#I’ve been writing fic for almost a decade and I suddenly lost all desire to post fanfic and I hadn’t realized how long it had been

[bixlasagna]

Ok actually gonna binge house now

[princess-of-riviaa]

The Last Time (Part 1)

Pairing: August Walker x Reader

Summary: As an agent of the CIA, August is always leaving you. This time, you’re sure your heart is too broken for it be mended.  But when he shows up in your life after a six month absence, you realize things are never so simple with him.

Author’s Note: If you’ve read any of my other work (I’m looking at you, Vices Chapter 5) then you know that I have a weird obsession with a couple sharing a meal together and enjoying wine. I just think it’s very romantic and relaxing and the idea of someone cooking my favorite meal for me in my home gets me all soft. So I had to put it in here. Enjoy ;) also, I am obsessed with Taylor Swift and one of my all time fav songs of hers is “The Last Time” on her Red album, which gave me a lot of inspiration for this fic lol

Warning(s): there is literally no smut, just angst (I’m writing a part 2 to this that will include smut)

Word Count: 2.5k

There’s a second impatient knock on your front door before you can even reach it. “One second! God, don’t you know that it takes time to answer a fucking door--” you began as you pulled the door open, then paused.

Hard blue eyes and a blank face stared down at you. His facial hair had grown out since you’d last seen him--what was it, six months?--but he was still just as thick with muscle. His brown curly hair was cut short and brushed back nicely, though his button-down shirt and jeans had blood stains on them. If you were anyone else, seeing August Walker standing at your door should have been enough to make you pee your pants or run and hide. But being who you were, and him being who he was, all you could do was stare at him.

He took you in, too, taking a minute to scan every inch of you and ensure you were the same woman he’d left behind all that time ago. August opened his mouth--

You slammed the door in his face.

“Seriously?” He scoffed, his deep voice loud enough to be heard through the door.

“Go away!” you hollered back.

“I’m not leaving,” he insisted.

“Go! Away!” You repeated, hitting your door and imagining it was him you were hitting instead, wanting to hurt him as much as he’d hurt you.

“Let me in,” he said calmly, knowing you would.

“Fuck you, August.” A lump formed in your throat. It became difficult to breathe, difficult to swallow, difficult to think--though the latter had more to do with who was on the other side of your door and less about the tears you struggled to hold back.

“Y/N.” Just the sound of your name on his lips made you want to give in. You wanted him to hold you in his arms as he kissed you passionately, his mouth whispering “I’m sorry”s against your own.

You crossed your arms, trying to resist the urge to open the door again. You knew your worth, knew you deserved more than what this man could give you. But you wanted him--oh, how you wanted him.

“January,” he murmured, barely loud enough for you to hear it.

You gasped. That name... that stupid nickname he had for you... god, it shouldn’t have so much power over you. But you found yourself opening the door anyways. You glared up at him, ignoring the relief in his blue eyes. “What do you want?”

“I want to come home,” he said.

You scoffed. “Tired of the bounty hunter life already?”

“Tired of being away from the one thing that matters in my life,” he corrected.

You paused. He always knew just what to say. It was what you hated and loved about him: his beautiful words full of empty promises. “You should leave. You’re doing no one any good by being here.”

He took a step towards you and his scent overwhelmed your senses. That faint hint of his cologne--something woodsy--mixed with the smell that was pure August wrapped around you in a phantom embrace. You practically whimpered. The day that smell had vanished from your sheets and clothes had been a hard one. You’d wanted that smell back ever since you lost it. Now that it was here, overwhelming you, you only wanted it to disappear again. “I needed to see you. I needed to make sure you were alright, that no one had touched you.”

You forced yourself to hold his gaze as you snapped back, “You’ve worked hard to make sure that the world has no idea who I am, so no, no one’s come after me.”

He flinched like you’d slapped him. The hurt in his eyes was surprising; he was usually a mask of indifference, refusing to let the world into his mind.

“You said you needed to see me,” you repeated. “Well, you’ve seen me. Now leave.”

“January,” he said again, stepping even closer to you. You were now pressed against your apartment’s foyer wall, stuck between that and August. “The promise of a fresh start.”

You knew what he was saying without having to actually say it. He was asking for forgiveness--for abandoning you like he always does, for making you worried sick for six months straight that each new day you’d wake up and hear the news that he was dead. “I’ve given you plenty of fresh starts, and they always end the same. With you running off on some new adventure and me all alone and broken hearted. You ruin me every time.”

“My adventure is when I’m with you,” he corrected. “My missions are just work.”

He was so close to you, so large against your small frame, that you couldn’t look anywhere but at him. His shoes brushed against your bare toes and he eyed the thin tank top and booty shorts you were dressed in. The look made heat spread through your body and your thighs clenched together. It was always so easy for him to get under your skin. You hated it but you were helpless to fight against it.

“I missed you,” he said in a rare moment of vulnerability. “I missed falling asleep beside you every night. I missed coming home to a warm bed with you in it, your legs all tangled up in the sheets as you dreamed about me--about us. I missed touching you, missed marking what was mine.”

A whine caught in your throat at his words. You were suddenly glad to be leaning against the wall because your legs almost gave out at the thought of him taking you, fucking you, claiming you.

He moved slowly as he brought his hand up to your face, letting you push him away at any second. But you couldn’t--not when he was all you could hear and see and smell. He hadn’t even touched you and already you were bending to his will. His fingers brushed across your cheek in a gentle caress. “Tell me you missed me just as much, Y/N.”

Oh, just the way he said your name! You gave in and leaned into his touch as his thumb stroked your cheek.

“Or tell me you didn’t and I’ll leave,” he promised. “I’ll leave and I’ll... I’ll never come back. I’ll leave you alone. If that’s what you want, you’ll never have to see me again.”

“August,” you sighed, closing your eyes. You couldn’t stand to be under his gaze any longer.

“Yes?” His tone was hopeful, eager.

You opened your mouth before you fully knew what you would say--I missed you too? Get the hell out of my apartment? Take me over your knee right now? But you never got the chance to find out. Before any words could leave your mouth you both were silenced by the loudest stomach growl you’d ever heard. You frowned, looking between him and his stomach. The blush that crept onto his face told you that you hadn’t imagined the sound.

“When was the last time you ate?” You questioned, your maternal instincts winning out over the anger and lust burning inside you.

August didn’t care of himself. He only allowed himself the basest human pleasure when he absolutely needed it. He was like that about everything--food, sleep, warmth, sex even. You wouldn’t be surprised if he said he hadn’t eaten anything at all today.

“I can’t remember,” he admitted.

You scoffed at him. You knew what that meant. It had been at least a day and half since he’d stopped to even stuff a crumb in his mouth. You dragged him to your kitchen.

“You can stay for dinner,” you allowed as you made your way over to the pantry, “and then you’re leaving.”

Because you had all the ingredients for it (and because--though you refused to admit it to yourself--you actually had missed him) you made ratatouille. It had been August’s favorite dish since you’d known him. He hovered over your shoulder as you danced around the kitchen, putting the vegetables and ham together. You finally managed to distract him with an appetizer of warm french rolls and cheese. He was insistent on helping you, though, and you finally sent him off to get a bottle of wine. It was quiet for several minutes as the meal cooked in the oven and you realized only when he came back that August had gone to the store a block away to buy some pinot.

“I have wine here,” you said, watching him scour your cabinets for wine glasses.

“I love you darling, I really do, but your taste in wine is...” He hesitated as he grabbed two glasses and brought them to the island, searching for the right word. “Your taste in wine leaves much to be desired.”

“Oh?” You scoffed. “And you’re so much wiser than me?”

He gave you a look. “I’ve spent the last decade and a half going all over Europe on behalf of my job. I’ve lost count of the amount of wineries I’ve been to, the amount of wine I’ve tasted. I’d say my palette is a little bit more advanced than yours, sweetheart.”

You just rolled your eyes. He was right. And you hated it. He knew more about the world than you ever would and you often found yourself envious of the depth of his worldly knowledge. He’d been to every part of the world and you’ve never been outside of your home state.

He poured some wine for both of you. You took a small sip and felt your tastebuds water. Whatever wine he’d bought--you hadn’t seen the label as he’d poured it, which was probably on purpose--was an explosion of sweetness in your mouth. You savored the aftertaste which tasted strongly of berry.

“I told you I know my wine,” he laughed. He’d watched you as you’d taken your first sip, wanting to gauge your reaction.

You just rolled your eyes and watched him as he took a small sip himself. A drop of the wine caught on the edge of his lip and his tongue flicked out to lick it up. Your gaze locked on his mouth, on that tongue, and suddenly your body was engulfed in heat as you remembered how that tongue felt on your skin--

The oven beeped. You jumped and lost your train of thought. It took mental effort to force the blush on your face to fade. August once again hovered over you as you pulled the food out and set it on the stove.

“That’s the best thing I’ve ever smelt,” he sighed, his voice right behind you.

“You may know your wine, August Walker, but I know how to cook.”

...

August’s plate was clear in less than a minute. After you’d lied and convinced him you weren’t hungry, he ate half of your plate, too. You couldn’t help it: you liked watching him eat. Admittedly, you knew it was strange. But he satisfied his body’s cravings and needs so rarely, held onto his self-control for so long, that it was a true sight to watch him give in.

Once he’d finished the food, he carried the dishes to your tiny sink and began washing them. Now it was your turn to be insistent in helping. He finally gave in when you used the tactic of pure logic--if you wash and I dry, we’ll be done in two minutes, you’d reasoned. He reluctantly agreed. You two fell into a silent rhythm for no longer than two minutes--just as you’d predicted. He rinsed his hands off when he was done.

That was when you noticed it.

The scar.

August Walker had worked for the CIA for years. You didn’t know exactly what he did (he was never allowed to share specifics) but you knew it was dangerous. He had scars all over his body. You’d seen them all. So you were used to the sight of him being covered in thick, pale scar tissue all over--but this scar was different.

You reached for his wrist and pulled it closer to you, moving too fast for him to stop you. You ran your thumb over the length of it. The scarring ran from the inside of his wrist to just a few inches below the inside of his elbow. The scar was straight and even. This cut had been made on purpose.

Tears were in your eyes when you looked back at him. “Tell me...” Your voice shook at the knot in your throat. “Tell me you didn’t do this to yourself. Tell me this was someone else--tell me you didn’t...” You couldn’t even finish the sentence. The mere thought of it was unbearable.

“I did it,” he admitted after a moment of hesitation.

“Oh!” You clasped a hand over your mouth as you began to cry. You didn’t want to picture it. The thought of him in that much pain...

He wiped the tears that slipped down your face. His blue eyes watched you, pained, as you continued to cry. “I did this to myself, yes, but I didn’t want to die. I’ve never been suicidal. You don’t have to worry about that.”

It took you a while to calm down even after his proclamation. But finally you managed to say, “Tell me.”

“You know I can’t--”

“Fuck the rules, fuck the secrets!” you exclaimed. “Tell me why the hell you cut your wrist open if you didn’t actually want to kill yourself.”

He hesitated, but one look in your eyes told him that you weren’t going to let this go. So he sighed and said, “I got kidnapped by some people. They tortured me for information. I knew eventually they would break me down. So I cut my wrist.”

“You wanted to die before they could get any information out of you,” you realized.

He nodded curtly.

You looked him deep in the eye as you said, “If you ever die, August, I’ll kill you.”

He smiled faintly. It didn’t reach his eyes, which were still sad at the sight of you in pain. You rested your forehead against his chest and breathed him in. Though he’d hurt you time and again, you loved him. The thought of him gone from this earth...

You pulled back and kissed him. It wasn’t rough and quick and needy, but rather slow and full of love. You wanted to show him how much he mattered to you, even after all this time.

“You don’t get to die on me, August Walker,” you whispered against his lips.

His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling him flush against his wide chest as he kissed you back just as intensely and full of love. “I’ll do my best.” After a moment he added, “how drunk are you?”

“Why?” you asked with a nervous laugh. You hadn’t expected the change in subject.

“Because I don’t want to feel guilty about fucking you tonight,” he said bluntly.

Your cheeks burned at his words, at the images they brought to life in your mind... “I’m drunk enough to let you fuck me, but not too drunk you should feel guilty about it.”

He smiled against your mouth. “That’s the perfect amount.”

...

THERE WILL BE A PART 2 (this time with smut)

[let-it-raines]

I’ve been in such a Neverland/3a kinda mood with fic reading lately, so I figured I’d send my fave CS fic writer a prompt! Or not really a prompt... I’m giving you free reign of everything, I just want to read something from you set in that time period ❤️

@dorisquinn you flatter me so because I am the worst at writing canon and/or canon divergence, but I figured why not? I 100% went down the road of neverland smut because, well, I’ve never done that before, and I feel like that’s a right of passage here. lol. If you want something different, shoot me a message and I’ll try to figure something else out! 💕 

thanks to @shireness-says for making me sprint so that I actually wrote for once

found on ao3 | here | 

-/-

She’s quiet tonight, but really, he would never expect otherwise, especially after everything that’s managed to transpire today.

Rarely is Emma Swan a woman of many words, but now? Now when they are in the most dreaded place in all of the realms, at least to him, and she is constantly working to try to save her boy? Now she is more silent and pensive than ever, but the fire behind her emerald eyes burns just as brightly as always.

As someone often on the receiving end of her rage, he knows that look and that flame better than most.

He knows that look because he feels it too.

Or, well, he felt it, long ago, and on occasion, sparks flicker back to life, the fire igniting and burning so brightly that he thinks the inferno will begin again with no chance of being extinguished.

Yet, as he sits with his back against a hardened tree and watches Emma ignore her parents fervently talking, he knows that what he feels is not the same.

He knows that he does not have a child, no matter how much he felt like Bae was his, and while his loss stings far more than Killian is willing to admit to himself, it is not the same. It is not Emma missing Henry, constantly worried over his well-being as she keeps their little group from killing each other, and while he is not particularly fond of any of their partners in this adventure, at least he is not counting on a woman he despises and parents who blatantly do not understand him to save the one person in the world who matters most to him.

Oh, and a dastardly pirate who not a soul trusts even though his intentions are good. He swears of it, but it has been a long damn time since someone believed in him like that.

The Charmings do not seem to find him capable of living up to their namesake, but he can’t blame them. His first impression was not one he would call particularly good.

Lies, deceit, violence and the works, but he was in a different mindset then. He didn’t know these people, didn’t have any inkling as to who they were, and he had an end goal in mind that he would have done anything to accomplish.

Still would, most likely, but there’s decidedly something different now. When he wakes up, his first thought is not of vengeance. Those thoughts creep in often, but they are not everything.

He’s been given a reminder that he might be capable of more than the evil he’s been for longer than he’d care to admit.

Killian has done horrible things, has ruined lives, and he won’t pretend he has not. If Snow White can forgive the woman who ruined her life in more ways than one can count despite the Queen showing little remorse, maybe Killian can be worthy of the same kind of forgiveness.

Though, he cares little for the forgiveness of Snow or trying to get on her good side.

But he is here and helping to save Emma’s lad, and he knows this devilish island better than anyone else here.

Well, the Crocodile is wandering around here somewhere and tends to know more than he should, but Killian prefers to think of him as little as possible lest he get caught up thinking of his own vengeance and not the goal here.

Henry.

Bae’s son, which Killian still can’t quite believe.

Emma’s son.

That’s why he’s here. That is all, even if David keeps telling Killian that he is only here to seduce Emma. Killian chuckles to himself. That might be nice, but that is not his goal.

If he is to win her heart, it will not be out of any trickery or misdeeds.

If he is to win her heart, it will not be dishonestly. That hasn’t been important to him in centuries, but there she goes again, reminding him of things he has forgotten.

There’s a rustle of leaves, and Killian stops sketching words into the dirt with his hook and prepares himself for battle with one of the Lost Boys before realizing that it’s simply Emma standing from her spot.

And walking toward him.

Well, maybe he’ll be preparing for a battle of another kind then.

She settles down next to him, the tree’s width large enough for them both to have a place to rest their backs, and he can feel the heat of her skin flicker across his as her hand accidentally brushes against his own. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t explain her presence, and he silently reaches for his flask and hands it over to her. She takes it and then downs a healthy amount of rum. His preferred kind is strong, likes to burn down his throat despite his tolerance, and there’s a part of him that is always impressed by how easily Emma can handle it.

As those words flicker through his mind, he’s immediately brought back to earlier today, to his taunting and teasing. All he wanted to do was get a rise out of her. It’s simply so bloody fun to see her nose scrunch and her eyes roll, and while he’s wanted to kiss Emma for weeks now, to feel how soft her pretty pink lips are, he was not expecting her to take him up on his offer.

Then again, Emma is always surprising him.

The way she grabbed his coat and pulled him to her sent heat to his groin almost immediately, and there was a hunger in her kiss that he felt in his own. It’s been decades since he felt a fire like that deep in his belly, and Killian was reminded of just how much he likes when a woman takes charge of her own desires.

(Another reminder, another reminder, another reminder.)

He simply did not expect for his desires to turn into a want that he’s dared not hope for again.

It was a reminder that he didn’t want, that good things could happen to him, but he knows who he is to this woman and these people. He’s an outsider, and if David’s words earlier weren’t clear enough, he is not welcome amongst them.

And yet, here is this fierce woman who has been like a siren to him, calling him back when he wants to stray, sitting so close to him that her thigh keeps brushing against his own.

The jungle is quiet tonight outside of their camp. He hears no birds or other creatures, only the crackle of the fire and the words being shared between Charming and Snow White. They’ve been huddled close together ever since Snow was informed of her husband’s condition, and while it is obnoxious to have to view, Killian so wishes he’d had time like that with Liam. It’s not a happy future for the two of them, especially having to be separated from their daughter and grandson should they chose to stay here to be together, but it is a future.

There is a possibility of one, and that’s more than most people get.

It’s more than he got.  

The Queen is hidden behind a tree across camp, avoiding everyone, and truly, it should be the other way around. He’s no saint, but that woman ruined this family. He understands that a young Snow shared a secret that had horrible consequences, and while Regina was certainly a victim there, she is not one now. At least when it comes to this family. Her son is in trouble, but no one in this camp is at fault for that.

He needs to get off this damn island. It’s giving him too much time to think about people he should not be giving a second thought to.

“How does this rum never run out?” Emma suddenly asks.

She hands him the flask back, and he takes his own sip. “It’s enchanted.” “How’d you manage that?”

“I’ve gotten around.” Emma snickers, and he arches his brow. “Something funny, Swan?”

“Nope. Nothing at all.”

Killian hums and tucks the flask back into his pocket. “I’m aware of what the phrase ‘getting around’ means, love. I was in your world long enough to pick up on a few things.”

“Of course you would pick up on innuendos.”

He winks, and there’s that eye roll he so fancies. “I do my best to make sure I’m well versed in things that I need to be well versed in. Makes life easier.”

“Innuendos make your life easier?”

“When it comes to beautiful women such as you, aye.”

“Do you always flirt to get what you want?” “Why, darling, are you admitting that I’m flirting with you? Are you going to return my affections?”

She kicks at the dirt and turns away from him.

Push and pull.

Push harder. Pull further away.

That’s Emma.

“No matter,” Killian continues, waving his hand in the air in front of them. “Did you come to sit with me for any particular reason? Perhaps to get away from your parents?”

She groans next to him. “I can’t listen to it anymore. I mean, I can’t imagine how they feel, but I – you know what, never mind.”

“Pan got your tongue?”

His lips curl up at the same time that hers pull down into a frown. She is obviously not amused by him tonight.

“My apologies, milady,” he sighs before standing from his spot. The leaves rustle underneath him, but no one from the other side of the camp notices his movement. They’re all too wrapped up in their own lives.

