#Naked with shivers / At times I cannot express myself / And I would like to love you but I’m always wrong /

[bri-cheeses]

| Rosekiller microfic (songfic? idk) | Word count: 641 |

A/N: For better reading experience, I recommend listening to “Brividi” by Mahmood and Blanco, considering that this was based off the chorus of that song

Barty laid next to Evan, goosebumps raised on his skin, head turned so he could better examine the other’s boy’s features.

Evan was sound asleep in Barty’s bed. His lips were parted slightly, and his head rested on the spare pillow that had found its way there sometime after the thousandth occurrence of this happening.

Evan’s eyelashes were long and fluttered slightly as he breathed in and out, naked chest rising and falling evenly as he slept. Something about the way he looked when he was sleeping, soft and unguarded and so painfully lovely, reminded Barty of what he had realized not even three days before.

Barty was in love.

He was in love with someone who understood him, who enjoyed his company, who was beautiful inside and out.

And he wished he could tell Evan, but every time he tried, something in him stopped the words before they ever made it past his lips.

Evan was amazing. He the best thing to ever happen to Barty, and sometimes Barty thought that if he were given the chance, he could love Evan more than any human had ever dared to love another.

But Barty knew that he messed up, over and over and over again, and that he would only hurt Evan if they tried for anything more. The strength of his love threatened to be all-consuming, to chew them both up and spit them back out again. He just didn’t know how to love someone without hurting them.

Barty would sacrifice the world for Evan—he’d known that for a long time. But he had never been certain that he wouldn’t accidentally set the world on fire before handing it to Evan, burning him in the process.

And Barty didn’t want to burn Evan. He didn’t want anyone to hurt Evan, much less for him to be the one to do it.

But as he lay there, he had the sneaking suspicion that he already had.

When he had first kissed Evan, he hadn’t done it because he loved him, he had done it simply because he wanted someone to kiss. And Evan had kissed him back without any hesitation, eager and hungry as they fell into bed together. Barty had thought they wanted the same thing—someone to get off with, something easy and uncomplicated.

But afterwards, when Barty had said as much, he had seen something shatter in Evan’s eyes. Evan had mumbled a quick, “Right”, then made up some excuse to leave.

Barty had blinked, and Evan was picking up his clothes from beside the bed. He had blinked again, and Evan was gone.

But it had happened again. And then again. And it had kept on happening, until Evan wasn’t leaving immediately afterwards, and Barty had realized that he didn’t want Evan to leave at all.

That’s where it had gotten so incredibly complicated, full of messy emotions and misunderstandings. Full of cracked hearts and longing glances, words thought but never spoken.

Sometimes, Barty thought that if he were offered a magic ticket that could take him far away from all of it, take him away from the perilous cliff edge he was dangling off of, he didn’t think that he could refuse. Even if it cost more than money, Barty thought he would be willing to pay the price.

Because the price of the ticket for the other route, the one toward Evan instead of away, was something vital in Evan that Barty knew neither of them could afford.

Barty messed up, and he messed up bad. And he might dream of that destination, the one marked simply “Evan”, but he couldn’t let himself board that train. Evan’s loveliness wasn’t worth it.

So he merely laid there, silently staring at the boy he loved, and tried not to shiver as the goosebumps spread further across his skin.

[lotsoflokilove23]

How Do I love Again?

Part: Four

Who: Tom Hiddleston X Reader

Where: England

Rating: (18+) =Little Smut but there is gentle touch, kissing, bathtub

Note: I personally think this is really cute XOXO

“Tom…” you said, slightly biting your lip. 

“No.” he said, shaking his head. “I will not…” he said softly, running his hand down your leg. “I don’t want to hurt you…” he bit his own lip, “I don’t want to lose control…” he admitted, looking down at you. 

“I trust you…” You said looking up at him. 

Tom leaned back into the water and groaned slightly, “But I don’t trust myself with this…” he said, looking at you with a worried expression on his face. 

You slightly shifted and moved your feet so they were wrapped around his waist. 

He closed his eyes and sighs, “O-ok fine.” he said, “But if you start feeling any kind of pain, I will stop.” he said, leaning down and cupping your face. “I don’t want to hurt you anymore then you already have been.” he said, kissing you. 

You nodded and watched as he slid his boxers off, you slightly gulped looking at him, he was bigger than you thought he would be. You turned your head, biting your lip. 

“What?” He asked, tilting his head. “Too big?” he said with a small chuckle then frowned. “Promise me you will tell me if it hurts?” He asks, moving his hands slowly over your underwear and gently pulling them down your legs. 

You slowly nod while watching him, “I’d rather do this with someone who actually cares then with someone who’s gonna just use me…” you said sadly, looking at him. 

Tom lets out a small groan, letting his hands softly wander over your skin again. “Fuck… You're so beautiful.” he said softly kissing your chin then up to your lips. You could feel him brushing up against your skin and it made you shiver. 

You couldn’t help but smile at the comment he made and kissed him back. 

Tom looks at you as he aligns himself between your legs. “Are you sure?” he asks again, a bit worried. 

You nodding slightly, pulling him closer to you. 

He took a deep breath and leaned down and passionately kissed you, while slowly pushing himself into you. 

You let out a small whine once he was fully in you, you could feel him, all of him, he felt good outside of the pain that you felt from being swollen. 

Tom stops and looks at you, about to say something, you pull his head down and kiss him, slightly bucking your hips up. Tom lets out a sharp moan and leans down and kisses your shoulder. 

He slowly started moving in and out of you and all you could do was close your eyes. 

You flinched a few times but grip onto his shoulders, slightly digging your nails into them. You didn’t want to hurt him, but you also couldn’t stand the fact that you were very much in a lot of pain. 

Tom leaned back and studied your face and shook his head. He stopped moving and ever so slowly pulled out of you. 

You let out a small gasp and open your eyes, looking at him confused.

“I-” he said, kissing your head. “I love you, and as much as I want to continue to do this with you, I cannot sit and watch you be in pain while I do this…” he explained, standing up and grabbing a towel. 

You attempted to get up but your legs couldn’t keep you up so you ended up sliding back into the water. 

Tom frowns and gets out, drying himself off and wrapping the towel around his waist. “Here.” he said, leaning over and giving you his arm.

You put your weight against his arm and stood up. You shivered slightly standing there naked in front of him. 

He chuckles softly, grabbing your towel and wrapping it around you. He helped you out of the tub and then pulled back on his clothes, looking into the mirror. 

You dry your hair as best you can and then run the towel down your body.  

Tom watched you from your reflection in the mirror, he hated seeing you like this, all the marks, bruises, and red spots that covered you. He wished he could take it all away. He looked down when he realized that you had caught him staring. “Sorry…” He said, rubbing the back of his head.

You pulled your shorts on and pulled your bra on. You frowned, “Uhh… Could you?” 

Tom turned around and looked at you. “Yes.” he said, walking over to you and gently pulling your bra down and adjusting the straps. 

“Thank you.” You said looking up at him. “Thank you for looking out for me, being there for me… caring…” You said, your eyes sparkling the tiniest bit. 

Tom pulled you in for a hug and kissed the top of your head. “I’ll always be here for you, my love.” He let go and pulled something out of his back pocket. “Take this…” he said, putting it in your hand, “It has my number on it, and my house address. If you ever need anything just call me ok.” he said, with soft eyes. “And I mean it.” he said.

You nod, taking the card and putting it in your back pocket, “I guess I should go.” 

Tom frowns and slowly nods, he reaches out and softly grabs your arms pulling you to him in a hug. 

You smile leaning against his chest, you could hear his heartbeat and it was very soothing. 

Tom sighs and gently lifts your head so he could look at you. He leans down and places a soft kiss on your lips. “I love you…” he softly mutters under his breath. 

You raised your eyes and looked at him. “Do you really?” you asked, quietly. 

He nods, moving your hair out of your face, he pressed a kiss on your forehead. 

“I-” you start but he stops you. 

“It’s ok, you don’t have to say it if you're not ready.” he said, although he hoped you would. 

You nod and hug him one last time, then make your way out of the building. 

Tags: @loki-and-randomness @jennyggggrrr @lokischambermaid @viv-annelore @lulubelle814 @kats72 @kateslife15 @lokis-obsession

Continue Reading Here

<Part Five / Part Three>

[legguk]

Hi!! So,

it's my ( literal ) first time writing fanfiction, so I'm pretty new at this stuff, but Lady Dimitrescu is all I was able to think about for weeks and I >needed< to do something about it.

( If you want some context, I wrote this thinking “what if Alcina survived?” - Alcina's pov )

———

The fall,

The end of everything you once loved

Ethan Winters.

You woke up... somehow, you woke up. The frigid air hitting your fresh wounds felt like a jolt send by reality, as if one says "you're still alive" -

- and oh how you were starting to hate that feeling.

Laying on the demolished floor of your castle, muscles twitching in pain, mouth open gasping for air... that's how you are, how you will remember yourself from now on. A defeated dragon, a crushed woman, a dead mother.

You should get up, you should let go of your carcass and crawl your way back into the warmth of your home, you should—

—you should be dead, actually. Resting on death's cold embrace along with your daughters.

Daughters.

God, your daughters.

The memories flood your mind with a painful, unbearable reminder; they're gone, dead, crystalized - gone. They're gone. Your lovely daughters, your pride and joy, the main reason you'd open up your eyes in the morning...

...Bela,

Cassandra,

Daniela....

Their names are long cold, not yet forgotten - no, never forgotten - but somewhere else, as they don't belong here anymore; not on your arms, tucking them to bed. Not on your hands, caressing their faces. Not on your lips, kissing their foreheads. Not on your tongue, as you say them.

A raspy scream leaves your throat, it sounds disturbing.

You sob, hot tears trailing down your cheeks and neck, small cries for help find their way into the wind, disappearing with less importance then when they materialized.

You cannot recall for how long you stayed at that very same position, perhaps some hours, perhaps a day, but you are certain that at some point you were overcame by tiredness and collapsed - probably the best to do for now.

xxx

And so, rises the moon and the stars watch upon your limp body, the night howling a merciful wind and singing a melodic song. Grunting, you push yourself up with your elbows, sitting up and facing the sky through the hole you've made on the roof... and the levels above...

A huge carcass sits besides you, it's wings bended on itself and it's big mouth open to whoever would like to have a peek; you probably changed back into your normal body while unconscious... Now that you can see it clearly, you notice the damage that man-thing did to you... by heavens, how were you still alive and...

Oh. The castle. You look forward, taking in the horizon - the stars look exclusively shiny tonight - you breath in, the dusty air causes you to chough a few times. Stretching your neck a bit to see your whole house, you tell yourself it looks.. fine, actually, ignoring the broken windows. The broken windows.

It's cold. You shiver harshly, panting as the air meets your bare back and rumbles through your lungs, making you hug yourself, - you're naked, you just realized - the winter in Romania is truly kind to no one.

Your legs tremble with just the thought of trying to stand on your feet. You don't rush to do it either, let the wintry breeze take in your wounds, make it sting, burn it, freeze it; freeze your body along.

“To die. To die is to live. To live without them, that's torture. To live without their presence, absent of their scents, to not hear them, nor see their faces again, that's worse than death; far, far worse. How could I ever walk into that damned house without the heavenly sounds of their laughs, the tapping of their feet as they walk free, the steadiness of their heartbeats, reminding me that my own still beats.

Beats for them. For them only.

And they're gone.

So who shall my heart beat for? Myself? No, that wouldn't do. I will rip it out from my chest if I must, sacrifice it to any god who may hear me, all so I could spend five more minutes with them. Then I'd die in peace and find them at my arms again at whatever comes after this poor life.

But I'm here.”

You still hold yourself as you stare at a castle's - broken - window, new warm tears hanging the same trail the old and now dry ones did, a silent cry.

Your intrusive thoughts were abruptly cut by a loud noise from the inside of the castle, making you jump up, gathering all your last strengths to stand and walk a few shaky steps closer to home. The more you walked, the louder the noises got; a little rustle became a bang, and your tiptoing became a sprint, you hold yourself as tight as you can, ignoring the bleeding, the cold air spiking your lungs, how insanely fast you heartbeat was. You need to get there, protect the last remnant of them you still have.

The gates felt heavy now, even for you, who would open them with one hand. Where is your strength now? The fearless dragon who'd do anything to protect her house? Perhaps she died on that fall, and now all there's left is a shadow of what you were one day.

With much pain, you open the big doors, leading to the comfort of your house; you don't get in, you throw yourself in. The warm atmosphere engulfed you like a summer kiss on a winter storm, all you needed to ground yourself to reality for now. Grabbing some sheets laying over an old counter, you wrap yourself in it – oh, that's gonna get soaked in blood, but that's not of your concern now – moving incredibly fast for someone as hurt as yourself, you follow the continuous sounds that could not mean something good. The main doors are open, the cellar is unlocked as well, that idiotic man-thing couldn't even close the doors once he finished slaughtering your home? Imbecile.

You stand at the library's door now, suddenly frozen; you know what happened in there... do you really want to get in? Are you truly ready to face it again? Maybe you should take a step back and walk away, it would be the most logical decision to take now.

But what is logic when the heart screams? What is the brain for once your emotions take the best of you? You can't walk away. Put some honor on your name. Save the last bit of your daughter that fate is still conceiving you. Your chest rises and falls completely out of coordination, your fists close around the fabric involving your body; get ready, you're going in; gather the last bit of courage you have inside yourself and blast these doors.

And so you do.

You bring those pieces of wood to the ground, the only barrier between you and the reality you couldn't accept; a guttural growl forms in your chest as you see a lycan approach your child's crystalized body; you're blind with ire, sorrow, protectorship - you name it - and it makes you shout at the top of your lungs as you dilacerate the filthy beasts you'd bat your eye at. A bloody trail of corpses marks your way through the castle grounds, your claws dripping with fresh sanguine fluid - which you can't tell if it's from the creatures or from yourself - the crimson path follows you all the way to the other wing of mansion like a spirit who must haunt you for eternity.

You scream like a feral animal, blood soaking the once white cloth around your form; the scream becomes a shriek, which descends to a yelp, ending as a furious cry. You can feel the anger leaving you, like the waters of a waterfall; explosive, big portions of water falling into a numb, deaden lake. Hopefully those waters will carry you with them, you shall fall and sink at a anesthetizing lagoon.

You kneel, eyes closed, eyebrows frowned; a loud sigh fills the deafening silence in the air, your mind is blank – better, your mind is red, scarlet red mixed with black, ire and grief. Slowly, your head lower itself so you're facing the floor.

The big Lady Dimitrescu,

kneeling on a pool of blood, defeated.

•

“Lady Dimitrescu!”

Who..? The voice was so far yet so close, you try your best to focus on the direction of the calls but your nerves just won't cooperate.

“Lady!”

Who would be calling for you? Is your mind playing tricks on you now? And since when you were laying on the floor? Too many questions for too little answers. You try to stand up, but a sharp pain on your side made you cry out and fall on your back, face knotted in pain – perhaps your adrenaline rush was keeping you from feeling what was really happening with your body, and now you feel like you're betraying yourself for that.

A small figure approaches you in a fast pace, causing you to unleash your claws one more time and snarl at the not-so-possible threat; you were hurt. Vulnerable. Letting someone close was the last thing you wanted now. The humanoid thing backs away a few steps with your aggressive reaction, hands on their chest, visibly afraid – even though your vision is quite blurry, you identify their expression: scared, desperate, sorrowful – they call out once more, almost shouting.

“Please, Lady Dimitrescu, let me help!”

Ah... Help... The now clearer feminine voice washes over you - a wave of compassion - as if hope has found its way to your house again. Well, it better go away again, or you'll drag it out yourself.

“Out.” was all that left your lips, your intense gaze locking with hers, a silent yet not so discrete warning; although you had only said one word, it was well understood by the woman, who stepped away, eyes still meeting yours, a dreadful cast hang on her face.

Still, she didn't left.

Is that girl testing her luck? It can only be. Once again you warn her: “Leave. I will not repeat myself.”

Her posture stiffens, after a moment of silence she looks at the door, truly wondering about leaving or not; her body turns around, her knuckles going white from how hard she was grabbing the fabric on her chest – she's conflicted. But why? Who is she, after all? – A long, defeated sigh leaves her, as if she knows there is no choice left.

“Allow me to help.” A failed effort on trying to sound confident; her voice is full of tears and her tone is oscillating – it makes you wonder if she has been crying – The human walks towards you, trying not to make any eye contact; you can't stand on your feet, you left hand is pressed on your injured side, the other is open and directing your now extended nails towards her.

Oh how funny it is, no?

The predator being cornered by the prey. The dragon being trapped by the rabbit. How ridiculous it is.

Her extremely shaky hands hang in front of her, trying to say she won't hurt you – oh if she only knew it's going to be the other way round. – One step closer.. Her lips and chin tremble; Another. Your claws grow bigger, eyes peering through her soul; another step, your eyebrows frown, her eyes are teary. The last step - your blood is boiling hot, your nerves on edge; you are still the predator. - a slicing sound and a half-scream saturate the air for a millisecond, just for silence to overfill it once more. Red splashes over the room again, on your face, on your chest, but mostly on the floor, where the girl was thrown at.

An agonizing scream leaves her throat - what a miracle, she remains alive - both of her hands cover her face, blood spilling all over her; what a sight, you would most definitely enjoy this very much on another situation. She cries out in despair, making you face the ceiling and close your eyes, a tired look on your face – you just want all this to end, you don't have any more patience for this. You want to crawl back into your bed and starve, you want to destroy this place, make it abandoned ruins of what one day was a home; you want to kill that damned sickening man-thing, kill this foolish girl for perturbing your grieving, and then yourself.

The woman captures your attention once again, she is kneeling, her body facing yours, her right hand presses her ripped face, the other makes its slow way up to you, although she is trembling, she manages to keep her hand steady enough to hand you a little green flask with a yellow-y label; You look closer, 'treatment disinfectant' it says... Oh you can only be joking. You feel like slaughtering the girl right this instant, but takes in a deep breath and holds the flask, her hand immediately falling along with her body. Is she dead? No, her slow yet consistent breathing exclaims that she is still alive – you honestly find it a bit offensive – You should, but you cannot bring yourself to finish the human; you should end her suffering, but now she caught your attention; and besides, she wants to help, doesn't she? then the price she'll pay is staying alive.

———

hahaaa I'm so nervous about posting this,,, ,

and yes! It is a alcina x maiden fic! I do plan it to be slow burn, and if some you liked it and read it till here, please like and/or reblog and I'll post chapter 2!

( posted on Ao3! Name: “The woman in your castle” )

( chapter 2 posted!! )

[barelyaware]

Chapter 3 of Purely Political is up ~

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Ao3

(rated M)

It's a little awkward between them for a few days. But soon enough, they're back to finishing eachothers’ sentences and laughing about everything and nothing.

Katara starts attending meetings about trade and international relations. She slips him notes when the council is being particularly stubborn and talks in his ear between discussions. She whispers to him the plans she's made for that day’s tea, new scrolls she’d like to share, or where she'd like to take a stroll after dinner.

Zuko finds himself happier than he can ever remember. Just her presence is enough to soothe his nerves.

The days go by quickly and the night of the roomshare finally arrives. While he's a little on edge, he knows that there isn't actually anything to be nervous about. After all, he knows nothing is going to happen between them.

Katara is already in bed by the time he enters his room and he makes sure to position himself on the very edge of the bed when he joins her. He's thankful he's had such a long day, otherwise there'd be no chance of him being able to sleep with her this close.

But it's not long before he's drifting off.

That night, Zuko dreams of Katara. He dreams of warm skim. He dreams of his hands pulling through luscious curls. He dreams of her mouth on his.. and then not.

When he wakes up, he notices two things at once. First, he's holding Katara, who's clad in nothing but sarashi wraps, against him in his arms. Second, he has a very stiff situation that's currently pressing against her backside.

Zuko is still groggy with sleep as his hips stutter forward against her on instinct before he can think to stop himself. He hears a high-pitched gasp in response and he can feel his blood run cold.

“Z-Zuko?”

Shit shit shit shit shit

He releases her at once and rolls as far from her as he can without toppling off the bed.

“Zuko, it's okay.” Her voice is full of compassion as she reaches for his arm, but he dodges her touch.

“No it's not! Nothing about this is okay!”

“Zuko, you need to calm down.”

“I DON'T NEED TO CALM DOWN! I NEED ..I need to leave.”

He can hear Katara start to say something, but he ignores her and storms out as quickly as he can.

...

Zuko doesn't mean to avoid her. At least, not at first. Meals have been awkward since that night. He doesn't know how to explain himself and Katara is still upset, based on her shortened sentences and clipped tones.

After a week of this tense atmosphere, he feels like he's losing his mind.

Then, a new set of tariffs is being introduced by the Earth kingdom ambassador and suddenly Zuko is drowning in paperwork. He takes dinner in his office that night so he can continue working.

The next day he tells himself that he’s taking his meals alone because there's still so much to do. After a couple days he finds it impossible to keep lying to himself about what he's doing. So instead, he tells himself that he’ll stop this childish evasion just as soon as he can find the words to tell her… to tell her what exactly?? I have feelings for you and I don't know how to stop them because I have no self-control. I long for you so ardently that I can feel my blood swimming in the veins of my heart everytime you hold my hand and I also cant stop thinking about pinning you against a wall and having my way with you..Fuck.

He only sees her in meetings and soon he finds himself appointing one of his advisors to take his place when he knows she'll be in attendance.

He's never felt like such a coward.

Without her near, time passes too fast and too slow. It’s now the afternoon before the night of their second roomshare, and he's banging his head against his desk trying to rattle together any coherent thoughts for how to apologize and explain himself . He's interrupted, though, by a few hard knocks on his office door.

He quickly fixes his hair and readjusts his robes to look somewhat presentable. “Enter.”

The doors swing open and there is Katara. Her eyes are red. It looks like she’s been crying and the sight makes his heart clench.

“Are you planning on avoiding me tonight too?”

“Katara, I'm not—”

“—don’t lie to me!”

“I'm sorry.” Zuko sighs, resigned. “I have been avoiding you and I’m sorry.”

“Do you not want me here?”

“No! I like having you here, I swear.” Zuko puts up his hands in surrender to her, trying to think of how to clear up this mess. “I’ve truly come to think of you as a friend.”

“A friend?” Her voice is dripping with emotions he cannot name.

“Was I being presumptuous? I’m sorry, I know we haven’t talked lately and I know it's my fault, I just—“

“I'm your wife, Zuko,” her voice is low and shaking slightly.

“I know that..”

“I'm your wife and we're meant to have a child and you don't even see me as a woman!”

Oh .

“Katara, we don't have to worry about that right now. No one is expecting that right away. The roomshare is part of the marriage contract, but it's really just tradition. We don't have to actually do anything.”

“You're being obtuse!” He doesn't like the way she folds her arms and looks at him like she knows something he doesn't.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he snaps.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing!” She’s starting to storm out and this is not what he wanted at all.

“Katara, wait! .. I do! I do think of you as a woman.” The words start to tumble out of him and as they do, they feel like they're burning a hole in his throat. “ Of course I do. Almost too much. I mean, wasn’t it obvious? I just.. I don't want to make you uncomfortable. I didn't mean to touch you like that and I'm so sorry, I mean, I know we didn't marry for love or anything and I don't want to mess this up.” She pauses and turns around, her expression softening ever so slightly. “But the last thing I want is for you to think that I don't like you being here. I'll control myself so please, just..don't feel uncomfortable around me and don’t feel like I don’t want you with me.”

Katara pauses for a moment, processing his words. Then she smiles softly and reaches out to grasp his hand. “I'm not uncomfortable. Not at all.”

Agni , how he's missed her hand in his.

…

Zuko has already laid himself down when Katara enters from the bathroom and drops her embroidered blue silk robe to reveal her sarashi wraps. His eyes linger on the bare skin in between them before he forces himself to look away. As she comes closer, he can smell the scent of jasmine on her and he swallows roughly as she joins him in bed. Her face is glowing in the candle light and he can feel his heart pounding.

“Goodnight Zuko.”

“Goodnight, Katara.”

“Umm, Zuko.. could you take out the lights?”

“Oh! Of course.” He extinguishes the flames around the room with one smooth gesture, just quickly enough to hide the flush of his cheeks.

Somehow, the room feels quieter in the darkness.

He probably won't get any sleep tonight, he thinks to himself. He can hear the clock on the wall ticking, painfully slow in the dark silence. But he can hear her gentle breaths even as he tries to focus on the nothingness.

And then she shifts, turning to her side. When she does, her body leans back into his. Her back is now brushing against his chest and he can feel a spark light up his upper body. A familiar heat he knows he’ll have to focus on to keep under control.

Then she shifts again.

Her body is flush against his. The heat starts to overwhelm him and he doesn’t even know if she’s awake.. but no, she can’t be—

“Zuko..,” Katara sighs as she leans her head into his shoulder and the sound shoots through him like lightning. His whole body stiffens up.

“What—what are you doing, Katara?”

She turns her head to meet his eyes over her shoulder.

“Zuko? I thought you wanted—”

Zuko puts a hand on her shoulder, trying not to jolt at the electricity he feels through her skin.

“Katara, I thought I was clear. We don’t have to do anything that would make you uncomfortable.”

Katara turns around to face him fully, a new ferocity in her eyes. “I’m not the one who’s uncomfortable, so stop using me as an excuse just because you are!”

Zuko tries to breathe like normal but realizes he’s forgotten how and he feels his exhales come out weak and unsteady instead.

“..It’s not that I’m uncomfortable.”

Katara reaches out carefully and holds her hand to his chest.

“You’re not?” Katara breathes in and out and he can see her chest rise and fall in the moonlight. “Do you just..not want me?

“How could I not want you?” The words are out of his mouth before he can think about what they mean.

“I want you too.”

He pinches his arm beneath the sheets cause surely he’s — Ouch ...so he’s not dreaming.

He can feel his eyes glazing over as he starts to give into the fierce heat rushing through him. He wraps an arm around her and holds her back firmly to his front.

His lips find the shell of her ear and he whispers, “You’re sure?”

He can feel the shiver down her spine and relishes the husky undertone of her voice as she replies, “I’m positive.”

...

Zuko wakes up the next morning holding a naked Katara, her head nestled into his bare chest and his arm around her with his palm splayed on the smooth skin of her lower back.

He tries to take stock of how he’s feeling but his thoughts are jumbled.

The only thing he can settle on is how wonderful she feels beside him at that moment.

She wanted him.

He still can't believe it. But he has no idea what this means beyond that or, he thinks to himself somberly, if it actually means anything at all…

[avversiera-writes]

try again; in every day we breathe life [tobirama senju/you] - chapter 2

Chapter 2 - Then, Part 2

Summary: You and Tobirama discuss children. The actual smut happens. 

Words: ~3k

A/N: yeah, smut. etc. enjoy. bc there will be more. apparently.

available on AO3.

< Chapter 1 | Chapter 2, Part 1 | 

“How many children do you want?” You ask, getting comfortable under layers of soft blankets. 

 Tobirama glances at you, incredulous. You see his ears get red. “We do not have to discuss this right now. Do not mind what the people are saying.” 

You smile in secret as Tobirama slides into the bed next to you. He is always so thoughtful, even if he sounds insulting doing it. He knows that you felt hurt by what the kunoichis of the village have been saying to you, and they have been suggesting such things for a while now. This is him trying to reassure you that there is no rush. 

