#after only very brief respites of course

[bookwormonastring]

i am so excited

[sarahghetti]

moving day; m.k.

pairing: marc spector x reader, steven grant x reader, jake lockley x reader

summary: how marc and steven learn to live together, how you come to live with them, and how jake finally lets himself live at all.

warnings: basically a BIG character study into our boys, fluff, hurt and comfort, angst, insecurity, mentions of marc's childhood, mentions of violence, suggestive content but nothing explicit.

word count: 9.9k

notes: this one got away from me and might also be the best thing I've ever written (i'm very proud of it 😭). part of the @MOONKNIGHT-EVENTS bingo! prompt: “'is that my shirt?'”

MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST | ALL MASTERLISTS

Even though it was (and still is) under Marc’s name, the flat was Steven’s first. Marc just helped set it up a little.

He rented out the first decent unit he found in the city and kept every piece of mismatched furniture the previous tenant left behind. The essentials had to be filled in himself—a bed, couch, and desk. A table to go with that rickety stool to eat meals on, a coat rack near the doorway. The only belongings of his own that Marc left behind were his old Egyptology texts, unceremoniously shoved into a corner of one of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that he hoped Steven would like.

(The fish was unexpected, though. Steven already had everything he would need, and it was Marc’s mistake to be scrolling through Facebook Marketplace on one of his last days before he handed it all over to his alter. A complete aquarium set was being offered for next to nothing; attached: a photo of the original poster’s late goldfish. Backlit from the tank light, blank faced and innocent.

He just couldn’t move on.)

But it was Steven who then took Marc’s—their—card and ran with it. Every free surface was prime real estate for another journal, another tomb. The used bookstores of London never stood a chance; it was almost impressive to watch him scour the shelves for the most esoteric topics and still come out with his arms full of what he was looking for. Marc would wake up in the body to find Steven’s collection a little bigger than before and ghost his fingers over the spines during those brief moments of respite before having to put on the suit.

It didn’t stop at the books. Of course, it didn’t. Steven’s always had an affinity for oddities. Marc wasn’t the least bit surprised to see the new paper lantern hung over the living room, or the pumpkin-esque footstool that was coloured as though it was plucked off the vine just a tad too early.

The pieces were quaint at best. If there were any psychological meaning as to why his alter gravitated towards dingy, threadbare upholstery instead of an IKEA like a normal person, it was beyond Marc.

However, he couldn’t not admit that it all kind of worked once put together; the clashing mix of materials and colours sort of became its own style when combined under the wooden rafters. Even when the books started overfilling the storage capacity and ended up in piles on the floor—it only added to the charm.

Marc was sure to erase every trace of his presence around the flat to avoid interfering with Steven’s life, but that didn’t stop the sense of longing to return to their—Steven’s—home during missions.

It was still a mess. A mess where everything has its place, yes, but there was no way that Steven could trip over several odds-and-ends in one day and claim that he was any degree of neat or tidy. Marc silently griped to himself about it all the time, but he’d sooner eat that dusty-ass rug Steven got for free before he saw anything get thrown away.

(It was like this back when they were kids, too. Marc’s childhood bedroom in Chicago—a room he never finds himself thinking about outside of his nightmares—was filled with joy. Medals from peewee baseball. Posters from his favourite movies, carefully smoothened out and taped to the walls by his dad. Drawings by him and Randall piled at the corner of his desk.

Right after the—the accident, all his stuff remained, immortalized in place. As if keeping everything the same would somehow also make Marc’s life the same as it was before, and Randall would come bursting through his door at any moment to ask him to come play. It was an overarching belief in their household. Even on her worst days, his mother’s anger never touched their home. Only him.

But then things began to change. His old action figures, collecting dust, would be strewn about the floor, waiting for someone to continue the battle. A collection of particularly smooth rocks began appearing on his windowsill despite the fact that he hadn’t gone outside in days. He’d wake up to grass-stained jeans and a scraped knee which Marc didn’t know how he got, for once.

Steven has always been like a crow, bringing all these little gifts for Marc to enjoy—these signs of life—even when he wasn’t aware of it.)

-

Coming back from Cairo feels like it should’ve been a bigger deal than it was, but after the dust settled on Harrow and Layla decided to return stateside alone—a decision that seemed a long time coming, if Steven’s being honest—there was nothing else to do other than to go home.

They have one blissful, uninterrupted day of sleep. Steven was the one to wake up sixteen hours later, mouth dry, and instinctively panicked at the thought of losing days again before realizing that Marc was also (and still is) out cold.

When he finally woke up a few hours later, half-asleep even in the reflection of the mirror, Steven couldn’t help himself from asking, “What now, Marc?”

Because Marc was the original. Marc was the one with a real life and legal status. He might never want to walk the streets of Chicago again, but that didn’t change the fact that he only came overseas to run away. Everything around them was a temporary measure.

Marc straightens. “I won’t bother you too much, I promise.”

“You still have your own life,” Steven reminds him.

“Still—”

“Oh, don’t start—”

At least they agreed on one thing: they were going to stay in London.

Marc cleans out his storage unit, bringing home an array of bins and duffel bags and that shitty fold-up cot that he still refuses to toss. Steven immediately got him his own dresser when Marc tried to insist that he ‘didn’t have much’; that was a blaring warning that he was about to do something stupid and sacrificial, and Steven had to put his foot down before a nearby charity got a donation of some well-loved button-downs.

It’s almost funny, how predicable Marc was when unpacking. Steven watched as he pushed all their new furniture against the walls then methodically unpacked bin by bin, stacking the empties inside one another like Russian dolls. Like Steven, everything he owned had a place, even after months spent stored away. Marc was just a lot more neat about it.

“Move my stuff if you want,” Steven pipes up. Marc doesn’t react, only continuing to store his notebooks on top of a filing cabinet. “Really, I’ve already read everything on that middle shelf there—we can put them somewhere else.”

Marc glances around the bookshelves. “Aren’t these alphabetized?”

“Well, mostly, but give me an hour or two and I’ll free up some space.”

It’s like a puzzle, and Steven’s always liked puzzles. Marc’s gone quiet in their head, out of excuses as to why he can just shove all his belongings out-of-sight so that Steven wouldn’t have to go through the effort. Now, if he would just believe Steven, then he’d know that reorganizing his books was hardly any effort at all.

And even if it was—he’s been meaning to do this for a while. An alphabetized collection is great until he gets a new book, because then everything has to be shifted over, and—well. There’s a reason why there were so many books languishing on the floor.

They pass off the body like that for the rest of the day, moving things around in the flat in order to accommodate Marc. It looks no less hectic in the end, despite Marc’s best efforts to tidy up a little, but it also doesn’t look any worse, which Steven sees as a win.

There are still so many things they need to talk about. Scheduling, routines, the fact that they’re currently both out of a job—either one would be lying if they said that this new life didn’t make them a bit nervous. But when Marc finally flops down onto their bed, a movement as easy as breathing, the pieces begin to settle into place. The last of his bins have been put away. His jacket hangs beside Steven’s as if it’s always been there.

In the headspace, Steven beams. Whatever comes, however hard—they’ll face it together.

.

.

.

Somehow, Steven wakes up one day and feels great.

There are a few minutes more until his alarm goes off, but he turns it off early. The usual grogginess that accompanies him this early is completely absent, and he rolls up to a seated position without a single mental or physical protest. He feels so good, in fact, that he even considers skipping his morning cup of tea.

(He doesn’t, of course. They quickly figured out—well, Steven did, Marc already knew—that they differed in their caffeinated beverages of choice. Steven, a strong cup of Yorkshire Gold with a healthy splash of milk and a teaspoon or two of sugar. Marc, a simple drip coffee, black, made from the most generic-looking brand of medium roast beans.

Not to say that he wishes to be separate from Marc or anything of the sort, but Steven imagines his feelings to be like that of a sibling who was always dressed in matching clothes as his brother. Marc might’ve graced Steven with an interest in Egyptology from his mercenary work and Gus from his—their?—brother’s drawing a lifetime ago, but as far as they know, his preference for tea was just a quirk.

Steven likes having something just for him.)

Marc had the body last night—he must’ve gone to bed early. Must’ve drank camomile tea and avoided blue light the entire time he was fronting because Steven could run a marathon like this and still go into work afterwards. He’s about to ask Marc for his secret when he spots an unfamiliar rumple of fabric on the pillow where he laid his head.

“What’s this now?” Steven murmurs, gathering the soft material in his hands. A woman’s sweater, obviously, with its feminine cut and style and faintly sweet scent that short-circuits his brain for a moment.

It doesn’t take a genius to realize how it got inside their flat, what with how there’s a whole other person living in his head, and it would explain the strange marks he found on his neck the other day—

Heat blooms in his face and Steven nearly drops the sweater back onto the pillow in embarrassment. Distantly, he knows that he should’ve seen this coming. Marc is Marc; Steven’s witnessed the quiet confidence the man extrudes from inside their headspace and the resulting, ah, attention it attracts.

In the corner of his eye, his reflection stills. Steven doesn’t even bother turning around—just holds up the offending sweater and asks, “Fun night?”

Marc, strangely, is quiet. It’s not like he’s one to talk about his romantic pursuits, but Steven at least expected a dry comment or two. He shakes the sweater like a bag of treats until Marc scowls. “Stop that.”

“Not judging,” Steven says, “but don’t suppose you got a number? Should I make a run to the donation bin for you?”

“No.” There’s an edge to Marc’s voice, and he purses his lips when he realizes that he responded a little too fast; Steven’s questioning look is pointedly ignored. “Just leave it on my desk for now.”

“Is she coming back or is this just like a—” Steven makes an ambiguous gesture, full of innuendo “—thing for you?”

“What? No—what?”

“Okay, okay,” Steven finally lets up because the groove between his alter’s eyebrows has become something fierce. He slips out of bed to place the sweater on Marc’s desk as requested, then throws one more comment over his shoulder for good measure, “Bring her home for dinner one day, would you?”

“Steven!”

-

“Is that my shirt?” You move towards the armchair, a smile tugging at your lips as you pick up the folded garment. It’s been freshly laundered. Marc wouldn’t burden you if he could help it.

“Mhm.” He doesn’t stir from his seat on the couch, tracking your movements with fondness in his eyes. You’ve been to their place plenty over the past few months and quietly, he relishes in the domesticity.

They’re simple things, like knowing your preferred spoon in their drawer or how you like your toast; the ease in which you curl into the cushions next to him—your spot, he can’t help but note—draws a contented little sigh from him.

“You know, if you want me to do your laundry, you can just ask.”

He would. Steven would prod endlessly as he does with all things related to you, but Marc’s managed to get this far with vague explanations and stubborn hand-waving. He’d endure the nosiness if it were for you.

“Although,” he continues, giving you a once-over. His eyebrow quirks at the familiar cotton long-sleeve enveloping your torso. “I’m not even sure you have laundry anymore.”

“Well, maybe if your clothes weren’t so comfortable, I’d stop stealing them,” you tease.

(His clothes aren’t boring, Steven, just—utilitarian. Between Khonshu and his mercenary work, Marc needed plain, flexible pieces; ones that made him blend in anywhere and ready for anything. Nothing that he could get too attached too, either. Everything he wore was at risk of getting ruined by grime and/or blood and/or tearing from various weapons. Of course, he doesn’t own anything ‘nice.’

Not like Steven. Not with his hodgepodge closet filled with colours and patterns, everything just a tad too large on their frame. Marc groans about it every time he takes over in the middle of the day—just a size down, just one. But the issue is that Steven likes it like that, likes the comfort and roominess he finds in his thrifted pieces, and so Marc dropped it as a serious topic, even though he still doesn’t quite get it.)

“This why you had to wear my jacket the other day?”

Steven’s sudden appearances don’t phase Marc anymore, even when you’re around. He just gives him a slight nod without missing a beat. “At this rate, I won’t have any clothes left for you to take.”

“Guess I’ll just have to borrow something from Steven then, hm?”

Before Marc can even begin to think about what to say to that— “I think my white jumper would suit her really well.”

He shoots a glare into a nearby mirror and just barely catches a glimpse of Steven’s grin in the reflection. Part of him wants to tell Steven to stop hitting on his girlfriend, but hesitates when you look at him expectantly, still waiting for his response.

He’s not ashamed of Steven, far from it. Still, a sliver of self-consciousness worms its way into his chest at the thought of talking to him in front of you. He’s done it before, but—he knows how it can look.

You’re more perceptive than he’d like. Marc sees the moment when it clicks in your head. “Is he here right now?”

Excitement bleeds into your voice. You’ve been wanting to meet Steven for a while. Marc showing up to a date with tousled curls and a colourfully-printed button-up instead of his usual streamlined style, a slew of scribbled papers piled onto the armchair you like to lounge on, a sticky note left on one of your books (‘oooh good choice! x’)—all these things that sent panic strumming through his veins were only ever endearing to you, for some reason. It’s lessened his worry by orders of magnitude.

Still. Letting you meet Steven is one step closer to talking about his childhood. His mom. His brother. He’s given you a high- high-level view of things (“It wasn’t great.”), but the thought of going any further makes his throat tighten. There’s a whole failed marriage that proves his inability to be vulnerable.

So, it must truly be a bout of madness that makes him say, “The white one.”

“What?”

“What?”

“The white sweater,” Marc continues, because he’s already thrown himself off the bridge—there’s no use trying to backtrack now. “He says you’d look good in his white sweater.”

Your face slowly morphs into an expression of pure joy; you do nothing short of jump off the couch to bolt to their bedroom. Steven chatters excitedly in his ear, only pausing momentarily when you slip off Marc’s shirt.

“Oh! Um! She’s—she’s very—wow—" Marc feels the strangest urge to punch himself in the face again—

—And then you reappear into their field of view, a dream in fine knit. Steven’s sweater be damned, your beaming smile is more than enough to render them both speechless.

“How do I look?”

The sweater isn’t his, but it stirs the same syrupy feelings in Marc anyway. You’ve spoken about it before—and him privately with Steven—where Steven stands in your relationship with Marc. All he’s ever let himself hope for was for you and Steven to be cordial, maybe even friends. Of course, he’d have to actually let you guys speak to each other for any of that to be possible, but you two seem to have grown comfortable with each other regardless.

Now, he sees you in Steven’s clothes and his thoughts run rampant. Ours. He tests out the word and his heart skips a beat. It’s always been a possibility; one you all were open to if it ever happened. But he could never ask either of you to try to love each other on his behalf.

God, that word does something stupid to his brain—Steven’s rattling off compliments and other things of his you should try on and invites to go thrifting—and Marc just sits there, dumbfounded by his own hypothetical scenario. “Come on, Marc, say something!”

You move to stand in front of him, and his thighs part automatically to have you close. It takes your hand on his cheek, gentle as you stroke your thumb over his skin, to pull him back to reality. “You okay?”

“You look incredible.” His voice dips in the way he knowsmakes your stomach swoop, and is promptly rewarded with your flustered smile. The moment doesn’t last—not with Steven cooing in his ear over you.

A pang of possessiveness runs through Marc. That smile was for him, thank you very much.

His mouth works faster than his brain. “Steven has something to tell you.”

You light up. “Really?”

“Wants to tell you himself, actually.”

Steven splutters, nerves coming on in full force. Marc bites his tongue to keep a straight face. “Well, now, hang on a minute—”

Steven’s introduction was always going to be a well-thought-out but casual event, as to not make a circus out of it. It was just who they were, after all. They wouldn’t switch in front of you—Steven would change into his wardrobe and ‘do’ his hair beforehand; Marc worried it might be too much for you to see him but hear Steven. He would’ve prepped you both plenty in the preceding days, regardless of how necessary it was.

It definitely would not be the stunt he’s pulling right now.

Your eyes narrow at the placid look on his face, too casual to not be suspicious, but meeting Steven must outweigh the want to catch Marc in the act of whatever he’s planning because you don’t call him out, hands frozen on his face. It’s cute, watching you struggle between overt enthusiasm and not wanting to pressure them into anything.

Marc would even enjoy it a little longer if it weren’t for the confused and alarmed word vomit spilling out in his head.

“Stop messing about—I mean, it’s not—not odd, yeah? For me to front a little? Just a little chat, can’t be all that bad. Please be messing with me, but I can do it, s’not a big deal. Yeah, yeah, it’s whatever—oh, boy."

Taking pity on the poor guy, Marc quiets him with a steady glance into the mirror. “You sure, buddy?”

Slightly shrill but no less serious, “Are you sure, Marc?”

And then Marc’s fun little charade teeters on its head—is he ready for this? You and Steven wouldn’t hold it against him if he pulled the plug on it all right now, but this is the closest he’s ever gotten. The band-aid has to come off, lest he lets this fester for the length of another relationship.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his flare of panic comforted by the patience in your eyes. More confidently this time, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Steven’s smile is clear in his voice. It mirrors your own.

“About time, innit?”

-

Moving into their flat isn’t a decision you make all at once, but rather a slow, steady conclusion that you’ve been unintentionally working towards ever since you first visited.

The clothes were just the start. It’s not like you didn’t have perfectly good clothes before you met Marc, but his were just better somehow. Soft and simple, all in that neutral colour scheme he seemed to gravitate towards. The warm, woodsy scent of his aftershave clings to the fabric, making you want to bury your nose into the garments and go right back to the source—

You just couldn’t help yourself from borrowing something whenever you came over.

(That pleased, half-lidded gaze you receive each time you slip on his shirt, or his heated touch whenever he drapes his jacket over your shoulders during chilly morning afters—well. Those are just a bonus.)

So, maybe you left a shirt or two behind in the process. And maybe you realized that you should probably have a pair of sweatpants there as well, and a good book to read during quiet nights in. Once, you forgot your toothbrush only for Marc to pull out an extra from their medicine cabinet; now you have a toothbrush in their bathroom.

After you finally met Steven and his adorable, eclectic self—all bets were off. You bond while scouring vintage shops and finding new pieces for the flat. A little basket of throw blankets gets added to the living room (always neatly sorted by Marc, without fail). Candles—tall and stout, festive and fruity and spiced—start to litter the shelves. A particularly good haul at a used bookstore, a bit heavy for you to carry home, is instead slotted amongst their collection; the contemporary fonts and colourful covers are a stark contrast against the yellowing older texts, and you love it.

Your fingerprints are all over the place by the time Marc officially empties some space in his dresser for you, uncharacteristically avoiding your eyes as he speaks, “Just in case you wanted to keep some more stuff here.”

You were already using their closets before then (in both the storing-your-clothes sense and the stealing-their-clothes sense); you’ve practically taken over one of his drawers. But to give you one outright, to admit that he’s carved out some space just for you instead of silently accommodating your things as he always has—

“Thank you, Marc,” you whisper, brimming with emotion that you wonder if you’ll ever be able to fully express. He’ll flit about and clean and care for you because words will never capture the depth of his feelings. You see this for what it is, like all the gestures that have come before: a declaration.

“Thank you,” you repeat, and press a soft kiss onto the corner of his mouth. “I love you, too.”

It’s not much long after when Steven comes home from work grinning like a madman, one hand held behind his back. He beelines towards you, not even bothering to put his bag down.

“Hey, you.” You peck his lips and feel his smile stretch impossibly wider. “What’s got you all riled up?”

The words come out in a rush. “Havesomethingforyou.”

“Oh?”

“Close your eyes.” You can’t help but laugh a little as you follow the direction; Steven’s excitement is utterly infectious. “Okay, now hold out your hand.”

“If you give me a bug, I swear to God—”

“I would never.” His seriousness is a bit too heavy-handed, and you get a feeling you’re going to need to be on guard for a while.

You’re distracted, however, by the brush of his skin as he places something small and rigid into your palm. The metal is warm from being clasped inside his hand, but the shape is so familiar that you recognize what it is immediately.

“You can open—”

You’re already looking down—at the silver key to the flat nestled in your hand. Lonesome without the Koala plushie on Steven’s keyring, without the little charm you got for Marc’s—no, it’s meant to be your copy.

“We were thinking, right,” he starts before your heart has the opportunity to beat right out your chest, “Marc and I—well, you’re here with us most of the time. You should have your own key. Beats having to come grab mine from the museum, right?”

You let out a choked little laugh, too caught up to remind him that the only reason why you went to the museum was because else he would’ve dropped everything to deliver the keys himself. Spent his entire break and then some to commute back home so that you wouldn’t have to wait for his shift to be over, even though you could’ve amused yourself just fine outside until then.

“Yeah,” is all you manage to get out before stepping forward, burying your face in his chest as you wrap your arms around his torso. Steven’s love is unbridled; he holds you close, going on about how glad he is—how glad they both are—to have you, how he was practically bouncing off the walls at the locksmith, waiting for the key to be cut.

They’ve been your home for so long now that while the new addition onto your keyring makes you giddy and smile stupidly whenever you get to use it, it also just feels right. You go grocery shopping with Marc and watch him scrutinize apples like they personally offended him. Steven tangles your legs together as you wind down in the evenings, and always always smiles whenever he catches you looking at him. You rank the restaurants around the neighbourhood and line your favourite mugs beside each other on the shelf; you sit in the comforting quiet of the flat and wonder how you got so lucky.

