka looked very satisfied. You got dressed and finished your tea.

“You were right. I should speak to Randvi.”

Valka nodded, then she handed you the gigantic linen sack filled with branches and decorations.

“Carry these to the longhouse for me, dear. They will know what to do with them. It is a good thing, burying your grievances and forgiving. A wise move.” She squeezed your hand, then you heaved the sack over your shoulder and set out for the longhouse.

The way down was slippery and you almost danced with death a few times, but you always managed to catch yourself and finally arrived at the longhouse unharmed. A woman at the entrance took the sack from you and ordered a few children to start hanging up the branches. You walked over to the map room, but it was deserted.

When you turned around, Norvid was standing before you. You instinctively threw your hands up in fright.

“Oh God, you scared me!” You pressed a hand to your chest and let out a shaky laugh.

“No need, my lady. I will not harass you like I did the other night. I just wanted to express my sincere apologies for bothering you like that. Eivor certainly taught me a lesson.” He looked seriously ashamed. You nodded.

“Thank you, Norvid. I appreciate you telling me. I have to admit, I was worried about the next time we might cross paths.”

He slapped his forehead dramatically and fell to one knee. You had to fight down a laugh.

“Please forgive me for my terrible demeanor. I will never lay so much as a finger on you again.” He looked up, batting his eyelashes at you. “Unless you want me to.”

You snorted.

“No need, thank you. Now get up, you sly dog.”

He stood up and wiped the dust from his trousers, then he grinned at you and gave you another small bow before excusing himself. You shook your head at so much boldness.

When you asked the woman at the front where Randvi was, she just gestured vaguely into the distance. You followed the direction of her finger and tried not to get run over by all the eager people preparing for tonight. It was already afternoon and soon the feast would begin. There was still no sign of Eivor.

Suddenly you heard bright laughter coming from between two huts to your right. It sounded very familiar. As you rounded the corner, you saw two women with their backs to you, cutting branches with dark thorny leaves and red berries from a tall bush. One had auburn hair and one dark brown. A branch cracked beneath your foot and Eda and Randvi turned around, the laughter leaving their faces.

You pressed your hands to your stomach, trying to keep your composure. Forgiveness. New beginnings. Solstice.

“Eda. Randvi. I was looking for you both. I wanted to speak to you.”

Eda furrowed her brows.

“Are you alright, Y/N?”

“Oh yes, I’m fine, wonderful actually. But we… our relationship, it is still strained from what happened in the last few weeks. Yuletide begins today and I… I thought maybe we could… find an understanding? Not just me and you, but also me and Randvi.”

You looked at the woman in blue and were relieved to find no anger or hatred in her eyes. There was actually a hint of a smile on her lips.

“As you may have guessed already, Eda and I have had some time to get to know each other,” she said and stepped forward. “Whatever you say to me, she can hear, too.”

Eda nodded. “The same goes for me.”

You took a deep breath and tried to still your shaky fingers.

“Well, Randvi, I just want to say that I am deeply sorry for all the pain my arrival here has caused you. Please know that I never intended to make things difficult for you. I had no idea what I was getting into. But now…”

Randvi came closer and placed a hand on your shoulder. She gave you a slightly pained smile.

“I know, Y/N. It is not your fault, neither is it Eivor’s or mine. I will heal, as we all do.” She quickly glanced over to Eda before sighing and putting her other hand on your shoulder as well. “I have seen the way she looks at you. I dream that one day someone will love me so fiercely, so unconditionally. Do you love her, too?”

“Yes, I do.” You just noticed now that tears had welled up in your eyes and quickly tried to wipe them away. “I really do.”

“Then it is only right that you two found your way into each other’s arms. I would be foolish to stand between you.”

Randvi lowered her gaze and stepped back. You turned to Eda, but before you could say anything, she took your hands in hers and spoke.

“Y/N, if there is an apology waiting on your tongue, spare it for the unlikely case you ever really wrong someone. I know I have put the weight of all my blame and resentment on you, but I was wrong. It was not your fault we were attacked and you had every right to try and start a better life here. I see that now.”

She squeezed your hands, smiling at you through tears.

“Randvi has shown me her world and even though she has walked a similar path to mine, she has the freedom to live as she pleases, she has power here and friends. I wish to have the same one day. The solstice shall be a new beginning for us all, and a chance for me to grow and open myself for new people, opportunities, and a new happiness.”

She wiped her cheek with her upper arm.

“It is what my mother would have wanted. It is what I want for Delia and Henry. It is only fair that I give you and myself the same chance.”

You pulled her in for a hug, the weight of a thousand stones falling off your shoulders. The pain of being hated by your closest friend had been unbearable. Thank God she had turned around and decided to give this life a try. You probably also had to thank Randvi, the countless hours she had spent with Eda and her endless patience and belief in the good.

“Thank you, Eda, thank you both for allowing me to reconcile with you. I do not want to quarrel with anyone here, no bad blood. This is my clan now, too.”

Randvi nodded and smiled, wrapping an arm around Eda’s shoulders as the dark-haired woman stepped back to her side.

“It is. You are both part of the family now.”

“You too?” you asked Eda, surprised. There had been no welcoming ritual for her yet. She gave you a shy smile.

“We had the ceremony last night. It was private.” She held out her arm with a golden bangle for you to see. Randvi pressed her lips together to stifle a grin.

Well, that was a surprise. A few weeks ago, Eda had cursed you for your interest in Eivor and now she was flirting with Randvi, a married woman? She really had turned around. Eda seemed to guess what you were thinking.

“Y/N, I apologize for my horrid comments when you first visited me. I understand now that things are different here, different than I was taught growing up. I’d be happy to talk about it with you later at the feast. I wronged you, and I am sincerely sorry. I wish you and Eivor all the best of luck.”

You could see pain flicker over Randvi’s face, but Eda tightened her grip around the auburn-haired woman’s waist and held your gaze. You nodded.

“Thank you.” You looked over to Randvi. “Is there any indication when they might be back?”

She sighed. “I hope they return before the celebrations begin. Yule can’t wait, but the ceremony will not be right without our drengrs . We’re just collecting some more decorations, but we will be back at the longhouse shortly. If you are idle, you could see if Sfáva needs help.”

As you walked back through the village, you noticed it was already getting darker. When would your drengr return to you? God forbid she was actually hurt or - no. You said a quick prayer, then you clapped your hands to shoo away your dark thoughts and focused on the path before you.

Just as you were about to cross the open space in front of the longhouse, making your way through the children admiring the gigantic woodpile for the bonfire, a horn sounded loudly from the docks. A wave of excitement went through the people in front of you and the children dropped everything to run to the docks and see the ship that had returned.

Looking behind you, you saw Valka rush down the hill with a big basket, looking worried. Did she sense a calamity? God, no. Please let Eivor be unharmed. Please, please return to me safely, my drengr.

You lifted your skirts and made your way down to the shore, surrounded by other women rushing to greet their husbands. The first warriors were already on solid ground.

They carried a wooden stretcher. Someone was lying on it, completely still. Your heart dropped.

You fought your way through the small crowd, craning your neck to try and find Eivor's blonde mane among the other men on the ship, but you could not see any specks of gold on the ship. The person on the stretcher however had light hair, long braids drenched in blood covering their face.

Someone let out a blood-curdling scream, loud enough to get through the rush of blood in your ears. A woman with flaming red hair stumbled forward. It was the Viking wife you had seen with Valka a while ago, the woman she had been infatuated with for a long time.

Even though you knew this was terrible, a tiny glimpse of hope sparked inside of you. Was it not Eivor after all on the stretcher? You finally made your way to the front when Valka pushed you aside and dropped her basket on the ground next to you before rushing to the woman’s side. The redhead had pushed the hair from the injured person’s face and revealed empty, staring eyes, a handsome, bearded face, and a terrible slash from his forehead down to his jaw.

Valka reached her just as she started wailing, wrapping her arms around the grieving woman and trying to soothe her. The men carrying the stretcher stood still, their eyes blank. The woman fell to her knees, cradling the dead man’s face and calling his name over and over again.

“He fought bravely and died a glorious death.” A loud, rough voice pierced the cacophony of chatter and crying and everyone immediately went quiet. You looked up to see Eivor standing at the foot of the stretcher. Her hair and most of her face were blackened with soot. Her eyes were full of sorrow.

“We sent him off to Valhalla and he shall wait there for all of us. Let us dedicate this solstice, this Yuletide to Alfarr and the glory he brought this clan. He will be dearly missed, never forgotten, and joyfully embraced when we join him in Valhalla.”

She nodded to the bearers of the stretcher and they set off toward the longhouse. Valka grabbed one arm of the woman that was still slumped on the ground and Eivor took the other, then they gently lifted her up and helped her walk behind the procession. It was quiet now, only a few sobs sounded through the clear night as the moon lit your path.

Eivor was alive. She had returned to you. You took a deep breath. Sigurd and Randvi were coming your way from the longhouse, followed by Eda. Randvi’s eyes widened at the sight before her and she dug her fingers into Sigurd’s arm, but the jarl kept his composure and just exchanged a silent nod with Eivor.

When you had reached the longhouse, a few younger men had already erected a table in one of the alcoves and put down linen sheets on it. Alfarr was lifted off the stretcher and placed on the table, his axe still fixed in his grip and laid down on his chest. Someone put down a tree stump on the ground next to his head and Valka and Eivor set his wife down on it. She was silent now, staring at her dead husband in disbelief.