Emma cranes her neck up to look at him, and he’s never seen someone so swan-like. She lives up to her name, but with Emma, he thinks it must be the other way around.

“Are you going somewhere?”

He tilts his head to the side. “I, too, would like to have some time away from the doting lovers and the moaning queen, so I thought I’d take a walk. I know this area well enough to know that we’re near the beach. Would you like to join me?”

Her eyes narrow and dart over to her parents and then back to him. “Is that safe?”

Killian pats his sword with his hook. “I’ve got weapons, as do you. I think we’ll be fine. C’mon, love. I know you need to have your mind taken off of things. This island will drive you insane if you don’t find something that calms you.”

Emma’s shoulders sag before she stands and steps up to him. “What was that for you?”

He swaggers closer, the magnetic field around her always pulling him those few inches forward, and then dips his head so she has a direct view of his wink. “A man likes to keep his secrets, love, but if you play your cards right, I might let you in on it.”

“Can’t you ever be straightforward about anything?”

“I find that I’m straightforward about many things. You simply never pay attention because it’s not what you want to hear.”

Killian doesn’t bother to wait for her reaction. Instead, he turns on his feels, grabs a lit lantern, and starts heading down the path they made earlier to make his way to the beach. He can hear the ocean waves already. It’s a sound that usually calms him, one that he’s nearly always searching for, but here, the echo is different. It’s loud and brash even when the waves are gentle, and he aches for the sound of the waves in the Enchanted Forest or even those of the ones in Storybrooke.

Anything other than this.

Anything.

Emma’s boots crunch behind him, and he lifts an overgrown branch until she steps underneath it and begins walking at his side. A part of him doubted that she would actually follow, but deep down, he knew the odds were more in his favor than disfavor. She’s silent as they walk, but occasionally her hand will brush against his arm, and he feels the heat of her touch spread over him.

There are no truly nefarious plans in his mind as to what they are to do on the beach once they get there, and he wouldn’t be opposed to simply watching the moonlight glint off the water. However, he knows what he was implying when he suggested them leaving the campsite, and he knows that Emma does, too.

A one-time thing, she’d said. Emma may possess a superpower for telling when others are lying, but she’s not the only one who is good at reading people.

The beach comes into view past a few vines and bushes, and Killian slashes through them with his sword before putting it back in its holster and stepping over the newly slain foliage. Emma steps behind him, following exactly in his footsteps, and then all of the sudden the sound of footsteps stop when they step onto the sand.

That was the one good thing about these beaches. It’s soft sand instead of hard pebbles.

There’s a scratch of nails down his back, a faint feeling through the thick material of his leather, and Killian twists his head to see Emma standing so close that he can see all of the freckles on her face, counting them one by one until he knows them as he knows the constellations in the sky.

He’s rather more interested in them than the constellations here.

“You were saying something about getting my mind off things?”

Killian nods and reaches his hand up to tuck her loose hair behind her ear, and his fingers ghost across her cheek, feeling the soft, velvet skin. He’s seen many a beautiful woman in his few hundred years, but there’s something different about this one that he believes might not be physical after all.

Though, she certainly is beautiful in that way.

“Aye, love, I believe I was.”

And then he dips his head and slants his mouth over hers. The initial shock is much the same as it was earlier today, but this time, it’s his turn to take charge. He gets to thread his hand into her hair first and pull her into him before she can grab onto the lapels of his coat, and he gets to control the pace. It’s fast and heady, her tongue already swiping across his bottom lip, and while he wouldn’t mind slowing it down to savor the feeling of her, that’s not what either of them need.

That’s especially not what Emma needs.

It’s been awhile since he’s done this, his taste for bar wenches fading away a long time ago, but the movements haven’t been lost on him. The push and pull, the teasing and tasting, it’s all second nature, but right now, it feels new.

Everything about this is refreshing, but he has to push those thoughts down. He’s had too many sentimental ones about Emma today, too many realizations and questions since their dalliance, and this isn’t a time to think of him yet again not getting something he craves because he isn’t good enough. This is the time to let his body take over and to forget.

That’s why they came here after all.

Emma’s hands tug on his lapels before moving to the inside of his jacket. She runs them over his chest and over the chains hanging from his neck before they settle on his shoulders. He can feel her nails much more clearly with only the thin layer of his shirt keeping her from his skin, and his eyes shut even more tightly at the feel of it all as his tongue tangles with Emma’s in slide so perfectly in sync that he doesn’t believe it’s real.

This is real, this is real, this is real.

“You tell no one of this,” Emma grunts against his lips as she works to remove his coat from his shoulders.

“Aye, I understand.” His hook tugs against her backside, and he releases his hand from her locks to help her take off his coat. It’s heavier than he would like, but it’s what he’s needed to keep warm in ports and on the deck of the Jolly over the years. Now, it will be a nice barrier between the two of them in the sand. “It will be a private dalliance between us.”

“Do you always have to talk like that?” “Like what?”

“Like you’re from a Jane Austen novel?”

“What’s that?”

That gets a smile from Emma, and maybe he’ll be destined to only make her smile when she’s teasing or feeling superior over him not knowing something about her world. For now, he’ll take it.

“She’s a writer. She writes romance.”

“Oh? You read those? I didn’t take you for the type.”

“Shut up,” she groans, pushing him down until he gets the idea and settles down on the ground. Emma sinks down onto her knees and settles on his hips before she dips her head and rejoins her lips to his. “Just be quiet, okay?”

“As you wish.”

Her mouth stills at the words, the same ones he used earlier, but then she’s continuing the kiss, and Killian can feel her over every inch of her. His skin is prickling and beginning to become sweat-soaked once more, but now that he’s without his coat, he can feel the cool breeze of the ocean wafting up onto his skin. He doesn’t know how long they lay in the sand with their mouths moving together with no destination in mind until he feels Emma’s hands near his trousers. She’s pulling apart the laces, and as her mouth breaks away for her to get more access to it, he takes the opportunity to pull at her blouse with his hook. She gasps at the touch, but she doesn’t push him away. Her skin is sun-kissed and glistening with sweat, and her chest is heaving, heart obviously beating as quickly as his is. He swears that he can feel it, but he knows that’s not true.

She’s glowing underneath the moonlight and the flickering of the lantern, and this may be the first time he’s been truly fond of the moon here in a lifetime.

There he goes thinking those thoughts again, and he swore to himself that he would not do that.

Ever tried, ever failed.

Finally, he gets her blouse down enough that he can see the roundness of her breast, and Killian groans at the sight. He’s spent more nights than he’s willing to admit dreaming about something like this, but the reality is much better.

Bloody hell.

Her hand brushes over him through his leathers, and he hisses. But the pain is good, a pleasant burn, and Killian lifts himself to lick away sweat that is gather on Emma’s collarbone. Her skin is salty on his tongue, and he savors it.

“Why the hell are your pants so frustrating?”

“I believe it takes a more patient hand.”

“I don’t have any time for patience,” she huffs, and he notices that her hands are shaking and that she really is struggling to get his leathers down. Killian takes the opportunity to lift his hips to help her, and she finally gets them tugged down, smiling as his cock juts out.

Well, maybe that’s another way he can get an elusive smile out of her.

“Aha,” she laughs, almost giddily.

“I don’t believe that’s a reaction I’ve ever had before.”

She shrugs and starts working with her own bottoms. She handles them much better than she handled his, the zipper easily tugging down and the material peeled off of her so that he can see the toned legs she possesses, all of her muscles defined.

Beautiful.

His mind simply can’t get past that.

“Yeah, well, I’m always one for new things.”

Emma kicks her trousers off until they’re resting on the sand, and she settles back on top of his hips, her softness brushing over his hardness. She’s more ready than he thought she would be, but he’s certainly not going to complain, not when he so desperately needs to be inside of her. Maybe if he’s allowed to do this again, which he doubts, he’ll be able to take the time he usually would with someone like her.

Someone who is more than a conquest.

Someone who should be treasured.

“Really, now?” he questions. “In that case – ”

She slaps his chest, and he grabs onto her hand, holding it to his chest as he chuckles.

“Didn’t I tell you to be quiet?”

“Aye, and while I do so love a woman who takes charge, you have to let a man have a little fun.”

Her groan is frustrated as she tilts his head back, making her neck swan-like again, and all he can think is how much he wants to bite the delicate skin. But that thought is quickly dissipated when Emma takes him in hand, stroking him a few times, before guiding him into her.

Bloody fuck.

It’s better than he could ever imagine to feel her warmth stretching around him and to hear the groan straining in the back of her throat. She’s a vision like this, still half-dressed but entirely indecent, and he almost tells her so before her hands clutch at his shoulders and grab onto the chains around his neck. They’re the only cool thing about this moment, the Neverland heat and heat of their activities consuming him, and it’s a nice touch to feel the mementos he’s collected over the years.

He wishes that he had a way to collect this moment.

“Fuck,” she hisses as she begins a gentle rocking, adjusting a testing out this new position they’re now in. “Fuck.”

“At a loss for words there, Swan?” “Don’t be cocky.”

He juts his hips up at her words, and she moans, and digs her nails into his skin so hard he may bleed.

“Apologies, love,” he says, not meaning it.

In fact, he can’t keep the smile off his face. He’s sure she despises it, but Killian doesn’t care to stop himself when he hasn’t felt this good in ages.

But they’re doing this to forget, he reminds himself, not to remember.

They quickly find a rhythm that works for the both of them. Emma takes control, like he knew she would, and continually changes up how deep he enters her over and over again. It’s like she can’t figure out if she wants shallow or deep, fast or slow, and eventually he tires of it and wraps his arms around her to flip them over, careful not to hurt her with his hook. She gasps at the movement and opens her mouth to say something, but then he’s pushing into her as his mouth deliciously slants over hers.

Emma hooks her foot against his backside, pushing him further inside of her, and he can feel his heart between his ears as he finds the pace that he wants. Her nails keep scratching into his back, and Killian groans before trailing his mouth away from Emma’s to find her ear. He begins whispering to her, working around her rule of him not being loud, and when she complains, he tells her that he’s very much being quiet. Besides, he thinks that words he whispers to her keep her from protesting anymore.

He’s getting close, his high nearing the edge, and he props himself up on his left arm so he can reach between them and rub his thumb over where they’re joined. Emma lets out a long moan that he hasn’t heard before, and then he feels her fluttering, feels her falling around him.

Fuck.

The feeling nearly causes him to fall right there, but he has enough mind to pull out and take himself in hand to finish himself off since he doesn’t believe Emma has any of the potions that prevent pregnancy with her.

This was never really in either of their plans.

Going off of plan is quite possibly the best thing that’s ever happened to him on this damned island.

He’s almost there, teetering on the edge with shaky limbs, and as soon as he feels Emma’s soft hands on him, he’s gone.

Afterward, they don’t spend time lingering on the sand. Before they can catch their breaths, Emma is standing and straightening herself up, tugging her clothes down and back on, and he does the same. Though, he’s much slower than her, partially due to his hand but mostly due to the fact that he doesn’t seem to be fighting the internal war Emma is.

He knows that he just slept with a woman he fancies from time to time, while she just slept with a man she most likely still finds despicable despite them getting along rather well lately.

Nothing like a crisis to bond people.

“Thanks for that,” she finally mutters as she twists her locks back to remove them from her face. She’s flushed, the heat still lingering, and he can see the slightest bit of redness on her chest from where his beard rubbed against her. “It was…”

“Bloody satisfying.”

“Yeah,” she huffs, her lips turning up even as she looks away from him. “But also, a one-time thing. I mean that this time. Today has been complicated.”

“Aye, Swan,” Killian sighs, “whatever you say.”

He’ll respect her wishes with no hesitation, but like he thought earlier, Emma isn’t the only one who knows when someone is telling a lie.

[skvaderarts]

Hiraeth Chapter 34: Atelier

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Thirty-Four: Atelier

Notes: Ah, it is so good to be back writing this fic! I have some important info at the end of this chapter, so please check it out! I hope I haven’t lost any of you due to the pc issues I’ve been having! So sorry that I had to delay some chapters! GAH!

(-~-)

Heels clicked loudly, echoing through the sprawling open halls of the manor as Willow vacated the lounge and headed back towards the main hall, the rest of the group in tow behind her. She made her way over to the large staircase that filled the center of the room, a destination already in mind. She glanced back over her shoulder for a moment before stopping, her attention seemingly drawn to something that she hadn’t noticed before. She started up the stairs again for a moment, placing one foot on the first step, before stopping yet again. It seemed that whatever had been on her mind had been sufficient to stop her in her tracks for the time being.

“... Sirrus. I genuinely hadn’t noticed your presence until just now. Somehow I managed to look right past you. I’m sure that’s not something you experience very often.”

The Adjudicator stopped for a moment, pondering what to say next. There seemed to be something more that she wasn’t saying, and everyone in the room had picked up on that. A blanket of discomfort fell over the group as several sets of eyes glanced between the lady of the house and Sirrus, settling on the man with the red hair after a moment due to the unmistakable amount of discomfort that he radiated. It was abnormal for him. He was normally so relaxed and put together.

“Did you happen to be in town when that attack occurred about two months back? The one where the city east of here nearly burned to the ground? Or when that store was leveled by dark magic just a week or so ago?” Willow said, still not turning to face him. There was a knowing tinge to her voice that required little explanation. “I’ve not seen you in these parts for at least a decade. Curious that you should return so suddenly and during such an inopportune time.”

A subtle but unmistakably displeased expression slowly made its way onto Sirrus’s face as he seemed to register the implications of what she was trying to say to him. He folded his arms across his chest, tilting his head slightly to the side as he seemed to stare through her as opposed to actually looking at her. Magnolia seemed to go on high alert, her eyes widening slightly and her face turning noticeably red. She was clearly uncomfortable, but neither Nero nor V really knew what had caused this situation to escalate in the way that it just had, or what it might have to do with her. They were seemingly the only two who noticed her sudden shift in mood. What was going on here?

Vergil looked over at her a moment later, quietly taking note of how displeased and anxious she looked. There was clearly history between the three of them, and he didn’t care to get involved with it, but he would be lying if he said that he wasn’t somewhat curious. That being said, he had no tolerance for wasting time, especially given the circumstances. Sitting through a more than likely chaotic fight between the two of them wasn’t in the cards right now, as far as he was concerned. He would probably intervene if the situation called for it, if only to keep from having to actually sit through it or see them destroy the entire house. He had no desire to be rained on.

“If you're going to insinuate something, Willow, I’d appreciate it if you were less passive-aggressive about it and you actually said it to my face,” Sirrus said flatly, clearly unamused in regards to what she was trying to imply. He hadn’t come here to be insulted, and he had no plans to be. There was no reason that he should just stand here and allow her to accuse him of anything. He’d done nothing to earn that kind of response from her.

“Sirrus has done nothing wrong, and you know it. He’s not the only one in these parts with such power. Do not be so quick to jump to unjust conclusions based solely on what he is and not who you very much know he is. You and I both know he isn’t involved in those attacks.” Magnolia said, stepping forward and standing between her sister and her nephew. She was clearly just as unamused as her red-haired relative was, and she didn’t like where this was going.

“Rather ironically, I was actually present for the second attack. He and I were nearly killed. That’s why we're here today.” Sirrus said as he gestured towards V calmly, still very irritated, but more composed than he had been a moment ago. He couldn’t give her what she probably wanted that easily. He didn’t want to, nor did he need to, explain himself to her, but for the sake of keeping things cordial between them, he would do so. “As for the second attack, I wasn’t in the region yet. I arrived about an hour later. After the second attack, the decision was made for me to come and sort things out.”

Willow turned and looked at Sirrus, a cold, almost fearful look on her face. She seemed unsettled by the revelation that he was here on business. A moment of silence fell over the room as they locked eyes, intense but otherwise lacking hostility. Finally, she turned and looked up the stairs before speaking again. “Adjudication, then? That’s what brought you to town after all this time? And then you simply stumbled your way into… whatever this is? Once again you find yourself a victim of happenstance, caught up in the middle of something larger than yourself.”

Sirrus nodded in agreement despite the fact that he knew she couldn’t see him. He was fine with going with that assessment of the situation. It wasn’t inaccurate, and it kept him from having to say or do anything further. “For the most part, yes. That is correct.”

Nodding in acceptance, Willow quieted down before continuing up the stairs, saying nothing as she went. Hydrangea sighed quietly and shook her head, looking at the rest of the group. She then looked at her aunt and cousin before looking over at her mother again. She had continued down the hallway and into a room they couldn’t see, but they got the impression that they were probably still supposed to be following her in spite of it all. Hydrangea walked over to Sirrus and gave him a sympathetic look, allowing her regret in regards to the current situation to be seen easily on her face.

“Please forgive my mother’s less than hospitable personality. I believe she is intimidated by the presence of so many powerful beings in her home.” She said softly, clearly thoroughly embarrassed in regards to her mother’s behavior. Hydrangea knew full well that Sirrus wasn’t a threat to any of them. She had spent plenty of time around her older cousin during her lifetime. It was just her mother who didn’t. The young teen got the impression that her mother would do a massive double take if she realized how many times her daughter hadn’t been forthcoming about going somewhere or simply spending time with him. She enjoyed their conversations, and she didn’t want her mother to ruin that for her.

“Don’t apologize on her behalf. Please. It’s your home, too. Your mother is an adult. She has a responsibility to carry herself with the behavior expected of one. That is not your burden to bear. Trust me, I have experience with this.” He said, matching her tone as he took a mental note of the fact that Willow was ushering them up the stairs now, seemingly tired of waiting for them. Magnolia nodded in agreement in regards to Sirrus’s statement before heading up the steps. It seemed that she wanted to put space between her sister and everyone else present.

He closed his eyes for a moment and nodded once, slowly. After he had composed himself, he cleared his throat and patted Hydrangea gently on the shoulder. There was no need for him to make her worry. There was no way that he would dare to do anything to her mother, especially with her standing right here. He didn’t get along with Willow very well at times, but it wasn’t a killing offence, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to do that to his little cousin. Her wellbeing was important to him.

Sirrus had grown tired of the atmosphere in the room. He decided to change the subject.

“Where are we headed, then?” He said, starting up the steps as the group migrated towards whatever place they were being brought to. Willow had failed to actually explain what she had planned to do after Vergil had informed her that they were there because they needed assistance with something demonic in nature. There had been no time to truly explain the depths of the issue they had been presented with.

Glancing over her shoulder at him, Willow gave him a look that seemed to indicate that she didn’t understand why he had asked her that. “Why, to the Atelier, of course. Ours is a bit unconventional, but it’s still not nearly as opulent as the one at your mother’s estate. Something we have to fix in the near future.

“You’ve been there recently, then?” Sirrus asked, seemingly surprised by the fact that she had brought it up. It was rare that people visited his old home. His mother was not very accommodating to outsiders of any sort, so the idea that she had allowed anyone to come and visit her home was news to him. It didn’t affect him in any way, but it was indeed a fascinating turn of events.

“I just returned from there, actually. Aluta was requested specifically, but she’s been indisposed recently. And I don’t think she’d go even if she wasn’t. To my understanding, your mother makes her extraordinarily uncomfortable, and that place she calls home has much the same effect on her. She thinks it’s thoroughly cursed.” Willow rounded the corner at the top of the stairs, funneling them towards the door at the end of the hall that she had disappeared near just a short while ago.

Magnolia shook her head in distaste as they fell behind her sister and Sirrus slightly, allowing them to make idle chit-chat in the hopes that things would stay calm for now. The eyes of everyone besides Sirrus and her sister fell upon her for a moment as though to ask her what in the world had just happened. She sighed softly as she continued forward. “It would appear that there is still a bit of bad blood between our two families. None of that has to do with Sirrus, however. My sister needs to remember that. Sirrus is simply a child unlucky enough to be caught up in a double divorce.”