When it’s eventually time to renew your lease, there’s no decision to be made. You’re relieved from dinner prep to write the email to your landlord on their couch. It’s sent off with no fanfare and quickly forgotten about when Marc’s voice rings out, asking what you want to eat.

“Anything,” you say, the ghost of a smile on your lips; he hates it when you say that. Marc grumbles a little, but you mean it this time. You have them and they have you. Curled up in one of Steven’s sweaters, Marc’s playlist on low in the background—anything is just fine by you.

.

.

.

You are the bane of Jake’s existence.

First, you meet Marc. Terrible. Khonshu is riding his ass about a mission in Liverpool—they’ve now been geolocked to stay under the radar—and Marc plans a date. An actual, Godforsaken date with a set time, throwing a wrench into their plans because Steven’s been scheduled to work on the surrounding days as well. How is he supposed to sneak off to the other side of the country now?

Even worse, you stick around. There are more dates between the two of you. For how much he hates texting, Marc responds promptly whenever you send him something. He frets over what to wear before picking you up. You stay over at the flat and he holds you in his sleep like he’s afraid you’ll disappear; Jake has been unluckily enough to wake up in the middle of the night, planning to slip away, only to be hit with the scent of your shampoo in his nose.

Then—and then—Marc has the bright idea to introduce you to Steven. The hope that this is just a casual, temporary thing is dashed away the second Jake sees that lovesick expression on the idiota. It’s more overt than Marc’s, but still the same blaring warning sign that Jake’s life is only about to get harder from here.

Keeping a low profile has become incredibly difficult since the others decided to be normal. Marc never questioned whenever Jake took over in a tight spot, too hyped up on adrenaline and too stubborn about their condition to follow up on his blackouts after the fight was done. Steven was clueless about everything for those first few months, then just blamed his blackouts on Marc.

But now? They talk to each other. They have a year-long calendar on the fridge with a magnetic pen holder to keep track of their schedules, colour-coded blue (for Marc) and green (for Steven). They’ve gotten distracted and added another consciousness for Jake to deceive in order to do his thing. He can’t take the body for more than a few hours, and certainly not by force, without drawing suspicion.

Jake’s happy for them. Really, he is. They’ve finally begun to move on from the trauma of their childhood into something that resembles a normal life. Steven’s gotten rehired at the museum as a tour guide. Marc’s taken up security consulting. And despite their respective anxiousness and ten-foot-walls, you bring them peace.

But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s Khonshu’s avatar now. That a lifetime ago, when the work began to wear down on Marc in all the worst ways, Jake was the one who cut a deal with the god for his release. All he had to do was take his place.

(Foresight might not be his strong suit, but he refuses to take responsibility for what happened next. He could never have imagined all the puppetry that’d occur with Layla in the mix, or that they’d actually divorce one of these days and end up with someone new.

Except this time, you know about their system and not about Khonshu. He wonders how well you’d take that whole mess.)

In short—Marc and Steven still need him. He can’t just up and disappear into the recesses of their mind; he has a job to do.

So, when Steven presses that fucking key into your hand, Jake’s so frustrated he could scream. Unfettered access to the flat—as if you weren’t there enough already. As if he weren’t already jumping through every hoop imaginable, just to keep his existence a secret. He would’ve made them drop the copy down the nearest gutter on the way home if he didn’t know that they would simply go right back to the locksmith and ask for another.

Steven watches as you slip it onto your keychain; that all-encompassing, vibrant burst of joy in their chest be damned—you are the worst thing to ever happen to Jake, even if you might be the best thing to ever happen to them.

-

Steven had the flat, Marc had his storage unit, and Jake?

Jake has his car.

Multiple, actually, but the limousine is the legal one (thanks for your identity, Marc) and serves as his homebase. Supplies are stashed in compartments around the cabin—weapons, clothes, cash—and with its heavily tinted windows, he can do anything he wants inside and passersby would be none the wiser. When Khonshu’s booming voice echoes around his brain about some new target, at least Jake can recline into a soft leather seat.

The only issue is that he can’t keep everything there. No, the parking garage is a fair distance away from the flat and sometimes, he doesn’t have the opportunity to make the trip before setting off. This means that he has to keep a change of clothes in the flat to avoid accidentally ruining some of Steven’s or Marc’s. He’d never actually wear anything of Steven’s to begin with (at least, not on a mission), but Marc’s wardrobe is minimal by choice—if something went missing or got a new, unexplained hole in it, he’d notice.

That’s why Jake is currently slinking through their living room, ready to change back into Steven’s pajamas before hiding his clothes on the loft above their bed. Nothing up there but empty bins and poster tubes. Marc regularly dusts the area during his monthly deep cleans, so Jake doesn’t even have to worry about leaving behind any tracks.

It was an easy job tonight, done in little less than an hour and not a speck on Jake to show for it. He could take a shower if he wanted—you’re staying over at a friend’s place right now, as noted in red on the calendar. But he shouldn’t keep the body for longer than necessary; they still need sleep, after all.

He slips off his flat cap, groaning as he runs a hand through his hair. God, they’re getting old. Even this stolen hour will be felt by whoever wakes up in the morning, slightly slower and groggier than usual.

(Jake doesn’t think about the future—has never needed to. The only future that exists to him is the next minute, and the minute after that, and what he has to do to ensure the body makes it there. Him and Marc were similar in that aspect for a long, long time.

That calendar on the fridge, while helpful to his vigilantism, stirs something uncomfortable in his gut. He’s seen them flip through the months to mark down birthdays and reservations. Vacations, work events—Marc’s going on a completely normal, non-violent work trip, which Jake still can’t quite wrap his head around—and it’s all so far ahead.

How can they be so sure that nothing will change between now and then? That their life won’t blow up again, and force them on the run? Everything they add is just another handful of salt to be pressed into the wound when it all goes to hell. But they still write things on that stupid calendar. Confident, excited even, about the plans they think will come to pass.

How do they know?)

There’s a rustling in the bedroom.

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck—

“Marc?”

You shift a little under the covers, trying to peer at him through the darkness. Jake’s never been more grateful for Marc’s sensible taste in fashion; with only a silhouette to go by, of course you’d mistake him for Marc—straight-cut jeans, a collared jacket. His flat cap would tip you off though, and he presses it into his chest to hide it from your line of sight. Marc would never wear a flat cap.

He forces a casual tone. “Hm?”

A small sigh of relief escapes you as your head falls back onto the pillow. Still watching him, though, you mumble, “Bad dream?”

You know about Marc’s time in the military and as a mercenary. Not everything, obviously, but enough. Jake nods, and can imagine the worried purse of your lips in the shadows. In the best impression he can manage, his accent turns Chicagoan. “Just had to take a walk.”

If he were really Marc, he’d already be in bed by now, letting you brush curls away from his face and press a kiss against the furrow of his brow. If he were really Marc, he’d ask you why you were back here instead of with your friends as expected, and you’d talk things out until dozing off in a tangle of limbs, comforted by each other’s presence.

But Jake’s not Marc. He brushes off the subtle tightening of his chest as just a lingering remnant from his alters. The body knows you, even if Jake doesn’t. It doesn’t mean anything to him.

You whine, a sleepy and pitiful but inviting noise from the back of your throat as he continues to stand in the living room. Alarm bells go off in his head; he has to placate you before you get up and try to drag him over yourself.

“Just need to change,” he says, soft and low, warmth injected into every word. Nausea courses through him, to his own confusion, as he continues to play Marc. This should be easier—he’s been hiding for as long as he can remember. This is probably the tamest thing he’s done to keep his cover. “Go back to sleep, I’ll be there in a second, okay?”

He takes two steps towards the kitchen then stops, feigning—feigning something, fuck if he knows—waiting for your breathing to level out again. Silence falls over the flat, but Jake’s mouth runs dry.

There’s no way you don’t bring this up to them in the morning, and there’s no way they won’t immediately suspect another alter. They know he exists, have seen the aftermath of when he fronts. It’s only his secrecy that has kept them off his back for this long, and it will all come crashing down in a few hours.

For better or for worse, he’ll have to meet the others soon.

-

Marc will never tire of waking up beside you. Even though there’s a heaviness weighing him down, body aching for just a few more minutes, he pushes through because you’re already awake. With one hand on his chest, the other tracing over his jaw—the small, lazy smile on your face has already made his day.

You turned over while he was asleep, but his arm is still slung over your waist; he pulls you closer to press a kiss onto your forehead. Lips moving against your skin, “Morning, baby.”

“Morning,” you murmur. “Feel better?”

Mind hazy from sleep, Marc doesn’t question the odd wording. He just let’s himself settle into the lingering fatigue, leaning into your touch as his eyes flutter shut again. “M’tired. Stay with me a little longer?”

Concern laces your tone. “Was the dream that bad?”

That breaks through to him. He peers at you curiously, more alert than before. “What do you mean?”

You blink, confused. “Your nightmare last night. You left to take a walk?”

Marc sits up, furrowing his brow. Reality seeps in, and he checks the date on his phone. Aren’t you supposed to be—? “I thought you were staying over at a friend’s place.”

“I was going to, but she had a family emergency—I came back here around three. Don’t worry, they walked me home,” you explain with a soft pat of your hand at the end. That—that is one mystery solved, and he is glad to hear that you weren’t walking alone at night, but his shoulders remain taut with tension. His mind gets caught on a detail.

“Three?” He’s a light sleeper, he would’ve woken up when you came into bed. But—your words replay in his mind. He wasn’t here when that happened, was he? “I went on a walk?”

His stress begins to spill over to you, and you prop yourself up on an elbow, fiddling at the blankets. “Um, yeah. We spoke a little when you came back—I was already in bed, remember?”

A pit opens up in his stomach, and the words die in this throat. Marc does not, in fact, remember. He apparently went outside in the middle of the night, long enough for you to come home and settle in without him, then had a whole conversation upon return—and none of it is familiar to him. Not even a hint of déjà vu.

He throws off the covers, on his feet in seconds despite your protests. All hisblackouts, the ones he thought were finished after traversing the Duat—

That third sarcophagus—

Is this what it was like for Steven? To wake up, not knowing what your body has done, where it’s been—if it’s hurt someone?

Marc might actually puke if he thinks about it for too long. And God, you live with them now: him, Steven, and what Marc wishes was a complete unknown. But the truth is—they aren’t an unknown. No, Marc is fully aware of what this alter is capable of.

“Oh, bugger, what’s going on?” Steven must feel his panic, reflects it in kind. He must be expecting bloodshed with how fast their heart is racing.

Marc says nothing and flings open the tri-mirror on the wall, bracing himself with both hands on the sink below. He sees himself in the center, a bull primed to fight. Steven’s to the left, so fearful he’s nearly frozen still. And to the right—

To the right—

-

So. Jake hasn’t really prepared for this situation, to be honest.

He’ll face anything head-on to keep the body safe, but imagining himself as the threat? Never crossed his mind. There’s anger in their blood, and Marc’s liable to cracking the porcelain with his grip. If looks could kill, Jake would be dead ten times over.

The few times he wondered what it would be like to actually meet Marc and Steven, the worst that could happen was that they disliked him. Unfortunate, but he’d live. He didn’t need their approval to do his job.

But through the blood rushing in their ears, he can hear you; still in bed, barely breathing as you watch everything unfold. And that’s when he remembers—

You are the bane of his existence.

Because Marc and Steven aren’t just thinking about their own self-preservation. No, now they have you to protect, and the lengths that they would go to do that, well—Jake begrudgingly has to admit that they might rival some of his own efforts for them.

He’d let them stare at themselves forever in the mirror if it weren’t for that fact. They would never give up on trying to talk to him. Steven was clever enough with the sand and tape and ankle restraint; he doesn’t want to think about what sort of traps they’d create with Marc in the mix. Jake would probably still evade them all, but they’d drive themselves crazy in their attempts.

They’ve really left him no choice. For the first time, he lets himself be seen.

-

You’ve watched Marc and Steven talk to each other plenty of times. It’s really no big deal. They’re just normal conversations where you can only hear one side, and usually taken through the nearest reflective surface.

But this? This is an interrogation. Marc slackens his jaw for just a moment before everything in him tenses again. He speaks through clenched teeth, as if barely controlling the severity of his thoughts—you can’t help but brace yourself for impact. “Who are you?”

The pause as he waits for the other alter, whoever they are, to respond is maddening. It wasn’t quite fear that gripped you when you realized that it wasn’t Marc last night—to be honest, you don’t know what to feel—but the scene in front of you has you reevaluating your initial reaction.

That initial reaction being, well—the same thing you felt when you Marc told you about Steven: curiosity. You wanted to meet Steven. Almost begged for the chance near the end. Whoever this is—

“Jake.”

The name grates itself out of Marc’s throat, and you cling to the information like a life raft.

“Jake.” You can’t help but test it out on your tongue, squinting a little as you look at your boyfriend and try to see yourself calling him that. Marc looks towards you. There’s a storm of emotions in his eyes, but there’s no time to decipher any of them—a moment later, he turns back towards the mirror with a scowl.

“Why should I believe you?” The lines on his face deepen; Marc grits his teeth so hard you yearn to hold him, but you’re frozen to the spot.

“I don’t know that. After you—” his eyes dart between you and his reflection so fast, you might’ve imagined it “—after what you’ve done?”

A wave of dread washes over you.

He’s not talking about last night.

No, Marc—Marc has interacted with Jake before, and whatever happened must’ve crossed a line. Must’ve crossed several lines because of how he’s acting right now, and you want to bury yourself under the covers, still fisted tightly in your hands.

He laughs bitterly. The sound rakes through your ears. “You call that protecting us?”

Your blood runs cold. With no real context and spiked with adrenaline, your mind runs rampant with the possibilities, connects all the worst dots.

There’s no way—

“Lay a hand on her and I swear—”

You want to run and you want to hide and you want their arms around you, assuring you of—of anything. You need to leave this building and also never go outside again, because your head begins to pound with each thought that passes through.

You can still see the worry flare in Marc’s eyes when you accidentally grabbed the handle of a hot pan, the dutiful and tender way he held your hand under the tap for no less than fifteen minutes—

You can still hear Steven’s babbling when your new shoes rubbed your ankles red and raw while on a walk, distracting you from the pain the best he could until you got back home—

You are just so acutely aware of their love—that Marc and Steven would never dare hurt you. It’s impossible to reconcile your memories of them with the picture that’s being painted of Jake right now.

No. You can’t believe it.

You’re not even hearing their conversation anymore, your heartbeat is too loud. Breathing returns to you in a rush—you never even realized you stopped—and your vision swims with light-headedness.

None of it makes sense.

It—it can’t—

The mattress dips beside you, but you barely feel it. Someone’s cupping your cheeks, grounding you back into the flat, your home, and you know these hands. You know this voice, soothing in your ear, even as you shut your eyes.

They say that they’re sorry. They say that you’ll be okay.

They call you princesa.

-

It feels strange walking around the flat, knowing that he’s welcome there now.

Jake’s seen every nook and cranny through Marc and Steven, but to actually be able to explore the place himself—he’s like a kid in a toy store. He can’t help but run his fingers over everything. The spines on the bookshelves, the mismatched dishware in the cabinets. That velvet throw pillow, which you are so fond of playing with during movies—yeah, he gets it.

He’s not going to be talking to you for a while, though. After his rocky first meeting with Marc and Steven, which also coincides with the absolute worst possible first meeting with you—

It’s best to steer clear for a while.

Jake let the other two do the explaining. He watched silently as Marc told you about his past—told you about why he was discharged from the Marines and the scenes he’d wake up to after Jake had fronted—hands shaking as they held onto yours. He watched as Steven took over when it got to be too much, adding in the finer details and clarifications, steadier but no less genuine than Marc. Their arms were gentle as Steven held you in their lap, patient as you stumbled through how you felt.

“Marc seemed so mad at Jake.” You clutched at Steven’s shirt, sniffling into his neck. “I didn’t know what was happening, I—I was scared.”

No. Jake furiously shakes his head as if it would jostle the memory out of his brain. Just thinking about it threatens to unravel him, and he has to keep it together. He’s on thin ice as is.

You had been the one to temper their emotions—the sight of you panicking on their bed grinding all other issues to a halt. The conversation couldn’t continue until you were okay, and this time, Steven kept you in the loop.

Steven is wary. Steven needles him about what he’s been doing all this time, asks him what he’s going to do now with short little mhms. Steven is also the one to buy a new set of pens (because black is already used for non-individual specific events) and designates him as orange.

Marc doesn’t trust Jake at all and admits it outright. It’s—it stings more than he thought it would, but he understands. He always knew that Marc would take a while to come around, especially with you to consider—

Jake doesn’t know why he worries so much about your opinion. Protecting you is an extension of protecting the body, but he never used to care about what Marc or Steven had to say. He hates the caution in your voice when you talk about him and can’t help but appreciate you trying anyways.

He pinches himself. You’re not his to think about, period.

Acknowledging his existence also, sort of, comes with accepting it. Steven somehow finds the space for another dresser in their already cramped bedroom. Jake doesn’t even have enough possessions in general to fill that thing—not counting all the weapons and ammo that Marc would definitely have their head for if he brought them into the flat.

It’s an olive branch on both sides, though. They’re committing to having him around. He’s committing to being around, instead of lurking in the background of their lives.

His clothes only fill up the first drawer but—it’s nice. Jake stares at the thing a lot more than a used, scratched-up piece of furniture probably warrants. He can barely admit it to himself but this, all of it—going outside during the day, eating a freshly-cooked meal, even just relaxing in bed without immediately trying to go to sleep in order to Protect the Body—it really is just nice.

(Since when did he describe anything as nice?)

Then—your keys turn in the door.

.

.

.

Jake hits the eject button so fast, Steven’s probably going to get whiplash.

“Nice reflexes,” he grumbles as you enter the flat. It was funny the first few dozen times. Now? That twat’s just being a coward.

“I’m home!” You call out as Steven rounds the corner to greet you, tote bag nearly bulging in your hand. He pecks your lips as he helps you out of your jacket, then hangs it up beside the three others on the rack. “There was a little creators’ market in the park—you should’ve seen it!”

“Think I’m seeing it now,” he chuckles, moving to help you with your tote. You slink past him at the last second, grinning. “Come on, love, show us what you got!”

“They’re gifts! Just hang on.” You place the bag on the dining table and enraptured, he pulls up a stool. His head rests on his chin as he waits for you to unpack. “Okay, first, for Marc—”

You reach your hand inside and reveal a pair of black leather gloves. Not driving gloves like Jake’s—there’re far less embellishments all around. But they’re warm and flexible, perfect for colder weather. Inside, the lining is made with a material so soft that when trying one on, Steven can’t help but laugh a little in disbelief.

“Treading on my territory, pendejo?”

Marc snipes back, “Like you own a monopoly on leather gloves.”

Steven lets Marc pull to the front. An easy smile spreads on his face as he flexes his hand, testing his movement. “Thanks, baby. I really like them.”

He takes your chin into his gloved hand to thank you properly, slotting his lips against yours with no shortage of appreciation. His grip is an anchor, holding you in place as he kisses you, deep and languid. Like you have all the time in the world despite the heat flickering across his skin. When Marc gets like this, it’s not long before you start squirming under him, and your hands paw at his neck for something more.

That’s his cue to finally pull away, smirking as he traces your bottom lip with his thumb. Whether it’s the leather or him or both, he can see the effect on you, the dazed look you give him when you bat your eyes open.

Let Jake try and beat that.

“Oi! Share!”

Marc sighs. Drops his forehead to yours and reluctantly doesn’t continue any further. “Steven wants his gift now.”

“Oh,” you laugh a little, realizing the situation you’ve put yourself in. “Maybe I should’ve done Steven’s first.”

Marc steals one more kiss before retreating again, and Steven is back, clearly eager for many different reasons now. After putting Marc’s new gloves to the side, you don’t make him wait a second longer; you pull out a stunning new button-up, deep navy with a pattern of large teal palm leaves and hints of salmon accents all over.

All traces of joy disappear from Marc’s voice. “Oh, my fucking God.”

“She’s an enabler. I can’t believe it.”

Steven gapes, amazed. “How did you—”

“I had to go digging,” you admit, gesturing widely. “There were so many racks, we need to go back! I only had my one bag!”

“There’s no way people actually buy this stuff.”

“Ahh, well, it’s not that bad—"

“Are you kidding me?”

Ignoring the fashion police in his head, Steven immediately switches shirts and tosses the old one somewhere behind him. Based on Marc’s grunt, he missed the couch, but also can hardly find himself to care.

He doesn’t even bother doing up the buttons, because he knows where you’ll put your hands when he descends upon your face. Kiss after kiss on your cheeks, forehead, and nose, and soon enough you’re giggling loudly into the air. Your hands are warm against his bare torso, pulling him closer even as their stubble tickles your skin.

