#Silver replies to rare message

[internet-rat]

Taking a bath together

Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader

No warnings - just fluff

I just want him to feel loved and happy, okay?? ;_: He is a sweetie pie even if he does a little killing sometimes.

The warm water of the bath enveloped you both, steam rising and curling in the quiet air of the chamber, scented with the subtle hint of lavender from the bath oils. The large, marble tub was a luxurious expanse, allowing comfortable space for the both of you, a private sanctum isolated from the rest of the world and its demands. You and your husband, Aemond, preferred bathing alone and without any servants to assist you.

Warm water sloshed about as you cleaned your his silky pale silver hair. With Aemond sitting between your legs, his head tilted back slightly to let you have access to his hair, his guard was lowered in a way few ever saw. The absence of his eyepatch revealed the vulnerable side of a man typically known for his strength and intimidating presence, highlighting a rare intimacy shared between you alone. He was always gentle and sweet towards you, so different from how he came off to the courts and the world.

As you lathered his hair with soap, your fingers massaged his scalp, the action caring and methodical. Your voice, a gentle murmur, broke the silence, carrying affection and genuine admiration. "Your hair is so lovely, my sweet..."

Aemond's muscles, which so often held tension and readiness for combat, relaxed under your touch. The prince, the warrior, the brooding Targaryen—those identities faded into the background as he simply became a man at peace, indulging in the rare luxury of being cared for. You wanted to do your utmost to make sure he felt loved and cared for, and it seemed like it was taking effect.

"Your touch is as soothing as the Maiden's song," he replied, his voice a low hum that vibrated against your skin. A soft sigh escaped him, a sound of utter contentment that filled the space between you with a resonance more articulate than words could ever be.

Your tone took on a playful edge, teasing him gently while simultaneously offering praise, a balance that spoke to the depth of your relationship. "My, how poetic you are~ What have you been reading?" you inquired, the smile audible in your voice, a gentle prod at his scholarly habits.

Aemond leaned back further into you, the warm water and your closeness lulling him into a state of tranquility he found nowhere else. "A collection of verses from old Valyria," he admitted, a hint of sheepishness in his voice, revealing that even a prince could have his indulgences. "There’s a beauty in the old words, a power and grace that I find... comforting."

His hand rose to meet yours, fingers intertwining as he held your hand against his chest, a silent expression of gratitude for your teasing, your care, and everything you did to make him feel loved and at ease. Your laughter and light-hearted queries were as much a part of his reprieve as the soothing waters that enveloped him.

Aemond rested back against you, the solid warmth of his body pressed into the softness of your form, an intimate juxtaposition of strength and tenderness. With careful affection, you bent forward to press a kiss to the sapphire that sat in place of his missing eye, a gesture of acceptance and reverence for all that he was, imperfections included.

"Very good, my prince... You read such varied books and texts. Poetry is just as valuable as history," you murmured into the steam-kissed air. "Your diligent reading shall temper your mind into that of a great ruler." Through your words, you offered not just praise but a recognition of his efforts to grow beyond the warrior the world often mistook him for.

He could feel the vibration of your voice against his back as you spoke, the underlying message clear: he was valued not only for his title and the power he wielded, but for the depth of his intellect and character. A soft, pleased little "hmm" noise escaped him, a sound that held within it both gratitude and a burgeoning sense of pride.

Aemond turned his head slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of your face from over his shoulder, his good eye searching for yours. "With you by my side, I have no doubt of what I might become," he said earnestly, his voice steady and sure as the pull of the tide. "You see in me the king I am yet to be, and for that vision, I am eternally grateful." He had a soft smile and a devoted look in his eye.

As Aemond’s gaze met yours, searching and sincere, you leaned in to close the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a gentle, loving kiss. It was a simple act, yet it spoke volumes—the touch of your mouth against his was a seal to the promise of your words, a silent reassurance of your faith in him.

The softness of the kiss, coupled with the intimacy of the moment, pulled a reaction from him that was both rare and endearing. His cheeks flushed with a rosy hue, the blush spreading across his fair skin. Even a man of Aemond Targaryen's stature, for all his fierce reputation, was not immune to the tender affections of the one he loved, especially not when delivered so unexpectedly and with such genuine emotion.

[basset-babe]

five times: the one point five.

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

warnings: none but gossip yet again

word count: 2.9k+

a/n: please do send me a message or comment down if you would like to be added on the succeeding taglists for the five times series! here is 1.5 times with ben. enjoy! thanks loves <3! (also, pls do imagine ben holding a graft rose for this one heh)

five times series: the first. the one point five. the second. the third. the three point five. the fourth . at last. text divider from @heavenlayt and pattern banner from @cafekitsune thank you!

the one point five time.

In the hours of sunlight, callers have flooded the Y/L/N drawing room. All bringing gifts and performances in hopes to win the favourable yes of the season's paragon, Miss Y/N Y/L/N. The grand parlor, adorned with exquisite tapestries and sparkling chandeliers, buzzed with the lively hum of conversations and the tinkling laughter of society’s elite. Lavish bouquets of rare, fragrant flowers filled the room, their heady scent mingling with the aroma of freshly brewed tea and delectable pastries arrayed on silver platters.

Gentlemen, dressed in their finest attire, lined up to present their offerings to Miss Y/L/N, each one more extravagant than the last. Some brought intricate jewelry, glittering with precious stones, while others offered rare books, hoping to appeal to her reputed love of literature. Musicians performed virtuoso pieces on the grand piano, their fingers dancing over the keys in a bid to capture her attention through the power of melody. Poets recited verses composed in her honor, their words dripping with adoration and longing.

Miss Y/L/N, the epitome of grace and poise, received each suitor with a warm smile and a gracious word. Her eyes, sparkling with intelligence and kindness, moved across the room, acknowledging the efforts and intentions of each visitor. Her charm was such that even a simple nod or a softly spoken thank you felt like a cherished treasure to the eager suitors.

The hour had struck past 1 in the afternoon when, hopefully, the last caller of the day had bid his farewells. The Y/L/N drawing room, which had been a whirlwind of activity, now began to settle into a quieter, more contemplative atmosphere. The sunlight streaming through the large windows cast a bright hue over the room, highlighting the opulent furnishings and the array of gifts that had been presented to Miss Y/N Y/L/N throughout the morning.

Servants moved gracefully, clearing away the remnants of the lavish spread of refreshments while ensuring that every detail of the room remained immaculate. The air was still fragrant with the scent of roses, lilies, and other exotic flowers that had been brought by admirers, creating a heady, almost intoxicating environment.

"As much as I do love botanicals, all these flowers have turned obnoxious to my senses, Grandmama," Y/N sighed, feeling the urge to slouch on the couch. Her frame was poised elegantly despite her weariness, a testament to her upbringing and the endless etiquette lessons she had endured.

Her grandmother, the Viscountess Y/L/N, reentered the room with a look of satisfaction mixed with maternal concern. "My dear," she said softly, "you have conducted yourself admirably. The attention you have garnered is truly remarkable, but alas, this be the trials of being the season's paragon," she said with jest. "A small price to pay for such adoration and the opportunities it presents."

Y/N allowed herself a small, rueful smile. "It has been a most eventful day. I do hope I have shown the proper appreciation to each caller." She gently plucked a stray petal from her gown, its soft texture a stark contrast to her current mood.

"Rest assured, my dear, that this too shall pass," her grandmother replied soothingly. "Soon, you will look back on these days with fondness, perhaps even in laughter."

Y/N nodded, though she wasn't entirely convinced. She admired her grandmother's ability to see the positive in any situation. Lady Y/L/N had once been the toast of her own social season, and her wisdom was hard-earned through years of navigating similar waters.

"Would it be terribly improper to open a window, Grandmama?" Y/N asked, her eyes drifting towards the heavy drapes that concealed the afternoon breeze. "I believe a bit of fresh air might revive my spirits."

The Viscountess chuckled softly. "Not at all, my dear. In fact, I think it would do us both good." She motioned to a nearby maid, who quickly moved to pull back the drapes and open the window, allowing a refreshing breeze to sweep into the room. The cool air carried with it the scents of the garden outside, a welcome contrast to the overwhelming floral arrangements within.

Y/N took a deep breath, feeling instantly more at ease. "Thank you, Grandmama. That is much better."

"Now, my dear," Mrs. Y/L/N said, her tone becoming more serious, "while you have a moment of peace, tell me—was there any caller today who truly caught your eye?"

Y/N considered the question carefully. There had been many suitors, each with their own merits. Some had been charming, others earnest, and a few rather boastful. But it was not that she minded all these suitors; it was who she looked forward to that truly occupied her thoughts. It had been this Bridgerton man she'd hoped would be calling on her the entire morning. Unfortunately, he had not been seen yet in this drawing room.

"Y/N, my dear, are you still with us?" Lady Y/L/N's gentle voice broke through her reverie.

"Yes, Grandmama," Y/N replied, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. "I was merely thinking."

"About anyone in particular?" her grandmother inquired with a knowing smile.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then decided there was no point in hiding her thoughts from her perceptive grandmother. "To be quite honest, I was hoping to see Mr. Bridgerton today.. well as of this morn," she admitted. "I fear he may have been otherwise engaged."

"Ah, Mr. Bridgerton," Lady Y/L/N said thoughtfully. "A fine young man, from a respected family. It is no wonder you look forward to his call. Perhaps he will still make an appearance."

Y/N nodded, though she knew the likelihood was slim as the noon wore on. She took another deep breath of the fresh air now circulating through the room, trying to shake off her disappointment. The season was long, and there would be other opportunities to see him again.

"There was Sir Nicholas Deveraeux. He was quite charming," Y/N remarked.

"He comes from a good family as well, but I've heard his uncle," Her grandmother leaned in conspiratorially, "envies the crown."

Y/N laughed at the Viscountess' antics. "Grandmama, that's quite scandalous. Wherever did you hear such a thing?" Y/N laughed.

"Deborah told me," her grandmother said, motioning to her maid. Y/N couldn't help but laugh at the notion of her grandmama indulging in gossip. "But I must tell you, I keep my options open still," she stated matter-of-factly, regaining my composure.

"Even though you are clearly captivated by Mr. Bridgerton's smile," Her grandmother teased. "It is wise to keep your options open, my dear, so as not to appear too eager for any one gentleman's attentions."

"Indeed," Y/N thought to herself, "it is prudent not to seem desperate and helpless this early in the season. After all, the season is just beginning, and there will be many more opportunities for maybe much more meaningful encounters."

The older woman patted the young lady's hand reassuringly. "You are a clever girl, my Y/N. Your charm and grace will surely attract many suitors. Just remember to enjoy the process and not to place all your hopes on one gentleman, no matter how enchanting his smile may be."

Y/N nodded, feeling a renewed sense of determination. The season was an adventure, and she was ready to embrace it with an open heart and mind. As her grandmama said, there would be many chances to find the right match, and she intends to savor every moment.

Just as she was about to resign herself to the wait, a soft knock sounded at the drawing room door. Both Y/N and her grandmother turned their heads in surprise as the butler entered.

"Forgive the interruption, ma'am," he said with a slight bow. "But there is one more caller who has just arrived."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat as the butler stepped aside, revealing none other than Mr. Bridgerton himself. He stood at the threshold, his confident demeanor softened by a warm, sincere smile.

"Good afternoon, Lady Y/L/N, Miss Y/L/N," he greeted them, bowing respectfully. "I apologize for my tardiness. I hope I am not intruding."

Lady Y/L/N's eyes twinkled with amusement as she replied, "Not at all, Mr. Bridgerton. We are delighted to see you."

Y/N felt her spirits lift instantly, her earlier fatigue forgotten. "Indeed, Mr. Bridgerton," she said, her smile reflecting the genuine pleasure she felt. "Your timing is impeccable."

Mr. Bridgerton's eyes met hers, and for a moment, it felt as though they were the only two people in the room. "I am glad to hear that, Miss Y/L/N," he said. "I have been looking forward to our meeting."

As he stepped further into the room, bringing with him an air of warmth and possibility, Y/N knew that this visit was just the beginning. The season held many uncertainties, but in that moment, with Mr. Bridgerton's presence brightening the drawing room, she felt a renewed sense of hope and excitement for what was to come.

He walked closer, offering his wrapped gift with a warm smile. "I know of your love of botanicals. Although, I wasn't sure what to get, but I opted for a grafted Rosa Falstaff from our estate's own gardens."

Y/N's eyes widened with surprise and delight as she reached out to accept the potted rose. "A Rosa Falstaff? From your family's gardens?" she exclaimed, her fingers gently tracing the leaves and delicate blooms.

"Yes," Benedict nodded, his gaze softening as he watched her reaction. "I thought it would be a fitting addition to your collection, considering your fondness for floriculture."

"Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton. This is truly truly thoughtful of you." Y/N's eyes lit up as she accepted the graft, appreciating the gesture.

Mr. Bridgerton smiled, a hint of relief and pleasure in his eyes. "I'm glad you like them, Miss Y/L/N. I thought something from home might be more personal and meaningful than the usual offerings."

Mrs. Y/L/N, observing the interaction with a pleased expression, decided to give the young couple some space. "If you'll excuse me, I have some correspondence to attend to," she said, rising gracefully. "Please, Mr. Bridgerton, make yourself comfortable."

As her grandmother left the room, Y/N gestured for Mr. Bridgerton to sit beside her on the elegant settee. "It's so refreshing to receive something so genuine," she said, placing the graft gently on the table beside them. "Tell me more about your estate's gardens. They must be quite beautiful."

Mr. Bridgerton settled into the seat, his expression brightening as he began to speak. "Our gardens are indeed a sight to behold, especially in the spring. We have a variety of flowers, from different roses to lavender, and even some more exotic species like that which my mother is particularly fond of. Each section of the garden has its own unique charm and character."

Y/N listened intently, her interest piqued not just by the subject but by the way he spoke with such genuine affection for his home. "It sounds enchanting," she said. "I would love to see it someday."

He smiled, clearly pleased by her response. "I would be honored to show you around Aubrey Hall, Miss Y/L/N. Perhaps you could offer some advice on expanding our collection of botanicals."

"I would be delighted," Y/N replied, her smile matching his. "There are always new species to discover and cultivate. It would be a pleasure to share that with someone who appreciates it as much as I do."

As they continued to talk, the conversation flowed effortlessly, touching on various topics of mutual interest. The room seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them engrossed in their exchange. The connection they felt was palpable, a promising hint of what could be a deep and meaningful relationship.

The noon sun cast a golden glow through the open window, bathing them in warm light. It was as if the world outside had conspired to create the perfect moment, one that Y/N would cherish as the beginning of something truly special.

"Why not a change of scenery, Miss Y/N? May I enchant you to a walk with me this afternoon?" Mr. Bridgerton asked, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Y/N felt a flutter of excitement at his proposal, though very different from norm indeed. The thought of a leisurely walk, away from the confines of the drawing room and amidst the fresh air and beauty of the outdoors, was undeniably appealing. She glanced at her grandmother, who had discreetly lingered near the doorway.

Mrs. Y/L/N, catching her granddaughter's hopeful expression, gave a subtle nod of approval. "I think that sounds like a splendid idea, Mr. Bridgerton," she said. "A bit of fresh air through my garden will do you both good."

"Thank you, Grandmama," Y/N replied, her smile widening. She turned back to Mr. Bridgerton, her eyes meeting his with a mix of excitement and gratitude. "I would be delighted to join you for a walk."

Mr. Bridgerton offered his arm, which Y/N took with a graceful nod. Together, they made their way out of the drawing room and through the grand halls of the Y/L/N residence. The household staff, now accustomed to the comings and goings of numerous callers, discreetly stepped aside, offering polite smiles as the pair passed.

As they stepped out into the sunlight, the warmth of the afternoon embraced them. The gardens of the Y/L/N estate stretched out before them, a riot of color and fragrance that promised a delightful stroll. Birds chirped melodiously, adding a charming soundtrack to their walk.

"Your gardens are truly beautiful, Miss Y/L/N," Mr. Bridgerton remarked as they began their promenade. "It's easy to see where your love for botanicals comes from."

"Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton," Y/N replied, her gaze sweeping over the well-tended flower beds and neatly trimmed hedges. "I find great joy in spending time here. There's something so peaceful about being surrounded by nature."

They walked in comfortable silence for a few moments, taking in the beauty around them. Y/N's lady's maid chaperoning behind. The gravel path crunched softly underfoot, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves overhead.

"I must admit," Mr. Bridgerton said, breaking the silence, "I was quite nervous about coming here today. I wasn't sure if my gift would be well-received."

Y/N looked up at him, surprised. "You needn't have worried," she assured him. "Your gift was one of the most endearing ones I have received. It speaks volumes about your character and your genuine interest. Quite a change in the morn's most fragrant bouquets. All exquisite but a tad bit too much on my senses." I gestured towards my nose.

He smiled, clearly relieved. "I'm glad to hear that, Miss Y/L/N. I hoped to make a meaningful impression."

"You certainly have," she replied warmly. "And now, here we are, enjoying a lovely walk together. It seems your efforts have been rewarded."

As they continued their walk, their conversation flowed effortlessly, touching on topics both serious and lighthearted. They shared stories, laughed together, and discovered common interests. The connection between them grew stronger with each passing moment, the bond of friendship and potential courtship becoming more tangible.

"So, do tell me more about you, Mr. Bridgerton."

"Do call me Benedict, if you please. Provided, of course, that you feel comfortable and we are beyond the earshot of your lady's maid." his eyebrows raise in suggestive jest.

Y/N chuckled, a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. "Very well, Benedict. You may address me by Y/N as well."

Benedict smiled, clearly pleased by her informal, now more familiar, address. "My days are usually spent at home, but sometimes, I spend my time in my art studio at the academy."

"Yes, you've mentioned of yourself an artist, I remember." Y/N remarked, intrigued. "That is fascinating. What sort of art do you create?"

Benedict's face lit up with enthusiasm as he began to describe his passion. "I work primarily with oils on canvas, though I do enjoy sketching as well. There's something incredibly satisfying about capturing a moment or a feeling in a piece of art. It’s a way to express myself that words sometimes fail to achieve."

Y/N listened intently, her admiration growing. "I would love to see your work someday. It must be wonderful to have such a creative outlet."

"It is," Benedict agreed, a note of pride in his voice. "And I would be honored to show you my studio and some of my pieces. Perhaps I could even paint your portrait, if you would allow me."

Y/N blushed at the thought, a mixture of shyness and excitement. "I would be delighted, Benedict. Though I must warn you, I may not be the most patient of sitters."

Benedict laughed, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "I’m sure we would manage just fine. And who knows, you might find the experience enjoyable."

"I look forward to it," Y/N said, her smile reflecting her genuine interest. "But tell me more about your family. I have heard much about the Bridgertons, but I would love to hear it from your perspective."

Benedict's expression softened as he spoke of his family. "We are a large, close-knit group. There are eight of us siblings, and we were all raised with a strong sense of duty and love seeing my late father and mother attend to our household. My mother, Violet, is the heart of our family. She has always encouraged us to pursue our passions and support each other."

"That sounds wonderful," Y/N said, touched by his words. "Family is so important. I imagine it must be lively with so many siblings."

"It certainly is," Benedict replied with a grin. "There is never a dull moment at Bridgerton House. We have our share of disagreements, of course, but we always come together in the end. All the laughter and camaraderie make it worthwhile."

Y/N felt a warm connection forming between them, their shared values and interests creating a bond that felt both natural and exciting. "I would love to meet them all someday, even so now that your brother has found himself a wife. Such exciting things!" she said.

"And they would be delighted to meet you," Benedict assured her. "I can already tell that you would fit right in."

"He thinks of me as someone who would fit with his family? I could feel my heart flutter," Y/N thought, the realization sending a warm, thrilling sensation through her.

As they continued their conversation, the afternoon sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting a golden glow over the garden. The hours had slipped away unnoticed, a testament to the ease and enjoyment they found in each other's company.

Eventually the day had struck shy of 3 at afternoon and they made their way back to the main house, the promise of future meetings and shared experiences hanging in the air. As they reached the steps, Benedict turned to Y/N, his expression earnest and hopeful.

"Thank you for a wonderful afternoon, Y/N," he said. "I look forward to our next meeting."

"As do I, Benedict," Y/N replied, her heart full of anticipation. "Until then."

With a final, warm smile, Benedict took his leave, leaving Y/N with a sense of happiness and a fluttering hope for the future. The day had been more than she could have imagined, and she felt a deep sense of gratitude for the connection they had begun to forge.

taglist: @novausstuff @pussyslayerhd @amoosarte

[the-griffons-saddlebag]

💎 𝗡𝗲𝘄 𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗺! Bangle of the Starlight Raven
Wondrous item, rare (requires attunement) ___ This silver bangle feels almost cool or wet to the touch. Pressing its tail feathers inward causes its wings to unfurl, allowing you to place the bangle on your wrist or remove it. While wearing the bangle, gravity pulls more loosely against you: your weight is halved, and your normal jumping distance is doubled. While wearing it between dusk and dawn, you’re also under the effects of the “feather fall” spell. The bangle has 7 charges for the following properties. It regains 1d6 + 1 expended charges daily at dusk. The illusory ravens produced by these properties appear like moving constellations of starlight. Using a property requires an action. 𝙎𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙈𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧. You can expend 3 of the bangle’s charges to cast the “sending” spell, or 2 charges between dusk and dawn. When you do, an illusory raven instantly appears before the recipient to deliver your message to it. The recipient’s reply is then delivered to you the same way, at which point the raven vanishes. 𝙎𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙨’ 𝙂𝙪𝙞𝙙𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚. You can expend 2 of the bangle’s charges to cast the “locate object” spell, or 1 charge between dusk and dawn. When you do, an illusory raven appears on your shoulder to direct you toward the object for the duration, provided it’s within range. 𝙎𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙘𝙠 𝙎𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙢. You can expend 1 or more of the bangle’s charges to cast the “magic missile” spell from it. For 1 charge, you cast the 1st-level version of the spell, or the 2nd-level version of the spell between dusk and dawn. You can increase the spell slot level by one for each additional charge you expend. The missiles appear as the illusory ravens hurtling toward each target. ___ ✨ Patrons get huge perks! Access this and hundreds of other item cards, art files, and compendium entries when you support The Griffon's Saddlebag on Patreon for less than $10 a month!

[sunsets-and-crows]

Is It Casual Now?

pairing: Reader x Sylus

Word count: 7K

---

As you begin to accept your feelings for him, your complicated relationship with Sylus takes a darker turn. As his world unravels before you, desire and fear blur into one. Can you handle the intoxicating power he wields, or will it consume you both?

You miss him while he’s away and end up in a situation you never thought would happen.

tags: PWP porn with plot (if you squint), don/sub themes, a little angst. NSFW content MDNI- please read with caution, AU lads! Warnings ahead!

Sulus has been living in my head rent free since I downloaded this damn game. It’s my first time writing so please let me know what you think!

A few content warnings for y’all please read them carefully!

Dark Themes, Dub-Con elements (particularly with questionable use of Sylus’ Evol. Consent is a big theme though and he does 100% get consent to do anything and everything he does) , Power play, dominance, and submission. It’s Sylus, guys, what did you expect? Violence and Gore (he’s going to kill some people) Child Endangerment (if you squint) Mentions of children being involved in adult situations or discussions (no children are actually harmed in this fic, just a nasty person offering that) Sexually explicit content: they really do be fucking like rabbits. Unprotected Sex: don’t be stupid guys.

The sunset glowed a vibrant orange, illuminating the streets below the penthouse window you were currently looking out of. Letting out a sigh, you basked in the weakened rays’ warmth and pulled the hoodie closer around your nightdress-clad body. Well, his hoodie. The material wrapped around you deliciously and it was probably more expensive than your salary for the month. But that wasn’t what drew you to it in the first place. The smell comforted you. You took another deep breath in at the collar and savoured the musky scent you could only describe as him. He always smelled so good.

Sighing again at the thought, you checked your phone for what felt like the thousandth time that evening. The blank screen almost mocked you. You should’ve been used to this, but each time the silver-haired menace left you here, you couldn’t help but let the worry eat at you.

Today, you’d left the bedroom to find a note in his signature cursive scrawl letting you know that he would be back later. Later. You scoffed at the thought of later. When even was later? Sometimes later meant a few hours, sometimes it meant the afternoon and on rare occasions, later meant a few days.

Before you could let the thought consume you, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You made a grab for it quickly – 1 new message. From Rafayel. You hated yourself for being disappointed.

20:43 Rafayel: where are you honey

You quickly typed a response, some shit about working late or meeting a friend. Honestly, you put so little thought into the reply that guilt crept its way back in, so you deleted it and retyped.

20:50 Me: I’ve taken the day off for some much needed rest and relaxation! I haven’t even had my phone on me. Do you need something Raf? I can talk :)

You replied, you know, like a liar.

20:51 Rafayel: No worries cutie

20:51 Rafayel: I haven’t heard from you all day so naturally I thought you died

20:53 Rafayel: only reason I could think of for your lack of contact.

20:53 Rafayel: rest well cutie

20:53 Rafayel: next time text me back and dun make me wait!

20:55 Rafayel: I’d die without your attention.

His reply was humorous, but you knew deep down he was actually worried about you. You felt a little bad, but at least he was cracking jokes like usual.

Rolling your eyes and huffing out a laugh, you pulled yourself away from the living room window and made your way into the kitchen. The sun had now set completely. You’d been alone all day and frankly the boredom and worry were eating you alive. You needed something to do. You glanced at the clock in the kitchen and sighed again. You hated eating on your own, but now, at 9:00pm, you had no other choice. Your stomach growled loudly in agreement.

You’d stayed at his hotel many times. Sometimes for work near the N109 zone and other times just because he asked you to. Sometimes he’d bring you here on dinners and shopping trips that felt so much like dates, they left your heart fluttering and your brain confused.

This time however, You’d had a particularly bad week and were looking forward to some “quality time” together. He’d picked you up after work directly in front of the Hunter’s Association, your employer. Of course, they didn’t need to know that you were running around with their number one wanted criminal.