 “Well, I do know I want to have children with you,” you say with a yawn. “Let’s talk about it some more later. Like you have said.” 

Your eyes feel heavy and they flit close, leaving Tobirama with the silence. He glances at you, and tries to sleep as well, but it continues to evade him. He lies there with his many thoughts, and he reckons he will have to entertain them throughout the night.

 When they were kids, Hashirama had told Tobirama that when he was born, their clan thought that he wasn’t going to make it at all. Born an albino, an occurrence in the Senju that has never happened before, Tobirama was a small thing, and the fragile purple and blue veins under his very pale skin were apparent, as if his skin would fold like paper. Hashirama said that out of all their brothers, he held Tobirama the most, because that was the only thing he thought he could do for him. 

 But Tobirama continued to live, to breathe and to cry like a normal baby. 

 It was a bloody time to raise children, especially children who may not even live more than a decade. His future back then was bleak and he wasn’t even sure if could even live long enough to make his brother’s dream come true, but here he is, grown up and thinking about starting his own family. 

 Peace was a prize paid by many lives, including their very own younger brothers. How Kawarama and Itama would have loved to grow up in a place like Konoha. 

 Even if peace is a little scarce these days, with the brewing tensions with the other shinobi villages after Madara’s defection, peace can still be preserved. Especially now, when there are more children surviving past ten years. 

When you mentioned that you wanted to start a family with him, Tobirama started to plan ahead in that nervous panicked way he does. Despite being busy throughout the day with his duties, his mind keeps drifting to the steps he may have to take to build a family with you. Even if it’s just a possibility. Even if it will not happen, but just in case it does . He cannot have himself bumbling about like a fool. He wants to be prepared. For anything.

 He blinks at the ceiling, both unaware and aware of the time passing, and then he glances at you, still sleeping. 

He thinks about how much he has changed. He never thought about having children of his own, he wasn’t even sure if he would even marry in the first place–or marry in accordance to his feelings, but now, things have changed for him. Of course he loves his brother’s children, but the thought of bringing one of his own into this world had never been in his sights before. The thought of holding his own, tiny little child….is daunting. Besides, with the way he was raised, what other parenting methods would he resort to but what he knew? He does not want his own children to go through that. 

 He refuses to raise his own children in a way that sets them up for death. Their future has got to be better. 

 Will he be better? 

 How many kids will he have? Will he have daughters? Or as many sons as Hashirama?

“Tobirama?” 

You wake up, and find Tobirama’s eyes on you. He always watches you when he cannot sleep. Slowly, you bring a hand to his chest. 

 “What’s wrong?” You murmur. 

He keeps staring, and you smile softly, waiting. 

 “Children,” he states. 

 “What?” You almost laugh. 

 Tobirama visibly scowls. “You asked how many children I want to have.” 

You narrow your eyes, trying to think. Then, it comes back to you. Oh . 

 “And your answer is?” Your lips spread to a smile. 

Tobirama stares at you, in that clueless expression that you became familiar with. It appears once in a blue moon. 

 “Does it bother you?” Tobirama quickly interjects to change the subject.

 You prop yourself on your elbow and raise an eyebrow. “What bothers me?” 

Tobirama flails a hand towards the ceiling helplessly–so uncharacteristic of him. “That people talk about you.” 

 “Not really,” you reply immediately, not wanting to make him worry about this. 

Your husband turns his head to focus on you, his attention solely on your words to come. 

“I mean, they are kind of right,” you add sheepishly. “I had no name for myself and my family, while they used to be a big clan, refused to be shinobi anymore. There was no reason why you should look to me as your wife. There was nothing to be gained.” 

 “Besides,” you voice out quietly. “We’re not getting any younger, especially me.” 

Tobirama stares at you like you suddenly grew a second head. 

“Tobirama–” 

“If we–when we do have children,” Tobirama interrupts, not quite gently, but in that gruff way he does, when he tries to cover up his thrill. “I hope they will have your grace and your kindness.” 

 You press your body closer to him, and he pulls you over on top of him. “Are you thinking about it?” 

 Tobirama guards a small smile. 

 “Wait, don’t tell me,” you chuckle. “You’ve actually thought about it.” You state it as it is, because you know how Tobirama gets when something is sitting on his mind for a long time. 

“Just in case,” Tobirama replies, his hands travelling down your hips. “We aren’t getting any younger.”

 You lean forward to catch his lips, and you murmur, “Good news for you, you can still reproduce in your old age. As for me, might as well throw me aside as soon as I’m past my thirties.” 

Tobirama frowns, and he pulls you closer. “Never. I’d take you, barren or not.” 

 You roll your eyes. “How sweet.” 

 “I mean it.” 

 “How very sweet.” 

You lean forward and kiss him on his lips again, but before he can reciprocate, you pull away. “I hope they look like you.” 

 Tobirama hums. “Debatable.” 

 “You know you’re actually funny when you try,” you comment playfully, and with that, Tobirama flips the two of you on your back. 

“Three or four children will suffice,” Tobirama finally gives you an answer. 

 You frown. “Are you seriously making another genin team? Out of our own theoretical children?” 

Tobirama smirks and pushes his knee against your thigh to spread your legs apart. “Let’s start now.” 

 You roll your eyes. “Not even going to ask me, huh? So typical of you.” You smirk at him. “I am still taking the birth control remedies that Mito gave me.”

 “You talk as if the Senju are impotent.”

 “So cocky,” you goad, and you bring a knee up to his groin. “Can you really get me to carry your child in one go?” 

 Tobirama’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Is that a challenge?” 

 Tobirama leans down and he presses his body into yours, and every inch of your skin in contact with his sets your skin ablaze. He kisses you fiercely, and you return his kisses with the same fervor. You hastily tear at his clothes, and he is quick to untie your sleeping gown and push them down to your shoulders. 

“Wait, are you absolutely sure?” You ask him and you push him back, suddenly incredulous. “I thought you’d want to talk about it some more.” 

 Tobirama raises an eyebrow. “Since when did I ever act on impulse?” 

 “Well, I mentioned it once, and suddenly you’re eager to impregnate me?” 

Tobirama’s expression softens and you grow more bewildered. He takes your leg, and plants a kiss on the side of your knee. “We have many chances to get it right.” 

 “But don’t you want to make preparations? You’re a very busy man, and don’t you have to, like, consult with your family or doctors, or buy baby things…?” You trail off, realizing that this is Senju Tobirama you are talking to.

 Senju Tobirama, your husband, who is probably taking care of all your worries even while the two of you copulate to your satisfaction. Who probably will continue to make many more arrangements as time goes on. 

“Bastard,” you almost spit out of spite. 

 Tobirama places his hands on your hips and roughly pulls you closer to his waist. Your back lifts off the bed, and the edge of your yukata rides up your thigh, exposing more skin. His eyes hungrily rove from your exposed shoulders and thighs, and you shiver in anticipation. Love-making with Tobirama is never dull, and it is always intense and particular with his own brand of tenderness, in which he shows you how passionate he truly is. The bedroom is the only witness to this, besides you.

“Is that what we’re going to do now? Call each other names?” Tobirama asks, his voice dropping to a lower tone that sounds akin to a growl. 

 “You can do anything you want to me,” you murmur, and you peek at him meekly to gauge his reaction. “You can even be mean about it.”

 “Don’t be coy,” Tobirama orders. 

 “Or what ?” You smile, knowing that you are slowly riling him up. “I’ll regret it? You’ll make me regret it?” 

Tobirama suddenly tears your yukata apart, and now, you are stark naked under him. “Or I’ll make you beg for it.” 

 Your body flushes, and you let out a shaky sigh. The ball may be in his court, but it is still favorable to you. 

"Show me how you'll do it," you whisper. 

 Tobirama stares at you, seeming like he is contemplating, when suddenly, he grabs your throat and squeezes the sides of your neck. He leans over you, covering your body with his own and he plants a violent kiss on your lips that leaves you dizzy. 

 You let out a moan, but he swallows it, his tongue swirling against yours. He turns his head to deepen the kiss, and your eyes snap open as he devours you. Tobirama does not show any sign of easing up, and you can only gasp as his hand travels down your stomach, and dives in between your legs. He presses his fingers against your cunt, and he starts to grind them purposefully, and you sense yourself getting wetter, and your walls clenching from the anticipation. 

 Tobirama’s hand eases on your neck, and he watches your face as he brings you to the edge, rubbing and pressing against your clit, and when your breathy moans start to accelerate, he stops, and he leaves you gasping, your nerves completely alight with a blinding white fire. You whine, and you close your eyes as your body trembles for more. 

You reach down in between your legs, wanting to finish, but Tobirama grasps your wrist and pins them to the side. 

 “Eager, are we?” You can hear the smirk in Tobirama’s voice. 

 You peek at Tobirama, and you run your eyes from his chest and his torso, and to his red and angry erection. 

“Aren’t you?” You whisper, your voice catching in your throat. 

 “I have some patience,” Tobirama runs a hand on the side of your thigh, and squeezes your ass. 

His rough hand on your skin makes you whimper, and even more so as he leans down and puts his mouth on your breast to suckle your nipple. His tongue laps on it, and around it, flicking the aroused bud until you are arching up to his hips to find some relief. His other hand kneads your other breast, his fingers pinching and twisting your nipple. 

 You squirm underneath him, unable to bear it any longer, but a stubborn part of you that is in this game will not let you beg. His teeth graze against your nipple and a shiver runs down your spine. Every part of you that he touches becomes sensitive and pliable for him. 

 Finally, Tobirama lets up and he plants a kiss on your swollen lips. It is unexpectedly gentle, and you melt against him, and this time you consider saying please. 

You shoot your husband a glare filled with lust and your hand travels to his cock, and you begin to pump it, your hand twisting the shaft and teasing the head. You hear Tobirama stifle a gasp, and you keep going, feeling it harden even more. Suddenly, Tobirama grabs your hand to stop you and his body twitches and he turns red. 

 He starts to breathe harshly, and you bite down a smile. 

 “Please?” You say to him. 

Tobirama rolls his eyes, and you let out a breathy laugh. “Who am I to say no?” 

Tobirama’s hand stills your hips, while the other guides his erection into your entrance. He eases in, slowly, shallowly thrusting with the head of his cock. He places his hands on your hips to massage and make you relax, and then he guides the two of you into a slow rhythm that continues to build a searing heat that spreads throughout your body. 

 Tobirama’s pace picks up, and he leans back a little to drive himself deeper into you. You accommodate him by arching up a little, but the position proves to be unsatisfying. You want more. You thrust back voraciously just as he pulls away, and you use your thighs to flip the two of you on his back. 

 You smile languorously, and you plant your hands on his chest, and begin to grind your hips down. You take all of him rapaciously, and your hips stutter as they continue to chase a climax that is beginning to take ahold of you. Tobirama thrusts upwards as you come down, never giving up much control, and you throw your head back and let out a strangled scream as he continues to fuck you from below. 

A pleasurable shudder runs through you, and you lean forward to give Tobirama an open-mouthed kiss. His hands go to your waist to hold you there, and then, he sits up and slams you down on your back. The two of you end up at the corner of the bed, and Tobirama’s hips slam into you with more zeal, and you start to cry out uncontrollably. Tears flow down from the corners of your eyes, and you grab onto Tobirama’s back and run your nails down his shoulders. 

 Tobirama places a leg on his shoulder, and he fucks you even more relentlessly. Somewhere in the background, you hear something snap and creak, but you are lost in the throes of passion, and your focus is only on your husband, whose cock is pulsating inside your tightening walls. He covers your body with his, and holds your hand above your head. You feel his cool chakra descend into your veins, and the feeling soothes and riles you up even more. You roll your hips back into him as he continues to ram himself deeper.

Suddenly, the corner of the bed gives, and the two of you fall to the floor, along with the sheets and the mattress. Tobirama rolls you to your back, not caring if the walls of this house are next to cave in. You seize and let out a strangled scream as a white, blinding light explodes beneath your eyelids and you mewl as he keeps going, this time, to reach his climax. 

 Finally, his hips stutter and he pushes in as you feel him come inside of you. His hot seed fills you, and he gives you a few more thrusts before settling in. 

You shake underneath him, completely dazed and mind-numbed. You feel his hand on your face, reassuring and tender. 

 The two of you hiss as Tobirama finally pulls out, and he collapses beside you. Your breaths are loud and harsh, and when they have slowed, Tobirama pulls you onto his body to embrace you. A kiss is planted on your forehead, and you close your eyes, unable to think of anything else but you and your husband, and the prospect of starting a family. 

//

You probably only slept for an hour or two when daylight started to flicker in through the small slits of the curtains. Your face is buried into Tobirama’s chest, while your husband lies on his back, staring at the ceiling. You feel kind of sorry towards him for riling him up so much as you are sure he probably did not get enough sleep. 

 You yawn, and stretch languidly, feeling the soreness settle in. Tobirama glances at you, eyes stark and bright in the dim light of the room. 

 “Up for more?” Tobirama suddenly brings up and you almost snap your neck to look at him. 

 “Wait, what?” You gasp as he flips you to your back. “Don’t you have work?” 

  Tobirama stares at you pointedly, and hooks his arms underneath your shoulders. 

 “Won’t we break the house if we keep doing this?” You smile suggestively. 

Tobirama pauses, and with a passive face, he utters gravely, “Well, I do not want to do that. We’d be homeless, and with a needy child on the way.” 

 You roll your eyes. “All right, Nidaime, that’s enough. What’s gotten into you? You’re getting ahead of yourself.” 

 “We’ll go slow this time,” Tobirama plants a kiss on your chin, and you laugh. 

 “Oh, slow is not your thing, my darling,” you tease, and you kiss him, with as much ardour he gives back to you. 

To be continued...

Chapter 3 - Now >>

[cinnonym]

glories stream from heaven afar (heavenly hosts sing 'alleluia)

Written for Day 6 - Carols/Music of 12 Days of Supercorp @supercorpbb

Read on AO3

***

Kara is running late.

It’s not her fault, at least not in the strictest sense. Like, she did exit her cab more or less around the time she was due to be on stage. Which is to say, a trifle late, maybe. Marginally. And yes, that part may or may not be blamed on her (because traffic really is crazy during Christmas season, but maybe she could have anticipated that).

But. City hall? A joke. The amount of time Kara’s spent scurrying (literally, courtesy of the heels Kara’s stupidly decided on wearing) through what feels like miles of endlessly monotonous corridors could and should have been put to better use. Like catching her breath for example. Could be useful if she’s supposed to sing.

Unfortunately, it looks like there won’t be much breath-catching happening. While the next corner Kara rounds does seem to be the last one (like, there is a door ahead, but is it the right door?), the corridor stretching out in front of her for the final sprint is void of people. Which either means that Kara’s managed to get lost completely – or the gala has already started.

But no, the door is still blissfully ajar, a faint triangle of light spilling through the crack. It’s golden, and Kara knows, just knows, that it originates from a boisterous array of chandeliers. (Because, like, it’s city hall. Tax money has to go somewhere.)

Anyway, it’s not like Kara’s complaining. In fact, she’s rather looking forward to being enveloped in that soft light instead of feeling like she’s being stripped bare naked under the unforgiving stare of a spotlight. It’s about the atmosphere. Also, it’s almost Christmas for heaven’s sake.

So she speeds up, one last time, heels tapping a rapid staccato against the planks of the floor. She’s late, but it doesn’t matter (who needs vocal warm-up anyway), because the door is right there, and she is going to make it. She’s going to slip in unnoticed and a little out of breath, and she’s going to make her way upstage as if she’d been mingling with the crowd all along. She’s going to –

The door closes.

Kara is so near, her fingers can practically feel the cool brass of the handle already, and the door closes, right into her face. Literally. Because Kara’s spent the entire length of that last corridor gaining speed, and there is no way she can grind to a halt on the five feet something between her and the damn closed door. And so she slams, hands first, full body second, against the solid wood.

The crash is deafening, and for a split second, all Kara can think about is how it will be impossible to sneak in now. Then she rebounds, and her focus is redirected to trying to keep her balance. It doesn’t go very well (the heels were a bad decision in all aspects), in fact, it doesn’t go at all. Luckily, she still doesn’t fall.

This is mainly due to the pair of hands suddenly wrapped around her shoulders. A pair of very pale and very slender hands, which connect to equally pale and slender arms and ultimately –

“Golly!” Kara exclaims on a whim. There really isn’t much else to exclaim, because the woman (yes, woman, and already Kara is swooning over her strong grip) staring back at her is about as beautiful as words do not exist to express how beautiful. And not in an all-words-got-knocked-out-of-Kara-in-the-crash way. But in a real way. Like. A literal-goddess-but-even-more-beautiful way.

A literal goddess whose brow is beginning to wrinkle into a frown, before she opens her mouth (lips, Kara thinks, lipslipslips) to speak.

“Are you alright?”

And the thing is, Kara is. She has never been more alright than in this moment, wrapped up in a life-saving grasp, basking in the glow of elysian eyes. And she would like to tell the woman as much, because said elysium is starting to look awfully clouded with concern that Kara doesn’t want to be the reason for. She would like to nod, and thank the woman (because she does have manners, Kara, if nothing else), and then maybe ask her to elope together. Or something.

But she can’t. Because she cannot move, and she cannot speak, and she believes she might be experiencing what Alex calls Gay Panic. But she can’t be sure because not even her brain is working as it should.

The woman (the angel, the queen, the woman) seems to be panicking too, although Kara doubts it’s in the same way. Her hands squeeze Kara’s arms, and she’s shaking her kind of gently, all the while staring intently into Kara’s eyes, searching, presumably, for some reaction.  

“Shit,” she mutters eventually, and somehow that’s what does the job.

Kara shivers right out of her trance. Something inside of her breaks like a dam, comes undone at the sacrilege of a swearing angel, and suddenly the words spill out of her in a flood.

“This might come as a shock,” she tells her saviour, who actually jumps at the sudden change, “but I am fine. Ish. Fine-ish. I mean, I did crash into that door pretty bad, but it’s nothing. Or, not nothing, I mean, will I have the biggest bump tomorrow? Probably. But I’ve had it worse. Like, one time I walked into a car, like, a moving one? It was in a play street though, so it wasn’t that bad, but I mean, it’s still a car, right? Anyway, I survived that too. As you can see. Didn’t even have a concussion. So, uh, who knows, right, maybe I’m indestructible. Maybe that’s my secret superpower or something.”

At this she grins widely at the woman. The woman doesn’t smile back. In fact, she’s sporting a stare that is a little to blank for Kara’s liking. She bites down on her tongue, hard, willing the words to stop before she’s sent to the closest asylum. She did come to sing, after all. Even though that’s decidedly not going well so far.

“Anyway,” she says cautiously, resisting the urge to wave her hand before the woman’s eyes. “I am good. And I actually came here for the gala? I’m supposed to sing…”

She is stared at for a beat longer, before the woman blinks. And blinks again. Then she shakes her head, quickly and forcefully, like she’s trying to dissipate unwelcome thoughts.

“You are not singing.”

It’s stated so matter-of-factly that Kara’s almost inclined to nod just because the tone indicates it. She catches herself at the last moment.

“Uh, yeah I am, that’s what I’m here for.” But then she falters suddenly. “Unless this is not the annual Christmas Charity Gala? Cause if it’s not, then I’m so sorry, I may have slammed into this door for nothing.”

There is a beat of stunned silence and then – heaven. The woman starts laughing, loud and prolonged, with her head tipped back and her neck on full display (and goodness, what a neck it is). When she stops at last, gasping for air as if Kara weren’t the one slowly suffocating on the spot, her cheeks are flushed and her eyes glowing.

“You’re right,” she says, faint traces of laughter still enriching her voice, “this is the gala.”

“Thank goodness.” Kara doesn’t trust herself to say more, lest she add an accidental love confession. It could happen. Kara is that clumsy. As has been proven.

The clipped answer earns her a curious look (maybe Kara’s superpower is making a fool of herself in front of beautiful women after all), before the woman blinks and her whole expression changes. The lopsided smile slides into a smirk. The amused glint in her eyes turns allusive. And the slow bat of her lashes is downright predatory.

“You still shouldn’t perform tonight.” Her voice drops an entire octave. “For safety reasons.”

Kara swallows. Hard. Her mouth feels like a bucket of sand has been emptied into it. She isn’t sure if her heart rate will ever go back to normal. She swallows again.

“Oh?”

The woman smiles as if she’s all to aware of Kara’s struggles (not that Kara is doing a very good job at hiding them, probably). She nods slowly.

“Yes, see, I would never forgive myself if something were to happen to you – “ her eyes drag over Kara’s body, which promptly starts tingling “ – during or after the event.”

“Huh,” Kara makes. Her cheeks are probably on fire, but the woman doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, she appears to be absolutely delighted with Kara. Somehow, that gives Kara the courage to say her next words.

“I think I deserve to be given a try.”

She immediately buries her face in her hands after that, not daring to look at the woman as she waits with bated breath for a reaction. She is not disappointed.

A throaty chuckle vibrates through the air, a murmur of “very well,” and suddenly a new scent reaches Kara’s nose. It’s heady and laced with spice, and it infiltrates her brain like heavy liquor. And then there is the faintest touch at Kara’s ear, and a low voice wading through the haze.

“Sing for me, stranger.”

And oh, Kara does.

(She only learns later, during the gala, that her saviour is actually Lena Luthor. Like, the Lena Luthor. Her mind shatters a bit at the information, and she wonders if she’s managed to misread the mood completely, or what. Because there’s no way National City’s most influential woman sort of maybe hit on Kara a little. So Kara’s attempt at flirting back must have been totally out of line.

But before she even has the chance to spiral, Lena catches her eye. And she tilts her head and winks sort of teasingly at Kara, and yeah, no woman crosses her legs like that without any ulterior motives. Kara hopes.

She promptly misses the first line of Silent Night.)

[lokidrabbles]

Sweet-Scented Alien (Loki x Reader)

Loki has another difficult night and the reader takes care of him

A/N: Another Loki has really bad nightmares one shot! I know I kinda go all over the place with this one, but I tend to have a lot of ideas for Loki’s POV. However, I hope you all can enjoy! As always, Gender Neutral Reader!

Warnings: Suggested smut, but not really

The same nightmare continued to torment the Asgardian prince. The destruction of Asgard, the loss of his parents, and the Titan’s enormous grasp around his neck would resume like a broken record until a morbid snap in his neck would shove him awake into the real world.

He gasped for air as his body jolted him awake, frozen in place while his mind still processed the tangibility of his surroundings. He would instinctively reach to feel the back of his neck, an effort to make sure it still remained in tact. He still remained in one piece, and he considered himself unworthy of his blessings.

The mad Titan still lingered somewhere out there, in search of Loki, in search of unimaginable power. Loki had the fortune of being able to stay out of the Titan’s radar for this long, but the possibility still remained. He was out there, and Loki hid himself away like a coward, here with you, exposing you to the unimaginable danger.

Tonight’s was especially vivid, and he couldn’t imagine such a brutal way to be permanently discarded of. He quickly dug his nails into his forearm, making his pain evident for him to fully bring himself in focus. He attempted to stabilize his breathing, but his efforts remained futile for now. He avoided wanted to wake you up, but you were always sensitive about these things, and as if on cue, he felt you shift and slowly turn towards him.

“Hey, Loki. What’s wrong?” He heard you say softly.

“It’s nothing, I’m fine.” He responded hastily, but only to still catch his breath.

“You’re shaking. Did you have another bad dream?” He sensed your concern grow, feeling you sit upwards against the backboard of your bed.

It was difficult to admit he did. Not only did he detest seeing you worry about his well being, as that was his obligation to you, but he detested how vulnerable he appeared in front of you. He’d dread at the possibility of being perceived as weak, someone incapable of protecting you, all because of a dream.

“Please, I don’t need you to hold my hand constantly over this.” He responded, intending for it to come out as disconnected as he could.

“Loki, you’re literally shaking.” You said as a matter of fact. Loki soon felt the touch of your palm over his cheek, relishing in the warmness you provided. “You’re freezing too.”

Adrenaline rushed through him at the though of his body temperature dropping dramatically. You weren’t jesting about something this, and he knew his mental and emotional vulnerability must have triggered some part of his frost giant biology to act defensively. He needed to gain control ASAP, before something worse appeared.

“Err, I think I should just rest somewhere else, just so I won’t continue waking you up anymore. Perhaps, that couch in your living room?”

“What? Loki, don’t be stupid. I want you to stay here with me, especially if you had another nightmare like that.” You said while tugging at his forearm, seemingly disregarding his unusual coldness.

You were a fool, but his heart fluttered at your clinging. “Very well. However, I am a little apprehensive about resting. I honestly will stay up for the remainder of the evening.”

“Guess I’m staying up with you too.”

“You really mustn't stay up. You don’t enough rest for your human body as it is, no matter how much I lecture you about it.”

He could see you roll your eyes within the darkness. “You have to let me take care of you Loki, that’s part of the deal we had.”

“I don’t need to be taken care of.”

“Uh-huh.”

Loki felt the covers flying off of you as you rose up from your bed, padding gently across your floor. You made your way into your bathroom, flicking the lights on and beginning to rummage through your belongings.

Loki squinted at the sudden brightness, peering off the side to catch a glimpse at whatever you were doing. “(Y/N). You must come rest.”

“I will.” You exclaimed from afar. “But I got something for you first.”

Damn. “Stop with the foolishness. I told you I’m fine.”

You didn’t respond, and Loki could only hear you still rummaging. He focused his hearing to catch anything pertinent, before he would justly stomp into that bathroom, pick you up, and toss you back into bed. This was his own issue to deal with after all and he still cringed at the idea of having this mortal, this human, willingly tend to him.

His ears perked at the sound of a squeaking hinge, and then of running water. Oh no.

You slowly stepped out, your pajama sleeves rolled at the way up to your elbows. Your hair was still a mess, and the circles under your eyes suggested you definitely had not gotten enough sleep this night. But still you stood there, and even in your most dullest appearance, Loki still thought you were lovely.

“Okay, start getting naked.” You said through a yawn.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m drawing you a warm bath dummy. You’re sticky, and maybe you can relax more if your body warmed up too.”

The act of kindness was too sickening for him. Loki was a frost giant, and although he always maintained good homeostasis over his own biological temperature, he would always be naturally a bit colder than most aesir or humans. It wasn’t something to be saddened about, it was simply how he was. And yet, with your best efforts, you still desired to provide him with relief, even if it probably wouldn’t have any effect on him at all. It was all charming, and Loki had grown very unused to having someone mend his perceived suffering. Again, he felt his heart flutter at the notion.

“You cannot be serious.” He said flatly, a small piece of him hoping you’d still pester him about it.

“Come one, you’ll feel much better. And then after, I promise I’ll go back to sleep, deal?”

“Hmm. You strike up a difficult bargain, human. But very well, if it will get you off my back and get you some rest.”

You provided Loki with two thumbs up, sealing the verbal agreement. Loki groaned, pushing himself off the bed and beginning to discard his clothes. From the corner of his eye, he could see you leaning on the doorway into your bathroom, blatantly ogling at him and his bare body. Not that Loki really minded. In fact, he felt some sense of pride at how easily you’d become distracted at his nude form. Which of course meant you wouldn’t have eyes for anyone else.