“Stevie—Steven! There’s one more!”

He’s not letting you off that easily, though, and finally captures your lips with his. That does buy him a few more blissful seconds until you manage to push him away; breathing heavily, you point sternly in his direction—behave.

Steven schools his expression into one of perfect obedience, teasing, but you barely even react. With one glance back down at the table, it’s like the tote bag sucked away your excitement, leaving shy uncertainty in its wake. You’re biting your lip as you reach for the last gift, quiet.

Marc hums, trying to figure out what’s wrong. Steven offers you an encouraging little smile and is about to say something when you produce the last gift in a rush, still not meeting their eyes.

It’s a simple wool scarf, colour-blocked in soft browns and greys. He waits as you fiddle with it in your hands, trying to find the words.

“He doesn’t have a scarf,” you blurt out. When Steven doesn’t respond immediately, you continue. “Jake, I mean—I don’t think he has one. I thought it would be nice.”

He follows your gaze to the coat rack near the door, filled with four sets of outerwear. It clearly doesn’t fit all the jackets owned in the household, but his favourite is hung up next to Marc’s, which is hung up beside your overcoat and Jake’s collared jacket. Various cold weather accessories are layered onto the hooks as well, multiple pairs of gloves, hats—but there are only three scarves.

Come to think of it, Steven hasn’t seen Jake ever wear a scarf either. “You’re right, love. Doesn’t his neck get cold? I know our neck gets cold.”

The corners of your mouth tug up a little and he grins, triumphant. He tunes into his head, making sure he doesn’t miss any of Jake’s reaction, but nothing comes. That’s odd. It doesn’t feel like he’s gone, more like—holding his breath.

“Think he’ll like it?” You tilt your head, though your true question is clear on your face.

The words can’t come out of Jake fast enough. “I’m not here right now.”

“Jesus, man.”

Steven huffs but covers for his alter; they’ll press him about it another time. “Once he sees it, I don’t think he’ll ever take it off.”

The gloves and scarf are added to the coat rack, which is liable to falling over one of these days due to the heavy load it’s carrying. With no shortage of complaining from Marc, Steven picks up his discarded shirt and tosses it into the laundry basket. It’s almost full—he makes a note to do a load later this week.

He must look ridiculous, parading around in an undone button-up, but you have nothing but fondness for him when he returns to cuddle with you on the couch. You’ve changed into Marc’s sweater and have to move no less than five decorative pillows in order to make enough space.

Marc makes a distressed noise when Steven throws one of them to the side. “It’s fine—”

It hits the standing lamp and you both freeze as you watch it teeter on its base, creaking ominously. After a moment, it steadies again.

“It’s only fine because of your weak throw.”

Steven splutters as he pulls you into his side. “We have the same arm!”

They bicker about the mechanics of their body, whether muscle memory crosses over when they switch or not. Marc is squarely of the opinion: No. Steven reminds him of when he punched the Jackal, and the conversation continues to devolve. Jake refrains from getting involved but spurs them on regardless with a well-placed snicker here and there.

It’s an aimless argument that has you burying your face in your hands because you’re laughing too hard; one of many that have taken place and one of many that have yet to occur.

In the morning, Marc will cook you breakfast and throw an eggshell into the bin from across the kitchen just to prove a point. Steven will go back to the market with you to buy armfuls of his favourite clothing and home goods, and he’ll add one more to his bag for every snide comment Marc makes. And Jake—

Jake will take a little while longer until he feels ready to speak to you, but you see the scarf gather raindrops and the warm, woodsy smell of their aftershave as he wears it every time he goes outside. Always see it hung up neatly on the rack, on top of his jacket so it can properly dry.

And with all four of you settled in, their cluttered little flat in London—long overflowing with books and clothes, your favourite comforts and some truly unique furniture—finally started to feel complete.

[genshxn]

guess who wants to (honkai: star) rail another dragon man. there is also (un)fortunately no (star) railing in this.

written pre 1.3 so i’m making shit up for now. (this is also full of vidyadhara headcanons)

in which you find dan heng unable to sleep, you have an awkward conversation, and then he becomes somewhat dragon-brained. twice.

4.2K words (lmao this is way longer than i meant it to be)

you’re not the trailblazer, just another laddie aboard the express.

btw, i bullshited a good chunk of the dialogue and events, so apologies if this is shite. i might've also committed character vehicular manslaughter, in that he might be ooc. lol fingers crossed it's aight.

part 2’s finally up if you wanna read it here

despite the quiet of the night, you had drifted from your sleep. it had been painfully light as of recent, leaving you adrift in the shallows while you’d toss and turn for a comfortable position. could you really be blamed though? yes, the looming threat of phantylia had been taken out, and everyone from the express that went aboard the luofu had been reunited after what felt like weeks. but you were still in the thick of an intricate web of chaos. the threats were far from over, not with the stellaron still active. but at least for now, you had enough time in this brief respite to be able to not fucking sleep.

you rolled over. you were more or less itching with restlessness, sighing to yourself quietly over your woes of no sleep. you rose from your mussed bed and hobbled out of the room. it was a quaint little place—where you had stayed when it was just the express crew (minus dan heng), when you'd first met tingyun. after that, everything happened like a landslide. memories of her sudden death quickly boiled their way up. with each step you took, you stamped them back down again.

out in the small hallway, you made your way towards the small courtyard out the back. as you walked past the other rooms, you were a little jealous at the sounds of others sleeping. from mr. yang's and march’s respective rooms was the odd, soft snore. from stelle’s room, there was nothing (which was to be expected, as you often found her out messing with the cycrane systems at night). as you walked past dan heng’s room, you were expecting more silence—which you were of course met with, but also a slitted door. you peered through into the darkness. from the dim hallway light, it seemed he had also tried and failed at sleep if his abandoned, nest-like sheets were anything to go by.

you continued to the courtyard. once you cracked open the door, you were met with an unexpected sight. moonlight caught on the black, silken strands that spilt down his back. a glassy, teal tail coiled around his feet, almost glinting in the light with each of its subtle movements. dan heng, wearing his simple night clothes of old, baggy slacks and a tight, black tank top. his ears twitched as you slid the door open further. when you stepped onto the stone tiles, he cast you an over-shoulder glance—a new habit he’d picked up recently.

"can’t sleep either?" you asked him softly, approaching from behind. 

the only response he gave was a strained groan, dragging a hand over his face.

"i take that as a no, then," you said, moving over to sit in another stool at the small table just next to him. as you went past, his tail wound tighter around the foot of his seat. 

"i take it that it’s the same for you," he muttered in reply, jade eyes cast somewhere on the ground between him and you. 

"yep." you leaned against the table next to you, arm propping up your head. your eyes flickered to his face. "and not because i’ve been up playing gacha games."

he briefly met your gaze, eyebrows quirked in doubt.

"okay, i don’t do it anywhere near as much as stelle." 

"right," he said with the faintest hint of a smile. the tip of his tail twitched in amusement. "her room was very quiet when i walked past, though. perhaps she’s mended her ways." 

"i think she’s out screwing with the cycranes instead, actually." 

"of course she is," he breathed as he raked a hand through his long hair. as you watched it pass through the delicate tresses, you stared intently at his claws. after his initial transformation, to say you were floored was an understatement. perhaps more like you were punched 50,000 feet below sea level. he could really only be described as beautiful, but even that word couldn’t quite capture his ethereality. even when he was as exhausted as he looked now, he still seemed to glow—quite literally, too. his eyes and those horns atop his head shone faintly in the dark. when someone was that pretty, how could one not be reduced to a staring fool? particularly you.  as of recent, you’ve ended up forgetting you’re supposed to actually talk to him when he’s with you. and if you did remember to ever say anything, you’d make a fool of yourself. 

he watched your gaze affixed to his hands. he took one look at them and then wrung them in his lap, looking off to the side with an unreadable emotion in his eyes. 

"ah, i’m sorry—" you began, but he quickly cut you off. 

"it’s fine," he said hurriedly, tail coiling up tighter.

"no, really. i know i’ve been acting pretty weir—" 

"i said it’s fine. please, just leave it." he said again. he unwound himself just a little, but the tense line of his shoulders still had yet to dissipate. his gaze wandered a little more back towards you. "may i ask what’s keeping you up?" 

you weren’t thrilled at the spontaneous topic change, but replied nonetheless. "just about everything, i guess. a lot’s been going on. it’s hard to take any time to rest with a stellaron still effectively looming overhead," you said. "though i could only imagine it’s about that, but tenfold for you, given the whole..." you gestured vaguely to his whole new look. 

he dragged a hand down his face, rubbing his sleepy eyes in the process. "i don’t want to think about the stellaron for now…"

"agreed. shall we put a pin in that topic, then?"

"that would be ideal."

the two of you sat in more silence. you were (only half) guiltily back to staring at his features, eyes running over all parts of him. he seemed to shrink under your gaze, ears and tail twitching with thought. his eyes drifted up to look at you—oh, there was something new. his pupils must dilate or constrict based on what he was looking at. when his eyes met yours, you could have sworn they momentarily expanded, until his eyes flickered away again, waning right back to slits. at the same time, his ears angled themselves down just a touch. 

"a—are you feeling okay?" you asked, tilting your head a little. he made a small groan and shelled further into himself. you didn’t think you had ever seen him that tense. "hey, look at me. are you alright?" your voice was as soft as you could make it. you tried to reach out to the arm he had leaning on the table, but it was in vain. he inched away moments before contact.

"i—" his tail-tip continued to flicker with apprehension. 

"well, something else is definitely bothering you. can you talk to me about it?"

"m-must i?" he was almost hiding his face.

"only if you want to," you shuffled yourself a little closer to him. "but if it’s weighing this much on you, it may make you feel a little lighter. so you can sleep. y’know." while you spoke, you gestured somewhat vaguely. ever since his vidyadhara heritage was put on full display, he hadn’t quite been the same as you knew him. he was more tense than usual. on-edge and anxious, preoccupied with his own thoughts, much unlike the down-to-earth dan heng you normally knew. it worried you. he wasn’t even really speaking to mr. yang. with everything that had been going on, you could barely begin to imagine what sort of turmoils he had churning within him. 

"i suppose one thing is that i’m simply not used to this form," he ran a clawed, slender finger up from the base of his horn to the tip. "there’s a strange disparity between feeling like i’ve known myself to be like this my whole existence, but also that i’m suddenly someone i’m not." as he spoke, his voice was quiet. "in a similar vein, it’s like my tail has a mind of its own. look at it," he grumbled while he picked it up into his lap. as he held it bundled in his arms, the tip hung over the side, twitching to and fro. "i’m not trying to make it do that. i can’t control it." he sighed, a slight growl in his throat. 

"wouldn’t it do that because you’ve been so… frazzled, as of recent?" 

"what makes you think that?" 

"um…" how were you supposed to tell him that you only had that theory because you had been constantly stealing glances of him, watching his moods, watching his languid beauty. instead, you thought of some other bullshit answer. "i mean, it’d make sense, wouldn’t it? it’s like cats. their tails twitch when they’re irritated, and i’m sure they can’t quite control it." 

he frowned a little, ears twitching downward. "i’m not a cat," he said, almost with a little pout. 

maybe not, but he was certainly cute like one. "anyway, what you said about your new features…" you began, scratching the back of your head. to your surprise, he looked at you with eyes just a little wider than normal. "i could only imagine how weird it must be for you… who am i kidding, no i couldn’t. it’s probably downright foreign, but you’re dan heng. i’m sure you’ll have it under control in no time." 

with his hands on his knees, he aimlessly grabbed at fistfuls of his loose pants. "you…" he muttered, wetting his lips as he swallowed thickly once again. 

"me?" you echoed quietly.

"forgive me for asking something so asinine, but… what… do you think?" as he muttered out the words, you could have sworn his face was turning a light shade of pink. however, it was hard to tell under only the moon and the dim lights of the courtyard. what you could tell was that his tail-tip was twitching like a bundle of nerves.

you stared at him with owlish eyes. "what do i think of what?" 

"what do you think of… me. as i am now?" 

your breath caught in your throat for a moment as he stared at you with such apprehensive eyes. they were slitted from nerves, but they shone with the moonlight, expectation and most curiously, some sort of hope. "um…"

"i’ve noticed how much you stare at me, yet you said nothing when you first saw me, unlike mr. yang or march. now, you feel almost stilted when you’re with me, like you refuse to address what’s in front of you." 

you swallowed hard at his words. "didn’t stelle also not…" you trailed off. you were doing it again, what he quite literally just said. 

"i’ve spoken to her since then. i’m asking you." he seemed to have regained a little confidence, sitting up straighter and looking at you with the slightest bit more intensity.

now it was your turn to grab at fistfuls of your clothes. you fidgeted with the hem of your shirt as you spoke, heart pounding a mile a minute. "you’ve been truthful with me, so i guess i should too," you muttered. "you, ah, um…" this was really not the direction you thought this conversation would go in. "to be really honest with you, i keep staring because you’re so… pretty."

dan heng sat motionless. if it weren’t for his vidyadhara features, he almost could have gotten away with simply being frozen. upon your words, his eyes widened just a fraction, jade-white pupils dilating. his ears twitched back upwards and his tail fell still. heavy moments of silence passed while you two stared at each other. it seemed like he was waiting for you, so you kept talking. "i didn’t speak much to begin with simply because i was so surprised. i mean, we see you again after so long and there you are, just about the most beautiful thing i’d ever seen, suddenly with the power to split an ocean. after that, i didn’t trust myself to not be weird about you, so i… kind of just refused to say anything." you rubbed the back of your neck, face burning. "but i guess that plan fell flat on its face if you noticed me staring so much." 

once you finished speaking, his gaze fell into his lap, gazing down at his hands that held fistfuls of fabric once again. "but… these powers aren’t me." 

"of course not. they’re not you, only a fraction of the whole you," there was a slight smile on your lips. "are you worried that i don’t see you as dan heng anymore?" 

he made no effort to confirm or deny anything, simply remaining as he was—a blatant yes for him. 

a small smile made its way onto your face. "you’re always going to be one and only dan heng that the whole express—that i—know and love, no matter what other forms you take." you shuffled yourself closer to him once again, now finally able to reach out and brush your thumb over the back of his hand. as you sat there, your face was burning up at your words. did you really have to word it like that? if you really wanted to be honest with him, then yes. 

he was still sat ramrod upright, but a blush now dusted his cheeks and his pupils were blown wide. his tail-tip was back to moving, this time wagging back and forth. he looked between you and your hand on his own, letting out a shaky breath. while he was still as nerve-wrecked as could be, a weight on his shoulders seemed to have been lifted. he looked like he was about to say something, but as soon as he opened his mouth, out came a long yawn. even though he tried to hide it with with his wrist, you still managed to catch a glimpse of his fangs. 

"sorry," he muttered, rubbing one of his eyes. “also, you’re still staring."

"ah, i—i’m sorry, i’ve been acting so weird. i—that habit’s not gonna go away any time soon…" you yanked your hands back into your lap. he looked a little disappointed at the new lack of contact. "anyway, how do you think you’ll sleep now?"

"please do not worry about me. what about yourself?" 

"um…" your heart is still pounding in your throat. "i—i don’t know, to be honest." whatever the answer was, it was bound to be ‘not well’.

"in the past, you’ve come to the archives when you haven’t been able to sleep. you’d place yourself on my bed and then ten minutes later, i’d find you fast asleep." his voice was soft when he spoke, almost with a faint note of mirth. "i wouldn’t mind if you…"

your eyes almost fell out of your head. "hold on, are you really—"

"you’re welcome to sleep next to me, if you’d like." 

"like in your room?" 

"where else?" when he stared at you, there wasn’t much obvious emotion on his face, but at the same time, he seemed so earnest with his tail-tip flicking back and forth happily. 

"but i thought you found it annoying when i did that?" 

"only because you'd wake me in the early hours of the morning. truly, i’ve never been opposed to it."

your face prickled with heat as you raked a hand through your hair. "are you sure you’re completely the same dan heng?" 

"hey." he looked miffed. 

"sorry, sorry." you were just about hiding your face in your hands by this point. "i just thought—" before you could finish, he stood up, long tail unwinding from around the seat. he took two steps and then plucked you off of your own chair. as you yelped in shock, he flopped you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “hey, what’re you—?!" 

"would you stop being so adamant if i say it will help me sleep too?" 

you gave up drumming on his back, only able to hang in embarrassment as you covered your face. your head may as well have been steaming. "wh—what the fuck is this?" 

he made no reply as he marched you back inside. as he walked, you watched his tail-tip as it was curled upwards, swaying from side to side. his room was close—he opened the door with his foot, stepped in and slid it closed again with his tail. as soon as you were properly enclosed, he placed you onto the bed with unexpected gentleness. in the past, if you were causing trouble, his method of dealing with you was hauling you off somewhere and simply dropping you—now, it was the opposite. you were left dazed in the middle of the sheet-nest, only back to your senses once dan heng got in next to you. but instead of settling down for sleep like you anticipated, he was shuffling about on his knees, rearranging the sheets and pillows so they were in a better formation, according to him. he was even using his tail to smooth out the sheets into circular patterns. 

"are you nesting or something?" you asked, bewildered. 

with no reply, he finally settled down further up against the splayed pillows. "come." he held his arms open for you, but when you made no movement, his tail roped you in instead. you were drawn into his not-very-tight vice grip, trapped in next to him. he held you loosely around the waist with clasped hands, head placed atop your leg where he seemed to be using your side like a pillow. his horns poked into your stomach every time he nuzzled... he was really nuzzling you...

"dan heng, seriously, what’s gotten into you?" 

with only a hum, he ceased his movements and craned his head up, staring at you from behind thick lashes. his pupils were still blown wide open. you couldn’t help but find it mildly foreboding. 

"i don’t understand why you’re… so touchy. i thought you were normally allergic to contact?" 

"is it not enjoyable?" he tilted his head. his fluffy hair flopped in his face with his movement. internally, one part of you was screaming YEEEES and crushing beer cans into your forehead, while the other, larger part of you was just plain screaming. you wanted to bask in this shower of attention, but at the same time, it felt so wrong—like he wasn’t really himself. whatever dragon-brain mindfuckery was going on in his head, it was certainly potent. 

"it’s not that, i just… are you sure you’re thinking straight? or do i need to spell out the situation? because you’ve hauled me back to your bed, made a nest around me and are now cuddling me like a pillow."

dan heng blinked once, twice and then his body went rigid. he pushed himself off of you and leapt to the corner of the bed, crouched with his tail once again wound around him. "wh—what was i…?" he looked down at his hands as if they were soaked in blood. his face was flaring red with a blush. 

"you seemed rather convinced i was something like your treasure hoard for a moment," you said.

upon your words, he sank his head in his hands, and whatever noise he made in embarrassment sounded like a groaning sob. "forgive me, i don’t know what came over me…" 

"some kinda vidyadhara instinct?” it was almost like he was trying to court you. 

"something like that," he muttered from behind his hand that now covered his mouth. his gaze was fixed to a random point before him and his ears were down-turned. "i… i’ve never felt it that strong before."

"wait, you’ve felt it befo—?" right before you could finish, his tail silenced you, thwacking itself against your lips. meanwhile, he was hiding his face again. with the way his shoulders hunched, you were worried—he seemed genuinely distressed. it was a miracle he hadn’t run off somewhere by that point. with a concerned frown, you took his tail in hand and spoke again. "hey, um, this might not help whatsoever, but it was actually… rather nice when you did that." you struggled to look at him. if you called it cute like it was, you’d just be blowing whatever chance you had at keeping him in place. 

he looked over at you, ears perked up. his incredulous eyes went as wide as could be, almost like two moons. a moment passed, and the tail in your hands began to sway. "really?"

"really," you nodded. "it was just shocking to begin with, but i—if you want, you can do it again."

dan heng turned his body to face you, swallowing thickly and trying to meet your gaze. he was stuck dithering for a few moments until he ultimately crashed again, flopping forward until his face was flat on the mattress. "i can’t," he muttered, voice muffled. 

"oh, um, why?" your eyes went wide. 

he turned his face to the side, unable to make a coherent reply beyond a strained, squeaky groan. he was still burning hot with a heavy flush, but it was soon covered by his tail that draped itself over his head. "too embarrassing.” 

a small, light laugh slipped from your lips. he coiled further into himself at the sound of it, but he was soon unwound when you had your hands on him, guiding him back up next to you. he was as stiff as could be when he laid down next to you, gaze cast down the other end of the bed. you tucked a stray lock of long hair behind one of his ears. when your touch grazed past him, his pink-tipped ear twitched wildly, and he buried his face into the pillow beneath him. "why don’t you let me do something? you did say this would help you sleep, didn’t you?"

"while i was practically in a daze. i wasn’t thinking right," he complained, voice once again muffled. "this will only keep me awake, if anything." 