If any other man tried to take you back to a hotel room, let alone one he had clearly lived in, you would have laughed and told him to get lost. But this was different. It was clear that he used this penthouse often, but not often enough for it to feel lived in. He’d clearly custom-decorated it, which, you supposed, was a perk of owning the hotel. It didn’t feel like a seedy hotel room - you would’ve left if it had. It felt expensive, like a luxury, to be let into this part of his world.

Your bare feet made soft slapping sounds against the marble of the kitchen floor and the stone sent a chill through your body. You always felt cold without him around. Strange - for someone you were just casually hooking up with. You made your way to the fridge and checked inside. Empty, except for three bottles of white wine and two bottles of sparkling wine. None of this was the food you so desperately needed, but it would do until you decided what to order.

You popped open the bottle of sparkling wine and poured yourself a decent glass, downing the whole thing and pouring another. Just to take the edge off, of course.

You walked back to the living room, full glass and bottle in hand, and plopped down onto the deep red velvet sofa. Picking up the room service menu, you pondered over the many choices. You hastily called down to the front desk and placed your order, hoping it would arrive soon.

Taking another sip of wine, you pulled out your phone and scrolled through your message conversation.

12:54 Me: Any idea when you’ll be back?

Read 12:55

13:31 Me: Should I eat the leftovers for lunch or are you bringing something back?

Read 13:32

15:43 Me: I feel like I should let you know that I ate your half of the leftovers. I was hungry and you aren’t responding.

Read 16:32

18:49 Me: Are you going to be back for dinner?

Read 19:02

20:56 Me: Are you okay?

Read 20:56

20:58 Me:*You unsent a message*

You scoffed at your phone, worry turning to frustration. He clearly had time to check his messages. Why couldn’t he just respond? He was so frustrating!

After aimlessly scrolling through mind-numbing videos for a few minutes, the bell to the penthouse rang. You hopped up and checked through the peephole, rightly assuming your dinner had arrived. You brought it into the living room and began to dig into the delicious meal. It killed a good 45 minutes, you realised as you checked your phone once you were done. Finishing up with a little tidying wasted another 10 minutes, and then you were back to waiting.

Now, it was closer to 11:00pm, and you felt your eyelids growing heavy, but with no sign of him, you didn't want to fall asleep just yet. You put on a random movie on the giant TV and decided to settle in on the sofa for the night.

It feels like only moments later when you woke to the sound of classical music blaring from the record player in the corner of the room. The movie had been switched off. You became aware of a weight on your hip. Calmly, you look up to discover the source. A hand was stroking your hip and playing with the end of your nightdress, which had ridden up while you slept. The hand belonged to none other than Sylus himself. Somehow, he’d managed to situate himself on the sofa you were sleeping on, your head resting on his lap as his hands absentmindedly fussed with your body and hair.

‘You’re awake,’ He said in his deep drawl, the words smoothing over you like honey.

‘I didn’t even realise I’d fallen asleep,’ You replied blinking up into his deep carmine eyes as they roamed your body.

‘Out like a light, sweetie,’ he said with a smirk. ‘You didn’t even flinch when I came through the door.’ His lips held that signature smirk as he continued, ‘What happened to those fine-tuned hunter instincts, hmm? Have they been dulled by the wine you so graciously helped yourself to?’

He sounded calm and collected as usual, but you could tell something was off. You shifted on his lap to look at him more seriously.

‘What happened, Sylus?’ You asked, letting his comment about the wine slide. He’d give you the earth if he could; you knew he wasn’t really bothered by a bottle of wine.

‘Nothing to worry about. As you can see, I’m perfectly fine,’ he replied, feigning nonchalance. But there was a note of something in his voice that betrayed his nearly perfect mask. Your eyes scanned his face, searching for any clue.

‘See something you like, sweetie?’ He teased, tilting his head and gazing into your eyes. He was so close, and for a moment, you were distracted by how handsome he looked. Your eyes drifted to his lips, which crooked up into another half-smirk when he noticed.

You snapped out of it. ‘I’m being serious, Sylus. I missed you all day. You read my messages, so I knew you were alive, but it’s so hard waiting here when all I want is to be with you.’ You softened your voice, trying to coax him into opening up.

‘Sweetie,’ he started ‘you knew what this arrangement would look like when we started. I don’t want to tell you anything that you don’t need to know. You wouldn’t like-’

‘You don’t know what I’ll think!’ you interrupted, sitting up and turning toward him. You cupped his jaw and guided his face toward you. That’s when you spotted it, a red drop of dried blood on his temple. You raised your hand and gently ran your thumb over the spot. ‘Sylus, I’m a big girl. I kill wanderers for a living you know?’ He sighed leaning into your touch, clearly soothed by the movement. ‘I’m in this, whatever it is, with you. I wouldn’t have betrayed The Hunters Association and constantly sneaked behind their back for just anyone. Please tell me what happened.’

He sat in silence, eyes closed, rolling your words around in his mind. Initially, he’d kept this side of his business a secret because he wasn’t sure he could trust you. But over the months, he’d kept it hidden for another reason entirely. He didn’t want you to see the violent, unkind part of him that emerged when dealing with business.

But now, thinking back to how you met, to all the challenges he’d watched you face without backing down, he wrestled with himself. Would it really be so bad to let you in?

He opened his eyes, his hand wrapping around yours. ‘Are you sure you want to know?’ You nodded gently, holding his gaze to show him how serious you were. ‘Today’s deal didn’t quite go as planned. Turns out this buyer held a grudge against me after our last meeting - he sold me some subpar protocores and I, naturally, refused to pay for them. He had men hidden in the surrounding buildings and ambushed me. No class, kitten,’ He said, his voice sharp. It sent a shiver down your spine, but you were determined to stay composed.

‘Luke got out unscathed but Kerian was hurt pretty badly. He was being patched up until late into the night.’ Your face must have betrayed your shock because Sylus leaned in and pressed a delicate kiss on your cheek. ‘I had to execute every person in that room for trying to double-cross me sweetie.’ he whispered into our ear, his tone deep and almost seductive.

You gasped, but before you could speak, he asked, ‘Should I continue?’ You nodded again. ‘My gun burned through its holster once I ran out of bullets. It wasn’t my only weapon, of course.’ His tone turned dark. ‘You remember how deadly my Evol is, right sweetie? You found out the day we met.’

Your body reacted instinctively to the memory, a flash of heat curling in your belly.

You could only nod again, this time biting your lip at the memory of your first meeting. ‘I take an odd delight in using it to eviscerate my enemies, turning them to dust beneath my feet, where they belong. Filth like that needs to be taken care of - don't you agree sweetie” His voice had turned almost syrupy in quality and his eyes flashed with the red of his Aether core. You were shocked- not at the information, but at your own reaction to it.

He continued. ‘Of course, I had to leave the boss for last, sweetie. He had a lesson to learn, after all. First, he sold me sub-quality products and then he tried to cross me. Tut, tut, tut. That simply won't do.’ You leaned in slightly closer, resting your knees on his thighs as you curled up. ‘Well, I’ve never heard a grown man beg so quickly, and you won’t believe it, kitten. He tried to make a deal with me.’

‘What kind of deal? For his life?’ you questioned.

‘Hmmm sort of,’ he replied. ‘This man - no, this filth - tried to offer me his own flesh and blood in return for me sparing his life. His own child. His daughter is just 16 years old. He told me I could have her.’ He scoffed as if the thought were laughable. ‘He should've known that would never work. In fact, it left me more disgusted by him. She’s a child. She should never have been brought up in a business discussion. I tortured him a little more for that. First his eyes…’ At this, he brought his hand to your face and swept his thumb over one of your eyes. ‘He didn’t deserve to look at me. Next, his tongue…’ His hand moved down and ran over your lips ‘his disgusting begging earned him that one, kitten. Of course, I couldn’t just rough him up, that wouldn't do. I had to make him suffer, unable to scream for help, gurgling and choking on his own blood.’

Somehow, you weren’t utterly horrified like you'd imagine you would be, hearing about the killing of so many people and the blatant torture of another. You felt your thighs clench at his raw power and seductive tone. God, what was wrong with you?

Sylus, ever the observant man, saw your eyes dilate and your thighs clench beneath your tiny nightdress. ‘Well, sweetie, it seems I had nothing to worry about,’ He brought his hand down to your hip and moved in close to whisper in your ear. ‘You’re clearly more than woman enough to handle anything I throw at you.’

You were found out. ‘Did you want me to be scared?’ you asked him, your voice soft in his ear, as his lips dropped to your neck - not making contact, but close enough for his eyes to watch your pulse racing beneath your soft skin.

‘Never, sweetheart. I’m not interested in your fear’ His voice dripped with lust as he cupped your shoulder and laid you back against the soft sofa beneath you, crowding around you with his arms resting on either side of your face. ‘Why would I want that when your desperation is so much more… enticing?’

He brought his hand up to your face, gripping it tight enough for you to feel his control, but not enough to hurt you. ‘Tell me, kitten,’ He purred, his eyes locking onto yours ‘Why is it that hearing these vicious acts has got you all hot and bothered, hmmm?’

“It’s just…” you couldn’t quite seem to find the right words.

“Just? Just what?” He replied, almost mocking with his tone.

“Just, you. I don’t know why but hearing about you being so ruthless and in charge, it kind of turnsmeon.” You rushed through the end of your sentence, mumbling to the point of incoherence.

“Oh come on kitten,” he started. “You can be a big girl and tell me properly.”

“I said it, turns me on!” Your face had heated up quite substantially but still you went on. “I don’t know why, but it does. I think it’s the control maybe?”

“Oh really,” his voice dropped to a whisper as he leaned closer to your ear “and do you want to be under my control too?”

You shut your eyes, trying to escape his intensity, but he clearly wasn’t going to let that slide. ‘Uh-uh sweetheart. Look at me when I'm talking to you.’ You heard light buzzing in the air by your head before you felt it - his Evol snaked around your throat, giving a light squeeze in warning. Your eyes snapped open at the sensation. ‘Don’t hide from me. I want to see how much you can handle. Now tell me what I want to hear - don't make me force it out of you.’ His right eye flashed in warning and you felt a slight pull to open up to him in more ways than one.

This was a completely new dynamic in your relationship. He had never used his Evol on you - other than when you first met - and it sent a thrill running through you. The idea of him compelling you to voice your desires so clearly, without hesitation, made you realise just how much you liked this side of him. He noticed your eyes dilating further- they looked like beautiful black pools, and it drove him wild to know that he had this effect on you. ‘Oh. It seems like that’s exactly what you want to happen. Is that right, sweetheart?’

You nodded desperately, but he held your face still and kissed your lips lightly. ‘No, baby, you have to use your words. You have to want this, or it’s a huge invasion of privacy. I won't do that’

His insistence on your consent, made your heart flutter. Little things like this reinforced your feelings for him, and you couldn't help the little smile that revealed your affection. ‘Sylus, i-I want you to force me to tell you this.’ You emphasised your point by bringing one hand up to his shoulder, squeezing the muscle beneath, while the other rested on his chest, feeling the abnormally fast pace of his heart beating beneath his skin.

He closed his eyes and then opened them, his Evol no longer prickling at you but pushing you fully. He looked you straight in the eyes with such intensity that you couldn’t have looked away even if you’d wanted to. Then, the voices started - a cacophony of your own voice inside your head, letting loose every desire you had. The sound grew so loud that the sentences slipped out of your mouth against your will. ‘Submit to him. Claim him as yours. You belong to him. Give him everything. Submit.’

Your breathing grew heavier as you spilled all of your secrets, anxiety building. You wanted to look away from his handsome face, but thank god you couldn’t.

You saw his eyes dilate at your confessions. The more you were forced to say, the more hunger you saw on his face. His breathing deepened, and you felt him growing hard against your leg. His mouth parted on a shaky exhale, the warmth of it hitting your face. You could nearly taste the whiskey he’d clearly consumed before arriving. When he spoke, his voice was deep and husky, laced with lust. ‘Oh, it seems you’ve had a lot on your mind recently. Why didn’t you say something before?’

He let you out of the grip of his Evol and you couldn’t even begin to form an answer to his question. You reached your hands up into his hair and pulled him into a deep kiss.

The moment your lips connected with his, everything around you seemed to dissolve, leaving just the two of you. Sylus responded immediately, deepening the kiss with a hunger that mirrored the storm of emotions brewing inside him. His hands roamed the sides of your body, trailing heat wherever they went, making your skin tingle under his touch. He tugged at your lower lip with his teeth before pulling back, his breath ragged as he stared down at you, eyes dark with desire.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice a low, rumbling growl. “You’ve got no idea what you’ve just unlocked.”

His grip tightened on your hips, and you could feel the restraint in his movements, like he was holding back a torrent of emotion and power. You felt a strange thrill at his words, at the way he teetered on the edge of control.

“Maybe I like danger more than you know,” you replied, your voice breathless yet teasing, daring him to show you just how deep this game could go. You ran your hands down his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath your fingertips. He inhaled sharply at your touch, his carmine eyes blazing with intensity.

His hands slid beneath your nightdress, grazing your thighs as he pulled you closer into his lap. Suddenly, his grip tightened and he lifted you up into the air as he stood from the couch. You let out a surprised gasp, instinctively wrapping your legs around his waist, as they had done hundreds of times before.

He carried you into the bedroom and unexpectedly sat himself down at the headboard, leaving you straddling his thighs and pressed against his hard cock. Your hands went back to his shoulders. He bucked his hips up into you and you both groaned at the contact, the heat between you two becoming almost unbearable. He leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Tell me,” he whispered, his voice dark and smooth. “Do you really think you can handle me at my most dangerous, sweetie?”

You swallowed hard, your heart racing as you met his eyes. There was no going back from this. Not from the way he was looking at you, not from the emotions you were feeling—raw, untamed, and terrifyingly real.

“Yes,” you breathed out, barely audible but filled with certainty. To prove it, you grinded against him and let out a soft keen at the feeling of him, hard and right where you needed him.

Sylus’s smirk grew wider, and he pressed a hungry kiss against your neck, letting his lips linger, as the mark he left tingled. “Then brace yourself,” he said, “because I don’t plan on stopping until you know exactly who you belong to.”

He moved with purpose, flipping you both over to once again tower over you. Letting you know that he was firmly in control. This, you were used to, this you craved.

His hands moved deliberately - never once hesitating - slipping beneath the thin fabric of your nightdress. He groaned softly as his fingers found your bare skin, the touch electrifying. You arched into him, craving more, your breath hitching as he ran his hands along your sides, his lips following the path of his fingers, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

“Is this what you want?” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough, primal. “Is this why you’ve been so restless without me?”

You could only nod, words failing you as desire overtook everything else. Sylus chuckled darkly at your silence, his hand tightening possessively around your waist as he shifted, pushing you back into the soft cushions of the bed. His body hovered over yours, his silver hair falling like a curtain around his face as he gazed down at you with a mixture of hunger and affection.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he said, his voice softer now, though still edged with that dangerous undercurrent. “Every time I leave, all I think about is getting back to you.”

His confession hit you like a punch to the chest. This wasn’t just about the sex. There was something deeper, something neither of you had dared to voice before. But in this moment, with everything laid bare, there was no hiding from it anymore.

“Sylus,’ You groaned ‘I think about you too, you have to know that,” you whispered, your hands gripping his shirt as if holding onto him was the only thing keeping you grounded. “I can’t stop thinking about you, Sylus.” You paused your hands’ movements and looked at him.

He froze, his eyes searching yours, and in that heartbeat of silence, you could feel the shift in the air between you. Something unspoken passed between you, something more than just physical desire.

Sylus lowered his head until his lips were barely brushing yours. “Then don’t,” he murmured. “Don’t stop. Don’t hold back.”

And with that, he kissed you again, this time with a slow, deliberate intensity that made your whole body tremble. Your hands took the opportunity to pull apart his shirt, buttons flying everywhere and baring his beautiful skin for you. His hands roamed over you with a possessive need, claiming you in ways that left no doubt in your mind that this was more than just a game to him. It was more than just physical.

It was everything.

‘I’m going to absolutely ruin you,’ He said with an edge of desperation in his voice. He pulled off your nightdress, not at all shocked to find you bare beneath it but delighted nonetheless. Less barriers to make his way through. He let out a groan so deep at the sight of you bare and dripping for him. He couldn’t help himself, he needed you. ‘You want me to taste you? To bury my face between your thighs and make you come?’ You nodded furiously, drunk on his raw power. “Then that’s exactly what I’m going to do.’

With that, he dove in tongue first. Lapping at you with unparalleled delight. ‘Fuck,’ he groaned. ‘You alway taste so divine?’ he dove back in. “You’re so perfect and all mine.’

You couldn’t contain your sounds of pleasure, nor did you want to. You knew he loved to hear you cry out and moan for him. The menace loved to hear how he was ruining you. A wicked grin spread across his face as he wrapped his arms around your thighs and pulled you close into his waiting mouth. ‘You’re so wet for me, kitten,’ He murmured, his voice thick and filled with heat. ‘I can't wait to lap up every last drop.’

Without warning, his tongue swept across your slick pussy, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from your lips. He continued to completely overwhelm you with his enthusiastic assault of his tongue on your pussy. Teasing and tantalising every sensitive spot. He brought his hand up to join in, gently circling around your entrance and pushing in to feel that spongy spot that would, no doubt, have you seeing stars.

‘Mmmmm, you taste amazing,’ he growled, his voice low and husky. ‘Like honey and wine.’ He took his time, exploring every inch of you, his fingers continuing their exploration of your g-spot .

He could feel your pleasure building, your moans growing louder and more insistent, your walls squeezing around his fingers. ‘I love watching you like this, seeing you unravel. Fuck!’ is words were spoken against your pussy, almost muffled by how close he was. His tongue circled your clit, teasing it with gentle, sucking motions.

He was driving you closer and closer to the edge, tensing up. The coil inside you wound so tight that you could snap at any moment, but something held you back. “Please Sylus, please let me come, I want it, please.’ You needed permission. Your cries were desperate and pleading and it turned him on even more.

“Cum for me, sweetie,” he urged you, needing to feel you fall over the edge, desperate for your release. “Let me feel you cum on my tongue baby, you’re squeezing my fingers so hard.”

He dove back in his mouth and lips working overtime on your clit and his fingers hitting that spot with expert precision. He felt the moment you came for him and he groaned loudly into your pussy. He could taste the waves of pleasure on his tongue and feel the way you clamped down hard on his fingers, getting impossibly tighter. He gently ran his tongue over your clit, drawing out pleasure from your quivering body.

“Fuck, Sylus,” you groaned. Your body was still reeling from the aftershocks of your orgasm when you felt him shift against your foot, his cock - still confined in his trousers and boxers - was as hard as a rock and desperate for attention. “Come here,” you demanded as you pulled him up by his soft strands of silver hair. The slight pain from your tugging and your tone elicited another groan from Sylus.

Your lips smashed together, both of you moaning into the kiss. He kissed you impossibly harder. Ravaging your mouth as your hands worked his belt, then zipper open and pushed them down his thighs, boxers and all. He shivered a little as you wasted no time in gripping his cock firmly in your hands.

“Please, let me taste it, Sylus?” You asked with a look of feigned innocence on your face. How could he say no to that?

As you got onto your knees in front of him, you licked up the length of his cock. It was completely hard for you and he groaned at the sensation. Of course his dick was just as pretty as the rest of him. E looked down at you as you took the tip of his cock into your mouth and sucked him sweetly, blinking up at him. His moans of enjoyment encouraged you. You used both hands around his shaft and let your mouth focus on his sensitive tip, just the way he liked it. You knew all of his favourite places to be touched and just the right way to do it.

He was utterly enraptured with the sight of you, mouth stuffed full of him. He gathered your hair in a makeshift ponytail before pulling you off him. “You’ll be the death of me, sweetie,” he replied. Your hands continued their work on his cock, spreading out the silky precum that had gathered at his top and using it to lubricate your motions. He felt so good, your hands working wonders. “I fear I’ve taught you-“ his groan interrupted him mid sentence as you licked his slit again. “Taught you too well. Fuck. I won’t last in your mouth, sweetie. I need you now!” It was a command, not a request.

He pushed you back into your back and reached across to the night stand to retrieve a condom.

“Wait!” You grabbed his arm to stop him. He looked at you shocked, concerned that something was wrong. “What if we, ummm, didn’t use a condom tonight?” You asked, a hint of shyness creeping in. Truthfully you’d been thinking about it for a while now. He was the only man you were sleeping with and you were on the pill. There’s no one else you trusted to experience that with before. You wanted to feel him, raw, with no barrier between you.

He groaned and nipped at your neck, leaving a trail of kisses down your collarbone. “Fuck. You really want that? Are you sure?”

You nodded in response then remembering his earlier demand, voiced your agreement. “Yes Sylus, please I want it.”

“Good.” He growled as he took your nipple into his mouth and sucked on it, laving his tongue over the soft pebble and making you groan and grab at his hair again.

“I want you,” He said, his cock grinding against you completely bare for the first time, sending a shiver down your spine. “All of you.”

He captured your mouth in another searing kiss, his tongue tangling with yours as his hand slid between your thighs. His fingers teased your sensitive skin, collecting your sticky arousal and using it to stroke his cock - covering himself in your very essence. “I’ll give you anything you want, kitten.”

You took over from him, stroking his cock and guiding it to your pussy. His eyes lit up further, his cock throbbing with anticipation as you ran the tip of him across your soaked pussy. “I just want you” you replied earnestly.

“Oh, fuck,” he growled his voice so low and husky, it reeked for pure sex. “You have no idea how much I want to give you everything. To spoil you, claim you, to own you.”

He pushed into you, his cock sliding deep into your warm, wet pussy. He bottomed out and you both groaned at the sensation. He stilled himself inside you, his body tensed with pleasure as he felt himself buried to the hilt. “You feel so good,” he breathed, his voice full of adoration. “So perfect for me. This pussy is perfect, fuck, like it was made for me.”

He began to move his hips, rocking back and forth with a deliberate, slow pace. He could feel his control slipping, his desire to completely control you, to own you, growing with every passing moment. His raw cock although slow, was hitting perfectly inside you. It felt amazing. You raked your nails down his back and bucked your hips up to meet his thrusts. If you’d have known how good it would feel, you never would have waited this long to go without a condom. You could feel every inch of him, each ridge and vein, smoothing along your walls and drawing out your soft keens and mewls.

“You’re mine, sweetie,” he growled, his voice low and raw with need. “I’m going to make you mine forever.” He leaned in as his thrusts began to get faster and harder. “And I’m going to take everything. Every inch of you is mine. Every waking moment is mine. Every last breath in your body belongs to me now. I’m going to make sure you never forget it.

“Yes, please, Sylus,” you gasped as his thrusts turned merciless, his cock hitting you just right and the slapping noises echoing in the giant room. “Yes I’m yours, completely yours!”

He groaned at your words and smashed your lips together in another bruising kiss your tongue not even trying to fight for dominance as if it knew it was his. You could see the effect of your words on him, so you pushed on despite your breathlessness.

Each word came out in pants. “I’m yours! Yours to fuck, yours to spoil, yours to love. I’m all yours Sylus,” he grinned widely, possessively at your words. “And you’re all mine.” You reached up and pulled him into a desperate kiss, breaking off and leaving a trail of your combined saliva hanging from your lips. Moving them to his throat and attaching them to his sensitive spot, before sucking a hard mark on his neck.

He groaned loudly at the feeling. You trailed your lips lower leaving mark after mark in your wake. His hips stuttered and he had to still them to catch his breath.

“No one else gets to see you this way,” You leaned up and whispered into his ear “You’re all fucking mine.”

Sylus’s eyes darkened with unbridled desire as you declared your own possessiveness. He let out a guttural groan, his hips resuming their relentless slamming into you. He brought his hand down to your stomach and pressed down slightly, feeling his cock move within you from the outside - it drove him absolutely wild.

“Oh sweetie, you’re right,” he rasped, his voice dripping with lust from your words. “I’m all yours. Every. Single. Fucking. Inch.” He punctuated his words with four particularly hard thrusts that had your eyes rolling back in your skull and your moans coming out in quiet shrieks.

He captured your lips in a bruising kiss, his tongue pressing into your mouth as his fingers gripped your hips tight enough to leave bruises the next day.

He broke the kiss, only to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, sucking and nipping at your soft skin. “I’m going to mark you up, kitten,” he murmured, his teeth grazing your flesh. “Everyone is going to know you’re mine.”

He pulled back, his eyes drinking in the sight of you beeneath him, his cock buried deep inside your warmth, bare and fucking stunning. The feeling was indescribable. A wicked grin spread across his handsome face as he grinded his hips against yours with him all the way deep.

Your eyes flashed open at the new feeling and looked down to see where you were both so intimately connected. As he pulled out, you could see the way you gripped onto him tighter and tighter and you could feel your pleasure building inside.

He could feel it in the way you squeezed him in a vice-like grip, it had his mind reeling and him desperately close to the edge. He tried to hold on, and was doing a great job of it until you reached down to rub your clit and moaned out.

“Please cum inside me, Sylus,” you were almost begging him. You were so close to your orgasm and you knew it would leave you exhausted. “Please, cum for me, I’m so close. Please cum with me.”

Sylus’s face contorted into a mix of pleasure and restraint, he wanted to feel you cum around him first before he let himself release. He could see the desperation in your eyes, your desire to be filled by him.

He drove into you with a fierce intensity, his hips pumping in a rapid, rhythmic motion as he got closer and closer. He brushed your hand away and used his fingers to press down, as his thumb battered your clit. “Come for me, sweetie, I’m right there too,” He rasped out, his voice hoarse “I’ll fill you up pretty girl, I promise, I’ll make you mine in every way.”

“I’m gonna cum, fuck, Sylus!” You moaned out his name as you felt yourself hit your orgasm.

He felt his body tense, his cock throbbing with release as he exploded inside you, his cum pumping out in hot, pulsing jets. He felt it spilling into your depths, the sensation so different without a barrier. Being connected to you, being inside you like that, it was the most intense feeling he’d ever experienced.

You were both left feeling absolutely breathless, sticky and tired. You closed your eyes and tried to catch your breath, when you felt soft kisses being pressed against your lips. “You’re so incredible, my perfect girl.”