It was curious. You knew she had been mistreated horribly by him, beaten and insulted until she had fled into Valka’s arms. Why was she so grief-stricken at his passing if she was in love with someone else and he had wronged her so terribly?

Valka looked up at you and gave you a knowing look. She would have answers for you later. Eivor’s gaze was fixed to the axe on Alfarr’s chest. She had not so much as glanced at you since her arrival. Did she even know you were here? You did not dare to go up to her and so you quietly retreated into the big hall where you sat down on one of the benches and put your hands into your head.

The childlike enthusiasm and excitement you had felt this morning had vanished. How was this evening going to play out now?

The wood of the bench creaked as someone sat down next to you. You looked up distractedly and found Norvid looking at you with a worried smile.

“How are you, my lady? Did you know Alfarr well?”

You rubbed your thighs and stared at the floor in front of you.

“No, I had never even seen him before. It’s just… I am not used to seeing this kind of violence. I witnessed it once, the night Williamsburg was raided. This is the first time since then.”

“I understand. It takes you back, does it not?” His hand hovered in the air between you, then he placed it on his knee. You nodded.

“You are a tough fighter,” he argued. “I have rarely seen someone learn so quickly and take to arms so well. If you wish to use those skills in the future, you must be prepared to see much more blood and death in the course of your life.”

You wanted to object, but then you realized that he was speaking the truth. If you were to become a warrior and fight at Eivor’s side, you would not only see violence, you would inflict it. That was the path you had chosen for yourself. You looked up at him and smiled.

“You’re right. Thank you for checking on me, I will be alright.” You touched his arm in a gesture of gratefulness and were just about to get up and look for Sfáva when you noticed a large figure in the corner of your eye.

Eivor was leaning against the wall next to the alcove, her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed amidst the black paint. Her mouth was a straight line. When she caught your gaze, she pushed herself off the wall and strode to the entrance of the longhouse, vanishing before you could say anything. You jumped up and rushed after her, but she was nowhere to be seen.

You remembered the basket Valka had dropped down at the dock and made your way down to the water in hopes of retrieving it. As you came closer, you saw a dark-haired woman crouched over the spot, gathering items scattered on the snow and putting them back in the basket.

It was Eda, smiling when she noticed you coming toward her. You helped her pick up the last few strips of linen and leather sachets with herbs, then you offered to carry the basket, breaking the silence.

“What a terrible thing. Today, of all days.”

“Oh yes, a dreadful night for his poor wife,” Eda said. “I felt like all the blood in my veins froze when I saw him lying there, his wife sobbing for her dear beloved.”

Dear beloved? You were not so sure of that, but you dropped the thought.

“I felt the same. For a moment, I thought it was Eivor. My heart… it felt like the tiniest touch would make it shatter into a thousand pieces.”

“Now you know.” You could hear the pain in Eda’s voice. There was no bitterness or blame, only grief. “That’s what I felt that night.”

You took her hand and wove your fingers into hers.

“I still say a prayer for your mother every day. I am sure she is in a better place now, someone far away from all those who attempted to hold her prisoner. You will meet again one day and finally have peace together.”

“Thank you, Y/N.” Eda squeezed your hand. 

You separated at the longhouse and you went up to your hut. Maybe Eivor would be there. Your heart was beating hard against your ribcage and you had to force yourself to breathe steadily, not sure what to expect from her.

You knocked on the door and waited for a response, but there was none. When you entered, the hut was dark apart from a few smoldering coals in the fireplace. Birna was laying on a bundle of clothes on the floor, clothes you recognized as the ones Eivor had been wearing. You gave the cat a few light scratches under her chin, then you wrapped yourself in your fur coat and went back outside.

People were now coming to the longhouse from all directions and the windows were lit brightly. A few men could be heard singing a bittersweet song and someone was putting final touches on the woodpile outside. When you entered, most people were standing in small groups, talking, and drinking ale or mead. There was a big fire in the middle of the room, ready for the ox that was to be slaughtered. You saw Randvi, Eivor, and Valka huddled together next to the alcove entrance where Alfarr was lying. They were speaking in hushed voices, mixed emotions on their faces.

Eivor was clean again, her face bare except for a red rune on her forehead, definitely Valka’s work. You desperately wanted to go over to them and join the conversation, but you could not bring yourself to do it. The fear of rejection or being excluded was too great.

Suddenly Sigurd stood up on a table.

“My dear ravens, my drengrs , my family! Tonight, in the shortest night of the year, we experience the darkness, we are encased by it and it threatens to leak into our hearts. Today we have lost a great man to the darkness, but what keeps us hopeful is the certainty that he is in Valhalla now. Alfarr fought bravely and gloriously, he was welcomed by Odin with open arms!”

The other warriors cheered and raised their drinking horns.

“Let us now follow the lead of our wonderful seeress, our guide through the darkness, Valka! We shall make a sacrifice to the gods that will propitiate them and grant us light, warmth, and good fortune for the coming year. And then we shall feast, in tribute to all the drengrs that fought for this clan and in memory of Alfarr!”

Everyone started to make their way outside and you let the crowd carry you to the bonfire. A few men had led the village’s strongest, most prized ox to the open space. They had fastened the rope on its holster to a large metal nail which they had then hammered into the frozen ground right at the edge of the woodpile.

Valka stepped into the circle that the people had formed around the stacked wood. She looked glorious in the light of the torches, her golden headdress and her jewelry gleaming in the flames. She carried a large copper bowl and a beautiful, embezzled dagger. Sigurd stepped to her side and they stood at the head of the ox.

First, Valka sang a hauntingly beautiful song in Norwegian and Sigurd joined in for the last verse. He held another small speech in his mother tongue before taking the dagger from Valka. She held her hands over the ox’s head and blessed the animal. You made out the names of Odin and Freya, of Sigurd and Eivor, and some of the other drengrs .

Finally, Sigurd drew the dagger over the throat of the animal and you could see its eyes widening, but it could not cry out. Sigurd had made the perfect cut. Blood started spilling from its throat and Valka held her bowl under the thick read stream until she had filled the vessel. Then she stepped back and watched the blood run over the frozen ground, into the woodpile, and toward the longhouse.

She started singing another song and this time almost all of the Vikings joined in, lifting their hands over their heads and building a beautiful choir while the ox started to stagger. His front legs gave in first and he slowly fell to his knees, then he lay down completely, his ragged breaths making a gurgling sound as his body bled out.

The singing slowly got quieter and finally died along with the animal’s last breath. Valka called out Sigurd, Randvi and Eivor and they stood next to each other, holding out their open palms as the seeress dipped her finger in the steaming blood and drew a different rune onto every one of them. Then she called out another name.

“Yngvor! Step forward and cleanse yourself of sorrow and grief. Begin this Yuletide with hope for the future, drenched in the glory of your husband and the blood of this sacrifice.”

The red-haired woman, her face still puffy and pale from crying, stood in front of Valka. The seeress gave her a sincere smile, then she wet her finger with blood again and drew a vertical line on each of Yngvor’s cheeks, resembling the streams of tears she had cried earlier. Then Valka drew a circle on her forehead and put a dot in the middle.

She stepped back and nodded. Randvi stretched out a hand and put it on the woman’s shoulder in support. Everyone sang another short song, then the ceremony seemed to be over. Everyone spread out, most people heading for the longhouse as Lewin and a few other men knelt next to the ox and started skinning and disemboweling it.

Inside everyone sat down along the long tables a first course of food was passed around, mead and ale were poured out and the first songs of praise sounded through the hall. You sat with Aelfric, Hal, and Eda. They were all excitedly debating the meaning of the ritual and its different components, the runes, and what might still come in this long night. In the meantime, the ox was carried in on a long spit by eight men and hung over the fire to roast.

You were distracted by your strange reunion with Eivor - you had not even spoken a word after being so close during the last weeks. Of course, she had lost one of her men and if you knew her at all, she probably blamed herself for his death. But then the interaction with Norvid and her reaction to it - what was that? Was she jealous? There was no reason for that. You were hers and hers only. She should know that.

You risked a look to her table and your heart cramped up in your chest. Eivor was not eating, her fists were balled up next to her plate and her eyes fixed on the table. Her face was a stony mask, no emotion breaking the surface. Sigurd and Randvi were deep in conversation and you could hear two of her men at her side speaking about Alfarr and how well he had fought today. All you wanted was to go up to Eivor, take her hand and hold her tight. But you feared that she would reject you after everything you had seen of her today.

Hal pulled out his dice game and immediately declared that he would never play against you again. Instead, you taught the game to Eda who had great fun but went down without a single win. She was a hopeless case.

“Mind if I join you?”

You looked up to see Norvid standing next to you, a plate of dried fruit in his hand.

“They are going to make the first cut on the beast soon, but I figured that if all the drengrs get their meat first, we still have some time to spare. At least three rounds.” He grinned and the others eagerly invited him to sit. Soon they were laughing and bickering about their wagers.

When the meat was cut, everyone was patiently waiting in line for their share. Norvid stood behind you.

“How are you liking your first Yule so far?” he asked, a friendly twinkle in his eye.

“Oh, it’s very impressive. I have never seen an animal being sacrificed in that manner. It seemed very peaceful. I can hardly wait for the bonfire later.” You smiled at the thought of the gigantic pile of wood that would be ablaze soon - the biggest fire you had ever seen.