“You’re staring.” He said teasingly.

“Guilty as charged. Now come on, before I start getting any more ideas.”

Loki  trudged behind you into your bathroom, a heavy scent filling his nostrils immediately. It was sweet and nutty, and he immediately identified this scent as your own. There would be days, special occasions, where you would bathe in this sweet almond scent. He thought it was purposeful, for he would be unable to keep his hands off of you, rejoicing in the intoxicating smell gently coming from your hair and skin.

“You’re not getting nude as well?” He asked disappointingly.

“Good idea. But my tub is too small, and it wouldn’t be as fun as you’d imagine.” You reached over to grab his wrist, coaxing him towards your tub.

Steam began to tickle at his nose, and he raised a questioning eyebrow at the ridiculous amount of soap and foam rising. “This wasn’t necessary.”

“Sure it was, go ahead and dip in.”

He sighed, knowing he had to oblige in fear that you would become upset at him. He carefully took one step in, shivering at the sudden exposure to the searing temperature. The heat would soon cool off as soon as he’d emerge his entire body in, but of course you didn’t realize that would happen. Nevertheless,  he slowly submerged himself (or as much as he could), enjoying the brief heat that engulfed his skin. He inhaled and let out a deep breath, sinking his hair into the bubbly water. The almond scent now fully took over his entire sense of smell, and he closed his eyes. He imagined this heat as your own, this smell as your own, covering him entirely.

You had perched beside him and your tub, seemingly not minding the water that had splashed over. You dipped a finger in, as if making sure the temperature was adequate enough for him. Another yawn escaped your mouth while doing so and Loki immediately took notice.

“You’re exhausted and you’re making it very obvious. Now, this was your own doing. I don’t want to be blamed for this in the morning.”

You waved your hand to dismiss his comment. “That’s not what’s important right now. How are you feeling?”

“A tad ridiculous with my knees protruding out like so. But yes, the water is quite nice.”

As sleepy as you were, he saw you beam with joy. “Good to hear. I’m hoping this means you’ll be more open to my methods here.”

“I’m only doing this so you’ll stop worrying and go back to bed.” Part of it was true, and the other part mostly involved still wanting to appease you.

“Oh stop it.” You said, playfully splashing some water at him. “Let me do this for you, it’s the least I could do after all you’ve done for me.”

That last part was hard to fully accept. Truly, he didn’t think he’d done much for you. Or at least, he interpreted it much differently than you did. He knew humans were very meticulous in their way of expressing love and care, and while he was no stranger to it, he was rusty about it. The closest thing that popped in his head was that time he carried you back home after you had gotten inebriated, but he was certain you didn’t want to hear about that again.

“You’ll have to forgive me, but that’s a bit of a stretch for my liking.” He said, dipping his head backwards into the water.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m just not sure if what you say is true. I can easily go inside your mind and find out for myself. But even so, I doubt I’d believe that.”

“Believe what, that you haven’t done anything for me?” You asked incredulously.

“I suppose that’s the curse I carry. You know, still being apprehensive about all of this.” He knew it sounded harsh, to even question his relationship with you, but a big function of this relationship was his honesty with you. He knew you wouldn’t cast him away with these words, but there was a speck inside of him that would be terrified of the notion.

He saw your lips twist disapprovingly, and then you shoved a chunk of bubbles right into his face. “You know, for being insanely intelligent, you can be pretty damn stupid too.”

His brows furrowed, shoving away the soapy residue from his face. “Not exactly what I expected to hear.”

“Loki, I’d like to safely think that us sleeping together, having sex, sharing meals, dealing with our worst attitudes on a daily basis, and screwing around with Tony Stark should at least suggest something to you.” You said aggressively. “You think I’d just let anyone call me a stupid human with no discernible reason.”

He opened his mouth temporarily to spew out an argument, but promptly sealed his lips once he noticed how irked you had become. He often enjoyed irking you about several things, but this wasn’t the best way to go at it. He could tell from your approach and body language that you were dead serious about it, and he genuinely wanted to believe that.

“You really need to get it through your head that you matter to me, like a lot.” You continued, standing up and reaching over to grab one of your towels. “I really don’t know how else to say it so you can fully understand.”

“Perhaps, there is something you could do. You know, just so I can understand better.” He said lowly, almost muttering it.

“Oh, and what exactly is that?”

“I’m going to need you to come closer. Come kneel beside me.” He said, his voice low and sultry.

A smirk appeared on your face, following his words and perching next to him and beside your tub again. He lifted his upper body, lather and water spilling all across his chest and arms and leaned into your lips. He heard a quick ‘oh’ escape from you, satisfied at how quickly you had responded to his actions. In one swift move, Loki grabbed your forearm, and yanked you into towards him. You cursed and fell face forward into him and into the now lukewarm water, splashing and making a terrible mess of all things. Loki saw how your legs flailed comically and couldn’t hold back the irresistible grin decorating his cheeks. You must have flopped around for a good minute or so until you managed to hold yourself up by your arms, hair and clothes absolutely drenched.

“Ehehehe.” He sniggered, loving the absolute look of indignation you shot at him.

“God, why do you have to be such a dick?” You muttered, along with some other offensive words.

“That’s it. That’s all I needed, I fully understand now. Thank you so much for that spectacle (Y/N). I believe I can say with confidence that I truly enjoy being with you as well.” 

“You’re such a little shit, oh my god.” You lunged at him, making your best attempts to push his head underwater. “Why are you always making me fall for stupid shit?”

“Darling, please!” He exclaimed, grin still very present. “Please don’t end me in such a way. Not at least till you get rid of those soaked garments first.”

“No fucking way-”

“Ah, fucking? You’ve read my mind indeed. Well, if you are suggesting it.”

You groaned loudly, standing up, hair and clothes dripping wet. You stomped out in a fury, muttering things along the way which Loki could only catch as another clear ‘fuck you.’

He followed suit and rose from the water, tip toeing behind you while soap suds still fell from his bare body. The nightmare from earlier that evening would soon be long forgotten, and although Loki’s attempts at getting down and dirty with you wouldn’t be successful, there was something much more important at hand, something he’d fully come to realize with his little prank.

[rosethornewrites]

Fic: the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break, ch. 15

Relationships: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī & Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī & Wēn Qíng, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn

Characters: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Wēn Qíng, Wēn Níng | Wēn Qiónglín, Granny Wēn, Lán Yuàn | Lán Sīzhuī, Wēn Remnants, Wen Meilin (OC), Fourth Uncle, Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén

Additional Tags: Pre-Slash, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Secrets, Crying, Masks, Soulmates, Truth, Self-Esteem Issues, Regret, It was supposed to be a one-shot, Fix-It, Eventual Relationships, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, wwx needs a hug, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Filial Piety, Handfasting, Phobias, Sleeping Together, Fear, Panic Attacks, Love Confessions, Getting Together, First Kiss, Kissing, Boys Kissing, Family, and they were married, Bathing/Washing, Hair Braiding, Hair Brushing, Feels, Sex Education, Implied Sexual Content, First Time, Aftercare, Morning After, Afterglow, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Torture, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Hand Jobs, Chronic Pain, Biting, Conversations

Summary: The conversation continues, and the Jiang siblings react.

Notes: This chapter was hard to write, but I finally got there! Lots of dialog, which had to be balanced. Updates are slow. Life is busy. Lots of responsibilities, and non-productive insomnia. Honestly, the most research I did for this chapter was on family and martial family names.

AO3 link

Chapters:  1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14

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Wei Ying’s words only seem to echo in the courtyard, their gravity giving them weight that feeds the illusion. The Jiang siblings stare at him, looking concerned but puzzled. 

“But you found her,” Jiang Wanyin says slowly. “She restored my core.”

“I never found her,” Wei Ying says, looking at his bowl on the table rather than his brother. “I didn’t know what to do, A-Cheng—you wanted to die!”

The words are said in a rush, with remembered grief. For once, Jiang Wanyin seems struck dumb, and Lan Wangji is glad of it—Wei Ying needs no interruptions. Already his posture is defensive. 

“I looked for a way. Went through Wen Qing’s whole library. And I found a theory.”

His voice breaks at the last word, and Lan Wangji squeezes his hand, letting Wei Ying know he is here for him. He knows this reminds his husband of the decision he made, to what for most would seem like an impossible choice. 

“A-Xian, what theory?”

Jiang Yanli, despite her makeup, looks wan and afraid. 

“In her papers. Treatments she’d theorized,” Wei Ying clarifies. “It was the only place I found any options. And I didn’t know what else to do.”

He’s stalling, but inadvertently drawing out the pain. Lan Wangji squeezes his hand again, unable to resist the urge to comfort him. 

Zidian sparks and Jiang Wanyin glares, his patience spent.

“What did you do?” he hisses. 

Lan Wangji is fairly certain they’ve already realized and are hoping they’re wrong. He rubs the back of Wei Ying’s hand with his thumb. 

“It was a theory about core transplants,” Wei Ying says. 

The shifting of emotions on Jiang Wanyin’s face makes his understanding clear. Jiang Yanli’s brows furrow, her expression one of confusion. 

“Tell me you didn’t,” he hissed. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

Wei Ying flinches—he can tell him no such thing, at least not without lying, because he did. Instead he silently holds his free wrist out to Jiang Wanyin, as he had only days before with Xichen, inviting him to see the truth himself. 

The Jiang sect leader recoils, physically leaving his seat and backing from the table, his face a mask of horror.

“No,” he whispers, his voice hoarse.

And so it is Jiang Yanli who reaches forward, sends her qi through Wei Ying’s meridians, and finds the emptiness where his core once sat. Lan Wangji can tell the moment she realizes, as tears spill over, cutting furrows in her makeup. 

Wei Ying immediately panics, pulling his hand from Lan Wangji’s grip, dabbing at her face with his sleeves.

“Shijie, you’ll ruin your dress. It’s okay, don’t cry.”

“It’s just a dress,” she says, her voice hitching. “And it’s not okay, Xianxian. Why didn’t you tell us? Why didn’t you let us help you? You’ve been suffering for so long and…”

She lets out a sob so deep it seems like it comes from her soul. Wei Ying lets out a little distressed noise, his hands fluttering helplessly, as though he wants to hug her but fears sullying her wedding dress. 

“Wei Wuxian, why?” Jiang Wanyin asks, his chest heaving as he fights his emotions. “I didn’t ask you to do that!”

He’s still standing backed away from the table, unwilling or unable to come closer. 

“You wanted to die,” Wei Ying says helplessly. “You said if you couldn’t avenge Lotus Pier alive or dead you’d rather be dead. You’re my brother—what else could I have done?”

Lan Wangji knows there is more, implied—after losing so much, how could Wei Ying stand to lose his brother? How much family could he stand to lose, losing his parents young, and then his entire martial family with the fall of Lotus Pier?

“I’d rather lose my golden core than that,” he finally whispers. “You could rebuild the sect with my core.”

“You could’ve rebuilt the sect with your core,” Jiang Wanyin retorts with a scowl.

Wei Ying smiles, but it’s a twisted, broken thing. 

“No. I’ve always been whatever the gentry decides I am: the worthless son of a servant overreaching, sect leader’s secret bastard, weapon of war, and now Yiling Laozu. No one would accept me rebuilding the Jiang sect, even without the demonic cultivation, A-Cheng. I’d be a usurper at best, never taken seriously.”

“You would’ve proved them all wrong!” Jiang Wanyin protests. 

Wei Ying shakes his head. 

“Nothing will ever be enough. I’d never be able to restore the Jiang sect to its full glory. Only you could do that, A-Cheng.”

“He is correct,” Lan Wangji interjects when it looks like Jiang Wanyin might argue over it. “They have never accepted him, even after he helped win the war. Wei Ying has never been thanked or shown respect, only belittled and vilified. He would never have been permitted to be sect leader.”

Jiang Wanyin frowns at that but doesn’t try to argue. He cannot deny the truth. 

“If they knew I took you to Wen Qing and you had died in her care, they’d say I killed you myself for power, that I worked with the Wens to destroy Lotus Pier, even. I’d have been executed, and shijie would be all alone and without a sect.”

There’s a touch of bitterness in his husband’s voice, and Lan Wangji touches his elbow, just to remind him he is there for him. 

“Lotus Pier was my fault, so I guess they’d be part right,” Wei Ying mutters, the naked grief in his voice heart-wrenching. 

Lan Wangji wonders if perhaps Wei Ying’s difficulty after the war was being in a place filled, at least metaphorically, with the ghosts of those for whose deaths he felt responsible. He had, by his own admission to Xichen, spent much of the time following the war drunk, until he liberated the work camp, using it as a way of coping with his trauma—from the fall of Lotus Pier, from the surgery, from Burial Mounds, from the resentful energy, from the war…  All of it. 

Perhaps rescuing these people has been his way of trying to even the scales on a debt that isn’t truly his. 

“A-Xian, it wasn’t your fault. They were always going to attack Lotus Pier,” Jiang Yanli protests. “A-Niang would never have tolerated a supervisory office in our home.”

She’s still crying, and Wei Ying mops at her face so her tears won’t ruin her dress. Her eyes seem to search his face, desperate for a sign he believes her. 

“It was never your fault,” she insists.

Wei Ying swallows hard. 

“Madam Yu said—”

“A-Niang was wrong,” Jiang Wanyin snarls. 

“And I know a-die told you to protect us, but who was going to protect you?” Jiang Yanli asks.

When he avoids her gaze, she reaches forward to cup his cheek. 

“We didn’t protect you. You’d been whipped with zidian and lost your home, too, but you’re the one who took care of us. No one took care of you, but you’re our brother, my sweet didi.”

Wei Ying’s breath hitches, and instinctively Lan Wangji pulls him close, holds him from behind gently, hopes he can take strength from the embrace. It’s not a full embrace, the position awkward, more of a press of chest against back, his hand a light pressure on his hip, but it seems to help, regardless. It takes a few moments for Wei Ying to compose himself enough that he is willing to release him, and during that time Lan Wangji avoids looking at his siblings, not wishing to see their reactions. 

A-Yuan is abruptly tugging on Wei Ying’s robes.

“A-Die sad? A-Die need a hug?”

Somehow Wei Ying manages a smile for the boy and pulls him up on his lap.

“Ah, my sweet son. That’s exactly what a-die needs.”

The child is happy to oblige, and then he lets Wen Ning take him back.

“You told him to call me guma, not shigu,” Jiang Yanli points out softly. “A-Cheng called him zhizi, not shizhi. And you told him to call A-Cheng shushu, not shishu. You know you’re our brother.”

She sounds almost forlorn, a sharp contrast from her fire when she claimed him as her didi on Phoenix Mountain to Jin Zixun.

Jiang Wanyin takes a step toward the table. 

“Lotus Pier is rebuilt, and so is the Jiang sect,” he interjects. “You’re coming back. I’m giving it back. We’ll undo it.”

The offer is startling, something Lan Wangji didn’t expect from him, and the soft gasp from Wei Ying tells him it is a surprise to him as well. Wei Ying shakes his head. 

“I don’t think it’s possible,” he says tiredly. 

“Why the hell not?!”

He seems almost affronted by the rejection. Lan Wangji can feel Wei Ying shiver, knows he’s struggling. His husband has had to have so many difficult conversations in quick succession, and this one is the hardest so far. And the offer to return the golden core seems to have thrown him. 

“Scarring,” Lan Wangji answers for him, remembering Wen Qing’s words. 

Silence reigns for a moment, the Jiang siblings looking upset, clearly wanting more detail. 

Wei Ying speaks haltingly, tells the tale he hasn’t told Lan Wangji, of being caught in the tea house in Yiling, of trying to escape, of Wen Zhuliu punching him right in the lower dantian, his stitches tearing at the impact. Of being beaten by Wen Chao’s men and burned by Wang Lingjiao.

“I had to get them to leave Yiling,” he said. “If they caught you coming down the mountain, it would’ve all been for nothing. I thought they’d toss me in a cell in Qishan. I didn’t expect Burial Mounds.”

Much of the rest of the story is the same as he told Xichen, this part having been omitted before likely to avoid having to talk about the Core-Melting Hand. This time, though, he also talks about the sword from the Xuanwu cave, the one filled with resentful energy, how it helped him survive Burial Mounds, that he crafted the seal from it during the war to help win it. Not, as the rumors suggested, from Xue Yang’s still-missing piece.

Much of this is new information to Lan Wangji, painting an even clearer picture of how incredibly impossible the odds were against Wei Ying’s survival. 

Wei Ying continues to dab at his sister’s face with his sleeve as he talks, keeping her makeup from running onto her dress as she cries. In the quiet that follows, her soft crying seems to echo in the courtyard.

A-Yuan vocalizes that she needs a hug, and Wen Ning murmurs softly about her special dress that needs to be kept clean. 

“Later,” Wen Ning says, and A-Yuan is assuaged. 

Jiang Wanyin has, during the course of the telling, returned to the table to sit heavily. The customary pinched expression normally on his face is gone, his anger drained away for the moment. 

“All those times I harassed you about your sword, about carrying it and polishing it,” Jiang Wanyin whispers, his voice choked. 

“It’s too heavy for me to wield for more than a minute or so,” Wei Ying says hollowly. “Even to polish it.”

He had taken joy in his cultivation and even having given it up willingly, Lan Wangji knows it’s still something that hurts him deeply. He himself remembers the joy of crossing swords with him on the rooftop, what feels like a lifetime ago now. Bittersweet, never to happen again. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jiang Wanyin finally asks. “You convinced me to expel you from the sect, dammit. Why would you tell Lan Wangji and not us? After he wanted to take you back to Gusu for punishment!”

“He did not tell me until I discovered his golden core was missing,” Lan Wangji says.

Wei Ying is guiltless in that, and he will not let him be blamed. 

“I wished to take him to Gusu for protection and healing, not punishment,” he adds. 

Lan Wangji could see, throughout the war, that Wei Ying was suffering, that something was wrong, had wanted desperately to help him. He wonders if Jiang Wanyin is partly behind Wei Ying’s misconceptions about that, and tries not to be peeved—how much heartache could have been prevented? 

“Wei-g-gongzi did not intend to t-tell anyone,” Wen Ning contributes. 

His voice is sad, with a hint of disapproval for Wei Ying’s decision to withhold it. A-Yuan seems to decide he, too, needs a hug, throwing his arms around the fierce corpse’s neck. 

“Then how do you know?” Jiang Wanyin demands. 

“Wen Ning assisted Wen Qing with the core transplant,” Wei Ying says before Wen Ning can answer. “They were the only people who knew, until Lan Zhan found out.”

He does not, Lan Wangji notes, tell how, clearly sparing Wen Ning more ill-placed ire from Jiang Wanyin. It feels odd to be grateful his husband was injured, but without it, he might have walked away, down the mountain, ignorant of Wei Ying’s suffering. 

“Is that why you stayed, Lan-er-gongzi?”

Jiang Yanli’s gaze is level despite her tears, her eyes sharp, and Lan Wangji feels as though she is weighing him still. 

“En,” he answers simply. “I could only help him if I stayed.”

He had known for some time that his uncle was unlikely to help Wei Ying heal, that hiding him in Gusu would stifle him and destroy him just as it had destroyed his mother. Lan Wangji could continue to walk away, or he could stay. 

“And the marriage?”

Lan Wangji isn’t quite certain what she is asking—perhaps the reason he told Wei Ying of the handfasting?

“It could protect him, even if it was simply political.”

She smiles, but it’s tight. 

“No, I mean would you have told him, if you hadn’t learned?”

He doesn’t need time to consider the question; he assumed Wei Ying would reject him, as he had rejected the prospect of coming with him to Gusu. He had miscommunicated and misunderstood. 

“No,” he says, welcoming her judgment, as he judges himself. “I expected it would be a burden to him, unwelcome.”

Wei Ying startles at the admission, glancing at him. Lan Wangji hates that he sees guilt in his expression over the misunderstanding, runs his hand across his shoulder to comfort him. 

And realizes when his husband’s eyes go a little glassy that he’s run his hand over the hidden bite mark. 

How could he have thought this would be unwelcome?

Jiang Wanyin snorts, and Lan Wangji’s ears burn at the sense of being seen doing something illicit.

“The way he mooned over you? Talked about you all the time.”

He sounds long-suffering, as though Lan Wangji should have been aware of Wei Ying’s regard. Now, of course, he can see nothing else. But before...

“And then after the war, he didn’t,” Jiang Yanli murmurs.

After Wei Ying had survived Burial Mounds and come out scarred and afraid. 

“When I told him, Wei Ying tried to convince me he was unworthy,” Lan Wangji says. “I disagreed.”

Wei Ying tried to push him away before, when they were reunited after his disappearance, and Lan Wangji now knows it was out of a belief that he would somehow taint him.

“He feels himself unworthy of protection and love,” he adds.

A troubled look passes over Jiang Wanyin’s face, and Jiang Yanli just looks sad.

“That would be a-niang’s influence again,” she says softly. “A-Xian, we should have protected you better.”

Wei Ying shakes his head as though to deny their culpability, and she takes his hands. 

“No, A-Xian. She was wrong about your worth, and I hate that she cut you and A-Cheng down so much.”

Jiang Wanyin looks uncomfortable, and Lan Wangji doubts it’s because of his sister’s lack of filial piety. 

“She always compared me to you,” he grates after a moment. “I was never good enough, because you were better. And now you’ll always be better.”

Lan Wangji bristles on Wei Ying’s behalf, but his husband speaks first. 

“I didn’t do it to compete with you, A-Cheng,” Wei Ying says tiredly. “What the fuck was the point of competing when you were dying? I just wanted you to live.”

“And what about you?” Jiang Wanyin retorts. “What about your life? You think I want it to be a competition, you asshole? You told me to abandon you, but you wouldn’t tell me the truth! You keep trying to throw yourself away!”

Wei Ying cringes, and Lan Wangji returns to holding him, his own anger fizzling out as he recognizes the feelings behind Jiang Wanyin’s. 

“You didn’t expect to live this long, did you?” 

The Jiang sect leader’s tone implies it’s not really a question but a realization, and Wei Ying’s flinch implies he’s right. Lan Wangji can’t stop his hold from tightening on Wei Ying, Jiang Wanyin’s words making him feel ill. 

He has known his zhiji didn’t expect to live as long as he has, but neither of them has spoken of it. Wei Ying managed to survive Indoctrination and the Xuanwu, the fall of Lotus Pier and massacre of most of his adopted clan, the removal of his golden core, the fall and entrapment in Burial Mounds, the war… Lan Wangji hates that Jiang Wanyin is right in this, and hates even more that Wei Ying has faced so many situations that could have killed him. 

“You keep protecting other people, but you won’t let anyone protect you!”

Jiang Wanyin is practically panting in anger.

“You always need to be the hero, Wei Wuxian! But all the heroes die!”

He sounds dangerously close to tears, and his words send a jolt of dread through Lan Wangji—just the idea of Wei Ying dying sends his stomach plummeting. He can feel Wei Ying shiver against him. 

Jiang Yanli lets out a long breath, trying to compose herself. She gives Jiang Wanyin a warning look, and he scowls, looking away but clearly making an effort to calm down. 

“We can only move forward,” she says. “A-Xian will just need to learn to let us protect him.”

“He is learning,” Lan Wangji tells her. 

She manages a watery smile.

“When you’re hurt, it hurts us, Xianxian. Please let us help you.”

Wei Ying seems beyond words, and just nods. A tremor runs through him, and Lan Wangji knows he’s exhausted what energy he had left for the day with this conversation. His sister seems to sense this. 

“A-Xian, you look tired.”

Again, Wei Ying only nods, but Lan Wangji is of the opinion there should be no more secrets. 

“He was nearly possessed by a resentful spirit a few days ago,” he supplies. 

Jiang Yanli gasps, and he tries not to be pleased that she will want to fix this, too. It will strengthen her resolve. 

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying protests, but it seems more of a token protest. 

“Fortunately, xiongzhang was visiting. He calmed it with Liebing. There are now talismans where we sleep.”

“It tried while he was sleeping?” Jiang Cheng almost demands. “Is it still so dangerous there?!”

“I fought her,” Wei Ying murmurs, almost petulant. “She was liberated in the end.”

“Not the point, Wei Wuxian!”

“A-Cheng,” Jiang Yanli scolds. “We can talk about this later. I need to change so we can go with him and talk to Wen Qing. I expect she will have more to say about it, as well.”

“J-jiejie needs some items from the market, so we need to b-buy them before we go back,” Wen Ning offers.

Jiang Yanli nods firmly.

“Then we’ll meet you in the market. And then I’ll be finally able to get a hug from my zhizi.”

A-Yuan beams at her, already recognizing himself as her nephew, and she stands and shakes out her cloak to don it. Jiang Wanyin packs the tureen back in the basket.

“Get this idiot to eat the rest of his bowl,” he says gruffly. “He’s too fucking skinny.”

“A-Cheng, language,” Wei Ying says almost automatically. 

“Jiang-shushu said a bad word?” A-Yuan asks.

Jiang Wanyin looks almost panicked for a moment, then frowns.

“Yeah, yeah, Jiang-shushu said a bad word. Don’t be like Jiang-shushu.”

He gestures to the boy, who immediately climbs off Wen Ning’s lap and runs over, latching onto his leg, and he reaches down and rubs A-Yuan’s head affectionately. 

“Get your a-die to eat the rest of his soup before he goes shopping, okay?”

A-Yuan nods emphatically, happy to be given such a task, then rushes to his a-die’s side, climbing up onto the seat Jiang Yanli vacated.

Jiang Wanyin stares at Wei Ying for a long while. 

“We’ll fix this. We’ll figure something out,” he says heavily. “I owe you.”

Wei Ying shakes his head, obstinate. 

“You don’t. I owed the Jiang sect everything.”

That proclamation doesn’t seem to sit well with his brother, who scowls.

“No. No debts between family. It’s not a debt I owe, and you didn’t owe me your Golden Core. It’s what you deserve as my brother. I let Jin Guangshan’s stupid mind games get to me.”

Jiang Yanli, back in her cloak, her wedding robes and headdress hidden, approaches him and touches his elbow, murmurs his name. Jiang Wanyin glances at her, and nods, taking the basket from her. 

“We’re the Twin Heroes of Yunmeng, Wei Wuxian, and our sect motto is to attempt the impossible. We’ll find a way.”

Jiang Wanyin sweeps out of the courtyard with Jiang Yanli, and Lan Wangji can’t help but wonder if he spends his free time planning dramatic exits. 

Wei Ying releases a long breath, sagging against him the moment they’re gone. 

“Always needs to have the last word,” he murmurs. 

It’s almost a mirror of what Lan Wangji is thinking, and he can’t help a huff of amusement. Wei Ying turns to him with a tired smile.

“Aiya, all that was missing was a cape for him to swish dramatically.”

Lan Wangji has seen some of those capes, and can easily imagine such a thing. 

“Wei Ying also has a flair for the dramatic,” he comments.

“Yeah, but I have style,” he retorts with a snort. 

He turns to the soup, thankfully not needing prompting. Lan Wangji had expected it would have gone cold by now, but it’s still steaming. Likely the scent aroused Wei Ying’s hunger. He suspects the bowl has a talisman affixed to or carved onto the bottom, meant to keep the contents warm. Somewhat extravagant, but it allows his husband to enjoy hot soup even after all the arguing, so he is grateful for the forethought. 