"maybe, we’ll see." as you spoke, you took to running your fingers through his long, silky hair. you gathered it up from behind him and brought it forward, draping it over his shoulder. your fingers glided through as though they were passing through a soft mist, fluid and sleek. before long, as you gradually let your hands drift higher until they would pass over his head, he began to decompress. stuttering, held breaths became steady and soft. his nervous-contorted face was dissipating, and his heavy blush was fading to a simple dusting of pink. 

when his eyes fell closed, you glanced up at his horn. beyond just staring at him, you were also tempting fate with how much you wanted to touch his new features. you couldn’t help it though—humans are such curious, tactile creatures, it was simply in your nature. one hand left his hair, which he barely seemed to notice, and inched its way to his horn that threatened to poke you. finally, your fingertip ghosted its surface. it was as smooth as glass, and just as cool to the touch. in fact, you could almost describe it as silky, like his scales. he twitched under your touch, eyes parting open. his pupils were blown wide open again. 

"ah, i’m sorry, i—" you began, but he soon cut you off. 

"no, keep going." he grabbed your hand and placed it back on his horn. you blinked incredulously for a moment, but soon continued as you were, running your fingertips up and down the glassy blue projections. he closed his eyes again and, making yours widen, his soft breaths were followed by a faint rumbling in his chest—a purr. he really was like a cat. 

a few moments later, you felt something long wind its way around your leg. you looked down. his tail was snaking its way up your leg, until the tip draped itself happily over your lap where it laid swishing from side to side. you fell still in shock when he shuffled his body closer to yours until he laid flush against your side. he laid one of his arms across your chest and reached for your shoulder, pulling you in just a little closer to him. 

"you stopped again." his voice was barely a whisper when he leaned his head in the crook of your neck. one of his horns was cool against the back of your neck. 

"it’s a little hard to do anything when you’re this close," you muttered back. 

"then just stay as you are." he nuzzled about with a yawn. he must have been finally settling down for sleep, but that meant using you as a body pillow. your tail-twined leg was drawn towards him, where he draped his own leg over top of it, caging it in between his calves. 

“d-dan heng…” you tried to say his name as if that would do anything, but he paid you no mind. lost in his hypnagogic trance, he only muttered sweet nothings with his lips against your shoulder.

his voice was barely audible. dragon-brain must have been in full swing, because he finished off with a quiet: “you will be mine one day, my beloved…"

you nearly exploded then and there.

i love me some emotive ears, mm yes.

[sahisan]

— curiousity killed the cat.

featuring . pm!dazai osamu.

tags . suggestive, so slight nsfw. civilian!gn!reader. dazai's a bit sick. just pmzai things yk (he's scary). weapons described (he has a gun). blood mentioned. gunplay mentioned (brief suggestive description). wc 1.8k.

author note . this is so random i don't even know if the paragraphs do well together bc i just poured my most random thoughts into it and i was sleepy and barely managed to proofread it. yep. i imagined mostly 20-22!pmzai here.

dazai hid many things. he hid them well; years of being on constant standby, awaiting, on guard about anything enemy or not related. he hid in the shadows no matter day or night, but the shadows didn't always necessarily mean him only scrambling around in narrow alleyways or in the safety of the headquarters—in reality, he spent little time in the latter, nor did he 'lurk in the shadows' often, unless on a mission.

he hid everything from everyone, including you; of course including you. and the thing that bothered him the most was you finding out about what he does. did. has done. keeps on doing every day. not only does he not want the port mafia's countless enemies to know about you, but dazai also dreads the thought of you getting even a little bit closer to the truth of what he does for a living. he thinks of how he might slip one day and just reveal his true nature, intentionally or not, and either let you be disgusted and scared or kill you immediately because you might report to the police; it bothers him in both ways.

dazai avoids the area of your home when out at work. he makes sure to put on some casual clothes before visiting your place. when things are bad, work routine and you colliding together closer to night, he makes sure to hold a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide in his inner pocket to quickly wash away the stains of blood from his clothes. he keeps a bit of cologne there as well, to hide the stench of blood he usually reeks of during the day—he doesn't even use cologne daily. if you need him right after work, he disposes of his weapons, giving them away to the underlings that follow his word.

everything is always under control.

like tonight. he'd had a "kill and dispose" assignment, after which he'd had to go to yours and spoil you with a movie night he promised you. ah, the long-awaited respite from everyday bloodshed.

yet he was still on guard; he always has been, but today was busy and rough and all he needed was your embrace and a movie as a background noise while he showered you with kisses and cuddled you with neverending hugs.

and dazai forgot.

already at your doorstep, already having ringed the bell by your front door when dazai looked down at himself and—

fuck.

there was a small but clear blood stain right next to his tie. ah. how great. he definitely won't have time to remove it, but he might try to win some time to divert your attention from it if you notice—and you will, if he doesn't do anything about it.

with the door opening, dazai threw himself at you, literally waltzing into your apartment, hip to hip, your left hand in his right and his left hand at your waist, he led you through the corridor in an almost hasty improvisation of a dance, causing his tie to sway just in the right direction and have you giving him a look that screamed "you and your antics again?". good.

"ah, you look especially divine tonight," he mused, nuzzling your neck and making you place your chin on his shoulder; very good, the stain was out of your sight at least for now, and he couldn't be happier about that. "i haven't had dinner yet but i already know what i want for dessert."

distract. distract and avert and keep away—best tactic of dazai's that rarely failed, and he was used to putting it to use everywhere he could, including you. you could be perceptive or gullible, didn't matter—it worked wonders on anyone and will continue working for as long as he wanted to.

dazai swayed you around a few more times, dancing his way into your living room while humming a nauseatingly sweet, random tune he made up in his head a second ago. hip against yours again, he let a content smirk wash over his lips.

a clank. soft, quiet sound of metal clanking once echoed through the room, and it was almost eerie silence aside from his barely audible humming just as his hipbone met yours.

that didn't sound good, considering the only thing on his hip was—

ah. dazai forgot two things tonight.

in reverie about cursing himself head to toe in his mind, he lost the sensation of your touch until it felt too suspicious and he was too late, you reaching for the side hem of his coat and tugging it away from his side to reveal it to the light. you were always so curious, and he couldn't tell whether it was bad or good for him in general.

the soft clink echoed once more as your fingers grazed the object, and his eyes narrowed. the gun. shit. in his distracted state, he'd forgotten to dispose of it along with wiping away the blood.

dazai's hand shot out from beneath the coat, and he knew he wasn't doing himself a favor by raising his hand to grab yours, only revealing the holster further, but he didn't necessarily give a shit right now. he ought to do more than care about the gun right now, like a proper boyfriend, first being calming you down and assuring you it's not loaded and isn't as scary as it looks and that you shouldn't be afraid and the second being change of course of the conversation so seamlessly that you forget about the weapon for the rest of the night at least (unfortunately, the last sentence never crossed his mind).

but when did dazai ever go according to an adequate plan?

his hand held yours in the air, palm gliding up and down your inner forearm, trying to, first, soothe every negative emotion that might come up on the surface of your face, as well as keeping your curious hand away.

"ah-ah-ah, how naughty," dazai purred, voice dripping with false sweetness even as his eyes glinted with dangerous amusement; what he was supposed to be doing absolutely slipped from his thoughts the second he sensed the quickening of your heartbeat and breath and the cautious halting and tensing of your body against his, and he was already getting hard just from this. sick. "what did i tell you about wandering hands, hmm?"

he ground his hips against yours once after that, letting you feel the growing hardness in his pants. distraction. that was the key. keep you focused on his body, on the pleasure he could give you, and you'd forget all about that pesky gun in no time.

“careful there, baby. wouldn’t want you to accidentally shoot yourself,” he said with a twisted, growing grin. his other hand, previously holding your left one, slid away from it to cup your cheek, thumb brushing along your jawline in a mockery of tenderness, visible eye looking down at your mouth.

"i'd hate to see those pretty lips marred by blood."

and yet, once he'd lifted his eyes up to yours, dazai could feel you tense under his touch, heart racing beneath your skin. he knew that look in your eyes, that widening of your pupils; he was all too familiar with it. fear. he had been so focused on the thrilling, twisted satisfaction the situation brought him momentarily, that he hadn't noticed how his actions were affecting you. his grip on your wrist loosened, his thumb tracing soothing circles on your inner wrist.

dazai sighed, deciding it was time to stop scaring you with both his demeanor and the weapon, even if it wasn't what he wanted right now at all; he had a switch to pull off, an appearance to keep up in front of you. ah, but how he'd love to prolong that moment for just a little longer: your fear palpable in the air, that scared glance you cast at him once, the trembling of your hands, hitch in your breathing and increase of your heartbeat.

maybe later.

"easy, easy," he murmured, voice low and soothing even as his mind raced. he tapped the holster twice. "it's not loaded, see?" a lie. "just a little souvenir," a lie. the gun was always loaded, ready to be drawn at a moment's notice, but you surely didn't need to know that. he'd already subjected you to more horror than a civilian would need to witness.

dazai leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he spoke. "you know i'd never be involved with these types of things and would never hurt you, right?" honey-sweet, dripping with false sincerity words. what he was absolutely best at was lying and manipulating, and he couldn't even control it anymore; if he needed you to believe, he will make you believe, one way or another.

"but you also shouldn't go poking around where you don't belong," he purred lowly with an audible dangerous lilt to his tone, lips now moving lower and ghosting over the sensitive skin of your neck. "who knows what kind of trouble you might find yourself in. curiosity killed the cat, you know. you never know when you'll be the cat. and I'm not sure i'd be able to live with myself if something happened to you."

dazai could try to keep you away from his sicko tendencies and mind and thoughts that were all over the place and mingled together; the thoughts of protecting you from all of this meeting the ones of putting that gun to better use that just shooting people. and right now, he was barely holding it all in.

think of it this way: the thoughts of keeping his precious favourite civilian away from the corrupted knowledge and pain and feeling you tremble in fear underneath him, with the barrel of his gun tracing over your bare skin and getting dangerously close to where you'd need him most? oh, did the latter make dazai's stomach contort with desire and hips buckle up into yours. he would have to think more clearly about this later when his head wasn't a wreck of everything at once, but now...

"you want to play with something hard, baby?" dazai murmured in the end, all sultry and beaming with desire. "i'll give you something much better than a piece of metal to wrap your pretty fingers around."

dazai was sick and his mind twisted and he didn't get how he could ever keep someone like you by his side, but he supposed it was fate; and for as long as fate was merciful to him, he would make good use of it.

"but behave, hmm?"

[rivendell-poet]

I loved the little sibling headcanons so much! But reading Legolas’s part gave me a small idea for Thranduil because he is such father-coded sometimes.

So what if the same reader always had bandages wound around the entirety of their right eye and some of their right cheek for some secret reason that nobody knows. Thranduil is slightly intrigued by how this human teenager manages to fight so well despite being disadvantaged in sight, and after he grows much closer to them, he asks them about the bandages. And because reader trusts him a lot more than before, they (sort of) hesitantly take off the bandages and reveals how the entire bandaged area was heavily damaged/scarred from dragon fire mostly due to their recklessness a few years back. I think it’d be interesting to see Thranduil’s reaction towards a young human that also suffered from the feared dragon fire. I don’t mind if you write headcanons or a scenario for this :)

Btw sorry if this request was weird 😅 I just think that Thranduil’s character has so much to be explored, especially as we don’t see him interact as much with humans and younglings

Glad you liked the little sibling hcs! I'm always weak for platonic!lotr <3 And please don't worry about your request - I loved it, and I'm only sorry it took me so long to write. Hopefully you enjoy <3

*･༓˚✧ ❝𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐢𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧-𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫❞ ‧͙⁺˚༓˚✧ « scenarios »

Gender-neutral reader | Wordcount : 1k | TWs : Brief discussion of scaring

✧ When he first meets you, a lone human who has somehow managed to brave Mirkwood, his mind doesn’t pay too much attention to the bandages.

✧ Another human eccentricity.

✧ It’s only after, when the scouts are quick to dole out praise for you - praise that does not come lightly from elves - that he thinks back to them. How you are able to fight remarkably well with something covering your right eye.

✧ Not that it matters to him when he calls for you to be escorted to a room and watched.

✧ Thranduil is a kinder king when not dealing with dwarves and dishonest folk, so has no reason to throw you into the dungeons. He doesn’t fully trust you at first, but that can be left until tomorrow.

✧  Late next morning you are invited to his chambers after eating, and he asks questions of you - why you are in Mirkwood, your age and general motivations. But not your bandages.

✧ Until the very end, when he asks if you would like to see a healer for your injuries.

✧ Your freezing is almost imperceptible to humans, but obvious to an elf. You decline, hands still frozen by your sides, but he lets you go without further issues.

✧ Mirkwood’s palace is a great haven for you - full of scrolls of lore, warriors of the highest skill, and places of respite if it is needed.

✧ When you initially only planned on staying for a day in there, you soon find yourself becoming familiar with your room. And then days turn into weeks, and the rest of Mirkwood becomes more familiar as well.

✧ Once you’ve become more comfortable with the elves you go down to spar, and to your surprise there are some happy to train with you.

✧ Although you are not as skilled as an elf they acknowledge your talent for what it is, impressed.

✧ Whispers spread all the way through Mirkwood, and even the king is reached by them eventually.

✧ Thranduil asks to be kept up to date about you, of course, as you are in his kingdom. Word reaches him that you managed to disarm a guard, and for some reason he feels genuine pride in the news.

✧ As the guard turns to leave, Thranduil asks when you had the bandages removed and by who.

✧ The guard answers that you haven’t.

✧ You’re not blind to the stares at your bandage, but something new has been occurring. There’s even more subtle glances, but less questioning about it. As though your bandage is now something to be observed, and not questioned.

✧ The excitement around it eventually dies down, especially as weeks in Mirkwood become months.

✧ It’s around the first month mark that Thranduil requests to see you again.

✧ Being summoned by the king is nerve-wracking, but once you’ve been around him for a while you become more relaxed.

✧ He doesn’t behave like the rigid, cold but regal king you were expecting. He is still regal, effortlessly so, but there is warmth in his gaze - when he asks you about your day, or compliments your progress.

✧ Some days you don’t even have to tell him about the feat you accomplished, as he already seems to know. But he still listens intently when you explain it, asking questions in just the right places - and always with sincerity.

✧ Over time, you begin to think of him a small bit like a father.

✧ Then one day, he asks you about your bandages. Why you still wear them after so long.

✧ He regrets it when he sees you freeze up, but when he begins to talk you raise a hand to stop.

✧ Hesitantly, you begin to remove the bandages from around you, not looking at him until they’re all of.

✧ As soon as Thranduil can see your face he recognises dragonfire on it. Scars so similar to his own, but on the face of a young human instead of an elven king.

✧ You can see the shock on his face as his eyes seem to sweep every area of the scars and not want to settle back on you. You take a deep breath, beginning to apologise for them.

✧ “There is no need.”

✧ Thranduil interrupts, softly but it stops you instantly. “The wounds you bear show you have survived, that you have faced dragonfire and lived. You… you should not need to be ashamed of them.”

✧ The revelation is surprising, but it makes you smile. You thank him, for being understanding about them - and he responds that he always will be, will always support you.

✧ There’s some deeper meaning to his words, but you cannot quite decipher it.

✧ The rest of your meeting is fairly normal, until the end when he asks questions you did not expect. How it affects you, if you can still see out of that eye - if you are in any pain.

✧ Each question you answer honestly, and any complaint that is raised he instantly tackles - doing his utmost to make sure you are comfortable.

✧ As you leave you turn to bow goodnight, and it looks as if he is about to say something before bidding you goodnight as well.

✧ In the morning you receive a summons to his chambers for later that day.

✧ For the first time you walk to Thranduil’s room without bandages covering your face, but you don’t find yourself afraid of him. Of him judging you.

✧ When you walk in there’s a nervous air. But not from you. From Thranduil.

✧ And he apologises, for not being honest sooner.

✧ You watch as the smooth perfections of his face give way to scars that being to mimic your own.

✧ “I would have told you sooner, if I had known you would understand this pain. I am sorry for not telling you.”

✧ The silence is loud, and then you move closer.

✧ “There is nothing to apologise for.”

A/N : Hopefully you liked it! Sorry if it wasn't as father-coded as you liked, I think I got a bit too deep into lore and setting up the story. But this is the second scenario in a row I've been very interested in expanding, so let me know if there's more interest in this universe!

« masterlist » thank you for reading *･༓˚✧ Taglist : @celestialhole / @starwars2222 / @withasideofmeg / @nilintakan / @ferns-fics / @fleurdemiel-145 / @recordofragnarokfan2 / @stormchaser819 ✧ wish to be tagged?

[vir-tanadahl]

The Wolf's True Path

Summary: This short tale captures a rare moment of peace between Solas and Lavellan as Solas reflects on his past before his journey of redemption continues.

The fourth installment of what was a three part series.

The Burden of the Dread Wolf

A Wolf's Atonement

The Wolf's Return to Wisdom

From a short distance, Solas gazes at Lavellan with eyes filled with admiration and longing. His path of atonement has been long and arduous, but now, as if in recognition of his efforts, the Fade has granted him a moment of respite. The once bleak and desolate prison that he had crafted to hold the powerful Evanuris shifts around him, transforming into a peaceful sanctuary. The shadows recede, revealing a space bathed in gentle warmth and untouched by regret. Solas takes in a deep breath, savoring the freedom and peace that surrounds him, if only for a brief respite from his troubled journey.

As Solas exhales, he feels the weight of centuries lifting from his shoulders. The air shimmers with ethereal light, and he can almost taste the sweetness of possibility on his tongue. Lavellan turns, her eyes meeting his across the tranquil expanse, and for a heartbeat, time seems to stand still. He takes a tentative step forward, his bare feet sinking into soft grass that wasn't there a moment before. Flowers bloom in his wake, their delicate petals unfurling in a sea of color. The scent of elfroot and crystal grace fills the air, reminding him of long-forgotten forests and ancient magic.

This path of atonement forces him to confront each of his regrets, including the one that set him on this course—it all began with Mythal. He had once been a Spirit of Wisdom, content in the boundless realms of the Fade. But at Mythal's behest, he took on elven form, crossing into the physical world, not out of personal desire, but because she had asked for his aid. He admired her, revered her, and in his devotion, he heeded her call, stepping into a reality he had never intended to touch.

He committed terrible acts at Mythal's behest, driven by his reverence for her and the belief that they fought for freedom. But everything changed when Mythal and the other Evanuris began to claim themselves as gods, a path he could not follow. Elgar’nan assured him they would relinquish their commands once the war with the titans was over, arguing that the elven people needed guidance and that leadership was necessary. Mythal wanted to help the people rebuild and unite, to bring them under a single banner.

But the idea sickened him. They hadn’t fought for freedom, the very reason he had crossed into the physical world, the reason he had committed such atrocities in her name. No, they fought for conquest and control, to rule this world and their people. And in that realization, he saw the truth of his reverence—and the depths of his betrayal. But…even then, he had hoped Mythal would come to see reason, yet she never did and he failed to save her after he told her that the other Evanuris were attempting to access the blighted magic they had sealed away.

The memory of the day he asked Mythal to meet him was comes forth in his mind. He had been nervous and unsure if she would meet him. As she walked towards him with a guarded expression, he couldn't help but feel relieved that she had actually shown up. "You are the one who walked away," she said, her words cutting through him like a knife. Then she surprised him by saying, "I never turn my back when my friend needs me." The accusation that he had abandoned her stung, as it suggested that he hadn't been there for her when she needed him the most.

It was after this meeting that Mythal confronted the other Evanuris, challenging their attempts to harness the dangerous magic of the Blight. It was then that they betrayed her, these so-called gods who had once stood beside her. And because he had turned away, because he had abandoned her when she needed him most, she was left to face them alone. She died as a result of that betrayal—a loss that set into motion that would change the course of the world he once knew.

The echoes of Mythal's essence resound softly in his thoughts, reminiscent of a bittersweet memory: “I pulled you from the Fade you loved and sent you into war. I used your wisdom as a weapon… and it broke you.” It was in that moment, he received a validation he didn't realize he needed - an acknowledgement that Mythal had played a significant role in shaping his path, guiding his choices. Though he willingly followed her call, it was a decision influenced by her goals, her perspective.

Solas watches as Lavellan moves through the newly formed space—a forest reminiscent of Arlathan in its prime, lush and overall untouched. She wanders among the vibrant foliage, her fingers brushing over the leaves and flowers with quiet wonder. Her eyes are filled with awe as she inspects the rich flora around her, marveling at how the Fade could create something so vividly real, so tangible.

His mind drifts back to when they first met, to the moment she approached him after they had sealed the Breach in Haven. By then, he already knew he couldn’t reveal that he was Fen’Harel; he’d learned that lesson bitterly. When he had first awakened in this changed world, he’d sought out a Dalish clan, hoping to learn more about what happened with the People. But the encounter had been disastrous, leaving him disillusioned and wary, the weight of his identity a secret he felt compelled to bury.