His words set your heart on fire, almost matching the usual fast pace of his. He began to pull out but you stopped him with a grip on his hip. “Not yet,” you reached back up and kissed him gently. “I don’t want to be separated from you.”

His eyes warmed at your words, softening to the point where he looked completely enamoured with you. “I’m not going anywhere sweetie, I just need to clean you up.”

“Can’t you do that and still stay inside me?” You replied with a pout on your face that made him chuckle.

“I promise, I’ll be at your disposal for the rest of the weekend, if you let me get you cleaned up. How’s that sound sweetie?” He set the deal up and now the ball was in your court.

“That does sound good, but may I add one more clause to the agreement?” You said with a slight grin.

“Hmmm, sure. Anything for you, sweetie.” He shot back at you.

“Promise me, you’ll always come back to me. You don’t have to be here all the time but just promise me that I’ll be the one you come back to. And let me in, yeah?” You looked at him with warmth and a deeper emotion that you were too scared to name.

“Okay, then I want to add another clause, if I may?” He nuzzled into your cheek and kissed the side of your mouth before making eye contact again. “Quit your job, move in with me and let me have you as mine officially. I’m not going anywhere, and I want this to be something we can give our all to. I want to take you with me, to show you off as mine. Sneaking around was fun at the beginning, but now, I just want to hold your hand in the street, kiss you when I feel like it, or throw you over my shoulder and escort you out of the premises when I want you like this.”

He kissed you again, his teeth tugging at your lip and his tongue demanding entrance again. You were tempted, oh so tempted. What did you truly have back in Linkon that wouldn’t be there if you followed your heart? Zayne was your childhood friend, he’d understand. Your colleagues were just that, colleagues. Tara was always asking you about “Mr Skye” and when you would be making things official so she’d be delighted. And Rafayel? He had his own, Miss Hunter to keep him company. He seemed so happy and he would always be your best friend no matter what.

“Can I have some time to think about it?” You asked him.

He looked a little sad about it but he nodded his head and started to pull his softening cock out of you. His cum started to drip out of you and he looked down at the sight transfixed, his cock getting hard again at the sight. But he knew that he needed to give you a little space to process what he’d asked of you so he started to go to the bathroom intent on grabbing you a warm, wet washcloth to clean you up.

But your hand stopped him from retreating even one step. You looked up at him with your eyes full of adoration and he looked back feeling the weight of his own. “Okay, I’ve thought about it, let’s do it.” You giggled.

Sylus was silent for a moment, and you felt the weight of your words hand in the air before he finally spoke.

“God, I love you,” he said, his voice low and filled with something you hadn’t heard before—something vulnerable. He kissed you again as this time, the kiss felt different. You could feel all the emotion he put into it, truly conveying his raw emotion in the best way he could.

You pulled away and whispered “I love you too, Sylus,” before grabbing him by the back of the back and pulling him back down on top of you.

And in that moment, you knew things had changed between you both. No more hiding, no more pretending that what you had was casual. Because in reality, it was anything but.

And neither of you were willing to let it go.

[twstgarden]

❀ ❝ 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗵𝘂𝗺𝗮𝗻 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘁 ❞

━ general! lilia vanrouge x human! gn! reader ━ living as a human in a fae-dominated country during the war probably isn't your best idea, but you love the land of briar so much as you were born and raised in that nation. who knew that your little activity of picking berries in the forest would make you meet the famed fae general? will he think you're a spy and deem you as a threat or will he realize you're just an innocent human living in the forest? (f/n means first name)

requested by: anonymous request type: oneshot requester's message: Can I request a General Lilia and Human Reader one-shot? Something fluffy (wasn't sure if you were up to date with the game so didn't want to get too specific) florist's note: omg a general lilia request. don't worry, i'm up to date w the jp version of the game. thank you for the request, little one.

this work contains spoilers for chapter 7, diasomnia's arc.

do not steal or translate without my permission.

“what are you doing out here, human?”

you flinched in surprise as a voice startled you from behind. you stood up and turned around with your basket on your arm, looking at the person who disturbed your little time. you were about to respond until you noticed the semi-familiar mask and the long dark hair with red highlights peeking out of this person’s hood.

it was the famed fae general.

“i was… just picking berries, sir.”

you responded as soon as you regained your thoughts. you continued to hold your basket as your eyes trailed all over his figure, taking in the details of his clothing and the mask covering his face. the eye holes glowed red, giving you the impression that it could be his eye colour. 

he was silent for a while as you responded, making you stay silent before looking down at your half-filled basket, tilting it a little to show him the contents.

“here… if you don’t believe me…”

the general looked at the basket for a quick second then looked back at you, speaking in a stern tone as he was still a little suspicious of you, “why pick berries all the way to this forest? you might be one of those pesky silver owl spies for all i know.”

silver owl? ah, that must be the human knights wearing iron armour and stealing the resources of the land of briar. 

what a disappointment… your own kind seemed to have never learned not to steal other’s resources. 

“ah… no… i’m not a spy nor am i a part of the silver owls… i’m just a human living in the forest and this spot is the closest area for berry picking to my cottage,” you tried to explain yourself to the general as the red glow in the mask’s eyeholes stared back at you with extreme intensity. 

when he did not respond for a while, you bowed a little to show respect and asked, “am i free to go, general?” 

he let out a short hum and held onto his weapon as he replied, “go. avoid the forest as much as possible, human. it’s not safe here. evacuate while you can.” you gave him a small smile and bowed your head again, “thank you, general, but i’ll be fine in this forest. have a great evening, sir.”

you held onto your basket and smiled for a quick second before turning around and walking away from the general, heading back to your lovely little cottage settled just a few meters away from the berry-picking spot. 

so that was the fae general. you finally had the chance to meet him face-to-face. his aura made him quite intimidating, especially when he holds that magical lithic. still, you didn’t want that to scare you. you knew you did nothing wrong, so there was no reason to fear him coming after you. 

that aside, the berries you picked were to your expectations, and you grabbed enough to bake your pie for dinner. with that in mind, you got to work, prepping the ingredients and baking your pie. the scent of the pie flooded your kitchen and the surrounding area of your cottage.

lucky for you, your little neighbourhood was safe and rarely do you ever find any threatening creatures, just a bunch of adorable woodland creatures. by the time your pie was finished baking, you had dinner by yourself on a picnic bench right outside your cottage, enjoying the greenery despite the darkness of the forest. 

it was going well until you felt another presence with you sitting right in front of you on the picnic bench. you glanced at the person and saw a soldier wearing armour with the palace guards’ coat of arms and a mask covering their face looking at you ━ or rather, the pie. it seems they’ve smelt it from wherever they were staying and came over. 

the soldier started screeching and you knew it was speaking to you in their language. unfortunately, being human meant it was hard for you to pick up and understand what they were saying, so you had to rely on the soldier’s body language. 

noticing how they were eyeing the single slice of pie in your hand, you thought the soldier wanted to have some, making you extend your hand a little as you spoke, “you want a pie? wait here.”

you then entered your cottage to grab the remaining slices of pie on your table and went out, placing it on the picnic table right in front of the soldier, “here, have this! you can share it with the rest of the soldiers, there’s plenty left!” 

the soldier stared at the pie for a while before looking up at you as if they were checking for any signs of hesitation or whatnot. you merely smiled to show no ill will, but another screech was heard from behind the soldier and your eyes immediately noticed the general standing right there. 

the soldier turned around and saluted at the general before screeching back, making it evident to you that they are conversing in their own language. moments later, the soldier disappeared into the dark forest, leaving you with the general as you looked at him, “did you tell him to leave?”

“no, i told him not to take food from others even if they try to offer it.”

you sighed as you sat on the picnic bench, “are you still wary of me?” 

“yes.”

oh, how straightforward. very admirable.

“i see… well, i’m not sure what i should say to make you think i’m just a regular forest resident and not a spy, but at least have a pie. there’s plenty left to share. it’s not poisoned if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“i am not interested in eating human food.”

those were the last things he said before disappearing into the night somewhere in the forest, presumably heading back to where his soldiers were camping out. you blinked your eyes for a moment before shrugging your shoulders and mumbling under your breath, “alright, general…” 

days have passed and you’ve occasionally seen the general around the forest as you did your usual activities. he had warned you not to dilly-dally around the forest, while other times, he just ignored you and let you do your thing as well as informing his troops not to harm you. 

soon, it escalated to some of the soldiers even paying you a visit just to check on you. you appreciated their gestures, but at the back of your mind, you wondered if the general grew to accept you as a regular citizen of their country. you even got to meet one of the soldiers called baul zigvolt as he paid your cottage a visit once to see if you were well or not. in return, you gave him one of your pastries or meals that he can share with the rest of his comrades. it certainly has become sort of a routine to you at this point.

one day, none of the soldiers paid you a little visit, which made you wonder if they were alright or if they’d moved their camp somewhere else further away from your cottage. you sat on the picnic bench right outside your cottage as you sipped on some beverage you made yourself, watching the surrounding areas for any signs of life, watching the moon and the stars up in the sky shining down on you, listening to the crickets in the distance, and feeling the cold breeze in the air as it made the trees sway a little. 

you were about to head back inside until you heard a familiar voice a few steps behind you. 

“waiting for something?”

you turned around and smiled as you saw the same old mask as the familiar figure stood there, “well… someone, rather.” 

a chuckle was heard from the general before walking towards you and sitting on the picnic bench before you. your smile was still present on your face as you spoke, “i’m doing alright if you’re here to check on me. i appreciate all your efforts, general.”

it was silent for a bit, but you remained smiling at him. a few seconds later, his hands hovered over his mask before grabbing it, revealing his features as his red eyes looked right at you.

your eyes widened slightly. he was really good-looking. you couldn’t find the right words to say, but you remained smiling as he spoke to you, “...that’s a relief, then. you need to know how dangerous this place is. it isn’t safe for you to stay here, human.”

“f/n.”

“what?”

“my name’s f/n…” 

the general smiled a little and continued to speak, “i see…” you smiled and proceeded to reply to his words earlier, “i’ll be alright here, general. this is my home… i was raised in this cottage by my parents. now that i’m alone, i still wish to stay here.” he nodded a little as you added, “...thank you, general, for looking out and considering me as the land of briar’s citizen…”

he didn’t say anything for a moment as you handed him a little flower from your garden and a few cookies with a sheepish smile, “i didn’t get to cook or bake much today, so… please accept this..”

the general grabbed the cookies and the flower from you as he placed the flower safely by the belt of his armour while grabbing a cookie and taking a bite. a few moments later, you conversed with the general until he had to head back to his camp. 

you stood before him and spoke as you went to see him off, “thank you for visiting, general. be safe out there.” he nodded his head and placed a rose on your hair, already wearing a mask as he did so, “... there… you look beautiful… and you’re the one who needs to be safe out here, f/n. i’ll see you again tomorrow.” he then disappeared into the night, but his words were still in your mind. 

beautiful.

beautiful.

beautiful…

the general thinks you look beautiful. 

“oh dear me, my heart can’t take this…” you whispered as you hovered a hand above your chest, right where your heart was. you smiled to yourself as you entered your cottage and went to your room, laying on your bed as you hugged your pillow.

“i hope i’ll see him again tomorrow…”

© twstgarden 2023 || please do not steal, translate without my permission, or use this to train a.i.

[meanbossart]

ASK COMPILATION ABOUT THE WEIRD DROW

Replying to a couple of shorter questions! Sorry that I can't get to all of you lest this blog just turns into a stream of constant asks, but I read all of your messages and to be honest there are several that I'm saving to draw something for 😭 alas there are only so many hours in a day.

Thank you for all the support and interactivity as always!

He takes fairly good care of things he considers important or useful - otherwise he's pretty messy or at least indifferent to mess. Definitely a "leaves the wet towel on the bed" guy LOL

Okay so I was bad and not used to DnD mechanics or spells the first time I played the game, so I RARELY ever cast Speak With Animals and had very little sense of their personality during his campaign - BUT THERE WAS THIS ONE TIME WHEN I DID.

THERE WAS ONE TIME WHERE I REMEMBERED.

AND IT WAS PERFECT.

He adores and most of all respects this intense little guy with his whole heart.

[MORE UNDER THE CUT]

Serious answer: he respects wild animals far too much to try and make one into a pet.

Non-serious but still true answer: He would never do that and have to deal with Astarion's incessant Drizzt Do'urden joke comparisons for the rest of his existence. That's that man's personal hell.

He's fairly adaptable! But as far as dynamics go, he does lean bottom regardless of who he's with in bed, but this doesn't necessarily translate into always being on the receptive end of things.

If he were to be with a cisgender woman who doesn't wear a strap like its a second pair of briefs, he would be more than happy to be the pitcher the majority of the time. I think the only scenario where he would be dissatisfied is a restrictive one - he couldn't be with someone who doesn't want to enjoy his whole body in earnest, or who can't flip the roles every once in a while. Also, you have to be a little gross. He has probably caught Astarion off-guard with the things he did on a whim/suggested they do more than once. All in all, as long as whoever he's with is versatile and not a prude, they could probably make it work.

He killed Minthara in her lair and all he got was a bear out of it. Good thing killing her was it's own reward!

MAN... Could just be that his story is far too concrete in my brain already, but it's hard for me to see that working. They are both far too out of touch with their emotions and quiet in their demeanor for me to envision a durable romance sparking. Also, DU drow (who has no clue how old he is himself) thinks of Shadowheart as being far too young for him.

There is a mutual understanding between them that there is a barrier that neither of them is willing to let the other get past - and because that is something they both share, they won't, and they might never try. They work so well as friends because of their similarities, but in a relationship I think that would be to their detriment.

Also, I think silver-haired Shadowheart's wants and needs for her future far diverge from DU drow's chaotic lifestyle, ultimately It's probably best for them to make their own paths.

HAHAHAHA LISTEN.... YOU'RE TALKING AS IF THOSE TWO THINGS DON'T GO TOGETHER PERFECTLY WELL BUT IN MY MIND THEY ARE ONE AND THE SAME.

The thing about DU drow is that he might be a bottom, but he's a very... Uh, engaged bottom. He can be as dominant with a dick in his ass as he can be submissive depending on how it jives with his partner- and he's gonna spew some nonsense either way LOL

Either way... I feel ya brother 😔🍑

He did it himself during a dinner Gortash invited him to. At the table. With a meat knife. He was trying to prove a really stupid point/put Gortash off of him.

I have a script for this and I still need to draw it someday! 🤦‍♂️

He doesn't think anything of it now - it's so far in the past and DU drow obviously isn't the judgemental type when it comes to sordid individuals LOL

As a person, however, Astarion likely wasn't the kind of guy that he would have gotten along with, and vice-versa. Sounds to me like he was pretty poshy and did all his misdeeds under the table - DU drow wouldn't have strong feelings about it from an ethical standpoint, but he wouldn't respect it either. Also, DU drow's is practically anarchistic in his political views - soooooo not much room there to be in love with politicians. I'm sure pre-vampirism Astarion would have less than favorable opinions about him as well so the feeling would have been mutual LOL.

ABSOLUTELY NOT HE NEEDS BOTH EYES TO CUT THROUGH FOES he will gladly put Gale on the slab to see what happens though LMAO

[keyrey]

He's a fighter—in choice of words, that is.

My head-canon is that doting husband!Kento Nanami isn’t as soft-spoken and wise with his wife as he was back when they dated. Now, he’s quick to make a comeback when needed. Which happens to be quite often. Picture this:

Kento's sharp tongue is a result of dealing with his 'cocky and catastrophic' co-workers all day and night. (His words.) He’s armed not only with a sword but also with a collection of blunt, yet somehow witty retorts. It’s all part of his personality. And the constant patter of rain on his leather brogues didn’t exactly lift his spirits either. He was more than ready to see the clock strike 6:30 on his shiny silver watch.

He drags himself home, utterly exhausted. His eyes are half-closed and puffy, his lips cold. Despite his fatigue, he greets his wife with a tender and loving kiss, though it’s clearly accompanied by a silent message of, ‘I’m dead tired, but I’m doing this so you won’t get mad at me.’

"You need to invest in a better lip balm, Nanami."

"Oh, is that so?" Kento probes his lip with genuine curiosity. They might be a bit chapped, but is it worth the joke? Not necessarily. He’s familiar with her sarcastic streak; it can get a bit old, but he usually lets it slide.

"Yeah, it scratched my lip a little," she replies, her tone laced with mirth.

He fires back, "I suppose I do... but you need to invest in a comb." His deadpan delivery signals the start of their roast battle. Her aversion to combs is evident in the wild, tumbleweed-like mess at the back of her head. It’s a sorry excuse for a ponytail. She insists that hair wash days are only once a month, leaving her locks to form their own chaotic masterpiece.

"Oh, we’re starting this now, huh?" His wife pumps her tiny fists in the air, initiating a playful fight. A playful fight usually means he just stands there, hovering as she tries to provoke him. To no avail, of course.

Rule one of the husband/wife roast battle: Never lie.

"You need…" She struggles to come up with something since Kento is just too goddamn perfect on the surface. "A cookbook! Yeah, that’s right!" She shoots back with a triumphant grin.

"My cooking is immaculate. If it were that bad, why do you hover around the kitchen waiting for seconds, hmm? Care to explain, my love?"

He’s good. Damn it.

"…I’m tired of bread!" Her voice, though frail, is filled with fire. She crosses her arms, standing her ground.

Kento’s rare, toothy grin widens as he counters, “You adore my bread! How about you invest in some respect before I invest in a cookbook?”

She narrows her eyes, a mischievous glint forming. "Respect? Sure, right after you learn to pick up your socks from the living room. Or did you think the 'floor monster' would get them?"

He throws his head back, almost hilariously hitting the edge of the chair. He knows he’s met his match. "Touché. I’ll get on that… right after I bake some bread. White or pumpernickel?"

"You know I love your pumpernickel. What a bitch," she mutters, relenting with a frown on her face.

"I heard that, honey," he says in a low, affectionate voice.

"Good!"

And thus ended their roast battle. You can bet Kento had their house smelling like warm bread and butter.

She’ll get him next time, right?

Probably not.

You see that? He's already thinking of more comebacks. How she keeps her shoes strewn all around? Check. How she clogged the shower drain a total of 15 times in the past two weeks? Check. Don't even get him started on her cooking. Oh god, someone call 911. Food poisoning for you, you, and yes, you too!

[jerzwriter]

I'm a little late for Day 1, but I didn't want to miss the opportunity to send some love to some very special people. I'm not around as much as I used to be, so I feel a little disconnected. I'm sorry and trust me, I miss you all very much! 🩷🩷🩷

@aallotarenunelma - As I said in my reply to you, I hate the rough time you went through, but as someone who tries to find silver linings in dark clouds, I'm so glad that brought us together. You've always been such a bright, positive light in this fandom, and I am so happy we got to know each other. I've missed you here, and seeing your name in my notifications yesterday genuinely made me smile. I hope you're doing well, and I hope you'll pop in from time to time! I've missed you!

@alj4890 - My dear fellow Tobias simp! lol, I'm so glad that luscious little fictional man brought us together, but nowadays, he's definitely secondary to you! I enjoy our talks so much, and as much as I love a notification of a new Tobias x Chris fic, I'm even happier to see a message from you. It's so nice to have people who "get" you and I feel that whenever we talk. I'm so glad you're here for your creativity, and your friendship!

@aria-ashryver - My dear, you have always been such a beacon of light and love and an example of how each of us should be, even if it's difficult to live up to. You've endured so much and do so with a grace, dignity, and beauty that leaves me in awe. I think of you all the time, and I hope you know you have this agnostic praying and sending love and healing your way every day. Thank you for being you, thank you for spreading joy, and I hope you know how important you are not only to me, but to so many others. xoxo

@angelasscribbles - My sister from another mister. Girl, you're not even a fandom friend anymore - you're a friend. Period. It's so important to have people in our lives who "get" us, who we can speak to without fear of judgment, and who we can laugh with or be scared with. People who share our values for a better world and keep believing even in the darkest of days. You're that to me, Angela. Like I said, you're not a fandom friend, but since this little hellhole is where we met, you deserve to be acknowledged here. <3

@storyofmychoices - Sweet, sweet Dani. Where to even begin? You are the backbone of this little world of ours, and you give of yourself so selflessly time and time again. You are probably one of the kindest people I have ever met, and you do your best to see the best in everyone, even when it's very difficult to do. You've known darkness yourself, so it pains you to see others there, and you give so much of yourself to help others see the light. During some of my darkest times - in fandom and real life - you've brought me sunshine and joy when I've needed it most. I know both of us have not been around here as much because... life... but I hope you know how much I treasure you and your friendship. You are truly a rare gem in this world, and I'm so glad you're part of mine. Thanks so much for all that you do for the fandom - but mostly, for being you. xoxo

@icecoffee90 - My lovely, lovely Z. Another person who I have to remind myself I met through the fandom because you're not a fandom friend at all; you're a friend. I have always treasured our goofy talks and our intercontinental viewing parties, and now that we've gotten to SEE each other, we've created such beautiful memories. We've had so many laughs and you've brought joy to my life on days when I found it impossible to see the sun, I probably don't say it often enough - but you mean the world to me and my life is so much better because you're in it. Plus, we shared the world's best pumpkin pie ice cream together - that's a bond nothing can break! Love you to bits, sis! xoxo

@cariantha - Sweet Cari! As the fandom continues to dwindle, I'm so grateful for the people who remain, and I mean it when I say that you are at the top of that list. You've always been such a bright spot here, and your light shines through your work and actions. I always smile when I see a notification or DM from you, and I'm so glad you've stuck around. The fandom is better for it, but selfishly, I'm glad you're still here personally because you're one of the people who has always made this place great - even when it was not so great. Thanks so much for everything through the years, Cari! <3

@lilyoffandoms - Sweet, sweet Lily. Where to even begin. I feel bad because I've been removed from this place lately, and one of the people I miss the most is you. I adore you because you are all things kind and good - and a whole lot of don't fuck with me or what matters to me, too. That's the vibe right there! lol I've treasured our chats, I appreciate you as a person, and I love your giving nature. Seriously, you're someone others can look up to and aspire to be, and count me amongst those who hope to. If all that weren't enough YOUR TALENT! Writing, art... you are amazing and thank you for sharing those talents so generously with all of us. You make this place wonderful. You make it worth coming back to, I'm honored to call you friend. <3

@peonierose - My dear you have always been such a bright spot in this world. Just thinking of you conjures up images of bight pink flowers against a sunny sky. I know that's not how life has been for you as of late, but still, you don't let it change who you are at your core - a kind, beautiful soul. Thank you for being here all these years and for bringing so much joy to so many. We are so lucky to have you! <3

@quixoticdreamer16 - My baseball buddy who somehow got me through this wretched World Series! lol I truly value your support, kindness, and having someone who gets the thrill of victory and agony of defeat from spring through October. Thanks so much for being a valuable part of this fandom and so special to me! xo

@coffeeheartaddict2 My dear Tash. Thank you for helping me through the fall of civilization as we know it! lol, You've become such a dear friend, I almost forgot we met through the fandom, but I'm forever grateful to the fandom for bringing us together. It's good to know that whatever life throws at us, we will still have this crazy little corner to retreat to.

@dr-colossal-pita - My dear Ren, I feel so badly because I've been MIA due to many factors recently, and I hope that will change. But I hope you know how much you mean not only to this fandom but to me. Our chats, whether they be about fandom nonsense, shake-our-heads family moments, shake-our-head WORLD moments or lifting each other up with the cutest of little animal memes/videos, mean so much to me, just like you mean so much to me. I'm so grateful you're a part of my life. <3

@secretaryunpaid - Cher! You are just one of a kind. I know we have not had as much time to chat, and I miss that so much. But I'll always treasure our talks - the laughs and the deeper moments alike. You are someone that I know I would get into so much trouble with - and I love that! lol We know kindred spirits when they enter our lives. Thank you so much for your kindness and support, not only to me but also to so many here, and thank you for your friendship always! <3

@annoyingmillenialnewbie - My greek sister! Sister of the traveling spanakopita! lol I know we've both been busy and have not had as much time to chat as in the past, but that does not mean you're any less special to me. I'm so glad this little slice of crazy brought us together and I plan to keep you, even when it's long gone. <3 Miss you φίλε μου. xoxo

@genevievemd - My sweet little sister. I don't have to go into great lengths to tell you what you mean to me here, because we know what our friendship is to each other. Knowing we understand each other and have each other's backs on even the darkest of days means more to me than you will ever know. Just this week alone you helped me more than you can know. I love your creativity and what you've given to this fandom, but most of all I value YOU and I'm so glad you're a big part of my life xoxo

@jamespotterthefirst - Amiga, where to begin? The laughs, the mischief, the thirsting, the wellness checks! lol, I know we both have times when we struggle, but it's amazing even when you're struggling, you still manage to make me smile and make me laugh. When times are dark, you remind me that, somehow, we'll make it through. I'm so glad to count you amongst my friends - fuck fandom friends - FRIENDS, and holy shit, the fear of us being on the same coast together! lol I literally cannot wait. Thanks for being a part of my life, my friend, and I will always cherish this place for bringing us together.

@liaromancewriter Mal it looks like we will be amongst the ones to turn the lights out here one day. lol And I'm so grateful for that! Thank you for remaining our queen of fluff and for sharing your talents with us, and thanks SO MUCH for taking over CFWC this year. I know it's a lot of work, and I would have hated to see it go away, it was so much easier "retiring" knowing it was in good hands. Thanks for the laughs, the chats, and helping hold up the fort! I'm not the only one who considers myself lucky to have you here. <3

@potionsprefect - Alice! Another I'm not leaving until I say I'm leaving member of the OH fandom! lol I'm so glad you're still here and we still get to revel in Ethan/Victoria and of course Luke/Lily. I'm so proud of you for all you've accomplished in real life and still love shaking our heads together! (And there is so much to shake at! lol) Thanks for being part of the fandom & part of my world! <3

OK, these five ladies are not around anymore, but I'm mentioning them nonetheless. Fortunately, I'm still in touch with all of them to one degree or another, and they know how much they mean to me. I can't tell you how much I've missed you being here, but we have your old works to remember you by. I'm so glad this crazy place brought us together. @danijimenezv @lucy-268 @writer-ish @bex-la-get @a-crepusculo

Some people have supported my creations for so long, and I want each of you to know how much I appreciate it! Thanks so much for your ongoing support: @mrs-ramsey @onikalover @differenttyphoonwerewolf @kyra75 @custaroonie

@youlookappropriate @kingliam2019 @delmissesryanandcassi

These people help make the fandom a better place just by being in it. Your kindness, support, and positivity do not go unnoticed, and you create a brighter space for all of us. Thank you! 🩷🩷 I've been lucky enough to talk with some of you privately. We've shared lovely conversations and helped lift each other when needed. I hope you all know how precious you are to me!