They will have some time, he knows. Jiang Yanli’s robes are intricate and will need to be removed with care to avoid damage, and the headdress will also be complex to remove. She will need to wash the makeup from her face as well. 

Time enough for Wei Ying to finish eating, to dawdle a little while shopping to account for the exhaustion he undoubtedly feels, to take a breath before more difficult conversation. 

They have time, a gift Wei Ying apparently didn’t expect to have, and Lan Wangji will work to ensure he has much more. 

The Twin Prides, after all, now have the support of the Twin Jades.

[iworshipkeanureeves]

Our last night (John Wick x You)

Summary: You have a very dangerous blood oath to fulfill tomorrow and this might be you last night spent with John.

Warnings: angst, smut (but it’s pretty vanilla)

Words: 1535

That damned marker… There’s no doubt there will be an open contract tomorrow… On your life, and very possibly John’s too. Still, the rules cannot be broken, not this time, the oath has to be fulfilled, even if it means going after the High Table.

The preparation has begun, and here you are, polishing blades for the most important and difficult job so far. John is right here by your side, cleaning weapons, counting his shiny bullets, even though he shouldn’t be. After all, it isn’t John’s blood inside that medallion; he just couldn’t leave you alone in this. You know he loves you unconditionally and it breaks your heart to see him standing right beside you like that; he’s calm and collected, pretending everything’s fine. But it’s not, just not this time. It is an impossible task, and even he, John Wick himself, might not be able to pull it off.

The room is silent, all you can hear is metal hitting hard wood of your dining table, echoing among tall walls of this living room, which currently feels so out of life, and John, breathing deeply and heavily, filling your soul with guilt, regret and sorrow. You really want to say something, though, you know that any sound leaving your throat will crack immediately upon reaching your lips and the last thing you need right now is to burst into tears, putting even more mental strain on top of it all.

“Go get some rest, I’ll finish this” John finally breaks the silence, taking a polished blade out of your hands and giving you a soft forehead kiss. You can feel your eyes watering and it isn’t left unnoticed. “What’s on your mind, honey?” he takes your hand, gently rubbing small circles inside your palm, but you look away, trying to pull yourself together. “Talk to me, please…” John puts the blade down and cups your face, wiping an emerging tear with his thumb.

“I’m afraid this might be our last night together,” you can’t even face him; “there’s no way we can survive tomorrow.”

“Honey, Y/N, look at me,” he lifts your chin up, “I understand it’s scary, we have to be prepared for anything, it’s the High Table we’re going after, but what I know for sure, I’ll always be by your side and I’ll protect you at all costs.”

“John, I’ll never forgive myself if it costs your life,” you can’t hold it for any longer and tears start streaming down your face, you suddenly turn into a huge mess and Johns seems to be apprehensive. He pulls you close, pressing your head to his chest tightly, and starts stroking your hair gently. “No, honey, it won’t. You know I won’t let that happen.”

You can feel John trembling, his heart pounding, and it makes you feel completely helpless. “Even if we manage this job, the contracts on us will be up before midnight. John, we have nowhere to go, nowhere to hide and I’m so tired of all this, I can’t even think about the possibility of having to do this all alone and I…”

“You’ll never be alone, Y/N,” John cuts you off. “This is it, I’m taking you upstairs, you are clearly overworked” he picks you up, kissing your nose, giving you a compassionate smile. Unfortunately, his lips are quivering, unveiling his concern, and it upsets you that he won’t admit he’s worried too.

“Would you like me to fill up a tub for you, Y/N?” John suggests, however, all of a sudden you feel so weary from such emotional overwhelm, that even taking a bath seems to be too hard of a task for you. “I just really want to go to bed tonight, if that’s okay,” you reply.

John lays you down gently, placing your legs down first and then slowly releasing your shoulders, one hand still holding your head. He kneels beside you “Y/N, you know I’m not good at expressing my feelings, and maybe I don’t say this often enough, but I really love you, more than anything in this world,” he whispers. “You don’t have to tell me, because you always show me, John, and I love you too, I always will” you pull him closer, reaching his lips and kissing him lovingly.

John sees you struggling to take you leggings off, so he’s more than glad to help you, slowly sliding them down your legs, rewarding each of your knees with a small kiss. He can see you’re exhausted and you don’t mind him helping you undress. John straddles you lightly, so that he could reach better to take your sweater off, leaving you wearing only lacy purple panties.

“Do you want them off as well?” he tugs lightly, placing soft kisses over your belly; you nod, adding “I also want you to stay here with me; we can finish packing in the morning”.

John is quick to undress himself, he turns the lights off and slides under the duvet hugging you tightly, your legs entwine and you sense pure intimacy surrounding the atmosphere. There is something cathartic about your naked bodies touching tonight, and you can feel John raw and exposed. He’s not John Wick any longer, he’s just your John, soft and vulnerable.

“John, what if it’s actually our last night?” you kiss his shoulder, gently stroking his exposed hip, feeling his body radiating soothing warmth.

“I really want to believe it isn’t, but who knows, Y/N, we can only enjoy the time we have,” he caress your cheek as he leans in to kiss your lips, his hand slowly traveling down your side, reaching your waist. “I’m afraid too,” he adds.

Now, it got real.

John has finally admitted to you, that there is a chance. A chance, that this night indeed might be the last for you.

Surprisingly, after his words, the fear has escaped your body, and all that remains is sweet melancholy intertwining with ineffable sensation of love, rushing through your veins.

“Make love to me” you mumble softly, sinking into his lips, slowly reaching down his hip, stroking him gently. Without breaking the kiss, John fondles your breasts, his thumbs rubbing small circles on your nipples, with subtle groans leaving his mouth.

John’s hand travels down your belly, spreading your folds, finding your clit. He’s working slowly making you shiver, his lips reaching your neck, then tongue sliding on your collarbones. You can feel John’s finger teasing your entrance, his thumb still rubbing you tenderly, his lips grazing your hard nipples, forcing you to push him closer, burying his face in-between your breasts.

Realizing how badly you need this, John’s finger goes in to warm you up a little, pushing in and out. As he starts to go even lower, trailing kisses all over your torso, you have to stop him, this is not what you need tonight, “I want you inside of me, John, filling me up, making me feel whole,” you sigh and he pulls his finger out, coming back to lips, kissing them dearly.

John strokes you outer thigh, pulling your knee up on top of his side, pulling you closer, giving your folds one last touch. You have accommodated to the darkness of the room and you can see his eyes set on you, revealing a hint of despair peeking through his affectionate gaze as he lines up with your entrance.

You place your palms on John’s bottom and push him in reassuringly, he enters you sideways, then turns a little so that he could be on top, slowly filling you up, stretching your burning walls. He caresses your cheek and leans in closer to your ear whispering “Is this okay, love?”

“Yes baby, don’t rush, I’m not chasing any highs today, I just want you close” you reply, kissing him, as you start pressing his bottom lightly just to pace him.

Every thrust feels like heaven, it’s like you’re bathing in love and everything that has bothered you before is gone now. It’s just you and him, making love, enjoying each other intimately.

John slowly pulls out, gently brushing between your folds, spreading your wetness all over. His tip feels amazing toying against your clit and as he pushes back in, you can feel yourself tightening, your abdomen is cramping and you can feel yourself getting close.

“John, I’m about to…” you whimper, with your nails scraping his back. “Let go, baby, I want to feel you come undone” he looks at you, fixing your hair, which have gotten stuck in your mouth. Seconds later, an extremely strong orgasm overpowers your body and you hold onto John tightly, clenching around his cock, breathing heavily. He slows down a little, still looking you straight in the eyes, he whispers “I love you,” and, just as you reply him “I love you too,” you can feel him spilling, his warm juices covering your insides, his throbbing cock pulsating at your walls, leaving both of you moaning and grunting.

You stop John from pulling out and you stay like this for a while, because you just can’t force yourself to let him go.

You are afraid you’ll be letting him for good.

[kelyon]

Golden Rings 9: A Haircut

The Storybrooke Sequel to Golden Cuffs

Mrs. Gold takes a trip to the past

Read on AO3

She is in bed with her husband and they are having breakfast. Their bed is so large and so blue that it seems to be a tranquil ocean, bathed in morning light. The breakfast tray is a sunny island where they have escaped to be alone together.

Both of them are naked and both of them are laughing. She has long since sated her hunger, and her husband never needs to eat. But they linger over the meal. Neither one of them wants to get out of bed, to dress and start the day in earnest. If they leave the bed, they will spend the day apart. They cannot bear that.

Far too soon, they will be separated for far too long.

She picks up a leftover berry from a bowl on the tray and holds it between two fingers. Dark, sweet juices drip from the tender flesh. 

She presses the berry between her husband’s gray-green lips. He sucks it into his mouth, along with her fingers. He holds her wrist so he can lick purple juices off her hand.

Desire throbs in her belly. When he releases her, she picks up another berry. This time, she waits before she offers it to her husband. Waits until the dark juice pools down into her palm.

He doesn’t take the fruit until she offers it to him. He caresses her arm with both hands and slurps the berry juice with a noise that is obscene and delightful. He kisses and sucks and licks down her hand and across her pulse point. A shiver erupts from her secret places, flowing up her spine and out of her mouth in a moan. 

Her husband’s eyes are as dark as the berry. He never eats, but he looks so hungry. 

She knows that look. She knows him like her own heart.

The last berry, she crushes in her hand. This time, instead of offering it to her husband, she presses the fruit against the nape of her neck so it squishes against her collarbone. Purple juices explode over her chest. A few perfect drops roll down the curve of her breast.

She tosses her hair and lies back on the pillows. Her body is a wordless invitation that her husband is all too eager to accept. He reaches for her and--

KNOCK!

KNOCK!

KNOCK!

Both of them groan at the interruption. The kiss her husband gives her is much more chaste than either of them wants. 

“Stay here, sweetheart. I’ll go see who that is, kill them, and be right back.”

She laughs and puts her hands on his shoulders, berries forgotten. “Don’t kill anyone today unless they’re a threat. Please.”

“If you insist, my dear.” His eyes light up. “Do you want to come with me, to see who it is?”

“Will that be safe?”

He takes her hand and kisses her wedding ring. “I will keep you safe.”

They are in the foyer, both of them dressed. She is hidden away behind one of the stone banisters, looking down on the area. Her husband leans against the round table, his long, leather-clad legs stretched out in front of him. With a flick of his fingers, he opens the front doors. 

A man strides in to the castle. He is a prince, or seems to be, all flaxen-hair and noble bearing.  Like most people who come to see her husband, he is angry. The prince blames her husband for changes happening to the woman he loves. The girl took a potion to forget the prince and now she’s on a murderous rampage. 

She shakes her head. From the moment she heard about that memory potion, she knew it was a bad idea. 

The prince haggles with her husband, and eventually they make a deal. Her husband hands the prince a map, and the prince takes off his fur-trimmed cloak and lays it on the table. 

When the prince is gone, she comes out of hiding. She walks down the stone stairs to join her husband.

He wraps his arm around her waist and she burrows into the nape of his neck.

“Do you think there’s hope for them, Rumple?”

“Oh those two have plenty of hope.” He squeezes her. “Hope and true love will be enough to get them through any curse.”

“And us too?”

“We’ll get through it, sweetheart. We’ll be together again before you know it.”

He holds her and he kisses her and in that moment the press of his lips is enough to get her through an eternity.

****

Mrs. Gold opened her eyes and rolled over in the empty bed. Every morning lately, she'd been having the weirdest dreams. Like all dreams, the details faded the more awake she got. But today there was one thing she remembered clearly.

“Rumple,” she whispered.

She rubbed her eyes. Rumple.

What the fuck did that mean?

****

She got dressed and joined Mr. Gold in the dining room. Over the past few days, he had started making breakfast as well as dinner. He didn’t resent her eating anymore. He expected her to eat, and that was weird. Mr. Gold was normally so aware of her caloric intake. He didn’t want her to put on too much weight. But now, with the way he offered her butter and meat and carbs, it almost felt like he was trying to fatten her up. Was that his new thing? Did he want more curves on a woman? Had she been too skinny for him?

Or did he just not care what she looked like anymore?

Breakfast today was oatmeal, with whole milk and slivered almonds and cinnamon-sugar. The china bowl was still steaming when Mrs. Gold walked in. He must have heard her moving around upstairs and gotten everything ready. It was so weird. Why was he serving her instead of her serving him? Why was he anticipating her needs? When did he start caring about her? 

Mr. Gold was seated at his place at the head of the table, fully dressed in a smart suit. At least that was normal. A porcelain cup was halfway between the saucer and his mouth. He liked his tea creamy and way too sweet. If he kept up this new habit, he’d get cavities. Or diabetes. 

Before she sat down, Mrs. Gold stood beside her husband’s chair with her hands behind her back. She was wearing a fuzzy pink mohair sweater, a very short gray skirt that flared out at the hem, and pink thigh-high socks. It was more of an ‘innocent’ look than she normally went for, almost a little girl style. That was never something Mr. Gold had expressed more than a passing interest in, but maybe he would like it now. Maybe he would look at her. 

 He did not.

All week, she’d been switching up her outfits, playing with different looks. Tight, open, leather, lace. She kept trying to find something that would get his approval--or even his attention. Something that would get him to want her again. But nothing had done the job.

She cleared her throat. “It’s, um. It’s Friday, Mr. Gold.”

He set the teacup down, but kept his head turned away. “So it is.”

“I’m prepared, Mr. Gold. Just like every Friday.”

“I’m sure you are, dear.” He reached for the newspaper and unfolded the front page.

It took every bit of courage for Mrs. Gold to ask the question. She knew what the answer was going to be.

“Shall I present myself for inspection, Mr. Gold?”

She moved to the edge of the table. One word from him and she would throw herself against the flat surface. Her fingers flicked against the hem of her skirt. It was Friday. No panties day. 

Every Friday Mr. Gold ordered her to bend over at breakfast so he could check to make sure she had followed the rule. Sometimes his inspections were very thorough. He could finger her with one hand and drink black coffee with the other, perfectly nonchalant as he made her writhe and moan. If he did that this morning, it would be the first time he had put his hands on her in days.

She really wasn’t surprised when he gave her only blank politeness. “No thank you, Mrs. Gold. Won’t you sit down? Your tea is getting cold.”

She wasn’t surprised, just devastated. But she knew better than to throw a tantrum. Mr. Gold hated it when she was hysterical or clingy, when she made demands. He was the one in power, he always reminded her. He decided what happened to her body, and when.

Even when he broke his own rules and upended his own routines, he was in control. He was doing what he wanted. She just had to try to keep up.

Eyes closed, she took a sip of tea. He prepared it so by the time she got to the table it would be hot, but not scalding. Mr. Gold had never asked how she took it. Every day this week, he had given her a cup with a little sugar and no cream. It wasn’t bad like this, but if she’d had a choice she would have done the exact opposite--a splash of skim milk, but no sugar.   

“Would you like to read the newspaper for me?” Mr. Gold slid that morning’s copy of the Storybrooke Daily Mirror across the table. 

 Mrs. Gold took it and nodded. This was a new task. Instead of Mr. Gold reading the paper in silence while she made herself busy in the kitchen, now he had her read the articles out loud while he listened. It was an easy service to do for him, and he seemed to appreciate it. When his tea and meal were finished, Mr. Gold would sit back in his chair with his eyes closed. He had never mentioned enjoying her speaking voice before. But now it seemed to relax him--as long as she only said words that other people had written. 

At least it was something. 

“First article. The headline says: ‘Coma Patient Escapes from Hospital, Found By Toll Bridge.’ That must be what this picture goes to. I--” Mrs. Gold stopped speaking mid-thought as she looked at the picture on the front page.

It was a grainy black-and-white shot of five people standing by the river. Sheriff Graham was at the front of the line. Then there was a kid--was that the mayor’s son? How did he get involved in all this? In the photo, the boy was under the arm of some blonde in a leather jacket. Mrs. Gold had never seen her before. Next was Mary Margaret Blanchard, the schoolteacher.

But what had given her pause was the other man in the picture. Based on the hospital gown, he was obviously the coma patient who had gone for a walk in the woods. But there was something about him. His hair, maybe? His bearing? He looked… familiar…

“Do we know this man?” She showed the picture to Mr. Gold. “The caption says he’s a John Doe, but I swear I’ve seen him somewhere.”

Mr. Gold only glanced at the picture, but he still saw enough to make him grin. “He does look like a charming fellow, though I can’t say I remember seeing him around Storybrooke.” He gave the paper back to her. “Maybe you knew him in another life.”

She scoffed. “Maybe.” 

Between bites of oatmeal she read the article, then the rest of the front page. From there, she read the editorials, the regional news, and the weather. Mr. Gold stopped her before she got to the sports section, but she would have kept going. She would have read the comics and the classifieds and even the fucking sudoku puzzle if it would have made him happy.

But it was time to open up the shop. Lately, that had become the time for her to make herself scarce. Earlier that week, he had sent her to the hardware store to have keys made for the house and the shop. Then she had a day spent alone, reveling in the novelty of being in Mr. Gold’s house when Mr. Gold wasn’t around. That had gotten boring after a few hours. She preferred it when Mr. Gold kept her on a shorter leash.

“What do you think you’ll do today, Mrs. Gold?”

And that was another problem. Storybrooke was not that big. If Mr. Gold didn’t want her in the shop and she had nothing to do in the house, that meant she had to spend a lot more time running errands. Since Monday, she’d already been to every store in town, including going to Granny’s twice. She’d even stalked the aisles of Standard Clocks, the town’s most unnecessary store.

But Mr. Gold hadn’t given her any “special tasks” lately. And he clearly wasn’t going to tie her up in the back of the shop any time soon. If he wasn’t going to use her, what use did she have? Her days had become an endless string of trying to keep herself busy.

“I… um. I guess I could go to the hair salon.” She didn’t have an appointment, but the stylist wasn’t going to turn her away. 

Mr. Gold nodded and pulled her gray trench coat out of the hall closet. He helped her put it on. This outfit was a little chilly. The gaps of skin showing at her midriff and the tops of her thighs were supposed to be part of the appeal. But if he wanted her to cover up, she wasn’t going to argue. 

“Is there anything you’d like me to do with my hair, Mr. Gold?”   

The time he spent considering her updo was the longest he’d looked at her all morning. “No, I don’t think so. You could start wearing it down more, if you’d like to.”

“Really?” Normally the best thing she could do with her wild hair was keep it out of the way.

Mr. Gold shrugged. “Only if you want to. It’s your hair, Mrs. Gold. It’s your decision.”

Of course he would say that. Shoulders slumped, Mrs. Gold followed her husband out the door. 

****

She wasted as much time as she could. Only a few days ago, she had strutted around Storybrooke like a model on a catwalk. Now she felt like an actual cat, some flea-bitten stray no one would let inside. 

Her gray suede booties had clicked up and down Main Street for hours and there were still hours to go before the day was over. 

She could just go to the shop. Mr. Gold had never said that she wasn’t allowed to be there. And even if he had, it might be worth it to break a rule just to get him angry at her. At this point, she’d take the hardest lesson he could give. It was better than having him look at her and say nothing.

If she was a cat, Mr. Gold acted like he’d found her on the side of the road with her legs crushed by a car. He looked at her with pity and horror and dispassionate calculation. Every day this week he’d looked at her like he was wondering if he should break her neck, put her out of her misery. 

Maybe he should. A broken neck was fatal, but at least it would be quick. Better than trying to live with a broken heart.

Mrs. Gold snorted at her own thoughts. “Okay, drama queen,” she said out loud. 

The clock on her cell phone said it was 3 PM. Without realizing it, she had been wandering through the residential areas. Her feet had been taking her along the familiar path from the elementary school to Old Town.

This was the bad side of Old Town, down by the water. Any time there was a storm on the ocean, this neighborhood got the worst of it. Mr. Gold often grumbled that these houses were more trouble than they were worth. He said it’d be more lucrative to demolish the whole area and let the rabble get washed out to sea.

She’d spent more time in this neighborhood than anywhere else in the world.

There was only one house on this block that Mr. Gold didn’t own. All of his properties were whitewashed and repainted every year, so they always looked the same. In an act of bold but pointless defiance, one house on this block had been painted yellow with lilac trim. Both colors had bleached and faded and been covered up with grime. In just a few years, the paint had cracked and peeled so much it almost matched the shaggy bark of the silver maple that hung over the power lines in the front yard. The gutters on that house overflowed with withered leaves--not just one autumn’s worth, but many.  

The only thing that looked even remotely new was a cheap plastic sign that swung from a post by the sidewalk:

Hair Today!

Mrs. Gold had told Janine that was a stupid name for a salon. Anyone with half a brain would think, “Hair today, gone tomorrow.” And the exclamation point looked desperately cheerful.  

But by that time, Janine Woolverton wasn’t listening to her opinions anymore. 

There was a second sign by the house’s side door. This one said “Walk Right In!!!” At least it wasn’t spelled “Rite.”

Instead of going in through the business entrance, Mrs. Gold went to the purple front porch. She could hear the TV blaring from outside. So Terri was home. She had always been home by 3 PM. All these years and she’d never missed an episode of Sands of Crime. 

Every day after school, Janine’s mom used to give them Kool-Aid and peanut butter crackers and they’d watch soap operas together. The girls would joke about the cheesy dialogue and predict the plot twists. Terri would shush them and threaten to change the channel to the preschool shows if they couldn’t watch quietly.

That was all a lifetime ago. 

“Hello!” Mrs. Gold called as she let herself in.

It was the same TV show. It was the same living room. But this was now a completely different world. Terri Woolverton sat alone in her dead husband’s recliner with both feet on the floor. A TV tray full of dirty dishes and half-eaten food was in front of her.

When Mrs. Gold came in, Terri’s gaze drifted away from the screen for just a moment. Then she turned back to the show. There was no laughter in her watery eyes, no interest in the convoluted plot. She wasn’t watching TV because she liked it, but just because it was something to do. It was an hour to fill where she didn’t have to think about how to fill that hour. Maybe it distracted her too. Maybe it gave her something to think about besides everything she had lost.

Mrs. Gold opened her mouth but found herself choking. The air smelled terrible in this house. Everything was stale and mildewy. This close to the bay, there was the reek of brackish water and seaweed. The family couldn't afford to deep clean after the last flood. 

Not to mention the dead fish smell that covered everyone who worked at the cannery. Peter Woolverton had worked there for twenty years, his son Andrew for only two. Both of them were gone now, but that smell would linger until the end of time.

But the worst smell for Mrs. Gold was the combination of lilies, lavender, and tuberoses that came from a bouquet on top of the TV. It was an attractive arrangement--orange, purple, and yellow flowers coming together in all their autumn glory. The bouquet was the only part of the room that didn’t look faded and washed-out--including Terri. 

The bouquet was fresh, and there wasn’t a card. It must have come from the florist personally. Mrs. Gold wondered how often that man visited his nieces and sister-in-law. He liked to give people flowers, especially when he couldn’t do anything that was actually helpful.

“Right!” Mrs. Gold said with as much cheer as she could fake. “I’m just here to see Janine. So I’ll… head on downstairs!”

Terri Woolverton didn’t say a word. She kept her eyes on the TV. As Mrs. Gold turned the corner down to the basement, she saw the old woman slowly rub her hand over her heart. 

****

Mrs. Gold remembered pictures hanging on the wall by the stairs leading from the living room to the basement. There used to be evidence that a happy family had once lived in this house. The oldest pictures were in black and white--Peter Woolverton and his sister Linda as kids on a camping trip. Mrs. Gold had always been fascinated by those pictures in particular. You couldn’t tell in the photos, but Peter and Linda had the exact same sky-blue eyes. It was a family trait.

Slowly, the little family had grown. There was a blurry color snapshot of Peter and Linda as young adults at the beach--both of them standing arm in arm with the person they would later marry. All four people in that picture were younger than Mrs. Gold was now. But they looked so happy, so sure of their choices. All of them loved the person they planned to spend the rest of their lives with. And their marriages had been happy, for as long as they had lasted.

Kids had come along and there were pictures of all of them. Andrew had been the first baby in the family. Janine had beat her only cousin out of the womb by a mere eight days. A picture showed Terri and Linda posing belly-to-belly with their unborn daughters. The youngest was Chloe, Janine and Andrew’s little sister. It was never a secret that she had been a surprise, but she had also been a happy one. 

The last picture with everyone together had been when three girls had graduated from high school--the two cousins and their best friend. Mrs. Gold remembered that picture being full of blue eyes and big smiles. It had been a day of hope and possibilities. The future was in front of them, the Valedictorian had said in her speech. They just had to go for it!

The day after that picture had been taken, Linda got her diagnosis.  

Her husband had sold his store on Main Street to pay the medical bills.

A month after Linda died, Peter and Andrew were in their car crash.

And now all the pictures were gone. There was no proof that the happiness had ever been real. It was all just a memory. No better than a dream.

Rumple.

Mrs. Gold blinked. Where had that come from? Weird. 

She took a breath, and moved on. 

****

 A pink shower curtain blocked off the rest of the basement from the salon area. Didn't do much to block the sound of the washer and dryer when they were running. A section of the cement floor was covered in a thin laminate that was meant to look like black and white tiles. Glossy white particle board covered three walls of a space just big enough for about three people to move around comfortably. That section of the room was lit by bright fluorescent lights.

There was a stained white reception desk and a sagging loveseat by the door--along with a pile of decades-old magazines. Further in, there was a sink for washing hair, a domed hairdryer, and one office chair on wheels to go back and forth between the two. The only proper stylist chair was in front of the giant mirror that made up the entire fourth wall. The jail cell in the Storybrooke sheriff’s station was bigger than the whole place. 

This was where Janine Woolverton had decided to spend the rest of her life. At least, she would say, until things got better. But who did she think she was kidding? Nothing ever got better in Storybrooke. 

When Mrs. Gold came in, Janine was hunched over a pile of papers--invoices and bills. She had a cordless phone wedged between her shoulder and her ear. She ran her fingers through her short hair--cleverly dyed to be the same honey-blonde it had been since she was a little girl.

“No, the twenty-five dollar perm is with the senior citizen’s discount.” Janine paused while the person on the other line spoke. “Yes, that is a lot of money, but we do include a free wash.” Another pause. Janine closed her eyes and pressed the heel of her hand between her eyebrows. “Of course, you could just use a curling iron, but wouldn’t you feel better knowing you’re in the hands of a professional?” Her eyes shot open into an icy glare to the unseen client. “Excuse me ma’am, I am a professional. I went to school for this.” The edge was creeping into her voice, despite her obvious efforts to stay professional. “I have bills to pay too. Everybody does.” Finally, Janine saw Mrs. Gold waiting in the doorway. “Well, almost everybody.”

Without another word to the customer, she pressed the button on the phone and docked it in the base.

“Mrs. Gold.” It was hard to tell how much of Janine’s annoyance was left over from her phone call and how much of it was brand-new, just for her. “I didn’t realize you had an appointment today.”

   “I don’t, actually,” Mrs. Gold kept her voice perky. She hung up her purse and coat and picked up a magazine she’d already read three times. “But I thought you might squeeze me in.”

Janine looked at the clock on her desk. “I do have someone coming in at 3:15.” 

“Oh, that’s great, you have plenty of time!” She took a plastic cape for herself and strutted over to the sink. 