He had resigned himself to hiding his true identity as Fen’Harel, instead seeking to reconnect with the part of himself that existed before he became the Dread Wolf. It was unexpectedly refreshing to be seen as just Solas—to be treated like the person he was before the weight of his mantle shaped and hardened him. With her, he felt a rare freedom to rediscover that forgotten self, unburdened by ancient titles and expectations.

Lavellan surprised him when she challenged his contempt for the Dalish, refusing to rise to anger even as he dismissed their preservation of elven culture as mere shadows of the past, inaccurate and diluted. Instead of meeting his frustration with hostility, she responded with grace and quiet conviction, pointing out the value in their resilience and the strength required to hold onto their identity, however fragmented. Her response humbled him in a way he hadn’t expected, disarming him with a kindness and understanding that lingered long after their conversation ended.

And she was curious—about him. She listened with genuine interest to his tales of dreaming in the Fade, her eyes bright with intrigue. She hung onto his every word, even though some of the stories he shared were memories he had lived directly. Her curiosity was sincere, unguarded, making him feel seen in a way he hadn’t in ages.

She was inquisitive, not only willing to listen showed a willingness to be open to new information that challenged her current belief. Her interest spanned everything he held close to his heart—the ancient elves, magic, the Veil, demons, and spirits. She even surprised him with questions he hadn’t expected, like whether coexistence with spirits and demons was truly possible, a means to prevent conflict rather than provoke it. She sought his wisdom with a sincerity that stirred something deep within him, pulling him back to a place of longing and nostalgia.

The memory plays vividly in his mind. She had looked up at him with bright, flirtatious eyes, her expression open and genuine as she spoke of how much she enjoyed getting to know him. It had been centuries since anyone had shown such honest interest in him, free of ulterior motives.

He had been guardedly curious, tempered by his instinct to keep others at a distance. But there was something about her warmth, the ease of her laughter, especially when she playfully turned his own words back on him. The memory sharpens at the moment she gently teased him about an evasive answer, stirring in him a forgotten sense of playfulness—a feeling that had lain dormant for ages.

Solas remembers the mix of pleasure and unease, realizing even then how effortlessly she had pierced his defenses in that brief exchange. Even now, the memory makes his heart quicken. Lavellan’s kindness and humor had drawn him in, making him acutely aware of his own loneliness, a longing he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a very long time.

Reflecting on that moment now, he realizes that she had, unintentionally, planted a seed within his heart. Without harshness or force, she had gently challenged him to confront his assumptions about this new world, unsettling the certainty he’d held so tightly. The experience was both enticing and terrifying, as he had long resigned himself to solitude. Yet, with just a few simple words, Lavellan became startlingly real to him, revealing a connection he hadn’t felt in ages—a kinship that was achingly tempting, stirring in him a desire for companionship he thought he had buried forever.

After that... he simply couldn’t help himself. Another memory surfaces, vivid and intoxicating, as he recalls the way she had held his gaze, brimming with confidence, curiosity, and a playful spark. His heart quickens now at the thought of his reply, deliberately smooth as he suggested he had “yet to see it dominated.” Her eyes danced as she echoed his words back to him, teasingly: “Indomitable focus?” Her voice lingered in his mind, a gentle, teasing challenge that made him want to respond with wit and depth.

“Presumably. I have yet to see it dominated. I imagine that the sight would be… fascinating.” It had been an invitation, subtle yet unmistakable, for both of them to imagine what it might be like to lower their defenses. He found himself drawn irresistibly to the spark of her spirit and intelligence, feeling his own walls weaken as he acknowledged the magnetic tension between them—a connection he could neither deny nor easily resist.

Her kindness and grace, even in the face of opposition, were nothing short of remarkable. She had been captured by Seeker Cassandra, imprisoned, and falsely accused of causing a disaster he himself had brought upon the world. Yet, even amidst the chaos unleashed by his own reckless actions, she stood strong, resilient in her innocence. Her ability to remain steadfast and compassionate despite it all left him in quiet awe.

His memory flashes to them dream-walking in the Fade, where he had taken her back to Haven after its destruction. He’d shared his frustration and confusion, his attempts to save her, and the worry that gnawed at him—a worry that, even then, hinted at something deeper. She had, undeniably, changed his world.

Solas closes his eyes, resting the back of his head against the rough bark of a tree, letting himself drift into the memory of her warmth as she dared to bridge the space between them. Her kiss was a soft yet daring act, a gesture that left him feeling both vulnerable and intensely alive. He savors the lingering sensation of her touch, the softness of her lips, and the way his own restraint shattered as he pulled her back not once, but twice, unable to let her go. But it was that second kiss, that moment of surrender, when he truly lost himself in her—giving in to a desire he’d tried so hard to deny.

As his mind wanders further down the path of this memory, he comes to a realization that Lavellan had not only held the key to saving the world at the time, but also to saving himself. The mere thought of her sends a warm rush of comfort through him, like a blanket on a cold winter night. In that moment, Solas understands the true depth of her impact on his life and how she single-handedly changed his destiny for the better. Her presence was not just a means to an end, but a source of hope and healing for his soul.

Solas opens his eyes again, scanning the horizon for her. Lavellan's figure emerges from behind a cluster of shimmering trees, their leaves rustling softly in a nonexistent breeze. She moves with grace, her steps light and purposeful as she navigates the ethereal landscape. Her eyes, filled with wonder, dart from one marvel to another, drinking in the beauty of this Fade-crafted vision of the ancient Arlathan Forest.

As she approaches, Solas feels a familiar tightness in his chest, a bittersweet ache that has become his constant companion, mingling with a profound, unyielding love. He watches her, drinking in every detail - the way the ethereal light catches in her hair, the gentle curve of her smile, the spark of curiosity that never seems to dim in her eyes.

The name slips from her lips like a caress, carrying with it a warmth that seems to weave its way through his mind. "Solas," she calls out, her voice filled with awe and admiration. "This place... it's incredible." A small smile plays at the corners of his lips as he looks upon her. "Arlathan Forest is quite beautiful," he responds softly, taking her hand and pulling himself to his feet. As he steps closer to her, one hand lands on her waist and he leans down to kiss her. Lavellan tilts her head up and meets his lips, savoring the taste of him.

With a bright smile on her face, Lavellan exclaims, "Let's go look at the river!" Her excitement is infectious and Solas can't help but chuckle as she practically dances in place. “It is a river,” He remarks, but his own lips curl into a smile at her enthusiasm.

She gazes up at him, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “But it’s a Fade river!” she exclaims, her laughter echoing through the air as she eagerly takes his hand and pulls him along. He joins in her amusement, a genuine chuckle escaping his lips, his guard completely down in her presence. “That is it,” he responds, unable to hide the smile that spreads across his face as he allows her to lead him, her infectious enthusiasm captivating him and drawing him into the moment. He finds himself charmed by her unbridled joy and unwavering curiosity, feeling alive and free in her company.

As they near the riverbank, the soothing sound of rushing water envelops them. Lavellan's face beams with joy, and Solas can't help but feel his own mood brighten in response to her infectious happiness. She takes off ahead of him, eagerly examining the river and its inhabitants in hushed fascination.

Solas finds a comfortable spot and settles in, observing Lavellan as she discovers the wonders of the Fade with childlike wonder. He can't help but smile at her, reminiscing about their time together in the Inquisition. He remembers when he first approached her for assistance with a troubled friend, and how she had instantly shown her unwavering empathy and support without hesitation. Even back then, she saw past his guarded facade and understood the gravity of what he had asked of her.

The memory of his first encounter with his friend floods back to him. He remembers seeing his friend—a Spirit of Wisdom, now twisted and corrupted into a Pride Demon by the foolishness of mages. It was a heart-wrenching and alarming sight. Despite everything, he held onto a fragile hope that there was still a chance to save his friend, that somehow it could be restored to its original form.

Lavellan had acted without hesitation in aiding him, going above and beyond what was necessary. She had even gone as far as to disrupt the summoning circle in an effort to save his friend, despite the complexity of the task. Her selflessness and determination to fight for a corrupted spirit left a lasting impression on him, stirring something within him that he couldn't quite explain.

He remembers, painfully, how he had failed his friend even then. They had confronted the mages responsible, his anger simmering as he accused them of torturing and destroying a being of wisdom—a friend who had been twisted and killed by their reckless ambition. The rage within him was overwhelming; he would have struck them down, consumed by anger and the need for revenge, if Lavellan hadn’t intervened.

The memories of his failure still pained him. He and his friend had confronted the mages responsible, and he couldn't contain his anger as he accused them of torturing and destroying a wise being. His friend was killed due to their carelessness, and he seethed with rage towards them. He wanted revenge; he wanted to strike them down. But Lavellan stepped in, preventing him from acting on his anger.

In a vital moment, her voice reached out to him like an anchor, soothing and steady. With gentle yet firm words, she brought him back to reality and reminded him that seeking revenge on the mages would not bring his friend back. Her words cut through the storm of his anger and quenched the flames burning within him, guiding him away from the brink. He can't help but wonder, if he had acted on his initial impulse that day, would it have added yet another weight to the regrets burdening his soul?

Lavellan wades into the water, her legs kicking with awe and surprise. "It's like it's really here!" She exclaims to Solas, her disbelief evident in her tone. He tilts his head slightly, a smile playing on his lips. "Because it is real," he chuckles. "You know what I mean," Lavellan laughs. "I know we’ve talked about how what happens in the Fade is real, but I just didn’t expect it to…actually feel so real!"

Solas chuckles at her enthusiasm. "It is certainly new," he concedes, a small smile playing on his lips. "To be completely aware in the Fade is vastly different from only experiencing it through dreams." Lavellan laughs as she nods in agreement, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "I couldn't agree more," she says. "This is much better than our time at Adamant." Solas shares a nod of affirmation, adding, "Indeed it is."

As Lavellan wanders and explores, Solas shuts his eyes and allows himself to drift back to those intimate moments he shared with her within the Inquisition, not long after they had faced the truth about his friend. He recalls seeking her out one evening, finding her on the balcony outside her chambers. The night was calm and serene, and in the gentle radiance of starlight, he posed a question that had been weighing heavily on his mind.

He inquired, his voice gentle but filled with curiosity, "What were you like before the Anchor?" He pondered if the Mark had changed her essence in any way, if there was a reason other than his own fondness for why he felt such a strong connection to her. Maybe he was searching for a justification that would make sense of his intense emotions - something that went beyond his heart's desires.

When she confessed that she had not changed, he felt a twinge of disappointment. It finally dawned on him that his feelings for her were no longer just curiosity; they were deep and real. He had always seen this world as dull and lifeless, like walking among the Tranquil. But being with her, someone who radiated such genuine beauty and individuality, challenged his entire perception. She was more than just an exception; she was proof that there was still vibrancy, complexity, and depth in this world. And it made him uneasy in a way he didn't want to admit.

Naturally, she was curious for him to explain his fascination, and he admitted her subtlety and wisdom defied his expectations. In their conversations, she challenged him to question his longstanding views of the Dalish, her unwavering spirit and insight quietly challenging his biases. He found himself admiring her mind, her resilience, her compassion—qualities that set her apart from anyone he had ever known. Each moment with her deepened his respect, making her more than just a fleeting connection; she became someone he valued profoundly, someone who reshaped his understanding of the world.

Being around her always caused him to teeter on the brink of losing control. The memory of their kiss is still vivid in his mind: the softness in her voice as she asked about its meaning, the intense stare in her eyes that seemed to see right through him. He can recall his own response - "I have not forgotten the kiss" - spoken with a rare vulnerability, a confession he struggled to even acknowledge within himself.

She moved in closer, crossing into his personal space with her hands clasped behind her back. Her posture seemed to convey both surrender and a playful command. As he started to turn away, she reached out and gently touched his arm. Her words, a simple plea of "don't go," echoed in his mind, stopping him from retreating any further. In that moment, he could feel the strong pull of his instinct to flee, and the words lingered in the space between them: "It would be better in the end." But it was his next confession that would haunt him more than anything else: "But losing you would..." - an incomplete confession that left him exposed and vulnerable.

Solas lets out a wistful sigh, reliving the memory of their kiss with vivid detail and longing. Her lips, so soft and warm, ignited a fire within him that still burned just as brightly as it did on that day. The kiss started off gentle, but soon he was lost in her, pulling her closer and deepening their connection. His arms enveloped her, his hands exploring every curve and contour of her body as they shared a moment of intense passion and desire.

In that brief instant, he felt a surge of happiness and an ache in his chest as he acknowledged his conflicting emotions. Love and duty battled for control over his heart. As he whispered "Ar lath ma, vhenan," those words echoed in his mind as a definitive surrender, a strong bond between their souls.

As Solas slowly opens his eyes, he notices that she has disappeared from view. But her laughter echoes through the air, filled with joy and freedom. He remains seated, closing his eyes again with a gentle smile on his face as he takes in the delightful sound of her exploring. He is content to let her roam while he basks in the moment.

The connection between him and Lavellan is unlike anything he has ever known, intricate and layered in ways he never imagined. There are moments when she reminds him of his former self, before he entered the physical realm. Maybe that's why he forbade her request to accompany him on his quest to destroy the Veil; she was a mirror of his past self, unencumbered by thousands of years and untouched by the cost of his choices.

He didn't want her to suffer the same fate as him, being led astray from her purpose. While Mythal no longer has the same control over him as before, it does not erase how that control over him had warped his beliefs in ways he feared sharing with her and causing her harm. Mythal’s guidance was driven by a relentless sense of duty that had forced him to go against his own morals repeatedly.

Lavellan, on the other hand, possessed certain qualities that reminded him of Mythal - her strong leadership skills, her love and protection for the elven people, and her authoritative presence. But unlike Mythal, Lavellan also grounded him in compassion and integrity. She showed him a path where fulfilling his duties did not have to sacrifice kindness, and she embodied a way of being that was both powerful and gentle. In every sense, she served as a reminder of the person he used to be and the person he still had the potential to become.

How could he impose on her the same fate that had been imposed upon him? Determined to break the cycle, he made a conscious effort to treat her as an equal, respecting her autonomy and moral decisions even when they differed from his own. Unlike with Mythal, whose guidance had often disregarded his own agency, he consciously chose to respect Lavellan’s independence, valuing her as a partner rather than a tool. In doing so, he hoped to give her what he had lacked—a voice, a choice, and the freedom to walk her own path.

Mythal had been controlling, molding him into someone he had tried to resist becoming with Lavellan. While he would occasionally offer guidance to her, he always did so with a deep regard for her beliefs and made sure not to compromise her values. In hindsight, his dynamic with Mythal had felt stifling, weighed down by feelings of regret. He began to feel more like a pawn than an equal, left with a lingering sensation of being manipulated.

His dedication to Mythal had been multi-layered, almost worshipful - a loyalty fueled by obligation, by an unyielding determination to carry out her wishes and goals, even if it meant sacrificing parts of himself. With Mythal, it was always about fulfilling duty and wielding power, no matter the consequences.

But with Lavellan, everything changed. She gave him something he didn’t know he was missing: the chance at healing and, maybe, even redemption. Ever since their journey started in Haven, she had slowly and unconsciously encouraged him to find a path that matched his inner desires. She became a safe haven for him, a calming refuge—even when he refused to heed her advice and stayed on his destructive path, she stayed by his side, a constant reminder of who he truly was.

She is his heart, the center of his being. He has come to realize and finally accept that his feelings for her surpass any sense of duty or obligation; they go beyond even the concept of love itself. His love for her is fueled by the desire to protect her, to safeguard her light and keep her safe from the corruption that has consumed his own soul. In her, he sees the purity and goodness that he thought he had lost, and he would do anything to ensure she remains untouched by the darkness he has experienced.

“Solas!” Lavellan’s voice rings out, causing him to open his eyes. “Join me over here!” He rises from his spot and walks towards the sound of splashing water. “Vhenan?” He calls out as he pushes through the surrounding plants, catching a glimpse of her standing in a body of water.

She had removed her outer garments and was the water dressed only in her undergarments. "Look, there's even fish!" She exclaimed with a giggle of delight. Solas pauses at the water's edge, a fond smile playing on his lips as he watches Lavellan's childlike delight. Her joy is infectious, and he feels a warmth spreading through his chest. "Indeed there are," he says softly, his eyes following her graceful movements in the water. "The Fade reflects our expectations and desires. Your curiosity has brought these creatures into being."

Suddenly, Lavellan plunges beneath the water, disappearing below the surface in search of whatever mysteries might lie within this strange Fade-bound lake.

Solas watches on, reflecting on his past and how Lavellan has impacted him. In a way that Mythal, with all her godlike power, could never achieve, Lavellan had accomplished something truly remarkable. She had accepted him fully, embracing every aspect of his being in a way he hadn't experienced since before his existence in the physical realm. The feeling of belonging and acceptance flooded him, filling the voids that had long been empty within his soul. It was as if he had finally found his place in the world, and it was beside this incredible, understanding woman who saw him for who he truly was.

As Lavellan resurfaces, water cascading down her face and hair, Solas finds himself transfixed. The droplets shimmer in the ethereal light of the Fade, creating a halo around her that seems to embody the very essence of her spirit. She beams at him, her eyes sparkling with excitement and wonder. She emerges from the water, and he watches as she dries herself off. "Are you enjoying yourself?” he asks her with a soft smile. She looks up at him and returns the smile. "I did, thank you for letting me wander," she replies before walking over to him.

Solas tilts his head down, his eyes meeting hers. “Of course,” he says softly, reaching out to gently tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. A small smile plays on his lips as he watches her reaction. She leans into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. When she opens them again, there's a warmth there that makes Solas's breath catch. She steps closer, closing the distance between them. The scent of wildflowers and fresh water clings to her skin, intoxicating in its simplicity. Solas finds himself leaning in, drawn by an invisible force he can't quite name.

Their lips meet in a tender kiss, soft and sweet. Solas pulls her closer, one arm wrapping around her waist as the other hand tangles in her damp hair. Lavellan melts into him, her body molding against his as if they were made to fit together. Lavellan leans away from him, tilting her head to look up at the sky. The sun has set and the stars are beginning to appear in the fading light of the Fade. “Do you want to stargaze before we go to sleep?” she asks him, a hint of hope in her tone.

The corners of Solas's lips slowly curl upwards, his eyes crinkling with warmth as he gazes down at her. "I would find that most enjoyable," he responds in a low, melodic voice. Solas gently takes Lavellan's hand, intertwining their fingers as he leads her to a small clearing nearby. The grass beneath their feet is soft and cool, swaying gently in a nonexistent breeze. Above them, the Fade sky shimmers with countless stars, each one brighter and more vibrant than any seen in the waking world.

They settle down on the grass, Solas sitting with his back against a tree, while Lavellan nestles between his legs, her back resting against his chest. His arms encircle her waist, holding her close as they both gaze up at the celestial display above. "It's beautiful," Lavellan whispers, her voice filled with awe. "I've never seen the stars so clearly before." Solas hums in agreement, his chin resting lightly on the top of her head.

Solas's lips curve into a gentle smile as he gazes up at the starry expanse above them. "The Fade often reflects our deepest desires and memories," he murmurs softly, his breath warm against Lavellan's ear. "This view... it reminds me of nights long past, when the world was younger and the Veil did not yet exist," his voice is low and melodic, filled with a mixture of nostalgia and longing.

Lavellan intertwined her fingers with his and gave them a gentle squeeze. "I know that you long for the time before the Veil," she says, trying to offer him some comfort. Solas lets out a soft sigh, thinking back to his memories from earlier that day. "Yes, I do," he replies. "But if I had not created the Veil..." He pauses, lost in thought for a moment. "Our paths would never have crossed."

Lavellan turns her head slightly, looking up at him with a gentle smile. "And I'm grateful that our paths did cross," she says softly, her eyes shimmering with affection. Solas feels a warmth bloom in his chest at her words. He tightens his embrace, drawing her closer against him. "As am I, vhenan," he murmurs, his voice low and tender, as he presses a gentle kiss to her temple.

They drift into a comfortable silence, each lost in thought as they gaze up at the star-studded sky. Solas’s eyes wander across the constellations, memories of ancient stories and myths flickering to life with each familiar shape. Gradually, he begins to share these tales with Lavellan, his voice low and soothing as he recounts the ancient lore, weaving each story with care. In that quiet moment, he shares a precious piece of his former world with her, the distant stars bridging past and present in a way that feels both intimate and timeless.

[natasha-in-space]

All Good Things Must End

Ray/gn!reader;

From the beginning, you trusted Ray with all your heart. He was the embodiment of your fairytale dream come to life. Your respite from all the unappealing troubles of the outside world. But all fairytales have an ending to them. And yours is not as happy as you expected.

CW: brief mention of violence, erratic behavior, depiction of a codependent relationship. This is a Danger Ray fic! Set during V's route. Loosely based on the 7th day outgoing call to V (11:51 AM, after the 'Provoke' chatroom).