@ladylamrian @cadybear420 @petalouda85 @rosesnink @dutifullynuttywitch

@lorircreates @moominofthevalley @petiteboheme @cryomyst @princess-geek

@tessa-liam @missameliep @trappedinfanfiction @takeharryandgo @thosehallowedhalls

@crazy-loca-blog @rafasgirl23415 @tveitertotwrites @thefirstcourtesan @sillydg

To some people I've been lucky enough to get to know in the past year. Whether it's been through our creations, playing reblog games, geeking out over music or our MCs, or just sharing in conversation - I'm so glad we've gotten to know each other! 🩷🩷 @renninflight @choices-ceri @brycesgirl @snoopdogcone

I always worry that I've missed someone, and with my Swiss-cheese brain- it's likely I did here. But, I want to send love and appreciation to anyone who has ever crossed my path here.

Elsa xo

@choicesfandomappreciation

[gloomwitchwrites]

Captain John Price x Female Reader Dark Romance

Chapter Specific Warnings: graphic violence, canon-typical swearing, time jump

Word Count: 5.3k

A/N: Part Six of Dangerous Pursuit (for @glitterypirateduck)

Community Label Warning: This chapter involves violent content that some readers might find upsetting (see above warning). You can skip to the bolded time jump and still retain the plot.

Dimitri's capture causes deadly consequences. An uprooted life comes to a grinding halt when a familiar face makes an unexpected appearance.

Chapter Five // Chapter Seven

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // dangerous pursuit masterlist

The text stares back at you like an angry, red wound.

Really? They want you to come in for a mandatory meeting on a weekday? At the last minute?

Sighing loudly, you send a reply to your boss at Thirst. You’ll be there, but because it’s outside of your contracted hours, you’ll be late. It’s frustrating because they know this, and yet they’re expecting it from you anyway. The whole reason you took the job at Thirst is because it never bleeds into your regular life. They are separate. Complete fractured. Untouching.

That is not the case at the moment. And it’s frustrating.

This “mandatory” meeting is supposed to start when you get off work from your day job. You won’t arrive at Thirst in time for the start of the meeting, but hopefully they’ll begin without you. That way, you can sneak in for the last bit and not have to stay long. The only silver-lining to this ridiculous request.

Checking the time, you frown.

Your boss sent out the message two hours ago which is not nearly enough notice. The wording of it is odd too. Beginning with an apology about the last second meeting, he then emphasizes the urgency of everyone attending. From your two years of working at Thirst you’ve never been asked to come to any staff meeting. If information needs to be distributed, it always occurs when you walk through the door for your shift.

On top of that, Steve, one of the two owners who sent the text out, is never urgent about anything. He is incredibly relaxed, sometimes almost too calm for your liking, and he rarely—if ever—contacts you outside working hours unless it’s to ask for you to come in a bit early for a scheduled shift.

“Whatever,” you mutter, locking your phone and stowing it in your purse. You’ll deal with it when you arrive. Right now, you need to fucking focus.

But the urgency and anxiousness of the text’s wording stays with you through the rest of your shift. Like an unsuspecting water-filled pothole, you’re waiting for the drop, for the squealing crunching bounce, and the eventual check engine light to come on.

Something isn’t right, but you have no idea what it might be.

It is plaguing, insisting feeling that pushes down on your shoulders and rests it’s chin on the top of your head like an acquaintance that is much too close for comfort.

After you left the VIP room, Dimitri didn’t call on you again, and you didn’t dare return to the room until you were sure it was empty. Price didn’t ask for you either. He did not reach out, or even attempt to contact you. One part of you brain tells you to not care while the other says that you should be irate. That if Price cared at all, even a little, he’d slip something your way.

Megan, Olivia, and Addie returned solemn and slightly distant. At first, you thought they might have been upset about Dimitri pushing you on Price, but the idea swiftly left your head when Megan winced as she sat.

You have no idea what happened in that room afterward. And you didn’t notice any physical marks or bruises on any of the three women. But their demeanors were melancholic, their gazes not focused on anything in particular, and they never spoke to you or anyone else who tried to make conversation with them.

Maybe that’s what the meeting is about? Maybe it has something to do with security and ways to protect the staff who are put in vulnerable and precarious situations? There are panic buttons in all of the VIP rooms for a reason. Sure, clients pay good money for privacy, but they are also expected to hold themselves to certain expectations and standards. Not physically harming members of staff is number one on that list. Steve, and his co-owner Tom, are very particular about this rule.

When the hour arrives and you leave, you’re a boiling mess, a creature skulking in the shadows, anxious that a predator is awaiting out in the open dark. The restlessness only intensifies when you arrive at Thirst. The employee parking lot is full. Everyone appears to be here but it’s also possible a few will be missing or running late like you.

Slipping out of your car, you rummage around in your purse for a piece of gum. Just as you find one and pop it into your mouth, you reach for the large metal keypad to punch in your unique employee code but freeze when you notice something wet dripping from it.

Frowning, you peer closer at the dark liquid.

Is Greg eating quarter pounders again? The man has a knack for getting ketchup all over his hands and accidentally spreading it to the oddest places around the building.

But ketchup is bright red and glossy. This is dark and deep like velvet, not nearly as thick as a sauce but not fluid like water. Whatever it is, it’s smeared on the door handle and pools between the buttons.

Your stomach drops to your toes.

You don’t like this. It’s…strange. Odd.

Instead of touching the keypad or handle, you open your purse and retrieve a little package of tissues. Taking several out, you use them as a shield between your skin and the contaminated keypad, punching your code in.

The door lock beeps. The red light turns green.

Using the same tissues, you push down on the handle and then outward, the door swinging in easily. You step into the main employee hallway. The floors, wall, and ceiling are completely concrete. To your immediate right is a door to office where the owners, management, and the CCTV room are. There are two doors for bathrooms, and an opening in the wall that leads to the changing room and employee lockers.

The weirdest thing is that the overhead light isn’t on, and it doesn’t turn on when you enter. The only light comes from the opening in the wall where the dancers do their makeup and fix their dresses.

Again, strange. You’re so used to the sharp, almost sterile overhead light in this tiny space that its absence is ominous.

“What the fuck,” you murmur.

Maybe the light is out and just needs replacing. Maybe the sensor is bad. There are a number of reasons why the light doesn’t come on. Why is it all bothering you so much? It’s probably nothing, and the primitive part of your brain is simply conjuring up the fear of the unknown.

You head down the short hall and step through the opening. Even here, the light is dim. To your right is a wide hall. The massive walk-in closet with employee uniforms, props, and costumes along with changing rooms is that way. Employee lockers line the entire length of the hall. It’s also the same hall that connects to the wine cellar, dry storage, and the beverage cooler. Shoved in that back area is also a tiny kitchen for those guests who order food.

In front of you are rows of vanities, mirrors, shelving with wigs, hats, and all sorts of miscellaneous items. This room is typically bright and welcoming. It always smells of perfume, cleaning solution, and whatever flowers have been delivered that day. But again, the only light comes from four vanities where the bulbs around the mirrors are on.

And it’s so…quiet. You expect to see a shadow lingering in a corner, or the dark outline of a phantom silhouette. Glancing down at the slightly crushed tissues in your hand, you notice the flecks of red. But you’re in the dark, and so you step up to one of the vanities, tipping the tissue into the light.

Crimson. Almost wine-like in color.

Not ketchup. Not food. Not—

Your head snaps up at the sound of a raised voice. Distantly, through the interior door that leads into Thirst’s main room, you hear it again. Whoever is speaking is muffled, and you are unable to make out what it is that is being said.

Dropping the tissues into the trash can, you pad softly across the concrete floor and to the door. You do not open it. Instead, you press your ear to it, listening. There is quiet for some seconds, and then the voice starts up again. You are still in the dark, still incapable of deciphering who the speaker is and what is coming out of their mouth.

But you also don’t want to go out there. Taking great care not to make any noise, you open the door just enough to peer through a small crack.

As your eyes take in the sight before, and relay those signals to your brain, your heartrate increasing, becoming a storm, thudding so loudly your ears vibrate.

Out on the main floor, standing before the seated employees of Thirst are armed men.

There are seven in total. Six of them are in all black tactical gear with balaclavas covering everything but their eyes. The guns they carry are large, easily high capacity. They are unmoving, a small wall standing in a formal line behind their leader.

It is not Dimitri. Nor is it Nikola. It is also not any of the other men you’ve seen with Dimitri whenever he’s been in the VIP room. And it’s not Price.

This is someone else, and like Dimitri, you sense the quiet violence within him. But this is sharper, a slice of venom that can boil you from the inside out. Dimitri is a demon with a forked tongue and sharp claws. This man is so much greater, so much more malevolent.

His presence is striking and you expect smoke to roll out from his nostrils or for him to grow horns. His face is marked with scars that crisscross over each other, and his dark hair is pulled up into a bun on the back of his head. The man easily has to be closing in on seven feet tall.

No. This is not Dimitri.

And it is not Price or his team.

With shaking fingers, you withdraw your phone from your pocket, skimming through your contacts. You pass Price’s name twice before you can control your fingers enough to tap on his name. The message you send to him is hasty, and likely gibberish, the phone screen itself more of a blur because—water drops onto the glass.

You bring one shaking hand up to your face and find your cheeks wet.

You choke back a sob as the text becomes a lone blurb on your screen.

Price said to contact him if anything happens. But will he answer? It’s been almost two weeks since that night when you and Price got the tension out of your systems. Two weeks. No contact. So why is it that you text him and not the police?

The answer is quite clear. What will they do anyway? They stay away from places like this. They look down on it. If anything, they’d likely wait outside the entire time and never actually come inside to rescue anyone.

You’re doing the right thing by contacting Price. You are.

Returning your phone to your pocket, your gaze falls on the men at the center of the room. The leader isn’t in nearly as much tactical gear as his friends. He wears a suit with a bulletproof vest over it, clearly not entirely concerned with his safety.

“I’ve been waiting long enough.” His Russian accent is thick like syrup. Dimitri’s is subdued, and now you question whether or not he was simply hiding it.

At the sound of his voice, several people flinch like they’ve received a physical blow.

“She’s on her way. I promise. You read the text, Damien.” That’s one of the owners, but you can’t see him. It sounds like Steve but you can’t be sure. Opening the door a bit more, you shift your head and located him near the front of the group.

She. She is on her way.

“I have three. I need all four.”

Damien grabs the owner by the back of the throat and lifts him into the air without breaking a sweat. There is a pause as Damien’s lip curls in disgust.

“Where is she!” roars Damien, tossing the man to the ground.

He is talking about you. You.

No one speaks. No one utters a word. Damien strides back and forth before the front row, his gaze deliberately landing on every person.

“My guns are gone. My men are dead. Another missing.” He comes to a stop, chest heaving with anger. “Money taken. No leads except this place.” His arms outstretch slightly and he glances around the large room.

Dimitri. He’s talking about Dimitri. All this time, Price kept mentioning that he was after a larger target, someone much higher on the scale. Is he talking about Damien? Or is there someone even higher than him that Price is after?

You distinctly remember Price and Dimitri talking about an exchange. That must be the missing guns and money. Damien’s men are dead and if Dimitri isn’t among them, then it has to be everyone else Dimitri has ever brought with him, possibly even more than that.

Price also mentioned that Dimitri and the people Price is after, are not simple petty criminals. Price is military which means these men and their actions have international consequences.

Damien’s arms fall to his sides. “And now you can’t tell me where the fourth whore is.” He points off to the side. “I have three.” You tip your head noticing Megan, Olivia, and Addie.

“She’s works elsewhere during the day. She’ll be here.”

Damien glances downward. His face is blank. Cold. One of the armed men behind Damien steps forward.

“No. No! Damien!”

“You’re annoying me, Steve,” says Damien, voice monotone.

The armed man drags Steve by his hair toward the dancefloor. Steve kicks out, legs flailing and useless. He reaches up to claw at the armed man’s hands, but his fingers cannot penetrate the gloves.

“If I am missing one,” says Damien calmly. Steve is dropped. He glances up. But the gun is already pointed at his face. And there is no pause between the rising of the arm and the pulling of the trigger. “Then the rest of you are at risk,” finishes Damien, shrugging his shoulders apathetically.

Several Thirst employees scream, and Damien immediately rolls his eyes in annoyance.

“Don’t do that,” he murmurs, shaking his head. Then, louder, “Don’t FUCKING SCREAM!” He strides forward and grabs someone by their hair, twisting sharply. He bends at the waist, getting down to their level. “I will rip out your vocal cords and fuck the hole I leave behind. Understand?”

Whoever he’s speaking to must respond because Damien lets go, standing tall again, pulling on his bullet-proof vest to adjust it. He breathes deep, and then exhales loudly as if this is his meditation.

Panic clogs your throat. Fuck it. You’re calling the police. Usually, you wouldn’t even fuck with them, but relying only on Price isn’t going to help you or anyone in that room. It certainly didn’t help Steve.

Your hands are shaking harder now, so much in fact that you can barely hold onto your phone. It keeps jumping around in your palms. The sweat isn’t helping either, and getting the lock screen to recognize your face and jump to the home screen is agony.

“Maybe we don’t need her,” shrugs Damien, glancing over at Megan, Olivia, and Addie. “We have the other three.”

Two of the stoic, tactical-clad men move, head in the women’s direction. You hear their pleas and soft cried of protest. Megan, Olivia, and Addie are dragged up front to where Damien stands. He towers over them.

You open the keypad, punching in the emergency number. But every time you hit the round, green circle with the phone in the middle, nothing happens.

“Please,” you whimper, smashing your finger down on it. “Please.”

Damien brushes one of Megan’s blonde locks behind her ear. “I need to know who you talked to. That’s all.”

Of the three, only Olivia stares the man down, fury in her face even as tears stain her cheeks. “None of us said anything to anyone,” she says through clenched teeth.

Using his gloved thumb, Damien gentle wipes away the tears on Megan’s face. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, but you don’t know if he’s giving her a compliment or simply speaking out loud.

Your finger comes down on the little green button again and this time it connects. Sighing with relief, you bring the shaking phone up to your ear only to be met with a busy signal.

“Fuck.”

Olivia’s gaze darts from Megan to Damien and back again. “Our job isn’t to care and it isn’t to listen.”

Damien drops his hand from Megan’s face. “To care? No. To listen?” He shakes a pointed finger in Olivia’s direction. “You always listen.” He taps the side of his head. “You have ears. Working, clearly, because Dimitri isn’t here. Neither are my guns.”

He moves like a viper, his hand grabbing the bottom of Olivia’s face to pull her in. “Which means someone talked.”

She tries to shake her head but his grip is iron-clad. “We didn’t. Not to anyone.”

“Are you speaking for yourself? Or for the three of you?” When Olivia doesn’t reply, his fingers squeeze and she gasps audibly. “Take accountability.”

“We didn’t say anything.”

“Then you’re not of any use to me.” The words are cold and dead. Using his grip on the bottom half of her face, Damien throws Olivia to the side. “Shoot her.”

“Oliva!” screeches Megan, trying to go to her.

The silence after the shot is deafening, and the resounding screams that come afterward are a wave, attempting to drown.

You begin to back away, the door softly closing. With phone still in hand, your try the emergency number again. Busy. Fucking busy.

Wasn’t there just something in the news about there not being enough phone operators for emergency calls? That the city was facing a massive hiring problem?

Before the door clicks, another shot rings out. This one makes you jump. Every muscle in your stomach and back tenses violently.

The flinch hurts, and you bend forward in pain.

A third shot cracks in the air. Something heavy slams into the door, shaking the frame.

You stumble backward, the phone starting to slip from your grip.

Another pop followed by silence followed by—tat tat. A raging ringing of rattling sound that goes on and on.

Endless. Endless. Endless.

You scream, dropping to the floor as pieces of the door blow inward, painting the air with pulverized wood.

Covering your face with your hands, you curl in on yourself, waiting for the silence. It comes, and you peek out from between your fingers at the door.

Dark red seeps in from underneath, creating little bloody rivers across the concrete, stretching and reaching like gnarled fingers or willowy tree branches.

You’re on your knees. Shaking. Searching. Head spinning.

Door. You need the door. The door to the outside. You need—

Another barrage starts up, and the door groans, bending inward from whatever weight is pushing on it from the other side.

Everything is going blurry. The tears that spill from your eyes blind you, distorting your vision as you try to lift yourself off the floor.

Where is your phone? Where is your fucking phone?

You drag yourself in a direction, seeking, seeking, finding only cold concrete. Desperation eases in, seizes your lungs, inflating and deflating the organ until you’re audibly gasping for air.

Finding purchase near one of the vanities, you pull yourself up to your feet, leaning all your weight on it. Fuck the phone. Leave. Leave. Run to your fucking car or across the street. Go anywhere.

Get help.

The rapidly repeating rattling ceases, and in its place is dead, stagnant silence.

Your feet are lead but they move, determined to ferry you to safety, to deliver you to the back door and out in open air. As you push off from the vanity, the worst possible thing happens. The backdoor opens. And with it comes voices. Not friendly ones.

The hall to your left is the only place for you to go.

Survival kicks in, adrenaline surging through your limbs as you hurl yourself down the hall. Loud footsteps close in, and you throw yourself into the first available hiding spot. It’s the massive storage room where all the uniforms, outfits, and changing stalls are. The stalls are too open, too vulnerable.

But there is plenty of storage in here for all the various clothes and odd knickknacks. Ducking behind a rack of clothes, you shimmy along the wall until you come to the standing shelves. There is just enough room for you to lay on your side between it and the wall.

Breathing is all you're capable of, all that you're able to focus on. Time is of no significance. Minutes or seconds pass, and perhaps they keep on going stretching into hours. You don’t count. You don’t blink. You simply exist as you attempt to calm your racing heart.

Distantly, you hear a loud groan followed by a massive thud. Maybe that’s the interior door finally falling off its hinges. And these two sounds are what snap you back to reality. You shift, and sharp pain shoots down your shoulder.

You blink, surprised, and then notice the red smeared across the wall where you touched it. There are more droplets on the ground out in the room, and a tiny trail that lead out into the hall.

There is silence again. Then a few quick shouts. A brief pop accompanied by another soon after. Quiet once again. The air conditioning kicks in, bringing with it a low hum. Your breathing seems overly loud, but you also know you’re tightly crammed into a small space.

Black boots appear, pausing right inside the doorway. You didn’t even hear their approach. Between their feet are bloody droplets. Your blood.

The boots shift, take two steps forward in the direction of your hiding spot. Cold creeps in. Becomes dark. The boots scrunch slightly as whoever it is bends down next to where your blood trail abruptly ends before disappearing behind the clothes racks.

A gloved hand hovers just above those final droplets but do not make contact. Whoever it is promptly stands, facing the racks of clothes that hide your smeared blood on the wall. They start moving the clothes, ripping them from hooks to fall to the floor.

Another pair of boots appears in the doorway. A brief few seconds pass before they head in the direction of the other pair. There is a muffled sound, and what might be a struggle. Your answer comes quick.

One of Damien’s men collapses onto his back, vacant eyes staring up at nothing, the handle of knife sticking out from his throat.

There is a collective silence before hands are on you, dragging you from your hiding spot. You screech like a terrified animal. Kicking out with feet, clawing whoever this is with nails, teeth snaping in preparation to sink into flesh.

“It's me.” The back of your hand connects with something hard. “Stop. It's me. It's me.”

You cease your thrashing, staring into eyes that you know so well.

“John,” you breathe.

Price has both hands on your upper arms. He’s in full tactical gear. While he appears calm of the surface, you can see the slight panic in his eyes as his gaze darts across your face and over your body.

���I've got you,” he murmurs, one hand releasing your arm to grasp the side of your face, cradling your cheek. “You're fine.”

Ignoring the pain in your shoulder that screams its frustration, you wrap your arms around Price’s neck as the tears come fast and heavy and hard.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “When he bagged Dimitri, I should have known—I’m sorry.”

You cling harder, fingers digging into the collar of his uniform. Price gentle squeezes your waist, his face slightly turned into your neck.

With a softness that soothes, Price slowly draws you away from him, but only enough so that he can look at your face. A gloved thumb runs along your cheekbone, drying some of the tears.

“You came,” you whisper.

“For you. I came for you.” Price smiles tenderly, but it falters as he tips is head like he’s listening to something. The middle of his brow creases as he reaches up to press what must be a communication device. “Dressing room,” he says.

He releases the button and grasps the side of your face, gaze sad and intense. Price’s frown deepens. “You’re injured.”

Before you can answer, Ghost appears in the doorway, saying nothing. Price twists to glance at the behemoth of a man.

“Petrova ran,” states Ghost blandly.

“Fuck,” mutters Price. “We have eyes on him?”

“No.”

“Likely going to ground to lick his wounds before facing Makarov.”

“He’ll want his money,” replies Ghost.

“And his weapons,” adds Price. He turns back to you and smiles sadly. “Is it ready, Simon?” he asks over his shoulder.

Frowning, you pull back, glancing first at Price and then at Ghost who—like his namesake—has moved closer to Price’s side without making a sound.

“I'll get her to Laswell,” answers Ghost.

“I'm sorry," Price says again, just as Ghost holsters his gun and Price steps back, leaving you empty and hollow. Ghost, with a single movement, sweeps you off your feet and into his arms.

Price follows the two of you out and into the main room you were in earlier. There are more tactical gear-clad people here, loitering around. Ghost turns into that small hallway where the backdoor stands propped open. Over his shoulder, you glimpse the downed interior door, the smears of red, and the pile of unmoving limbs.

"I'm sorry," Price repeats. "You know too much."

It’s a goodbye. A final farewell. Your lips form a soft o as you try to form a coherent response.

"Keep her safe, Simon. I'm counting on you."

Three Years Later

A rush of autumn air slips underneath your coat. The wind brings a shiver to your skin, and you wrap your coat tightly around your middle. The taxi behind you pulls back into traffic, and you are left alone on the curb.

So much has changed, and yet you feel no different.

Ghost brought you to a woman named Laswell. She was kind but direct, and explained that you’d need to be relocated elsewhere. Mostly for your personal safety, but also so that the government could keep an eye on you. You weren’t in trouble, that’s what Laswell said, but it still felt like it.

The only silver-lining in them uprooting your life is the care taken to make sure you could start over. Your mother’s unpaid medical bills disappeared. All the debt melted away. The master’s degree you pursued was discreetly changed so that you retained your education but the last name was different. They even went so far as to help you gain employment.

Laswell was thorough. And you appreciated the effort, knowing that Price likely had a hand in making sure you were taken care of.

But it’s been three years. Three long years and so much has changed.

You’re not working for the same place. You’re not in the same apartment. You’re not even in the same city anymore. Life went on, and you moved with it. Laswell has never reached out. Price certainly hasn’t.

Everything that happened, everything that occurred, is in the past. Haunting you still but so far removed at this point you rarely glance back at it. A small piece still lingers on a specific person, but that too is becoming a solitary, dull ache.

You push through the door in front of you, retreating from the cold. Inside, the restaurant is warm and inviting. All hardwood and gold trim. Lingering near the hostess stand, chatting on the phone, is your boyfriend, Alex.

He glances up and smiles, his perfect white teeth on display. “Have to go. Yes. Tomorrow at one.” He pulls the phone away from his ear and ends the call.

“Didn’t want to wait for me at the table?” you tease, sliding up next to him.

He bends forward for a chaste kiss. “Wanted to walk with you.”

Alex extends his hand, indicating ladies first. Smiling at him, you follow the hostess to the table. Alex is quick to pull out your chair and help you slide into place. He takes the chair across the table.

This restaurant is your usual spot. Typically, you and Alex come for dinner, but he’s working late, and he made himself available at lunch to see you.

“Would you like menus today, Mr. Obolensky?”

An older gentleman with a receding hairline approaches the table. Ivan has waited on you and Alex for every meal. The man has to sleep somewhere in the back.

“Only for food.”

Ivan nods. “Would you like your usual wine for lunch?”

Alex inclines his head and Ivan promptly disappears.

Your relationship with Alex started rocky. When he first introduced himself, giving you is full name, your nervous system fell into a trauma response.

Alexandr Obolensky, or as his close friends call him, Alexi.

Maybe that notorious afternoon was still too ingrained in your system, because you closed up like a clam, awkward and nearly unresponsive. But over time, as he kept popping up in your life, you began to warm to him, and quickly realized that his interest was more than friendly.

Now, you’re staring at his smiling face across the table, wondering how you got so lucky.

He rests his arm on the table, presenting his hand, palm upward. You take it, fingers intertwining. His thumb rubs slow strokes over your knuckles.

Alex’s phone buzzes on the table but he ignores it. It buzzes again. Still, Alex ignores it.

“Popular.”

He shrugs. “They can wait.”

It starts up again, and Alex frowns down at it.

“Answer it,” you sigh. He’s an incredibly busy individual working at his father’s PR firm. There have been numerous late nights and countless overseas traveling.

Alex shakes his head. “I’m at lunch. With you. That is more important.”

When his phone starts buzzing again, you laugh and Alex groans.

“Just answer it,” you laugh. “Must be important.”

“I want it noted that you are insisting,” he jokes, snatching the phone off the table. He slides his thumb across the screen and brings it up to his ear, answering with an irritated, “What?”

The annoyance on his face starts to slip, replaced with concern. “When?” A pause. “Fuck,” mutters Alex, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yeah. I’ll handle it.” He ends the call and glances up from the screen.

“Go,” you murmur, nodding toward the restaurant’s front door. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” he replies. “I promised you lunch.”