Janine sighed, very loudly, but trudged over to Mrs. Gold and wrapped the cape around her shoulders. 

“This is why I keep coming back here,” she said. “The great customer service.” 

She leaned back in the office chair and allowed Janine to wash her hair. The warm water felt amazing, and Janine had just the right technique--firm, but not painful. She felt herself melting into the expert touch. God, when was the last time anyone had played with her hair? 

While Mrs. Gold was being toweled off, Mary Margaret Blanchard came through the business door and down the basement steps. She stopped in her tracks when she passed the pink shower curtain. 

“Am I late? I let my last class go to the buses early so I could make it here on time.”

“No, you’re fine, Mary Margaret.” Janine sighed and began to gather Mrs. Gold’s hair into clips. “I just, y’know, had an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

Mrs. Gold smiled brightly. The schoolteacher stepped backwards, like she had come upon a wolf while walking through the woods.  

“Didn’t I see you in the paper today?” Mrs. Gold asked. There was a knack to holding people captive using nothing but small talk and direct eye contact. Sweet little Miss Blanchard was an easy, easy, victim. “You found that man in the woods, didn’t you? He is so handsome! And tall too. Though that doesn’t always mean what you think it might. After all, Mr. Gold is--”

“Tilt your head forward please! I have to get the back here.”

Outwardly, Janine’s words were nothing but professional instructions. But her tone made it very clear that she would rather cut off Mrs. Gold’s tongue than her hair.  

Mary Margaret had not sat down, and now she began to slowly back out of the salon. “You’re busy,” she said. “We can reschedule my appointment. I’ll call you.”

“No, it’ll just be another few minutes!” Janine began.

But Mary Margaret shook her head. “It’s fine. Maybe I’ll let my hair grow out a little anyway.”

“No, with a cut like yours, you’ve got to keep it trimmed--” Janine kept trying to talk, but Mary Margaret was already up the stairs. The door crashed shut as she left.

Very slowly, Janine put down her scissors. She didn’t look at Mrs. Gold’s herself, but spoke to her reflection in the mirror. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Her voice was soft, a whisper borne of too many emotions happening all at once. “That was a real customer, a paying customer. And you had to scare her off.”

Under the plastic cape, Mrs. Gold crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m a paying customer too! You know I tip a hell of a lot better than Miss Teacher’s Salary there.”

Janine yanked the clips out of Mrs. Gold’s hair. “You don’t even need a haircut today! I told you I was expecting someone! But you think you can make the world sit up and beg just because of who you married.”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

With her lips pressed together, under the harsh lighting,  Janine looked twenty years older than she was. Blue eyes, blonde hair, an expression more tired than angry. She really was a dead ringer for her dearly departed Aunt Linda. 

She sounded like her too. “What makes you think you can treat people this way? You were raised better than that.”

Mrs. Gold ripped the cape away from her neck and stood up. Where the fuck was her purse? She needed to put on more lipstick. Maybe she should buy a new shade. One tube of this lipstick cost more than Janine Woolverton’s entire trashy wardrobe.

Breathing deeply, she put the lipstick on by memory. She didn’t look at herself in the mirror. She didn’t want to see Janine sweeping up hair in the background.

By the time she pulled out her wallet, everything was a little calmer. At least she wouldn’t need to reapply her mascara. She was counting out fifty dollar bills when the door upstairs slammed open. 

A little girl’s voice shouted out. “I’m home!” 

Chloe Woolverton thundered down the stairs with the energy of a child who had two full days before she had to think about subtraction again. She appeared in the doorway. Her backpack was bigger than she was. God, was that Andrew’s old backpack? Was she using it as a memorial or could they not afford to buy basic school supplies?

When Chloe saw Mrs. Gold, her mouth fell open in a smile. She ran up to her with her arms spread out. “Are you back?”

Mrs. Gold crouched down with her knees together and hugged the little girl. How could she be so tiny and so huge at the same time? 

“I missed you too, Chloe. How are you doing? How’s school?”

“School is dumb. But we’re gonna have a Halloween party on Monday! Are you gonna spend the night? Do you remember when we did makeovers and I looked like a princess and we had pizza? That was so much fun!”

She couldn’t break away. She couldn’t answer. A thousand years ago, her and Janine and their friend Mara used to have sleepovers at each other’s houses every month.  When it was Jeanine’s turn to host, they would bribe Chloe into good behavior with the promise of makeovers. Janine would curl her blonde hair, and Mara would put makeup on her. She would help Chloe pick out jewelry and dress up clothes and they would improvise a story about whatever kind of heroine she wanted to be. They had always taken a Polaroid of the final result.

Where were those pictures now? Had Janine and Mara gotten rid of them? Had they destroyed any proof that they had ever spent time with her?

 “I can’t stay,” she told Chloe. “I have to go back to my house for dinner.”

“Mrs. Gold has to be available for her husband,” Janine said, with more spite than was even remotely necessary.

Chloe looked at her sister like she had a question she didn’t know how to ask. 

Mrs. Gold squeezed her shoulder. “But what are you going to be for Halloween?”

“A bride!” Chloe perked up. “Mom has an old white dress I can wear! And Mara’s gonna make me a veil! I am gonna look soooo beautiful!”

“A bride?” Mrs. Gold’s voice was strained but she tried not to think about it. “Do you have a groom?”

Chloe shook her head. “I don’t think that matters.”

Forcing herself to laugh, Mrs. Gold stood up. The fifties were still in her wallet. She laid six of them on the desk. Janine scowled at the money, but took it. Mrs. Gold gave a last look at two of the people who had once meant so much to her.

But that was all before.

She took her coat and put it on, just like Mr. Gold had done for her this morning.  

“Actually, Chloe, when you grow up, you’re gonna find out that who you marry matters a whole bunch!” 

[elesianne]

A Silmarillion fanfic for @feanorianweek​ day 1: Maedhros

Summary: In the happy days of Valinor, Maedhros and Fingon celebrate to mark the happy occasion of Maedhros moving out of his family home.

Pairing: Maedhros/Fingon; Length: ~2,400 words; Rating: Teen and up audiences

Some keywords: romance, implied sexual content, fluff, humour

AO3 link

*

In the warmth of your smile

When Maitimo is given a position at court as his grandfather's secretary, he gets his own room at the palace, too.

Findekáno squeals when he hears of that. His eyes shine as he says, 'I intend to see how loud I can make you scream.'

Maitimo blushes against his will and replies, 'You are one who is likely to scream. Please keep your voice down for now, Finno. We are not yet there.' They are in his room in his home, and in the next room is Makalaurë. He is currently practising on his flute but might be told to stop at any moment by Fëanáro or Nerdanel for it is late. Even early-rising Tyelkormo might tire of Makalaurë's late-night practice.

'But we will be soon!' Findekáno does lower his voice, though he beams excitedly at Maitimo still. 'You will ask for a room far away from grandpapa, won't you? And from any keen-eared busybodies.'

Maitimo can't help grinning too. 'As far away as I can manage. And grandfather's seneschal likes me very much so I think he will fulfil my requests.'

Findekáno's grin melts to softness as he replies, 'Everyone likes you, Russandol, and with good reason.' He sweeps Maitimo's hair away from his forehead. 'You have enchantingly pretty hair, and the rest of you isn't very bad either.'

His voice as dry as he can make it, Maitimo asks, running a hand down Findekáno's chest, 'Not very bad? I have a memory from last week of you singing – or moaning, rather – my praises when I spent a good hour in the hunting cabin showing you just what I can do to you with my 'not very bad' body –'

Findekáno shivers at Maitimo's touch, laughs at his words, and begins undressing. 'A godlike body, then, Maitimo, with the grace of Nessa and strength of Tulkas and the clever fingers of Aulë and the blinding radiance of Varda. There, is that enough for you to take off your clothes and to do to me what you did last week?'

It is. With fingers that are certainly no match for Aulë's corporeal form but quick enough at undoing the two dozen small buttons of his surcoat, Maitimo undresses himself and takes his beloved into his arms. Maitimo will not say it out loud now because Findekáno needs no praise to know that he is fair but in Maitimo's eyes, he is more radiant than anyone.

Once they are both naked, bare skin delightfully meeting bare skin, Maitimo runs a hand up Findekáno's back, curling his fingers in the soft hair at his nape. He asks, 'Are you in that mood tonight, then? To let me do with you as I wish, for as long as I wish?'

Findekáno tips his chin up and looks Maitimo in the eye. 'Indeed I am', he says boldly. Grabbing Maitimo's free hand and bringing it to his mouth to kiss, he adds, softer, 'I already know that whatever you want is what I want. You know me.'

'I do know you, my love', Maitimo says, something in his throat. How does Findekáno always manage to bring tenderness to passionate moments, and humour to serious ones?

And there it is now, a spark of laughter in Findekáno's eyes and in the corners of his generous mouth. 'Then you know that it would be wise for you to keep one hand on my mouth', he says. 'Since we are still in your parents' house.'

Maitimo thinks of the privacy they will have in the palace, finding himself unusually impatient for something. 'If I forget to, your loud noises will no doubt remind me', he says, and carries Findekáno off to the bed before he can point out – Maitimo knows him indeed, and knows that he would – that Maitimo enjoys his loud noises.

And he truly does, when there are no brothers on the other side of the wall. For now he will enjoy the muffled version of Findekáno's moans, almost equally delightful.

*

Findekáno dances around Maitimo's new room on light feet, beaming more radiant than ever, while Maitimo watches him with hands on his hips, fond.

'You remembered to order the thick curtains, I see. Very good! I like the colour too, it's a nice shade of green. And a sturdy door and lock, a very nice lock.' Findekáno stops his flitting about to caress it lovingly, making Maitimo chuckle.

'Would you put the lock to use and come here, you silly thing?'

'Oh, so you want my hands on you instead?' Findekáno locks the door and comes to throw his arms around Maitimo's neck, standing a little on his toes to be more of a height. 'You only need ask, always', he says.

Maitimo considers saying 'I know' but decides that a kiss will send the same message and be more enjoyable for both of them. So he puts his arms around Findekáno's trim waist and pulls him close and kisses him with the goal of making him moan and melt in his arms.

After a moment of Maitimo's intent exploring of his mouth and soft touches to the back of his neck, a sensitive place for Findekáno, he does melt, and while he leans against Maitimo with much of his weight, he is certainly not idle. One of his hands snakes between them, hitches up Maitimo's tunic and starts on the laces of his breeches.

Maitimo lets him, raising one of his own hands to the buttons of Findekáno's jacket.

Breaking their kiss for a moment, he pants, 'It would be faster to undress each other if we weren't kissing at the same time.'

'Don't be tiresomely practical', Findekáno scolds even as he takes advantage of their lips being parted to pull Maitimo's overtunic over his head. Maitimo can feel his unbraided long hair getting into a mess that will soon tangle if he doesn't smooth it down, so he does.

'Fastidious Maitimo', Findekáno grins as he pulls up Maitimo's undertunic too, kissing his chest as it is bared, taking a second to suck on a nipple too.

When he can speak Maitimo replies, 'Says Finno with his hair that takes more time to do every morning than his mother's.'

'It is not my fault that she has little eye or time for beauty!' Findekáno tosses his head and his braided black mane with its golden beads and ribbons sways beautifully.

Maitimo does love it, and he tells Findekáno so. 'I like all of your adornments.'

'And I like you free of any.' Findekáno pets Maitimo's hair. 'I like you unadorned and unclothed and – undone.' He flashes a smile. 'I wonder, why am I waiting to undo you?'

And with that he takes Maitimo's hand and pulls him towards the bed, both of them half out of their clothes now. Maitimo goes willingly and lets Findekáno's single finger push him backwards on to the bed. It is a common occurrence, almost a habit of theirs.

Only there is something hard on the bed this time and Maitimo yelps and jumps back up.

'Oh no!' Findekáno's hand covers his mouth as he tries not to laugh. 'My present. I forgot I put it down there.' He comes to rub at Maitimo's upper back where Maitimo himself rubbed it after he was poked there by the hard, paper-wrapped object in the bed.

Findekáno grabs it and gives it to Maitimo. 'I hope that you'll like it even though it ambushed you so grievously.'

Maitimo huffs in amusement as he unwraps the gift. Then he stares at it, at a loss for words.

'Well, what do you think?' Findekáno prompts.

Maitimo settles on saying, 'It is… interesting.'

It is a little copper statuette, the length of about two hands. Whoever made it obviously has technical skill, and the flowing lines of it are well-done, but it is… hideous. It depicts some animal but Maitimo cannot even tell what animal. Whatever it is, its mouth is open in a grimace and its eyes bulge out. Maitimo has a horrible, inexplicable urge to mimic its expression.

Findekáno smiles as bright as ever as he says, 'It is absolutely horrible, isn't it?'

Maitimo's gaze whips from the deranged face of the figurine to Findekáno. 'What? I mean, why would you give me a gift that you think ugly?'

'A gift that I made ugly. I made it myself.' Findekáno beams, very pleased with himself. 'Isn't it brilliant? You won't be able to help but think of me when you see it, and to smile.'

'Or grimace.'

Findekáno's gently rubbing hand stops rubbing and swats Maitimo's back instead. 'Admit it, it's a great idea!'

Maitimo turns the statuette in his hands, his lips tugging into a smile. 'It's an idea that is very characteristic of you. And it is a skilfully made little statue, even if it is the ugliest I've ever seen. Your practice at bronze casting has paid off.'

'Yes', Findekáno agrees without any arrogance. He takes the statuette from Maitimo and puts on the bedside table, stopping to check the drawer. 'Ah!' he exclaims. 'I see that you have already put the most important thing in its place.' He tosses the vial of oil between the pillows.

'I don't know about the most important thing', Maitimo mumbles, feeling a blush crawl up his neck and face again. His pale, freckled skin flushes almost as easily as his mother and Carnistir's.

Findekáno comes to him. 'Look at you blushing after almost two years of us being lovers', he teases, and more tenderly he adds, 'You know, the visiting silver-haired lass of the Falmari who wrote a poem about your eyelashes was quite right. They're remarkable. Long and dark red –'

'They aren't red', Maitimo protests. 'They're brown.'

Findekáno waves a hand. 'Reddish-brown. It's more poetic to say that they are red. And though I am no poet, only a singer, I am –' he glances around the room '– already writing a poem in my head about how I am going to make love to you and your red eyelashes on every piece of furniture in this room.'

'You're going to make love to my eyelashes?' Maitimo can barely keep from snickering – Findekáno's playfulness is contagious – and has to dodge Findekáno's swatting hand again. 'It sounds very unpractical, even without the eyelashes. That small table by the door would surely break under the weight of even one of us.'

'You are even less of a poet than I am! Do not take things so literally, Maitimo. Except this: get naked and get on the bed.'

'Feeling domineering today, are you, my darling?' But Maitimo does take off his breeches and socks, all that he was left wearing.

He does not mind a little bit of imperiousness from Findekáno every now and then.

'Rather, and tired of all this talking', Findekáno confirms, stripping himself with a few quick movements.

'I will not lie on my back', Maitimo warns as he sits down on the edge of the bed. 'It still aches from your very hard gift.'

Findekáno bursts into laughter. 'I swear, my love, I never know whether you make all those innuendoes on purpose or not.'

'Sometimes neither do I', Maitimo admits.

Findekáno comes to stand between his legs, naked and hard and smiling. 'If you will not lie down, then would you be on all fours or astride me?'

Maitimo hums. 'My favourite options.'

*

Findekáno lies on his back with his arm thrown over his face, quiet and languorous like he only is in these post-pleasure moments.

Next to him Maitimo lies on his stomach, head propped up on his arms, watching Findekáno's well-muscled chest rise and fall and breathing calm and slow.

When the heat on Maitimo's own skin has cooled, leaving behind only stickiness, he gets up and fetches a cloth, wets it from the jug on the wash-table, and cleans up Findekáno and then himself.

'Mm.' Findekáno kisses him as a thank you after Maitimo has tossed the cloth back to the wash table and returned to his lover's embrace. 'That was a very good first try from us', Findekáno says.

Maitimo tries to look stern but his mouth twitches without his permission. 'A try?' he asks. 'You call that a try?'

'Well.' Findekáno's fingers write quick characters on Maitimo's back. Vertical lines – Sarati, Maitimo thinks. Not Tengwar, unsurprisingly. Findekáno continues, 'We were in too much of a hurry in the end. Didn't even get anything inside – anywhere.'

'I still don't understand how you can be completely shameless about doing these acts and yet bashful when talking about them. Silly boy.' Maitimo breathes in the scent of Findekáno, sweaty and warm and familiar.

'Well, I am a prince. Very properly brought up.'

'Unlike me?' Maitimo raises his brows just to tease.

'You are a prince but your father can hardly be called proper.'

Maitimo has to hum in agreement at that. Fëanáro can be called many things, and indeed frequently is, but never 'proper'.

'Darling.' Findekáno touches his cheek. 'Do not let your smile escape. I am sorry I brought up our parents.'

'No need to apologise.' Maitimo tries to smile. It is likely a wan attempt, but Findekáno smiles back anyway, and he always knows how to do it right.

'Perhaps one day we will not need curtains so thick and a lock so sturdy', he says. 'Perhaps one day our love will be accepted by others besides just us.'

'Perhaps', Maitimo says. He is better at forcing false conviction to his voice than light into his smile.

With a final kiss to Findekáno's strong shoulder, he gets up and starts gathering his clothes from the floor. While he dresses he says over his shoulder, 'I'm going to take advantage of the staff in the kitchens here being less nosy and less familiar with me and go get something to eat.'

'Something sweet, no doubt. You and your sweet tooth', Findekáno grins. 'Bring me something with lemon or honey, please.'

'As you wish.'

Before he unlocks the door he casts one more look at Findekáno in the canopy bed, sprawled on the silk sheets as relaxed and happy as a cat in a warm place, eyes closed and hair a dark cloud around his head. He has a smile on his lips still.

Flowers might bloom in the warmth of your smile, Maitimo thinks as he slips quietly into the hallway. I certainly do.

[evoedbd]

A Moment of Rest

(This is set and written before season 3 came out.  Slight NSFW due to nudity) SUMMERY - After fleeing across the land, facing the Retainers and literally begging Kya and Helena are finally given their moment in a hot bath. ************** Helena sighed softly as she tilted her head back. The bath was not as luxurious as the one in her quarters of the Witch Queen’s palace, nor did the stonework hold the same memories. The same nightmares. She had not cleaned her wounds in lonely silence here, nor had her hands mapped the landscape of her love’s gentle body. As unfamiliar as her former enemy’s palace was, it was a welcome relief to simply submerge her aching body in hot water. Steam rose from the cloudy surface, weaving through her mane of blonde hair and seeping up into the warm room. The walls were a light brown tinged cream, reflecting the gentle torchlight enough to give the illusion of a golden glow filling the room. The stone floor was an off white, gently complimenting the colouration of the rich wooden window frame. Curtains were drawn across the glass, rejecting the afternoon sun in favour of shadows. Yet, never was the dimness oppressive. If anything, it was comforting, adding to the gentle scented soaps and the faint wafting scent of baking foods from the kitchen down the halls.

“You seem more relaxed.” Kya’s soft voice playfully teased, even as she sat on the opposite side of the humongous stone tub. Her curious fingers reached out, tickling the surface of the water around Helena. Her flintstone eyes remained fixated on the ends of Helena’s hair, watching the white gold swirl through the steam with an awestruck smile. Kya, never one to push, kept her eyes averted from the War Mage as if looking would cost her sight itself. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to look, Gods it was all she wanted to do. She longed to take in the sight of the beautiful Sorceress. It was almost a physical ache, forcing her muscles not to reach out and touch without invitation. Keeping herself so restrained when a siren lounged beside her. A siren singing of love and sacrifice, of all the agony of abusive hands melting away beneath love’s touch. 

“Hmm.” Helena hummed noncommittally in agreement, suggesting her mind had wandered. The sound was soft, low and purring in her throat. It did, in truth, remind Kya of a sleepy cat. A content kitty curled up in the sun, relishing gentle petting from her human. Helena’s form shone in the water. Her naked skin glistened beneath the cloudy surface, gentle curves and outlines that flickered in the edge of Kya’s view. Try as she might to ignore temptation, Kya’s eyes eventually wandered to Helena’s shoulders, tracing over them for a brief moment as the Sorceress sighed again. Helena carried so much weight on her shoulders. The weight of over a thousand lives, all snuffed out with blades and magic. The weight of her role in the genocide of the Demon Race. The weight of the Witch Queen’s affections. Of torture and pain unending. Even now, Kya knew the dark bruising from her stab wound still painted her shoulder blade in fading yellows and blues. Gods, how Kya wished she could take the tension and pain from Helena. How she wished she could just wrap her arms around the taller woman and protect her from her nightmares.

“May I touch you?” The word fell from Kya’s lips before she could stifle them, breaking the content mood in an instant. Something tense hung in the air, threaded into the silence and radiating off the Sorceress in waves as she lifted her head. Her blonde locks hung down her defined back, gleaming like white gold in sunlight, embracing the curve of her shoulder as she turned to look at Kya. The hesitancy and surprise there nearly broke the poor girl from Chicago. It was a dumb question. Pushing. Demanding too much of the Mage. The fact they were even here, completely bare in each other’s space, was a huge accomplishment and that had been accomplished by dimming the room. Even in their most intimate moments, where Helena had shown Kya exactly what worship could feel like, the breathtakingly beautiful woman had never completely exposed herself. Never allowed her lover to touch her in turn.    Nearly always craved darkness to shadow her form. The Witch Queen’s abuse ran deep in Helena’s soul, tainting almost every action.

“-and I have her hands. Her face. Even after our progress today I just kee- eeepp-” Kya’s thoughts trickled to a halt as Helena stood, coming out of the water to her waist.

“-Eyes on hers, Kya. Don’t be a perv. Don’t look down... I am too gay for this woman. Think of England. All your favourite shows cancelled. Cold rainy days. She is so hot- Nope. Damn. All this water and I am still thirsty! Just keep your EYES UP GIRL-“ Kya’s brain practically melted as she forced herself to keep her eyes on Helena’s, swallowing a lump in her throat at the smirk that crossed Helena’s lips. The Sorceress knew precisely what she was doing to Kya. Mercifully, Helena stepped toward the middle of the tub, sinking back down to her collarbone. The Former General’s brows lowered, her lips fixed in a contemplative line even as she slowly drew closer. The water parted, whispering over creamy skin and flushed patches of the magical creature. Helena, even completely concealed, stole Kya’s breath away once more as her hand reached out for Kya’s.

“Are you not satisfied, gentle heart? Do you need me again?” Helena’s voice was low, touched with longing as she came into Kya’s space. The raven haired girl blushed furiously, spluttering at the thoughts that followed. Helena was VERY good at satisfying. Too good. So good she technically failed her goal considering Kya always wanted her Sorceress. It was worse than a caffeine addiction! Kya forever craved her sweet, beautiful girlfriend. Any moment with Helena was wonderful, from simply eating together to the most intimate touches. Her thoughts had not drifted to far towards debauchery until Helena’s deep blue eyes roamed down to the water, clearly inspecting her body. Worship, adoration and desire waged war in Helena’s eyes, which softened even as they darkened. They appeared to flare black with something which was not her raw magic. It was more akin to hunger. Raw and primal, tempered by loving intent.

“I-I always want you. But I didn’t mean THAT!” Kya hurriedly squeaked, earning an amused yet tender smile from the taller woman. Whilst desire stole her breath, Helena’s genuinely pleased expressions erased breath from Kya’s being. They encompassed the girl in warmth, as if her blood had turned to liquid happiness.

“I just wanted to. I don’t know, cuddle? Help wash your back, maybe your hair, but I know you’re working through a lot and we went further today. I mean, we’re in the same tub, completely naked, and there’s even light! I don’t want to pressure you. I know you have a lot to work through from the Bitch, I mean Witch Queen and-“

“My love.” Helena fondly silenced the rambling woman, her eyes glistening as if she may shed tears. The look of awe and surprise whenever she was offered a choice broke Kya’s heart. Helena had come a long way, but even with such progress she couldn’t fully conceal her shock when she was even offered a thank you. Praise made the Mage bloom, with startled laughs and gleeful smiles that the iciest façade couldn’t smother or contain. The first time Kya had seen the Mage’s alarm at consideration, the girl from another world had vowed to show Helena every kindness. Every small thing people took for granted. For a few moments, nothing but the gentle sloshing of the water filled their ears, along with the thumping of their hearts. Then, Helena broke the silence.

“The same boundary applies. I wish I could offer more of myself, but I... I simply cannot. Not yet.” The Sorceress hung her head, joy washing from her expression. Deep blue eyes dimmed, slamming shut to conceal the emotion within. In that instant, Helena acted as if she were dirty. A filthy creature for not submitting her body to another. For fearing a touch that had only ever been torture, even at its most exquisite.

“Helena,” Kya gently scolded, silencing the Mage’s apology as she stood in the tub. With her breasts exposed, Kya had to fight back the urge to conceal herself. Heat rose in her cheeks, unbidden and unwelcome. She shivered as she felt the sting of cold air, along with water trickling suggestively down her exposed figure. The droplets shone like diamonds across her pale skin in the low lighting, catching in the shadows between her breasts and the hollow of her throat. She was not as in shape as Helena, with a healthy layer of fat over her fine frame. No muscles showed when she moved, stepping just a little closer so she could reach out and cup Helena’s cheek. Now, Helena didn’t flinch. She leaned into the offered affection, nuzzled even before pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of Kya’s wrist, lips pressed adoringly to the hammering pulse. It took a moment for her gaze to drift upwards, once again meeting Kya’s.

The otherworldly girl had fascinatingly beautiful eyes. Grey like storm clouds, yet touched with flecks of blue that made them deeper. The way they twinkled was almost like the night sky, gleaming beneath dark hair and amidst pale skin. They always disarmed Helena, especially when they were filled with such tenderness. When they were so soft and utterly devoted to the Sorceress.

“What the Queen did to you was horrific. You survived for so many years, Helena. The fact you can even look at me, let alone let me touch you anywhere. I’ll never do that. I won’t hurt you like she did.” her voice was soft. So gentle and yet so fierce. A blanket wrapping around Helena’s senses, tender to the woman it embraced and stern to all outside threats. As if the fierce edge could give the abusive Queen pause.

“I know, my love. You’re not her. You may look alike, but that is where the similarities end. Her touch held no kindness. Yours... I feel like I could be worth...” the Sorceress began to hesitate, unable to find the right words.

“Helena, you’re everything to me. You gave up everything you had to protect me. Stood up to the most terrifying woman in history just for the chance of saving me. You deserve kindness. You deserve to be loved. I’m not going to stop telling you that until you believe it. I’m your girlfriend, Helena Klein. That means I get to compliment you whenever I like, especially when its true. Get used to it.” Kya was quick to cut in, unable to contain herself any longer. Her fingers ghosted gently along Helena’s flesh as she moved her thumb in a circle, rubbing over Helena’s cheekbone as if she might find tears falling. Again, blue eyes went wide in alarm and gratitude, only to then be flooded with such love that it felt as if the air had been stolen from Kya’s lungs.