Lovely dividers by @/saradika-graphics!

Ray was a good man. A kind man. A fragile man, even. His entire appearance would remind you of a beautiful but delicate flower. So starved for love and warmth, yet so sensitive to every harsh touch of the wind, even the slightest of pushes against its soft petals would make it start to wilt. A flower that needed nothing but some gentle care and love for it to come into bloom. And, of course, you were willing to give him just that. After all, why wouldn't you be? Ray has been nothing but kind and caring towards you, ever since you stepped foot into this strange place, guiding you along the way while holding your hand and not minding any of your clumsy mistakes. He was understanding. Attentive. Curious. Always checking in with you and eager to hear about your day. Never ignoring you or making you feel stupid if you didn't understand a thing or two.

No wonder you found it so easy to open up to him in your short time here. You trusted that he would do no wrong by you. Just as he promised.

At least... that's what you thought. And appearances can be deceiving. Oh, so very deceiving. Now, it felt downright humiliating just how much of a blind fool you really were. How stupidly determined you were to deny and rebuke anyone daring to challenge your views on Ray.

You loyally refused to trust Rika's musings about Ray's 'darkness' during your brief stay with her, dismissing them as nothing but her twisted philosophy that you couldn't even begin to comprehend. You impulsively denied V's numerous warnings not to trust in Ray's sugary words, reassuring yourself over and over again that surely his affections for you must be true and earnest. You turned your back on every nagging suspicion buzzing at the back of your mind during short moments of unrest. You knew in your heart that Ray was a kind, tender boy. He was simply confined to an environment that would exacerbate his worst traits.

And he was only human, right? No one is immune to harmful outside influences being forced down upon them. Anyone could end up in his place one day, even you. It was no reason for you to be hostile and distrustful of him.

Then again, maybe that was just your mind trying desperately to keep you calm in the midst of a horrible storm you found yourself being forcibly thrust into. After all, accepting just how truly bad and out of your control things truly were here... How utterly helpless and vulnerable you were, with no one there to come save you if you needed it... How trapped and isolated you were in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing but miles and miles of lush mountain forests, with no civilization in sight...

Just the thought of it would make a heavy lump of acidic bile rise up to your throat. The sad truth is... Ray simply provided you with feelings of solace and comfort that some deeper, weaker part of you was so desperate for. Losing that was something you were not ready to face yet. He was there by your side from day one. He had a better understanding of you than anyone else did. Of course you would cling to his familiar presence for this brief feeling of stability you yearned for so gravely.

In retrospect, it was always a losing battle for you to try and win. You could have done better. You really, really could have done so much better. Yet it still hit you harder than a sledgehammer to the back of your skull, when the bitter reality has finally reared its ugly head to you, without any regard for your fragile heart.

You resent yourself for hitting that call button despite your gut screaming at you not to. You were already well aware that you would regret doing that, somewhere on the back of your mind. But, in the moment, your worry for your friend overpowered your lingering anxiety. Maybe out of some sense of duty. V made it all the way here, just to save you. You played a big role in his capture, in a way. If it wasn't for you, he wouldn't be in danger. And not knowing a single thing about his whereabouts or even his state was... daunting.

So, you dialed his phone number.

You anticipated that he wouldn't pick up. Maybe you would receive a very brief phone call with him begging you to keep yourself safe, like he always would. Or even just a quick exchange of words between you two that would maybe give you even the tiniest of clues on his whereabouts. Something you could then relay to Seven. Make yourself useful. Actually do something, instead of just sitting there and driving yourself mad with dozens upon dozens of anxious thoughts clouding your mind.

What you received was worse than you could have ever imagined.

It was one thing to hear pained groans, gasps, and raspy coughing on the other end of the line. You already had an expectation that V would not be okay when you hear his voice. It still left your knees feeling weak and your heart lurching in your chest with a dizzying intensity, but you could handle that, to an extent. What you couldn't handle was also hearing a familiar soft-spoken voice that has become an unstated but undeniable source of comfort for you. A voice that was now sounding so cold and angry, that your brain had a hard time comprehending what was happening, seemingly shutting down completely, as you remained deathly quiet for the whole duration of that cursed call.

Ray just was not supposed to be there.

You have heard him get angry before. You have heard him lose his grip on reality before. You have heard him say things you couldn't truly agree with, despite you still going along with them regardless, to avoid causing him any disturbance. Those were all aspects of him you were not blind to. You just actively chose to overlook them whenever they would come up. Something that you probably shouldn't have done.

-But you never heard him be so downright cruel and vicious before. Seemingly not at all disturbed by the very real sounds of suffering from the other living person there with him. Even getting angrier at them.

Like it was something completely normal. Not at all worth getting upset or worried over.

You couldn't wrap your head around the fact that this was the same man that worried himself sick over you simply scraping a knee. He was so caring, so empathetic to you back then... over a small cut, of all things. And now, that very same man was not at all disturbed by such grave suffering happening right in front of him.

No, by the sounds of it... he was actively causing it.

And that's not something you could live in peace with.

The call lasted for a maximum of two minutes. That's the time that your phone would display to you whenever you mindlessly return to it, anyway. But it felt way longer than that. For those two horrible minutes, your ears were ruthlessly subjected to the merciless reality you were so desperate to avoid facing up until that very moment.

The bitter truth was that Ray is not a fragile flower. Nor is he a prince from a fairytale. For, fairytales are not reality. No matter how much you want them to be. He was a man, a human being, just like you. Just like every other person in this building. And much like any human being, he was more than capable of causing harm by his own two hands if he so chooses. In fact, he would do so purposefully. And a victim of his spiraling wrath was no longer some faceless unlucky believer that you could forget about in a matter of hours, despite you genuinely feeling bad for them. No, it was your friend. A friend who fought so desperately to save you, even at the cost of his own safety. A friend you have come to care for in the short time you have known each other.

A friend, you knew for sure didn't deserve to be suffering in the way that he was. By the hands of your other friend you cared for just as deeply.

Such reality was just too cruel for you to bear.

So, you do the most foolish thing of all.

You confront Ray head-on.

"-Y/N, you must be confused... I've done no wrong. I do admit that I... did loose myself for a moment there, but- but it was his own fault! If he just kept quiet and drank the elixir like my Savior has instructed, I wouldn't get so upset with him. And he kept saying his stupid lies... He wouldn't shut up. My head hurt so bad... You have no idea."

You are left feeling sick to your very core by the soft apologetic smile reflected on Ray's face, once you do have a chance to finally face him again. No matter what you say, how hard you try to show him how wrong and cruel his actions really were, it was all completely pointless. For someone so seemingly skittish and subservient, Ray was frustratingly stubborn in his beliefs. It was like throwing a tennis ball at a wall. The more force you put into your throw to get your point across, the harder it just bounces right back into your face, leaving you with the painful sting of your failure.

You shake your head, an ugly mess of emotions steadily clouding your sense of judgment. At some point, you lose track of your location and position. All caution goes out the window. All that remains is a debilitating feeling of betrayal, clutching at your insides like metal rods slowly puncturing your very heart. "It is still wrong, Ray! How can you not see that!? He was suffering, and you just- just-"

The words don't come out of your mouth, obstructed by the suffocating lump stuck in the middle of your throat. You were going in circles now. You have been trying to get through to him for almost ten minutes straight, and still no results. You have to take a moment to try and regain your breathing. A soft glowed hand rests gently upon your chin, causing you to tilt your head to meet Ray's gaze instead.

You are disgusted by the genuine concern etched onto his delicate features. By the unfeigned emotions of nothing but genuine care and affection swimming in his eyes as he looks at you. By the tender touch warming up your clammy skin. All of it is sincere. You know he is not lying to you. Not right now, at least. And that is a sickening realization to come to.

More than anything, you are disgusted by the simple fact that you cannot perceive him as a monster or an angel. Ray is no perfect prince from a fairytale, no matter how hard he may try and appear to you as such.

He's a human.

Just like you.

And this implies that he is capable of all the atrocities that any human being is capable of. As much as he is kind to you, he can also be cruel to others. As much as his hands soothe and tremble when they brush up against yours, they can also hurt and sully those he harbors hatred for. It's not all black and white, as you would like to delude yourself into thinking.

And his actions were truly appalling to you. You couldn't live in your fantasy world anymore. It was sullied. Destroyed beyond repair. Your Wonderland has been corrupted from the start, and you just denied each and every sign of it, until it was too late.

"My prince/ss... It pains me to see you in such distress. Though, your tender heart is another trait of you that I adore," Ray whispers to you softly, his thumb lightly brushing over your cheekbone. He was touching you so gently, it's almost like you were made out of glass. And yet, just a few hours earlier, these exact hands were causing so much suffering to someone you care so deeply about. The thought prompts you to swallow hard and clutch your hands together as they start to shake. He continues, seemingly undisturbed by your lack of a positive response. "-But believe me when I say that that villain is not deserving of your compassion. He tried to take you away from me... To ruin what you and I have built together. I cannot stand by and watch him do that to us. What if you got hurt because of him? I would never forgive myself, if that were to happen."

You shut your eyes, refusing to accept the reality unfolding before you. Everything was wrong. So very wrong. One part of you wanted to scream and shout at him, to make him see the twisted nature of his words by pure unrelenting force if you have to. But there was another part of you that contemplated just giving up and concluding this interaction altogether. The debilitating feeling of helplessness was just too much for you to handle.

You are not allowed to do either of those things, however. Instead, another hand lightly rests on the small of your back, pulling you in towards the source of your distress. And you don't fight it. You feel your forehead come in contact with Ray's chest, his flowery scent filling your senses, as both of his arms are now circling around you. You hear a happy sigh fall from his lips. It all seemed like a very cruel joke on you. A moment that seemed so sweet and touching, bringing you nothing but more hurt and anguish.

Did he really not see anything amiss with any of this?

"I missed you so much, my flower... You know, when I heard that liar try and talk to me like he knew you better than I do, I felt like I might just strangle him right then and there. Make sure he never utters your lovely name ever again." Ray's voice is slightly gruff from how quiet it is against the side of your head. A low hum vibrates in his throat as he nuzzles into your hair like an affectionate cat would, breathing in your scent with all the longing you could possibly ask for. Though, the only thing that comes from his affections is a sickening feeling of dread for you.

"-But I thought of you. I thought of your lovely smile... Your eyes, your voice. I know I shouldn't think like this, but... You gave me more strength than my Savior's words ever did. What I did... I did for you. For us, Y/N." He continues, taking a step back from the hug to look at you. Your gaze is cast low, as you don't reciprocate the gesture. You can't bring yourself to look at him right now. It's hard to even keep yourself from putting your hands over your ears to avoid hearing it all. He gently tilts your head up, however, making it clear that he wants you to look at him. "Please don't be upset... It breaks my heart to see you sad because of that villain."

That's when the dam inside of you finally shatters, all repressed emotions spilling out in a violent wave of hopelessness you cannot bring yourself to stop. You wrench yourself away from Ray's arms, your own hands now clenched into tight fists as you look him directly in the eyes. There's a fire burning ever hotter inside of your chest, and you make no attempt to put it out. You let it take over you completely, consequences be damned.

"Villain?Villain!? Ray, he did all he could to save me! And you locked him up and tortured him for that!"

Your mind is screaming at you to stop. To stop and fix things before they spiral too out of your control.

You're being too aggressive. Too blunt. Too disobedient. Staying safe requires you to be both calm and smart about this. And you are neither of those things right now.

But you don't care.

Even as you see the emotions in Ray's eyes shift from that suffocating affection to a mix of desperation and frustration you know well. He makes a step towards you. You make two steps back. This makes his brows furrow in what you could only assume was dissatisfaction.

You never backed away from him before.

"Save you...? No. No. Y/N, he tried to steal you from me. Poison you with his lies, like he has done to my Savior. He did it to me, too! I'm the one who saved you. I did what had to be done to protect you!" You can actively hear his voice changing from the shaky disbelief at your denial of him to rough desperation to prove you wrong. It's borderline scary how quick those changes are occurring right in front of your eyes. Almost in a blink of an eye. It's yet another blaring warning for you to stop.

One that you ignore.

Instead, your frustration boils up inside of you, making you sneer at his stubborn refusal to see reason: "By hurting him!? By making him choke and gag in pain? What was the point of-"

Your angry line of thought is instantaneously interrupted by a small yeep that slips past your lips, as Ray closes in on you in just a couple of quick steps, grabbing at your wrists with a tight grip. Tight enough to cause you some discomfort. His eyes are wide, and his breathing is noticeably shaky. Like he's fighting to get enough air into his lungs and failing miserably. He yanks you close, making you stumble into him without much time for you to struggle or push back against him. Mostly due to your state of pure disbelief. You never expected Ray to actually do anything to you. And while he wasn't actively hurting you, this was still shattering your perception of him to bits and pieces. Or, what remained of it.

"That was nothing, Y/N. He deserved all of that. He deserved that and more. You feel sad for him? You wish mercy on him?" You are suddenly pushed back against the wall, and Ray's slim form keeps you trapped in this makeshift cage you created for yourself with your reckless actions. Ray's voice grows shakier, yet also significantly lower. It sounded dangerous. Angry. His nose brushes up against yours, as he's leaning so close to you, you can't focus on anything but him. Your breath hitches as you instinctively press yourself up against the wall, the panicked pounding of your heart echoing in your temples. "You have no idea how badly he hurt me. What pain I went through because of that- that-"

You can't help but wince in pain as his grip on you tightens. An action that seems to immediately shake Ray out of his temporary fit of anger, as he gasps and quickly lets go of you, stumbling backwards with a frightened expression painted over his features. You don't even have to look at him to know that he is probably in a less than stable state of mind. You are left staggered, betrayed and confused, as you stand there, eyes cast low, rubbing at your wrists. They didn't hurt. Not much, at least. It's the psychological aspect of it that left an impact of you.

Ray's voice feels muffled as it reaches your ears through the constant flow of thought in your head.

"I- N-No, Y/N, I'm sorry, I didn't want to- Are you hurt?" You can see him taking a step back towards you, hand reaching out for yours, probably to check on your wrists. You can tell he's scared. And upset. Probably guilty. Which makes this even harder for you to grapple with.

Either way, you cut him off, not wanting to hear any more of this. Partially because you understand that staying to listen will only cause you to break further, if it was even possible at this point. Because he sounds so genuine, nervous, and miserable, it makes your heart ache for him despite yourself. Makes you want to look up, smile, and say that you're okay. That you two can figure it out together.

And you don't want to repeat the same mistake twice.

"Just... Leave, Ray." You mutter out quietly, not raising your eyes at him. You sound a bit too soft for your liking, but it'll do. Swallowing, you repeat yourself for good measure. "Please. Leave."

There is a prolonged pause between the two of you. It's almost too lengthy for comfort. Neither of you say anything for a while. But the tension in the air is thick, and it does not fade with time. It only grows. Crawling over you like snakes. There is a fear within you that prevents you from looking at him. A fear of seeing the pain in his eyes. Or, instead, to come face to face with that same anger that felt so alien to you.

Ray finally speaks up. His voice is barely audible.

"...N-No..."

He moves closer to you still. For the second time today, you are finding yourself backing away. But now, you turn your back on him and keep your hands locked where you can see them. You can feel them shaking. With a sigh, you repeat: "Leave."

And, as you soon learn, that was not a very wise choice for you to make.

You're quickly spun around before you can think to act, and Ray's fingers are digging into your shoulders with a disturbing intensity, leaving you little time to react. He's observing you as if you were a wounded animal that was left behind after being hit by a car. Like you're the saddest creature he had ever seen. And, for some reason, that look scares you more than the previous anger he showed you.

"I can't believe this..." He murmurs under his breath, his eyes darting over your figure, almost like he was searching for something physical on you that could be visible to the human eye. But he doesn't find it, and that seems to upset him further. You try to pull away from him, only to get jerked back in again, his hold on you tightening.

Only this time, he does not pay any attention to your visible discomfort. He was too occupied with his own thoughts that you were not aware of. It's like he doesn't even see you. Not fully, anyways.

He holds your chin and tilts your face to examine you more closely. As he does, his shaky breath sneaks over your cheek and causes you to shiver in place.

"He... He poisoned you, didn't he...?"

The hushed murmur sounds so utterly ridiculous that it almost makes you forget about the disturbing nature of this situation for a good moment. Yet, he was completely serious. And he wasn't even talking to you, by the looks of it.

"What? Ray, I-"

"-That's why you are saying all these things to me... That's why you don't trust me anymore." Ray cuts you off as if you were not there, his brows furrowing into a deep scowl, but not one aimed directly at you. One of his hands grips onto your chin, while the other finds your hand and takes it into his own, his fingers sliding between yours. He grasps it tight, in a hold that would feel reassuring, if it wasn't for the circumstances. "My Y/N wouldn't tell me to leave. I should've guessed..."

A shiver of fear runs down your spine. As your outburst of frustration subsides, you slowly start to realize the seriousness of this situation for you, as the fire of anger and betrayal subsides. Now you wish Ray was angry again. At least then he still listened to you. But how can you fix things when he doesn't even acknowledge you?

"-Don't worry," You are brought back to reality by a warm and assuring smile on Ray's face. One that only makes you feel nauseous. He leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead, making your breath hitch. Staying there, he whispers onto your skin, like a secret promise only for your ears to hear. "I will fix it, my prince/ss. I shouldn't have been away from you for this long in the first place... My Savior is far too busy to give you the care and attention you need. But now, I'm here. And I'm not leaving your side again. I promise. I'll make sure you are smiling again."

He does not let go of you again. While your fairytale might have been broken, his has only begun its story. And his happily ever after is not something he will give up on. Even if you did.

[yanderemisery]

Izuku Midoriya x reader

TW: yandere, non-con, captive reader, god-complex, Izuku being an asshole, clumsy reader.

Naivety, indeed, can be a profound form of bliss, wouldn't you agree? It serves not only her, but him as well. Observing her, in all her bumbling splendor, repeatedly stumble and falter, never internalizing her lessons, epitomizes a certain madness, does it not? The very essence of insanity lies in the repetition of the same actions while anticipating different outcomes.

Yet, regardless of her myriad attempts to flee-whether she runs, screams, weeps, or vociferates her hatred until her voice is hoarse-she invariably returns to her starting point, to where she is meant to be: ensnared in his embrace, under his control, beneath him. Remarkably, he expends no effort to secure this outcome. All he need do is recline and observe as she spectacularly fails, time and again, and then, with a bemused air, retrieve her from the floor, soothing her with gentle reprimands to prevent further self-inflicted harm.

One might ponder how such trivial, flighty, and maladroit creatures persist, evading the culling force of evolution. Perhaps their survival is due to their role as a source of amusement for more advanced beings.

After all, entertainment serves a crucial function, offering brief respites from life's graver troubles, allowing one to indulge in the whimsical folly of a cherished pet.

He performs his own heroics occasionally, and thus, the world permits him this indulgence: a personal, capricious plaything. He deserves this small pleasure.

Moreover, she is inherently reliant on him.

Were it not for his intervention to salvage her from her own blunders, evolution would have swiftly enacted its course and extinguished her existence. Yet, he harbors no expectation that her simple, befuddled mind could grasp this reality; such contemplation would only exacerbate her confusion.

It is better for her to concentrate on simpler matters, such as how to amuse him before he demonstrates just how insignificant she truly is. He frequently engages with her, causing her to cycle through various states of despair due to her inherent forgetfulness and gentle disposition.

He bestows upon her small tokens, baubles like hair bows or necklaces-gifts for her so-called good behavior. These trinkets, easily removed, are accompanied by feigned disappointment and scolding, as if she were a child incapable of maintaining her belongings. He punishes her lightly, then kisses her perturbed, naïve face as she stammers her apologies, utterly oblivious to her perfect alignment with his desires, perfectly suited to his whims.

[mothiir]

since it was an open invitation to ask about ocs. I’m curious about why taleath joined a craftworld! any particular reason? what was he like when he was a kabalite?

so sorry it took me ages to get to this! always happy to answer questions about the boys, especially my baby eldar:

So, quick primer on drukhari lore: they live in a warp-city called Commoragh. Most live for tens of thousands of years, sustaining themselves on the pain and suffering of others. Babies are born either via artificial wombs (vat-born) or the traditional way (trueborn). Because drukhari society is so treacherous and bloodthirsty, it is a sign of immense privilege to be able to incapacitate yourself for the process of pregnancy and childbirth; thus, only the drukhari women with the status and political sway to protect themselves have children. Trueborn nobles consider themselves superior to vat-born because of course they do.