You shrug. “It’s just lunch.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you laugh. “Go.”

Alex stands just Ivan reappears with the wine. “Apologies, Ivan. I have to leave.”

“Certainly Mr. Obolensky.”

He turns to you. “Order whatever you want.” He looks back at Ivan. “Put it all on my account.”

“Of course, Mr. Obolensky.”

“Madam.” Ivan presents the food menu, and then proceeds to open the bottle of wine. He fills your glass, and places the bottle next it. “Would you like a tour of the menu?”

“No. Thank you, Ivan. I just need a few minutes.”

He nods and disappears.

You and Alex have eaten here on so many occasions that you already know most of the dishes, but you like to look anyway, pretending that you’ll choose something different this time.

A shadow of a body moves into view above the menu. You don’t glance up, knowing that it’s likely Alex returning, probably forgetting something like his coat.

You glance up from the menu. “Forget some—”

Your words leave you like air escaping from a popped balloon.

It’s not Alex sitting across from you at the table.

“Hello, love. Been a while.”

It’s John.

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[ther3allyra]

Christmas argument

Veneer x GN!reader

Summary: When you go out to secretly buy your boyfriend a Christmas present, he ends up getting worried sick starting and argument and turning to velvet to advice. Only leading to the both of you trying to comfort each other in the end.

Type: Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: swearing

Word count: 826

A/N: MERRY CHRISTMAS PEEPS, hope y’all like this & this was a Christmas gift for the AMAZING @arknq so I especially hope you enjoyed this <3

The car door beeped as you opened the door stepping into it, Veneer had fallen asleep giving you the perfect opportunity to wiggle out of his grasp on his bed and sneak off to buy him a Christmas gift. You didn’t think you’d take to long so you quickly drove to the jewellery shop where you new you’d be able to get the perfect gift, you’d been dying to get a new ring for yourself and what better than to do matching rings with Veneer! Just as you pulled up outside the shop that’s when you heard it. The constant buzzing noise coming from your jacket pocket.

‘What the-‘ you mumbled taking at your phone and unlocking it, you stare in disbelief at the phone screen. Well shit!. You thought to yourself 15 missed calls and 9 text messages, god you’d only been gone for about 19 minuets, you loved Veneer with your whole heart but damn he was clingy sometimes.

You quickly hurried into the shop looking for the two ring set and there you found it, a silver and diamond ring with a matching silver and diamond band ring. You thought it was gorgeous and you couldn’t wait until Veneer opened his on Christmas Day. You quickly payed for the items and got back in the car where your phone had gone off, yet again. You sent Veneer a quick text telling him ‘I’m out right now, be back soon I love you xx’, to which he replied by ignoring you. This was soon to cause a fight when you got back.

Pulling up outside his and Velvets mansion, the sensation of guilt I’m your stomach for leaving Veneer without telling him, you slid out of the car door trying to sneak back in the house without notice to where Veneer was just coming down the stairs as you walked in the entrance. There were no words of you and Veneer wasn’t being clingy, he just looked at you, scoffed and walked away which left you stood there simply in disbelief. You knew what had happened, he’d gone to velvet and she’d told him to act petty and give you the silent treatment . Sure enough this would cause an argument later between the both of you, sure arguments were very rare but when they happened oh boy where they some of the worst.

Closing the door as gentler as you could feeling your anger rise, you quickly headed upstairs hiding the gift and sitting there waiting for Veneer to come in, soon enough he did and oh boy was he fuming.

‘Where the fuck have you been’ he stated extremely pissed off, as he leaned against his bedroom door frame.

‘I was out, for fuck sakes cant I do ANYTHING on me own?!’ You answered back almost shouting at him, this made him step back from you.

‘NOT WHEN THERES WEIRD FUCKING PEOPLE OUT THERE NO!’ He screamed.

‘LIKE FUCKING WHO?! I KNOW YOUR DAMN PROTECTIVE OF ME BUT FOR GOD DAMN FUCKING SAKES, I WAS JUST TRYING TO BUY YOU A CHRISTMAS GIFT’ You could feel your eyes fill with tears, you knew he was just trying to protect you from stalkers and such and you didn’t have to be so mean, but the protectiveness was to much sometimes.

You watched as Veneer’s face stared at you in disbelief and his lips form an ‘O’ shape, as he watches the tears began to fall from your face. He rushed forward wrapped his arms around your back taking you to the bad, so your sat in his lap as he’s running his hands up and down your back. You quietly sob into his chest as he mutters ‘I’m sorry’ a few times. The both of you simply sit there for a while with no one talking, before you dry your eyes and look up at him.

‘Look Veneer’ You started with a sigh, ‘I’m sorry I know your just trying to protect me’

‘Hang on baby’ he muttered giving you a kiss on the cheek, ‘I know I’m clingy and over protective but I just don’t want to loose you, partially because of some weird stalkers but mainly because I don’t wanna loose you, I’m scared you’ll get up and leave’

You stare and Venner, you leave him? You thought he’d leave you. ‘Look Veneer, I promise I’ll never leave you ok, I love you so fucking much just only promise to leave me go out once in a while, and I’ll text you updates when I go out on my own’

‘Sounds like a deal to me!’ He smiled at you.

You reached into your pocket slightly laughing, to Veneer’s surprise you pulled out some mistletoe.

‘How about a Christmas kiss, huh?’ You laughed and Veneer leaned down and capturing your lips in a kiss, your hands slowly grasping his hair humming against his lips, it truly was the best Christmas ever.

[rahuratna]

He's got the look

Part 1: Hitting like a Hammer

Content: crack, humour, fluff. Gojo being ... Gojo.

Satoru yawned as he bent at the waist, the top of his head coming into view in the bathroom mirror. He had always been one of those people. The ones who  could wake up every morning, looking what some would call 'deliciously disshevelled'. Stray strands of silver fell forward softly over his forehead, the pure, crystalline eyes blinking slowly as he took himself in.

Satoru was fully aware of how attractive he appeared to others, physically speaking. While he didn't place much store by it, he did like looking his best, even if it was largely concealed under the blindfold. Eyes roving over the rippling muscle of his torso with a kind of satisfied disinterest, he sighed and was about to reach for his toothbrush, when something on his head caught his attention.

Were those ... split ends? And why was his hair looking distinctly duller in hue than normal? Considering his cursed technique, Satoru was seldom affected by environmental conditions. Winter was coming? No problem. It was particularly humid out that day? He'd still stroll along, unaffected, while people wilted around him like soggy paper towels. It was raining? Hello, built-in umbrella.

So, if there was an issue with his hair, it must be internal. Was he not getting enough of the necessary vitamins in his diet? Was all the sugar finally catching up with him? Unthinkable.

Still, something had to be done.

Contrary to how things seemed to others, Satoru worked exceptionally hard in his role as a sorcerer. Difficult missions didn't take quite so much time and effort when you were the self-proclaimed strongest. Thus, there was not much time to spoil himself.

Today, however, was a very rare, relaxed Sunday. He'd have to take action. There was only one person he trusted with his hair. Retrieving his phone from the counter, Gojo typed in a quick message and hummed slightly, applying moisturizer to his face as he waited for a reply.

"How? How can this be?"

"Er ... Gojo-sensei?"

"Yuuji! This is a disaster!"

"Whoa, whoa. What is?"

"My hair stylist! He's injured his back and won't be back for six whole months. What will I do? How will I survive? Am I supposed to rid the world of curses while my hair looks like this?"

"Uh ... yeah?"

"Wrong answer!"

Yuuji raised his hands, laughing slightly at the stricken expression of his teacher.

"Okay, okay. Hey, here's an idea. You know who has really nice hair?"

"Who?"

"Nanamin! His hair is always nicely cut and ... shiny? Maybe ask him who he goes to."

Satoru huffed.

"If I wanted a seven three parting and a cut so severe I'd look like I was about to serve fifteen years in the gulags, I'd go see his barber."

In his apartment in the city, relaxing in the living room with a cup of coffee in hand, Nanami sneezed violently. Unaware of this distant repercussion, Satoru was tapping his chin thoughtfully.

"There is a replacement in for my stylist, though. They said he was young, but talented."

"Oh? Why don't we go check it out then? If your previous stylist trusted him enough to take over, then he must be good, right? We can see him in action and you can decide if you trust him enough to do your hair!"

"Hmm. All right. I'll go for it, Yuuji!"

Now in a decidedly better mood, Satoru mimed finger guns at his student.

"Let's hoof it."

The hair studio was located in Harajuku, a twenty minute walk from where they exited the subway. The trendy boutiques that lined the street caught Yuuji's eye, and he knew that Nobara would have loved to have come here.

When they reached the studio, both teacher and student paused, taking in the shop front.

"Uhhh, was that always ... "

"Nope. This is new."

" ... Gojo-sensei, maybe we should just call Nanamin and - "

"Now, now, Yuuji. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Something Nanami has probably never said in his life."

"Hey! That's not very -"

Somewhere, in a neat cafe, Nanami burnt his tongue on his third cup of coffee for the day and uttered a soft 'fuck', before looking around to see if anyone had heard him.

Before Yuuji had a chance to defend the honour of his other mentor, Gojo had pushed open the door to the salon, whistling merrily. Pausing outside, Yuuji swallowed as a sensation of impending doom threatened to overtake him.

The facade that had been erected over the entryway was of a large and garish tornado, shaped into a classic pompadour, neon geometric shapes superimposed over it in what was clearly meant to be 'arty'. It reminded Yuuji of the anime he had been following religiously as a kid, Bobo's Bazaar Adventure. While he loved the show, he wasn't sure how effective it was in inspiring confidence as a hair studio. Shrugging slightly, he followed Gojo.

The interior was no less psychedelic. Assistants wearing bright pink rollerblades, clip-on angel wings and yellow overalls flew here and there, sweeping up fallen hair and delivering hot drinks while barely avoiding calamity. Hair stylists in chequered aprons snipped away at a frenetic pace, creating some of the most avant garde hairstyles Yuuji had ever seen. His eye was caught by a young woman with a purple up-do being shaped into a top hat and nearly collided with Gojo.

The moment Gojo entered, all eyes were drawn to him, of course. Today, the special grade sorcerer was wearing casual clothes, a dark jacket over a white t-shirt that clung to his very toned abdomen, fitted jeans in black that made his legs look like they'd been airbrushed in real life, and a pair of horrifically expensive sneakers. Gojo cheerfully saluted, tapping the side of his sunglasses that had probably cost more than Yuuji's entire education.

"Yo! I'm Gojo, Maurice's usual customer. I was told to come in today to see Hattori?"

The new receptionist dragged her eyes away from Gojo's pectorals with an audible gulp and hurriedly turned to her computer, her fingernails clacking swiftly over the keys as a burning crimson blush arced over her nose.

"J - Just a moment, sir. Er, ah, yes. Gojo Satoru, correct?"

"That's me!"

"He'll be right with you. Let me call him. I think he's just finished with a client."

Gojo surveyed the studio with interest from behind his shades.

"So he doesn't work out here on the floor?"

"Oh, no. He has a private room upstairs where his personal clients see him. Give me a moment."

She lifted a hot pink receiver and spoke in hushed tones into it. After a few minutes of waiting, she waved to the stairway behind her.

"Go on up. He's ready for you."

The room they entered was obviously supposed to be some sort of den of intense creativity. The matte grey walls were covered with modern art pieces in neon shades, humanoid figures distinguishable in the sinuous, branching tracks of colour. A giant window, forming a one-way looking glass, took up most of the outer wall, showcasing a stunning vista of the city below.

A single styling station, the mirror, chair and stands for various paraphernalia, stood alone and stark in the centre of the room, surrounded by the large fanning leaves of tropical plants. Flowers that Yuuji had never seen before provided bursts of colour where they hung from the ceiling in coconut mesh.

There was a woman, presumably the previous client, who was sitting before the mirror. Yuuji stared. Her hair was coiffed and curled in some kind of artistic representation of a rose, the layers tinted in colours ranging from dark crimson to the finest blush of the sky at dawn, creating a depth and dimensionality that anyone would be hard put to find in a painting, let alone on someone's hair.

The man standing behind her flitted about like a hummingbird at a flower, his slightly high-pitched voice rising and falling as he spoke a litany of encouragement to himself. Upon their entry, he hadn't even turned his head.

Gojo seemed content to stand and wait, so Yuuji cleared his throat slightly. Immediately, the stylist (who must be Hattori) froze and turned, a slightly crazed expression on his narrow, pinched features. Yuuji recoiled, but when Hattori's eyes moved across to Gojo, the change in the atmosphere of the room was palpable.

The stylist threw his scissors to one side, eyes opening wide, expression even more manic than before. The client who had been seated before him had to duck as the blades passed dangerously close to her face. Coming forward in a zig zag, as if pausing at different angles to take in Gojo completely, the man approached.

Close up, Yuuji could see that he didn't look in the best of health. His skin was dry and his lips cracked, the lines standing out at the corners of his eyes, even though he probably wasn't more than a few years older than Gojo. His bleached blonde hair bore the brittle look of many dye-jobs, and his fingernails were stained. He bore a striking contrast to the image projected in the rest of the studio.

Nevertheless, he was looking at Gojo like he was the Mona Lisa come to life. The lady seated at the mirror cleared her throat.

"Thank you Hattori, I'm - "

"Yes, yes, you're done now."

"Well, I just - "

"Speak to the front desk for the care routine." He dismissed her with a wave of his hand that left her gaping. "Now, who, who, who do we have here?"

"Gojo Satoru. I hear you've taken over from Maurice. I was a client of his for many years."

"Ahhh. Maurice, my dear mentor. Such a tragedy about his back injury. Can't even stay upright for longer than five minutes. Now, on to more important things, namely, you."

Hattori had now sidled right up to Gojo, his manic expression never toning down in intensity. The sorcerer in turn, regarded him with his usual good natured condescension. The woman with rose-like hair was now scurrying out of the room, scandalized. Yuuji watched her leave nervously. He didn't like being in this room. Everything just seemed weird and wrong.

"But ... I have to say... Maurice certainly kept you a closely guarded secret. Gojo, you say? No. No, I've never heard him speak that name. But look at you! You're... just ... a ... I have no words. Look at this shade of hair! Look at your jawline! Your facial structure! Superb. Superb. A true muse. Yes. A ... oh, this is .... wait. I must ... inspiration  has struck!"

Scurrying over to the styling stand, Hattori withdrew a notebook and pencil from the drawer, flipping open the book and beginning to sketch as if his life depended on it, his hair standing slightly on end, as if it had a consciousness of its own. Gojo raised his hand.

"Can't I just request my usual? Maurice always - "

"Usual? Usual?"

Hattori almost dropped the book in his hand.

"Dearest Gojo, please, never, never use the word 'usual' to refer to anything regarding yourself again!"

Gojo rubbed the back of his head and grinned.

"I mean, yeah, I know I'm exceptional, but - "

"Not just exceptional!" There were tiny, red capillaries standing out in the whites of Hattori's eyes now. Yuuji crept a little closer to Gojo.

"No, exceptional is too bland a word. I can't believe that Maurice kept you from me."

Yuuji could think of several reasons.

"Now let's see. Yes, yes, that would be - come and have a seat! I'll get started!"

"But I haven't told you - "

"Forget everything you know! I am Hattori, and I am inspired by a muse above all others ... you! Gojo Satoru! I will do with your hair what nobody has ever attempted before!"

Yuuji cleared his throat, speaking loud enough for only Gojo to hear.

"Uh, sensei ... "

"I know. Relax, Yuuji. I'll handle this."

Gojo pulled out his phone and typed a quick message, before sauntering over to the styling station.

"All right then, Hattori. I place myself in your capable hands."

Hattori chose, at that moment, to finally glance over in Yuuji's direction. He froze, eyes opening to dimensions that defied the basics of human anatomy.

"Wait. What ... what is that?"

Gojo looked over, confused.

"Oh, that's my student. Itadori - "

"No! That! The colour!"

Hattori was positively shrieking by now, and Yuuji laughed nervously, backing away.

"Uh, are you talking about my hair colour?"

"Yes! What kind of... of ... monstrosity is this? Salmon pink? In that single shade? No highlights? What were you thinking, boy?"

"What do you mean? This is my natural colour?"

Hattori laughed, tears of rather demented mirth gathering at the corners of his eyes.

"Natural? What are you? Some kind of anime character?"

Gojo sighed.

"Oi, oi, oi. I'll trouble you not to pick on my precious student. What's he got to do with my hair anyway? Isn't that what we're here for?"

"He needs to go! He's going to taint the whole process with his presence!"

Gojo's cheerful demeanor changed in the blink of an eye. His smile disappeared and in its place was a kind of terrifying calm that made the room grow slightly colder. Hattori looked over at him and quailed.

"Uh, but if, as you say, he is your student, then I can ... make an exception for a favoured client such as yourself."

As the stylist scurried over to Gojo, Yuuji let out a soft breath as he mentally confirmed his suspicions. Unlike a regular person, Hattori had only reacted to Gojo's ire when there had been a change in his cursed energy signature. Hattori was certainly aware that Gojo was a sorcerer. And the hair stylist himself... was not all he seemed on the surface.

Certainly, there was no immediate danger to someone as powerful as Gojo. But Hattori looked unhinged enough to try almost anything. Yuuji kept his eyes on the erratic movements of the man as he darted here and there around Gojo, hands reaching out like the darting tendrils of a sea anemone as he touched and caressed Gojo's hair.

Creepy.

But Yuuji would have his sensei's back, even if his own strength was not needed.

As if sensing his serious mood, Gojo glanced over at him while Hattori whipped out a black bib and tied it around the sorcerer's neck with a flourish.

"Hey Yuuji, why the long face? I guess I'll have an exciting style soon. Something Nanami's never had in his life."

"Oh come on, sensei, you don't know that."

"I do. He was my underclassmen, remember?"

"Well ... what if he had something exciting while he was a salaryman?"

There was silence in the room for a while. Yuuji sighed.

"Okay. You win this one."

Nanami kept his eyes on the woman with rose-coloured hair, following her from a discreet distance. His plain jeans and sweater were helping him blend seamlessly into the crowd, along with the newspaper clutched in his hand and the fifth cup of coffee for the day. He really needed to cut back.

He was a little grumpy, to be honest. Here he was, enjoying his peaceful day at a cafe, when Gojo had messaged, asking him to investigate possible curse activity related to a woman with distinct rose-styled hair, somewhere near a salon in Harajuku. Nanami had hurried to the predicted co-ordinates and managed to spot the woman in question right before she boarded the subway.

It wasn't hard to determine who Gojo had been talking about. Besides the ... really spectacular hairstyle she sported, there was a horrific amount of cursed energy whirling about her frame, concentrated around her hair.

Nanami suddenly felt that same unbearable itch in his nose from earlier in the day and sneezed heavily, whipping out his handkerchief.

Why did this keep happening? Was he coming down with something? 

[angelthefandomobsessed]

Through a Gaze So Very Fractured

Diasomnia Fic - A young Silver begins to question his place in the world. Sebek makes things worse, but it's not his fault - he's eight here, he won't get character development for almost a decade. (Lilia's here to win dad of the year, luckily).

༺═────────────═༻

Silver had always hated mirrors. His father had only one mirror, with a cracked surface and a rickety old frame that lurked behind stacks of books. So, while Silver found that he despised the thing, he managed to go through his early years without paying it much mind. 

Lilia had never paid it any heed either. It had once been useful for relaying messages, but a mark of a well-lived fae was their desire to live unbothered. Chucking his axe at the centre of the glass had taken better care of his bothersome ex-colleagues than any spell could have. Disposing of it had never crossed Lilia’s mind, so he left it in the corner, where it became a passive observer to their peaceful lives.

Every so often, when the boy was sneezing just a tad too much, he would hand Silver a dustcloth and ask him to clean everything he could reach. Cleaning without magic built character, so he said.

When Silver agreed and went to the mirror, Lilia always failed to notice the way his son fixed his eyes on the wall behind the object as he cleaned it.

It wasn’t until Silver was nine that he became cognizant of his aversion to not just mirrors, but to most reflective surfaces.

It began to bother him in a way that he couldn’t seem to shake off, not even when he was out exploring the woodlands surrounding Lilia’s cottage. While he and Sebek sat, feet dangling in the nearby creek, wooden swords cast aside by the treeline, Silver lowered his voice and asked, “Do all children look like their parents?”

Sebek stared at Silver for a moment, his green eyes narrowed. Being a naturally quiet child, Silver hadn’t minded the silence. He took the time to listen to the birdsong; it was nearing dinner time, and the birds that nested by his bedroom window were chirping to each other, warning of the impending darkness. A warning meant for him too, he understood, in a way that nobody else seemed to.

“Of course children look like their parents. That’s obvious,” Sebek finally replied, voice loud and clear, as though he was the sole authority on the matter.

Silver leaned forward and looked into the creek. His reflection was a slippery thing. Round ears occasionally stretching out, reaching for wherever it was that the water was trying to go.

“I don’t think I look much like father.”

Sebek made a sound - something between a chuckle or a scoff - and shook his head. “You’re right, you look nothing like Sir Vanrouge. How could you? You’re only a human. You have no right to resemble a fae as great as him!”

At that, Silver frowned and turned over Sebek’s words. He was often told not to listen to everything Sebek said - that he was taking after his grandfather in the worst possible ways.

But Silver was a human. That much was true.

“Does that mean that I look like my…” Silver struggled to recall the word. It was one he rarely heard spoken aloud. “My mother?”

Sebek shrugged. “How should I know? You were found in the woods. That’s what my grandfather said. He also said that lesser beasts abandon weak children to the wild and that a noble fae shouldn’t tarnish themselves to pick up after them.”

“He said all that to you?” Silver asked, puzzled by the strange, buzzing feeling unfurling in his stomach.

The other boy seemed to bristle and flush at that. “W-Well, not to me, but I heard him talking to someone about it.” He paused before adding, “It was another adult! From the palace!”

“I see…” Silver said. 

While Sebek regaled the tale of the powerful, striking, unmistakably fae guard that had conversed with his grandfather, Silver listened to the birds once more.

Your father and his liege are almost done talking, a bird called down from its branch. Run along now. To higher ground with you.

“-and he must have been a powerful mage too, because-”

“We should go now,” Silver told him, standing up.

“Oi, Silver! I wasn’t done speaking to you!” Sebek scrambled to his feet, nearly falling flat on his face. “Get back here!”

The creek was surrounded by a high lip, taller than both of the boys. Silver didn’t have to think about his movements, though. He climbed the short, jagged rocks with the expertise of a mountain goat. Sebek was far less graceful as he followed Silver, but the two had retrieved their practice swords and were on their way back in no time flat.

“What’s the big rush?” Sebek grumbled.

“Lord Malleus and father are finished talking. They will worry if we aren’t back before dusk,” he replied in his typical, straightforward way of speaking.

The mention of the fae prince, predictably, perked Sebek up. “Why didn’t you just say so? I would have sprinted back if I knew Lord Malleus was waiting! Hurry up, human!”

While Sebek began to run back to the cottage, Silver slowed to a stop. It was that word again. The thing that he was, so unlike everyone else in his life. Sebek’s father was human, but he was fully grown and smart. He had his uses.

But the way Sebek had said it - human - was different from every other time he had heard it. Silver didn’t much like it. He could feel his dislike for the word growing in his stomach, feeding those strange feelings from earlier.

Human.

He didn’t want to be that.

A gentle green light floated past Silver’s peripheral vision. He blinked and looked forward, noticing a trail of green lights weaving leisurely through the trees. Silver followed them without question.

When he arrived at the cottage, an impossibly tall, ethereal figure awaited him. “Silver,” Malleus greeted. “It seems that Sebek is the winner of this race. An unexpected turn of events, I must confess.”

“We weren’t racing,” Silver protested without thinking. “He ran off when I mentioned you were finished speaking with father.”

“Oh?” Malleus smiled in a flash of sharp teeth. “And how did you know that our business was done?”

“The birds told me,” Silver reported before pressing forward. Behind him, Malleus chuckled and caught up to him in a single stride.

“I see,” was all he said.

“Did Sebek run past you?” Silver asked.

“No. I saw him charging out of the trees without you, so I decided to ensure your safe return.”

“I would have made it back by myself,” Silver told him. “Sebek will be disappointed that you walked me back and not him.”

Silver looked up at Malleus and caught him with that face. The one he wore when he didn’t quite understand something - when he was worried about it. Whenever Silver woke up after a sudden bout of exhaustion, both Lilia and Malleus would look at him like that. Silver wasn’t sure how he should feel about it.

“He would be even more disappointed if something had happened to you,” Malleus pointed out.

“Would he be?” Silver wondered aloud. 

He regretted his loose tongue when Malleus stopped dead in his tracks.

“Of course he would,” the fae prince said slowly. “What has he said to make you question that?”

Silver felt another twist in his stomach.

“Nothing. I… didn’t mean what I said. Let’s go home,” he said before remembering himself. “Please, Lord Malleus.”

The fae prince regarded him for one painful, seemingly everlasting moment before giving a short nod. “Very well.”

Silver wasn’t sure how he felt about their silent walk back to the cottage. He was glad that the conversation was over. But the silence felt heavier than the pile of firewood his father would hand to him every morning was. He had done something wrong - he just knew it.

So, when they returned and Sebek made a fuss about how strong he was, Silver kept his head down and stood back. He wondered if this is how the forest creatures, always lingering at least an arm’s length away from regular people, saw the world. If it was, how could they stomach it? Silver couldn’t.

Silver gasped when he felt a weight on his shoulder. He turned on his heel and saw his father.

“You are not looking very well,” Lilia observed, features woven with concern. He pressed a cold hand to Silver’s forehead, frown deepening. “You don’t feel feverish… Is your stomac hurting? Did you eat anything raw off the forest floor?”

“N-No father.” Lilia’s brows raised ever so slightly at the stutter. It was rare for Silver to speak without conviction - he was such a serious child.

“I should return to the castle,” Malleus announced. Not even the crown prince himself could break Lilia’s concentration from his son. “Sebek. I will take you home promptly… We would not want to trouble Lilia for dinner, after all.”

At the mention of a meal prepared by Lilia, Sebek’s face managed to pale beyond his typical fair complexion.