The meat was delicious and there were sides of roasted vegetables, fresh bread, and pickled cabbage. When it was finally time for the fire, everyone flocked outside again. The ox’s blood had seeped into the ground, leaving frozen red streaks around and leading into the woodpile.

You stood next to Eda as Sigurd and Valka joined together for another speech, then a young, blonde Viking woman with beautiful, intricate braids carried a great torch from the longhouse and handed it to Sigurd. Their eyes met and their gazes stayed locked for just a moment too long. You looked over to Randvi; she had seen it, too. She looked just the slightest bit surprised, but not affronted or disappointed at all. Interesting. Eivor stood next to her, her face still completely devoid of emotion. She stared at the woodpile, or rather through it into the distance.

Sigurd said another few words in Norwegian, then he went around the pile and set fire to the wood in different places. Finally, he pushed the torch into the bottom of the pile and everyone watched in awe as the stack ignited, the wood cracking and shifting as sparks flew in all directions.

You turned to Eda to joke about her bad luck in the dice game earlier when you noticed her dreamy gaze into the distance, her expression languorous and enchanted as the light of the flames danced over her face. You followed her eyes and landed on Randvi, who showed the exact same countenance.

“Eda?” you asked and she snapped out of her reverie immediately, trying to look innocent.

“Yes, dear?”

“What is happening between you and Randvi?”

She grabbed your arm and shushed you even though you had barely mumbled the question. Then she pulled you back a few steps, out of the circle, and got closer to you.

“I do not know what nature the bond between us will turn out to be. But she is the reason I smile again, the reason I eat and speak, the reason I yet stand before you. Something about her is so… gentle, so kind and caring. I have never met someone as selfless as her.”

You fought down a bitter laugh. Randvi was many things, but endlessly selfless was not one of them. You left it up for Eda to learn that herself. Reminding yourself of Valka's words and your reconciliation with Randvi earlier, you hoped that maybe Randvi had really changed. You did not want Eda to go through any more pain. Sighing, you put an arm around your friend’s shoulders.

“I hope you find peace and happiness here. I know I am still searching for it.”

Eda raised her eyebrows at you.

“I thought you had Eivor?”

“Well, yes. I had her. But I was not yet ready to commit to her and now that I am…” Your eyes wandered over to the beautiful blonde standing next to Sigurd like a statue. “I am not sure she wants me anymore.”

“I refuse to believe that. Everyone who ever laid eyes on you two knows you are madly in love.” You looked at Eda in surprise and she laughed. “Oh Y/N, you are destined to be together. You will make all our lives hell if you don’t finally find your way into each other’s arms.”

She giggled, a sound you had last heard when you were but young girls sharing secrets hidden in the stables of Williamsburg.

“Maybe the reason Eivor acts strangely is because she cannot control herself around you any longer. Maybe it is your touch that will give her peace.”

“Eda!” you whispered and slapped her hand, trying to contain your own laughter. You could feel yourself blushing at her proposition.

People were spreading out now, some staying at the fire, some going back to the longhouse or vanishing into the dark to do God knew what. Eda hooked her arm under yours and you were joining the others that were going back in when Norvid came up from behind.

“Good evening, my ladies!” He was fairly drunk again, but before you could say anything, Eda had let go of you and pulled him between you. She linked arms with him and he followed her example on your side, tucking your arm under his. The three of you stumbled along the path together and maybe it was the ale you had had, or the wonderfully clear night, or how unbelievable all this seemed to you, but you threw your head back and laughed, deeply and heartily. You had found your place here.

Just as you were about to enter the longhouse, you saw Eivor standing on the side, beckoning you over. You felt a jump in your stomach and took a deep breath.

“Go ahead, I won’t be long,” you told the others, secretly hoping the opposite. Eda and Norvid went without asking why, and for a moment you stood still, watching them enter the brightly lit room. They both tripped over a fir branch on the floor and struggled to untangle their arms, but while Norvid hit the floor with a loud thump and more laughter, Eda fell right into Randvi’s arms. You smiled to yourself. She was in good hands.

You turned to Eivor and she rounded the corner of the longhouse, motioning for you to follow her. It was the same spot where you had once found Valka and Yngvor, the red-haired woman, in loving embrace. Your heartbeat quickened and you were just about to ask Eivor what she planned to do with you when she whirled around and pushed you against the wall, her pupils blown and hot wrath burning behind them.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing,” she snarled, “little dove?”

-

Author’s note: this just keeps getting longer and longer - I hope you aren't bored of me yet. I promise you a lot of smut for the next chapter. Please do let me know what you think if you're still reading!

[angrybathbomb]

TOUCHSTARVED FANFIC

“Are you two a couple?”

MODERN AU

Touchstarved LI x gn! Reader

SUMMARY: On a coffee date with each ts LIs, both of you are stopped by what one can assume a street interviewer/youtuber who seems to be quite eager on talking to couples. What do our lovely LIs have to say?

WARNINGS:  NONE, Leander being a hopeless romantic and in love, he sings a song for you (⁠｡⁠♡⁠‿⁠♡⁠｡⁠) Hehe, mentions of break up in the past ...don’t worry you both are still together just had a difficult start... otherwise fluff and romantic.

NOTE:   This is my first-time writing fanfics, please go easy on me if I made some mistakes as I am still learning. Constructive criticism and tips to improve are very much appreciated. Thank you for reading!

INSPO: I saw a YouTube channel (@meetcutenyc) and felt like writing this for our lovely ts LIs!

WORD COUNT: <2.4K

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-PROLOGUE-

Strolling leisurely down the bustling streets for a cozy, romantic coffee date, fingers entwined, greedily savouring each other’s warmth. Each step the two of you took, resonated with a rhythm on the footpath that stretched ahead in the bustling cityscape. Amidst the bustling chaos of the city, snippets of conversations floating around and the distant hum of traffic, a comfortable silence stretched between the two of you with occasional exchange of shy yet mischievous glances and tender smiles.

However, the romantic stroll came to an abrupt halt when a young guy holding a camera, most likely recording, blocked the path ahead of you two.

“Sorry to interrupt, but are you two a couple?”, he inquired with a friendly smile. His eyes, subtly reflecting guilt, silently apologized for the sudden intrusion.

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AIS

LEANDER

VERE

MHIN

KURAS

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      LEANDER

The unexpected camera thrust into your face startled you. Leander's handsome smile vanished, replaced by an uncharacteristic blank expression. Accustomed to his sunny and cheerful demeanor, you felt a jolt of surprise for the second time. The stranger, equally taken aback, paused in response. Leander stepped forward, skillfully shielding you from the camera's view.

The stranger gulped nervously. “I interview couples about their first meeting,” he explained, his gaze flickering between you and Leander. “You two looked like one.”

Understanding dawned on Leander's eyes, and his blank expression transformed into a charming smile.

“You’ve come to the right place,” Leander said with a playful wink. ”You must have a keen eye for spotting lovers. Did their parents pay you or something?” He joked, glancing at you.

You crossed your arms and arched a brow in mock offence.

Leander laughed, a low, pleasant rumble that could make anyone's knees weak.

With a sly smirk, he leaned in and stole a kiss from you, leaving you flustered.

“God, stop it, we are in public!” You scolded him.

Leander gave a nonchalant shrug. “Has that ever stopped me before, sweetheart?”

You rolled your eyes and looked away, fighting the smile tugging at your lips.

Leander's jade eyes softened, and his smile turned geniune, a stark contrast to the charming facade he usually wore.

He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer as he turned to the stranger.

“So, you wanted to know how we first met, hm?”

The stranger nodded.” Yes, precisely, along with your first impression of each other.”

Leander laughed softly, a pink hue dusting his cheeks as he glanced to the side thoughtfully.” It was at a bar, the Wet Wick,” he recalled. ”I was performing a live show, singing part-time.”

You watched him from the corner of your eye. Leander caught your gaze and grinned.

“No need to be sneaky. I know I look good,” he said with a flirtatious wink.“We are way past the talking stage,” he teased, squeezing your wrist gently.

“He was a bit of a player,” you said, giving him a side-eye. Leander furrowed his brow in mock defence.

“Hey, that’s not fair!”

You smirked mischievously, turning your gaze to the stranger. “He was quite charming, I will admit, I was not immune to it either. And a singer at that, so it wasn’t exactly a surprise.”

Leander’s curiosity was piqued. ”How does my singing have anything to do with me being flirtatious?”

You looked him from top to bottom and shrugged.

”Creative people are a bunch of romantics,” you explained. ”They chase or crave intense experiences – pain and pleasure, to fuel their creativity. It’s a way to birth an idea, create art — music, writing, poetry.” 

Leander arched a brow, impressed by your answer. ”This is why I love you,” he said with a cheeky grin, planting a kiss on your cheek.

You pretended to be disgusted, wiping your cheek dramatically. ”Ugh, gross!” you teased while Leander pouted playfully.

The rosy blush spreading across your cheeks didn’t escape his sharp eyes, and a knowing smile appeared on his lips.

The stranger looked intrigued, a playful glint in his eyes. “What song did you sing that managed to sweep them off their feet?”

“Hometown Smile,” Leander said proudly.

He gazed at you, his eyes brimming with intense love.