Taleath is vat-born. He has no clue who his biological parents actually are, only that they donated some genetic material as payment for services rendered by his adoptive mother, Quinathra, the leader of a haemonculi coven. She wanted a child, for purposes she never really explained, and — he suspects — that she forgot about between requesting the genetic material and Taleath’s birth. Like many of her kindred, Quinathra is batshit insane, though hers is a bright-edged madness, capable of brief insights of stunning brilliance. She raised Taleath in her coven, and if you know anything about haemonculi you know precisely what sort of things he grew up with. She seemed to care for him, in her own very twisted way, and often told him that his destiny lay far away in the stars. The full name she gave him — which he very rarely uses in its entirety, since it’s a mouthful even by Aeldari standards — translates as ‘far from this place I will go, to stand on a field of blue grass, under the auspices of a golden son, where I will bring fire and bloodshed and agony to the lost children of dead men’. It is only after he meets Roboute Guilliman, clad in splendid blue and gold raiment, that he realises that perhaps she wasn’t quite as mad as he used to think. Perhaps the dreams she had were not all drug-induced hallucinations. Perhaps.

Anyway: when he reached adulthood, she told him that he may be a skilled assistant, but his heart wasn’t full of the joy of scientific discovery and therefore he could never be a good haemonculi. He had to find a kabal. Or she could peel off his flesh and make him into a very fetching wall decoration. He chose to join a kabal. His connections to his mother’s coven served him well; she may not have wanted him as a colleague, but she was happy to help him with his political goals. Within a few centuries, he was happily in place as the third in command of the Crimson Talon. He learned that it was good to be near power, close enough to whisper in its ear, but not so close that people got ideas about assassinating you.

His kabal was part of the group that swanned into save the craftworld Iyanden. Iyanden had been forced to muster the spirits of their ancestors to fend off a Tyranid hive fleet; yanking spirit stones from the Infinity Circuit, destroying their eternal rest. And yet it did not seem enough — necromancy would not save them. And yet at a time when all seemed lost, the drukhari rallied behind their kindred to send the bugs fleeing. Was it out of the kindness of their hearts? Absolutely not. They thought it was funny that the Iyanden aeldari had been forced to break their final taboo. And because they found it amusing to imagine their cousins forced to live with the knowledge that they had shattered the respite of their resident ghosts, they saved them.

While in Iyanden, Taleath was mortally wounded by a tyranid termagaunt. His guts spilled out over his hands, his blood choking his breath, and his last thoughts were dreams of revenge — but he did not die. A young Aeldari warrior (“barely off the teat, they were recruiting babies —“ Taleath would later say) found him, and stemmed the bleeding, before half-dragging him to safety. He stayed beside the drukhari, tending to his wounds when no one else would. The boy had lost his entire family to the tyranid invasion. All he wanted to do was to save one soul, no matter how lost.

Taleath’s kabal gave him up for dead, because of course they did. He did not expect anyone to come for him. And so his initial plan was to manipulate the boy, to play the reformed monster — ending up with the inevitable gory betrayal that drukhari so like to inflict on those who make the mistake of trusting them. However, months turned to years turned to decades, and Taleath couldn’t pinpoint the moment when he eventually started genuinely caring. He just…did. He detoxed from his terrible grinding soul-hunger, because there was no way to effectively feed aboard the craftworld, and found his head clearer than he could remember it ever being. He saw how the boy was doted on by his parents, and thought of his own mad hag of a mother. He changed.

One day, he heard a rumour of Yvraine — the crazy death-worshipping bitch — making nice with the humans. He paid the rumours little mind, until they could no longer be ignored. Through a series of complicated and lengthy campaigns, he found himself fighting on the same side as the Primarch, destroying the legion that called itself the World Bearer’s. At a break in the fighting, looking up at the brilliant bronzed figure of Roboute Guilliman, Taleath laughed breathlessly to himself, attracting some strange looks. “Killing the lost children of a dead man,” he said, with his off-kilter grin. “Under the auspices of a golden son.”

[bupia]

18 with Terzo bc HONESTLY that's the plot of jigolo har megiddo

FORMAL WEAR

"I can't wait to take your innocence."

There's a smut under the cut, +18 only, please.

(Female!Reader: unprotected sex; fingering; teasing; dirty talk; Italian swearing; swearing; semi-public sex)

Available on AO3

Day 26 | Day 28

The night of the Halloween ball had finally arrived, and you had eagerly awaited it the entire week. Excitement coursed through your veins as you counted down the hours until the event. Papa Emeritus III, affectionately known as Terzo, was renowned for hosting the most extravagant parties, and tonight, he had something special in store: a Masquerade party with a Halloween twist. The concept was peculiar, as it required guests to dress up as monsters, witches, or creatures, but with the added mystique of masks.

However, you felt an inexplicable urge to defy convention. Instead of donning the typical ghoulish attire, you sought to bring an air of contrast to the evening. Your heart was set on something more elegant and formal. You had decided to opt for a graceful, floor-length dress and a delicate, unadorned mask. In your mind, you envisioned yourself as a character straight out of one of those enchanting princess tales, where a chance encounter behind a mask led to a whirlwind romance, or so the stories go.

Having just finished dressing up and making sure everything was in place, you gracefully made your way to the garden where the much-anticipated ball was set to unfold. You couldn't help but wonder if Papa Emeritus I, Primo, had any reservations about all the eccentric siblings wandering around the garden simultaneously. However, you figured that Terzo must have worked his charismatic magic to put Primo's nerves at ease.

As you entered the garden, you were greeted by an enchanting spectacle. The ambient lighting was a mix of eerie and alluring, with various hues casting an otherworldly glow. The decorations were hauntingly beautiful, and the carefully curated music added to the spine-tingling atmosphere, perfectly in sync with the Halloween theme.

The atmosphere at the event was beyond amazing, and you found yourself completely engrossed in the festivities. With the enchanting ambiance all around you, you decided to take a brief respite and headed toward the food table. You couldn't help but feel a sense of pride; after all, you had lent a hand in the kitchen earlier, and the dishes turned out to be nothing short of delectable.

As you scanned the crowd, trying to spot your friends among the masked guests, your eyes locked onto a figure standing in the distance. It was a man, and he seemed to be gazing directly at you. The mask obscured his features, leaving you curious and somewhat intrigued. You couldn't be certain if he was one of the siblings from the ministry or just another guest. Maybe even someone from the Clergy.

Your curiosity piqued, you furrowed your brows and discreetly averted your gaze from the mysterious man. You hoped to lose him in the crowd as you began to move through the garden in search of your friends. To your surprise, the enigmatic figure matched your pace, maintaining a certain distance, and never breaking his gaze from you.

An uneasy sensation settled in the pit of your stomach as you did your best to avoid his penetrating stare. It was as though his eyes were fixed solely on you, and you could feel them on you even as you continued to walk.

As you finally came to a stop, feeling an overwhelming need to confront the mysterious man, you turned to face the spot where he had been. To your surprise, he had vanished, swallowed by the pulsating mass of dancing siblings.

Convinced it had all been a figment of your imagination, you turned to retrace your steps, intending to head back to where you had been. However, the moment you pivoted, your breath caught in your throat. There he stood, right behind you.

"You are looking very beautiful tonight, principessa," the man said, his voice strikingly familiar.

You couldn't believe your ears. "Papa?" you inquired, a sense of recognition dawning upon you.

"Oh, I'm not Papa today," he replied, a sly smile playing on his lips, "I'm just a masked man at a masquerade ball, sorella." He extended his hand toward you. "Would you like to have a dance with me?"

Your heart pounded, and you looked down at his hand before nodding in confirmation. You reached for his hand, and he led you gracefully to the dance floor.

As he placed his hand on your waist and drew you nearer to him, the rhythm of the music seemed to adapt to the pace of your heart. It wasn't a slow dance, yet he moved with such fluidity and grace that it felt as if a classical ballad played softly in the background. You glanced around, trying to comprehend, but all faded into insignificance when he pulled you even closer, leaving only a mere inch between your faces.

Your breath hitched, and you found yourself lost in the intensity of his gaze. His eyes bore into yours, a silent conversation unfolding between you. You followed his lead, allowing him to guide you gracefully as the music played on. Terzo took a deep breath, drawing back from you slowly, though his hand remained on your waist.

"Would you like to go to another area?" he asked.

"Of course," you replied, your voice trembling slightly.

He gently slid his hand from your waist and interlocked his fingers with yours, leading you out of the garden and back inside the ministry. The two of you walked in silence, following him down a corridor, and the anticipation in the air grew palpable.

After a brief moment, he turned to face you and slowly removed his mask, revealing his face for the first time without the signature Papa paint. His eyes bore into yours, and he took a step closer. With a delicate touch, he reached for your mask, removing it and allowing it to fall to the floor.

"Can I?" he whispered, his voice laden with meaning.

You nodded, your heart pounding, understanding the unspoken question. You closed your eyes, ready for what was to come. His hands slid to the sides of your body, drawing you closer, and you rested your arms on his shoulders. Terzo leaned in, and your lips met in a tender, passionate kiss.

As your lips danced together in a fervent embrace, you took a deep breath, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. Your arms wrapped around his neck, drawing him closer, and his response was a deep, guttural groan that escaped into your mouth. Your hand found its way to his hair, fingers caressing the strands gently, eliciting a shiver from him.

He moved his hand to the small of your back, pressing you even closer, as if such closeness were even possible. The intensity of the moment surged, and your mouths parted, allowing your tongues to meet in a passionate, almost erotic dance.

He led you backward until your back was pressed against one of the cool marble walls of the hallway. His body was firmly pressed against yours, and the passionate kiss was momentarily broken as he moved to your neck. His lips and tongue trailed along your skin, leaving a trail of hungry, feverish kisses.

You unwrapped your arms from around his neck, one hand remaining on his head, fingers tangled in his hair, while the other hand found its place on his waist. The intoxicating scent of his cologne enveloped you, and you couldn't help but close your eyes, your mouth parting in a silent moan.

"Papa..." you called out, your voice quivering with desire. "I don't think... we should do it here..."

"We are not doing anything wrong, sorella," he whispered, his warm breath against your skin as he continued to suck on your neck. "And no one will see us here; they are all at the party anyway."

"But what if..." you attempted to voice your concern, but your words dissolved into a passionate moan as he bit your neck ever so slightly.

He withdrew from your neck and met your gaze. "Should we put a pause on this? If you'd rather not continue, we can stop."

In a soft voice, you replied, "I don't want to stop, Papa."

A low, satisfied growl rumbled from him, and he brushed his lips across yours. "Molto bene," he purred. "I can't wait to take your innocence."

You chuckled softly, your hands finding their way to his shoulders, fingers caressing the tension there. "Who said I'm innocent, Papa?" you said with a playful tone.

"I thought principesse like you were innocent," he teased, a playful glint in his eyes.

You leaned in close, your voice a sultry whisper, "Not this one right here." As you spoke, you gently ran your tongue along his lips, watching with satisfaction as his eyes rolled back in pleasure.

A big, devilish smile spread across his lips as he turned his attention back to your neck, trailing a path of soft kisses from your neck to your shoulder and collarbone. His hands gently caressed their way down to your shoulders. His fingers traced a path down your shoulders, gently pulling the straps of your dress down, baring your breasts for him.

His hands skillfully moved from your arms to your breasts, tenderly taking them into his warm palms and giving them a gentle squeeze. His kisses grew more fervent on your neck, and the exquisite sensations caused you to gasp in response.

"Ah... Papa..." you breathed, your voice filled with desire.

"You can call me by my name if you want, sorella," he whispered, his warm breath tickling your ear.

"Terzo..." you moaned.

"Perfetto," he cooed, his voice laden with desire. "Again," he commanded, gently increasing the pressure on your breasts.

"Terzo..." you moaned once more, your voice thick with longing.

"Molto bene," he praised. "Again," he repeated as his mouth found your breasts, taking a nipple into his warm mouth, and sucking on it with an intoxicating fervor.

"Terzo!" you cried out, your senses fully immersed in the pleasure of the moment, your eyes closing in ecstasy.

"Hold your dress for me," he whispered, biting your nipple gently.

Your hands moved quickly to comply, lifting your dress up for him. He then knelt before you, the tension between you both growing even more palpable.

"I can see someone is already wet for Papa," he remarked, his eyes fixated on your panties. "Molto bene, you're making your Papa very proud."

Terzo wasted no time, swiftly moving his hands to the waistband of your panties and sensually pulling them down to your ankles. He tucked them into his pants pocket with a sly smile. His gloved hands then, gently caressing your calves and making their way upward to your thighs. With each caress, he left a trail of kisses along your legs, heightening the sensation as desire coursed through his veins.

"Sei così bella," he whispered, his voice filled with admiration. "I recognized you the moment you arrived in the garden. As soon as I saw you, I knew who was behind the mask. I was waiting for you."

"W-Waiting for me?" you stammered, surprised by his words.

"Sì," he confirmed, his lips brushing against your thigh. "La sorella più bella nel mio ministero. How could I not notice la più bella among all of them?"

He continued to lavish kisses all over your thighs, making his way to your inner thighs and leaving a trail of soft bites that caused your legs to tremble with anticipation. His chuckle at your reaction only added to the excitement, and he proceeded to trace a path with his warm, lingering kisses from your inner thighs toward your core.

He lowered his face, and his lips and nose brushed sensually against your folds. The sensation of his nose lightly grazing your clit and the softness of his lips proved overwhelmingly erotic, causing you to whimper at the intense pleasure. Terzo then rose from his knees, his hand moving to rest gently on your pubic mound, his touch leaving you trembling with desire.

"Do you want me to touch you?" he asked.

"Yes, Papa," you replied, your voice filled with longing.

"And here?" He lowered his hand, his fingers gently finding your clit and pressing it.

"Yes, yes, yes," you moaned, your pleasure evident. "Yes, Papa, just there."

"I said you can call me by my name, sorella," he gently reminded you, his fingers continuing to rub your clit in a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure through you. "Say it to me now, say my name."

"Ah! Terzo!" you moaned, your back arching in response to the intense pleasure.

"Bene, you are so good for me," he praised, his hand moving lower, leaving your clit, and exploring your entrance. "What about here?" he inquired.

"Mmmm... very much..." you purred, completely lost in the fiery desires.

Terzo slowly slid his middle finger into you, and an intense wave of desire engulfed your entire body. He held it there without moving, watching you as you began to move your hips, seeking a response from him. His sly grin only added to the tantalizing anticipation, creating tension. Slowly, he added another finger, and the sensation caused you to moan softly.

"Do you think you can handle another one, sorella?" he asked, his index finger teasing the contours of your entrance.

"Yes, Terzo," you purred with confidence. "I can handle it all." Your hands gripped your dress even tighter, holding it up for him.

He nodded and then slowly inserted his third finger inside you. The intense sensation caused your body to jump with pleasure, and you felt as though you were melting under his touch. But he held his fingers still, prolonging the tantalizing agony. Your urgent need for movement was evident as you tried to convey it by clenching your walls around his fingers, silently urging him to move.

He grinned at you, fully aware of how much you desired this. Terzo withdrew his hand from between your legs, and you looked down at his fingers, now glistening with your arousal, moaning in frustration.

"You like that, sì?" he teased.

"Yes," you admitted breathlessly.

With your response, Terzo slid his fingers back inside you, initially moving them in and out gently, but gradually picking up the pace. As he quickened his rhythm, you couldn't help but arch your back and release a soft moan of intense pleasure. His movements became faster and more purposeful, skillfully targeting your most sensitive areas.

The sensation was incredible, but your desire for more was insatiable. You gazed up at him with a pleading look in your eyes, silently urging him to take you even further in the depths of lust.

"What is this look, sorella?" he inquired, his eyes locked onto yours.

"I want you, Terzo... inside me," you whispered, your voice heavy with desire.

"Inside? You want my cock?" he inquired, his voice a sultry murmure

"Yes, please... give me your cock," you begged.

He sensually removed his fingers from inside you, bringing them up to his mouth and sucking them clean, his gaze never leaving yours.

"I will give you what you want," he whispered, his voice a sultry promise, a devilish grin on his lips.

Terzo stood and removed his pants, and you watched with anticipation as his erection sprang free, hard and ready. He moved his hands to your legs, lifting them from the floor and placing them on his hips. As he did, you felt his hardness pressing against your moist folds. Your hands left your dress and found their way to his shoulders, gently caressing them.

“Please, Terzo… Please, fuck me… right now…” you begged, your desire laid bare in your voice and your pleading eyes.

Terzo placed his hands on your waist and lifted you slightly, guiding his length into you. You gasped as he entered you, feeling the fullness of his hardness. As his entire length penetrated you, a moan escaped your lips. Your head fell back as you savored the sensation of being filled so completely, and your eyes closed as you relished the feeling of his warm body pressed against yours.

"Merda... so wet... so tight... feels so good inside," he moaned, his voice laden with pleasure.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself closer to him, and your senses were overwhelmed by the pulsing rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest. Your eyes locked with his, and the burning desire in his gaze ignited a fierce passion between you as he began to thrust. Leaning forward, he placed his hands on your thighs, keeping you firmly in place.

"Oh, Terzo... so good..." You moaned, arching your back as his thrusts sent waves of pleasure through your body. "Your cock feels so good inside..."

"Does it, sorella?" he asked, his eyes burning with desire as he continued to move inside you. "You like my cock inside you?"

You nodded eagerly, your nails lightly scraping along his back. "Yes... yes... but please don't stop..." Your hips instinctively rocked, urging him to quicken the pace.

Terzo's lips found yours, and he kissed you hungrily, your tongues intertwining in a passionate dance. His thrusts quickened, and the intensity of your connection deepened with each movement. The corridor was filled with the sound of your moans, the erotic echoes of your desire. His hands gripped your hips firmly as he maintained a relentless rhythm, his length sliding in and out of you.

"Yes! Just like that! Oh, Terzo! Yes... fuck me just like that..." Your voice was filled with ecstasy and longing as you couldn't help but moan and cry out in pleasure.

His passionate rhythm showed no sign of slowing down, his length driving into you with unrelenting desire. The corridor echoed with the sounds of your moans. Your fingers tangled in his hair, and you held him close, lost in the intoxicating whirlwind of sensations. Terzo's desire for you intensified, and he picked up the pace, thrusting into you with a frenzied urgency. Your moans grew louder and more desperate as his movements became faster and more passionate.

"Merda, your pussy feels amazing," he growled, looking at you with desire in his eyes. "You are so hot, taking my cock so well. Your pussy is taking me so well, and it's driving me wild, sorella."

You met his passionate thrusts with your own, rocking your hips in sync with his, creating a harmonious rhythm. Your mouths met again, and your kisses were filled with hunger and longing, your tongues dancing in a passionate exploration.

You broke the kiss, locking your gaze with his, and the intensity of your need mirrored in his eyes left you feeling weak and consumed by the lust. Your head rested against his shoulder, and the sound of your heartbeats echoed in your ears.

"Terzo... Terzo..." you moaned his name, your voice filled with longing, and you heard him grunting with pleasure. "Terzo, please... more... more..."

Your body undulated with each rhythmic thrust of his length, the sensation of being completely filled transcending any experience you'd had before. Terzo maintained the deep, relentless rhythm, and you couldn't help but release a long, low moan of profound satisfaction. His hands tightened their grip on your thighs, and you were certain he could feel the tension building within you. The intensity grew as Terzo's thrusts became harder, his movements faster and powerful.

"More? You want more, sorella?" he groaned, his voice heavy with desire.

"Yes... give it all to me... please, please, don't stop, fuck me," you pleaded, your need for more was undeniable.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him to penetrate you even deeper. The sound of your breathing grew ragged, and your moans became increasingly urgent. Your body arched against the wall, the impending climax growing more powerful with each passing moment.

"Terzo, I'm going to cum... I'm going to cum!" you cried out.

"Sì, sì, molto bene, cum all over my cock, sorella, make your Papa happy," he encouraged.

You could no longer hold back, and your cries of ecstasy filled the hallway as you climaxed fiercely, your muscles contracting around Terzo's member as you rode the exhilarating wave of orgasmic bliss.

"Yes-yes-yes-yes-yes!" You cried out as your orgasm exploded, a surge of intense pleasure rippling through your body like an electric current.

With a fervent cry of desire, he exclaimed, "Merda... so tight...! I can't-" as he delivered a final powerful thrust, releasing his seed deep within you.

He remained connected to you, still holding himself inside as you both took a moment to recover. Your legs remained tightly wrapped around his waist. You looked into his eyes, and he met your gaze, his face flushed with the intensity of the action.

"You are so beautiful when you come, sorella," he said, his voice filled with emotion.

"Thank you," you replied, your smile tinged with shyness. "I'm glad I could please you."

"You please me by letting me please you," he chuckled as he gently withdrew from you, carefully placing your legs back on the floor. "Would you give me the pleasure of continuing to please you this night, sorella?" he whispered, his voice heavy with desire.

"Very much, Terzo," you replied, your desire mirrored in your eyes as you bit your lower lip. "But what about the Halloween party?"

"They won't even notice I'm not there, as they can't see who is who under the masks," he reassured you with a whisper, before capturing your lips in one more fervent, passionate kiss.