Nero piped up that time. “You mentioned something about that before. Or was that Sirrus? Anyway… What happened again? The details are kinda fuzzy. I was only half-listening at the time. Sorry.”

“There is no need to apologize, young one. Although it is a rather unpleasant story…”

Sirrus stopped as Willow unlocked the door again and entered, leaving it open behind her. He seemed to consider something as they entered the room, clearly displeased but otherwise fine. He had obviously overheard their conversation, though he didn’t seem to mind the fact that they had been having it in the first place. They weren’t exactly talking about him behind his back. 

“After my mother and father split up, he married Aluta. And then they divorced a short while later. Things have been… tumultuous since then. Despite the fact that my allegiances lie with house Ludwig in regards to what transpired, I don’t think that everyone here wishes me well.” He shifted slightly as he said this, clearly recalling something that he would have preferred to forget before continuing onward. “The very nature of who and what I am gives her reason enough to be wary of me. I can only imagine that you all have experienced something similar. Perhaps it is difficult for her to believe a son would go against his father’s wishes, but he was never much of a father to me. But then again, neither was my mother…”

Discomfort became evident in his demeanor for a moment before he simply stopped talking and made his way into the room, clearly unwilling to say anything more. Dante and Vergil exchanged a curious look for a moment, the eldest of the two then giving his two sons a lingering look that was hard to decipher. He said nothing, but something about what Sirrus had said had clearly piqued his curiosity. There was clearly more going on with him than what was immediately apparent, and he couldn’t help but wonder if that would become a problem going forward. While Sirrus seemed to have everything under control, the fact that this could introduce unknown variables into the equation was enough for Vergil to be somewhat uncomfortable with it.

Entering the room, V was immediately taken back by the sheer number of books on display. A two-story room with a balcony on either side greeted them from where they stood, tempting them with access to books that they otherwise wouldn’t have. A large window spanning both stories of the room and the vault in the ceiling above them would probably have let in ample light if not for the fact that the storm still raged just beyond the glass. It was the kind of space that V could get lost in and never leave, forever indulging in the vast variety of literary works that stretched out in front of him like an endless sea.

“I trust you remember this place, Vergil? There have been a few additions since your last visit, but even so, I can’t say that much has changed.” Willow said as she took a seat in the middle of the room, pulling her dress around in front of her. She seemed lost in thought for a moment, her gaze drifting lazily over towards the window. For a moment she looked over at Sirrus before turning back towards the window, a more sympathetic look on her face. It seemed that she didn’t know what to say to him. Or more likely that she knew what she needed to say to him, but just hadn’t yet. She had miscalculated, and she seemed to understand that.

Looking around the room, Vergil seemed to take in the space spread out in front of him. Yes, Willow was correct in that regard. Things had changed substantially since his last visit. This library hadn’t possessed that much of a second-story back then. Just a sitting area where at least 10 new bookcases now stood, filled to the brim with vintage books, journals, and artifacts. There was even a section for scrolls now. A work area took up the middle of the floor on the lower level where they currently were, a painting easel and several pieces of half-finished art and a stack of blank canvas sitting next to it. It seemed that someone had started painting something, but stopped abruptly, leaving their work just unfinished enough to be difficult to discern.

“Yes… that is clear to me now. You seem to have added a few new shelves during my time away.”

“Personally, I know very little about the Devil Prince Belial, but you may be able to find something of use in this room. There are texts detailing things from the underworld that pertain to those sorts of matters on the second floor next to the painting of the fountain. The Demonology section is a bit lacking, unfortunately.” Willow continued, standing up and heading towards the door. It seemed that she had somewhere else to be, and had simply intended to set them on the right path. “Otherwise, you're going to have to wait until Aluta returns. I would be willing to believe that she knows more about the subject than I do. Keeping tabs on his actions hasn’t been of much concern to me until recently. He was largely dormant for countless years. I believe that something disturbed him.”

Nero couldn’t help but think about the library in Fortuna as he took a seat at the table that sat in the center of the vast home study. There were so many priceless books that probably had tons of important information in them and they had just been abandoned and left to the elements… Maybe he should see if there was something he could do about that. He got the feeling that the Ludwig family (or V, for that matter) would take much better care of the books than they were currently experiencing. This place was immaculate. A great deal of time and effort had clearly been put into making sure that everything in this room had been treated with care. Maybe he’d mention something about it if he got the change. “You said he’s be “dormant” for a long time, hu? How long do you think? What, was he just gone the rest of the time?”

Magnolia sat down next to Nero, shrugging nebulously. “For the most part, yes. Belial just sort of didn’t do anything noticeable for the better part of about a century. Probably a little bit longer. I have no doubt that he was up to something, but demons that are this primordial tend to take breaks for hundreds of years at a time before becoming active again. Mundus did much the same after he lost to your Grandfather. Resurrections take time, and he bided his time for well over a thousand years until he felt that he was ready.” She looked over at V, taking note of the fact that he was listening intently to what she was saying. “He’s become increasingly active in the last few years. We were under the impression that he was after something, but now we know what that something is. And we can’t let him succeed. Not for our sakes, and especially not for V’s.”

Willow stopped dead in her tracks, turning around and allowing her eyes to follow her sister’s gaze. She stood quiet for a moment before speaking, seemingly taking in the fact that it was V who her sister had insinuated was the object of the Prince of Darkness’s fascination. To think that Belial wanted this child… it made her blood run cold. “Before you leave here… come see me. There may be something I can do. Trust me, it shall be worth your time. And if Belial is indeed after you, it may very well save your life. Nothing good has ever come from being the object of a devil princes’ obsession. The least I can do is slow him down.”

(-~-)

For next week I can unfortunately only do a chapter for Friday because I’m still recovering from the issues my pc had and just now catching up, but from there forward, I’m happy to announce that I’m back! I’m also working on something cool for you all, so I hope you like it! I’d love to see you all in the comments! Take care! I hope you're having a wonderful week, and I’m so sorry for all the delays I’ve had for the last couple of weeks! I seriously love writing this story, and I’m not going anywhere, but my pc just loves to hate me sometimes lol!

[el-gilliath]

Welcome to the first fic of the Bioware Challenge; the Mass Effect AU.

I dedicate this to @hannah-writes, who besides betaing it, has been pestering me for a long time about writing this. Without you my writing would not be as good.

The Roswell is a ship worthy of a queen in Alex’s eyes. But then, Isobel Evans has always been as good as a queen in the Spectre community, especially since she helped saved them from the Collectors. Well, they helped. Between Isobel and Shephard, the ladies have the Spectre’s well in hand. But Alex... Alex left nice behind a long time ago: he knows his stellar flying got her out of more than one scrape. He does worry when he’s weaving in and out of tight spots, watching Isobel and her team run towards him. Usually, hot on their tails is raging gunfire or rampaging creatures that want to kill them (and sometimes, on really bad days, both.

He’s especially worried when Michael is out with them. His suit is beautiful, all the upgrades and new parts making it stronger now than it’s ever been, after being on the Normandy for years. But one rupture, one injury, one shot... All of it can be enough to overload his immune system. 

It freaks him out more than it should.

Michael has been handling himself and his system for years, even that is stronger now than it’s ever been. But it still scares him to death.

On top of that he has to deal with a fucking AI flirting with his whatever-the-hell-they are. And EDI? Is not subtle about it. She purrs whenever Michael is near the engine, or the bridge, or anywhere that has to do with her systems. Which means she more or less purrs at Michael all the time. And as much as Alex appreciates bantering with her and her help when they’re in a tight spot, he fucking hates her flirting with his b- Whatever-the-hell-he-is.

“EDI, help me check out these calibrations would you?”

“Of course, Michael. Anything you need.”

“Thank you darlin’,” Michael says, the drawl in the slight robotic tone from his suit making Alex shiver. There’s something so unbearably sexy about Michael standing bent over in the engine room, the deep burgundy accents of his suit gleaming in the light. They’re docked at the Citadel and Alex and Michael are the only ones left on the ship. While shore leave is all well and good, he’s uncomfortable if he’s away from the Roswell for long. Michael electing to stay more often than not doesn't help his desire to stay away for longer than he has to. 

It’s a time they have together. Alone, to just be them without supervision or nosy teammates. 

“Oh, you know I adore helping you, Michael.” 

Well, them and miss flirty AI. 

“How does it look, EDI?”

“The calibrations are complete, and as always they are absolutely correct. You always do so well with my internal components.”

“Now you’re just flattering me, ma’am.”

“I enjoy learning from you and watching you work. It’s my… pleasure.”

“Well-“

“Okay,” Alex interrupts. “Enough with the flirting.”

“My apologies, Alex. You are very competent as well.”

“That’s not-” He sighs. “Thank you, EDI.”

“My pleasure, Alex.” The different way she says ‘pleasure’ is not lost on him. “Is there anything else I can help you with, Michael?”

“No thank you, darlin’. Imma sign off for the night, spend a little time with Alex since we’re alone. We can pick this up tomorrow.”

“Of course, Michael. Enjoy your evening.”

Alex knows very well what EDI sounds like when she’s pouting, and he tries very hard not to smile. He doesn’t want to annoy her as he does need her when he flies. Of course, he could fly this beautiful ship by himself, but EDI makes things a hell of a lot easier so he can concentrate on getting the hell outta dodge, and not on every calculation needed to successfully jump away from danger. 

“What do you say, Alex? Wanna hang out with me?”

Alex smiles softly, taking in the facial features he can almost see underneath the mask of the helmet. “Of course I want to.”

“Good,” Michael says and reaches up to release the latch on his helmet, a soft hiss escaping as he takes off the faceplate and pushes down the rest until it lays comfortably around his neck. 

Seeing Michael’s face always takes Alex’s breath away, the soft brown curls a bit squashed from the helmet, honey-colored eyes shining back at him. Michael pushes a three-fingered hand through his curls, ruffling them up until they’re surrounding his face like a halo. 

“Hi. Been a while since I looked at you without the mask.” Michael’s voice without the modulator in the helmet is as smooth as silk, making Alex shiver just as much as his modulated voice does.

“I missed the curls,” Alex replies. 

“These things? Nah, they’re a bit limp right now. Give me a shower and they’ll be great again.”

“No. They’re great right now. They’re always great.” The smile he gets in response is blinding, as all of Michael’s smiles are. Having lived most of his life in a suit, Michael speaks with a lot of emotions since people don’t normally see his face. But, without the mask, his smile is a sight to behold, just as gorgeous if not more so, than his suit. 

“Maybe so. It’s real good to see your face though, without my mask.”

“Yeah, it’s been a long time. Will you be okay?”

“You know me,” Michael says, his smile sharpening into a grin as he walks over to Alex. “Half-Antarian, half-Quarian. My immune system’ll be fine, I can mostly handle living without the suit. Besides, I wanted to see your face again.”

A sharp hiss sounds as Michael releases the catch on his gloves, taking them off. His left hand is still a bit deformed, badly healed but healed nonetheless, crushed after his father caught them together. His long finger still has pretty hefty scarring, though his bones seem to have been straightened. It was something, at least. 

“Hey, Alex.” Alex looks up to see Michael looking softly at him. “It wasn’t your fault. None of it, okay. Don’t blame yourself for the sins of your fucked up dad.”

“Mich-“

“No.” Alex leans into the hand that cups his cheek. “You were the best damn thing in my life, regardless of what your dad did. You are the best thing. I’ve missed you, for a decade, and the times I’ve seen you have been the best of my life. Okay?”

Alex sighs. This man is too good for him. 

“He is speaking the truth, Alex,” EDI’s voice chimes suddenly. Alex isn't sure if he's pleased or not that she's chosen this conversation to break her 'no eavesdropping' rule. “He’s spent many nights, talking of your past adventures, and your love for one another. Maybe my flirting is a way of pushing you two together.”

Alex closes his eyes. Breathing deeply in and out as he considers her words. Considers her meaning. Her flirting. Considers who she is. “You would, wouldn’t you.”

“Perhaps. Enjoy your evening, Flight Captain Manes, Engineer Guerin. Try to get some sleep, sometime during the night, yes?”

Alex huffs, as Michael snorts in laughter. She’s been playing them all along, and they both fell hook, line and sinker for it. 

“We will EDI,” he says with a smile, glancing up at one of the cameras located in a corner. 

“Well, we’ve been played by an AI. I’m actually kind of proud.”

Alex leans his head back and lets out a full-bellied laugh, the kind of laugh he hasn’t let out for years. They shouldn’t be encouraging EDI but he’s proud as well. So damn proud. 

“Hey, Alex?”

Alex tilts his head back down and looks at Michael. “Yeah?”

“Kiss me, already.”

And Alex does. Threads his fingers into Michael’s hair, pulls his curls lightly and slots their lips together. It’s just as perfect as it was ten years ago, five years ago, two. 

A human, disabled pilot, and a half-antarian, half-quarian tech genius. Who would have thought. 

Michael’s suit, if anyone was wondering. I love this thing.

[mrs-dragneel-stark-solo]

Unforseen Chasm (Part 64)

Part 64 of Unforseen Chasm

Prompt: Two sisters fall for men that are absolute enemies. The love they have could tear all of them apart, or it could bring them together. Word Count: 2655 Warnings: Language, dark moment for reader, 5 yrs after the snap, grief, anger, killing spree, new love, endgame plot, enter Uncle  Wade Wilson,hope, worry, 

Song for this part: Cruel Summer- Taylor Swift Note: This is by far the longest thing I’ve ever written (including my other fic series). first major Collab with my best friend @thorne93​ what was first a simple “what if” moment turned into a two year writing session and I’ve never been more prouder of myself than when i started my first series. goes through most of the MCU plots there are some changes to accommodate for what we wanted and there is a bit of a crossover between the MCU and other characters. I hope you guys enjoy reading this just as much as I enjoyed writing it.

“Don’t kill me, I have family,” the man begged.

“So did I.”

You charged the knife and flung it at his head, stabbing him between the eyes instantly killing him.

That was the last of one of the cartels in Brazil. He was a ruthless, horrible man that you’d been tracking for two months. Him and about ten others who worked for him. But you’d just single handedly killed all ten of them in their warehouse.

About eight months ago, you ran into Clint Barton. Apparently, when the snap happened, he lost his entire family and went off the deep end like you did. He was filled with bitter rage. Wondering why monsters like this survived and his family was gone. You were both tracking the same people and when you found each other, you agreed to stay together. It made sense and both of you felt like it was nice to see a familiar face with a similar past and same vendetta.

Remy followed you everywhere. He stayed in horrible hotels and motels, just to follow you around. Sometimes he followed you on your missions, lingering in the shadows making sure you didn’t get hurt or need backup. You and Clint sometimes fought together, so he wasn’t too worried, but other times you two worked separate jobs or different jobs in the same area, and that’s when Remy would watch out for you.

You came back to the room you’d rented. Since the job was done, you’d pack, sleep, and move onto the next target you’d talked about with Clint. Remy stayed out of the way of you two, never saying or offering any judgment or criticism. He understood the path you two were on. He didn’t like it, and he didn’t think it was bringing you much joy, but this was what you wanted, and to be honest, the world was better without the people you were killing.

By now it had been five years since the snap. Your first year was filled with global travel then settling down in New Orleans. The second year you tried to find domestic bliss with Remy, the two of you having steady jobs. Then the last 3 years were filled with hate, rage, murder, vendettas.

What you did… what you were doing… it didn't bring you joy, but it made you feel better for a split second that horrible people weren't ruining good people's lives.

Remy had been great since the day he showed up in Paris. He had been understanding of Loki and never pressured you to move on. Remy understood where he stood in your heart and he accepted it because this was all he had wanted for many years. He wished he didn't have to watch you suffer and grieve to get to this point, he somehow wished things were different in that he was your first choice and not Loki. But ultimately, he respected your heart's desires.

Truthfully, you did love Remy. You had told Shannon what seemed like centuries ago that perhaps in another life where you didn't know Loki existed or had never met him, Remy would be your one and only. Now that Loki was gone though, it felt so wrong. It felt wrong to be happy, to even think of moving on, to even entertain the idea of loving another.

Half of you couldn’t imagine moving on without Loki - he was your life, your life, your world. He’s the one you wanted to share your life with. The other half felt guilty to experience any happiness, because it was your fault the world was the way it was. Why should you get a happy ending when it was your fault everyone was in this living Hell?  

But your heart doesn’t listen to logic or reason. You didn’t mean to fall in love...

This had been on your mind for quite some time. Perhaps right after he almost proposed was when you started to really take notice of him. But it wasn't until maybe three months ago, almost five years after the snap, that you felt like you could maybe allow yourself to love him back.

You weren't ready to give up on Loki, or even consider moving on, but perhaps there was room enough for more than one love in your heart.

Remy had been nothing but kind, sweet, understanding, and supportive. He let you grieve and deal with things the way you needed to. If you ever asked for space, or pulled away from a kiss, he didn't get upset or disappointed. He'd just assure you it was alright. He was with you, day in and day out, practically since the snap happened. Without him, you weren’t sure you would’ve survived this long.

After all that, and everything you went through as children together, how could you not love him?

Simple: you did.

“How’d it go?” Remy asked once you got inside the hotel room. He was reading a magazine at a bar in the little kitchenette the place offered.

“Job’s finished,” you answered simply.

“So it’s Japan next?”

“Yep.”

You started to grab some quick food to make yourself some dinner. “I’m sorry to do this to you. To drag you all over the world for some… vendetta.”

“It’s alright. I know why you have to do it,” he assured.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as you smiled, pulling the food from the cabinet. Something in you told you he needed to know how you felt. That it was the right time, if there ever was a right time.

It was time to face the harsh reality that Loki wasn’t coming back. None of them were. You couldn’t live every day in his memory, drowning in grief and depression. It was time to move forward, as hard as it was, you knew it was the right decision. And doing it with Remy wouldn’t be so bad, right? He was a wonderful man with a big heart.

"For whatever it's worth, I love you, ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?” you asked through tears as you turned around to face him, a bit of a laugh coming out of you.

He looked up grinning like the devil. “I think that’s the best news I ever heard,” he countered, getting up to round the bar before he took you in a hug. “I know that was hard for you to say, cher, but I love you all the more for it,” he assured softly as he brushed his knuckles across your face.

You gently smiled before giving him a quick kiss.

It looked like this was the start to the beginning of a new chapter for you.

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

You were in Japan now, taking care of one of the mafia that had been in power for decades here. You just decimated one of their safehouses, leaving a pile of bodies behind you. Clint was digging up more information at the moment and he would take the next hit on the mob.

Just as you grabbed Remy to go find some dinner, you two were walking down the street, it was wet from a recent rainstorm when you suddenly heard someone say your name from behind you as they grabbed your hand.

“Y/N Y/L/N?” Wade said. “Of course your Y/N who am I kidding”. He went to pull your hand.

The sudden action made you move reflexively.

As you spun, you charged his hand and as he pulled away to gasp in pain, you mustered up your dark electrical purple energy in your left fist and slammed it into his chest, the heel of your palm colliding with his sternum. It sent him flying backwards into a cart on the sidewalk. You straightened up before glancing back to Remy, confusion on your face.

“You’re not exactly friendly, are you?” the man asked as you stared at him. He was getting up, wiping the debris off himself. He was clad in a red and black suit from head to toe. “Should have known better than to try that.” His tone had a sort of whimsy to it , almost as if he was telling a joke.

“Who the hell are you?” you all but growled, your fist raised and still glowing.

Remy came up behind you though and gently lowered your arm. “Cher, I know this man.”

“You know him?” you accused, as if knowing this idiot was an inexcusable offense.