“Touch me.” Helena’s invitation was simple, but it was enough. The way her eyes glistened and her voice trembled, it was clear she was overcoming some form of obstacle in her tormented mind to allow it. Kya, despite her urge to rush, moved slowly. She kept everything telegraphed, watching Helena’s face like a hawk for the slightest trace if fear. Anticipation burned in the Mage’s eyes, along with such an intense curiosity that it overshadowed the lingering concern. Just like in the forest when Helena had discarded the Queen’s colours.

“Do you want me, you know, not look?” Kya’s question was gentle as she lowered herself in the water again, sitting chest to chest with her Sorceress yet never touching. Flint eyes stayed focused on Helena’s, never giving into the temptation of drifting downwards as she watched Helena’s expression shift. The soft smile she received was not what Kya expected, nor did she dare hope for the next move. Helena, with a small shiver, reached out to Kya, grasping her by the hips. Helena’s long fingers dug into her flesh, using the pads of her fingers instead of her nails. The touch was not aggressive or painful despite its eagerness. Merely curious, learning how best to fit together. Kya could feel the calluses formed by years of combat, yet Helena’s hands were equally as soft. Her touch was softer as her palms slid along Kya’s skin, seeking out the most natural place to rest. Even when the Mage suddenly pulled Kya to her chest, closing the distance between them, she never once caused pain.

“Oh!” Kya gasped, blinking at the feeling of her naked curves crushed against Helena’s. That was new, enough to make Kya’s skin tingle. If she had thought it warm before, the burst of uncontrolled flame in her veins eradicated all previous concepts of heat. Judging by the brilliant pink staining Helena’s cheeks, the Mage felt the same way.

“-I wonder if her magic would have flared?-“ Kya couldn’t help but ponder, cheeks going even brighter at the thought of magic crackling over the Mage’s bare form. Helena was always warm. From the moment Kya had first hugged the Spell Caster, she had always been impervious to the cold. Icy weather and terrifying forests hadn’t been enough to steal Helena’s heat. Kya noted how cold the Mage felt in comparison. Without her magic freely flowing, Helena felt almost sick against her despite the healthy weight and muscle. Helena’s magic, however terrifying it had been to the world, was a missing piece of her. It radiated in everything, and yet was barely noticeable at the same time. Kya doubted anybody who hadn’t spent so long studying Helena would even notice.

“Did it hurt? Having your magic sealed?” Kya questioned before she could stop herself, instinctively bringing her hands to Helena’s shoulders. She felt the tension radiate through every muscle, the flowing strings beneath her palms as Helena’s head fell forwards. The Mage rested her forehead against Kya’s shoulder, nose burrowing into the younger woman’s neck as she took a deep, calming breath.

“When I was with her, if I did not control it the Queen would seal my magic away. She’d leave me bound for hours, or she would touch me until it went beyond tolerance. I had to learn to think through the pain and heat to do as she commanded. I was taught thank her for such lessons without begging her to stop, less she take my voice too.” The Mage finally confessed, pressing into Kya’s reassuring warmth. For Helena, she loved warmth. It meant her magic was free and the Queen’s hands were far from her. Perhaps that is what she loved about Kya. Kya’s gentle touch was always warm, and inspired heat to bloom in the Mage’s chest. An emotional warmth she had never been able to experience before. It was enough to combat the shame of the Queen’s forced touch. Of every indecent thing she had forced Helena to learn and say for her pleasure. Kya was a balm, a remedy to all the pain of Helena’s life. Kya nurtured her, encouraging Helena to embrace her own desires. Kya had a kind word for every opinion, praise for every spell, love and acceptance every time Helena broke under the weight she bore. Kya practically shone when Helena preformed even the smallest acts of good which the Queen had crushed from her.

“You’re so amazingly strong, Helena. I’m so proud of you.” Kya whispered fiercely, although they were alone in the room. The Chicago girl wanted to murder the Bitch Queen. Wanted to take a chainsaw and rocket launcher and every cliché action hero weapon and destroy the castle. Destroy the evil that had broken the woman in her arms. Instead of reacting with rage, however, Kya decided to focus on Helena. To show Helena she was not ashamed or afraid of the Mage after all she had suffered. Kya wrapped one arm around Helena’s back, pulling the Sorceress closer as her other hand came up to Helena’s hair. Her fingers brushed through the strands, rubbing gentle circles on Helena’s scalp in an effort to be soothing.

“-I’m going to fucking kill that bitch... but I can’t. She has all that power and I’m just me. But I WON’T let her touch Helena again. She won’t hurt Helena. Nobody will while I’m here.-“ Kya’s protective thoughts crumbled into horror when Helena tilted her head back, eyes closed and jaw tense. The Mage’s expression showed acceptance, as if resigned to the fact she must surrender. Try as she might, Helena couldn’t force her jaw to relax, couldn’t erase the crease of fear in her brow after responding to the gentle pressure of Kya’s fingers. Helena had been waiting, expecting the harsh pull and the touch of magic to her throat. She waited for the pain as she was dragged, to be positioned like a toy for her Queen to play with. Yet, this had been different. The touch had been so gentle, so considerate. But... what else could the gesture be requesting if not her submission?

“Helena? Whats wrong? Did I hurt you? I’m here. She can’t touch you. Helena, come back,” Kya’s voice held an edge of worry, nothing like the teasing of the Queen. Helena took a breath. Waiting. Would it be harsh teeth this time, or the gentlest kiss to deliver the poisonous ice to her flesh? She waited. Another breath. Nothing. The fingers continued their movement, each circle giving the most gentle pull to the little hairs. Yet, Kya’s hand never moved. Never pushed. Never yanked. Simply rested, almost in a comforting manner. Helena blinked, finally focusing on the feeling of the fingers against her scalp. It... It actually felt good. Really, really good. Soothing enough to draw a soft groan of contentment from her after a moment. Of course, her cheeks flared as the sound escaped, utterly ashamed. Although her jaw softened, her brows remained furrowed, unable to solve the puzzle of what was happening to her.

“Nobody has ever played with your hair? Or given you a head massage?” Kya questioned, recognizing the pattern of Helena contemplating something unfamiliar. It was sickening. How quickly a soft gesture could be mutilated into torture, especially this type of torture. It was enough to earn a small sniffle from Kya, even as she tried to swallow the lump from her throat.

“-Oh, poor Helena-“

“Turn around and I’ll wash your hair for you. Or just hold you... is that alright?”

“Both sound lovely.” Helena finally responded, shifting to her feet. Kya yelped, slamming her eyes shut before the woman’s breasts broke the waterline. The water once more swished and sloshed gently, filling Kya’s ears. She waited, feeling the water push against her knees and thighs as Helena turned. That said, Kya was only human. Her eyes snapped open at Helena’s amused chuckle, finding her view filled with the Mage’s back. The skin was not flawless, instead it was covered in silvery lines. Some appeared to be from blades, likely from the battle field, yet others were strange. Biting and deep, as if delivered in precise rage.

“-Whipmarks? That cliché vilianous bitch!-“ Kya furiously came to realize, staring at the tapestry of the Queen’s abuse. Of Helena’s strength. Oddly enough, the curves of each scar reminded Kya of the moon, whilst the scattered lines may as well have been shooting stars. These scars made Helena’s flesh brighter than any diamonds as torchlight and water highlighted them. It was almost ethereal. Of course, the glistening beauty was nothing compared to the subtle quirk of Helena’s lip as she gazed over her shoulder at Kya.

“I am too gay for this.” Kya whimpered. Her eyes were like saucers, attempting to pick out every line past Helena’s glorious hair as the Mage finally dropped back into the water.

“I’m happy too, my love.” the Mage sighed, earning a bright blush and actual giggle from Kya.

“-Too freaking adorable.-“ Her thoughts swooned. Quickly, she decided not to delve into the explanations of sexualities and such of her world. Homophobia didn’t appear to be a thing in this one, thank heavens, and if it was Kya had no intention of bringing it up.

“So. How long do you think it will be before they let us into the village? We could go shopping for new clothes. You could pick out some outfits.” Kya inquired, leaning forwards to press her lips to Helena’s shoulder before she could stop herself. The soft skin beneath her lips remained relaxed, even as Helena tilted her head back to rest it on Kya’s shoulder. Between the subdued taste of Helena’s flesh and the tickling of her hair, Kya found herself sighing in bliss. There were no expectations. No goals. Nothing but the single moment.

“Given we have agreed to face the Queen, not as long as we think. Lord Wolfson undoubtedly will be merciful.  However, I don’t believe he will simply allow us to wander into the village. Not without guards.”

“Of course he’ll give your magic back, you are awesome. You’re beautiful, smart and your magic is fucking wild!” Kya enthused. This time, Helena’s laugh was more amused than startled, almost sleepy given how she melted against Kya.

“I suppose it could be, for those who haven’t seen it before.” Helena agreed, shifting until her back rested comfortably against Kya’s chest. The closeness was nice, the Mage quickly decided. Even though she could feel Kya’s heart thumping, and every twitch as the woman’s breathing hitched, she didn’t fear that Kya would pressure her. The otherworldly woman had proven time and time again that she wanted Helena at Helena’s pace.

“I remember the Queen. I remember what little choice I was given. How she took her pleasure without a care for mine.” Helena admitted after a long silence, allowing her eyes to drift closed once more. She wanted to give, to allow Kya closer than the physical world could ever allow. Even driven by this desire, the words had threatened to weave into a knot at the back of her throat. The pressure had been enough to force her to swallow back bile and bitter emotions. The memories of the two women warred in Helena’s mind. The same face and hands, yet entirely different women. The Queen’s violence terrified her. Harsh hands or ropes around her wrists. A knife or spell always pushing for Helena’s breaking point, just to torment her further. Pain and disgust warring within her once she was left to lick her wounds. On the other, Kya’s mercy soothed her fears. The gentlest kiss to her chin, accompanied by a soft laugh and kind word. Tender hands cradling hers as cloth washed away the grime of battle. Always sweet. Always asking, offering more and more whilst Helena could only accept. Helena could do anything for her lover, except invite her touch in return.

“May I hold you?” Kya asked softly, allowing her arms to swish the water against Helena’s body to let the Mage know what she meant. Again, Kya did not punish her for her denial. Did not mistreat her or judge her. Kya understood those words had been difficult enough, allowed them to pass in favour of giving comfort. Helena gave a short nod, offering her consent. The shorter woman’s lithe arms slid around the Mage’s waist, delivering a gentle hug. Instantly, Helena’s hands dropped to hers, holding them firmly as if expecting pain. Sharp nails bit into Kya’s skin, forcing her to bite back a whimper.

“Are you alright? I can let you go if you need?” she questioned, her voice remaining as level as possible. She should have known. Should have realised Helena would fear feeling trapped. Helena might hold her, might explore every little inch of her skin, but it was always Helena in control. Helena’s power over her as she surrendered. Never like this. Never where she held Helena in her arms.

“Don’t. Just...” Helena pleaded, her voice a little sharper from her startled situation. Even then, Helena’s grip softened, fingertips rubbing apologetically over the indentations. Kya didn’t flinch. Instead, she shifted her fingers up, attempting to weave them through Helena’s in a comforting manner. The Mage seemed shocked, but didn’t object as both her hands clung to that intimate contact. The opposite hand threaded their fingers together, embracing the intimate gesture. The other clung lightly to Kya’s wrist, unable to completely surrender her sense of control.

“I love you.” Kya’s voice was a soft reminder. The woman tilted her head, shifting to deliver a gentle peck to Helena’s cheek to emphasise her words. One kiss became two, given Kya’s inability to pull away. Afterwards, the tip of her nose dragged against the soft curve of Helena’s cheek, nuzzling affectionately as Kya breathed in the scent of her lover. Of wet hair and magic, mixing with the finest soaps and the indescribably natural, perfect smell that was just Helena. Pale skin flushed rose at the contact. Then deep blue eyes blinked lazily, once again reminding Kya of a content cat.

“Can we stay like this for a moment, my love?”

“Let me sit and we can stay as long as you like.” Kya countered, gently tightening her arms for a moment in a reassuring squeeze. Her lips curled up into a delighted smile, one which could be described as goofy. Kya didn’t care how she looked, her chest expanded with warmth and light. Her blood bubbled, little puffs of joy igniting every single nerve in her body. Even relaxed, Kya’s entire being felt as if it were singing.

“A dangerous promise, my love.” Helena purred as she surrendered to the guidance, moving with Kya. It seemed to be instinct, to move together and yet never give up their closeness or trip each other. Perhaps Helena’s acute awareness served beyond the battlefield, Kya reasoned.  Afterall, the woman had fought at least ten men off and still noticed Kya’s form with a shield enough to give her clear directions. Once at the inbuilt seat of the basin, Kya dropped carefully, allowing her legs to float up around Helena’s hips. Once more, the Mage tensed, yet only for a moment before she lowered herself to sit between Kya’s legs.

Both women paused at the position, taking note of the new intimacy. Once, their positions had been reversed. Helena sitting behind her lover, whispering heated things in Kya’s ear as hands roamed. This time, Kya was the one with an armful of naked woman, and hands were certainly not going to roam without explicit permission.

Helena’s superior height left Kya with a mouthful of hair and shoulder, which was just a little too high for her to comfortably rest her chin on. Helena must have sensed this, given ho quickly she found a way to move. She shifted, bringing both of her legs up over one of Kya’s until her knees broke the surface of the water. Kya had to swallow back her emotions, bite back every compliment she wanted to pile on the gorgeous woman in her lap. Helena’s head tipped forwards, once again allowing her nose to burrow into the American’s neck, pressing to the pounding pulse. Their hands relocated, as Kya’s grip changed to Helena’s hip in order to support her. The Mage only briefly tensed at the unfamiliar touch, yet was soothed by a few simple rubs of Kya’s thumb over the bone. With a small cough, Kya shifted to wrap her nervously trembling arm around Helena’s back. Oddly enough, Helena didn’t feel any memories creeping up her spine, didn’t feel her muscles scream at her to retreat. She could not draw a situation like this to her memory. Never had the Queen cradled her so gently, or simply indulged in her presence. Whilst Kya’s hands were not in her control, and in a new place, it was almost like when the poor girl clung to her. Like when she was above and in control, or pulling Kya into her embrace.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Helena. I wish we could spend every day like this.” Kya finally whispered, tilting her head so that she could rest her cheek cautiously on Helena’s head. A small shiver worked through Helena’s body, yet it was not one of terror. Her cheeks flushed with delight, as if she were intoxicated on the girls presence. Unable to resist, the Mage pressed her lips to Kya’s neck. Warmth met her touch, along with a gentle throbbing pressure. She could feel Kya swallow, feel her pulse jumping rapidly. It was awe inspiring to Helena, that she could entice these reactions from the woman so effortlessly.

“You tease me, saying such things.” she commented back, only to feel the pressure on her head briefly grow, then retreat. As if Kya had shaken her head. Dark hair fell across her own, shadows and moonlight combined. It was remarkably cold, having someone else’s wet hair over her cheek. There was also an inexplicable weight behind it, pushing down in varying pressures. Tickling her upper lip. It was enough for Helena to lift her hand, moving the midnight mass over Kya’s shoulder.

“I’m serious, Helena. You haven’t heard enough about how wonderful you are. And this? Just us together, its peaceful. I love helping you relax.” Kya tenderly declared, her smile too pure for the world. Helena couldn’t help but bring her hands to Kya’s cheeks, even as she tilted her own head enough to press their lips together. Kissing. It was so unusual for the Mage, yet she couldn’t get enough of it. It always encouraged the strange tingling in her lips, matched in her stomach and cheeks. It made her feel lighter, especially at the subtly bitter taste of her lover. Helena never liked bitter, yet something about the delicate savory flavor of Kya was addictive.

“This is still new to me. I don’t always believe I deserve it, after everything I have done.” the Mage confessed once their lips parted. Every word she had heard from the retainers, everything she had been taught. It all echoed in her head. As if finding the moment her thoughts were quiet and invading. A thousand little soldiers each delivering their small cuts.

“You’re not an evil person, Helena. The Queen taught you to be merciless, tortured you for years. Despite that you showed mercy. To men who would kill you. To your enemy. That doesn’t mean I approve of all the horrible things you’ve done, but I know you’re more than what the Queen made you. I know you can be better. That you want to be. So does Lord Reiner.” Kya reminded her gently, shifting her hand from Helena’s hip. The girl’s fingers gently brushed against Helena’s cheek, gathering a wet strand of hair to tuck behind Helena’s ear. The gesture was sweet, offered with a serious look in Kya’s eye. Even when she admitted disappointment and disapproval, Kya’s gaze was loving. Kya’s love was not dependent on success or failure, Helena was coming to realize. Kya loved HER. Not her magic, not her uncanny ability to kill. Not her ability to please. Just... her.

“And now I must fight against -“

“The woman who abused you. I’m here, Helena. You’re so strong. You can help beat the Queen, you can face her. Even if it hurts, I’m here. I’ll always be here. I’m yours, Helena Klein.” Kya combated, giving her declaration so gently it brought tears to Helena’s eyes. This time, the Mage did not resist, allowing them to silently fall against Kya’s flesh as her head bowed. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs, yet Kya did not give voice to the fact Helena broke. Instead, a gentle hand stroked up and down the war scarred shoulders. Caressing every bad memory and imperfection, tenderly tracing the bones of her spine within acceptable reach. Kya’s touch aimed to draw the tension away, a silent reassurance that was as powerful as her scent.

“Its ok, Helena. Let it out.” Kya soothed, although her voice was a distant comfort for Helena. The Mage sobbed, sniffling and whimpering as the pain washed over her. Physical pain she could handle. She had suffered enough that it was a familiar companion. The only thing she had truly felt for years. The loving caress down her back was an anchor, a constant that allowed her mind to drift. Kya would protect her. Kya, her sweet, merciful love. The guardian of her heart.

The water had begun to cool by the time Helena’s tears ran dry, fading into shallow breaths against her lover’s neck. Though quiet, Helena’s sobs had drained her of all energy, leaving her almost boneless in Kya’s lap. The smaller girl’s arms remained wrapped around Helena, cuddling the slumbering woman as close as possible. Kya’s cheek rested atop Helena’s head, her petite nose buried in golden fields of hair. The scent of flowers mixed with Helena’s natural fragrance, a smell which made every blink slower. Every time Kya’s eyelids dropped, they felt heavier, even as memories of kinder times danced through her mind. Desires and fantasies collided, making way to gentle dreams that drew a smile to her lips.

“-If I were in my world, would she want to live with me? Would a dingey little apartment be enough? Would we be the couple with a cat?-“ Kya’s silent questions brought a crease to her brow. Helena was beautiful enough to be a model, one strutting down the runways of Paris. Perhaps an actress, seducing the hearts of America with her breathtaking smile and perfect eyes. Kya could picture it, the way Helena could appear so enticing and dangerous at the same time.

“-They’d want her in a playboy magazine-“

that thought earned a small huff. Even in her imagination, jealousy flared at the thought of anybody getting to see Helena in that light. In anybody seeing those smiles reserved for the most private moments, or seeing the tender vulnerability Helena was capable of.

“My Ladies? Lord Wolfson requires your attendance in the dining hall.” Solaire’s voice roused Kya faster than a dose of cold water. Instantly she tensed, yet she forced herself to remain still. Helena’s gentle breaths against her continued, a blast of heat followed by the sharpest chill. Even as Kya shivered, she lifted her head, fixing the Faerie who had entered with a silent glare.

“Shh! Helena’s asleep!” Kya scolded quietly. Her glare only remained for a few more moments before an apologetic smile fixed itself upon her lips. Kya wasn’t truly offended by Solaire’s presence, yet she knew Helena absolutely would be. Fortunately, the Mage continued to slumber, only giving a small whimper of malcontent when Kya shifted .

“My apologies, Lady Kya...” Solaire trailed off, her icy eyes widening a little as she stared at the scene before her. If someone had told the Faerie that she would see the fearsome Helena Klein sleeping in her lover’s arms, Solaire would have likely not believed them. Now, after all the had seen, it was almost a pity to spoil such a moment. She quickly lowered her gaze, noting the flush that touched Kya’s cheek, only to notice the silvery lines beneath white gold locks. A gasp escaped the maid before she could stifle it, earning a rather harsh look from the otherworldly lady.

“Its just Kya, I’m not a lady and... What?” Kya almost demanded. Her arm tightened around Helena, almost as if the gesture alone could shield the Mage.

“Forgive me, I did not mean to pry. It is just I have not seen such scars on prisoners of the Queen, let alone her most faithful.”

“The Queen found it more fun to torment Helena, and she had more time to do it.” Kya informed softly, a saddened sigh escaping her. Flintstone eyes grew softer as Kya lowered her gaze to Helena, followed by a tender kiss to the Mage’s temple. Helena mumbled softly and snuggled closer, yet she did not wake.

“I did not realize the extent of her cruelty to those closest to her. If I may, I also did not realize how soft Gener- Helena could look.”

“Its not just looks. Can I have a few more minutes? She deserves as much downtime as she can get.”

“Of course, My lady. I’ll delay as long as possible.” the Faerie agreed, bowing her head once more before she rushed off. She hurried away in a storm of orange fabrics, likely returning to the kitchens.

Once alone again, Kya sighed, turning her focus towards Helena. For a few moments, Kya considered waking the Sorceress. She tried to guess just how long it would take to be ready for such a feast, what might be asked of them. Kya knew that despite the Retainer’s mercy, they would still be hostile to Helena. She knew the war had grown tensions, and that even the servants might have ill intent towards her love. After a minute, she calmly laid her cheek to Helena’s head, basking in the close contact.

She could handle being late. She could handle being considered rude, or accused of sleeping in. Everything that might be thrown their way, Kya was more than prepared to weather.

Helena deserved a moment of peace.

[lixuagi]

The Cure for Death - chapter 2

In this chapter: MC fullfills her dream and at the same time her nightmares become way too real. 

I try to move my limbs, only to find them immobilized. -Don’t get too excited, you might hurt yourself.- the individual sneers above me. Their teeth are sharp. To say their anatomy is interesting would be to underestimate it. The more I focus, the more details I notice. Their lips are thin, their face symmetrical, their body tall and slender. They look, judging by their uniform, like they’re a doctor. I begin to realize I’m not dead, but I’m still too weak to react. I let them examine my eyes, which are opened wide by long fingers covered with black latex gloves. They smell of disinfectant. -Hm. That’s interesting. You’re not infected. Well, that’s a relief.- I let them finish their examinations before I ask: -Can you release me?- -Oh, of course.- the doctor smiles in a far from reassuring way as they loosen the wrist and ankle straps. I immediately sit down, lifting my back from the freezing tabletop. -What happened? Where am I? Where’s Selasi? - I look around, agitated.