“Of course, Lord Malleus! But you have no need to escort me home! I can make the journey by myself.��

The sight of the small, round eared Sebek declaring himself fit to wander through the forest and back to the heart of Briar Valley made Lilia chuckle. “Just accept the privilege,” Lilia urged with a wry smirk. “It is not every day that Malleus makes an offer so generous.”

“Lilia,” warned Malleus, face shifting from serene to something a little more dangerous.

“Yes, yes, I know.” Silver did not know what it was that Lilia knew, but he was discovering that he didn’t know much, so this did not surprise him. “Away with you now. Go on, before your grandmother starts a wildfire with that lightning of hers.”

“Farewell, Lilia.” Malleus’ bright, gem-like eyes glittered toward Silver. “Silver,” he said with a nod. “I hope that you feel well again soon.”

Silver managed a weak smile and bid them, “Safe travels.”

Once they had vanished in a flash of green, Lilia let out a huff. He then advanced faster than Silver could react, hoisting the young boy over his shoulder.

The child let out a cross between a ‘Huh?’, and an indignant, ‘Hey!”

“I am quite positive that there is something wrong with you, and I will find out what it is, young man,” Lilia declared.

“I’m fine!”

“Tell it to your face and to your posture. And to Malleus, for that matter. I could tell he was worried about you the second the two of you walked through the door.” Lilia paused to gently shift and deposit Silver onto his bed. “Please, Silver, tell me what the matter is. I can tell when you’re hiding something.”

Silver bit down on his lip and watched Lilia’s stern, unmoving face. All he could say was, “I’m sorry, father.”

“What for?” pressed Lilia.

“For being weak and human.”

When he said ‘human’, he said it the same way that Sebek had. Like it was something dirty. Something that should never be uttered.

That broke Lilia. Silver saw the immediate shift; the shock that seemed to physically strike Lilia, the way his stance opened and shrank back, the falling of his features. The sight of his father, who always stood strong and cheerful, taken aback by something Silver had said, broke Silver in turn. Silver could not see the ways that it changed himself, though - all he knew was that he was crying.

And that Lilia was holding him before he could let out his first full sob.

“You are not weak,” Lilia insisted. His sonorous voice was so much louder when it was right next to Silver’s head. It was impossible not to hear - impossible not to feel. “You are a human, but that is no fault. That is simply what is.”

Silver couldn’t respond. All he could do was whimper pathetically while he tried to hide his face in the front of his father’s shirt.

“Whatever it was that Sebek said to you - and I have no doubt it was him that started this - it is not the whole truth. Some people have a way of seeing the world that is fractured. A broken perception, so sharp that it can hurt people. I have seen it all across Twisted Wonderland.”

“It wasn’t Sebek’s fault,” Silver weakly insisted. He tried to sniffle discreetly, but only succeeded in drawing the embarrassing sound out further. “I-I know I don’t look like you. I’ve seen it in the sitting room mirror.”

Lilia was quiet for a moment. And for that moment, Silver wondered if he was right all along, and that he was an unworthy son to Lilia. “I suppose that this is my fault, then. I should have spoken to you before this. It’s just…” The fae sighed. “I did not want you to grow up too fast. But it seems you are as wise as you are kind. Two admirable qualities. Fae-like qualities, once upon a time.”

Silver pulled back and rubbed at his eyes, wincing at the tears that wet his hands. “Gross,” he lamented, the seriousness of his face drawing a laugh from Lilia. Once he had wiped down his hands, he asked, “Once upon a time?”

The bat fae readjusted his legs, gave a toothy smile and clasped his hands on his lap. “They say that qualities such as kindness and wisdom were valued by all at one point. And now they say that those qualities are rare… But I disagree. Some people choose to see the world as a dark place, while some choose to see it as a bright and hopeful place.”

“Which of them is right?”

“Neither. The world is what it is. When people - be they fae, human or beastman - start to fracture their way of seeing the world through hatred or ignorance, they stop being able to see it for what it is. The same goes for those that choose to view it through blind faith.”

“And… what is it? The world, I mean,” Silver asked with the same wide, bright eyes that had changed Lilia’s life.

“Only you can decide. If I told you what to see, then you wouldn’t see what is truly there. You would be seeing my perception of it.”

“I see…”

“Precisely!” Lilia ruffled Silver’s hair, pushing it back so that he could get a good look at his eyes. “I used to look at the world through a gaze so very fractured. But when I first laid eyes on you, a mere babe, I felt my viewpoint fixing itself.”

“So you were…” Silver tried to recall the words from earlier. “Ignorant?”

“You always cut right to the heart of the matter… Yes, I was very ignorant. And hateful, too. Humans have caused a great deal of harm to this land.” When Silver’s face fell, Lilia gave him a playful tap of the forehead. “Try not to look so glum, child. When I looked at you, so full of innocence, I realised that you were not responsible for all that had happened before you even graced this soil. And that if I continued to do ignorant, hateful things because of what those before you did, children like you would grow up to be as ignorant and hateful as I was.”

“So you… changed?” Silver asked.

“I did. I took you in not only to teach you the ways of the world, but so that you could teach me too.”

The way that Lilia looked at Silver bordered on reverant, like Silver was a miracle of some sort. It was… reassuring, the boy found.

He gave his father a small, bashful smile. “Am I a good teacher?”

“The best,” Lilia said with a grin. “You, Sebek and Malleus keep me young, you know. I learn so much from all of you.”

“That’s good, father. I feel a lot better now. But I feel so…”

Before he could give his warning, Silver’s eyes grew heavy and he slumped forward. Lilia caught him and laid him down properly. Children really were a whirlwind - even quiet, oddly well-mannered ones like his Silver. Before he left him for the night, he sat at the edge of the bed and watched him. His cheeks were tear-streaked and red, and his nose needed a good wiping, but he seemed at peace now.

Lilia pressed a kiss to Silver’s forehead and fetched a handkerchief to wipe his face with. Though Silver was now dead to the world, Lilia still filled the room with the words, “I love you,” before he left him to sleep.

First things first; that wretched mirror had to go, so it seemed he had a bonfire to build. Sebek would need to be reprimanded for adopting all of Baur’s views, but that would wait until the morrow. For now, Lilia would have some pine needle tea, as well as a flip through that parenting book that Sebek’s father had given him. Though, he had a feeling that there were some problems that no amount of books could prepare him for…

As that feeling passed through him, he realised that the stew he had been preparing was thoroughly burnt. Oh well… At least he knew it was cooked properly! He would treat Silver to it when he woke up. 

༺═────────────═༻

I started writing this in January and it's now August. Whoops.

[nichenarratives]

Asymmetrical Atrocity

An Obscure Oneshot

Inspiration Art by Tracy J Butler

Mordecai Heller has done a lot of dastardly things in his line of work. He murdered the competition, tortured information from the mouths of gangsters and threw numerous bodies into both rivers surrounding Saint Louis, all at the behest of his savior turned employer. Atlas May is a discerning man of many accomplishments, one who knows when to conduct a business intervention to protect his investments, and when a massacre is the only way to send a message, which is what Mordecai manages alongside Viktor, his cohort.

The tom tuxedo appreciates swift, decisive action as much as the entrepreneur who owns the Lackadaisy Speakeasy. As such, he rarely finds grievance with expectation, carrying out every assignment with extreme prejudice and efficiency. Alongside Viktor's sheer strength and bulk, they form a formidable partnership that's seen the underground liquor spring swell in popularity, creating quite the business for the ever-ambitious Atlas May.

This is work Mordecai excels at, even prefers despite the moral ambiguity most would consider troubling. What he doesn't enjoy are the languid, supposedly quiet stretches of time between jobs, where he is forced to attend Mrs May's exhaustingly raucous parties. Sometimes, he can convince Atlas to let him work instead and buries his nose in the Little Daisy Cafe's books, changing expenses and stock to hide their underground extracurriculars.

But not tonight.

Atlas is out of town collecting his goddaughter - why anyone would want responsibility for a child that isn't even theirs is beyond Mordecai - and taken Viktor with him, meaning other than the band and Horatio, everyone to step foot inside the Lackadaisy that evening would be a potential threat to his wife's life. Atlas has specifically ordered his sharpshooter to stay close to her all evening, so there is no escaping it.

Tonight, he's Mitzi May's bodyguard.

While he never needs an excuse to dress properly, the tom had taken time to dress correctly for tonight; a black three piece suit over a crisp, white shirt, his trademark blood red tie pressed and carefully secured about his neck before it's tucked into his waistcoat and secured with a silver pin, a holster on each shoulder each containing loaded pistols (obscured under his jacket, for security), a knife in each garter beneath his slacks and of course, the piece de resistance - a pocket square matching his tie.

His wayward hair carefully smoothed down and pince-nez shined to perfection, he'd reported to Mrs May's rooms at precisely six, as requested. He at least feels at home dressed up - poor Viktor always looks ridiculously uncomfortable in a suit - even if he's dreading the actual party. He takes a moment to check his pocket square is properly placed before rapping his knuckles on her door. 

"Come in, door's open."

The reply is immediate, but Mordecai hesitates on the threshold, hand still curled and raised uselessly in the air. He assumed she'd be ready on time. As such, the possibility of entering her room was not considered. He hangs in purgatory for a long moment, trapped between refusal and potential repercussions should anything happen to her in the next few seconds, then sighs and pushes the door open.

"Good evening, Mrs May," he greets upon entry, closing the door behind him before surveying the room. Not one to keep a clean house but hardly a slob either, Mitzi's room is clean but in general disarray; her bed isn't made, the closet hangs open, and her vanity table is cluttered with numerous vials, pots, lipsticks and more he doesn't care to identify. "It's time to welcome your esteemed guests into the Lackadaisy Speakeasy."

Mitzi sits at her vanity, leaning close to finish her makeup. She doesn't look over when Mordecai walks in, but an eye does track his reflection. "Of course," she says, pausing to dab her finest brush into the liquid eyeliner bottle. Satisfied it's sufficiently soaked, she raises it back to her face and returns her gaze to the ceiling. "I'm just finishing up, sweetie. Take a seat if you like."

Pale lips curl into a grimace. "No, thank you," he refuses, as politely as he can manage. Mordecai has no idea when she last changed the sheets - he prefers to change his weekly, when possible - nor if she's ever dusted. He doesn't intend to find out by coating his pristine suit in dust. His tail flicks slightly in agitation as he stays by the door. "I'll wait here."

"Suit yourself," Mitzi responds, accustomed to the odd tom after years of his service. She once tried to loosen the man up by asking about his family, but that only seemed to make him more distant. Since then, she's left Mordecai to his own devices, allowing Atlas to handle his peculiarities. Her own interactions with the tuxedo cat are more for entertainment than friendship now. "Are you going to dance tonight? I've invited plenty of young ladies who'd love to-"

"I'd rather not be in attendance," Mordecai answers flatly, his chin lifted very slightly as he grimaces. Mitzi suppresses a sigh as she sits back and studies her eyeliner. Makeup is such a chore sometimes, but a necessity when you have an image to keep. Satisfied, she screws the cap back on the bottle and wipes the brush off on cotton wool, an ear turned to her bodyguard as he continues. "However, Mr May has requested my attendance, therefore it is unavoidable."

The dolled-up feline hums in agreement; Mordecai isn't an enthralling party guest, unless you wish to listen to a man describe the main differences between monocotyledons and dicotyledons in excruciating detail, all in a flat monotone. If she had a choice, she'd have kept Viktor. At least could be loosened up with a drink or ten. "Well, I'm ready. Why don't we take our delightful conversation down to the-"

Glancing at Mordecai's reflection, she sees his eyes narrow, and Mitzi releases a tired huff. "What?" She asks as she turns around to face the pedantic accountant. An ear twitch and a deeper frown is the only response she gets, to which Mitzi glares right back. Atlas might enjoy his nonverbal communication, but she finds it irritating. "Come on, spit it out, Mordecai. The guests aren't getting any younger."

"Your eyeliner," the tom responds flatly. Mrs May turns back to the mirror and scrutinizes her reflection closely, checking for drips and smudges, or misplaced drops on her otherwise flawless skin and outfit. She's practically going insane trying to find the problem when Mordecai finally finished speaking. "Is asymmetrical."

She almost groans. Almost. Why does the man have to be so peculiar? "Is that all?" She asks, waving off his concern to instead fluff up her hair some more, running fingers through the freshly washed waves. They slide effortlessly from root to tip, as perfect as Mitzi planned. "No one will care if it's a little crooked once they taste the liquor, sweetie. My darling Atlas secured the best from Canada in our last shipment. They won't be sober long enough to notice."

"I've noticed," Mordecai asserts, finally stepping away from the door to approach his employer's wife. "Respectfully, should I spend the majority of your precious event distracted by symmetrical sacrilege, my efficacy will be compromised."

Mitzi turns in her seat and regards her employee tiredly, only to shrug a moment later. "Eyeliner is a fine art, sweetie. It could take hours to get it entirely even on both sides. We can't leave our guests waiting that long, can we?" Thinking she has him dead to rights, the feline woman opens both eyes and smirks at her husband's golden boy confidently. "Unless you can fix them in five minutes, it'll have to do."

If she's expecting some kind of emotional reaction, Mitzi is sorely mistaken. Mordecai glances at the discarded brush on the vanity, then the uneven lines framing her upper lids. He's fairly sure a child could do better, but for once, the tom decides to keep that thought to himself and instead looks around the room. Locating a small chaise, he pulls it over to the vanity - much to Mitzi's dismay. "What are you-"

Turning over the seat cushion before sitting down to avoid the dust, he then raises his hands, palms open expectantly. "Your brush and face paint," he requests with his expression set seriously, flexing his fingers for emphasis. "And erase your attempts of both eyes entirely. I prefer a blank canvas."

For the next seven minutes, Mordecai leans towards the other feline, coaching her which eye to close, where to look and sometimes, informing minor technique corrections he suggests for the future. Mitzi stays quiet and complies with his requests, mostly from pure curiosity if he'll be able to paint eyeliner as cleanly as he aims a pistol. She's not met a man who can frame an eye right yet, so she might even forgive his arrogance if he does a good enough job. 

The few times she does look at Mordecai directly, his gaze is intense and focused, fine lips pressed into a finer line in the depths of focus. Mitzi isn't sure he's ever been so close before - even when she was having him tailored for fresh, tidy suits and had to measure his neck ad-hoc for the collar. It's honestly disconcerting and she quickly looks away.

"There," he finally states after what feels like a year. Entirely uninvited, Mordecai takes a gentle hold of her chin and turns her head from side to side to inspect his handiwork. Taken by surprise, Mitzi allows him to do so until he hums in approval and releases her, only to grimace at the powder residue now on his fingers. "I will never understand the need to slather your face in chemicals, but it is now symmetrical, at least. I'll wash my hands, then we can go."

Taking the brush and pot when they're offered, Mitzi turns to the mirror to inspect his work and is pleasantly surprised to find he's framed her eyes beautifully. He even added a small whisper of eyeliner off the lid and extended it slightly to her cheek, giving the impression of fuller lashes when her eyes are open. Mrs May blinks, tilting her head from side to side, marveling at how fine it is and indeed, how symmetrical the quiet sharpshooter has managed to make them.

"Let's get this over with," Mordecai mutters as he re-enters the room, adjusting the cufflinks beneath his suit jacket. His eyes land on Mitzi, once again staring in the mirror, and an irritated murr slips through pursed lips. "Mrs May, while I admire your devotion to setting an immaculate visage in your husband's absence, there is only so much superficial modification careful artistry can achieve. Let's go."

It was in that moment, as Mordecai stalked for the door to hold it open like the gentlemanly type he certainly had not just spoken like, Mitzi decided she'd convinced the girls that dancing with her reclusatory bodyguard was the pinnacle of high society.

Insert the ficus comic here…

[theetherealbloom]

THE SILVER LINING — CH. 5

Chapter Five: Closing In

Summary: After aiding the Republic and the fall of the Empire, you left the Jedi Training Clan on Bogden 3 to help families needing medical care with the call of the Force. You are a kind, warm-hearted healer on Nevarro, treating the citizens and the bounty hunters. Imperial remnants still linger in the shadows, waiting to strike at the perfect moment. Leading you to assist the Mandalorian with rescuing the Child has led you to your biggest adventure yet.

Paring: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive!FemReader (Empath)

Warnings: Violence, Age–Gap Romance, Angst, FLUFF, Eventual SMUT, Swearing, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, People pleasing, Flattery, Blood, Blasters, War, Religion References, Aliens, Sith, Character Deaths, One Bed Trope, Awkward, Plot Holes

Word Count: 10k

A/N: I swear I don’t mean to take months to update! I get sidetracked so often by random things and other obsessions. I’m at a point with this story where I get lost with the timeline so then I have to reread what I wrote (try not to cringe at my writing) and then continue on writing the next chapter. Usually, I’m very organized with my outline so I don’t lose track of where I am plot-wise, but Star Wars is— it truly is something else. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! We’re one step closer to the season finale. Love you guys :>

Song: De Selby (Part 2) by Hozier

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OUTER RIM TERRITORIES, 9ABY – EVENING

It had become apparent to you that Din was touch-starved, even though he never openly admitted it. You could trace the progression of his need for physical contact, starting with subtle gestures like a comforting touch on your elbow or a gentle squeeze of your hand in public. These small interactions held unspoken messages of affection, revealing a side of Din that he rarely showed to the world.

His tactile expressions of intimacy grew more pronounced over time. Your heart skipped a beat the first time he cupped your face, his gloved hand warm against your cheek. The tenderness of that touch spoke volumes, carrying a depth of emotion that words couldn't quite capture. It was a silent promise, a reassurance that you were not alone in this unpredictable universe.

One memory stood out vividly: a day when the three of you found yourselves in a cantina on an outer rim planet. The credits Din had earned were put to practical use, securing supplies and a decent meal for all of you. While Din went to order drinks, you focused on the child, ensuring he was comfortable and fed.

Amid your care-taking, an unfamiliar man appeared, his presence casting a shadow over your booth. You regarded him with skepticism, raising an eyebrow as his words dripped with overconfidence.

"Can I help you with something?" you responded, your tone laced with a mix of caution and annoyance. The stranger's attempt at flirtation was as transparent as the space beyond the cantina's windows.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing all alone in a place like this?" he purred, his words dripping with unmistakable intent.

Suppressing an inward sigh at the sheer predictability of his approach, you let a subtle, sarcastic smile curve your lips. The galaxy had taught you to navigate these situations with a mix of wits and composure.

As the child cooed beside you, curiosity evident in his innocent eyes, you shifted your gaze back to the stranger, his overconfident demeanor oozing from every pore. Your reply was measured, tinged with a hint of dry amusement, "Clearly, I'm not alone and occupied, so if you could leave, please."

Undeterred, the stranger continued with his advances. "C'mon, baby, don't be such a priss. I'll show you a good time."

You were on the cusp of rising from your seat, ready to firmly reiterate your point when a sudden shift in the atmosphere seized the cantina's attention. It was as if the air had changed, thickened by an invisible tension. The chattering voices seemed to hush instinctively.

Amid the palpable silence, Din materialized like an imposing guardian. His presence radiated authority and raw power, his Mandalorian armor reflecting the ambient light, turning him into an almost mythical figure. His voice cut through the stillness like a blade, sharp and unyielding, "She said leave."

The room held its collective breath as the stranger's bluster crumbled in the face of Din's command. The confrontation became a silent battle of wills, one that spoke volumes without the need for further words. The stranger's retreat marked a victory for the indomitable force that Din embodied, leaving the cantina in stunned silence.

Your gaze shifted from the defeated stranger to Din, who stood there with an intensity that both reassured and electrified the room. His unspoken declaration of protection wasn't lost on you, a testament to the bond forged through shared trials and unspoken connections.

And then, with a swift shift, Din's demeanor transformed. His grip on patience loosened, and his actions spoke volumes where words had been unnecessary. In a heartbeat, he had seized the offender, the loud crack of bone echoing through the hushed cantina as the stranger's resistance was brutally halted.

Your breath caught, a sharp inhale of surprise and a hint of awe, as the resounding crack of bone filled the air. It was a stark punctuation to Din's swift and decisive intervention, a thunderous echo of authority that cut through the cantina's previous cacophony. The clatter of utensils and the discordant symphony of bowls added to the jarring chorus, a testimony to the power that had just been unleashed.

The stranger, once so assertive, now resembled a scurrying insect, his escape marked by a trail of spilled drinks and overturned stools. He disappeared into the crowded haze of the cantina, no longer a contender in this silent duel.

Throughout this confrontation, Din's gaze remained unyielding, a force of nature that had momentarily swept the establishment into a hushed reverence. As the patrons bore witness to the unassailable might he wielded, their earlier bravado had crumbled into hushed awe.

With the situation resolved, Din's attention shifted back to you, and that deep, unspoken connection that had been nurtured through shared challenges seemed to shimmer in the charged atmosphere. His gloved hand gently found yours, prompting you to rise from your booth. You cradled the child securely in your arms, his innocent eyes bearing witness to this display of protective strength.

“I could have handled it,” you spoke, your voice soft and understanding, and Din nodded, a faint hint of gratitude in his voice. “I know.”

A beat passed between you, the atmosphere laden with unspoken words. Then, Din continued, his words tinged with vulnerability, "I could not just stand there and do nothing," he said, “I would... the things I would do to ensure you and the child are safe.”

His voice trailed off, leaving the weight of his unspoken commitment hanging in the air. It was a promise forged in the crucible of their shared experiences. A vow to protect and cherish, even if it meant confronting the darkest corners of the galaxy.

You blinked, your gaze filled with understanding and affection. With a gentle hand, you reached out, placing it over his heart, and whispered, "I know. I would too."

To your surprise, he was the first one to initiate the hug. His strong arms wrapped around your waist, drawing you into an embrace that felt surprisingly warm beneath the cool, unyielding exterior of his beskar armor. You still held the child in your arms, creating an intimate tableau of unity. Surprisingly, the hard plate of his chest was comforting, the armor a symbol of his steadfast protection. In his embrace, you felt safe, secure, and trusted, as if nothing in the galaxy could harm you as long as you were in his arms.

Maybe that's why you two ended up where you are now. In the passing days and nights, your connection deepened, communicated through silent reassurances by the simple touch of an elbow or the light squeeze of his gloved hand. Din seemed to always find a reason to be near you, seeking excuses to touch and hold you, even if only for a brief moment.

There were times when you would prepare food for the three of you, and Din would just watch from a few steps away. Despite the helmet, you could feel his gaze as he observed you move around the small workspace, heating the food. You would glance over your shoulder to smile at him, and his heart would flutter wildly.

In those moments, you could see the shimmering outline of his silver aura mixing with shades of reds and maroons, a silent testament to the emotions he kept hidden behind the beskar helmet. 

The nights in the cramped bunk leave you no room to move, but you find it surprisingly comfortable, curled up together. The baby sleeps soundly in his hammock nearby, his tiny breaths filling the small space with a sense of peace.

During those nights, Din often surprises you with unspoken acts of service. He'll quietly slip out of bed, leaving you wrapped in the warmth of the blankets, and return with a cup of hot caf. He never says a word, but the gesture speaks volumes, warming not just your body but your heart as well.

Sometimes, he'll softly hum a lullaby, a hauntingly beautiful tune that you've never heard before. The melody dances in the air, soothing both you and the baby, creating a bond that goes beyond words between the three of you.

As you lie there, nestled in his arms, you can't help but think that maybe, just maybe, you've found something exceptional in the vast, unforgiving galaxy.

The peace the three of you had found seemed almost too good to be true. It was a fragile tranquility in a galaxy filled with chaos, and you knew deep down that it wouldn't last long. Still, you couldn't help but hope that maybe, just maybe, you could carve out a small sanctuary for yourselves.

But as you entered the flight deck one day and saw the look on Din's face, you knew that the serenity was about to be shattered. Concern etched your features as you asked, "What's wrong?"

Din didn't immediately reply. Instead, he pressed a button, and a flickering hologram message of Greef Karga materialized before you. His gravelly voice filled the cockpit, delivering a message that sent a chill down your spine.

"My friend, if you are receiving this transmission, that means you are alive," Greef Karga's hologram began. "You might be surprised to hear this, but I am alive too. I guess we can call it even. A lot has happened since we last saw each other. The man who hired you is still here, and his ranks of ex-Imperial guards have grown."

The weight of those words hung heavily in the air, and you exchanged a knowing glance with Din. It seemed that your past had come back to haunt you again, and the peace you had briefly tasted was slipping through your fingers like grains of sand from Tatooine.

Greef Karga's hologram continued to flicker as he outlined the dire situation on Nevarro. His gravelly voice held a tone of urgency as he explained, "They have imposed despotic rule over my city, which has impeded the livelihood of the Guild. We consider him an enemy, but we cannot get close enough to take him out. If you would consider one last commission, I will very much make it worth your while. You have been successful so far in staving off their hunters, but they will not stop until they have their prize."

The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on you and Din. It was clear that this was no ordinary mission; it was a perilous gambit that carried immense risks. Karga's proposal hung in the air, the unspoken words echoing loudly in the confined space of the Razor Crest.

"So, here is my proposition," Karga continued. "Return to Nevarro. Bring the child as bait. I will arrange an exchange, and provide loyal Guild members as protection. Once we get near the client, you kill him, and we both get what we want. If you succeed, you keep the child and I will have your name cleared with the Guild, for a man of honor should not be forced to live in exile. I await your arrival with optimism."

The concern in your eyes didn't escape Din's notice as you voiced your doubts. "This has to be a trap, Din," you asserted, your voice tinged with worry.

Din nodded in agreement, his thoughts mirroring yours. "Possibly."

A small, determined smile graced your lips as you continued, "We're gonna need help... from our friends."

As you glanced at the sleeping Child, the gravity of the situation weighed heavily on both of you. It was a decision that would determine the course of your future and the safety of the innocent life in your care.

After a brief moment of contemplation, Din made his decision clear. Without uttering a word, he steered the Razor Crest toward the coordinates Greef Karga had provided, the ship leaping into hyperspace. The die was cast, and a treacherous path lay ahead, but the bond between you and Din, and the allies you had made along the way, offered a glimmer of hope in the darkness of uncertainty.