“Unfortunately, yes. This is Wade Wilson. He’s an X-Man,” Remy explained.

“Correction I am not an X-men,” he offers his hand. “Deadpool’s the name killing’s my game.” He pretended to curtsey.

Your eyes shot back to the man now known as Wade and you narrowed your gaze. “Why are you here? What do you want with me?”

“First of all, let me just say wow about that little trick of yours. Also to be fair, you overreacted,” he quipped.

“Overreacted? Some stranger just grabbed my hand. You're lucky I didn’t kill you. Now what the hell are you doing here?”

“Listen here, buttercup, I’m here on a favor of Shannon Stark. Remember her?”

Your mouth fell open slightly. “You know Shannon?”

“Yeah, we go way back!” He waved his hand. “I babysit her kid time from time but the point is, she wanted me to find you, to bring you home. She’s worried about you or something. I wasn’t really listening. I just owe her a favor so I got the gist of the mission and then said, ‘You owe me one hundred chimichangas and not the cheap stuff because I know Stark can afford the nice ones so don’t even think about skimping on --”

“Do you ever stop talking?” you interjected, glaring at him. “Wait, did you say Shannon’s kid?” This hit you like a wrecking ball.

Shannon had a child? There was… she… a child? You couldn’t wrap your head around it.

“No, he doesn’t,” Remy responded as he stared him down. “Wade, go on home now. Y/N and I don’t wanna go back. We’re happy and we are on our own.”

“Yeah see that wasn’t really part of the contract. I’m supposed to bring you back and --”

“Sorry to disappoint, but you can’t bring me back, I’m not going.”

“You’re gonna break Shannon’s heart,” he said with fake sadness.

“I already did, but nice try.” You turned and started to walk away.

“Well too bad because I don’t take no for an answer so gear up, we’re heading back now.” He went to pick you up. “And don’t try doing that little trick of yours again. Shannon said to bring you back but she didn't say in what condition.” Deadpool smirked.

“I already told you, asshat, I’m not going anywhere with you,” you replied and jumped back flaring up your purple energy. “You can just tell her you haven't found me.”

“Well it looks like that won’t be necessary. See the thing is she already knows you’re here.” Wade sing-songs. “When you weren't looking, I sent coordinates and they had been on standby.”

“You what?!” you all but shouted, terror snaking in your voice. “Remy, we have to go.” You started to turn and grab his sleeve.

Unbeknownst to you, Shannon had already gotten there and was waiting for the moment to appear.

“Are you really going to be a sack of unicorn shit and just break her heart like that?” Wade asked, cocking his head. “So much for being a good sister.”

Feeling guilty you turned to him. “She’s survived without me for this long I’m sure she’s more than fine.” You shook her head. “And what's a little heartbreak when she’s fine?”

Just then Shannon walked out of the alley she and Natasha had been waiting in. Both women went their separate ways. Shannon to you and Nat to Clint.

“So you’re really okay with breaking my heart after everything we’ve been through?” Shannon called out loud enough for you to hear. “What happened to being family?”

The sound of her voice cut you like a knife.

“You’ve got your own family now, it sounds like. I thought you’d be better off without me, and it appears I was right.” You let your hands span out beside you before falling, a sad smile on your face.

“Y/N, you’ve been gone for 5 years! You have no idea what's happened in that time.” She shook her head. “We may have found a way to reverse what Thanos did, but we need you—I need you.” She stretched her hand out to you.

“Sorry to ruin the moment but I’ve done my part,” Wade interrupted the moment. “Now when do I get my chimichangas?”

You eyed Wade for a moment, irritated with him after only five minutes. Then your gaze shot to Shannon’s hand.

“Really, Wade? Couldn’t this wait till after we got back?” Shannon asked, looking a little annoyed. “Plus they’re at the cabin, hidden because you got Morgan addicted to those!” she retorted.

Sheepish, he ducked his head. “It’s not my fault the kid hasn't tried all the good stuff.” Shrugging, he added, “It’s not like they’ll harm her anyways.”

“Just get back to the quinjet.” Shannon turned her head facing you again as Wade retreated. “Sorry about that, he can be a lot to handle sometimes.”

“Clearly. Much like, was it, Morgan? A child? You have a child?” There was venom and betrayal in your voice. Although, to be fair, she had no way to reach out to you to give you any news. That was on you.

“We can talk all about it, if you come back with me.”

“Why do you need me?” you questioned.

“It’s an all hands on deck sort of situation. You’re just about the only one who stands a chance against him.”

“But last time--”

“Last time was different. We know what we’re up against now. There may be a way to reverse it. To get everyone back.”

Tears pricked at your eyes. You hadn’t cried over Loki in some time. He was on your mind, every day, always, but the grief laden sobs had slowly died down over the last five years.

“Don’t promise something you can’t deliver,” you warned, your fist balled up. You could tell Remy was getting worried at your side. “I can’t go through this again.”

She stepped even closer to you, taking your hand. “You won’t. We will win this time. I promise. You need to come home, Y/N. It’s time.”

You looked back to Remy who gave you a look that told you this was your choice, your call. You knew he’d follow you anywhere, no matter what you chose.

You heaved a sigh and turned back to Shannon, giving a firm nod to let her know you were in. This is what you’d been waiting for. Now it was finally here, and even if it meant possibly losing everything again, going through the same pain again, it was worth it to try and get everyone back. To get him back.

Once everyone was back on the quinjet. Things got a bit quieter. You had fallen asleep, leaning on Remy. Shannon walked over to the two of you and covered you in a blanket.

“Here, she’ll get cold soon, she always does when she’s on here.” She smiled sadly seeing just how tired and bruised you looked. “I’ll let Tony know you’ll be staying with us. Did you want to share the room with Y/N or your own?” she asked, unsure of the situation.

“We can share a room, that'll be fine. Thank you, Shannon. It’s good to see you again.”

“Okay. Is there anything you guys might need right away? It’s good to see you too.”

Remy shook his head. “Nah, we should be good. Thank you though.”

“Alright then but if anything comes to mind let me know okay?”

“Will do.”

Unforseen Chasm Tag list- @reigningqueenofwords​ @oldfreakything​ @adefectivedetective​ @dontbetooobvious​

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Marvel: @reigningqueenofwords @flowerbunbunny @zelda2248 @misz-adrii

[rhysand-vs-fenrys]

The Cabin By the Lake: NSFW Bonus Chapter 3b

This is an extended Morridwen scene from my fic “The Cabin by the Lake”, where Mor and Cerridwen’s reunion is extended into an NSFW scene.

Chapter 1 (Feysand) || Chapter 2 (Azuala) || Chapter 3: (Morridwen) || Chapter 4: (Elucien) || Chapter 5: (Amrian)

For my fanfiction library visit @rhysand-vs-fenrys-vs-writing​

The Cabin by the Lake (Exclusive): NSFW Morridwen

That night meant nothing.

Mor could still taste the female’s kiss.

She meant nothing.

The sound of her breathless gasps still filled Mor’s fantasies.

None of it meant anything.

A kiss so fiercely passionate it set their blood boiling and drew and undignified moan from her lips.

I love you, Morrigan.

And then she simply vanished.

For three hundred years Mor took up a vigil on the anniversary of their meeting. Centuries of searching for a female no one knew in a city no one could enter or leave. She should have been found in a day- but she’d remained elusive. Mor still took lovers, but a part of her would inevitably compare them to that perfect, dark-skinned female and suddenly they were the ones who meant nothing.

Both of them had been masked and far from sober. The sex wasn’t what stood out in her memory- it was how right everything felt. Her body fit against Mor’s perfectly, her dark skin was a perfect complement to Mor’s golden tone, and the sound of her voice-

-it was the most perfect sound she could imagine.

That perfect match was what her greedy heart craved.

But… nothing. Three hundred years, and not so much as a whisper of her.

Perhaps it wasn’t the mysterious female who meant nothing. Perhaps it was Mor herself.

Would she be disgusted to discover that the third in command of Night was utterly in thrall? Did it make her laugh when she pictured Mor pining away decade after decade? A single night- that was all they’d had. Why did it have to be more than that?

Well, it didn’t have to be, but that was what Mor wanted above all else.

Rhysand was taken Under the Mountain, and Mor forced herself to set aside the ghost of that cruel, divine female. She had to at least try to be stronger for the people of Velaris.

Fifty years passed, and now with Elain, Lucien, and Nesta in tow their expanded family descended on Rita’s for the Feast of Souls. Rhysand and Feyre were… otherwise engaged at home, but Mor was determined to have fun. It didn’t matter that she had felt that anxiety and pain again the moment Rhys returned from Under the Mountain- as if the female were somewhere close. It didn’t matter that the dark eyes of her lover were haunting her once again.  She would have fun, and she would find a way to move on.

Tension hung over Mor, thick and nearly tangible. She felt a twisting guilt in her chest, as if she’d forgotten something. It was a feeling she’d had every Feast of Souls since that blessed and damnable encounter. She always thought ‘Maybe this time she’ll be there,’ and yet she never was.

Still… what if?

As Mor wrestled with the decision to stay on the dance floor or go home, Rita caught her eye, glanced at the door to the upstairs party, and nodded.

It was Rita’s mate who’d introduced her to the stranger. They both knew of Mor’s centuries-long quest for her identity. 

Could that mean-

Mor didn’t care who saw her. She ran to the door and took the steps two at a time. Anyone who got in her way was moved with a hurried ‘sorry’ and a not-so-gentle shove. She almost knocked the doors off their hinges in her rush to enter and-

-and sitting at the table Mor had conducted her vigil from was a dark-skinned female in a black dress, her identity hidden behind a black veil and a gold-and-diamond mask that obscured everything beneath her obsidian eyes.

She gave no thought to who may see her unmasked face. Mor went straight to the female she’d loved and lost. Delicate, slender hands slid to her hips as Mor lifted the veil just far enough to seize the female’s mouth- a boundary she’d set on their only meeting. Her shattering kiss was as devastatingly perfect as the last they’d shared.

Mor didn’t even bother to excuse herself from her friends downstairs. Rita would tell them she’d left with someone. She winnowed the female across Velaris, straight into her apartment.

“Where have-“

The female put a finger on Mor’s lips to stop her as they both struggled for breath. They were trembling with need, but the female took a step back.

“I was scared for so long. I thought you would hate me if you knew. Every year I watched you look for me, and every year it killed me to stay away. After Under the Mountain, I refuse to be afraid.”

“Under the Mountain?” Mor paused- then it hit her in a wave of terror and ice. Only two females from Velaris went Under the Mountain- two females far, far too close to the Inner Circle, “Which one?”

There was no hesitation as the half-wraith removed her veil- the shield that gave her the courage to love Mor openly for just one night so many years ago. Her almond-shaped eyes and the crook in her left eyebrow- Mor knew instantly.

“Cerridwen.”

She stared at her for a long time- at Azriel’s spy who she’d loved with quiet ferocity for three long centuries. The female who’d wrecked all others for her, who’d vanished after a kiss that Mor could still feel on her lips even now.

A female who was something far greater than nothing… the one Mor had long since realized… was her mate.

“You didn’t give me a chance last time,” she whispered. “You didn’t wait for me to reply, so let me say it properly now.”

Mor stepped in close, erasing the gap between them. She cupped Cerridwen’s face in her hands and stroked her silken cheeks, just as she’d done after their first and only night together.

I love you Morrigan.

“I love you too.”

Cerridwen barely managed to stifle a sob as Mor grabbed her and drew her into a long, hard kiss. Her entire body was overwhelmed by lightning and fire- by the feeling of that golden female she’d loved so much for so long, it was hard to even breathe each time she was dismissed from her presence.

One of Mor’s hands slid around Cerridwen’s lower back while the other moved up her spline to gently hold the back of her neck. It took three hundred years to find Cerridwen again, she wasn’t about to let go.

Memory tended to distort with time, or so Mor believed. A pleasant memory becomes magical, the bad get worse. After her desperate search, a part of Mor had long since accepted that even if she did find the female, things couldn’t possibly be as perfect as she’d imagined.

She was wrong.

If anything, time had dulled the fantasy of Cerridwen’s lips against hers. Mor couldn’t taste enough of them. They were perfectly formed, and she could hardly stop herself as she sucked Cerridwen’s lower lip between hers, acutely aware of the other returning as much attention to her upper one.

The first brush of Cerridwen’s tongue between her lips elicited a soft, pleading moan. Both still had a barrier up- those same walls of uncertainty and fear that separated them for so long. With Mor’s arms tight around Cerridwen and the wraith’s stroking her hair, they were still two beings.

Separate. Individual. Apart.

So, Mor opened her mouth, and let Cerridwen’s tongue enter.

The taste of her lips had only been a shadow of the divine sweetness Mor found in her mouth. Her own tongue stroked and teased as Cerridwen returned her moans.

Slowly, almost on their own, Cerridwen’s hands moved from Mor’s hair to her back, her sides, her hips. A soft nudge- barely more than a shifting of the feet, adjusted their hips so that each female’s pelvis pressed against the other’s thigh. That pressure sent a shiver through Mor, but it was nowhere near enough.

She broke their kiss and opened her eyes to meet Cerridwen’s gaze. Their bodies were pressed against one another, with pesky clothing keeping them apart. A blush covered the wraith’s chest and cheeks. Her eyes were wide as she panted.

Cerridwen held still as Mor stepped back. Her dark eyes followed a golden hand as it rose to cup her cheek. She turned her gaze back to the shining female and nuzzled her palm, turning ever so slightly to lick at Mor’s thumb, then draw the tip in to lightly scrape with her teeth.

Mor’s eyes never left Cerridwen’s as she traced her thumb along those perfect lips. Once she’d circled back around, the wraith nipped at it once again. Mor slid the thumb in to her mouth to the first knuckle, then began to slowly pump it in and out as Cerridwen started sucking at the skin. She stroked the pad of Mor’s finger with her tongue slowly, showing her exactly what she planned to do between her legs later on.

Aching need was building in Mor and she whimpered at the heat of Cerridwen’s mouth. The apex of her thighs pulsed in time with her lover’s tongue.

Her thumb withdrew and she returned to Cerridwen’s embrace. She cupped her lover’s neck once more and trailed kisses along her jaw, earning a happy sigh. The shy desire in Cerridwen made Mor burn hotter, and she slid a hand down from neck to shoulder, drawing aside the strap of Cerridwen’s black dress. The wraith freed her arm from it entirely and with a kiss of cool air, her breast slipped free.

Red silk scraped across the too-sensitive flesh of her erect nipples as Mor pressed against her. The hand on Cerridwen’s shoulder slid down to the newly exposed flesh. Mor gently squeezed her breast, earning a sweet gasp.

Again, it was even more perfect than Mor remembered. A comfortable handful of warmth and impossibly soft skin that all pulled towards a mahogany nipple the perfect size for nibbling.

Mor swirled her thumb around the nipple before pinching it. Cerridwen’s next gasp was swallowed by Mor’s lips as she drew her once more into a deep, open kiss. Refusing to release Cerridwen’s breast, Mor stepped back and pulled her lover along.

Cerridwen smiled against her lips as Mor pulled her from the foyer to her bedroom. She broke the kiss only to draw some much-needed air. “I’ve had three hundred years to dream of how I would do this.”

“I’ve been dreaming of it far longer.” Cerridwen let or sit on the bed before lifting her skirts and moving to straddle Mor’s hips. She stroked her golden face and smiled at the way it seemed to glow against her darkness. Mor’s arms circled her waist, holding her secure. On a whim, she rested her cheek along the draped fabric of Cerridwen’s half-on dress, her nose gently pressing against the wraith’s breast.

“When Azriel brought Nuala and I to meet you all- the moment I saw you I was lost,” Cerridwen cradled Mor’s head, basking in the miracle that was at last in her arms. No fear, no shame, and no mask to conceal her identity, “I loved you quietly every second those years. Even Nuala noticed I’d lost myself to someone- not that she ever knew who. I went to Rita’s that night because she told me to find a female who could help me forget the other.”

“You always knew it was me beneath the mask, didn’t you? Before I even took it off?” There was pain in her voice, a deep, aching regret for every second they’d lost because of her fears.

“I did,” Cerridwen tipped Mor’s chin up until their eyes met, “and I don’t hold it against you. You looked for me, I was the one hiding. I saw how sad you were and I just- I was too scared of losing you to risk having you.”

“Feyre knows… what I am.” Mor’s arms tightened and she hid her face once more in Cerridwen’s chest, “If it is the only way to be with you, I’ll tell the others.” Her words were muffled, and Cerridwen’s heart cracked.

She returned to stroking Mor’s hair, comforting her, “Don’t you dare, not for me.”

“I would do anything for you,” Mor whispered, and she meant it. Three hundred years apart, and yet now, in Cerridwen’s arms, she knew she’d found home at last.

“Love me,” Cerridwen lifted her face and kissed Mor, “trust me, and hold me. But don’t reveal yourself for me. Do it for you, and only when you’re ready. My sexuality is the easiest part of me for people to understand, so I have never feared it or questioned how others would see me. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to reveal that precious side of yourself and I would never make it a condition of my love for you.”

Mor sobbed against her lips and salty tears mixed into their kiss. Cerridwen was a miracle she didn’t deserve. To the wraith, Mor was a blessing from the divine.

Cerridwen kissed away Mor’s tears, but the golden female needed her to know how much her words and actions meant. She seized Cerridwen’s mouth with hers and rolled to lay her on her back. She kept a hand on the wraith’s cheek as she shifted to straddle her leg and whipped blindly through the fabric of her skirts. Once she found a way in, her fingers reached for Cerridwen’s leg and followed it up towards something warm and swollen with need.

That was where the desperation eased somewhat. Cerridwen had foregone undergarments and Mor’s fingers traced the curve of her smooth entrance. Up and down her finger slid, never enough to part the folds, no matter how Cerridwen whimpered against her mouth or angled her knees out and away- opening herself.

When Mor’s finger parted her at last, it came away shining with moisture.

She continued her light tracing, only offering the tip of her finger- enough to tease the inside of her folds but not touch her entrance or touch her knot. Still, a drop of something slick and sweet soon rolled down her finger.

“Please,” Cerridwen gasped at last. Her hand grasped Mor’s elbow as if she could force her hand in deeper, but the other resisted.

She slid another finger through Cerridwen until it too was covered in her wetness. Despite her whispered pleas against Mor’s lips, she continued to tease her- all the while torturing herself.

“Take it off,” Mor said at long last, moving the skirts from beneath her knee. Cerridwen didn’t hesitate- she shifted her hips up- straight into Mor’s waiting knot. Mor gasped and ground against Cerridwen harder and harder, until she managed to pull her skirts out from under her and finally threw her dress off the bed.

Mor fell onto her aching breasts in an instant, and as she sucked one into her mouth she slowly pushed her fingers into Cerridwen. The wraith arched in an instant, pushing herself against Mor’s mouth with a wordless cry. Too long- it had been too long since she felt so whole and complete. She wanted to kiss Mor- to return as much of this incredible feeling as she’d been given.

While Mor focused her attentions on Cerridwen’s slit and breast, Cerridwen began to roll her hips up into the slow plunge of her fingers. Mor moaned and her own breath hitched as the leg beneath her shifted to rub against her knot through the fabric of her gown.

“Take it off,” Cerridwen threw Mor’s words back at her.

Mor was forced to withdraw from Cerridwen’s body, leaving her empty and hungrier than ever. She slipped a hand beneath Mor’s skirts as the golden female negotiated hidden ties- then those of the ruby corset beneath. Cerridwen had no love for undergarments, but Mor most certainly did. She felt silk lace and stroked the front of that- hard enough to encourage Mor to undress faster, but not hard enough to offer any reprieve.