“You got that hometown smile,” he began, his voice heavenly and rich,” You got that look in your eyes, that says oh, everything will one day be alright …” he crooned softly.

It was impossible to not be captivated by his sensual vocals, each word dripping with romance.

As Leander sang, you felt yourself being drawn in by the tenderness of his voice. You leaned closer and Leander met you halfway, lips crashing together in a passionate kiss.

You broke the kiss reluctantly as if waking up from a dream and composed yourself, flashing a bashful smile at the stranger, who returned it with a reassuring grin.

“Looks like he’s quite the heart-stealer,” the stranger remarks.

Leander shrugged with mock arrogance.” What can I say? I was born with rizz.”

“Cringe” you uttered under your breath with a blank face.

“I heard that,” Leander shot back.

“Good,” you retorted with a smirk.

Leander made puppy eyes, jutting his bottom lip out into a playful pout but you ignored his antics.

“He can be dramatic sometimes,” you said. “Though I do enjoy the grand gestures of romance from now and then.” A soft smile tugged at your lips.

“I don’t frequent bars much. My friends dragged me out one fateful day, because ‘Why not ?!’,” you exaggerated.

“Good friends,” Leander smirked.

You rolled your eyes, then broke into a fit of laughter. 

Clearing your throat, you continued, “I was about to order a drink when all of a sudden, the entire rowdy bar went quiet,” you paused dramatically. 

“This man,” you gestured towards Leander,” This devilishly handsome man appeared on stage, standing tall and proud with his guitar and the entire bar went wild, pushing everything and everyone out of the way, I barely survived before everyone started chanting, ‘SHOW!! SHOW!! SHOW!!’,” you joked, mimicking the voices animatedly. “Honestly, it was like a cult!”

“This gentleman,” you pointed towards Leander,” announces on mic that he needs a lucky someone from the audience to help him with a song and he flashed a charming smile.”

You laughed, recalling the incident,”I swear I saw everyone swoon, trying to whistle and grab his attention but somehow his eyes found mine.”

“Wow you are not making this up, are you?” the stranger teased playfully.

Leander laughed and you almost looked offended. “I assure you, I am not!” You replied, giddy with the memory. “He called me on stage and that day I thanked the gods for my music lessons,” you said, intertwining your fingers, with a smile.

Leander’s eyes roamed over your sun-kissed features, and he had to hold back the urge to pull you into a kiss.

“And then I bought a drink for them,” he winked. “They sang so well, they deserved a proper thanks.”

“Why did you pick me of all people?” You turned to him, feigning suspicion. “Were you trying to get lucky that night?”

Leander gasped dramatically. “I am a gentleman through and through!”

“Oh really?! And I am the Queen of England.” You shot back sarcastically.

Leander furrowed his brows in mock indignation.

“No, seriously. Why me?!” You urged again.

Leander considered you for a moment before answering,”Most of the people there were regulars so it was quite hard to miss a face as lovely as yours.”

He winked with an impish smile. Butterflies bloomed and fluttered in your stomach, heart likely beating out of your chest.

“God you are a shameless flirt,” you said, crossing your arms and looking away.

“Only for you,” he cooed.

“Stop the lies,” you shot back.

“Seriously,” he insisted, gently holding your chin to turn you towards him. “I might have been,” he paused” a bit of a player,” he mimicked your tone," but all of that changed when you walked into my life and changed it for the better. Only you own my heart, now and forever.”

He smiled, a sincere and earnest look in his breathtaking emerald eyes.

The stranger looked intrigued. “It seems like it took some convincing for you to be with him?”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smile on your lips. “Well, when I first met him, he was all charm and smooth talk but there were plenty of rumors about his reputation.” 

Leander flashed a guilty grin. “Not all of them were true. Just rumours, remember?”

“Rumors have some truth to them,” you countered.

Leander sighed,”Maybe, but that was then. Things are different now.”

”It took us a while to get here. We almost broke up once.” You glanced at the stranger. “He was pretty secretive.” You paused before speaking, “And by ‘pretty’ secretive,” you said, looking pointedly at Leander. “I mean ‘a lot’.”

Leander listened quietly, his usual teasing demeanor subdued.

“I started to feel uneasy,” you continued. “It was like he didn’t quite bring himself to trust me, even after countless reassurance. So, I decided to end it. Not going to sugarcoat, I was really upset and hurt that he didn't put a fight about it or resist.”

You turned to Leander with a bittersweet laugh. “I really thought was the end for us.”

Leander forced a smile, his eyes reflecting the pain of the memory. “I was shocked and desperate. I should have chased after them,” he chuckled,” but I didn’t. I tried calling and texting, but they didn’t respond. I will admit, I deserved it.” He confessed, sharing a guilty glance with you.

You flashed a nonchalant smile, but Leander could see through your facade.

“It was tough,” he admitted, voice strained, hardly veiling any heavy emotions,” but I forced myself to get used to my old, lonely life again.” 

You caressed his back soothingly, encouraging him to continue.

“But fate had other plans and we ran into each other again.” He visibly brightened, recalling the day, that beautiful moment.

“It was just a week after our ‘break up’,” he made air quotes with his fingers.

”We saw each other, and it was clear we still had feelings. Our eyes met, and we just… kissed.” He grinned widely, as if he had just found a long - lost treasure.

You laughed and added,’’ I took him back after I was sure he got his act together.”

Leander nodded along,” I’d do anything for you,” he claimed, pressing a tender kiss on your cheek.

The stranger watched the couple with a pleased smile.” So, what changed after that kiss?”

You leaned into Leander, your fingers intertwined with his.

“After that, we had a long and honest talk. We laid everything out – our fears, our hopes, our past mistakes.”

Leander had a serious look on his face as he added,” I realized I needed to be more open. I couldn’t let my past define how I treated them. They deserved better.”

 You smiled lovingly at him,” And I needed to trust him, to give him a chance.”

The stranger nodded thoughtfully, “It seems like it was a turning point for both of you.”

“It was,” you agreed,” We started fresh. It wasn’t easy but it was worth it.”

Leander squeezed your hand,” They are worth it.”

The stranger looked impressed,” Your story sounds like it was pulled out straight from the pages of a romance novel.”

Leander laughed,” Well, real life can be just as dramatic as fiction.”

You chuckled. ”Maybe even more so.”

The stranger’s eyes twinkled with curiosity,” Since you had a rocky start, what advice would you give to young couples to avoid making the same mistakes?”

Leander thought for a moment. “Communication is key. Be honest about your feelings, even when it’s hard.”

You nodded, agreeing with his word before adding in,” And trust. Trust each other enough to be vulnerable. It’s scary, but it’s necessary.”

Leander glanced at you affectionately before facing the stranger,” Also, don’t let pride get in the way. Apologize when you are wrong and forgive when you are hurt.”

The stranger smiled, appreciating their insight. “That’s some solid advice, thank you.”

“So, what’s next for the two of you?” he asked.

Leander glanced at you, eyes filled with love.” Whatever comes, we’ll take it together.”

You nodded, heart swelling with emotion. “Together,” you echoed, leaning in for a tender kiss.

The stranger smiled warmly at the couple, privileged to witness such a genuine moment of love and connection.

“Thank you for sharing your story,” he said. “It’s truly amazing.”

Leander and you both smiled, grateful for the encounter and reflecting the past shared with each other. “Thank you for listening,” Leander said. “It’s been quite a ride, but we wouldn’t have it any other way."

As the two of you walked away, hand in hand, you whispered to Leander,” You know, maybe we should write our own romance novel.”

Leander laughed, amused by your idea. Pulling you closer, he teased,” With a happy ending, of course.”

You smile, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Of course.”

—-----------------------------------

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a/n: I am sorry for posting for other LIs so late. I must have told you that I was a bit busy with college entrance exams, after being called for a counselling process I finally got a seat in a college and major of my choice through merit :) yayy... So I was involved in the official stuff regarding it but anyways enjoy this fanfic. I was postponing the date to post this cause his birthday would be a great day to read this... Enjoy!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY LEANDER

💐 🎂🎉🎈

He is my favourite character, I hate him so much :D

[whenisitenoughtrees]

Congrats on 500 followers!!!!! Your writing is amazing and you totally deserve it! Would you be able to do “Can you please stop biting your lip…it’s distracting.” for analogical? If you don’t get inspo for it that’s totally fine I’m just on a total analogical kick recently lol

@wisherbystarlight thank you!! i absolutely love analogical so here you go

Title: abject impermanence

Word Count: 3,570

Content Warnings: implied suicidal ideation (in reference to virgil ducking out), negative self image

(fic masterpost)

Virgil would rather die than admit this to anybody, but he develops a crush on Logan after their first debate.

It’s ridiculous, and bothersome, and stupidly humiliating, and he has to spend a few days in his room before he feels prepared enough to face anyone again, prepared enough to put up his usual walls and throw around his usual sarcastic comments, and all the while, his heart is beating far too fast, his mind racing, insisting that he’s being obvious, that everyone knows.

(That is what being Anxiety means: he is under a microscope all the time, his every movement watched and analyzed and derided, alone in a crowd of people who wish him nothing but ill.)

It’s awful, really. Is he truly so pathetic that the first time someone treats him like his opinions are valid, he falls head over heels for them? Because he has to admit, that’s the root of all of this. The debate, and the fact that even though Logan didn’t agree with him, he still treated him with respect, like he was someone worth listening to, and none of the light sides have ever acted like that before.