SORGAN, 9ABY – DAY

The Razor Crest soared over the lush tree canopy of Sorgan, its engines humming like a contented beast. As the forest gave way to an open area, Din carefully brought the ship down, landing with the grace of a seasoned pilot.

Exiting the ship, you and Din followed a worn path that led to a common house in the distance. The atmosphere was different here, far removed from the cold metal of your ship. It was a place where the rustic charm of Sorgan had found a home.

Inside the common house, the commotion caught your attention. A sizable crowd had gathered, their voices mixing with the clatter of glasses and the low hum of conversation. At the center of the room, a makeshift boxing ring had been set up.

You and Din approached the ring just as Cara Dune, faced off against a male Zabrak fighter. Cara’s movements were swift and calculated, her strikes a testament to her combat prowess. The Zabrak, equally skilled, proved to be a formidable opponent. Each of them tethered to a laser that crackled with energy. The makeshift boxing ring suddenly felt smaller, the tension palpable as the combatants engaged in a fierce battle.

As the bout reached its climax, Cara executed a flawless maneuver, pulling the Zabrak in with the tether that connected them. The Zabrak, caught off guard by her sudden tactic, found himself unable to escape her grasp.

With a swift and decisive motion, Cara forced the Zabrak to tap out, his admission of defeat ringing through the air as the laser tether fizzled out between them.

Cara's triumphant grin illuminated her features as she basked in the adulation of the crowd, her chest heaving with exertion from the intense match. With a playful twinkle in her eye, she extended a victorious finger, punctuating her declaration to the assembled spectators.

"Pay up, mudscuffers! Come on. That's mine, thank you. All right, thank you," Cara exclaimed, her voice carrying over the din of the cheering crowd. In response, several patrons begrudgingly reached into their pockets, producing credits to settle their wagers.

You, Din, and the Child entered Cara's line of sight, drawing her attention away from the crowd. Din's voice, deep and commanding, cut through the noise of the common house as he addressed her directly.

"Looking for some work?" Din inquired as he broached the subject with Cara and you all decided to take a seat and have a drink as you discussed the situation.

"It's a straightforward operation," Din elucidated to Cara, his voice low and measured. Leaning forward, he rested his left forearm on the table, his gaze unwavering as he outlined the details. “They're providing the plan and firepower. I'm the snare.” Meanwhile, you tended to the Child who fussed beside you, keeping one eye on the conversation.

"With the kid? And her?" Cara inquires, casting a glance your way.

"That's why we're reaching out to you," you respond softly, meeting Cara's gaze.

Cara sighs, weighing the risks. "I don't know. I've been advised to keep a low profile. If anyone runs my chain code, I'll be in a cell for life."

"I thought you were a veteran," Din remarks, his silver helmet catching the light as he speaks. The defeated Zabrak fighter drops a credit on the table and nods at Cara, who offers a smile. "Come back soon," she calls after him.

"I've been a lot of things since. Most of them come with a life sentence," Cara explains, her expression serious. "If I so much as board a ship registered to the New Republic, I'm—"

"We have a ship," Din interjects, his voice firm. "I can take you there and back, and there'll be a handsome reward waiting. You can live free of worry."

"I'm already free of worry, and I'm not in the mood to play soldier anymore," Cara says, taking a sip from her cup. "Especially not for some local warlord."

"He's not a local warlord," Din interjects, his voice low and with a growl. You finish the statement, your tone was distant, eyes glazed. "He's Imperial."

Cara takes a deep breath and offers a small smile as she nods. "I'm in."

INSIDE THE RAZOR CREST

OUTER RIM TERRITORIES, 9ABY – SPACE

"Does your contact need to vet me?" Cara leans against the side of the cockpit panel, her arms crossed. Din shakes his head. "Doesn't know you're coming."

Cara raises an eyebrow. "Really? That could be a problem."

"It won't. But if it is, that's his problem." Din shrugs before exiting the cockpit. You give the Child a gentle pat as he sits beside you, then follow Din down the ladder and to the weapons locker with Cara.

"Is he alright up there alone?" Cara asks, nodding towards the cockpit. 

Din nods. "Yeah." He opens the locker, the doors hissing as they slide apart. Gesturing to the array of weapons, he adds, "Pick one."

"Do you trust the contact?" Cara inquires, brows raised as she sifts through the locker's contents, a grin playing on her lips.

Din lets out a sigh. "Not particularly," he admits, his tone tinged with a hint of wariness. "He and I had a run-in last time I was there on some Guild business."

"So then why are we going?" Cara questions, her tone laced with curiosity as she glances over at Din.

"I don't have a choice," Din responds, his voice carrying a weight of resignation. He pauses, then reaches out to pull you closer to his side, anchoring you against him as he leans against the ship's panel. "You saw what happened on Sorgan. They'll keep sending hunters," he continues, his gaze steady. "The kid and her... they'll never be safe until the Imp is dead."

"And you're okay with bringing them back there?" Cara asks skeptically, a hint of concern coloring her tone. You frown slightly, your expression conveying a sense of determination as you respond, "I can take care of myself."

"What about the kid? We need someone to watch that thing," Cara remarks, gesturing towards the Child above in the cockpit. Din nods in agreement, acknowledging the need for a trustworthy guardian. "Yeah."

"You got anyone you can trust?" Cara inquires further, her gaze shifting between you and Din.

You feel Din's thumb brush over the exposed part of your hip, a comforting gesture that sends a subtle warmth rippling through your body. He hums softly, his presence enveloping you in shades of silver and grey, a reassuring aura amidst the uncertainty of the moment.

Suddenly, the ship begins to rumble, Cara stumbles, her hands reaching out to brace herself against the wall. Meanwhile, Din swiftly pulls you closer to his body, a protective instinct evident in his actions. With a gruff huff, he releases you and heads back up the ladder.

You and Cara follow Din up the ladder, only to find the Child meddling with the controls, causing the ship to thrash and rumble. Din takes charge, settling into the pilot's seat to stabilize the Razor Crest once more.

"We really need someone to watch over him," you remark, holding the Child securely in your arms while Din nods and agrees, “Yeah.”

MOISTURE FARM, ARVALA-7 — SUNSET

The Razor Crest settles on the desolate planet of Arvala-7, its rocky surface bathed in the warm hues of the setting sun. As the ramp lowers, you step out alongside Din and Cara, the hovering pram carrying the Child trailing close behind.

Your eyes fall on the Ugnaught Din mentioned, a figure named Kuiil, who greets you warmly as you make your way to his home. With a nod, you duck your head to enter the tunnel-shaped structure, eager to get to know Kuiil.

"It hasn't grown much," Kuiil remarks, his eyes fixated on the Child.

Din nods in agreement. "I think it might be a Strand-Cast."

Kuiil shakes his head slowly. "I don't think it was engineered. I've worked in the gene farms. This one looks evolved. Too ugly."

"I had a dream recently," you begin, your voice soft but earnest. "A creature like him named Yoda appeared to me… this little one is likely to be one of his kind."

Din listens intently, his gaze underneath his helmet fixed on you as you speak.

"It’s why I followed you, at first," you continue, turning to face him. "Because the last time the Empire had Force Sensitive children…" You trail off, overcome with emotion. "I just couldn’t leave him there."

Din's gauntleted hand gently clasps yours, emanating a comforting warmth that sends a tender sensation coursing through your veins. You feel a soft flush rise to your cheeks as you meet his gaze, the visor of his helmet lending an air of mystery to his expression.

Kuiil clears his throat, his gaze shifting between you and Din. "You and Din make a formidable pair," he says with a nod, his tone carrying a note of respect. "A union like yours brings strength and unity in uncertain times."

A flush of embarrassment warms your cheeks, prompting you to avert your gaze momentarily. However, Din's firm grip on your waist draws you closer to where you sat, anchoring you in his reassuring presence.

Meanwhile, Kuiil turns to Cara with a playful glint in his eye. "This one, on the other hand," he remarks, "looks like she was farmed in the Cytocaves of Nora."

You gesture toward Cara with a smile, introducing her to Kuiil. Cara responds with a nod, her own smile reflecting the camaraderie in the room.

Kuiil's eyes settle on Cara's arm, where the telltale tattoo of a Dropper catches his attention. "You were a Dropper," he observes, prompting Cara to raise an intrigued eyebrow. "Did you serve?" she inquires the Ugnaught.

Kuiil settles onto a stool, his expression taking on a thoughtful cast. "On the other side, I'm afraid," he admits. "But I'm proud to say that I paid out my clan's debt, and now I serve no one but myself."

As Kuiil speaks, the room is suddenly interrupted by the mechanical steps of an approaching figure. You glance toward the entrance and see an IG-11 droid entering, carrying a tray of steaming drinks. Instantly, both Din and Cara spring to their feet, blasters are drawn, their defensive instincts kicking in. Meanwhile, you remain seated, a mix of confusion and curiosity etched on your face.

The IG-11 droid, its metallic voice crisp and clear, breaks the tension with an unexpected offer. "Would anyone care for some tea?"

Kuiil, ever composed, raises a calming hand towards Din and Cara. "Please lower your blasters," he urges, his voice steady and assured. "He will not harm you."

"That thing is programmed to kill the baby," Din asserts, his voice tinged with anger as he keeps his blaster trained on the IG unit.

Kuiil interjects calmly as IG-11 places the tray on the table in front of you, "Not anymore. It was left behind in the wake of your destruction.”

“I found it laying where it fell. Devoid of all life. I recovered the flotsam and staked it as my own in accordance with the Charter of the New Republic. Little remained of its neural harness.” Kuiil recounted to you and you listened intently.

"Reconstruction was quite the challenge, but not impossible," Kuiil reflects, his voice carrying the weight of experience. "It had to learn everything anew. This is not a task for mere machinery. It demands patience and repetition. Day after day, I nurtured its growth with care and affirmation. And as its experiences expanded, so did its personality."

Din remains skeptical, his tone betraying his doubt as he inquires, "Is it still a hunter?"

"No," Kuiil replies firmly, "but it will defend."

As the IG-11 droid offers, “Tea?” Cara grabs the cup and takes a sip while you exchange glances with Kuiil, sensing the sincerity in his words reflected in the warm hues of the sunset. With a reassuring touch, you rise from your seat and place a hand on Din's outstretched arm, gently guiding down the blaster. "He speaks the truth," you affirm softly. "It’s okay. We’re okay."

Reluctantly, Din secures his blaster back into its holster, his tension easing slightly as he acknowledges the reassurance in your words.

"I've encountered some difficulties," Din admits as he approaches Kuiil, who is tending to the Blurrg.

Kuiil emits a thoughtful hum. "Seems like you've been managing quite well. Especially with her support," he remarks, nodding in your direction. You're engrossed in play with the Child, introducing the little one to the droid, while Cara observes with interest.

As Din watches you, bathed in the warm glow of the setting suns, he can't help but marvel at your radiance. Your smile outshines even the brightest stars in the galaxy. In that moment, he feels a profound sense of gratitude for having someone like you by his side.

A warm sensation stirs within Din as he watches you laugh at something the Child finds amusing. The primal urge to claim you as his own surges within him, an instinctual longing he struggles to suppress. Beneath his helmet, his jaw tightens as he fixates on you, momentarily lost in the intensity of his emotions. When you glance his way and offer a smile and a wave, his heart swells with longing, yearning for a world where he could have you all to himself, free from the burdens that weigh upon you both.

Swallowing hard, Din tears his gaze away, attempting to regain his composure. "That's not... that's not why we're here," he insists, his voice tinged with an edge of determination.

"I assumed as much. There must be another reason for your return," Kuiil observes with a knowing hum.

Din's voice carries a low, earnest tone as he addresses the Ugnaught. "I need your services."

"I'm retired from service," Kuiil responds, his voice measured.

Ignoring the subtle refusal, Din presses on, his words tinged with a hint of desperation. "I can pay you handsomely, Ugnaught.”

The Ugnaught, displeased by Din's persistence, harumphs. "I have a name. It is Kuiil."

Din's gaze remains unwavering as he makes his request clear. "I require someone to protect the child, Kuiil."

Kuiil shakes his head, his resolve unwavering. "I am not suited for such work. I can reprogram IG-11 for nursing and protocol duties."

Din's voice grows firmer, his tone resolute. "No. I do not want that droid anywhere near him."

"Why are you so distrustful of droids?" Kuiil asks, his tone curious yet skeptical.

Din's response is matter-of-fact. "It tried to kill him."

Kuiil nods, understanding. "It was programmed to do so. Droids are not inherently good or bad. They are neutral reflections of those who imprint them." He looks to Din, hoping to impart some sense to the Mandalorian.

Din's voice carries a distant gravity as he speaks with a serious tone. "I've seen otherwise."

"Do you trust me?" Kuiil's gravelly voice breaks the silence, his gaze steady on Din.

Din nods thoughtfully. "From what I can tell, yes."

"Then trust my work. IG-11 will join me," Kuiil asserts, his tone resolute. "And we do it not for payment, but to protect the child from Imperial slavery."

A weight seems to settle on Din's shoulders as he exhales softly. Kuiil's continues, "None will be free until the old ways are gone forever."

Din takes a moment to consider, his mind churning with the implications. Finally, he meets Kuiil's gaze and nods. "Okay."

"The blurrgs?" Din queries, a hint of confusion in his voice as Kuiil starts to walk away.

Kuiil pauses, turning back to face Din. "And the blurrgs will join me as well," he affirms, his tone carrying a sense of finality.

Kuiil turns once more and continues on his way, leaving Din standing there with a contemplative expression. As he disappears from sight, his parting words linger. "I have spoken."

INSIDE THE RAZOR CREST

OUTER RIM TERRITORIES, 9ABY – SPACE

After securing the blurrgs in the Razor Crest's cargo hold, Din takes control of the ship's controls, steering it towards Nevarro. With the ship set on autopilot, you and he descend the ladder into the cargo hold, where the Child sits in his hovering pram, eyes wide with curiosity as he emits a soft cooing sound.

As you assist Kuiil with feeding the blurrgs, your attention is drawn to the sounds of grunting nearby. Slowly turning, you find Cara and Din engaged in an arm wrestle, their muscles straining against each other in the dim light of the cargo hold. Despite the intense competition, they appear evenly matched.

As you observe Din's impressive display of strength, a flutter of excitement stirs within you, mingled with a hint of something more intimate. His determination and power are undeniably captivating, igniting a subtle thrill that courses through your veins.

"I got you, Mando," Cara declares with a huff, her voice laced with determination.

Din's response is confident as ever. "Care to double the bet?" he challenges, his voice resonating with a subtle intensity. You catch a glimpse of his gaze behind the visor, sensing his determination.

Intense heat rises to your cheeks at the sound of his gruff grunt, the raw energy of the moment heightening your anticipation. You’ve been buzzing with anticipation for weeks.

But the heat fizzes out as a moment of panic grips you as Cara struggles, her hand dropping abruptly from the arm wrestling match. It startles both you and Din, prompting him to rise to his feet with urgency.

As you rush over to the Child, you hear Din's firm voice addressing the little one. "No! No, no! Stop! We're friends, we're friends. Cara is my friend!" he asserts, his tone authoritative.

Stretching out your hand, you tap into the Force, attempting to gently ease the Child's grasp on Cara. Gradually, the tension dissipates, and you release your hold on the Force, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. Eager breaths escape your lips, leaving you slightly winded from the unexpected exertion.

Cara gestures toward the Child and voices her concern, "That is not okay!"

"Hmm. Very curious," Kuiil remarks, his gaze shifting to you and the Child.

"Curious? It almost killed me!" Cara exclaims, her alarm evident.

"The story you told me of the mudhorn now makes more sense," Kuiil adds.

"Mudhorn?" You interject, your curiosity piqued. You glance over at Din, who has now moved closer to you, checking to ensure you're okay as you still catch your breath from the ordeal.

"What is it?" Din inquires Kuiil while keeping you close by his side.

"What it is, I don't know. But what it does, this… This I've heard rumors of," Kuiil replies.

Cara shoots the Ugnaught a skeptical glance. "What? When you worked for the Empire?"

Kuiil stands his ground, his tone resolute. "When I was sold to the Empire, in indentured servitude."

"Yet somehow, you walk free," Cara retorts with a scoff, rising to her feet. But Kuiil remains unfazed. "I bought my freedom through the skill of my hands and the labor of three of your human lifetimes. Do not cast doubt upon what I am nor whom I shall serve."

As the swirling colors of intense emotions overwhelm your senses, you feel a surge of turbulence within. It's a challenge to maintain composure, especially given your empathic abilities.

Sensing your discomfort, Din's demeanor softens, a rare glimpse of tenderness shining through. In a voice touched with kindness, he addresses Kuiil, "Tell you what. I could really use your craftwork right now. Can you pad this container so the child can sleep better?"

Kuiil acknowledges the request with a nod, his expression solemn. "I shall fabricate a better one. Then perhaps this Dropper can see how one can win their freedom with the skill of one's hands."

With purposeful movements, Kuiil sets to work, the hum of machinery filling the space as sparks fly from the welding gun. Meanwhile, the Child observes with wide-eyed curiosity. Feeling Din's comforting touch on your lower back, he guides you back up the ladder toward the cockpit.

You move to take a seat on a nearby chair, but before you can settle, Din swiftly pivots from his pilot chair. His strong hands encircle your waist, pulling you onto his lap in a single fluid motion. You emit a surprised yelp as you find yourself seated sideways, legs draped over his, and your head nestled against the cool surface of his beskar pauldron. Instinctively, you loop your arms around his neck to maintain your balance.

"Din! Cara could walk in any second," you whisper urgently.

He responds with a nonchalant hum. "She won't mind."

"But—"

"You seemed winded earlier, using your..." Din's voice trails off as he adjusts a few controls, and you finish his thought, "The Force?"

"Yes," he confirms.

You release a sigh and reach up to lightly touch the side of his helmet, wishing you could see beyond the reflective visor. "Din, I'm alright. It just took me by surprise. Later, I'll speak with the kid about using the Force responsibly. It's something we need to ensure he understands."

As you utter the word "we," something ignites within Din's chest. The notion of you wanting to stand by his side, to be integrated into his clan, strengthens his need to claim you as his own, to initiate the formal courtship.

With a gentle movement, he leans his helmet closer, as he uses his left gloved hand to hold the back of your neck, bringing your forehead to rest against his. The warmth of your skin contrasts with the cool touch of his beskar armor. You instinctively close your eyes, sharing a moment akin to the gesture known as the keldabe kiss.

You emit a soft sound, unable to suppress it as you sense him gently squeeze the back of your neck, expressing his desire to draw nearer. Din gruffly murmurs, "Soon, Cyar'ika. Soon."

"You better be fully clothed in there, I'm coming in!" Cara's voice echoes through the ship before the doors hiss open and shut, signaling her entrance. She finds you still seated on Din's lap, a sheepish expression on your face.

Wide-eyed, you attempt to slide off Din's lap, but he pulls you closer in a tighter grip. Your embarrassment intensifies, your cheeks burning as Cara smirks at you. Wanting to hide, you bury your face between Din's neck and shoulder, the heat of the moment igniting a mix of desire and embarrassment throughout your body.

Cara meticulously cleans her blaster as she addresses both of you, "So, we're heading to Nevarro?"

Din, still seated with you on his lap, engages in the conversation, "Have you been there before?"

"No," Cara responds, settling into her seat with the blaster and a rag in hand. "We lost a lot of our forces there. The city's dug in pretty deep. No cover when you drop in. It stayed in Empire control 'till the end of the war.”

Din nods in acknowledgment. "The warlord we're taking out was an Imperial officer.”

Cara's curiosity piques. "What station?"

Din turns his chair, keeping you snugly in his hold, as he explains, "Hard to tell. No insignia anymore.”

You attempt to wriggle out of his grasp once more, but his arm around your midsection keeps you firmly in place.

"We took out the safehouse when we snatched the kid." Din continues, his tone grave. "More Imps have reinforced since.” 

Apologies for the oversight. Here's the revised text, retaining the original dialogue:

"There's something more going on," Cara remarks as she begins to clean a different rifle.

"Maybe. We'll find out more when we land," Din replies, his gaze fixed on the controls.

The doors hiss open, and IG-11 steps inside, its robotic voice announcing, "I have prepared second meal. Would you care to be served here or below?"

"I'm not hungry," Din says flatly.

The IG-11 leaves.

Cara's chuckle echoes lightly in the cockpit. "You got a real thing for droids, don't you?" she teases.

Din's voice remains monotone as he responds, his helmet reflecting the dim light. "I got a real thing for that droid."

"The Ugnaught said he rewired it," Cara mentions, her tone casual.

Din shakes his head, his expression hidden behind the helmet. "That droid was designed to kill things. I don't care how much wiring he replaced. It goes against its nature."

Cara's departing words linger in the air as she heads back down to the cargo hold, leaving you and Din alone once more.

A hushed quiet falls between you, the hum of the ship's engines filling the space. You break the silence, the words catching in your throat. "We need to get ready..."

Din's voice is soft, barely above a whisper. "Just let me hold you a little longer, Cyar'ika," he murmurs, his tone laden with affection. You meet his gaze, feeling a warmth spread through you, and with a quiet nod, you reply, "Okay."

NEVARRO, 9ABY – DUSK

The Razor Crest descends into a desolate corner of Nevarro, the distant hum of its engines fading as it settles on the uneven terrain. Your pulse quickens, the rhythm echoing in your ears as you adjust the cloak robe to conceal your lightsaber, keeping it out of sight.

The four of you dismount the ship, perched atop blurrgs, and spot Greef Karga approaching, accompanied by three other bounty hunters including a human, Nikto, and a Trandoshan. He strides toward your party, a mix of urgency and caution in his steps. "Sorry for the remote rendezvous, Mando, but things have gotten complicated since you were last here,” he says, coming to a halt a few paces away.

As he surveys the group, Greef Karga remarks, "It appears that introductions are in order. It seems we've both provided a security detail," His gaze shifts to Cara. "I'd suggest the shock trooper stays back to guard the ship. These lava fields are swarming with Jawas."

"She's coming with us," you assert firmly.

"But the town is now run by ex-Empire. If a Rebel Dropper is with us, they'll all get their hackles up," Greef Karga argues, attempting to dissuade you.

"She's coming," Din insists.

Greef Karga grudgingly relents. "Fine," he seethes, then relents once more with a resigned sigh. "Fine." Gesturing to Cara, he adds, "Just cover your tattoo. No need to draw unnecessary attention."

"Now, where's the little one?" Karga inquires. Din activates a button on his bracer, causing the hovering pram to glide forward, its hatch hissing open. Greef Karga leans in to inspect the Child, drawing uneasy gazes from the group. Fingers hover near blasters as tension mounts, and you clench your jaw.

"So, this little bogwing is what all the fuss was about. What a precious little creature. I can see why you didn't want to harm a hair on its wrinkled little head," Greef Karga remarks, lifting the Child briefly before returning it to the hovering pram. Din swiftly closes the hatch with another press of his bracer, bringing the pram back to his side.

As the group prepares to embark on their journey across the lava fields of Nevarro, Greef Karga lays out the plan. "Well, I'm glad this matter will be put to rest once and for all. The sun drops fast on Nevarro. We can walk for a spell, camp out at the riverbank, then make our way into town at first light," he explains. You nod in agreement as your group rides the blurrgs, ready to traverse the treacherous terrain.

NEVARRO, 9ABY — EVENING

As the group settles in for the night, a campfire crackles, casting flickering light on the surrounding faces. You find a spot on the ground, seated cross-legged like the others. Positioned between Din and the Child, Kuiil patiently feeds the young one while you quietly finish your meal.

Across the fire, the three bounty hunters sit, their faces illuminated by the dancing flames. With a keen sense, you observe them, your empathic force powers awakening to perceive shades of darkness and red, hinting at hidden motives and deceit.

As you unconsciously shift closer to Din, preparing to whisper your observations, Greef Karga's voice cuts through the quiet night. He gazes at the Child, remarking, "I guess the little bugger's a carnivore. Never seen anything like it. They were ready to pay a king's ransom for that thing. Must be for some kind of highfalutin menagerie."

"Let's go over the plan again," Din interjects, brushing off Karga's comments.

“We three enter the common house. We show the client the bait. We join him at the table. And you kill him,” Greef Karga explains matter-of-factly, as if it's the simplest thing in the world.

Din quickly follows up, “Tell me about his reinforcements.”

“They're all ex-Empire. As soon as they lose their paycheck, poof, they'll all scatter,” Greef Karga replies nonchalantly.

“And what if they don't?” You press further.

“They will,” Greef Karga asserts confidently.

Din shakes his head, “That's not good enough.”

Greef Karga sighs heavily, “If, for argument's sake, a few of them don't realize that I'm their best path to alternative employment and they elect to react impulsively, then these three fine Guild Hunters, along with that battle-hardened shock trooper, and your Jedi will cut down anyone who bucks.”

“I’m a medic, not a Jedi,” you mumble with a clenched jaw.

“How many will there be?” Din asks Greef Karga.

“No more than four,” Karga replies as he rises from his seated position, heading over to the large piece of meat roasting over the campfire. He reaches out to grab a piece, confidently stating, “He travels with, at most, a Fire Team. Trust me. Nothing can go wrong.”

However, his confidence is shattered as a large beast emerges from the darkness. It's a species of winged, predatory reptavians native to Nevarro. With a large wingspan, scaly and dry skin, and a dragon-like appearance, these reptavians have a pointed snout, a mouth filled with sharp teeth, and two brownish eyes.

One of the reptavians swoops down, sinking its teeth into Greef's arm, eliciting a pained grunt from him. Chaos erupts as blaster fire fills the air, echoing against the rocky terrain. Each member of the group takes aim, firing at the winged assailants with precision.

With swift movements, the Mandalorian secures the Child in his hovering pram, shielding the youngling from harm. Meanwhile, you ignite your lightsaber, its vibrant purple hue casting an eerie glow in the dim light. Swinging it fiercely, you fend off the winged creatures with determined strikes.