The dress was, at last, flung aside, and with it her corset. Cerridwen slipped her hand down the front of those red silk panties and hooked two fingers into Mor. When the female bent down to kiss her, she dodged her lips with a smirk and immediately took one of Mor’s large breasts into her mouth.

Nothing existed beyond Cerridwen’s touch- nothing save the scent of her arousal. Mor pushed her cool fingers back into her lover and curled her thumb down to press- finally- against her knot. Cerridwen’s shout of pleasure was little more than a hum as she continued to bite and suck at Mor’s breasts. As sensitive as she was there- it was almost as good as rubbing her clit too.

Cerridwen had Mor’s breast to absorb her gasps and cries. Mor had nothing. She was shaking, whimpering with need and desire. A thick, wet sound came from both and only served to encourage the wave growing inside her. That lewd sound represented what she could do to Cerridwen- as much as the wraiths tortured cries. It also stood for what Cerridwen was capable of drawing from her.

Mor’s free hand pinched and squeezed Cerridwen’s breast as her fingers slowly began to pick up speed. Cerridwen’s hips began to rise as she released Mor’s breast and looked up at her- mouth frozen open. She exhaled low and slow, but the tension in her body gave it sound. Mor was almost lost, but she smiled at that sound.

Her other most treasured memory took on new significance- the way Cerridwen screamed her pleasure as it devastated her. For a quiet, secretive wraith she could make the most wonderful sounds.

At the same time, both females slid their fingers from one another. Cerridwen turned half onto her side and lifted her leg for Mor to grab. The other female ripped her panties in an effort to get them off faster, then shifted so that she was straddling Cerridwen’s open legs. She pressed her heat to her lover’s entrance, hugged the leg tight to her chest, and began to roll her hips in tight, focused circles. Within a few passes, her folds parted against Cerridwen, and the wraith’s against hers.

They cried in unison as their knots found one another and that glorious, wet noise filled the air once more. No female ever fit so completely against Mor, and Cerridwen never felt more powerful or powerless as she did beneath this one. Her pleasure slid back for a moment as she found their rhythm, but now it was rushing at her hard and fast.

It would be impossible to hold back the tidal wave.

As much as Mor loved Cerridwen’s screams, Cerridwen loved the flood unleashed by the other’s orgasm.

Mor’s gaze was drawn from Cerridwen’s at last and her circling focused exclusively on the swirling of their knots. She pressed down harder and harder as Cerridwen’s gasps turned to shuddering cries and her body tensed.

A squeak from Mor was the sign that the wave was upon her. That squeak sent Cerridwen over the edge.

Her back arched and two growing cries were torn from her lips before her jaw clenched and a scream ripped through her. Her entire body was hard and loose as Mor ground against her knot, made a far quieter shout, and was immobilized by blinding, glorious fire. The first splash of her against Cerridwen’s knot took the very breath from her lungs, and the wraith quickly reached down to pull her lips open wider.

She screamed again and took over for Mor, grinding their bodies together as another jet of Mor’s release hit hard against her quaking entrance. Mor fell to her side on the bed, but still she held Cerridwen’s leg, and the wraith didn’t stop moving until Mor’s body shuddered and she forced a hand between them, protecting her core.

Mor shivered and shook with the force of her climax. White spots danced before her eyes and she wasn’t entirely sure she could fight back the darkness that threatened to take her as she shielded herself from any more stimulation.

Only when that other tension left her did she let Cerridwen untangle their legs and crawl up the bed to kiss her.

“I love you,” Mor murmured, her body still shuddering with violent pulses of pleasure.

Cerridwen settled against Mor and held her- mound to mound and breast to breast. There was no denying they fit perfectly. She wanted to kiss her through the next ten minutes- until Mor had recovered enough for Cerridwen to wreck her again. But there was something she had to do-

“This time we can say it in the same century,” she whispered against Mor’s lips. “I love you too.”

[earlgreytea68]

So used to writing fic it feels very dry to write something so large-scale? This got long, and personal, and I apologize. I guess my question is if you have those same desires how are you balancing them out?

God, I have...such complicated views on these things. Which is maybe necessary, because as your question gets across, this is such a complex subject. And I want to make clear right from the get-go that I think every writer is different, and what you mostly need to do is to listen to YOU and what YOU want, and to give yourself permission to want the things you want, even if they’re not the things you think you should want, if that makes sense. 

I spent the entirety of my life wanting to be a published author. I’ve written fiction as long as I can remember but I didn’t really start writing fanfiction until I was in my late 20s, well after I’d written many, many (unpublished) novels, so fic as a genre was kind of really late to me? At least, much later than other people seem to find it. So whenever people talk about using fic to “practice” before they “graduate” to original writing, I always get confused. I mean, fic made me a *much* better writer, but I went in the opposite direction than everyone else seems to. 

Anyway, when I finally got published, the thing that was most surprising to me was this sudden realization: I’d been a writer all along. I think that so many people think you’re not a “real” writer until you’re published, me included, and then I got published and I realized that wasn’t true. It’s not like everything I’d done before that was “fake.” In fact, my fic is some of my best writing. There’s no, like, “lesser medium” about it. 

If you write, you’re a writer. There is no other qualification. And before you start to belittle yourself, and think that anybody can sit down and throw sentences onto a screen: think about how many people *don’t.* Because if anybody could do it, everybody *would* do it. I say that not to be mean about people who don’t write -- the world has all sorts of valuable talents in it, and fun things to do -- but to say that if you *do* write, it’s a fantastic and extraordinary achievement, regardless of publication. 

For me, too, publication happened at this really weird time in my life, because I’d spent my twenties at this job I hated, and writing had been this lifeline for me, and I got published at almost exactly the same moment that I switched jobs. And suddenly I had this job I really loved...and I’d kind of also turned my writing hobby into my job, and it kind of messed with my head? Like, to start to like my job, and to have my hobby *become* a job? It was a weird time for me. 

And I realized I wasn’t going to be able to survive professional writing unless I also kept doing fic-writing, because I’d felt like I lost my go-to fun activity that had carried me through so much, and I needed it back. It’s weird, because I show all my writing to other people, whether in book form or on AO3, so there’s always an audience, but when I write my professional stuff, I’m writing *for* the audience. And I know that some fic-turned-pros tell you that they love making up their own characters because they’re more *theirs,* but I always feel like my professional stuff belongs much less to me. It’s being very consciously written for a market, for other people, as opposed to my fic, which is SO self-indulgent. Like, that’s why you get the sort of fic you get out of me, because I’m like, “This is mine and these people are just going to banter happily with each other for 200,000 words, because it’s mine and that’s what I want.” You’ve got to pay me if you want me to develop a plot lol 

Which is all to say: I like my professional writing, and I’m so honored and flattered and happy that I have this incredible opportunity and that people enjoy it. But writing for publication is not the end-all-be-all of writing. Not for me, at least. Professional writing is completely different than fic-writing in my head. They’re just two completely different occupations. That might sound weird, but it’s like, you know, writing an instruction manual is different from writing a cover letter is different from writing a novel is different from writing a fic. There’s all different kinds of writing. 

And when I say “fic-writing,” I mean “fic” in my much broader genre definition of “character-driven slice-of-life stories,” so I count “Swan Song” as fic-writing because it falls into that label despite being about OCs. I look at “Swan Song” and I think of how *completely* unmarketable it is, it just *sprawls,* the entire first 40,000 words are probably pointless, it has a ton of unnecessary subplots. But I’m not writing it for publication. I’m writing it for me. So I don’t worry about it. Sometimes that has to be a very conscious choice on my part, to turn off that voice in my head, but I make myself do it because I think it’s important for me to maintain that sense of writing as play, I think it makes my professional writing better, if I never completely think of it as “work.” 

I am very lucky, as I’ve said before, in that I have a job I love. So I can afford to write a bunch of stuff that I don’t worry about getting paid for. Also, I long ago came to terms with the idea that I don’t actually *want* to be paid for all my writing, because it would stress me out, having to write for other people instead of myself all the time. So I try to give myself little buckets. And I do the same thing with fan writings vs. original writing. There are sometimes, like with “Swan Song,” when I want to just go roll around in my own world. There are other times, like with my recent FOB fics and Sports Night fic, that I wake up with someone else’s character so loud in my head that I just let them go for it. If I’m not under a deadline, then I just get to do whatever I want to do. I get to play.

I just try, as much as possible, to balance things, and to also not be too hard on myself. It’s a journey, and I’ve been writing several decades now, and I think my relationship to it has shifted and altered as I’ve shifted and altered, and that’s okay. But if I could give every writer out there one thing to just dwell on, it’s that mainstream publication and being paid for your writing is not the hallmark of your writing being valuable. At all. Your writing is valuable if it brings you joy and happiness. That is the *most* valuable writing. It’s fine to write for other people, but if you write because you like to write, then I just continue to believe that you can’t *only* write for other people. You would should write sometimes just for you, just what you want to read. And that might never be what mainstream publishing wants, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t any less remarkable. All writing is remarkable. All sentences on paper with your heart all caught up in them are amazing. Go, you. 

[fyeahwonderbat]

Can you write a fic on how you think batman#39 should've progressed. And love your fics and I truly am excitedly looking forward this WonderBat week.

WonderBat Week 2018:  Theme #2 - Elseworld

Title: Take On Me

Author: MaidenOfTheWorld

Universe: DC Rebirth (Comics)

Rating: Teen / PG-13

Word Count: 1,973 words

DISCLAIMER: I fully respect Tom King’s run of Batman, including issues #39 and #40, despite not being a fan of the series personally. Given the theme for today, I have chosen this prompt as it suits the concept of ‘Elseworld’, meaning alternate universe. Thank you.

We shouldn’t have come here.

I know that now, and we’ve been damned for not realizing the error to our naturally heroic ways sooner. This place is full of monsters that stalk us in this perpetual night, but nothing could be more threatening to my sanity than the relentless gravitation there is between Diana and I.

It’s been years since I’ve seen Gotham, or my family, or my fiancee. Everything I ever knew is lost to me while I am trapped in Gehanna except for Diana, Wonder Woman, the beacon of all things righteous and true. She is the pillar of strength that keeps me fighting fit when the hordes refuse to be silenced, and by doing so, she forces a roar of temptation to bombinate inside me the longer we remain here together.

There have been many occasions in which the ravenous surge of energy after a monstrous battle dares me to grab hold of her and steal her lips with my own, celebrate what we have vanquished, revere her might and accomplishments. Anyone who knows Diana cannot help themselves from admiring her but to see her destroy demon after demon with such refined eradication can be an aphrodisiac that is unparalleled to anything I have ever known before her.

But I have my city, my family, my fiancee to think of, and those memories weigh down my desires when nothing else will.

After all, I’ve chosen my partner and… it wasn’t her.

The flickering of the campfire on Diana’s face tries to hypnotize me into thinking otherwise, but I’ve trained myself for most of my life to squash such enticement, having perfected the skill many times with her specifically.

Why that is, I can’t say I remember as soundly anymore.

Nevertheless, I look away from her bewitching face and dig into my own meal of the charred critter we captured and focus on satisfying a different hunger all together.

Then, she calls to me, and my resistance falters. “Bruce?”

“Yes?” I answer her immediately.

Taking a bite, I await her to continue her thought but she doesn’t maintain the pace of the conversation she started. It is worrying to wonder if Wonder Woman has weakened in her resolve, especially considering she is the immortal warrior addressing a mere mortal vigilante. I lift my gaze to find hers and her blue eyes are awaiting me.

There, behind such a vibrant cerulean hue, is the true Diana. The vulnerability she isn’t scared to reveal but fearful of giving into glimmers at me, catching the weary flame before us secretively. Seeing her pull down her own walls in order to address me makes me anxious, because I know that my need to save her from such frightful thoughts could compel me to reach out to her.

Easily, and yet while uttering a much more complicated question than another I can remember, she asks, “How long do you think we have been here for now?”

I pause to think, but choose not to meditate on it for too long. “Ten years.”

“Ten years?” She repeats back to me, quieter than I spoke. Beneath the tree that sat at her back, she radiates the aura of an ethereal being that wants more from this cursed fate she cannot break free from and I am reminded of her sister in arms, wondering if we are also destined to suffer for doing nothing empirically wrong.

“At least.” Is how I choose to comfort her, despite how fruitless it truly is to try.

She sits with my answer for the time span of the blink of an eye. Then, she strikes a pose in which I cannot tell if she means to merely stretch or if she is miming her intention to threaten The Gentleman who trapped us here. “We have tried… We must concede.”

No, I beg her internally not to say such things.

“We cannot open the gate without him.”

She speaks nothing but the truth, and yet…

“And he does not come.”

“Yeah.” I reply blandly, for I can concur with fact. We released the man whom we once promised to offer salvation to and he has not returned to give us the same. For all we know, he never plans to exonerate us from this hell, and Diana and I are confined to a fate of endless battles waged against the Hordes of Gehanna by each other’s side for all of this realm’s eternity.

“So then,” Diana lets her words drag on as she bows her head. It’s almost as if she’s become nervous as she speaks. “Perhaps this is everlasting. All of life, our life.”

Her voicing of my very thoughts is an easy task, however, it ropes me into her. I bow my head too as if I need time to comprehend what she is saying to me. “The hordes are… everlasting.”

Then, she dares to state the truth I had been fearing myself. “And all we have, forever, is you and me.”

The most infuriating and tantalizing words that have ever been spoken to me.

We teased, we taunted, we hinted at one another in the past and never dove into anything serious for reasons neither of us truly understand. Perhaps it was because we could lose ourselves to one another? Or perhaps our differences in mortality while living the lives that we do carries a heavy load on the possibility of a future? Or maybe it all comes down to the fact that her time would be best spent with someone who can enjoy life with her, not dampen her illustriousness with the darkness that swallows me?

The possibility of having her now was nothing if not…

If not…

“Yeah.” I foolishly answer again, carrying on this asinine conversation. What are we doing, discussing this as if there is a chance we could be something more? As if Gehanna was the place to make the planets align or cosmically bring us together?

Just as I am growing infuriated with our situation, Diana giggles. Softly, only momentarily, but she laughs before me. The tension gripping me slackens it hold and I gawk at her from under my brows as she says, “You know, even without the pointy ears, you do not look so bad.”

Such a swift change in conversation, I can’t help but to pause before I answer. It is almost sacrilegious for her to compliment my appearance as my eyes rake over her body while it is highlighted and shadowed by the campfire’s glow. The goddess before me, in whatever backhanded way she chooses to speak, tells me that she enjoys the way I look.

To ignore her beauty would be a crime, one I have committed for far too long considering my role as a man who seeks justice.

Dumbfounded and animalistic, I lean towards her, muttering for a third time the most unattractive word, “Yeah.” But I do lean in, I seek her out and she leans towards me. The heat that pools in my blood courses throughout my tired body and rejuvenates me with a promise of what is about to happen between us. Decades of working together plus the one we endured in this realm have led up to this moment, where our noses nearly touch.

I can hear her breathing deeply, and feel my chest lift and sink with the very same tempo. Rise and fall, just like my ability to resist Diana over the years. Having her sit before me now in our own perpetual corner of the realm feels like the opportune moment to stop wondering, stop fighting and let things happen.

“Bruce,” she calls to me again, making my insides churn painfully, desperately.

And it is with that awareness of desperation that my survival instincts reemerge from their restless sleep to stop me from making a catastrophic mistake.

Less than an inch away from her gorgeous lips, the words spill out of my mouth reflexively, without any sort of control. “We can’t…”

Diana stills and it instantly breaks my heart to refuse her for the umpteenth time. All those years of yearning reaching their climactic moment, now suddenly feeling wasted to know we can never be.

“No,” she too fires out words of discouragement in the hopes of appearing sane. “We can’t. Ever.”

Hearing her speak of finality strikes a chord with me, however. To recognize the insanity of our attraction is one thing, but to have Diana agree after offering herself to me is both saddening and infuriating. Why is our future never a possibility?

Why could I propose to one woman and never to this one, when I have admired her, cherished her, and loved her endlessly?

Why did I think it could never be Diana?

In that moment, I refused to let the madness of the answers sink their teeth into my desire and tear it away from me once again. For a moment, I would live in desperation for something that existed in front of me for too long. Inside of me.

Always with me.

As Diana begins to laugh again, I take it as a personal challenge to silence her, so I steal that kiss that I had been craving long before we entered Gehanna. Our lips crash and so do the worlds we keep separate from one another. She feels like the most exquisite sanctuary for a soul as worn as mine, a sob urging to spring free in my throat that I quickly stamp down. Kissing her fills me with an awareness of coming home after a lifelong war even whilst we are still trying to survive the ongoing battle against the demons around us.

It takes everything I have to await her response before I notice that her hand has found my cheek, cradling it softly. The gesture alone calms my nervousness, then unseals all of the battle-induced excitement, the ages-long resistance, the indisputable greed to have her body be with mine. I know now that I need us to be so much more than a fever dream when I grab her waist and drag her into me. “Diana.” I growl her name, daring her to pull away now that we have willfully let go.

“Mmm.” Her moan sends a shiver stomping along my spine and reminds me that our clothes are the last remaining barriers to realizing our profoundly anticipated passions.

At least, physically, in this world.

“I know,” I whisper, hoping to say more. I am aware of the lives we had been clinging to in this realm, the ones we know and want to return to. I remember what the past ten years have been like as we reminisced about what we had waiting for us if and when we make our way back to Earth.

We reminisced together, though.

About what we had before being spirited away to this god awful place.

And in both of our recollections, the constant we shared was this: each other.

“Yeah.” She whispers cheekily as her long legs carry her into my lap. The fire fueling every move that she makes is just as nervous as I am, as its flame burns too quickly in the hopes that she can savour every moment before it fizzles out. I want that as well - to pin her down or have her straddle me and feast on one another like we were always too scared to imagine. With claw-like hands, I wrap my arms around her and hold her against my body so that she can shield me from any other world that isn’t Gehanna.

Neither one of us can stop this now.

Neither one of us wants to.

I can no longer say I haven’t tasted the fruit of temptation, as her name is Diana, and all I want is for her to be by my side forever more.

[furashuban]

An Outhouse Phantom

my first submission to @lapidot-week . this was a challenging fic to write and i hope you guys enjoy.

Day 3 Prompt: Haunting/Ghost Hunting

AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12524416

Summary:  Two paranormal investigators are asked to go and inspect an abandoned barn that is greatly rumored to be haunted by a vicious entity. 

Words: 6.1k

a little angst and gore warning on this one (hopefully that’s allowed). so for that, i’m gonna heavily apologize if i took some parts a bit too far .

Reported findings of odd and ghost like activities were being rumored by random teenagers and elders, telling stories that they were wandering around an open field in the middle of dusk for dalliance or curiosity. They would bump into this structure sooner or later. It was an empty red barn, possibly abandoned for decades, and they let their curiousness make them wander even more. But some would come back to tell that accounts of what happened, while some would never came back as told.

They enlightened the play-by-play as evident as they can. One goes in and saunters further to discover the artifacts of a pilot, and then the activity occurs from there. The sound of repeated footsteps and grumbling would be heard behind the trespassers. As an outcome, they emulated anxiety and a feeling that they were being observed. Soon items and boxes would clatter to the ground on their own. Sometimes, plane engines would start up autonomously and jumps scare the driven trespassers. Then finally someone, or something, would begin to actually grasp their limbs. And if possible, it managed to reach their souls.

“It looked at me. Spoke to me. It wanted me dead grinned like a mad reaper.” Some added vaguely.

It was never clarified for sure whether it was human, animal, dead or alive. But it aggressively distressed its bolted victims and it was swift as wind. Of course, not everyone would come to believe the accounts. Indeed it was too superstitious to be true. Heck, even a little too cliché to be real at all. An abandoned shelter? In the middle of the field in late hours? And a beast is said to repose in the location? It was right out of a fictional horror story.