And they’ve certainly never told him that they don’t mind his company.

So. He has a crush on Logan. And it takes him a few weeks to calm down enough to really think about it, but when he does, he decides that nothing has to change. It’s not like he’ll ever work up the courage to act on these feelings

(because holy shit, how badly would that go? He can picture it now: Logan sneering at him, Logan rejecting him, Logan informing him that he would never in a million years have feelings for someone so irrational and useless, and while Virgil is at it, would he kindly remove himself from his presence and never come back and— well. Maybe Virgil is irrational, but he can’t bring himself to risk something like that)

so the only thing to do with them is pretend they’re not there, right? He’ll keep all of his emotions right here, in his chest, and then one day, he’ll die, and no one else has to know a thing about it.

He doesn’t see what could possibly go wrong with this plan. Which is odd for him because usually, he can only see the things that could go wrong. But the only factor in this plan is him, and his own ability to disguise his feelings, and he’s been successfully doing that for a very long time.

(After all, it’s been years, and none of the others have managed to figure out how much their rejection hurts him, how deeply it strikes at the heart he pretends not to have.)

But he doesn’t anticipate things changing. He doesn’t anticipate trying to duck out, at least, not until the moments in between making the decision and actually going through with it, and he doesn’t anticipate anybody coming after him. He certainly doesn’t anticipate their reactions, doesn’t anticipate being told that he’s important,

(because since fucking when?)

and doesn’t anticipate their acceptance.

He doesn’t anticipate telling them his name.

And alright, maybe he could deal with all of this. Maybe he could ease his way into being one of them, edge his way into their inner circle. It’s something he once would have thought impossible, but now, they seem determined to make him one of them, to bring him into their family, and even though part of him wonders whether they’re just trying to make sure he doesn’t duck out again, doesn’t hurt Thomas, a larger part of him is ecstatic about the fact that they’re including him at all. Maybe he can let himself have this, for once.

But that night, Logan comes to his room.

“Do you have a moment to talk?” he asks, and reluctantly, Virgil takes off his headphones.

Because, yes. Of course. He’s hardly busy, and even if he were, he’s certain he’d figure out a way to put it aside in favor of Logan, because really, he’s helpless to do anything else.

“Yeah, sure,” he says, aiming for casual. He thinks he makes it, if only because he is very practiced in hiding how much of a mess he is internally. “What’s up?”

Logan looks uncomfortable, a bit shifty, even though he hasn’t been in his room nearly long enough for its effects to take hold.

“I merely wanted to check in with you after today’s events,” he says, and then pauses, biting his lip, something that Virgil finds incredibly distracting. “Specifically, to ensure that you are alright.”

He blinks. “Of course I’m alright,” he says. “Why wouldn’t I be alright?”

“Well, I was considering everything that happened, and it occurred to me that we glossed over precisely what ‘ducking out’ would have done to you in the long term.” In an oddly vehement motion, Logan shoves his glasses further up his nose. And Virgil knows very well that as the embodiment of Logic, Logan tries not to display his stronger emotions, but right now, he is the perfect picture of distress. “I find it likely that if Thomas had been unable to utilize you for an extended amount of time, you may have… disappeared, for lack of a better word, not unlike a muscle that atrophies after disuse.”

Well, yes. He knew what he was risking. But he’d felt low enough that he didn’t particularly care about himself.

He was just tired of hurting Thomas.

(And maybe, just maybe, if there was a part of him, small and insidious in the back of his brain, that found the prospect of nothingness appealing, he’ll keep that to himself.)

“I mean, yeah,” he says. “But that didn’t happen. You guys came and got me, and I’m okay now. Not gonna do anything like that again, I swear.”

“That’s not my point,” Logan says, even more upset entering his voice. He crosses his arms, holding his shoulders tensely. “No matter how illogical it might seem, I find myself wondering what might have happened had we not attempted to reach you in time, and the idea is… displeasing.”

Oh.

Despite himself, Virgil’s heart flutters.

“So, I arrived at the conclusion that assuring myself of your continued well-being would help to assuage my concern.” Logan fidgets. “As well as the fact that… I want you to be alright. For yourself, and not just because I am…”

“Anxious?” Virgil can’t resist finishing, even as he feels his face flushing underneath his foundation. God, he hopes Logan doesn’t pick up on that. He shouldn’t be reacting this strongly to something as simple as basic worry, especially after the day they all had, but to know that Logan has been thinking about him? That Logan doesn’t like the idea of him not being around, doesn’t want him to vanish?

That Logan cares enough to come check on him like this?

It’s a strong, heady feeling, and Virgil has the sneaking suspicion that his crush has just upgraded itself.

“Yes,” Logan answers, and he seems a bit embarrassed, but he holds his ground, staring Virgil straight (gay) in the eyes. The direct eye contact is intense, almost too much for him to handle, but Virgil finds himself unable to look away.

“Well, uh, I appreciate it, I guess,” he manages. “Really, it’s nice to know that you care.”

“Of course,” Logan says, and seems almost indignant at the idea that he might not. “I value our discussions,” he adds, and Virgil has to pretend that that statement doesn’t almost give him a heart attack.

But that is mostly the end of that conversation, because really, neither of them is very good with touchy-feely emotions. Logan sinks back out shortly after, and Virgil is left alone in his room, his headphones lying uselessly on his lap as his mind reviews their exchange over and over again, searching for all the places where it might have gone wrong, or where he might have messed up. He can’t really find any, and that is a realization in and of itself, almost enough to distract him from the bigger one, the one that looms over him.

It’s not just a crush anymore. He could try to deny it, but he thinks that would summon unwanted attention. So he accepts it, accepts that he is… he’d say infatuated, but infatuated isn’t the right word. Infatuated doesn’t even begin to cover what he feels when he looks at Logan, doesn’t cover the way his heart races and his words trip over themselves and the way he longs for his approval. It doesn’t cover the way he knows so many little details about him, like the way Logan pushes at his glasses or fiddles with his tie when he’s nervous or upset, or the exact way his lips curl around the edges when he’s pleased and trying not to show it. So many little details, none of which would be on his radar at all if he wasn’t—

Well. He won’t deny it. But he doesn’t particularly see the need to voice it, either.

After all, it’s not like it changes anything. Or at least, it shouldn’t. He wasn’t planning on sharing his feelings when they were a simple crush, and he’s certainly not going to share them now that there’s more.

Except, nothing is ever that simple,

(Nothing ever can be, with him. It’s what he does best, turning easy things into overcomplicated messes because he can’t let go of all the what ifs—)

because suddenly, he’s welcome to spend time with the others. Is welcome at their table, is welcome in the commons, is welcome to join their movie nights and their game nights, and most of the time, he even feels mostly okay with doing so, because Patton is enthusiastic in his invitations, and he can tell that even Roman is honestly trying. And sometimes, it makes him want to cry, because this is all he’s ever wanted, to be one of them, and now he can and it’s almost too much.

The only problem with that is that he’s spending a lot more time around Logan.

Which is fine. Great, even.

Except, sometimes, Logan will do things. Little things, inconsequential things, but things that remind Virgil all too clearly of the feelings he keeps nestled under his heart.

For instance, Logan bites his lip a lot. When he’s working, when he’s watching movies, when he’s listening to the others, and sometimes for no reason at all. It’s a stupid thing to get caught up on, but he can’t help himself. And it’s not as if Virgil’s attraction to him begins or ends with the physical, but—

Whenever he does it, Virgil can’t stop his eyes from zeroing in on his lips. Can’t stop himself from thinking about how much he would like to kiss him.

He would like to kiss him a whole lot. And he’s fairly sure he’s being pretty obvious about it, but he can’t bring himself to stop.

So, really, he should have prepared himself for the possibility of being found out. Under any other circumstance, he would have, but there’s a saying, he thinks, about love and fools.

“Can I help you with something?” Logan says, and Virgil flinches violently, the rest of the world coming back into focus. He snaps his gaze up to meet Logan’s eyes, and the expression on his face might be amusement, maybe, but it could also be annoyance, and in fact, it’s probably definitely annoyance, because actually Logan is annoyed with Virgil and maybe even angry and now their budding friendship is completely ruined and all because Virgil doesn’t know better than to stare when he really shouldn’t be staring and—

No, stop. Stop. He’s not going to do that, not right now. He wrests his thoughts back under control with an effort.

Logan was working, typing away on his laptop, biting his lip as he concentrated. And Virgil just so happened to be out in the commons as well, in the perfect position to watch him and daydream, just a bit.

He needs to reply. He’s left it too long, and Logan’s eyebrows are inching up his face as he awaits a response. And the longer he takes to come up with something, the more suspicious Logan will be, so he should just shrug, mutter a denial, and pointedly turn his attention away. Something like that.

But it’s his job to make snap decisions under pressure. And sometimes those decisions aren’t the right ones.

So instead of taking another second to think things through and deflect Logan’s interest, his mouth opens ahead of his brain and says, “Can you please stop biting your lip?”

Logan stares. Virgil feels himself wilting.

“… It’s distracting,” he finishes weakly, and prays for the ground to swallow him whole. He can’t even manage to sink out

(because his mind is screaming at him now, screaming horrified recriminations, screaming all of the worst case scenarios, and it’s taking all of his concentration to breathe properly, much less get out of here)

because the sheer force of his embarrassment is leaving him paralyzed, curled up in his chair and with nowhere to go, nowhere to escape Logan’s widening eyes.