Amidst the commotion, a blurrg and a Trandoshan bounty hunter fall victim to the creatures' relentless onslaught. As one of the reptavians swoops down to snatch another blurrg, it meets its demise in a barrage of blaster fire, falling lifeless to the ground. Unfortunately, in the chaos, a blurrg is accidentally struck by friendly fire.

After the Mandalorian's flamethrower repels the winged creatures, a tense silence settles over the group, broken only by the occasional groan of pain from Greef Karga. As the dust settles and the smoke clears, everyone remains on edge, waiting to see if the creatures will return.

Moving swiftly, Kuiil rushes to Greef's side, his concern evident in the furrow of his brow. "He's hurt badly," Kuiil announces, his voice tinged with worry.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. Ow!" Greef insists through gritted teeth, his bravado failing to mask his discomfort. You kneel beside him, your focus on assessing his injury. The deep bite mark left by the reptavians catches your attention, and you speak with authority, "Hold still."

"They got you good," you murmur, your focus still fixed on the deep wound.

"How bad, Cyar'ika?" Din's voice comes from behind you as you work.

"Bad. The poison's spreading fast," you reply, urgency lacing your tone as you inject Greef Karga with a pen, hoping it will slow the venom's progress.

"So this... This is how it happens," Greef Karga says between labored breaths.

Cara rolls her eyes. "Don't be so dramatic."

"I need another medpac! Got any other medpacs?" you urgently call out.

“Anyone? I'm guessing that's a ‘no’,” you say with a huff, frustration creeping into your voice. You glance back at his arm, noting the venom's continued spread. “It's still spreading. This isn't working.”

“Get this thing outta here,” Cara exclaims, prompting you to realize that the Child had approached unnoticed.

Observing the Child, Kuiil interjects, “Wait.”

The Child extends his tiny green hand and places it atop Greef Karga’s arm. With a wince, Karga cries out, “He's trying to eat me!”

You sense it too—the subtle hum of the Force emanating from the Child. With each focused use, the Child begins to harness his abilities, channeling them to gradually heal Greef Karga’s arm, leaving no trace of a scar. Witnessing such skill from one so young fills you with awe; Force Healing of this magnitude is exceedingly rare. A collective exhale fills the air, each member of the group seemingly sharing in the astonishment of witnessing such a miraculous feat.

NEVARRO, 9ABY – DAWN

As the sun begins to ascend, casting a dim light across the rugged landscape, the group presses onward. Smoke billows from the small volcanic vents scattered throughout the rocky terrain of Nevarro. An uneasy silence envelops the group, with Greef Karga's companions forging ahead, leaving you, Din, Cara, and Kuiil to tread quietly behind on foot, the Ugnaught trailing along atop the last remaining blurrg.

Cara speaks softly, directing her question to both you and Din. "You think they're having second thoughts?"

Din responds in a hushed tone, his voice barely audible. "Could be. I need your eyes."

"I'm watching," Cara confirms with a nod.

An hour later, your group arrives at the outskirts of Nevarro, with Greef Karga leading the way and you, Din, and Cara close behind. "I guess this is it," Greef Karga remarks, gazing out at the view. But something tugs at your gut, a feeling that something isn't right.

Before you can react, Greef abruptly turns around and fires at his associates, sending them collapsing lifeless to the ground. The sudden violence startles you, Din, and Cara. They swiftly unholster their blasters, aiming them at Greef Karga, while you grasp your saber hilt, activating it in readiness to deflect any blaster fire.

Din and Cara keep their blasters trained on Greef Karga, who raises his hands in surrender. "There's something you should know," he confesses as he ensures that both the bounty hunters are truly dead and kicks away their blasters. "The plan was to kill you and take the kid. But after what happened last night, I couldn't go through with it."

Your brow furrows as you listen to Karga's plea. "Go on," he continues, "You can gun me down here and now, and it wouldn't violate the Code. But if you do, this child will never be safe."

Cara grits her teeth and shoots Karga a scowl. "We'll take our chances," she asserts firmly.

"The Imperial client is obsessed with obtaining this asset. You tried to run, but where did it get you?" Greef Karga reasons, causing Cara to grow more agitated. "This is ridiculous," she tells Din.

"Perhaps you should let him speak," Kuiil interjects calmly, while you maintain a steady gaze on Greef Karga.

Karga points out, "Listen, we three need the client to be eliminated. Let me take the child to him and then you two…"

"No," Din interrupts firmly.

Cara clenches her jaw, her blaster aimed at Greef Karga. "Let's just kill him and get outta here," she suggests, her frustration evident.

You feel the Force connecting you through your empathic powers, sensing the true colors of Greef Karga. Taking a deep breath and deactivating your saber, you speak up. "He's right."

Din lowers his blaster, while Cara hisses in disbelief, "What are you doing?"

"As long as the Imp lives, he'll send hunters after the child," Din explains to Cara, who responds with a warning, "It's a trap."

"Bring me," Din suddenly interjects.

"What?" you exclaim, taken aback, while Greef Karga echoes, "Bring you?"

"Tell him you captured me. Get me close to him and I'll kill him," Din states with determination, and Karga nods, “That's a good idea. Give me your blaster.”

As Din hands over his blaster, it prompts you to protest as you take a step closer to him. "No! Hold on, it should be me. Bring me instead," you insist.

Din begins, "Cyar'ika—"

You sharply turn your head to face Greef Karga. "Do they know?"

Greef Karga begins to respond, but you cut him off, your voice tense with urgency. "Do. They. Know?"

"Yes," he confirms.

"Okay," you swallow, your mind racing through the options and landing on a decision. "You bring me in. Say that Cara captured me and convinced Mando to trade me instead of the Child." You then hand over your saber hilt to Greef Karga who pockets it.

"No. Absolutely not. You are going back to the ship with Kuiil and the Child," Din interjects, his tone firm.

"But without her or the Child, none of this works!" Karga exclaims, trying to reason.

"I’m going with you," you assert, stepping closer to Din. As he meets your gaze through his visor, you see the conflict in his eyes. He starts to protest, but you cut him off with a whispered plea, "I am going with you, and there is nothing you could say to convince me otherwise. We face these things together." You reach out and touch the side of his helmet, feeling the cool metal beneath your palm as you press your foreheads together. "Let me be there for you, like you were for me. Please."

Din hesitates, visibly conflicted. Finally, he lets out a shaky exhale. "Maker help me. Fine, fine. But you listen to me, alright? When I tell you to run, you run. Got it?"

You nod, determination in your eyes. "Okay."

Din grunts out his plan. "Kuiil, ride back to the Razor Crest with the child and seal yourself in. Once you're inside, engage ground security protocols. Nothing on this planet will breach those doors."

"Here's a comlink," Kuiil says, handing Din the device. "I will keep the child safe."

Kuiil looks at Cara and advises, "Don't forget to cover your stripes."

"Let's go," Din nods, prompting everyone to prepare. He turns to you, offering a pair of silver binders. You secure your hands in front of him, feeling a flush of embarrassment at the familiar sensation of the cuffs.

With a click, your hands are bound, and he asks softly, "Not too tight?"

Feeling playful, you respond with a cheeky grin, "You could make it tighter."

There's a warmth in his chest, almost like laughter. His mouth quirks into a smirk. "Cyar'ika, you are going to be the death of me."

You freeze, sensing the shift in his demeanor beneath the helmet. It's almost like awe or something.

"What?" he asks, catching your reaction.

"You're smiling, I can tell by your voice," you note, smiling yourself. Your eyes meet the visor of his helmet, and his skin prickles with awareness.

Suddenly, he wants you a lot closer. In his lap. Straddling him, maybe. Your hands in his hair, and his in yours. But there's no time for that. You clear your throat, breaking the moment, and gesture toward Greef Karga, who is waiting for the other pair of stun cuffs to restrain Din.

Din regains his composure, walking over to Greef Karga to be cuffed. As he does, Cara conceals her tattooed arm with a cloth, and Kuiil picks up the Child from the hovering pram. With your group heading in opposite directions, you hope fervently that everything will go according to plan.

NEVARRO, 9ABY — DAY

Greef and Cara escort the bound Mandalorian, you, and the hovering pram toward the town. At the gate, they come across two scout troopers riding 74-Z speeder bikes.

"Chain code?" one of the Scout Troopers demands, eyeing Greef Karga suspiciously.

Greef nods toward you and Din. "I have a gift for the boss."

The Scout Trooper repeats, "Chain code?" with insistence. Reluctantly, Greef retrieves his card and hands it over.

The Scout Trooper scans Greef's card. "I'll give you 20 credits for the helmet," he offers, eyeing the Mandalorian's helmet.

Greef lets out a fake laugh. "Ha-ha! Not a chance. That's going on my wall."

Din leans in to Karga, whispering, "On your wall?" Greef shoots him a pointed look. "Go with it."

"Go ahead," the Scout Trooper says, returning Greef's card. The group proceeds forward into town.

Cara gives Greef a sharp look. "You said four. There are more than four troopers."

Greef explains quietly, "Four guarding the client. Many more here in town. Things got really heated once Mando crashed the safehouse."

Cara suggests, "Slip him his blaster."

Greef shakes his head. "Not yet."

You approach the cantina's entrance, Greef Karga announcing, "Here we are." As the door slides open, the once bustling space is now eerily empty, save for the watchful eyes of the stormtroopers stationed inside, their presence unsettling.

Greef nods towards the troopers. "You see? Four." He then leads you and Din towards the Client, gesturing towards both of you. "Look what I brought you. As promised."

The Client moves closer to Din, his fingers tracing the intricate patterns of Din's beskar chest plate. "What exquisite craftsmanship. It's remarkable how beautiful beskar can be when forged by its ancestral artisans."

Your expression twists in disgust as you watch the Client touch Din's armor. Then, the Client's attention shifts to you, his hand reaching out to grab your face. You meet his gaze with a defiant glare as he remarks, "Ah, the Jedi. Word travels fast whenever your kind is spotted." His tone drips with disdain. "What a waste."

As the Client releases your face, you feel a surge of revulsion. Sensing Din's simmering anger, you brace yourself.

"Can I offer you a libation to celebrate the closing of our shared narrative?" the Client proposes to Greef Karga, who accepts with a nod.

An RA-7 protocol droid sets to work at the bar, preparing drinks for Greef and the Client. Gesturing towards a nearby booth, the Client invites, "Please, have a seat."

As you take your place, the Client begins, "It's regrettable that your people suffered so. Just as in this situation, it was all avoidable."

He turns his attention to Din. "Why did Mandalore resist our expansion? The Empire enhances every system it touches." You let out a derisive scoff, prompting the Client to continue, undeterred. "Judge by any metric. Safety, prosperity, trade, opportunity, peace. Compare Imperial rule to what is happening now. Look outside." He gestures towards the window. "Is the world more peaceful since the revolution? I see nothing but death and chaos."

You grit your teeth and suppress a retort, sensing the Client's emotions swirling before you, a dark maelstrom of black and red hues.

"I would like to see the baby," the Client requests.

Greef Karga clears his throat. "Uh... It's asleep."

"We'll all be quiet. Open the pram," the Client insists, narrowing his eyes. You swallow nervously, feeling a sense of unease. But before the situation can escalate, a stormtrooper approaches the Client and murmurs something discreetly. The Client stands abruptly. "Don't think me to be rude. I must take this call."

A stormtrooper sets up a holoprojector as the Client strides over to it. Under the table, Greef Karga discreetly unbinds his restraints, while Din swiftly does the same for you, his hands deftly removing the cuffs. "Give me the blaster and her saber hilt," he instructs Karga, his tone firm.

"You get one shot," Greef Karga reminds Din as he hands over your saber hilt. Din passes it to you with a determined nod.

Cara leans in close, her voice barely a whisper. "This is bad. You said four."

"Well, there are more. What can I tell you?" Greef Karga replies quietly.

A tense moment hangs in the air, and you sense a shift in the atmosphere. Before you can react, gunfire erupts from outside the cantina, catching everyone off guard. The shots strike the Client and his stormtroopers, sending them sprawling to the ground. Instinctively, you, the Mandalorian, Cara, and Greef dive behind a nearby table for cover. Amidst the chaos, the RA-7 protocol droid is caught in the crossfire and falls to the ground, incapacitated.

Taking cover behind various pillars, you, the Mandalorian, Cara, and Greef cautiously assess the situation. Through the shattered windows of the cantina, a line of death troopers becomes visible, their ominous presence sending a chill down your spine. As if that weren't enough, an Imperial Troop Transport rolls onto the scene, unloading a squad of stormtroopers, further escalating the situation.

"Four stormtroopers?" Cara scoffs, her expression darkening. "This is bad."

The Mandalorian quickly contacts Kuiil via comlink, his voice urgent. "Kuiil? Are you back at the ship yet?" After a tense moment of silence, he presses, "Are you there? Do you copy?"

"Yes!" Kuiil's voice crackles through the comlink.

Din wastes no time. "Are you back at the ship yet?"

"Not yet," Kuiil replies.

"Get back to the ship and get the kid out of here. We're pinned down!" Din's command is sharp and resolute.

The roar of engines interrupts the chaos, drawing your attention outside. An Outland TIE fighter swoops into view, its retractable solar collectors gleaming in the sunlight. The Imperial officer emerges from the cockpit, clad in full black attire, his cape billowing dramatically in the wind. His voice carries over the commotion as he declares, "You have something I want."

"Who's this guy?" Cara asks, her confusion evident.

"You may think you have some idea of what you are in possession of, but you do not," the officer asserts ominously.

"Kuiil, are you back at the ship yet? They're onto us!" Din urgently tries to reach Kuiil through the comlink.

No response.

Din attempts again, growing increasingly desperate. "Kuiil, come in!"

Still, there's silence.

"In a few moments, it will be mine," the officer threatens, his tone dripping with menace.

"Kuiil! Do you copy? Kuiil!" Din's voice echoes with urgency.

"It means more to me than you will ever know," the officer adds, his words sending a chill down your spine.

"Kuiil! Are you there? Come in, Kuiil. Kuiil, come in," Din pleads desperately.

"Kuiil? Are you there? Do you copy? Kuiil? Kuiil!"

TAGLIST: @wastingspaces @avengersheart @lunatic1012 @keepingupwiththeskywalkers @mxltifxnd0m @syviiss @luckyzipperscissorsbat @avengersheart @dins-riduur-anthe @lizlil @n7cje @scoliobean @ofmusesandsecrets

[lovejosephquinn]

hii! can i request a joe quinn x reader? something super angsty, maybe where the reader wants to break up and he refuses to accept it and is like begging her to stay?

I want to make this sting, I apologise in advance

Oh and by the way, I'm sorry if my angst isn't great, I'm not used to writing it lmao

Read Part 2 Here. ◀◀◀

This had been a long awaited battle, Joe had finished filming a week early somewhere in the states and you'd been so excited to have him back by your side, you'd not seen your boyfriend for a couple of months, arranging a date night as soon as he'd got back as a surprise, planning everything, making it special. Then came the excuses. Another couple of weeks went by and there was still no sign of him returning home.

'I've got to stay a little longer, love. I'm sorry.'

'I won't be coming home this week. I'll call you soon.'

'I'm sorry I've not called, I've been so busy.'

'Sorry I forgot to text you today.'

And chances were when he did text you on the rare occasion, you were fast asleep due to the time difference. This was unlike Joe, he'd usually be blowing up your phone and that's how you knew something clearly wasn't right. The list became endless, the calls and the messages became less, every reply became more blunt and it had really gotten to you, it was like he didn't care anymore, the pushing away took you to the edge.

This was a solid relationship of two years falling into a dark abyss, then came the day when you hit the roof. Scrolling through twitter, you came across a post on Joe's hashtag. It pictured him stood with a girl in a familiar pub in London looking rather cosy, not fan cosy, personally cosy. "What the fuck?" your raised voice echoed across the walls of your flat as you sat up from where you laid on the sofa, screaming internally at the picture. You knew it was recent because Joe was wearing the leather jacket you'd bought him for his birthday, had he been back in London without telling you? How, what, when?

You tried to call him instantly, no answer. Shock.

You threw your phone onto the coffee table, sat twisting your silver promise ring that Joe got you which had remained on your middle finger for almost a year, tears strained your eyes and a million thoughts rapidly shot through your mind, your heart beating twice it's normal rate. So you decided to go to his flat to check, you could've had this all wrong, for the thin ice that the relationship was wobbling on at this moment, you'd seriously hoped you had.

You sat at your steering wheel, staring up to the window of Joe's flat. The light was on, not much sign of life from what you could see from the high up view but needless to say, there was definitely someone there. As you took the hasty steps up to his front door, you knocked and within 10 seconds the door answered. There he was.

"Y/N, I didn't expect you."

"Could say the same." you folded your arms, tapping your fingers against it.

"I wanted to surprise you but I-"

"How long have you been back?" you flat out interrupted.

"Not long, love. I was going to call you." That's not the answer you were looking for.

"Are you going to let me in?" You moved yourself closer to the front door and Joe instantly moved it fully open, gesturing you inside.

Joe tried to envelope you in a hug, simply like nothing had happened but before you reciprocated you wanted the full truth to be out in the open. "Can I ask you something?" The words shot out of your mouth before you could even think.

"Sure love, what's on your mind?"

"Can you explain this?" You pulled out your phone with a print screen of the picture you'd witnessed earlier on.

Joe sighed, he could've lied but was quickly realising you knew the honest truth.

"I've been back a couple of days, I was catching up with an old friend who was on the same flight back as me."

"Are you for real? So you didn't think to call me, text me let me know you'd landed home safely, instead you decide to go have some drinks with this 'old friend'? Do you expect me to believe this crap?"

You pushed Joe out of arms reach, he tried to step back forward but you moved back when he did.

"I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? Is that all you have to say?!" You shouted back at him, your blood was boiling and your tears were filling under your eyelids, staining your eyes making them glisten. Joe said nothing.

"Weeks Joseph. Weeks I've gone without barely hearing a thing. Weeks I've gone without hearing that you miss me or that you love me, weeks I've gone without clearly not being thought about. That's not my Joey, that's a fucking stranger." You scoffed at his inability to make a sentence. "I'm done."

"So that's it, you're letting go?" Joe protested, halting you and standing in your way from letting you walking out the front door.

"There's nothing left to let go of, I've been trying to hold on to hope for weeks."

"So what did you come for?" Joe's voice hitched.

"The truth and I got it with pretty much no explanation, but there's none needed now." Your tears streamed down your face, you wiped them away attempting to stay strong, also striving to get Joe out of the way so you could leave, but he'd become like he was made of iron, he wasn't letting you go now.

"Y/N, I'm sorry for what I've done. Nothing happened with her if that's what you're thinking, I'd never hurt you like that."

"Well I'm glad you didn't and honestly? I believe it. But what's not okay is the ignorance, the waste of two years of my life spent with someone who I believed thought the world of me but instead as I said proved to be more of a stranger this last month."

"I have a job to do Y/N."

"You'd done your fucking job, god knows what you were doing or where you were swanning off too, but it surely was enough to keep your attention to not be able to take 5 minutes out of your day to let me, your girlfriend know you were busy. I was the last to know everything and that's extremely shit of you." Joe attempted one last time, lunging forward to kiss you, as if that'd make it all better. That was when you slapped him square in the jaw. His hand caught the sting, looking down to the floor, his eyes returning sorrowfully to yours.

"Fuck you." you grimaced.

"Y/N, I love you, please can we work this out?"

"Correction Joseph, you loved me, there's a difference."

You could almost pinpoint the moment you saw Joe's heart break, mirroring your own shattered organ.

"That's not fair, I still love you as much as I did before I left. I'm begging you. I can't lose you." Joe fell to his knees, gripping onto your hands as he began to sob, the noises he mustered were just low whimpers, his brown eyes burned through yours, his bottom lip trembling.

"Then why did you let yourself push me away?" You tried to ignore his regret, keeping to your guns and not letting him win this.

"Because I'm a fucking fool that's why."

"You can say that again." You knew you shouldn't have, but the sarcastic bark of laughter that erupted from your lips was something you couldn't help per his last reply.

"Actions have consequences, you broke my heart and now I'm breaking yours right back. If that makes me a bad person, so be it. You want me? Fight for me."

"What do you think I'm doing right now? I'm on my knees for you Y/N, please don't leave me. I'll make it up to you, I promise. I love you so much."

"Then why did you lie to me, why did you ignore me?"

"I just got caught up in being offered to see the city I was in by one of the cast members I worked with, he kindly did it and then I had to do a couple of interviews and press. I should've been more clear."

"And then lying to me, you've been back here at least a few days Joe, why didn't you let me know?"

"I was going too."

"But you didn't."

Joe shook his head, it hung lowly to the ground now like a child being told off by a grown up.

"No I didn't."

You managed to rip your hands from his grip, taking off your promise ring and throwing it down onto his lap.

"Y/N, your ring, no! Don't!"

"Step one is admittance Joe, step two is acceptance. I need to sleep on this shit. I love you but you've seriously hurt me, something I never expected of you."

"Baby, please." He tried to reach for you again.

"Don't. You know where I'll be. If you seriously want to save this relationship, if you're really sorry. You'll be at my flat tomorrow with a full apology, a full reasoning and full knowledge that you'll never do this to me again then I might slowly start to forgive you. As for the ring, it was a promise you'd love me forever and that's a direct quote from the man I thought I knew."

"I won't do this again."

"Actions speak louder than words, Quinn. Prove it."

You had no more to say, at least for tonight. You waltzed past him, leaving him flat on his knees, he didn't fight back to keep you in his presence this time; truly defeated. Bellowing into his hands, the last thing you hear was him call out your name before walking out the door. For good? Who knew. Even though he'd done wrong. You still loved him.

[pyraelia]

Fiorenze's Part One Here ***

<<ETA 2 min. Find a spot to hang out with a roof and walls! Or not, I guess, you can be a bird now if something goes weird, right?>> 

Fiorenze’s reply to her came quickly, <<Appreciate you. I’ll be alright, don’t worry about me.>>

Pyraelia smiled and tucked her comm away; she knew it was Fio’s job as her big sister to worry about her, but their roles had been reversed a little lately. 

“One minute!” The Head Archivist of the Vermillion Ward called out. There was no time to dilly dally. Pyraelia hustled to her spot with the other Archivists, the vast teleportation array they had in their space was already starting to alight with violet runes. 

Teleporting an entire city took a lot of work from an extremely organized network of skilled practitioners. It happened so rarely, and required a significant amount of power — Dalaran was, after all, a giant floating island and it would be kind of a disaster if the city arrived but the people didn’t. 

“Thirty seconds!” 

Scholar Overclock smiled at her from across the golden ring, and she couldn’t help but smile back at her gnomish colleague. The excitement of being able to be part of this process was infectious — it had happened three times so far in their lifetimes, but this was the first time either of them were actually part of the process. 

“Five!” 

They started their cast, some with components, some with implements. She hadn’t needed either for years. 

“Four!”

A vibrant matrix of spellcraft flared across every wall, ceiling and floor within the Vermillion Archive. 

“Three!” 

A violet light for the Violet Archive, a blue for the Azure, a white for the Silver and a red for their own lit and held steady on the ring — they were all in sync. 

“Two!” 

They all held their breath. 

“One!” 

Dalaran’s last teleport went off without a hitch. 

Every single one of them heaved a sigh of relief before breaking out into jubilant laughter. One of the greatest feats of magic they’d ever been part of had just been done expertly, and that was worth celebrating — short lived as it was. 

Alarm klaxons began to ring. First faintly from the main floor, then rapidly up to theirs. The High Archivist paused and furrowed her brow before holding up a hand meant to be calming, “Stay here, I’ll go see what’s going on.” She teleported away in an instant. 

And didn’t return. 

As soon as the first quake shook their archive Pyraelia snapped into action, “Scholar Overclock, please message Archivist Allerton, Scholar Truespell, and High Archivist Silverfield.” 

Scholar Overclock, Vivy — her friend, not her title —, gave her a peppy salute, “On it, Pyra! Operation Infodump in progress!” 

Their leadership would’ve never agreed to this plan, so they’d done it without them. The other Scholars still with her on the array furrowed their brows and started to pipe up in question but they weren’t fast enough; in the space of an instant she activated a rune on the underside of the array and every single scroll and crate of long kept knowledge in the Vermillion Archive vanished. 

The Mage Tower in Stormwind would keep it safe. So too would the Magisters in the Court of the Sun, their colleagues in Suramar and countless other major cities until it was once again safe to bring it home. 

Now was not the time to dawdle. 

She waved her hands at her colleagues, “The High Archivist hasn’t returned, something is wrong. You know our evacuation orders. It’s time to help.” With that said, she teleported down to the first floor. 

The door was off its hinges and the lobby clerk, Dolores Rivers, was dead, slumped over her desk. A smear of blood streaked down the marble stairs out into the street. The High Archivist, Asta Foy, lay crumpled against the wall of the coffee shop directly across from them. High pitched shrieks rang out from beyond sight. 

Pyraelia ran out with little regard for her own safety — same as she had when the Legion had invaded and bombarded the city. There were people to protect, her students and research assistants among them. 

Nerubians were unexpected, to say the least. She shouted with shock as a skyswarmer immediately swooped in to attack her and sent a blast of ice shards directly into its chittering mandibles with enough force to send it rocketing away from her. 

A great Hulk’s dying cry echoed across the limestone walls from well down the street and she watched with horror as one of the great spires cracked and crashed down into the ward below. Had Fiorenze gotten out? There wasn’t any time to check. A sticky woven web impacted her from the side and pinned her arm to her body, which didn’t hinder her too much — she spun on her heel and started to cast with the one that was still free and— another spatter of heavy webbing knocked her flat on her back. 

The weavemancer at the end of the line began to slowly reel her in, dragging her across the cobblestones. She tried to use a blink spell to free herself, but the webs glowed and counterspelled her immediately. 

She tried to dig her heels in to keep her away from the gigantic, armored spider that chittered with glee as it realized what a prize it had. Panic rose far too fast for her to get a grip on it as venom from its fangs dripped and singed her work robes. 

“What a delightful little fly,” was the last thing she heard before they sunk into her shoulder with a searing, terrible pain that quickly blessed her with unconsciousness. 

Where she came to wasn’t Dalaran at all.