And yet it wouldn’t be so false if it traumatized the story tellers so drastically.

October 31. Halloween Night.

The accounts were suddenly getting out of hand all over town. And to many, it was certainly getting bothersome. It was time for someone, or two people for this matter, to put an end to the stories spread by strangers on the sidewalk and determine whether the barn haunting is a reality or a hoax…

Paranormal investigators ‘Lapis and Peridot Warren’ were the best and only certified experts of their jobs in town. For a while, they were involved in numerous but infamous cases of hauntings, and even dispelling ethereal encounters. The Beach City Lighthouse Haunting and the Dead Man’s Mouth Haunting were two out of a hundred cases they have solved. But these couple was a fitting couple, an obsessed and artistic who bunch who understood each other when no one else did.

In Halloween morning, a hasty priest from a nearby church rushed to their outlying home and entreated them to finally explore the countryside. He conveyed along some evidence to their house’s workplace, most of them obviously being recorded videos and photographs by the barn’s trespassers to prove them cognizance of the haunting. It was all there. The repetitive footsteps, the collided items, even glimpses of the entity haunting the outhouse. But all that was grasped was glimmering yellow eyes with a large silhouette.

“This must be helpful, right?” he enquired cogency of the proofs. “Please, I’ve already been approached about this absurd occurrence for a few days now, and there’s no one else I can confront to sanction this request other than you two.”

The couple only had to do was just confirm that they will accept their trip.

“So what do ya say, Lapis?” Peridot asks in the other side of the workspace. “Should we solve this case or does this look like wind-up to you?”

“Hmm. I don’t know.” Lapis answers. “I’m going to be honest, Peridot, a lot of the actions in the clips we saw looked sort of fake. And so do the images. They seem kind of edited or something like that.”

“I have the same idea too. We really can’t accept this offer right away…You do remember the last time someone walked up to us and claimed that they had seen some kind of ghost haunting, right?”

There was this one time. A bunch of arbitrary visitors claimed to have seen a ‘possessed demonic’ child trying to ransack the boardwalk. And after confronting the family and already preparing a full-proof exorcism, it turns out the child named Onion was just a rather audacious juvenile who lacked the desire to speak. This caused the two investigators to be mortified and promised to be careful next time.

“Okay sure, we haven’t been getting a lot of demands lately, let alone successful ones.” Lapis says. “But then again, a lot of our cases have been proven right before, despite skeptics saying that we’re crazy.” She took some time to ponder as she gazed down and concerted. “…I say we should give this one a go. The priest mentioned that our only task was to settle the barn haunting to be real or not. Once we find that out, that will be the end of it and we can still do our jobs right.”

Peridot nodded. “I guess we’re skipping trick-or-treating for this then.” She settles. “I’ll inform our client about it and tell Greg that we need a ride.”

The scrutinizing couple did not begin to think about what they could be up against once they prepared for the barn’s excursion…But to be prepared, they owned and packed their various essentials; holy water, crucifix, and technological advancements to track down their entities. And all were put into two solid suitcases. The priest offered a little more information of the barn’s whereabouts before leaving. “Just know that dusk is when the hauntings presumably happen.” He notifies. He even provided a hand-drawn map that located the predicted area. Also added was a scripture on the down left side; Proverbs 4:6 – Do not forsake wisdom, and she will protect you; love her, and she will watch over you.

Six to seven o’clock in the evening. Greg Demayo, a close friend of theirs, drove them in his van to the rural area of their ocean-side town and navigated cautiously. The hand-drawn map was at use find to where the possible location might be…But it took them yearning minutes to get themselves lost for a while. And ironically, going astray got them to where they were.

At that juncture, they decided to stop at an open field and perceive the setting to be empty and calm. “This could be the place, right?” Lapis asks. Peridot guaranteed while contemplating. Nothing but winds and leaves were blanketing the locale. Nonetheless, it would not take long for all three of them to realize that there was a wide-open barn just a few inches away to pinpoint.

The atmosphere adapted stouter and rousing. “Dang, that must be the most upsetting piece of architecture I’ve ever seen.” Greg commented. “I don’t think it would have killed them to fix the place a little before leaving it out here in the open.”

The first thing to describe the barn in front of them was…well, a barn. It was red and white, large, and what people normally pictured what a barn would be like. But there were a few aspects that made it so eerily unalike. The roof was dented gravely and left with a vast hovel on it. Then there was the alley way doors which were half way opened unprecedentedly. A good first impression for the investigators. And it was time for work.

Lapis, Peridot and Greg drove closer to the edifice and got out. They unloaded their equipment and left them by the unsettling entrance. Far along and almost right off the while assuring the equipment, there was an unnerved chilling sensation after the autumn squalls blew. Worrying sounds were already being perceived inside the barn. “Hmm…Is that weeping in there?” Lapis considers.

“Are you sure you two can solve this case on your own?” Greg enquired. “I don’t think I could last a whole hour in this busted up barn.”

“We’ll be fine. Thanks for taking us here, Greg.” Lapis answers.

“It’s going to be a short task. Why don’t you come along and help us here?” Peridot offers.

“Well I’d love to but I promised Steven that I’d join him for trick or treating.” He replies. “Speaking of which…I got to find a way out of here. Just try to call me if you guys need to go back to Beach City.”

They said their farewells and safe travels, and Greg retreated back to the van. The vehicle left off and drove back to pavement, auxiliary to town. Then Lapis and Peridot were left alone and looked at each other, nodding with poised expressions. They were assured for this task. They were always assured for any of their tasks.

“Well here goes nothing.” The petite investigator utters curious. Peridot did the honors of gradually pushing the alleyway doors even more and snuck in afterwards. She peeks as she saunters while breathing inaudibly.

A startling moonlight peered through the dents and traveled inside the barn to partly illuminate the setting. With the help of Peridot’s flashlight that she brought out instantly, it revealed the true circumstance of the interior. The old owner must have been a hoarder since packages of priceless items were stacked or displaced. There was an old photo hung on the center corner which showed a couple who could have owned the barn before. Then the floors were perceived as made of birch wood and poorly gutted. Peridot noticed a bit of scratch marks and reddish stains marked on the bases. Maybe this was enough the proof that there was something in here already?

The two stepped foot even more until they reached half of the sector. This time they were standing upright and assertive rather than prowling. Two flashlights revealing the space, skulked around the walls and floors, were close-fitting it to be not so lavishly menacing.

“Hmm…It’s just messy here.” Peridot remarks. “Actually, if this place might not be haunted, we could try to acquire this property for our own.”

“Why would we want to do that?” Lapis asks.

“Well, you do have a lot of artworks in our house. We could use this place as like a studio. Or maybe even a vacation home for just the two of us, unless we can find a way to clean up this mess though.”

But the conversation stops abruptly as Lapis and Peridot perceive a disquieting holler that made their eyes widen…It was indistinct and seemed like the growl of a forest animal. And at the same time, it was a human-like outcry. One thing for sure was that they both sensed it to be coming from only one, unknown entity.

“aaughhh…”

“…You heard that, right…?” Peridot whispers. Lapis nods.

Without warning, a cumbersome object violently soars across the room and nearly hits behind the couple.

*CRASH!*

They tensely turn around and shine their flashlights at where they heard a deafening noise. It was simply a busted up engine, and it seemed to have already been blown up before. Peridot and Lapis held their hands tightly and looked at the other direction to track down who would have thrown such a weighty element. There was no one.

“…I guess we’re about to deal with a poltergeist.” Lapis assumes.

“…Perhaps. But if someone managed to take physical pictures of this thing, we could just be dealing with a basic demon.” Peridot adds. “Come on Lapis, let’s assemble the equipment before we miss anything else.”

The petite sleuth also happened to be a technician; hence a lot of the ‘ghost tracking gear’ was designed by her. Out of the luggage’s they brought with them was a very sensitive studio microphone, and 6 cameras attached to tripods. Two of them were thermal cameras, four were night vision cameras, and another two were cameras would take a picture automatically if sensors detected heat signatures. Lapis stabled most of them in different points of the floor they were standing on. All were turned on to record. One was reserved for when they could get up to the barn’s extra floor.

*Growl…*

But noises and sanities seemed to noticeably follow Lapis more than her partner.

Other equipment had to be armed to by person. Hence Peridot furnished the UV lights and sound detector to her body while configuring them for a second. The last thing in her luggage was her trusty tape recorder, where most of her and Lapis’ journeys are documented.

She installs a new tape inside and presses the record button. “Log Date; 7 11 3. This is Peridot Warren, and with me currently is my wife and investigating partner Lapis Warren. Today we were urged by a client to examine an abandoned outhouse in the middle of the countryside, largely rumored to be haunted. As cases of hauntings in this location are only told in stories, we were qualified to gather as much evidence as possible to prove that there could be an entity roaming these parts, needless to say that this more of a like side quest instead of a serious mission to us.”

She begins to amble and use a radiation detector around the cluttered corners. “We’ve already found out that there is indeed something here. A minute ago I spotted these scratch marks on the floor boards, and me and Lapis were nearly hit by a tossed apparatus. All we must do now is just track it down perceptibly.” She continues to talk. “We don’t know how long we intend on being here, but we’ve come prepared to spend the night if we have to. My only hopes so far are that we dissipate this creature, still keep our titles as the best the paranormal investigators in town, and that Lapis will be safe tonight.”

She moseys to her blue haired wife who was standing by a now steady camera. “This is Peridot, signing out for now.” She concludes and presses the stop button. “Okay, looks like I’m not picking up anything down here. Let’s go and…what’s wrong?

Lapis was looking behind her with a disturbed expression and arms folded chillingly. “I think whatever is in here wants to grasp me more than you, Peri…”

“Nah, that can’t be. We’ve only just been acquainted with this thing now. Maybe anxiety is just getting the best of you.” Peridot replies.

But the blue haired girl was sure that debauched occurrences can happen if either of them would not cautious. “Let’s just be careful here.”

They discovered a ladder foremost to the second floor and scaled it nippily. The sector was a lot weaker to stand on and hazardously reeking. Indeed they should be careful. They prowled with tools at range and eyes wide open. Peridot’s sound detector was not working at all, neither was the radiation detector either. Lapis was behind her with more cameras on her grasp. They stopped so they could plant one of them in half the room they were on.

The heat perceiving camera was placed. All of a sudden, it flashes on its own and snaps a photo shockingly quick, startling them yet again.

*CLICK*

A conveying printer connected to the camera’s sensors was already printing an image of what it caught by the equipment downstairs.

“…We can get that later. Right now I’m picking up something…” Peridot says pressured. She pointed the radiation detector to the shadowy room where their camera faced. It was beeping like feeble sirens and exposure was off the roof. And moreover, there were footsteps heard in the direction. Therefore both of them swiftly amble towards the area.

Lapis grabbed her flashlight and shined a light again. “Where is it?”

The detector stopped buzzing and the footsteps faded. “It ran off. It must be playing games with us then.” Peridot says. “Where are we now?”

The exceled lights uncovered them to be by a corner, and what looked like to be a lounging spot or a really sad living room. A green couch and a CRT television on the floor were professed, as well as a box of VHS’. They shawled the minute to inspect the room like what a detective would normally do.

They see the VHS’ to be comprising the show Camp Pining Hearts. “We’re taking that home.” Peridot says. Then they beheld the couch and TV. The couch smelled like crap, that’s guaranteed. And what do you know…more blood stains and graze marks. As for the TV, it looked mid-conditioned but quite unsure if it even was. They stared at it for two moments, only to see it turn on by its own and play loud static.

“What in the…” they both utter but pause again. The radiation detector was back at it again as it was picking up a reading downstairs. “Quickly! Let’s go!”

Hurrying down the ladder, they follow the appraisals and hunt down the entity. They did not even make it half way to the room, however, as a heap of packages flew over and blocked their view and their way. *CRASH!* yet again.>

Lapis heard a recurrent stomping partial from where they were standing. And it did now sound so passive. Peridot struggled to get the loot out of their way and hassled more to catch this entity. She groaned and jolted her way out, and proceeded to the equipment.

Alas, it vanished again, and the printer was discovered to be crushed. “Oh damn no. Where’s the photo…?” Peridot panicked and tried finding out if the picture it had produced was still fine. Recognizing later, she finds it outside and nearly crumpled. And the winds conveniently blow it inside for Peridot to grasp and examine.

“Okay…Hmm…” she squints. “It…turns out we’re faced with a human apparition then?” Lapis also takes a peak and observes in awe.

The hazy and rutted photograph revealed the top floor’s living room with an unfamiliar phantom sprawling in it. The physique gave this impression…A tall, suntanned woman standing blandly in the open. Hair was outsized and white, and covering half her face. Her size was likewise large, actually quite brawny as recognized through her bare arms. The last aspect is the eyes, shining a frightening absorbent yellow, and surprisingly what seemed to be the only thing glowing orange was her nose.

“Who is this…?” Peridot inquires. “This was not what I was expecting at all.” She also thinks to herself ‘how did this buff and petrifying lady die?’

“Me too.” Lapis says “But hey, we finally have clear evidence to give to our client.”

“I wouldn’t say clear…” Peridot explicates. “This just looks like one of the proofs we saw this morning. We need more than just this image of whoever this is.” She paced around front and back while deciding what undertake next.

“Okay. We should split up for this one.” She announces. “I’ll be examining the living room upstairs and find out how the TV turned on. You on the other hand should find our phantom down here.”

Lapis instantly did NOT feel comfortable with that plan. She was covertly afraid of the entity but she could not wholly express why. And she was used to being close to Peridot whenever they were in a task; otherwise bad things happen to either of them.

“Wait, Peridot, let’s not do that.” Lapis expresses. “We never separate. And this barn is getting on my nerves quickly. I could feel the entity lurking up on us and I think it’s angry with us for being here.”

The blonde notices the obvious worries of Lapis. Her expression mimics hers and bites her lip. “I know we shouldn’t detach. But we have to finish this task soon. Whoever we’re with right now keeps compromising our tactics.”

Her wife looks away and sighed wearily. “Okay then.”

Peridot crept and grasps the side of Lapis’ face. She softly kisses her cheek and looks onto her blue eyes while consolingly grinning. “It’s fine. I’ll be above you anyway and watch over you. You’ll be safe, I promise.” She tries to comfort. Lapis grins back and holds her partner’s own grasp to feel more comforted.

After Peridot dashed up the ladder once more, she began to look over. All her detectors were at use at the same time so she could hunt down the tall woman further. Also at the same time, she had her gaze down at Lapis every minute so she could keep her two obligations active. Lapis can also overhear her speaking to her tape recorder and explaining the recent activity they have witnessed. Then and there, she thought that one of the cameras could have picked up something by now. So she chose one of them hoven by the portrait’s corner and facing the equipment, which was a thermal camera. She makes it stop recording for a brief moment and watches the 1 minute film it created with its temperature filter.

“Let’s see what we got…” she utters. The footage rewinds and she prudently observes any uncanny motion. Everything looked to be in place for a while. Most of the items were all just shades of blue and purple. But as the clip advanced, the unusual exploit is finally seen. The snapped apparition literally flashes out of nowhere like she fell from the roof and ensnared their equipment. The heat signature was heavily read and yellow. This was either be a powerful or very frustrated ghost.

The figure grabbed the printer and crushed it with its bare hands. But it seemed to have just left the photo to fly off outside. Then it flashed again to the corner, where it most likely pushed the packages to block their way. The figure returns to the gear and damages the microphone, and crossly retreats to the other crook. There was hope with this one. The uncanny movements of the apparition had just given them their second proof. But Peridot wouldn’t be so happy to realize that her technology was ambushed by a ghost.

Lapis saves the footage into the memory drive attached to the camera. She takes it out in case the apparition destroys the camera too, and so she could showcase it to Peridot. As she walks back to the gear to aquire some holy water, she halts. The footsteps were back. And something was behind again.

“heh heh heh heh….” She hears a coarse laughter.

The blue haired woman felt her shoulder caressed smoothly and sensed a hand inch to her neck. She gasps and turns back edgily once more, only this time she believed she saw an actual silhouette pass by her. Her eyes prolonged out of dread and felt herself quivering. She needed to call Peridot right now but she could not get herself to do it. She turns back to the equipment and tries to step another foot. But as soon as she ensues, her face was grappled and clasped mildly by an unseen being. The laughter is heard again only it was more intense this time. Lapis did not have the ability to struggle and run away. She did not even know if Peridot could see her, or if she was just hallucinating. But as she was contemplating and panicking, she sees the faint face of the apparition they have been hunting. An undeniably scary woman was staring at her with a grin so appalling. It petrified Lapis to her uppermost limits. No ghost has ever been so dangerously close and visible to her before.

“…Where do you think you’re going…?” The physique speaks. Her voice was rough and neurotic.

Lapis’ torso is clenched and she was forcefully thrown within the rubbish and bends of the barn. The white haired spirit fades and proceeds to afflict her recent victim more.

On the other side of the precinct, Peridot stops speaking to her tape recorder when she hears more clutter downstairs. And she was already given sign that there was danger before she could use any of her devices to confirm ghost emission.

“PERIDOT! HELP ME!”

The blonde gasps heavily. “LAPIS!!!”

Her tape recorder, including her detectors was dropped to the ground and broke into scrap. The outcry of Lapis was so lurid that it was even picked up by the recorder before plummeting. Its smashed condition caused it to somewhat still work, and only repeatedly play “Peridot! Help me!”

Peridot stood upright and turned her head all over the place to anxiously find where her partner was. “Lapis, where are you?!” she exclaims. All that was retorted was a fleeting shriek of woe and suffocation. She then strides around the room like she was lost in a dense forest. Or in this case, she was looking for someone in a dense forest. Her panting could quickly be perceived as she tried scouting through the hoarded artifacts and skulked every corner. She cried out Lapis’ name with too many times to count. Their side quest had escalated WAY too quickly than any other task they had in the past and there has never been a time where She was untraceable from her.

Yet she did not have to completely weep or collapse just yet. Peridot stops prowling around the barn when she hears someone grunting within her radius. She gradually turns to find a familiar form stood up upright and banally. It was Lapis. But Peri did not feel relieved to see her. She looked at her with a calmed expression that turned into a confused one. Where did the blood around her mouth come from? Why was she looking at her funny? Why was she standing there like nothing even happened to her? This could not be some kind of messed up joke since both of them were professionals.

Peridot inquired her condition. “Why were you screaming for my help…?”

Lapis stops grunting and rather chuckles instead. “…You have to learn to keep you promises…” she says and chortles again. But her voice was incredibly altered. It sounded like two voices, jagged and serene, were trying to mash together into one voice. And it scared Peridot real good. “…I’ve had a hell of a night trying to figure out which one should I take. But right now, I’m realizing how much fun I’ve been having…”

The petite detains backwards and her attained fear was seen through her pupils. “You’re not my Lapis…” she says aggressive.

“It’s not going to matter who this is sooner or later.” She replies. “You two have made a big mistake coming in here and trying to find me. And now you’re going to wish you would have minded your own business after I’m done with you and this body…”

“Wait, what are you going to do with her?!” Peridot asks angered. “Tell me your name right now, spirit! That way I can use it to expel your soul out of her’s!”

The spirit now scheming Lapis takes an unnerving step forward. “Now that’s the thing; you’re never going to take me out. No one has ever succeeded in that…”

Now she was inching a lot closer. By her own instinct, Peridot grabbed a flask of holy water out of her pockets and faced it to the entity. It wasn’t the best idea, but she had to do something. “Step back now…” she says.