“Is it now,” Logan says, and he doesn’t sound particularly angry, but Virgil could very easily be wrong. Or, he could be angry and trying to hide it. Or maybe he’s not angry, but irritation would probably be just as bad, at this point.

“Sorry,” he mutters, hunching in on himself. “Nevermind, forget I said anything.”

“Virgil, you’re magnifying,” Logan says softly, and that softness is worse than any anger could be, because what if he’s figured it out? What if he pities him? Virgil would take just about anything over pity. “Whatever you think you just said, I assure you that it didn’t come off nearly as badly as you seem to believe.” He pauses, tilting his head. “Though, I can’t say I’m certain of what you meant, considering—”

He cuts off suddenly, and Virgil can practically see the cogs turning in his head. He should leave now, leave before Logan draws his conclusions, but he is frozen, powerless to do anything but let this train wreck happen in real time.

“I wouldn’t ordinarily consider biting my lip to be a disruptive habit,” Logan says slowly. “It makes no noise and does no one any harm, and it’s not something I would think affects anyone else. But you were staring, which means there is something about the habit that draws your attention. I can only think of a few reasons for that.”

He takes it back. Pity would be far better than this, than this slow and measured reasoning, drawing out all of Virgil’s best-kept secrets, spiraling toward a conclusion that he never wanted anyone to know, much less Logan himself.

Perhaps that is why he says what he says. Because with this, Logan is only prolonging the inevitable, and it’s torture.

It’s like a band-aid. The biggest band-aid ever, maybe, covering one of the worst wounds of his life, but a band-aid. And it’s coming off one way or another, so he might as well rip it off now and brace himself for the sting.

“Oh my god,” he says. “It makes me want to kiss you. That’s why it’s distracting. And I’m just gonna go die in a hole now, if that’s alright.”

His face is burning, mortification rising up in him like a tidal wave, threatening to swamp him. This is, possibly, the worst thing that has ever happened to him, ever.

(It’s not, of course, because anything and everything is better than it was before he was accepted, when he was on his own and so lonely and bitter all the time. But this comes close, he thinks. It’s a different kind of hurt altogether, but a hurt nonetheless.)

Logan sets his laptop down, giving him his full attention. For a moment, he is completely silent, and Virgil prepares himself to stand and sink out and into his room, where he will spend the next few weeks huddled under the covers on his bed with his headphones on blast, hating his life and himself for being such an idiot, because here he is, ruining one of the best friendships that he has ever known, and for what? Because he was too much of a moron to keep himself from staring, from forcing his unwanted attentions upon the one side who was more likely than any of the others to notice what he was doing? It’s pathetic, and stupid, and he knows it, and Logan knows it, and—

“I don’t see why you need to do that,” Logan says. His voice shakes, just slightly. “You could kiss me, if you wanted.”

Virgil stills. He can’t have heard that right.

Logan clears his throat. “That is to say, I would enjoy it, if you kissed me. If I’d realized you were interested, I would have broached the topic sooner.”

Hysterical laughter threatens to escape him, his brain dissolving into static, because what? And he knows he needs to say something, needs to respond, but his vocal cords refuse to work, so he’s left sitting there, staring, stricken dumb.

Logan glances away, something like uncertainty crossing his face. “I apologize,” he murmurs. “I’m not doing this right, am I?”

And that is what finally spurs Virgil to action, because Logan sounds so terribly dejected, and that is absolutely not allowed. Not when it’s Virgil that’s made such a mess of things, when none of it is Logan’s fault at all.

“Do you mean it?” he croaks.

Logan blinks, his expression clearing, and then landing on comprehension. His face softens, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he stands, crossing the floor and kneeling in front of where Virgil sits.

“Of course I do,” he says, and then reaches out with one hand, cupping Virgil’s cheek. Virgil’s breath catches, the contact shooting lightning across his face and down his spine. His heart starts beating faster, and he doesn’t know whether it’s fear or anticipation or some mixture of the two. Most of him still hasn’t processed that this is happening, hasn’t made the jump from Logan can never know about my feelings because he’ll reject me and then I’ll have no choice but to jump off a cliff to Logan knows about my feelings and he is doing the exact opposite of rejecting me hoooooly shit what do I do—

“I think about you often,” Logan says. “Ever since our first debate, if I’m being completely honest.”

Virgil blinks.

The laugh escapes him, then, but there’s not much hysteria in it. It’s something warm, now, something bright and colorful and blooming as he realizes just how much of an idiot he’s been, as his anxiety slowly begins to fade away,

(not completely, never completely, because he is who he is and that will never change, and his mind is already looking to the future, at all the fresh new opportunities he is going to have to screw this up, but for now, in this moment, he has Logan here in front of him, offering to kiss him, telling him that his feelings aren’t as one-sided as he convinced himself they had to be, and it’s very difficult to be negative at all, in the face of such a beautiful thing as this, as him)

morphing into something that he is tentatively willing to call hope.

“Yeah?” he says. “Me too.”

Before he can lose his nerve, he shifts position, leans down, and kisses Logan. Lightly, briefly, and it’s really more of a peck than anything else, but in the split second in which their lips meet, Virgil can feel just how soft Logan’s are, and when he pulls back, anxiously searching for a reaction, Logan’s cheeks are dusted with red.

“Yes, um,” Logan says. “That was… good. Would you like to do it again?”

A wave of fondness washes over him, and he lets it drag him away.

“You dork,” he says, and pecks him on the lips again. He doesn’t yet have to courage to try for more, but he thinks that might come with time. If he is allowed time, if he is allowed this, and he is not prone to optimism, but for once, he might be willing to give it a go.

Optimism, and whatever this is, new and exciting and budding between them. And there is a part of his mind that is screaming at him, insisting that he’s only going to hurt Logan or get hurt himself, and that no brief happiness could ever be worth that, but—

Logan’s lips are gentle and soft, and Logan is smiling at him, and that, he thinks, might be worth the world.

(“I would be extremely displeased if you died in a hole,” Logan informs him a bit later. “Please refrain from doing so.”

He agrees, if only because of that fact that if he died in a hole, he would never get to kiss Logan ever again. And now that he’s started, he doesn’t ever want to stop.

He is not one to believe in permanence. Or in happy endings. But just this once, he’ll try it, and trust that Logan will catch him if he falls.)

General Taglist: @just-perhaps @the-real-comically-insane @jerrysicle-tree @glitchybina @psodtqueer @mrbubbajones @snek-boii @severelylackinginquality @aceawkwardunicorn @gayerplease @elizabutgayer @dwbh888 @thatoneloudowl @sanderssides-angst @gayboopnoodle @wildfire5157 @a-ghostlight-for-roman @ldavmp4

[twinkleton]

how abt a douxie x reader fic where douxie and the reader are enemies to lovers back in camelot, but merlin, being able to glimpse into the future, knows they’ll be together in the end, so he pushes douxie to be nicer to the reader! I love your writing btw! your douxie imagine was so precious 💗

hello! thanks for your ask! and thank you so much! it was hard to think of a reason as why douxie would hate the reader, but then I rewatched the first episode of wizards and got my inspo for this fic :) hope you enjoy!

tw: blood

“Don’t be afraid, I’m here to help you,” said Morgana, as she held out her hand to a girl with her back against the wall, tucked away in a back alley. The girl had just been caught performing magic by a guard, which was strictly forbidden in Camelot. To avoid being thrown in a dungeon, she sprinted off towards the nearest alleyway, however luckily for her she was spotted by the only person who could possibly help her.

“Please don’t turn me in, I swear I’ll never do magic again. Please just let me go-” Morgana cut her pleas.

“Not practicing magic is the last thing I want from you, dear,” she assured. Morgana handed the girl her cloak, prompting her to wear it. “What is your name?” she asked.

“Y/N. I’m afraid I have no family name.”

“Never be ashamed of that, Y/N. Be proud that you have no legacy to follow. Your destiny is entirely your own,” Morgana placed her hand on her shoulder. A sigh of relief came from Y/N. She felt safe enough to let her guard down and trust this woman. Trust being something she hadn’t given anyone in so long. 

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“To the King’s castle, you’ll be safe there,” 

“But the King hates anything and everything involved with magic!” Y/N exclaimed. 

“True,” Morgana led her out of the alley and towards the path to the castle. “However, his sister makes the exception,” Y/N gave a soft gasp. She’d never known the King had a sister. This calmed her worries as they headed to what would be her new home.

-----------------  

Adjusting to life at the castle was pretty simple for Y/N. She got along great with Merlin, King Arthur never threw her into the dungeon, and Morgana introduced her to magic beyond what she ever thought she’d be capable of. There was only one person who kept it from being perfect. Hisirdoux.

“For the last time, will you please stop touching my belongings?!” Y/N snapped, grabbing her spellbook Hisirdoux was trying to read from his hands. In her opinion, he had been doing absolutely anything to get on her nerves the past few weeks she’s been here. She went to take a seat at the desk in Merlin’s study that they were both in. 

“I don’t understand why Merlin and Morgana trust you with magic but not me! I’ve been here much longer than you have!” Hisirdoux complained. Here he was, tasked to sweep the floor for the thousandth time, while Y/N is practicing spells he hasn’t even heard of yet. He didn’t even recognize the spellbook Merlin gave her. He sat on top of a pile of books in a corner. 