There are dozens of people in white coats running back and forth, labored. Some are bent over tables similar to the one where I am, intent on tinkering with naked bodies, others are rummaging through medicines, noisily tinkling the flasks containing them. The large room is damp, with its rocky walls lit by torches. In the air hovers the penetrating odour of disinfectant, which, however, cannot totally cover a more bitter and nauseating smell, already imprinted in my mind: that of death. -Calm down, young patient.- The strange doctor who welcomed me when I woke up brings my attention back to themselves, taking my face in one hand and turning it to look at it from all angles. As they press my cheeks, preventing me from speaking, I feel their abnormally icy touch on my skin, even through their gloves. I shiver, but I blame the equally glacial and ghostly environment. I try to slow my breathing, as the doctor is not at all reassuring, nor do they try to be. -As much as I would have liked to operate on you, the man who brought you here made me change my mind.- Those words paralyze me instantly, while the individual notes something in a notebook with nonchalance. I hope it was a way to express the love they have for their profession, even if it was verbalized in a rather absurd way. I’ve got to get courageous. I have to make them understand that I need answers. -Please!– I exclaim, weakly grabbing a flap of his gown. Their face turns unnaturally, I’m surprised that they didn’t hear their vertebrae creak, given the rigidity and rapidity of the gesture. The ruby look goes from my face to my hand, but the wide, sharp smile does not leave them. I breathe deeply, as my voice trembles. -Where am I? Please answer me…- I look at them with supplicating eyes, but my confusion almost seems to amuse the doctor. -You’re in my clinic, Miss…- they check their notebook, where I imagine they’ve collected all my data. -MC Alnazar.- To hear my full name is strangely pleasant. Asra gave me his last name, since apparently, when he found me, I wasn’t able to tell him mine. In fact, I don’t remember much about my parents. I have some vague images of a ship, of the ocean, but they are so blurry that I wonder if they were real times or just fantasies created to fill something I preferred not to leave empty. -My friend, Selasi. He is sick… I tried to cure him, but I don’t know if…- the doctor puts their hand on my forehead, despite their silence something I told him led them to believe me feverish. However, that’s not the case. -This Selasi…what is he sick of?- they ask me with apathetic tone. -I think it’s the Red Plague, his eyes were totally red! I’m fine, I don’t need to be here. There are certainly people more needy to receive such accurate treatments, for example Selasi himself…doctor, could you do something for him?- the ambiguous figure seems almost proud that I considered their analysis “accurate”. -We’re already overwhelmed with patients. Which is pointless, since they’ll all end up the same…- they mumble to themselves, but they go on before letting me understand. -The man was perfectly healthy. Although I suspect a slight schizophrenia, since he was babbling nonsense.- I breathe out a sigh of relief. Then, I did it! I saved him! This news invigorates me instantly. I’d love to jump for joy, but I quickly recompose myself, clearing my voice. –What was he blathering on?- -He was talking about a supposed “miraculous magic.” He said it was you who saved him. Tell me…- they bend slightly towards me, their stature towers over my tiny figure. I try not to be intimidated. I might be in the right place at the right time. -I’m a person of science, not the first to believe certain rumors…but are they true?- Their grin is wider than ever, and their sharp teeth are all too evident. I consider the answer. They peer at me like a vulture would at a beast in the middle of the desert, to make sure it is dead and can be devoured. As creepy as they are, they’re still a doctor first. My whole existence has reason to make people better through my gift. Offering it to the world, especially in times of need, is the right thing to do. -Yes, it’s true.- -Prove it to me.- they instantaneously talk back. -You mean…here?- I jerk when they grab me by the shoulders, pushing me in front of a patient stuck on a steel table, in the same condition I was in before. At least I wasn’t naked. -I…I’m not sure I– -Are you lying? If so, don’t waste my time and get out.- Their grip is getting tighter, in a not-so-sheer threat. I wonder if they’d really let me go. -No, I’m not lying! But I’ve never cured a Red Plague patient before without it making me faint, and that’s why I’m here.- -No problem, then.- they grab a scalpel from a nearby tray. My heart stops, for a second I’m afraid they’ll stab me. Then they lower the blade on the patient, making a painful but not excessively deep incision in the abdomen. –Quaestor Valdemar, what are you doing?- A nurse rushes to the scene, alarmed by the wounded man’s desperate cry. –Oh, my…!- I exclaim, in disbelief. What kind of doctor, or rather Quaestor, would do such a thing? The purpose of medicine is to alleviate pain, not to cause more suffering! I immediately put my hand on the wound. Fortunately, I don’t need much energy, and both Valdemar and the nurse watch the cut heal before their incredulous eyes. The patient sighs, relieved from the pain and the blood loss. -It’s…incredible!- exclaims the young assistant, handing me a cloth to wipe the blood off. I accept it with pleasure, offering him a smile a little embarrassed. The boy is tall, his body resembles that of the Quaestor, but his shoulders are a bit wider and he is much more…human, I would say. Externally and internally. His grey irises admire me with enthusiasm, partly covered with tufts of red hair. I can tell from the dark circles under his eyes that this is a really stressful job. I look away from his face, which seems to have distracted me quite a bit. The nurse notices and his pale face turns pink. -Ahem! I didn’t want to embarrass you… I’m Julian Devorak.- he’s trying to offer me a hand, but then he withdraws it, deciding that maybe it was better for me not to come into contact with the liquids that may cover his uniform gloves. He holds it out to me again and I finally shake it. -Mc Aln– I’m interrupted by an abrupt tugging that forces me to turn on my heels. I bring my palms to my chest, I was so immersed to introduce myself that I forgot about the Quaestor, who seems to look at me severely. They don’t seem to appreciate any kind of distraction at work. I understand, how could I think about such a futile thing when people are dying around me? -Come.- Valdemar commands, now facing their back to me and beginning to take long steps through the clinic. I turn one last time towards Julian, pretending an expression of terror to which he mouthes “Good luck!”. It doesn’t occur to me that the doctor has stopped their march, and by the time I realize it it’s too late to stop, as I slam against their back. -I’m sorry, really, I don’t know what’s gotten into me…- God, I’ve never been so careless. I can hear their tongue clicking, I would say condescending, as they hiss: -You’re very distracted. It’s not ideal.- they press their hand on my side, pushing me in front of them, over a little wooden door. There are many others, each with a metal plate with a number engraved on it. On this one, it just says “office”. I am now in a cramped little room, there is barely enough space for a desk and a shelf, both full of notes and volumes, but all perfectly stacked and organized. Valdemar beckons me to sit on the only stool present, and I obey, preferring to keep quiet for now. -Well, that fool wasn’t lying. You really have a gift. It’s interesting, to say the least…- as they talk they put their hands together, otherwise motionless in front of me. -You know, I could almost decide to hire you, but you’d take away potential experiments.- I mean…are they saying they don’t want me to heal people so they can…study them? Their dedication to science is admirable, but their ethics are nonexistent. I try not to let my disbelief slip through. I want this job. -Please, Quaestor. This… I feel it’s where I belong. I’ll do more than just healing. I’ll even do some research, so there may be no need for dissections. I suppose it’s not pleasant… - I try to imply, maybe it’s just a misunderstanding and they’re not as sadistic as it sounds. -Oh, it’s far from being unpleasant to me. I find nothing more beautiful than the warmth of a vital organ under my fingers.- I am speechless, obviously they want to test me, see if I have a strong enough stomach for the job. Or maybe it’s a strange sense of humor, I’ve heard that many doctors joke with these things so as not to make the situation sadder. I decide to humour them briefly to get to the heart of the matter, and I force a giggle. -Hehe, yeah, nothing could be nicer…But doctor, I need this place. I’m not doing it for money, I don’t need anything but necessities. I want to help you, with my whole being.–With your whole being?- There’s no malice in their voice, actually there’s nothing, but the look with which they scan my body from head to toe combined with their strange way of giving voice to thoughts is enough to make me feel molested. I nod, carrying my hands to my lap as if to conceal my nudity, although not even vaguely exposed. They pretend to think about it, tilting their face and that strange horned headdress with it, but they seem to have already calculated everything. -In fact, the Countess has instructed me to put an end to the plague. So I suppose you could be of use to me.- I stand up, and if their figure didn’t upset me so much I’d embrace them. -Thank you, thank you!- I express my gratitude with multiple bows, but I am stopped by a raise of their hand. -One of these cells will be yours. Congratulations, Number 100.- Ah, I guess we’re all numbered. It’s a little sad, but otherwise it would be impossible to remember each one of our names. -But be careful. Nothing goes unnoticed. I won’t tolerate distractions like today’s. They’re very unprofessional and inefficient. And those who slow me down… can be considered discarded. - I swallow. I hope they’re not seriously that strict and it’s just a mask to intimidate newbies. I barely bend my lips up. –All clear.- -Now wait for me here. In the meantime, take off your clothes.- I open my eyes wide. Then, I wasn’t wrong! They really are a creep! Think, MC. If you refuse, you might miss this chance, and it’ll probably never happen again. But if you accept… heavens forbid. I don’t want to think about it. –But, like…completely?- I whisper. I thought it would’ve happened with the love of my life. I’ve never given myself to anyone, I’ve always waited to meet someone who would make me feel totally comfortable, one day. All my integrity, my idea of love… is now being shattered like this? Is it my destiny to sacrifice something so important to fulfill my dreams? My heartbeat accelerates, while panic takes hold of me. The Quaestor raises an eyebrow, puzzled. Then he shakes his head, without giving me any answer, and leaves the office, locking himself behind the door. What a nasty being. But I have to do it. I owe it to those children. Maybe they’re the ones to decide my fate, and they’ve establishehd that I must pay for what I’ve done. That’s right. My eyes get all shiny while unbuttoning my pristine shirt. Asra’s face appears in my mind, his amulet still around my neck. What would he think of me? Probably that I’m disgusting. Giving myself away for a job. But he wouldn’t understand. I take off my garment, then my shoes. The more skin I show, the more tears run down my face. I think back to Julian’s hasty presentation. He seems like a nice, caring guy. I wonder if he could imagine what’s about to happen to the sweet girl he admired for her healing powers? I unbutton my pants and shakily fold them on the stool. Now I’m only wearing underwear and the necklace. Just in case, I put it in my bag, which now lies on the freezing ground. Since the doctor has decided to leave me the benefit of the doubt, I prefer for now to at least keep my bra and panties on, in a futile attempt to feel vaguely protected. I’m rubbing my arms, indulging in the agitation. You must, you must. It’s the best thing for everyone. I can hear the door creaking. There they are, they’re back. The high shadow of Valdemar stretches out on me, while I can’t look at them or stop crying nor shaking. -If that’s what you want…Please know that I’ve never… I don’t…- I hiccup, but all I get in response is silence. -I’ve never done anything like that…-I cover my chest with my hands, rubbing my knees together. -There’s always a first time.- declares the barren voice of my persecutor. Then I really didn’t misunderstand. My crying is silent, but I try to suffocate the sobs, waiting for them to move. I flinch when I hear something brushing against me, and I can’t suppress a small gasp. But it’s not hands. It’s… fabric. -What are you crying for? I thought you were excited. Did you change your mind?- I shake my head, clenching my eyelids. -No, I didn’t. Don’t worry.- -Then you must be one of those people who cry when they’re happy, I guess. Or maybe you’re suffering of hysteria.- How can they think I could be happy right now? They’re going to abuse me! They’re a monster, but I already know that. –Would you like a hand?- -N-no, I really don’t know where to start…take the lead. Just, please. Be nice…- -If this mere thing scares you so much, I wonder how you’ll be able to stand the sight of dead bodies.- I hate to admit it, but they might be right. I have to be strong. I can hear them sighing. -I’ll try to be as fast as I can. It’s standard procedure. But you’ll have to get used to it. As soon as you come in, you’ll have to do it every day. It’s essential and I demand it, like any other behavior deemed necessary under my guidance.- Every…day? No, that’s impossible. Is this really what I deserve? Maybe I never woke up, and for my sin I went to hell. I died, and this is the world the Devil sewed me into. There’s no other explanation. -Now raise a leg, No. 100. – I let out a sob, but I obey. Something slightly rough runs over my calf, surrounding it. –What are you doing…?- I squint my eyes, still tarnished with tears, and find the Quaestor kneeling before me. -I’ll show you how to wear the uniform properly one and only one time. I repeat, once. I want you to watch, though, it is important, or you will not be sufficiently protected from the pestilence. First of all, these pants.- when I realize, my legs give way, and I also fall to my knees, abandoning myself to a hysterical cry. I really just made a fool of myself. If they’re still hiring me after this, I can consider myself extremely lucky. –Oh dear, you sure are an emotional human being. It might encourage patients to tell us about their symptoms. I know empathy is an enviable quality. Not for me, but as long as it doesn’t get in the way, I guess…- are they trying to comfort me? -I’ll let you vent this time, but I don’t want it to happen again during work hours.- -You’re telling me… that you still want to hire me as a nurse?- I raise my head to finally look them in the eye. I even forget that I’m half-naked. -My dear, you may have just walked in here, but you’re already the most useful one. A talent like yours could come in handy.- I don’t care about their grin, their sadism, their inhumanity, as they dab my tears with a clean handkerchief, the relief I feel makes Valdemar seem like the most benevolent creature in the world. -Thank you.- My smile is trembling, but my heart is already calmer. -It’s in my best interest that my employees are in the best possible condition to care for the patients after all. Let’s get back to the uniform. Now, the apron… -

.

When the Quaestor walks me out of the office, we get face-to-face with Julian. –No. 069, do you have any relevant news? -The look of the red-haired boy dashes from me to his superior. He notices my shiny puffy eyes and red cheeks. He frowns, worried, then an impatient scoff from the doctor brings him back to his duties. –I’ve only got the list with the most recent patients data. So far, they have no features in common. Age, ethnicity, previous psychophysical state, nothing is shared equally by the sick. Neither is the mortality rate lower in young people…- I can read his torn down expression even behind the surgical mask, which I am now wearing too. -How many are currently hospitalized here?- I ask. Earlier, Valdemar mentioned the Countess of Vesuvia, Nadia Satrinava, wife of Count Lucio Morgasson. A woman in power is not to be underestimated, but I am surprised that she is forced to take the reins of such an important task as eradicating the Plague alone. I don’t personally know the Count, of course, but Asra has dealt with him a few times as a guest at his sumptuous birthday parties. On the occasion of this special day, the gates of the palace are opened wide to the people, or so the flyers distributed in every angle of Vesuvia claimed, but those who cannot afford a lavish costume and a beaded mask are automatically discarded from the event. Asra, however, loves the dances and especially the food from the buffet, so he attends the party annually, always trying to take me with him. I have always refused, dancing is not my forte and certain things require a confidence that I do not possess. Obviously the celebration stopped taking place when the Plague forced everyone to shut themselves indoors.

-Hundreds arrive every day, but we can do little at the moment except administer sedatives or painkillers.- answers Julian. -Oh, but as of today, not anymore! Isn’t it true, No. 100? The presence of the Questor is ice cold behind me, and I can only nod my head, still embarrassed by the uniform gaffe. -I thought there were 87 of us, doctors and nurses.- Comments the younger medic, perplexed. -As of yesterday, 86, since No. 29 has been eliminated. Anyhow, this way, it’ll be easier for everyone to appeal to her. She could make up for… unpleasant mishaps, such as a perforated artery, crushed rib cages…- while listing every possible case of macabre inconvenience, Valdemar has a strange expression on their face, like the one of a child thinking about his favorite dish. When I get goosebumps, this time I don’t blame the cold of the dungeons. Noticing my discomfort, Julian allows himself to interrupt their dark fantasies. -I didn’t know Alex was sick.- -Oh, he was just at the beginning of the infection. I couldn’t risk him compromising other people’s health…so I took care of him.- I admit I’m not in a position to judge, but I can only ask: -Did you…- -Yes, exactly. I sent him home.- I breathe a sigh of relief, for a moment I feared the worst. But apparently it’s not over. -He’ll be back here soon as a patient, and on his deathbed, he’ll be studied. Isn’t that noble?- The only thing Valdemar seems to be excited about is the idea of vivisection. I wonder if it happens often, to hospitalize their own employees. I hope not, because now I’m part of the medical staff too. I wonder if they ever feels sorry. They might be able to detach themselves emotionally with a stranger, but with a colleague I think it’s more difficult. After all, coworkers chat every day, they help each other. For me it is inevitable that a strictly professional relationship will sooner or later lead to a friendship, even if it is weak. Does this job really change one so much and so quickly? This situation has been going on for just over two years, has it really been able to change an individual’s soul in this way? Or was it already like this? -No more futile chatter, it’s time to return to our splendid duty, don’t you think? - Valdemar’s feline eyes are watching us. I realize that the whole uniform, from boots to gown, fits me perfectly. Could it be that they took my measurements while I was unconscious? Heavens, I don’t think they were even thinking of hiring me yet. Do they do that to everyone? Or maybe one look it’s all it takes for them to know a lot more about me than I could ever imagine. If Julian told me the boss could read minds, I’d believe it, and I wouldn’t even be that surprised. Speaking of Julian, he’s taking a step forward by my side. -I could take care of her training if you agree, Quaestor.- the doctor shakes his head in response, calmly and satisfactorily inhaling the putrid air of the little hospital. -I’m afraid I’m going to have to deny you this chance you’ve certainly been yearning for, No. 069. I myself want to observe her techniques, and who could be a better teacher than me in medical matter? Be reasonable, 069, you would be futile. Even if I didn’t want to take this responsibility, I’d assign the task to someone more deserving.- wow, they could’ve just said no. The two of them exchange an icy stare, there’s no good blood between them at all. The whole surrounding atmosphere is full of tension, but I suppose that’s normal. It’s a very stressful situation for everyone. Julian stands still, looking down. His fists tighten, then he releases them with a sigh. –Understood.- He murmurs resigned, then turns around and goes back to work. Following his trajectory with my gaze I notice something new in the room: a low stone well, open. –Watch carefully.- -Ah!- I yeIp and cover my mouth with my hands, jolting at the unexpected closeness of Valdemar’s face, leaning behind me to whisper in my ear. I then remain motionless, obeying the command, and to my horror I notice that a bloody and lifeless body is thrown into the well. Death is everywhere here. I’ve never seen it like this before, so close. The procedure is done quietly in front of the other patients, but no one pays attention to it, all so busy being tormented by their own unbearable pain. A little boy with vermilion sclerae seems to be the exception, and as he watches the well swallow one corpse after another he realizes that he will soon end up the same way. He grabs his hair, crouching on the icy ground. Valdemar murmurs something, but I take the liberty of not listening to them, running to the young boy to kneel in front of him, his preadolescent face twisted into a desperate expression. I take his face in my hands, bringing his attention to me. Some nurse turns to look at us. -Hey, hey. Shh. It’s okay. I’m here to help you.- I let him rest his head on my chest while he sobs incomprehensible gibberish. Between those confused words, I can distinguish a specific cry saying “I don’t want to die” and I could swear I’m hearing my heart break in two. I run my fingers through his dusty hair, feeling protected by the mask, but even if I didn’t have it I would do the same thing. I take advantage of the contact to concentrate my light and understand how advanced the stage of the disease is. I close my eyelids and let the noises around us cancel each other out. Once again, the compromised particles are in the blood, but luckily they haven’t attacked the organs yet. He will certainly be easier than Selasi to heal, plus now my magic knows where to go and recognizes the enemy. I hold the boy close to me, rocking him gently, while I happily feel his symptoms go away. The light pervades his body, absorbing the malaise. Within a minute, or even less, it’s all over, and when I open my eyes again I have many more fixared on me, first of all those of the cured kid. -How do you feel? -I ask him, smiling kindly. It would be understandable if he was confused or exhausted. -I…-He puts his head down to take a look at his body, then raises it back up to me, then back down again, incredulous. I feel a hand on my back, turning around, I notice it’s Julian’s. -You’re unbelievable, MC!- he exclaims, quickly examining the sclere of the boy, now of a normal whitish hue. Everyone cheers me enthusiastically, surprised by my skill. Between the voices I hear “it’s a miracle” “she’s the cure!” and I turn red like a pepper, while trying to ignore my incoming migraine. Then, suddenly, an icy silence invades the room. Everyone is silent. The only sound that echoes on the rock walls is the ticking of a pair of soles hitting the stone coming closer. -Admirable, really, No. 100. But, you see… I’m the one in charge here. And I don’t think I ordered you to treat this orphan.- I recognize Valdemar’s voice at once, and I realize I made a mistake. I stand up slowly. -But the boy was suffering and…- -Little, incompetent fool…-the breath stops in my throat when the Quaestor’s squeeze wraps around my shoulders, tearing me away from Julian’s delicate touch. -You and your stupid, superfluous feelings. I knew you weren’t so clever, but I still overestimated you.- A rare warmth pervades my chest. It’s anger. -I’m going to ask you to think about it anyway. Do you think it’s right to privilege the health of a young brat? How do you think everyone else feels now? Or maybe they didn’t pity you enough, since they weren’t whining like babies. But I can assure you that there are people who deserved to be saved more than a useless infant to society. There are soldiers, officials, even other doctors here. Isn’t that enough for you?- I bite my lip. It’s so easy to make me feel guilty. The Quaestor’s words, hard as they are, are true. Everyone deserves to live equally. I don’t know what to say, and that encourages them to persevere in reproach. -Yeah, that’s what I thought. The goodness you so-called tender-hearted people show is false. There’s always an ulterior motive behind it, you never pause to think about your actions and that causes more harm than anything else.- It costs me a lot of effort not to cry. I feel humiliated and frustrated, but tears would give him even more reason. -From now on, I demand that you do what I tell you, nothing else. You’re clearly not capable of making objective decisions. Go to your office, in the meantime… take him away- they point at the boy with a wave of their hand. I instantly become pallid with fear.

 .

Notes: summary of this long ass chapter: Julian good, dr.Vivisexy bad. I’m sorry for this angst but this will be very obviously a slow burn (ohhh yeeeeaaah that’s the stuff) and also uhhh space for character development i guess

I need Julian for a higher purpose so i hope you don’t mind the presence of pretty bird boi (i certainly dont,,,,,, i do be kinda loving him doe..,,). As always, thank you for reading! Opinions are always appreciated!!!! (please dont insult/harshly criticize me though, i could and WILL cry)

[gauntie-o-dimm]

Dettlaff | Sweeter

Prompt: "I want to try something new"

Alongside the following request:

"Dettlaff loves you madly, deeply, unconditionally, but demonstrates his animalistic nature in your intimate affairs. You feel uncomfortable and sore, so you decide to teach him more human ways of pleasing and receiving pleasure."

Word count: 3300+ Warnings: Smut, swearing, angst

His body was hot on bent over me, hovering like a huge tower of muscle. His chest hit my back as he leaned over, sharp fangs grazing against my shoulder blades. I shuddered as the skin broke, his tongue slithering over my skin to catch any drop of blood that escaped the fresh cuts. He groaned, grunted, made noises that no one could describe. Droplets of sweat dripped onto my skin, scorching hot and oh-so-able to make me shiver. I let out a small moan as he reached around my body, hips pressing flush against my ass as he pressed himself into me, growled, and... Came. Dettlaff nearly collapsed on top of me, head falling against my back. I heard him try to catch his breath, his length slipping from my depths and soon replacing it with his fingers. He tugged - firmly - and I let out a pained sound. I saw his brow knit as he gazed inside of my cunt, pushing it any sperm dribbling down my legs. 'Yeah, all in there... Clench those thighs together, (Y/n). I don't want any to slip out of you.' He didn't even notice the slight clench of my walls around his fingers, indicating that I was about to orgasm. He pulled his fingers out of me, wiping them dry on the blanket. He leaned down to kiss me relentlessly, teeth and tongue ravishing my mouth without allowing me to breathe. As soon as I tasted iron in the kiss, I pulled back, exhausted and alas, far from satisfied. 'I love you, (Y/n)... You're my mate for life, and if someone comes to get you, they will pay with their death.'

I didn't respond, instead choosing to rest my head against the pillow - there was no point in trying to cuddle. Dettlaff smiled a little, leaning down to kiss me again. 'Your obedience speaks volumes, my dear.' He arose, finding his clothes and putting them on. 'I will be back tonight.' he spoke, draping a blanket on top of me. After he left, I let out a sorrowful whimper. Of course, I loved the Vampire so much... But there was no love in his way of fucking - just instinct, as if he was completely taken over by his beastly desires. It took a good ten minutes to get up, wash myself and get dressed.   With a slight limp in my step, I went to the market. The weather was nice today in Beauclair. Enjoying the sun, I purchased some fresh fruits, candies and bread. As I stood at a market stand that was selling fabrics - one of my dresses was becoming a little worn down - I heard a familiar voice behind me. 'What a lovely colour would that be on you, (Y/n).' I looked over my shoulder and smiled at the sight of my lover's closest friend. 'Hello Regis. Thank you, then I think I will get a piece of it.' I paid the merchant and stuffed the roll of fabric into my basket, which was getting pretty full. 'How are you doing?' I asked the Higher Vampire, who was rubbing his chin rather thoughtfully. 'Just enjoying the sun - what an odd thing to say as a Vampire, hm?' I lightly laughed at the mention of this myth. 'And what about you, Mrs van der Eretein?' I blushed at the nickname and let out a small chuckle - Regis often teased me with the knowledge of my hopes that Dettlaff would ask me to marry him soon. 'I am doing wonderful, thank you.' We walked down a bunch of stairs so we were looking out over the water. I offered Regis an apple, which he took with a thankful grin. 'Why are you lying to me, (Y/n)? I can see the sadness in your eyes?' I let out a sigh. 'Would you understand, Regis?' 'Well, I cannot answer that unless you tell me what is going on.'

The crimson hue that spread over my cheeks had me hide my face in my hands. 'Ugh, it's embarrassing.' 'How can you tell?' 'Because it's to do...' I lowered the volume of my voice. 'It's to do with sex.' Regis hummed and looked at me with an expecting nod, telling me to continue on.

'I really love Dettlaff, you know... But whenever we make love, there is not much... Well, love. He's so... Rough, in a bad way. I rarely orgasm.' By the way Regis was smiling, I was sure that my face must've been as red as the apple I was holding. To hide my blush, I took a bite and looked away. 'You know that Dettlaff loves you too, right?' I nodded, looking down at the water. 'I know.' 'The way Vampires love is way different than the way humans love, (Y/n). Dettlaff is a very emotional being. He is intense, extreme when it comes to expressing himself.' I was silent for a bit, looking over at the older Vampire. 'I know.' 'Then I am sure you also know that he will listen if you tell him you want him to be more gentle. Less bestial, if you catch my meaning.' After a few seconds, I gave him a small hum. 'I can always try. He will be back tonight, and I have no idea what he is up to right now.' 'I think he's at his toy shop.' Regis mused, tossing the eaten apple core into the lake. 'Plenty time of you to prepare. Make it a little romantic in your room and I am sure he will be up for it.' Regis put a hand on my shoulder, gently squeezing it. 'Thank you.' I whispered. 'That's what friends are for.'

~ That evening, I sat in the bedroom, wearing a robe. I had put a freshly washed duvet on it, had taken a bath and was wearing some light perfume. I was just lightning a few candles as I felt a door open and close behind me. 'What are you doing?' I heard a deep voice. 'Just... Dettlaff, please come sit with me.' I sat down on the bed and patted the blanket. Hesitantly, he obeyed. I fingered a few buttons on his frock coat and he saw it as a sign to take it off. I sighed as he draped it onto the ground, looking at me with that same confused face. 'I... I want to try something new.' I whispered, letting my hand slide around his waist to pull him a little closer. 'What do you mean?' 'I mean...' I paused, looking for the right words. 'I mean that I want you to make love to me the human way.'

He frowned, still unsure of what I meant by that. But before he could open his mouth to respond, I let myself sit down on his lap, straddling him. 'I want you to gently take me, kiss me everywhere, whisper sweet things in my ear... I want you to make me cum so hard that I can't walk tomorrow... I want...' I felt a tent press against my butt and I knew it was turning him on. 'I want you to make me feel good, and I will do the same to you.' Dettlaff lowly hummed and leaned upwards for a kiss, but I stopped him by pressing my fingers to his mouth. 'Sssh...' I reached for the belt around my robe, untying it. I let it fall off my shoulders, revealing that I was wearing nothing underneath. He gasped a little, tilting his head slightly to take in my body. Again, I pressed my index- and middle finger to his mouth, tugging at his bottom lip. He opened his mouth and I let his saliva make my digits become wet. I pulled them back, sliding my damp hand over my abdomen and between my legs. 'Hmm... Do you want to have a taste, darling?' I purred, starting to play with myself. He had to obviously withhold himself from grabbing me and taking me in the way he usually did. Teasingly, I ground myself against his clothed member, which was stiff against his pants.

'If you... Hm... If you want me to fuck you gently, you shouldn't tease me like that.' I pouted at Dettlaff's remark, pretending to be hurt. 'Can't you just let me have some fun, too?' He leaned back, hands resting on the bed. 'If that's what you want, (Y/n).' 'No, you don't understand...' I whispered with a patient sigh. 'Here, take some clothes off.' I helped him strip down until he was fully naked, and I gently pushed him on the bed. I knelt down between his legs, looking up at him with half-closed eyes. 'What...' he let out a low hum as I took a hold of his erection, pressing a kiss to the side of it. 'What are you doing?' 'Just try to enjoy it, OK?' I said. I had never sucked him off before, but his cock smelt amazing... 'Is this some kind of sorcery?' he breathed, swallowing a moan as I softly took the head in my mouth, swirling my tongue around it. 'Are you trying to eat my genitals?' I had to withhold a laugh. 'No, Dettlaff...' I said, licking the base and taking him in whole again. He grunted, lifting his hips slightly off the bed. 'Fuck, that feels good...' I pulled back for air, jerking him off a few times. 'It's called a blowjob.' I said. 'Oral sex. You can try oral sex on me, too...' 'Do you want me to?' I nodded and smiled softly. 'OK.' he said, lacing his fingers through my hair. 'Oh, you look so beautiful...' I pulled back the foreskin, softly sucking on his shaft. 'Ah, fuck!' I let out a small giggle, leaning down my head to suck on his testicles. Dettlaff tensed. 'Holy shit. Stop, I don't want to cum yet...'

I crawled on top of him, kissing him firmly. His hands wrapped around my waist, holding me close. After a moment, he pulled back for air. 'I want to give you a blowjob as well...' I burst out laughing. 'Oh, Dettlaff... That's not called a blowjob when performed on women, it's called eating out. I want you to eat my pussy.' 'Eating a pussy? That's a little sad, such a small kitty...' 'No, Dettlaff...' I felt like I was high from the amount of butterflies he gave me right now. 'That's a term for cunt... Vagina... You really didn't know that?' 'No...' he was sincere as he looked at me. 'Oh...' he blushed all of a sudden.

'So when I asked you what you had been doing the other day and you said "touching my pussy" with such a grin, you actually didn't mean you had seen a cat on the street and pet it?'

Dettlaff looked at me with such innocent confusion that I toppled over on top of him, cackling loudly. 'That's not what I meant indeed.' He wrapped his arms around me, hugging me. 'I was already wondering why you was already smirking like that.' I looked up at him, resting my chin against his chest. 'So you gonna eat my cunt or what?' 'I am curious to have a taste.'