The grin on Lapis’ face fades away as she looks at the carafe and steps back. “…Hey, you put that crap out of my face.” She demanded. An unusual reaction for Peridot to see and listen. Was she vulnerable to something as basic as liquids blessed from vicars? Maybe trying to cast her out was not going to be as hard as initially thought.

“I suppose you don’t like this stuff.” Peridot utters and opens the cap of the water ampule. This time she was the one the taking a step forward. “I’m going to say this once…Get out of my wife or I’m going to spread your poison like it’s a garden sprinkler!”

The apparition became perceptibly angry and did not hesitate to use Lapis’ body against Peridot right away. She becomes swift, and slaps the carafe out of her short hands and onto the wall. “You’re a real nuisance, aren’t you?” she asks. And this time, the facets of Lapis’ voice was heard no more and it was only the coarseness of the spirit’s actual voice. “I am NOT LEAVING THIS FORM!”

She strikes Peridot right in the stomach with her wife’s own fist and watches her fly to the equipment. The blonde groans in agony, feeling the sensation as if the strength of a tank missile just embattled her physically and mentally. She barely had the ability to stand up again, let alone remembering that it was a spirit that punched her and not actually Lapis. But she could not help it. This thing had just possessed her completely.

She coughed up blood that now became part of her guise and the floorboard stains. But then there came the tears that leaked down her barred eyes. She must have been feeling pain that Lapis had to endure while being possessed. If only she had known how to defend her a lot more. She failed to keep her oath in protecting her most important person at all cost during investigations, and she hated everything including herself for that.

The possessed Lapis was leisurely creeping to her again since she knew her pain was not taking her anywhere. Yet Peridot sojourns lasting her abdominal strike and reached for one of her suitcases. It opens, and she feebly grabs another holy water ampule to use against her ghostly opponent. But the more she moved, the more she had to sorely whimper. Then she knew she was going to receive more discomfort, as she felt a bare foot gently stomp through her thick hair.

“I’m impressed.” The spirit speaks. “When I choose to slay you two immediately, you somehow manage to stay alive…” Her other victim’s head was being pressed to the ground more. “…Everyone who comes to this dump instantly sees me as a monster. But I never did anything wrong…No one knows what death is like, you lose your identity. That’s why I decided to become the monster anyway.”

Peridot only comprehended a little bit of her story as her mind had to be focused in hopefully getting out of this. The spirit continued to speak anyway. “Since you and ‘Lapis’ are going to die here anyway, I might as well tell you who I really am.” She says and bends down to the petite. “…I am Jasper.”

The bottle of holy water that was unnoticeably still in Peridot’s grip had its cap open with only her fingers. With one immediate act, she shrieks loudly and squelches a heap of liquid above her to drizzle the blue haired girl’s figure. Jasper stops placing her feet at her face and annexations begin to trigger the spirit. Peridot overhears her screaming and wildly reverting to Lapis’ voice. It was a disturbing thing to listen to, but it was also a sign that she could free her from control.

The pain Peridot received was only trivial now, hence she stances with her only weapon and confronts the bent and aggrieved Lapis. Another heap of holy water was spread across her body, and more screeches was heard. Lapis’ body sauntered towards the boxes and hid itself from plain sight.

She could not begin to process what she had heard, saw, or witnessed in general for those brief and horrific moments of encountering a possessed version of her love. She wiped the remaining tears off her face and wondered if the apparition had stop control over her body. “…L-Lapis…?” she dimly calls out.

The shouting stopped. Indeed, the entity was casted out by mere drips of water and Lapis’ body was free. She popped out of the scrap limply and unconsciously, landing on the floor and disquieting Peridot. The blonde investigator kneels down and checks for any vitals of her being. “Oh God please be okay…” she speaks. Lapis was okay. And she was relieved finally.

This was not over yet, however. The whaling of Jasper was still heard and waring off soon. Peridot looks over and turns out she could see the large ghost this time. Jasper’s true form came out through the boxes too and stood in front of her exorcist. Before, she looked human and impartial. But she looked more exhausted, and now there were green spots and growing out of her arms. The holy water must have affected that hideousness.

“That’s disgusting…” Peridot utters. Being assured that Lapis was going to be safer, she walks around and provokes her new adversary. She had enough. It was time for defeat. Jasper did not know where this was going. But she was soon met with a whole flask size of demon-killing liquors when Peridot threw the whole container at her. The last screech was caught and she completely stumbled down to her face, just like what happened to her prey.

The investigator began to yell her name and label her. “You are Jasper, the abuser of depths and the embodiment of suffering.” She says belligerently. She proceeded to chant a number of devout words that she had saved a long time for dispelling a demon. They were not too long, but the speech was enough to make Jasper feel her throbbing. Shortly, she did not appear to be human anymore. The incantation caused her to transform into a truly monstrous, hirsute, corrupted version of her. It was a beast made from vengeance and pride.

Peridot’s tone had rose aggressively and stopped the chanting. She did not care to process if Jasper had become a beast. All she did was place her own boot on her and said the final words to disperse her for good. “I condemn you back to hell.”

Jasper’s figure had faded to a normal silhouette. And her silhouette had faded into nothing more than inexistence. Peridot’s fearlessness was conducted solely because she wanted to save her most important person to her.

She panted incredibly vast after that excursion of an exorcism. She looks back and dailies to Lapis who was comatose on the floorboards. “Lapis! Wake up!” she bellows. “I defeated Jasper. She was the one who was haunting this place all along.”

Surprisingly, Lapis immediately wakes up from her partner’s voice. She rises up like she had just taken a nap. A nap filled with nightmares at least. “Peridot…” she murmurs. And after realizing the bloodstained look on her acquitted expression, she panicked.

“Oh gosh…Peridot, your face!” she grasps it softly. “I-I can’t believe I…….Peri, I’m sorry I let that happen. I would never mean to hurt you and scare you so much like that…Fuck, I should have never said yes to take this task otherwise we would have been okay…”

She did not answer. All she did was gape down and let one last tear drop from the side of her face. And then she was gaping back at Lapis. “It’s…okay, Laz.” She absolved. “I’m the one who should be sorry. You were possessed, and I did not think ahead of that.” She grasped one of Lapis’ and felt their warmth getting the best of them. “I made many promises when we were engaged that I would protect you from all kinds of risk. Tonight I just got both of us hurt, and I might as well deserve it more than you.”

Lapis got herself closer to Peridot’s nearness and tried to ease her. “Please don’t say that. You just saved me, and I love you Peridot.”

Their venting ended with a deep embrace by the petite and sniffling blonde. “I love you too Lapis…”

The blue haired ceased the embrace and instead pulled her closer to kiss her ardently on her lips. The caress lingered for a while, not minding whether their lips were sanguine or they were inside a broken down barn anymore. They just needed to be at ease and forget about the task.

The next morning.

The couple never contacted Greg to bring them back to Beach City. They literally stayed and passed out on a hammock for the whole night. The task to uncover the long rumored Barn Haunting was the most short-lived yet laborious case the two partners have faced so far in their lifetime.

When they did choose to go back home eventually, they met with their eager client with what was left of their proof. Several different types of video clips were submitted including one photograph. Not to mention the wreckage of Peridot’s tech to verify the haunting.

They confirmed the barn to be ONCE haunted. And they did not care if he was going to spread the news to everyone or keep it confidential. What they wanted now was some time alone

[luki-fanfic]

KHR Fic: The Tempest Temptation

So I’ve been in a bad mental place the last few days, and most of the stuff I’m reading online isn’t helping the way it normally does (all my fandoms have suddenly started writing pairings or plots that make me feel even worse, talk about bad timing - I needed fluff and family dammit!). 

So I did what any fanfic author does and started working on something a guilty pleasure of my own.  Sort of stagnated, but feel like offering the first chunk.

Xanxus is eight years old and desperate to find something more than a future in the slums.  When he comes across a man with kind eyes and orange flames, he thinks he’s found it.

Inspired by a comment left on Generation Cross about Xanxus becoming Tsuna’s Storm Guardian.

The first time Xanxus meets him, it’s utterly forgettable except for how pathetic it is.

Xanxus is eight years old going on fifty, trawling the back alley of an Italian slum far away from the tourists.  He was born in a clinic just down the road, and never gone further than ten miles from the bare-walled apartment he and his mother call home. Here, life beats harsh reality into you young – the boy knows full well his future consists of nothing but drugs, gangs and messy death.  

But Xanxus isn’t like everyone else here.  Most children of whore have already picked chosen their path, but Xanxus refuses to bow.  He’s not ready to accept that, there’s a burning desire that life can’t quite snuff out, that he’s meant for more than this.  When he prowls the street, his head is high, no matter how much the prostitutes laugh and the runners mock him for refusing their deals.    

However, when the slight drizzle that’s been threatening the neighbourhood all afternoon turns into a full storm, it’s enough for him to slouch and slip into the shadows, taking an alley shortcut home.  Normally he wouldn’t risk running down the tight dark streets, but even trash is heading inside right now.

Except apparently, for the idiot on the ground, slumped on the ground.  He barely registers the new arrival, only raising his head when his footsteps register.

The man is Asian, with wild hair, a two-day shadow and dressed in a suit that was probably quality before it got dragged through whatever war the man had crawled away from.  His face hosts a pair of empty, dead eyes, that widen to an extreme degree when he registers Xanxus’s appearance.  He looks as if he’s seen a ghost, mouth trying to form words and failing.  Xanxus just scowls, kicking the legs away to move forward.

But the second he makes contact, something flickers up his leg.  As powerful as an electric current, and strong enough to make Xanxus freeze.  From within, something twists awake, and Xanxus shudders at the feeling.

The man utters something wordless, and jerks his legs away, curling into a ball.  His eyes however, haven’t left the boy’s face.  Xanxus debates confronting him, but an extra pulse of rain falling from the sky makes him retreat, storming past and shaking the feeling off.

However, he can’t resist tossing his head back to check if the man is following him.  He doesn’t know why, but it feels as if he should be.  

He’s not, and Xanxus sneers at the figure still leaning against the wall, head down and curling in on himself.  As broken as everyone else in this godforsaken place.  

Just trash.  Xanxus doesn’t know why he expected better.

By the time he gets home, he’s pushed the man out of his head entirely. A homeless waste of space like that will be dead or in the claws of a gang within the week.

Except that’s not what happens.  Over the next month, the man flits in and out of Xanxus’s purview, sometimes lost in his own world or running to somewhere, and looking more and more like a homeless bum every time he sees him.  Strangely, every time he sees Xanxus, he freezes, and refuses to make eye contact, but Xanxus hasn’t had the inclination to find out why.  He’s got his own problems.  The last few weeks have been full of headaches and burning feelings in his stomach.  He’s always felt this fire in his gut, but it’s been cranked up to eleven ever since he met the man in the alley, and it’s driving him nuts.

As such, it’s not until a month after their first meeting that Xanxus learns how off his original assumption was.

Their neighbourhood caters to some of the lowest mafioso families on the crime ladder, and one of the grunts is slamming on the door of one of their downstairs neighbours.  Screaming abuse and fingering a gun with his spare hand.  Every person in the building, his mother included, had seen the man and gone running for their own rooms, desperately praying that they weren’t the target.  

Xanxus had ignored his mother’s warnings, pulling away from her grip and slipping into the hallway.  He sat on the middle steps, just out of sight of the man while keeping him in view.  A minute later, the lock on the door gives, and the mafioso is pulling a woman out by her hair.  She’s probably in her twenties, but looks a decade older from drugs and life, with bleached blonde hair and makeup smeared on her face.  Her legs are buckling, tears streaming down her face as she begs for mercy, arms wrapped around her stomach, the bulge only just starting to be noticeable.

Xanxus snorts in derision.  Blood is gold in the criminal underbelly.  The whore’s probably one of the boss’s favourites, but doesn’t want an illegitimate heir mucking up his family line.  Woman should have known better.

She’s on her knees now, sobbing furiously while the mafioso pulls out the gun and cocks it.  The sound has her trying to crawl away, only to get a backhand to the face, sending her crashing to the ground again.  The mafioso aims, and Xanxus leans forward.

Another death for stupid mistakes.  

“Hey!”

All three freeze at the voice, and turn to take in the figure in the door.

It’s the man Xanxus stumbled over that rainy afternoon, and looks as bad as ever. He’s lost the suit jacket in exchange for an olive-green raincoat with a furry hood, but it doesn’t hide the fact that the orange shirt underneath is as filthy as his dress trousers.  He’s filched a wool cap from somewhere, using it and the hood to crush most of those wild locks out of sight and mind while the straggles of a clearly unplanned beard invade his chin.  If Xanxus had ever been asked to imagine the epitome of ‘bum,’ this wouldn’t’ be too far off the mark.

The only aberration is the man’s eyes.  Xanxus could have sworn they were mud brown, but now they’re gleaming with a gold hue that can’t be natural, and focused on the mafioso like a cat on a rat.

“Let her go.”

Xanxus feels his spine straighten instinctively, fighting the shudder at the sheer power the bum manages to exude in just three words.  The mafioso doesn’t fare much better, his hand releasing the woman almost unconsciously. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, she’s flying back into her home practically on all fours.  A second later, the mafioso shakes it off, and makes to follow her.

“Get back here you little-“

The bum slams his hand into the door frame, blocking the door with his smaller frame.  The mafioso has at least a foot on him, but there’s not a hint of hesitation. Clearly, he’s insane.

This is the mafioso’s opinion too, and he sneers down at the interloper.

“What, you her newest John?  Bitch like her aint worth the bullet hole you’re asking for.”

The man doesn’t move.  

“I’ll tell you this just once” he warns.  “Back off.  Turn around and walk away.”

The mafioso does take a step back, but he’s just running his eyes up and down his targets frame, sneer turning into a smirk.

“Ohhh, so you’re the one causing so much trouble downtown” he says.  “Heard you took out three of Nino’s boys last week for roughing up the girls they’d bought and paid for.  Got a lot of people who want you dead in a gutter.  What, you want the district for yourself?”

“No” was the reply.  “But life has beaten into me the importance of standing up for those that can’t, whether you want to or not.”

“What the fuck are you?  A greeting card?”

He doesn’t answer, and the mafioso scowls, hand going out to shove the bum out of the way – only for the bum’s own hand to snap up, deflecting the arm and sending him spinning out the door with a squawk.  He pulls himself up and snarls, pulling out the gun and pointing it almost point blank at the man’s skull.

“Piss off you asshole!”

He fires, and Xanxus braces to see blood and brain matter spray over the wall. But it doesn’t.

Before Xanxus could register it, the bum had moved out of the way, his hand slumming into the mafioso’s nose.  The bullet flies into the wall, and the next thing Xanxus sees is the bum performing a terrifyingly quick move with his hands that sees the gun fall to the floor and the mafioso’s arm twist in unnatural angles.  He’s howling in pain, dropping to his knees, only to find a leg slam into his skull, sending him flying towards the door.  With eerie grace, the bum steps forward.

“Get out” he orders.

It’s just for a moment, but Xanxus swears he sees flames burning on the man’s fists.  The hall fills with their presence, and from somewhere deep inside, Xanxus feels something fighting to get out and match him.  From the way the mafioso is staring at his attacker, he’s not the only one.  He struggles to his feet, and throws himself out the door.

His disappearance starts the floodgates, and doors start to open, neighbours utterly confused at the turn of events.  The flames vanish, and Xanxus bites back the gasp as the aura he’d been drowning in vanishes as quick as it came, leaving him hollow and clawing his chest at the loss.  

Ignorant of what he’d done to the boy on the stair, the bum walks into the woman’s home, and closes the door.  When Xanxus heads downwards and tries to push it open, it stays firm despite the lock still being shattered.

He’s tempted to try and get in through a window outside, but his mother descends upon him, and pulls him back indoors, refusing to let him out of her sight until the morning.

When he finally manages to get away, the door is open, and both his neighbour and the bum are gone.

---

The natural assumption is that the bum took the woman for himself, but gossip flies through the building like wildfire.  Those closest to the apartment had seen the man escort the pregnant woman out of the house, a suitcase of her belongings in one hand.  He’d been an utter gentleman, and when one neighbour had been brave enough to question him, he’d merely said he was sending the woman somewhere safe.

Nobody knew why he’d shown up – was he a john?  A relative?  A rival mafioso trying to leave a message?  The only one who knew for sure was the bum, and he’d vanished into thin air.

Not that it stopped Xanxus from prowling the streets looking for him.  

It’s as frustrating as it is dangerous to be so focused on something you can’t grasp.  But Xanxus can’t get the man out of his head.  Can’t forget the electric current, or the feeling he’d ignited that night. When he concentrates, he can feel the burning feeling inside him grow, and not a week later, he’d achieved a small flick of red tainted with the familiar orange.

Flames.

Xanxus hadn’t been seeing things.  The bum had set himself alight.  With this assurance, he asks his mother if she’d ever heard of such a thing.  He’d had to wait for one of her more stable moments, but when she was mostly sober and coherent, he’d hit jackpot.

“The man had flames?  Oh, I should have brought him home.  Things would be so much easier with flames.”

“What are they?”

“Flames are flames” she’d replied, and Xanxus scowled.

“What’s the fucking point of them?”

His mother laughs.  “Flames are everything Xanxus.  Oh, I hope you get them.  Life will be easier then.  If you get flames, it’s a straight ticket to the life we deserve.”

He’s still growling, and she leans back, fingering a bottle to her side.

“Flames are the lifeblood of the Mafia royalty” she continues.  “If you have orange flames, you are a ruler.  Any other colour, and you’re a follower.  The stronger the flames, the stronger the person.”

She leans over and clasps her hands on Xanxus’s shoulders.

“You will be a powerful flame user Xanxus” she insists.  “I knew it the moment you were born.  I dallied with many a powerful man in my younger days, but nobody will believe me unless we can prove it.  When they emerge, we will ascend to our true place.  Ah, I almost can’t wait.”

She almost makes to hug him, only to pull off and grab the bottle instead. Xanxus shrugs it off – he’s long understood his importance in her priorities.

If she’s expecting him to reveal these flames at some point, it certainly explains why she’s kept him around.  Woman with kids don’t exactly make the most money around here.

Still, probably best he keeps quiet until he knows how to control them properly.  Especially since the red flames are currently overtaking the orange when he brings them out.

No fucking way is he going to be anything less than royalty.  

But he can’t get very far if he doesn’t know what he’s doing.  Instinct has limits.  The bum can tell him how to master them, all he needs to do is find him.

A week later, and he finds the source of his frustration when a giant pillar of fire soars through the air not two blocks from his home.  Most flee expecting a gas leak, but Xanxus bolts in the direction, turning a corner only to freeze in shock at what he sees.

It’s beautiful.  

The man is still dressed like a pathetic waste of space, but with the flames burning on his forehead and gloves, flying through the air and ripping through his opponents, he exudes everything Xanxus has ever wanted.

This.  This is a King.  This is everything Xanxus wants to be.  Powerful, strong, untouchable.

Yet, even as he says that, the colour of the flames shifts slightly. Tiny flecks of a darker flame dart through the hue, much like the orange does to his red.  Usually when the man is making contact with his opponents. Xanxus wonders if that’s just something all flames do, his own – dim as they are – fluctuate in their presence, and it takes everything he has not to run forward to join him.

The mafioso, survivors at the core, quickly realise just how outmatched they are when the flames enter the match, and they’re quick to flee, desperate to avoid the wrath of a flame user.  When they vanish from view, the man’s flames vanish, and he staggers on his feet, only to fall back, lying back on the pavement and refusing to get up. Xanxus scoffs, only to freeze when the man calls out.

“I can feel you.  Might as well come out.”

With that, his head turns in Xanxus’s direction.  The boy scowls, but decides to take the invitation offered.