Y/N scoffed. “Maybe it’s because I have some things called discipline and control. Things you clearly lack,” she spat, flipping a page in her book. 

“I do not lack control!” The broom he had tried bewitching earlier whacked him upside the head, as if in response. 

“Even your broom agrees with me,” Y/N teased. 

That was enough to set something off in Hisirdoux. Unbeknownst to her, he managed to read one spell from her book before she took it away. Now, he has the bright idea to test it. 

Y/N was too focused in her reading to notice Hisirdoux switching his bracelet to the rune needed for the spell. He planted his feet, took a deep breath in, and held his hands out towards him. 

“Ortum obumbratio, ortum obumbratio, ortum obumbratio,” he repeated over and over, and all of the light in the room darkened. There was suddenly a chill in the air.

It was his second repeat that Y/N recognized as one of the spells from her book. It was definitely the worst spell for Hisirdoux to be doing. She shot up from her seat.

“Hisirdoux! Are you insane?! This book is shadow magic, it is way too dangerous for you!” Her hands came to her side, glowing scarlet with her magic. 

He gave no response, still repeating the spell again and again. It seemed the shadows were taking over him, with streaks of black starting to form all over his skin, and his eyes turning back as well. Slowly, dark phantoms came creeping along the walls of the study. One came up behind Y/N, reaching to grab her. She felt the presence and quickly backed away from it. She wasn’t, however, fast enough to avoid another shadow, which slashed at her. It striked her all along her chest to her left shoulder. She let out a cry from the pain. Blood immediately started spilling from the wound.

“Hisirdoux, you have to snap out of it!” she yelled. Still nothing from him. She saw no other choice.

“I’m sorry,” she warned, as she shot her magic towards him, causing him to fly across the room, slamming against a bookcase, causing it to fall. Y/N pulled him away from the bookcase before it landed on him. The shadows suddenly vanished, with the light flooding back into the room. Hisirdoux awoke with a gasp. 

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

Merlin had been at his wits end with the two apprentices. The constant bickering and fighting made absolutely no good environment for him to create the amulet needed for the upcoming war. Y/N was a talented and bright witch, but her attachment to Morgana could lead her on the wrong path. Merlin needed something to keep that from happening. 

An idea had come into his mind earlier to use the time map. Hisirdoux and Y/N were taking residence in his study so he decided to move to another room nearby before opening it. He sat down on the bed inside, and opened the map. He scrolled through time, what he was searching for he wasn’t entirely certain. However, he eventually found it in the twenty-first century. The map showed Hisirdoux and Y/N in a tight embrace, then letting each other go slightly only to pull into a loving kiss, over and over again in a loop. 

He let out a small chuckle, staring affectionately at the image. 

“Love will always conquer evil, won’t it Hisirdoux?”

A loud bang abruptly came from his study. He quickly hid the map away and ran towards the sound.

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

“WHAT THE DEVIL IS GOING ON IN HERE?!” Merlin bellowed. 

It was a justifiable response to the sight he held. His study was a mess, books and trinkets scattered all across the room. Pieces of glass were shattered and all over the floor. One of his bookcases was entirely knocked over, where a dazed and confused Hisirdoux laid beside it. Y/N had collapsed to the floor, leaning against the wall. She was covering her wound with her hand, albeit unsuccessfully as blood was seeping through her fingers. 

Morgana had burst into the room as well, wide-eyed and appalled at what she was currently witnessing. 

“Hisirdoux, Y/N, explain yourselves this instant!” she commanded. 

Hisirdoux was at a loss for words. The idea of having to explain what happened mortified him.

“I-I didn’t mean, I didn’t mean for this-Y/N I’m so sorry-”

“I’ll tell you what happened,” Y/N rose up from the ground, grimacing from the pain coming from her injury.

She made direct eye contact with Merlin. “Your apprentice thought it’d be a good idea to perform shadow magic, something he has never been able to accomplish. I’d congratulate him on achieving it this time, if I didn’t have to save him from it consuming him due to his lack of control,” she throws him a nasty glare. Hisirdoux retreats his eyes to the floor. 

“Hisirdoux, is what she’s accusing of you true?” Merlin questioned. He had no benefit of doubt in his tone however. 

It takes everything in him to look up at everyone. All of their faces are brimming with disappointment. 

“Yes. It’s true,” he confessed. 

“Y/N,” Morgana calls. Y/N walks over to her. “Let’s deal with that wound before it gets infected.”

She glances towards Merlin. “Deal with him, or I will.” With that threat hanging in the air, she and Y/N leave. 

Merlin says nothing to Hisirdoux, which fuels his anxiety more than him speaking ever would. 

“Master, please say something.” he pleaded.

“Do you realize the destruction you have caused?” Merlin spat.

“Yes I-”

“You’ve destroyed my study.”

“I know I-”

“You almost brought dark shadows that would wreak havoc on Camelot.”

“Yes! Please-”

“And worst of all!” Merlin shouted. “You almost got Y/N and yourself killed.”

Hisirdoux sank at that. He was ashamed of all of it, but what he regretted the most of all was putting Y/N in danger. He wouldn’t have been able to live with himself had he gotten her killed. They had their differences and petty arguments, but the last thing he wanted was her death. She didn’t deserve that. 

“I-I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I just wanted to prove for once I was capable of something greater. That you could trust me with more than just sweeping.” He looked over to where the broom was, walked over and picked it up off the floor. “I was wrong, all I’ll ever be capable of is clean up duty.”

Merlin let out a big sigh. “Hisirdoux, I know you are capable of far more than sweeping. Your skill will undoubtedly match with Y/N.”

Hisirdoux looked up at Merlin, with eyes almost pleading for him to continue.

“I’m afraid it’s my own fear that is holding you back. The stronger you become, the greater the threats you will have to face. However, running errands for me and Morgana keeps you safe and away from harm. I owe you an apology, had it not been for my trepidation, none of this would’ve happened.”

Of all of the possible responses he could’ve gotten, Hisirdoux wasn’t expecting that one. He has never seen this caring side of Merlin before, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it. 

There’s a moment of silence again, only this time it’s ended by Merlin giving Hisirdoux two strong pats on the shoulder. Hisirdoux grins. 

Merlin continues, “Now, about dear Y/N.”

The grin on Hisirdoux’s face vanishes. “Please don’t tell me I have to apologize right now.”

“Go apologize to her right now. And don’t-”

“But Master!-”

“But Master me. And do something about this mess.”

And with that, Merlin leaves the study, leaving Hisirdoux alone with the mess and his thoughts.

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

A few hours later, Y/N was resting in her room when she heard a knock at the door. 

“Who’s there?”

Hisirdoux opened the door, poking his head out sheepishly.

“It’s me, may I come in?” he asks.

“That depends, are you going to try to kill me again?”

“Not today, maybe next week?”

That earns a small laugh from Y/N.

“Come in, you fool.”

He walks in, immediately noticing her chest and shoulder wrapped up. Some blood has soaked through the gauze. The feeling of guilt invades his heart.

“Y/N I am so, so deeply sorry. I should have never tried that spell. You were right, I had no control. I let my ego get the best of me. Please, forgive me.”

She takes a deep breath in, then out, and finally smiles at him.

“Mind helping me switch the wrappings?” she asked kindly, apology clearly accepted.

He’s grinning from ear to ear, excited at the chance of helping her for what could be the first time since they met. He sits down beside her on her bed, taking out the gauze from the dresser next to the bed.

Y/N has already started unwrapping the gauze from her shoulder, wincing once it becomes too hard to do the rest on her own. Hisirdoux takes over from there, slowly and carefully undoing the rest for her. Once the wound is revealed, another twinge of regret hits Hisirdoux.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, his words laced with remorse.

“You’ve already apologized, really it’s my turn to apologize to you,” Y/N replies softly.

He begins wrapping her shoulder up again, “Whatever for? You were right about all of it. I’m a screw up.”

“Hey,” Y/N uses her good arm to raise a hand to his cheek, moving his face towards hers. He looks into her eyes, realizing for the first time just how vibrant they are. 

“You’re not a screw up, you just haven’t reached your full potential yet. Besides, I’m not perfect at all. You’re lucky you’re not there when I train with Morgana. It can be a real hot mess sometimes, literally I almost burned Morgana’s hair off one time,” she joked. Hisirdoux laughs, wishing he could’ve been there to see that.

“I’m sorry for not being fair to you these past few weeks.” Y/N says remorsefully. By now Hisirdoux has finished wrapping up her shoulder.

He replies, “How’s the idea of starting over sound?” She beams at him, clearly agreeing with the idea. “Sounds perfect, Douxie.”

He smiled, liking the new nickname she’s given him. Y/N realizes she still has her hand on his face, and lets it fall off. Douxie catches it instead, and they hold each other’s hand, gossiping and poking fun at their masters for a while.