I got out of his arms, laying on my back on the bed. I beckoned him to come closer, spreading my legs. 'What... What do you want me to do?' He leaned over me, kissing me on the lips for a moment. 'I want to make you feel good as well.' 'You can suck on my nipples first.' I boldly said. 'But.. Ain't that for feeding children? Won't you better be keeping that until I give you a child?' 'I don't produce any breast milk right now. Only during and after pregnancy.' Dettlaff rubbed his chin, looking down at my breasts. 'It's pleasurable, also for men.' 'Really?' I leaned a little forward, pressing a kiss on one of his nipples. The Higher Vampire let out a sigh. 'That indeed feels nice.' 'Then please...' Without wasting another second, he sucked down on one of my breasts, taking it into his mouth. The other, he grabbed firmly, massaging it with his palm. A moan left my lips, my back arching into him so the mound of flesh was fulling filling his mouth. 'They taste really nice...' Dettlaff muttered after pulling back, grazing his tongue against the perky nub. 'I should do that more often.' I rubbed my drenched core against his bare leg in order to tease him a little. 'The best is still to come, darling...' He moved down to sit between my legs, kissing my abdomen a few times. He knew the scent of my excitement, but he had never tasted it before. I spread my legs, using my own hands to push apart my folds. 'See that? When it's wet like it is now, it means my body is ready for intercourse.' 'Intercourse... Such an odd word.' 'Well, mating is often used for animals, wanting to get offspring. But intercourse, or making love as it is sometimes called, it's just for pleasuring each other to make them feel how much you love them.' 'So not always with the means of getting a child?' I hummed in response and stroked with my finger across my labia. 'See this tiny button over here?' Dettlaff gave a small nod. 'It's called a clitoris. It's an intensely sensitive spot on a woman's pussy. I often rub it to make myself orgasm, but I would much prefer it if you'd suck and lick it.' Dettlaff nodded thoughtfully, inspecting it with great interest. 'So you just want me to...' he leaned in, his hot breath hitting the soaked lips. 'Hmmm, yeah.' I said with a lewd sigh. The anticipation that seared through my core was almost killing me.

A loud moan came from me as he licked down, inexperienced and exploring. He wasn't sure of the movement of his tongue, but as soon as he saw me wriggle and moan under the heat he pressed against me, he became more certain of his actions. The taste of it had caused something to grow in his eyes, something I had never seen before. He sucked my clit, letting out a chuckle when I squealed in pleasure. 'Oh, Dettlaff, fuck...' I grabbed my own breasts and pressed them together, making sure that he'd see it. He sucked down a little harsher at the sight, clearly turned on by it. My toes curled as his tongue slithered into my depths, curling as my walls clenched around it. 'You taste so well, (Y/n)...' he grunted against me, sending vibrations through my spine. 'What was it called again?' 'E-Eating... Oh... Eating out-t-ooh, right there!' His tongue lapped across my soaked folds, large fingers parting them so he could suck on them both. 'I want to eat you out every day, then.' I smiled at the thought of that. 'Seeing you like this makes me want to do very rough things to you.' he said, nuzzling my core. I closed my eyes, arching my back. I didn't want to orgasm just yet, wanting it to come to a conclusion otherwise.

'Then let me show you something.' I mewled, wanting him to pull back since fuck was I close. 'Come over here...' He crawled on top of me, kissing me. For the first time I tasted my own essence on his lips, around his mouth as his tongue dove into me. I smiled, my hand going down to find his erection. He grunted as I took a hold of it, guiding it upwards to press it against my core. I wrapped my legs around his hips, hoping he would roll them forward. Dettlaff took notice of what I was trying to do, pressing himself into my vagina with not much difficulty. We both let out a sigh of satisfaction, the Higher Vampire frowning a bit. His arms wrapped around me, tensing as if he wanted to lift me up. 'What are you doing?' 'Trying to turn you around?' he looked at me as if it was the most normal thing and my question was plain stupid. I didn't blame him, he didn't know it any other way.' 'Oh, Dettlaff, no, I want to look you in the eye when you fuck me.' 'That's a thing when mating?' 'You will like it, I am sure.' I started to move against him, his thrusts soon meeting mine. I bit on my lip, maintaining eye-contact with him while he gradually started to increase his speed. He smiled a little as he saw my face twist in pleasure, my lips slightly parting as I let out a wanton sound. 'You like that, hm?' he said with a loving smile. I nodded. 'I love to see you like this.' he confessed, grunting as he slammed himself back into me. 'Shit, I love this, really...' he muttered, 'Being able to see your face like this... I've never known it could make me feel this way during mat- I mean, intercourse.' I smiled at him, tangling my fingers in his dark locks. 'Kiss me.' I urged, wanting to have him deeper inside me in more ways than one. His body was sticky against me, his skin scorching me but it was nothing but pleasurable. He deeply kissed me, rolled his tongue into me again and breathed heavily through me. For the first time, there was something else than instinct and vampiric behaviour in his thrusts. I wanted him to release into me so badly, so I pulled him tighter into me, his testicles slapping against me every time he pressed forward. 'Are you going to cum, baby?' I coaxed him, letting out a breathy moan that sounded very naughty. 'Are you going to fill me up?' 'What nonsense are you sputtering, (Y/n)?' Dettlaff said confusedly. 'Just wanting to talk dirty to you...' He was silent for a second, then showed me a toothy grin. 'In that case... Keep on going.' 'Are you going to make me your cum-slut, Dettlaff?' He raised an eyebrow. 'Darling, don't call yourself a slut. I know you aren't one.' 'Then try this.' I said, softly pushing him off me. I pushed him back onto the bed, straddling his hips and I let myself sink down onto him. 'Hmmm, yeah, I'm going to ride you, alright?' He grabbed my waist but I moved his hands down to my butt. 'I want you to fill me with your seed, Dettlaff...' I whispered while starting to ride him with a speed that was desperate, awaiting sweet release. 'I want it to stay in there, too... Make sure it stays in there...' 'Hmmm, do you want that?' One of his hands went up to massage my breast, the other groping my ass while I kept lifting and sinking myself onto his cock. The sound of skin slapping skin had me moaning. 'Yes, Dettlaff.' 'Are you going to give me a child?' 'Oh, yes... Yes!' My legs started shaking uncontrollably, my walls clenching around his length. I began to tremble, letting all control go of my body. As I came harder than I ever had, Dettlaffs finger brushed against my clitoris, a proud smile soon accompanying his features. Soon, he closed his eyes tightly as he felt me start to break down, emptying himself in my depths. I collapsed on top of him, resting my head against his heavily moving chest. His heartbeat was immensely fast. He kept himself sitting in me for a little longer until he pulled out and I winced at the sensation. Wholly satisfied and exhausted, I looked him in the eye. 'That was incredible... Thank you for trying your best for me, Dettlaff.' I whispered, softly smiling as he kissed my forehead. 'No need to thank me. I should thank you for this amazing experience. It certainly was an eye-opener to me... I hope to do this again with you very soon.'

I smiled. 'Of course. I love you.' 'I love you, too, (Y/n).' I closed my eyes, resting against him. His hands roamed over my body, insatiable almost. I enjoyed the touch as I softly drifted off to sleep. Right as I slipped into a slumber, I heard him mutter something underneath me. 'Do you want to become my wife?'

[whatdoyouexpectthistime]

Part 2: The Hand That Binds

READ Part 1: Pride or Clan

When he had settled against the mat, gaze still locked with Miho’s, she rose her voice.

“Everyone out.”

There wasn’t a whisper, not single question or objections. The Li filed out under guard, until Victor and Miho were alone.

“I imagine that was far more painful than taking those arrows still sticking out of your chest,” Miho mused, dropping her formality and approaching him slowly. “Humility is not something your clan is known for.”

“Perhaps not,” Victor responded, tracking her advance until she stood directly in front of him. “But I am not my father.”

“No, you’re not,” she smiled, sitting herself down cross-legged. “And for that reason, I am willing to offer my support. The Li stand upon the precipice of destruction, an end – no doubt – Lucien Xu would love to bring about that same future for all who refuse to bow before him, myself included. I like to think that makes us allies.”

“Allies with a broken clan?” he said – not confused, but skeptical with her word choice.

“So, shall I dispatch reinforcements to your capital?” she offered, completely ignoring his question. “No doubt Lucien is already marching there to complete his campaign against you.”

“While I still draw breath it will never be complete,” he declared, his inhale rasping loudly.

“By the look of things, that may not be much longer without medical intervention.”

“I will rest when my people are safe,” he asserted, his glistening brow twitching.

Before he could drive the arrows further into his body, Miho caught his forward listing body.

“Gavin,” she said quietly, and the ninja appeared as if form thin air. “See the good lord to a state room and ensure he lives.”

 Stretching her arms, Miho exhaled a long breath. Within her private quarters, she could be more relaxed, for those who were allowed inside had her closest confidence.

“It went well then,” Jazz smiled, padding on bare feet from the shadows and touching a warm hand to Miho’s left cheek. “Still a little tense though.”

“A little difficult not to with war on our doorstep and the new leader of a rival clan wheezing bloody lungfuls next door.”

“He is next door?” Jazz murmured, brushing her fingertips down Miho’s neck and across her shoulders as she stepped behind the other woman. “I suppose we shall have to be quiet then.”

“That would be polite,” Miho sighed, closing her eyes, allowing herself to be tugged back toward the futon, onto which she sat. “Are we polite?”

“Me?” Jazz chuckled in Miho’s ear, stripping away part of the Fujiwara leader’s robe. “Definitely. You, not so much.”

“And Liana?” Miho prompted, suppressing a shiver as Jazz began to lightly trace the edges of her fingernails against her skin. “Where is she?”

“She returned shortly after you convened in the hall,” Jazz answered. “And now she is no doubt reminding Gavin what he missed while out following your orders,” Jazz answered, beginning the press of her thumbs into Miho’s rigid muscles.

“His greatest fear – being without her,” Miho laughed, wincing as Jazz put pressure on a particularly sore spot.

“Oh, I think his greatest fear is having to share her with you,” Jazz corrected, softening the accuracy of her ‘therapy’ with the gentle touch of her lips.

“Hmm, yes I suppose it might be,” Miho agreed thoughtfully, huffing a loud breath. “You think I should allow them to be together.”

Not a question, a statement.

“I think their bond is genuine,” Jazz replied diplomatically. “And worth nurturing.”

“Fine,” Miho dropped, getting up to wriggle out of the rest of her clothing. “I do not have time for a harem now anyway.”

When she was naked, Jazz stepped up to swathe her in a delicate night-robe, one much the same as she herself wore.

“I am going to need you to work harder, Jazz,” Miho admitted, taking the pale woman’s face between her hands. “The Xu will finish with the Li in short order, then Lucien will set his sight on our mountains. Strong as I am, as my armies are, if we cannot break through his ability to protect his forces against attack, we shall fail – just like Victor.”

Ever so slightly, Jazz nodded, and with a rare, relieved smile Miho kissed her lightly.

“But for now,” Jazz winked, lacing her fingers through Miho’s and giving her a tug back to the futon, “let us forget about Victor and Lucien, and think only of us.”

A suggestion Miho gladly followed.

 ______________________________________________

The morning was bitter with cold, and Miho had risen before the sun. She checked in with Liana and Gavin, who like her, were early to rise for training – despite how strenuous their night-time activities may have been. There were no excuses, no explanations and no fear from them when she interrupted their sparring session, despite the fact Miho had expected Liana to be present with Jazz the evening prior.

They knew if Miho had an issue with their increasingly frequent liaisons, she would have intervened when Gavin first showed an interest. The head of the Fujiwara Clan had a reputation for many things, running her affairs in the face of many societal norms among them.

Still, they were careful to show no measure of impropriety in public spaces.

“Lord Victor,” she prompted, addressing Liana. “I take it he is still alive?”

“Difficult to discern, My Lady,” Liana replied seriously. “The man is so cold; alive, dead, there does not appear to be much of a difference.”

Making little attempt to hide her amusement, Miho gave Liana a light tap on the arm.

“I need you to assist Jazz until further notice,” she said and Liana nodded without hesitation, though Miho was not oblivious to Gavin’s sideways glance. “And I want you to be Lord Victor’s shadow when he is from my sight.”

“You plan to keep him close?” Gavin queried, a little warily, and Miho waved her hand dismissively.

“Everyone must make sacrifices if the clan is to survive the Xu scourge,” she reasoned casually, wriggling her fingers theatrically in the air.

Her face the very picture of carefree.

“My Lady,” a soldier greeted. “Lord Victor is requesting your presence.”

“Duty calls,” Miho sighed, but pointed at Gavin as she stepped away. “I want to be able track the Xu to the last arrow - every hoof in the dirt, every mouthful of rice.”

“Without fail,” Gavin nodded, and had disappeared as if never there.

 After her arrival was announced, Miho entered one of several staterooms used for hosting visiting nobles. Therein she found Victor sitting upright, his otherwise bare chest bound around and cross-ways.

“I am no physician, but you should be resting,” she scolded, despite the crispness of Victor’s demeanour. “You do your clan no favours plunging headlong into an early grave.”

“No, resting in the den of a…” Victor replied, but cut himself off.

Miho’s eyebrows raised.

“Oh, please do continue,” she encouraged, brightly. “It would seem a single night and the best of my medical personnel have worked wonders for your humility.”

Receiving her message, Victor paused to think over a more diplomatic response.

“My apologies,” he conceded, and Miho sat down at the end of his futon.

“Yours is an unenviable position,” she pointed out. “The Xu aside, war has taken its economic toll on your people. Without assistance their suffering will protract until…”

She spread her hands.

“But people are people, Lord Victor,” she went on. “And I would see the misery of your people no more than I would sit idle and endure the misery of mine.”

“And you would allow them to remain, mine?” Victor probed, slowly this time, carefully.

“Well, I’m not sure a hungry child cares who claims sovereignty over her, but if you’re asking whether I intend to pounce on the opportunity to steal your lands? No,” Miho assured him. “The Fujiwara and Li may not be allied, but we’re not enemies, nor do I or my people require expansion. Lucien, on the other hand, is a malice I have no tolerance for.”

Victor took some time to search her face in the wake of this declaration, hunting for duplicity. The world was cutthroat, and clan leaders carried the weight of so many lives it was uncommon for them to not take advantage of any and all chances to increase their influence.

“You look a little confused,” Miho snickered. “Is humanity really so foreign a concept to you?”

“Foreign, no,” he answered. “It was simply not the way I was raised. Were our roles reversed, I cannot say I would be so magnanimous.”

“Will you look at that,” Miho laughed. “A compliment. Have you perhaps developed a fever?”

“You may take it that way if you wish,” he nodded, adjusting the way he sat with a small grimace. “However, it was intended to express puzzlement.”

“Well, you don’t need to truly understand my motivations to benefit from them,” she assured.

“Perhaps not,” he acknowledged. “But I cannot believe your actions will come without cost. If I am not mistaken, Lucien offered you peace.”

“Some skewed version of it,” she confirmed. “Buuuuut, he won’t be able to bind my clan or me in that fashion now.”

“Through marriage, you mean?” Victor sought in clarification, and Miho nodded.

“Don’t get me wrong, I have great affection for my concubines,” she admitted, “I may even love one or two, but for the leader of a clan and for its future, marriage must be an exclusive proposition.”

“I had heard nothing of you taking a husband,” Victor frowned slightly, while Miho’s smile turned into a confident grin.

“Because I have not,” she declared, then narrowed her eyes on him pointedly. “But I will be.”

______________________________________________

Don’t forget folks, comments and commenty reblogs keep a girl writing! I’m also open to, you know, expanding Miho’s collection of concubines for any who have OCs who would like cameos -grins-

[darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts]

One Hot Dull Day

Ok, this is a special something for @colivara . It is also IkeVamp which I have never even played so if it's lacking in places I humbly apologise and hope you will forgive me. - Aerion

Warnings: Strong Languages, +18 situations, Smut, a Vampire and 19th century France. 

---

One Hot Dull Day

She had been dragged around most of the day and whilst she had come to expect it at times and was somewhat used to his errands today was not a good day.

The weather had been dull all day which had certainly added to the mood Tina had been feeling since she had woken up. Pulling back the curtains in her room at the mansion to see nothing but endless grey sky and a damp chill in the air that wished to cling to her skin sent a shiver through her bones.

Sebastian had kindly prepared a soothing hot drink to help warm her, aware of how the weather could affect some people. Halfway through her drink, she began to feel a little more human. A fact that was not without its humour given her current location. A small smile crept across her lips at the notion, and that was when he turned up. Leonardo.

He was never what you would call in a rush he sort of drifted around and gave an excellent impression of a doorstop at times when he was asleep. How he managed to sleep in those apparent uncomfortable positions was beyond her comprehension, but still, he seemed happy in his contorted repose.

“There you are, Little Lady.” He called out as his eyes settled on the red-headed girl in the room.

“Leonardo. Is something wrong?” Tina placed the teacup back on its saucer gently as she looked over at the inventor.

“Wrong? No nothing that I am aware of. I was about to take a turn into the city. I was hoping you would join me.” He strode over to her covering the space in the room quickly. His jacket draped over his shoulders billowed at the movement. The closer he got, the more she could see of his muscular bare chest poking out through the fabric of his shirt which he never once seemed to wear right. But good god if the man couldn’t make being wrong look so right. It was enough to drive you crazy.

“In other words, you are on an errand and wish for me to come along and if I said no you would find a way to persuade me still otherwise?” Tina adjusted her glasses in an attempt to distract herself from being lost in thought as she felt her mind attempt to wander in a direction that whilst it would be thrilling. It was also still morning, and she had only just woken up.

“Ha! I was right when I said you would make for an interesting research subject Tina. You never fail to show something new.” Leo bent down and filled Tina’s vision with nothing but his handsome self. “It always makes me wonder what delights you have hidden away just waiting for me to unwrap them.” He brought his hand out and gently stroked her cheek, tucking some stray hair behind her ear. All the while he was observing her, smiling that warm and inviting smile of his with those plush soft lips. “Come now get your coat; you don’t wish to be cold outside; we have places to be and people to see.” He backed away as quickly as he had arrived. Tina obediently placed her cup and saucer on the table and went to retrieve her coat as she was told.

“He did that on purpose…”

---

Everywhere they went in the city someone called out and spoke to Leo. He was a well-known figure in the local community; it was something she was proud of even if there was a little small flicker of something that made her feel a little lonely. The weather wasn’t helping at all.

The lack of sun and the natural bright light was really making things feel worse than they were. Ordinarily, she would just laugh and joke and wander around happily with Leo on his errands. She would talk to the people and smile. But today her feet were hurting, and the dull greyness felt like it was removing the colour from the world around her. Even the smells from the bakery that sometimes filled the air replacing the less desirable scents with delicious fresh bread seemed muted.

“Are you alright? You are looking upset.” Leonardo looked at Tina with eyes full of concern as he noticed her mask slipping more and more.

“I’m fine. Where too next?”

“This way Little Lady.” His own expression didn’t give anything away as he took Tina’s arm and guided her through some quieter back streets. Now where the hell are, we going?

Where turned out to be a heavy arched doorway set into a wall. If you hadn’t known it was there, you might very well have missed it. Leo raised his large hand and knocked firmly on the door. After a few minutes, an unfamiliar man appeared. He didn’t look local, but given the number of new arrivals into port, it was not surprising that some of them had settled in this area.

“Mr Da Vinci? Welcome, welcome.” The man beckoned Leo in with a broad smile. Tina was a little hesitant but trusted Leo to protect her if anything went wrong.

Past the heavy street door was another set of doors, the ornate carved wood and inlay was breathtaking; it was like looking at a wooden mosaic. The floor was flat and made with unbelievably smooth slabs of stone. However, she had felt outside today. Inside this place it was so different, it was like a whole new world.

A large Ornamental fountain that would not have looked out of place at the palace of Versailles rose from the ground. The soft calming sound of water mixed with the warm, humid air. Several benches lined the walls, but it didn’t look like they were here to sit and watch the fountain. Leo had been talking to the man that let them in and taken what looked like a couple of towels from him with a smile. What do you need those for?

“Come on my Lady this way.”

It was difficult to ignore Leo’s commands. He had a way of getting you sucked in to going with his plans with very little detail and moving at his pace. The room he took her too was a shock. The roof had a small dome that the filtered natural light from outside making the carved white marble columns and arches glow. There was a vast raised platform in the middle and smaller arched doorways to other rooms off to the sides around it. The decorative patterns on the walls and in the carvings really were out of this world.

“What are we doing here?” Tina asked still lost in awe of looking at the room.

“We are going to take a bath,” Leo stated bluntly as if what he had said wasn’t in the slightest bit shocking and totally normal.

“B-bath?”

“That’s right. This is a Hammam. They are very popular although this one is not so well known. I helped them with some repairs. The Hypocaust was very old, and the boiler was not very efficient.” Tina loved to see him when he was explaining things. His eyes sparkled with life, and he looked so serenely happy in his element. He was always tinkering with something, making improvements, repairing what was thought to be forever lost. To think he had a hand in putting life back into this place made her heart sing.

“That doesn’t explain why WE are taking a bath here.” Tina fought hard against the desire to just forget the world around them and blindly follow his plan.

“Call it a perk of the job. We can have a relaxing time enjoying this place before it is opened to the public.” Leo had already removed his jacket and was making preparations to remove his shirt. His hand stopped teasingly on the buttons as he looked at her. “And you will be able to smile again.”

“I guess I couldn’t hide it from you,” Tina mumbled knowing that he had obviously seen right through her performance to hide the fact that today was not a day where she had felt bubbly and happy.

“I would prefer it if you hid nothing at all. Are we not Lovers?” Leo asked with a soft voice that was just etched with his love and concern. He was suddenly very close, his long legs had closed the gap between them easily, and he was stroking Tina’s hair gently as if she were his cat.

“Leo I’m sorry. But honestly, it is nothing I mean it’s just the weather. The season is neither one thing nor the other and the weather added to the whole trapped in Limbo feeling.”

“I Understand. That was an unfair question. Still, I am not hearing a reason why we cannot enjoy this together today.” A playful smile adorned his face, and he slowly dropped his hand from her head to her collar. “Now then Little Lady are you going to be ok handling this yourself or do you need me to help you?”

“I can do that myself!” It was an instinctive reaction and one that Tina always kicked herself for. Why do I always have to jump like that and say something contrary to what I mean?

“Very well I’ll be waiting in the small room over there then.” Leo chuckled as he left. This was now a familiar game to them.

Stripping down and wrapping a towel around her naked self, Tina removed her glasses that were doing nothing but steaming up at this point. Trusting her grey eyes to be able to guide her through the steamy atmosphere without injury.

The smaller room was hotter than the main room. There was a marble water bowl in the corner and a large flat stone table. Her breath caught in her throat as she took in the beauty of the room, but her heart stopped when she noticed the man laying on the table. Completely naked from top to toe, his chiselled muscles making him look every bit like a marble statue.

“You’re here.” He raised a hand and dragged it through his hair raking it back from his face. There was a fine dusting of moisture on his skin that just highlighted every mouth-watering inch of him. “Come closer Tina, take a seat.” He said and patted the space in front of him.

Doing as she was told she took a seat on the table, nerves rising a little at the proximity to Leo. She didn’t need her glasses to know how he was looking at her right now. Two large hands found their way to her bare shoulders gently rubbing them in circles, a soft groan left Tina’s lips as his fingers found a sweet spot. Leonardo said nothing and just continued to guide his hands expertly over her exposed skin. It wasn’t until he had moved her long dark red hair to the side that she even noticed he had undone her towel and it was pooled on her lap exposing her body to him.

“Leo? Someone might come in.” Her half-hearted chastisement brought a faint grin to his lips that were pressed to her flushed naked flesh.

“Don’t worry. No one will disturb us. We’re the only ones here.”

A pair of hot lips trailed kisses from behind her ear down her neck and along her shoulder. If it was hot before this was enough to make it feel like she was going to melt.

“Do you have any idea what hearing you moaning like this does to me? You make me want to hold you and never let you go.” His voice was like a poison dripping into her ear. Coursing through her system rendering her powerless to resist his desire.

“… Don’t let go.” Her barely-there reply was music to his ears.

“As the Lady wishes…” Pulling her back flush with his chest, he stole a kiss from her. His soft velvet lips igniting a fire inside her that rivalled the heat of the bathhouse. He trailed his fingertips slowly, brushing over her skin. Sinking lower and lower until they reached just below her navel and paused, moving to rest on her hip instead of continuing their lustful path. “Tina… I really have to apologise. I wished to make you feel better and pamper you a little, but I fear I am becoming selfish. You bring out desires in me so easily the threaten to take all my resolve.”

“I don’t mind. I want you to Leo.” The breathy admission had him purring. The low rumbled from his throat vibrated through her back adding to the heat of the moment.

“When you say that… I cannot allow you to take it back.” He retook her lips this time more forcefully. Sliding his tongue into her mouth tracing its ridges with the tip. His hand that was resting on her hip disappeared under the towel. His fingers were teasing along her inner thigh before expertly targeting her hidden folds. Plunging inside her as if he was searching for a hidden secret to play with.

“Ah…” Tina’s cry was half swallowed by him as he pulled his mouth back from hers. He could feel the slick wetness of her on his hand and could feel her breathing becoming more ragged.

“You seem to be at your limit.” His amber eyes looked into her own grey ones from point blank range. The erotic, lust dancing in the depth of those beautiful hooded eyes stole her ability to move. His breath on her skin sent a prickling sensation further into her core causing her to contract around his fingers that were still working away at her soft insides. “… So am I. Breathe…”

It happened so fast the room felt like it was still spinning when a now familiar pressure filled her up. A few seconds of exquisite pain before the thick hard pulsing member of Leo had been accepted by her body.  

“Nnnnnnn... Ah!” Tina’s loud cries echoed in the room. They were the song that dug deep inside him and dragged out that beast that could do little to resist the natural urge to take her with him to the edge. To gaze at the euphoric heights of their combined desire, touching the edge of heaven itself.

“Haaa…” He slowly moved his hips easing his way deeper inside. The heat of her would turn him to cinders if he wasn’t careful. Her hands wrapped around his neck encouraging him to move faster. Who was he to go against a lady’s wishes?

It was a good thing the table they were on was stone and securely fitted to the ground. Unlike his desk at the mansion that would be threatening to scrape along the floor in his room under this kind of use. Hitching her legs to wrap around his hips he placed one knee on the table top and one arm protectively under her head.

Leo rocked himself deep inside targeting her weak spots with all the applied knowledge of the genius he was. He knew her body better than she did and at moments like this she was so happy for it she screamed.

“AH! … Leo….” One of her hand buried itself into his hair tugging it while the other dragged her nails over his back. She was so very, very close and he was not far behind. He picked up pace adjusting the angles just enough to create fresh sensations. She was twitching. Her inner walls were gripping him, pulsing around his length driving him on to chase their blissful release.

Planting both feet on the ground he dragged her hips to him, resting her backside on the edge of the stone platform. His protective hand long gone from her head as he gave himself over to the hands of the gods. His fingers dug into her hips, the strength of grip was enough to tell her that she would have bruising later. And still, his waist refused to slow its motion as he continued to plough into her bucking hips.

The sight of her sweat-slicked skin, flushed red against the pristine white marble of the bathhouse as they both hunted for that mind-blowing moment, was so erotic Leo nearly lost himself then and there.

Slowing slightly, he bent over and took one of her perfect breasts into his mouth. Rolling his tongue over her hardened nipple, gently grazing it with his teeth before moving to the other and mirroring his actions. He took the pad of his thumb and pressed hard on her clit and was rewarded with the loudest cry so far.

“You always did know exactly what to say to make me weak.” His raspy voice reached her through the fog of sexual desire that was clouding her brain. His lips trailing kisses over her chest and neck felt like small flames searing into her skin.

“….Leo.”

“Tina… I love you.”

He picked up his pace for the final act and made sure to bring her to heaven before he followed.

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