Once again, when the man realises just whose coming towards him, his eyes widen and his body tenses.  For a split second, Xanxus thinks the man might just bolt, and he quickens his pace to make sure he can cut the man off if he dares.

“Trash” he greets.  The man blinks in confusion.

“Xanxus?  But…how?”

The boy’s eyes narrow.

“How the hell do you know my name Trash?”

The man just keeps staring, and Xanxus kicks him again.  He winces, and pushes himself into a sitting position.

“Sorry, I’m just surprised” he says.  “I’ve heard your name around.  Sofia mentioned you when I was taking her to the train station.”

“Sofia?”

The man smiles.  “The pregnant woman who lives in your building.  I guess I should have realised you were the flame user, I just got didn’t expect those flames.”

Xanxus frowns.  “The train station?  And what’s wrong with my flames.”

The man shrugs, and Xanxus gets the feeling he’s not fully there.  “That man, or whoever he was working for, would have tried again.  I had to get her out of the city, so I gave her the money for a one-way ticket and told her to pick a direction.  She and the baby should be okay so long as she doesn’t come back.”

“Why the fuck would you do that?” Xanxus asks, genuinely puzzled.  “You sweet on her?”

A shake of the head.  “It was the right thing to do.  And nobody else was going to do it.  I could help, and right now that’s all that’s keeping me going.”

He looks up at the boy glaring at him.  “As for your flames, I felt storm instead of sky flames.  I…thought you would have sky flames, so I didn’t realise it was you.”

“Sky, storm?” Xanxus echoes, barely realising he’s sitting down next to the man before he’s on the ground.  “What’s the difference?”

The man bites his lip, glancing over, and Xanxus scowls.

“Oi!  Tell me.”

“…What do you already know?”

“I know orange flames are the best” Xanxus snaps.  “If you have them, you’re mafia royalty.”

The man nods.  “Well, that’s sort of true.  It’s not a case of being the best though.  Orange flames mean you’re a sky.  But that doesn’t mean anything unless you harmonise.  There are other flame types as well, skies are rare, so most people have one or more of the other types.  Red for storm, blue for rain, yellow for sun, green for lightning, indigo for mist and purple for cloud.  They all have their own skills and abilities, and what most flame users want more than anything, is to harmonise with a sky and become a guardian.”

“Harmonise?  Guardian.”

He’s clearly reluctant to continue, but Xanxus grabs his jacket and glares, daring the man to move away. It works, and the man continues.

“A sky’s attribute is harmonisation, and the only way to be a true sky is to harmonise with at least one of each other element.  They…strengthen you, stabilise you, and you them.  They become your guardians, sworn to protect you as much as you would protect them.  To harmonise is to belong to that sky, for that sky to belong to you.  If you activate as a sky, you’ll start looking for guardians.”

Xanxus spits.  “Like hell I will.  I don’t need anyone to protect me.”

The man smiles as if remembering something fond.  “You won’t be able to help it.  I thought nobody would want to harmonise with someone like me before I activated but…even if you fight it, you’ll pull in guardians without even meaning to.”

“Yeah?  Then where’s yours trash?”

It was like hitting a light switch.  The fond smile vanished and the eyes dimmed back to that dead look Xanxus had first seen all those weeks ago.  He suddenly feels like crap, and he honestly doesn’t know why.

“They’re gone” the man rasps.  “I’ve gone somewhere they can’t follow.”

It’s an odd way to say dead, but Xanxus can read between the lines.

The man is clenching his hands (wrapped in mittens, strange.  Xanxus could have sworn he was wearing gloves), focused on the numbers etched on the front.  “Harmonisation is…it makes life better.  There’s no words for how a full harmonisation feels.  But on the other scale, when you lose that harmony…it can destroy flame users.  I’ve been fighting discord ever since I got here – when I felt a budding sky in the area I was drawn to them.  You’re not fully active, but you’re leaking enough that I can leech off your flames harmony element and keep mine from self destructing.”

He looks away.

“I might have leeched too much and brought your other flames to the surface by accident.  That’s why you feel like a storm instead.  If I leave tonight, they should go back to normal and you should activate normally soon enough.”

He begins to stand, only for Xanxus to pull back on the jacket, crashing him to the ground.  A moment later, the man is staring up at the eight-year-old pinning him to the ground.

“No.”

“…No?”

“No, you’re not just going to leave” Xanxus snarls, eyes bright.  “You know how to activate these flames, so you’re going to show me how to do it.”

“Xanxus, that’s not-“

“I’m not asking trash!” he snaps.  “I can almost get the red flame out, but I can’t force the orange one the same way.  If you’re the reason for that, then you’re going to fix it.”

He tries to focus on his flames, and grins when he feels the man’s own flare against the attempt.  However, his prisoner jerks back in panic, bucking the boy off.

“Stop!  Before you do something we can’t take back!”

Xanxus’s flames hesitate, and it’s enough for the mans to vanish, locked away so tight Xanxus can’t even feel them.  The man is gasping in panic, and holds up a hand while he stumbles to his feet.

“I’ll show you” he agrees.  “But you can’t do that again.  If you want to be a sky, then that can’t happen.”

Xanxus doesn’t fully understand, but he’s getting what he wants, so he’ll run with it.

“So, what do I call you trash?” he asks, and the man sighs, dropping into a bow (what the fuck?).

“Tsunayoshi” he says, which is far too much of a mouthful and Xanxus has no intention of remembering it.  Clearly, this must be obvious, because his teacher is giving him a bitter smile.

“But most people just call me Tsuna.”

[fengreyfront]

‘Touch’ Reflections - p.1

Hello. Here’s the commentary as stated in the author’s note in the final part of Touch. If you have not yet read the update, please do so first before reading this because there are spoilers - and please do leave a review on your way out as well, if it’s not too much trouble. [FF.net | AO3] 

There’s a lot here that my brain needed to vomit out because I’ve thought of this fic every single damn day since I started it (11 months almost), so it’s very much on my mind, still. I needed a place to explain stuff, and to get these final thoughts out, and honestly, to vent, before I jump ship. So, I’ve split it into two posts, because it’s kind of long and I’m sure some people don’t care too much to read about what’s in part 2 (it’ll be writing tips, and venting).

Here in part 1, I explain my mentality when writing the characters to give some context, and also in the hopes that it might be able to help other writers to begin to think in such a way, if they seek to characterize similarly. I also just give you a run down of the epilogue I was going to write (which I will not be writing).

So, let’s discuss:

Eremika Character Study in Touch (Characterization decisions, and stuff about Teh Sex, you pervs)

Epilogue Summary

Follow Up One-Shot Summary 

Eremika Character Study in Touch

Eren:

Wasn’t easy getting into Eren’s head from a romantic perspective, because we have no data/experiences canonically to go off of. So, I built this fic around wanting to delve into how he might actually handle this kind of situation.

I’d like to bring up this review here that sort of disagreed with my interpretation of him, to point out why I wrote him how I did:

I agree wholeheartedly that Eren is brash and doesn’t think things through before acting. But, the entire focus of the fic is to show how he is forced to veer from that way of thinking. It’s about him discovering a new side of himself, and having to go through complicated “uncharted territory”. The uncharted territory is really everything that is new to him in this fic - the situation with Mikasa, him having to discover what he wants after everything is over (I’m pretending chapter 88 never happened, or an antidote has been discovered, ssshh), him experiencing completely new feelings, etc.

I believe that Eren acts without thinking things through because he instantly makes a snap decision about them, and then acts on that initial reaction. That’s why in part 1, he pushed and pushed and pushed Mikasa into spitting out a confession-because he didn’t think beyond the shallow goal of ‘I want her to say what she’s hiding because she looks upset and I feel bad’.  

But after she kisses him, Eren does not have a clear cut “YES/NO” initial reaction, and therefore has nothing to act in response to. He was confused. He didn’t have an immediate response, yet his body told him he wanted to kiss her more; he wants to focus solely on his mission, yet he keeps dreaming about having a future with her. It’s not easy stuff to grapple with. 

I think it’s also important to note that, it is easy to act without thinking when anger is your driving force. For example, the sole goal he has built his life around is driven by this anger. A titan killed his mom. Titans impede humanity’s freedom. Titans = bad. He is angry about these things. Therefore, titans must be destroyed. Pretty straightforward.

But here, we have Mikasa, someone he cares deeply about - someone who is his family, someone who has stood by him through thick and thin, and someone who almost died for him, in the context of this fic. Their connection is special. What he has with her, he has with no one else.

Naturally, when someone you care this deeply about essentially tells you they’re in love with you, and you’ve never ONCE had thought that way about them, or even had a clue they felt that way about you… things can get complicated. For the first time, he finds himself in a situation where he can’t necessarily act without thinking, because he actually cares about her, and his answer will affect their relationship in the long term. It’s delicate.

So, his personality trait of acting on a snap decision collides with his caring for Mikasa, which collides with his confusion about thinking of her in more than platonic ways, which collides with him not wanting to ruin things, which collides with him wanting to focus on titans, which collides with his inability to work properly, etc. There’s just a lot of internal conflict going on for Eren, and that is why he acts the way he does in this fic. He is stumped, until he isn’t.

Mikasa

I wrote her as selfless as I believe her to be, canonically. She places her love for Eren, and her relationship with him - even if platonic - above all else, which is why she is so quick to descend into self-loathing at revealing her feelings. She fears she has lost him, so she is okay with swallowing her pride and shoving away her dreams of marital bliss with him, and is almost desperate to revert to how things were. But, goodness, even she is human, and having the person you’re in love with be so fickle, and ignore you, then give you attention, then be unable to give you a straight answer when you simply ask “yo is it cool if we stay in each other’s lives like before ‘cuz you’re important to me?” Well. I imagine that gets to a person.

During part 4, we see her selflessness come into play for the first half pre-sexytime. She kind of just lets all that tension go because he seems cray cray, so she puts him first. And then I thought, it’s kind of a relief to her that he’s alright with going to her for such things. She starts to think things are getting back to normal - that he’s alright with touching her and changing her bandages, and confiding in her, like old times.

And then he shows his guilt, which she hates, because she blames herself for everything of course, and suddenly he’s going “yea well sorry I can’t forget about that thing u did and things actually can’t go back to normal >:|”, so of course she gets confused and insecure because the dude seems totally off his rocker.

But then he tries to make out with her?! Like wtf Eren. And of course she’s been in love with him for a decade now, so she can’t help herself, because the love of her life essentially just served himself to her on a silver platter - but she backs away and kind of catches herself and rejects it because she believes that it’s too good to be true T____T. She believes he’s acting purely out of guilt and obligation, because despite being a loudmouth, Eren is extremely pure of heart. She believes he’s confusing his general caring for her with that guilt, and wanting to make up for it by just telling her what she wants to hear - which he of course shuts down by showing her that he desires her. Through the touchings.

Aaaand, that’s a nice segue - let’s delve a little more into my character study of them with our favorite topic, because let’s face it, you’re all pervs :)

Teh Sex. (some crass talk here...)

[...] touch conveyed all that he could not say. Touch was the language they both understood best, ‘I want you’, ‘I need you’, ‘I trust you’, and ‘this is for you, only you’, told in kisses and skin on skin and shared, drunken gazes.

This is the point of this fic. This is why they haves the sex.

You see, it’s easy to write sex between two people. It’s a pretty straightforward biological process - you can read a lot of erotica, watch some porn to get a visual idea of it, and then practice writing until you write sexy sex, and it’ll probably come out nice.

But, just writing sexy sex was not my goal here, as I just stated. I wanted this to be Eremika-specifc sex. I wanted the way they led into/have sex to demonstrate their personalities as well.

Before blocking out how they were going to do it, I knew I wanted to have this moment right before it, and this was very important to me - I wanted Eren to realize he was in love with her, right after she almost ripped his dick off.

Because it says, so much on both ends - and I think I was explicit about this in the fic. It shows Mikasa’s personality - well-meaning, yet sometimes takes things a little too far. It show’s Eren’s personality - acting out immediately, then getting tripped up when faced with a deluge of feelings, yet again.

And then it also shows the extent of his love for her. He does not love being physical with just anyone, he loves the act because he loves the person he is with, so much that he appreciates near-dismemberment because it’s such a her-specific thing to have happen.

Fear of having your dick ripped off during sex isn’t a normal thing - nor is realizing you’re in love with the person that nearly initiated the ripping off of said dick. This moment is extremely unique to them.

Here are some other moments where I wanted their personalities to shine - pardon my crass and graphic manner of speech for the next few bullet points:

Eren, being incapable of verbalizing his feels, communicates them to her by kissing her to death (which ends up being quite persuasive, as we later see)

Mikasa being an extremely quick learner, and a natural. In… everything. After Eren schools her in, “Oh. This is what happens to a penis when X, Y and Z occurs,” she brushes off the nerves and dives head first, and applies this knowledge right away, expertly. This, plus her general eagerness to please Eren, is why she begins to dry hump him, why she is always reaching for his dick after the fact, how she is able to learn how to ride him like a pro very quickly.

When Mikasa tries to grab Eren’s dick after they dry hump, he kind of bats her away and takes the lead. It’s him trying to be alpha, for once - but not out of insecurity. Rather, he wants to show his gratitude in a big way, so he goes down on her. AAAYYYY! THANK YOU EREN. LORD KNOWS MIKASA ACKERMAN DESERVES THIS. AND HE MADE HER ORGASM. SHE DESERVES IT FOR EVERYTHING SHE HAS DONE FOR THIS DWEEB. GET. IT. GURL. In this moment, and when they are actually having sex, you see Eren’s ego and pride showing every time he does something right, and it makes him want to impress and show off and please more. Though he is heavily invested in pleasing her because he loves her, her positive reactions are also kind of a compliment. Every moan is like a, “Yo, nice job! Keep up the good work!”, and being able to give her an orgasm is like someone threw him a congratulations party because dudes typically cannot do that LOL - especially right off the bat (I was going to reference that he heard this through bunker talk, but wound up not doing so). It’s also a testament to how good he is at reading her, and how well he knows her, too, since he listens keenly and observes her reactions and learns from those.

Mikasa ended up on top, because, duh. She’s Mikasa. While Eren initiated, she was the one to lead the way and push - she is the one that escalated things further each time. She took the initiative to do so. And Eren - having grown from his smol “ROAR I WANNA BE THE LEADER” phase, and being in love with this woman - is more than okay with her taking the lead. Acceptance is such a huge theme in this fic, and everything in this part is basically him being like, “I’m gonna show my woman how amazing I think she is,” and, “Yeah. My woman is amazing and outshines me in every way. I’m just gonna go on ahead and let her be amazing.”

I remember quite fondly that an anon once asked “when Mikasa would ride Eren into the sunset.” Well, she did, my friend. She did. Which is why I put in details that probably went unnoticed - that the force of her hips when she was in control was basically so powerful that the mattress was curving under him with each thrust (almost like she was trying to imprint his ass into the mattress), and the bed frame was arockin’ with how hard she was riding him.

And you know. Eren taking control at the end and her being okay with it and just going along with it. They’re just super in sync and communicative without saying anything.

And side note - Um. I know there was that whole debacle with Grisha’s diq and Eren’s potentially inherited “endowment”, but idk man. Perhaps length wise he’s not a stunner, but in my mind, and in this fic, he’s a girth guy, hence why Mikasa struggled bit. Okay, listen, don’t judge me, one inevitably thinks of such details when trying to figure out a sex scene over the span of several months you don’t know how much I’ve thought of everything good lord

Anyways - coming back out of this vulgar talk, I know I upped the fluff factor there towards the end. Because I honestly think that’s how they could be, once the ice was broken - once they realized that there was a more pleasant and light dimension to being open and honest with one another, and being able to experience something so special with one another.

I was weary about the ending being too cute - nervous about making Mikasa smile or laugh, but the more I thought of it, the more okay I was with the idea, because, dude she just had sex with Eren Jaeger, guy she has loved since she was a wee little lass, and he is giving her affection and attention and also an orgasm!!!! Of course she’d be over the moon. If there was anything that would be able to make that girl who is normally deadpan begin to tell jokes and smile, it is certainly these things.

Epilogue Summary

I will not be writing it, so here is the summary:

The next day, Eren and Mikasa are having breakfast with Armin, who is giving both of them the eye. They act normal and are essentially back to their old selves, though they both look super sleep deprived. Armin of course throws in a clever line of questioning that makes them both sweat. Even though they evade his questions, Armin passes this specific mug of tea over to Mikasa and tells her to drink it, and Eren asks what it is. Armin doesn’t give a straight answer- gives a shitty excuse and says it’s just to celebrate them making up, specifying it’s for Mikasa only, and Eren asks why he can’t have any, and Armin doesn’t explain, and they get into a cute back and forth (Armin basically telling Eren he was a bitch to Mikasa - in different words of course), but then Eren tries to drink some anyways and Armin’s like “NOOO” and all panicky, then Eren’s like “wtf”. And Armin gets really, really serious and just firmly insists Mikasa drink it.

So, Eren and Mikasa get silent, and Mikasa obeys. While she is drinking, Armin finally says something very quietly, along the lines of, “Mikasa should take it because I’m not ready to be an uncle yet”, causing her to choke on her drink, and causing Eren to shit himself (not literally). Armin implies that the tea is essentially plan b (an idea borrowed from a z.utara fic-“The Sparrowkeet Series” if you’re a fan of the ship, it’s highly recommended-where some sort of tea had this effect), at which Eren and Mikasa turn red and die forever about because 1) Armin knows; 2) they wonder who else knows; 3) Oh my god Armin knows. He mentions that Sasha had told him about them. Armin had actually assumed they were fighting/talking things over/nothing sexy was going down, though Sasha implied there were sexy things happening. Armin did not believe it, so he came by to check on them, and heard moaning, and immediately turned away.

There was going to be more to it, but I never finished thinking it over, since I decided just not to add it on. But there ya go.

Did you really think I would let them have unprotected sex (who knows how many more times after she got him some bread) without thinking of the consequences? Of course I had to think about these things - Mikasa can’t go off getting preg when there’s so much at stake.

Follow Up One-Shot Summary

A reader expressed disappointment that Eren did not say “I love you.”

I wrote this fic knowing that I did not want him to utter the words “I love you”. The entire point of the fic was to show that these words could be communicated through action, and would be understood by both without having to be said. Again - my whole take on Eren is that he has to do this whole new mushy feelings thing in baby steps. Being able to admit these things to himself and show them is huge. He’s an action guy, more than a flowery words guy.

That being said, I originally had planned to write an off-shoot one-shot to follow up the fic. It was going to be super smutty (and knowing me, probably ridiculously long). The plot was centered around Eren finally saying “I love you”, and the weird way it happens. Per above, he’s an action dude. So him SAYING sappy stuff is HUGE. I thought exploring why he felt compelled to say the words, how/why it happened, and making that situation believable, would be interesting to write about. I also wanted to try my hand at writing some lighter stuff, so it was gonna be more comical than dramatic (though I am the number one lover of angst, do not get me wrong).

However, I won’t be writing this anymore, so here is the summary (somewhat M-rated) - He and Mikasa are basically at it like bunnies all the time (typically what happens when you’re freshly in a relationship with the love of your life) and he finds himself distracted because he can’t stop wanting to do stuff with her. So he avoids her for a while, but doesn’t want to talk about it. Then, tired of the same old shit again, Mikasa confronts him about it by dragging him into a closet and pulling his pants down and giving him some amazing head (first time she will have done that, but obvs she’s brilliant at it because she’s Mikasa). Post-BJ, while she is awkwardly drinking water and still sort of annoyed with him for being distant, he stares at her and has this drawn out thought process and suddenly blurts it.

And then more stuff happens. I didn’t get that far in my thought process.

And yeah. That’s it. Part 2 will be up next week.