[mmmatchasims]

Dream BPR: Frequently Asked Questions

What challenge rules are you following?  The short answer is, I’m not following any! The first rainbowcy I ever attempted was in the sims 3 before @berrysweetboutique had even turned her BPR into an official challenge (it was.. a long time ago lmao). Because of that I’ve always had ideas for my eventual reboot that didn’t really fit into the established norms of the challenge. You could say that I’m loosely inspired by the original ruleset and I may be including some elements of the updated ruleset in later gens, but don’t hold me to it :)

What happened to your first BPR on this blog? The Buttercream Rainbowcy is still on this blog! The first two gens were completed and I had just barely started the third when I decided to reboot everything. You can read that story using these three links and browse through the legacy extras. If you really want to waste a couple hours, DM me and I’ll send you the link to the Wordpress blog where I attempted my first ever rainbowcy - just a heads up the writing is obviously horrible and I only made it through 3 gens 

Will I spoil any of your new BPR for myself if I want to read the old one? Nope! I’ve definitely taken heavy inspo from my first attempt, like with names and characters and certain plot points like Jasmine’s disappearance (but she vanished under verrrry different circumstances this time around). I would say that gen 2 is the most similar to it’s source material since I still want it to focus on Rose dealing with the trauma of her mother’s disappearance, and I’ll be exploring the same story I was going to in gen 3. Thankfully I never got far enough into Hib’s story to really spoil anything for readers. Overall, I promise you this is a very different story than my first BPR on this blog, and I’m so excited for you all to read it!

Where is the purple spouse, why did you skip peach and teal, why are the rules for the yellow heir missing, etc.? See the first question! I’m going rogue with this challenge in order to tell the story I’ve always wanted to. It was really important to me to have a black and a gold generation, and I never really connected with the prompt for the yellow heir so I threw it out! I am still borrowing inspiration from wherever I find it, so I may pull in elements from other challenge rule sets in the future as well. 

You reference one of the Major Arcana for each generation, are you also doing a tarot legacy challenge? Once again, nope! Although when I was researching this challenge I got inspired to implement the symbolism of the Major Arcana in each generation, which really really helped guide the plot when I was writing it out. That’s all you’ll get from me for now ;)

So what’s the deal with Gen 1? I took a page out of @simblrinterests book and did it as gameplay! But fret not, all will be revealed in time. 

[isthisthingeven0n]

bitter : d.d

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED UNTIL MID AUGUST. Please do not send one in right now, as I can’t get to it sorry guys.

brief summary: after you and david break up, you return months later with another guy. yet david can’t help but feel a little bitter 

word count: 1.5k requested: yesss by one anon initially and then another gave me more inspo. love that i can use fletcher for this one, she truly is a babe   warnings: david being a lil bitch 

* masterlistin’ / masterlistin’ 2.0

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website know it hasn’t been approved me unless specified. all rights reserved. - i have to start doing this as I had some shit on my other blog with plagiarism)

DO NOT STEAL MY WORK - IT IS ALL MY OWN WRITING

With you, I thought things would’ve gone differently. You lit up an entire room with your smile, the way you could easily comfort me during stressful times with your fingers in my hair, it was effortless. 

Every time you came over, I could see that underlying look of lust in your gaze. You loved when the house was empty, a chance to explore and play games with me, not that I ever resisted. 

Yet, you brought it to an end. Out of the blue, you hit me with it. One moment, we’re lying in bed together, a sheen of sweat across your forehead as you run your fingers through your hair. 

I was still panting lightly, feeling your lips hovering above mine before you pulled away. 

“I don’t think I can do this anymore. I’m sorry.” 

Then you got up, I watched the silhouette of your body walk out of the room with clothes in hand, and you vanished for months. 

No one could find you, no one had seen you. And then you returned, three months ago you walked back into our lives like we hadn’t ever happened. You seemed fresh, but entered Scott’s home with a stale looking guy. 

I watched as we went on nights out how you sat on his lap, your arm around his neck as your fingers glided through his hair. You laughed at his shitty jokes as I remained on the sidelines, witnessing you fall for someone else. 

“Dude, let it go already.” Ilya muttered to me as we sat by the bar, my hand clenched around the glass of Pepsi they had instead of Coke. “She’s happy, just let her be.” He sighed, but I couldn’t let it go, not yet. 

You began to turn your body away from the bar, from our friends dancing together. Ilya watched alongside me as your body started to rock back and forth against his, your hips grinding. It was something I could make out as clear as day even through the sea of bodies grinding together, I could still see yours. 

“You know she was late arriving tonight, don’t you?” I told Ilya who merely rolled his eyes, but I continued on. “I could smell it on her, and he couldn’t wipe that dumb smile off his face.” 

“She’s moved on, Dave.” Ilya reminded me as I took another swig from the glass. “You should too.” 

It wasn’t that easy though, seeing you with him. Whenever you turned up somewhere, he followed you like a puppy dog. 

“Hey, you coming to Y/n’s tonight?” Natalie asks as I glance up over my laptop. 

“I’m invited?” I question, and Ilya sighs beside me. “What? It’s a valid question.” 

Natalie and Ilya exchange a quick look before she nods. “Yeah, we all are.” She states, crossing her arms. “I’ll let her know we’ll be there then, she’s cooking a meal, a special occasion she said.” Natalie shrugs her shoulder, leaving me with that lingering thought.

“Special occasion, huh?” I mutter to myself before trying to focus back on my work, but the only thing that circles my mind is the thought of what you’re celebrating with him. 

*

Standing in front of your apartment with Natalie and Ilya felt strange. I was so used to coming on my own, a bunch of flowers in hand after a fight or to just be with you for a few hours. Yet, I can already hear laughter inside, gentle piano through a speaker. This isn’t your influence, it’s clearly his.

“Be civil, yeah?” Natalie mutters over her shoulder to me as I keep my head down. 

The front door swings open, and I can hear your laugh already. “Hi guys, come on in, food won’t be too long.” You hug Natalie tightly, Ilya following suit. 

“Hey,” I try to force a smile, but unlike mine yours is genuine. “sorry we’re late.” 

You brush it off, kissing my cheek quickly. “It’s all good, Dave,” You tell me with another one of your smiles, but this one doesn’t reach your eyes like they used to. 

“Is that everyone, honey?” He, Blake, calls out from the kitchen, peering his head through the door as I stand by your side, remembering how good we looked together at events like these.

Moving away from me, you walk toward him. “Yeah, that’s everyone.” You comment before kissing his lips chastely. “Dinner in the oven?” 

Blake smiles as his hand rests on your lower back. “It’s all under control, babe. Enjoy yourself.” He reassures you as you turn on your heels, returning to a conversation with Carly who clearly gushes over your relationship with Blake. 

“How’re you holding up?” Heath pitches in as he passes me a beer, one that I gladly accept. 

I nod briefly, picking at the label on the bottle in my hand. “I’ll get over it. Least she’s happy.” I mutter, and Heath pats my arm supportively as he begins to tell me about the new truck he was looking at buying. 

As Heath talks in earnest about his car collection, my eyes wander over to you stood on the other side of the room. You’re always just out of reach, but Blake’s hand rests on your hip as you both talk to Zane, Scott and Erin. But then I catch it, you glance my way before quickly retracting as if it never happened. 

But I saw the way you looked at me, even if it were for a split second, I felt my heartbeat stutter like you did with your words. 

Sitting down for dinner, I can’t help but observe how the photos of us are no longer on display. You’ve replaced countless frames with ornaments along with the occasional polaroid shot of you with Blake. I want to comment on it, but Natalie hits my leg, cutting me off before I can. 

“So what’s the special occasion?” Erin asks as you begin to take the empty plates away. 

My eyes follow yours as you focus on Blake with a nervous smile. “We’re, we’re moving in together.” Blake states, and everyone speaks up at once. 

A series of excitement spreads throughout the room, but you’re waiting for me to say something, I just know it. 

“Congrats, you guys.” I add, and I watch as your shoulders relax as the tension releases from them. “Here, let me help.” I offer, taking a few of the dishes from you, following suit into the kitchen. 

“Thanks, Dave.” You mutter, placing the dishes in the sink as I hover by the door, slowly closing it over allowing us a moment. “I know what you’re thinking,” You start, a small sigh leaving your lips. 

“That so?” I comment, crossing my arms as you face me now, your arms spread out as you lean against the counter. 

“I know this all seems kinda fast, but I’m happy, I really am.” You laugh lightly. “I just want you to know I’ll always care about you, regardless.” 

Shaking my head, I step closer toward you. “I am happy for you, Y/n.” I rest my hand on my chest. “Cross my heart, I just,” Pausing, I’m in front of you, mere inches away from you. I can hear your breath haltering as you focus on my eyes. “there are some things I’ll never forget.” 

“What’d you mean?” You quietly ask, standing up taller in front of me as I smirk, edging closer until I’m leaning against you. 

“Things like this.” I mutter before lifting my hand up to the back of your neck, pulling your head toward mine as I kiss you passionately. 

Your lips mould against mine like old times, muscle memory clearly working as a small moan escapes you. 

“No,” You sigh as you push me away, your hands resting on my chest as you lower your gaze. “I, I can’t, David.” You admit. 

“That’s fine,” I reassure you, placing my hands over yours as I gently lower them. “but can you still taste me when you kiss him? ‘Cause I’ll never forget the taste of you on my lips.” I add, and you quickly take your hands away from mine, just as the kitchen door opens. 

“Everything okay in here?” Blake peeks his head through the door with a small smile, clearly noting the shift in your body language as you glide past me into his arms. 

“Yeah, David was just helping with dessert.” You tell him, and Blake focuses on me. 

“That I was, and trust me, it’s real sweet.” I chuckle, taking the cake left on the side and exit the kitchen past both of you, even if you’ll never be mine, doesn’t mean I can’t be a bit bitter.