[honeybee-bard]

Snippet Sunday

@marlowethebard you want more Astarion POV? You get more Astarion POV! This comes from the eventual retelling of my Falling Star longfic, and contains spoilers for chapter 13 of that, so if you aren't caught up then you might want to hold off on this one! Or don't, I'm not your dad.

Wynlana’s words from the morning echo through your head all day like an incessant buzzing insect, repeating over and over again whenever there’s even the smallest moment of silence. That’s all this is, after all - just friends? Just friends. Friends with some benefits, yes, but just friends all the same. You’ve never said anything to lead me to think you’d want something more. She’s right, of course. You’ve been very, very careful about that. For what it’s worth, there really isn’t anybody else. You’d told yourself it wasn’t worth anything, at first. Of course it wasn’t - you’re just friends. It doesn’t matter if there’s anyone else, she isn’t yours. That very thought had made you feel nauseous, something you hadn’t felt decades up until this morning as the thought ran through your head over and over. Not yours. Just friends. Nothing more. You hope your conversation with Raphael will overtake the thoughts of her, but it offers only a brief respite. Even as you fight the cultist attack on Last Light, she’s all you can think of. The words echo through your mind like a chant with each slice of your dagger. Not yours. Just friends. Nothing more. She retreats to her tent soon after the fight, and you find a secluded spot to brood over a bottle of wine you’d stolen from behind the bar. Not yours. Just friends. Nothing more. Your feet carry you towards her tent without being willed to do so. Perhaps you just need some blood to clear your head, or perhaps you just need to lose yourself in her. Something to distract you long enough to drive the thoughts away. You hadn’t expected to find her crying.

I love putting fictional characters in Situations <3

No-pressure tags: @kimberbohwrites @crimson-and-lavender @nyx-knox @thebarghestiest @ladyofcrowsandcoffee

[xxxdreamscapexxx]

I don’t want to hear thoughts... Unless they’re yours

Chapter 7: Forbidden longing Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader Word count: 4.2k Warning: NSFW, 18+ just in case, angst, dark thoughts, depressive thoughts, Wanda using her magic in a questionable way, Mommy!Kink, Summary: Wanda wanted to live the normal life she was never afforded, but something was always missing. Something she denied herself and buried deep inside. But watching you move next door, she quickly realizes that this may not be possible for much longer. Especially with all the interesting things she found in your thoughts. Chapter summary: Being alone in a new town can be hard. Especially when your past comes back to remind you of all the things you’re missing out on in life. Would Wanda be able to look the other way? Would she be able to stay away from you? Part 1; Part 2; Part 3; Part 4; Part 5; Part 6; Part 7; Part 8; Part 9; Part 10 Series materlist                                     Masterlist of all my works

On a Wednesday night you sighed as you sat on your balcony, a glass of wine resting on the table in front of you. You looked down at the pool, the lights at the edges giving the water a brilliant quality to it that you could easily get lost in. It was a beautiful view. You had many reasons to be happy, including the fact that you managed to hire the last needed person on your team today. By next Monday morning, everyone would have started onboarding, relieving some of the pressure this project had been putting on you, but you were feeling down. The days blurred together on weekdays and they dragged torturously slowly on weekends and you couldn’t find your balance. You needed an escape, a way to recharge in some way, but the one person who offered you respite, you had to cancel on, and now you didn’t have the courage to speak to her again, asking for some company, even when you needed it. Especially after the way you couldn’t tear your eyes away from her body every time she wasn’t looking. You couldn’t deny the woman her beauty and the allure of her maturity was obvious, which only made you shy away from her more. But this wasn’t the only thing weighing you down. You knew the source of your current frustration. You looked at your phone for a brief moment again, the image on the screen daunting. Your eyes lingered on the face of a blond woman, smiling at the camera. She looked happy. Really happy. God, why did that make you feel so dispirited? She hasn’t been in your life for years now. Perhaps it was her, that made you scared of thinking of Wanda, you thought distractedly. That blond woman, who had a cute girl on her arm, the two of them taking a selfie to the background of a sandy beach, she was your first girlfriend, your first ever love, the first woman to claim your heart and body. And she had destroyed you. You knew her since you were little. She was a friend of your mother’s and always so amazingly beautiful. Her glacier, icy blue eyes often seemed as cold as her demeaner, but you knew the woman had a soft side, she often kept hidden. To everyone else, she was one of the most influential, respected business women in your town, but when she was with you, her voice grew soft and sweet, her lips forming into a kind smile that very few knew, her touch so gentle, it almost felt like she was afraid you’d break. That soft side is actually what you fell in love with. You were awfully young, but that attraction stayed with you and during the summer after you turned 18, she finally admitted she knew of your feelings. You tried to deny it, of course, your heart hammering in your chest and your cheeks turning pink at the mention of it. You weren’t sure what you expected, but hearing her say that she shared in your feelings certainly wasn’t it. Yet, she told you she’d give you her heart. That you had it already and she’d do everything in her power to convince you that she was worthy of your affection. Her words and the sincerity behind them had your heart leaping. You wanted her love desperately, so you hid your relationship from your mother, knowing she would be against it. You spent afternoons after school sneaking though town, so you could meet her and your summer “interning” for her, having the time of your life. She knew how to lead, knew how to take control almost effortlessly and you were so happy to give in, so happy to let her take charge and guide you. She took her time to build your confidence and trust in her, took it so slow and steady, until you were ready. Eventually she became your first and you were thrilled to experience love and intimacy with her for the first time. You were happy with her, happy to be hers. And she was happy too. Having a pretty girl on her arm, one that looked at her with so much love and adoration, with so much affection, was all she wanted. When she asked you to take a gap year, between high school and college, so the two of you could spend more time together, you happily agreed, letting her make the decisions and choices you weren’t ready to face. She gave you a more permanent position with her, allowing you to save some money for college, while spending each day with her. She took you to so many of her “business trips”, which were no more than excuses, so she could take you on vacations and spoil you. It all looked wonderful on your resume too, so despite your mother’s very vocal disagreement of your choice, she let you go ahead with it… Now, years later, she told you, it was because she knew of your relationship. Disagreed with it wholeheartedly, and even almost threatened your now ex-girlfriend, but wanted you to be happy. And you were. You would have been happy to be with her for the rest of your life. But the things you loved about her and made you happy, were the same things she grew to dislike about you. In her eyes you were indecisive and rarely took initiative, always relied on her to help you and she was growing frustrated. After a couple of years into the relationship, she kept telling you that you’re a grown up, that you should be able to do things on your own, to deal with life on your own. You were so co-dependant and it was suffocating her. It was almost time for you to go to college and you kept asking her opinion for every decision, kept begging her to accompany you for every small thing, her presence providing calmness and reassurance, that you didn’t know how to function without. If only you knew how to tell her that. How to make her understand. One day, when you needed to go and shop for all your textbooks and supplies, you asked her to join you and she snapped. God, she looked so furious. For the first time since you’ve known her, she was as cold to you, as she was with everyone else, her voice a growl as she told you that you were such a useless little thing, incapable of doing even the smallest of things on your own. Your co-dependency was too much for her. She told you how sick she was of having to decide everything for you. Sick of carrying you through life, sick of seeing that pleading look in your eyes, waiting for her to save you. That day she broke up with you and broke your heart in the process too. The things she said echoed in your head for months. They fed your darkest fears, heightened your insecurity, until you couldn’t recognize yourself. You couldn’t pick yourself up from the floor, spending the remainder of your free weeks before college trying to grow the confidence to even attend. It was the worst pain you’ve ever known.   Eventually you thought of it as a lesson you had to learn. No one would want you the way you were with her. She told you that. And you believed it. You fought social anxiety and insecurity, trying to be independent and strong, trying to never be the way you allowed yourself to be with her. You were raised to be strong, your mother always reminded you, you were meant to lead, to be in control, to be powerful. And you were often told you’re good at it. People trusted you, you had a highly developed sense for justice and you cared about people. Yet, that was never what you wanted. You always felt safest under the blanket of another’s authority. Your next relationships were very different, but never worked out. You were never really yourself with those women and in return, they grew distant and eventually you broke up. At this point you thought that having a relationship that made you happy was impossible. No woman would care for your true self, would she? Your first girlfriend was the most patient of them all and even she had trouble to sometimes accept you and especially your kinks. She always hated it when you called her ‘’Mommy’’. You didn’t mean to, in fact it just slipped out sometimes, but it never failed to turn her off. She tried for you, of course, talked it through with you, but she always had a distaste for it, so you learned to keep it to yourself, never letting it slip out with other partners. No matter how much your other exes asked you about your fantasies or kinks, you never shared that one. You were sure that you would never meet a woman who would accept you, let alone share your preferences, choosing to forever keep them buried. And to keep them that way, you avoided the type of women, who actually attracted you most, knowing that sooner or later you’d slip… Perhaps that’s why you avoided Wanda? But she was kind, sweet, caring, she was always so gentle with you, yet assertive and strong, confident in herself and what she wanted. God, she was perfect! She was everything you ever imagined in a partner. Although that thought was absurd. You didn’t even know her… Truth be told, you shouldn’t even think of her. If you let yourself imagine what it would be like to be with her, you knew you’d fall for her so desperately. And she would snap your heart like a twig. Yes, thoughts of Wanda were a dangerous thing. So, you did your best to ignore any idea of her that would pop into your head. Keeping your distance would be in everyone’s best interest. Especially yours. In the long run, it was much kinder to your heart. Somehow that saddened you more and you gulped down the glass of wine in front of you, pouring yourself another. You were in a self-pitying mood and you allowed yourself to look at the picture of your ex and her new girlfriend and how happy they looked together, a lump in your throat. God, when would it be your turn to be this happy? To find the person, who would look at you with so much love in their eyes? Why was it, that you had to look at the happiness of others, never being allowed to taste it yourself? Was there truly no one out there for you? What was it about you that pushed people away? Were you not pretty enough? Not smart enough? Or were you simply unlovable? You often thought so. And the prospect of walking through life alone had you feeling disheartened quite often throughout the years. You’d smile for the world, observing it quietly, pretending to be content. And when you’d get home you’d cry for hours and hours, wanting to scream so hard your throat would go sore. But you’d take another sleeping pill instead and you’d sink into nothingness. It could be worse, you used to think… But nothing was worse than what you felt inside. It’s a good thing you found help when you did, you thought bitterly. Therapy helped you pull yourself out of the darkness and to start living in the light. But there were always days like this from time to time. Just as you thought of that, a movement inside the Maximoff’s house, a sudden shift, followed by the lights in the entire house going out attracted your attention. You could have sworn you saw the lights on both floors go out at once, but you could see nothing suspicious or out of the ordinary, so you shrugged, your eyes moving back to the pool with its brilliant blue water, entirely unaware of being watched by a pair of green eyes.                                               *             *             * After she came home from that disaster of a date, Wanda spent the whole night thinking. Her thoughts spiralled for hours, her heart protesting the thought that she should just pull away from you. She certainly didn’t want to. But could she keep this a friendship? After everything she saw, everything she did? After sharing so much intimacy with you, could she go back? Of course, she could, she decided. It meant a lot to her, yes, and God, she wanted to take everything else, but nothing was set in stone. You never had to know about Wanda’s transgressions.   But she knew… She knew about all those wonderful things inside your head and as she watched your movements from a distance, her mind closed to the outside world and to your thoughts, and she felt deprived. It was almost like withdrawal. Just like right now… She could see you there, on your balcony, sulking… And she wanted to know what you were thinking about. She wanted to know what made you seem so sad. But she couldn’t allow herself to probe, not if she wanted to stay away from you. Annoyed, as much at the situation, as she was at herself, she huffed, red magic erupting from her fingers and taking out the lights in her house. You were off limits. A place where she shouldn’t wander. If only she had seen the dark thoughts that swirled in your head, the pain that you felt as you sat there, perhaps things would be different. Perhaps she’d know just how much you longed to reach out to her, longed to text her and ask for a moment of her company. But such a thing was not meant to be. Despite the proximity, the two of you were worlds apart, each one engulfed by her own doubts and fears. You, so oblivious and blind and completely consumed by the fear of rejection that resided in your heart, and Wanda, who could see you so clearly, but couldn’t bring herself to take another chance with her barely salvaged heart. As Wanda walked up her stairs, her feet silent in the darkness, she felt a sudden sense of anger. It was the quiet, deeply unnerving kind, the kind that crawled up your skin and made your body suddenly heat up, but just wouldn’t boil over. It was the kind of anger that lingered. It stayed with her while she undressed herself, throwing on only a t-shirt, instead of her pajamas, it messed with her while she brushed her teeth, while she sat up in her bed and watched you through her window… You looked so sad. You looked so fucking beautiful in your sadness too and it made her want to blast the walls of this house with her magic, just so she could be closer to you. She wanted to know what caused your sadness and she wanted to find a way to make it better. Resentful of her own reservations, her own rules that restricted her, she huffed, closing her eyes and trying to push the thought of you out of her head and find some comfort in sleep. But sleep never came. And every time she opened her eyes, she was met with the same sight. The same out worldly beauty, the same terrible sadness written all over it. And she couldn’t stand it. Why did you have to be so beautiful? Why did that look in your eyes have to affect her so much. Wanda watched you for another 5 minutes, her eyes unblinking and her thoughts surprisingly empty, before she decided that she couldn’t stand this anymore. Rules be damned. She wanted to take care of you. She wanted to be good to you tonight. Wanda’s astral body levitated out of her physical one with surprising ease, despite the fact that she hadn’t projected in years. Some things just couldn’t be unlearned over time and magic came way too easy to her now, so perhaps she shouldn’t have been surprised. She walked in front of the mirror in her bedroom and her head tilted as she examined her reflection. Yes, some things never changed. Those scars, gained in magical battle might have disappeared from her skin, but she could see them clearly here. Her red eyes glowed in the darkness, her skin covered in angry, jagged lines, the blackened fingers, that twitched with unused magic, the tattered crown over her head and the suit that she hasn’t worn since mount Wundagore... All those things from her past. She was a true horror, even in her own eyes. How could she ever ask a girl like you to love a monster like the one she so clearly was? But she wasn’t going to ask you to love her. In fact, you wouldn’t even see her. You had no magical abilities, she checked soon after you moved in. So she had nothing to worry about tonight. With a final glance that lingered on her face, Wanda flew out of her house and hovered over your balcony, examining you up close. You were almost in a stupor and Wanda’s astral form flew closer, landing near you and taking the last few steps to you. “Poor, sweet girl. You look so tired.” She said with a note of melancholy understanding, knowing you wouldn’t be able to hear her. The dark circles under your eyes gave you a grave expression that didn’t sit right with her, that didn’t even seem to fit in the image she had of you and the way your body sagged looked so unnatural, like you were a misshapen doll, that it made Wanda shudder. Only your eyes gave away that there was still a spark of life in you, a tornado of feelings and emotions that scrambled your thoughts. As if to show her you’re alive, your hand moved, blindly taking the glass of wine and dawning the remainder if its content, the sharp taste making you shiver as you swallowed it. In a gesture of gentle compassion, Wanda reached out, her fingers stroking your hair softly. “That’s not good for you, darling girl.” She said with a tenderness that looked almost macabre, considering you couldn’t see or feel her. To her surprise, you put the glass down, pushing it away with an apathetic gesture and Wanda crouched down in front of you, eyes studying you with a curious expression. She wondered for a moment if perhaps you had sensed her, but nothing actually gave that away. Your eyes looked unseeingly through her and into the blue water of the pool. But perhaps on some level you could feel her, she hoped, standing up straight again and moving to your side, her forehead touching your temple softly as she breathed you in, while one of her hands circled your shoulders and embraced you gently. Her blackened fingers looked so grotesque next to your unblemished skin, but she couldn’t help herself basking in your proximity, in your presence, in your smell, in your warmth. Despite what she might have looked like, she only wanted to get a moment of gentleness from you. She wanted to hug you, to lay your head on her chest and stroke your hair, a gesture she knew would soothe both of you. God, she probably looked deranged right now, but as soon as your body tilted to the side, as if to lean more against her, Wanda lost all ability to care. Some part of you did sense her, she thought, a surge of excitement passing through her body. She wondered just how much she would be able to influence you in this state. You were obviously more susceptible to suggestion in your tired drunkenness, but she was only in her astral form, her own capabilities limited. And she didn’t really want to manipulate you in any sinister way, just to get you to bed, so you could rest a little. You still had work in the morning and it was already so terribly late… “Sweetheart, do you think you can go to bed for me?” She asked softly, still holding you. It was an empty feeling, her astral form incapable of feeling the way she did, but it was better than nothing. With a soft, affectionate smile, she felt you yawn, your arm making the instinctive motion of covering your mouth, but coming up a few seconds late. “Yes, that’s right. You’re feeling very sleepy right now and you want to go to bed.” She whispered, detaching herself from you. She watched you try to stifle another yawn, but it didn’t quite work. You seemed almost ready to fall asleep right on the chair. It was downright cute, the way you tried to snuggle into the chair for comfort. But Wanda couldn’t let you sleep here. “Your bed would be much more, comfortable, darling.” She whispered in your ear, feeling elated. She felt free. To speak as she wished, to say the things she wanted to say, without fear, without restrictions, without limit. In the cover of darkness, in a state, where the whole universe was her witness, yet no human around would ever hear her, she could say out loud the things she kept hidden. Your body refused to move, your eyes opening and closing in uneven intervals as she watched you. Poor baby was so tired. She would have picked you up and carried you if she could, but she only had her voice to use, so she tried again. “Go on, baby. Go to bed. You’re not supposed to stay here.” She said again, stroking your hair. God, it felt so good to be able to say this out loud. To show you the affection you deserved. Perhaps in her freedom, she could use the words she had never spoken out loud… “Come on, darling, Mommy will cuddle you to sleep if you go to your bed.” She suggested, feeling a shiver pass through her at how good it felt to say those words, already feeling the rush of excitement at the thought of having you in her arms. She could talk to you like this for hours. At this, you stirred, straightening in your chair and trying to keep your eyes open and Wanda smirked. Such a sweet, pliable girl… “Let’s get you into bed.” Wanda smiled, repeating her instructions, until you finally stood with a tired sigh and another stifled yawn. “Such a good girl.” The witch praised you, following your steps into the house and its master bedroom.   The space was dark, but you couldn’t be bothered by the lights, not wanting to irritate your eyes, instead standing in front of the bed and reaching to undress yourself. “No, don’t undress, baby. Mommy won’t be able to stop herself if you take your clothes off.’’ Wanda rushed to stop you. It’s not that she didn’t want to see you, the temptation to let you strip yourself down and expose all your beauty almost too great for her to resist. But she didn’t want to take advantage of you like that. “Just lie down, now darling.” She instructed in a gentle voice, coaxing you to lie down. She watched you take a deep breath, before you reached behind your back, unclasping your bra and taking it off your shoulders and from underneath your clothes, throwing in carelessly on the nearby armchair, before you climbed into bed, not even bothering with the covers. It was such a warm night anyway. You pulled down one of the many pillows at the top of the bed and hugged it, your body needing the feeling of proximity and Wanda’s eyes swelled with tears. God, she couldn’t even remember how many nights she had fallen asleep in just the same way. True to her words, she climbed into bed, facing you and she draped one of her arms over your body. “Sleep now, little angel, Mommy’s here.” She whispered softly. She watched you fall asleep in mere seconds, clearly exhausted, and she watched the features in your face grow softer and more content, once you had drifted. You were still so gorgeous, so precious, cuddled up into bed. She could stay and watch you like this all night. She certainly wanted to. She wanted to let her physical body sleep in her bed, while she stayed here with you, watching you, soothing you, admiring you… But she couldn’t do that… She was meant to keep herself away from you, not learn a new way to be close to you. Staying would only tempt her further. Bargaining with herself, feeling reluctant to leave your side, she spent another half an hour next to you, her hand stroking your cheek affectionately as she watched you sleep, but eventually, she left. Her astral form returned back into her body as if slammed by invisible force, leaving her breathless and full of half-felt emotions. Wanda felt so unfulfilled, knowing you were so close to her, sweetly curled around a pillow and sleeping peacefully. Leaving your side truly left a bitter aftertaste in her. She had gotten a glimpse of being so close to you, of being so utterly herself and now she wanted so much more. She wanted to throw away all her restraint and just fly back to you, where she felt whole, felt a sense of serenity that’s been missing in her. As her eyes snapped open, she groaned. Giving you up, would be much harder than she anticipated. ______________________________________________________ As always, I’d love to know what you guys think about the chapter and the story in general.  Disclaimer: Gif is not mine. I’d be happy to give credit if I knew who made it...

[spookyxsprinkles]

🎨 Colour Theory, part 1: Horizon Line [oneshot]

(formerly known as "Perspective")

shimura tenko × poc friendly f!reader ft. todoroki touya.

-> safe for work // 4.8k words // AO3 // part 2. -> warnings: jealousy + some actions may be considered creepy. low self-esteem, shyness, a couple of very brief musical references, family member death mention.

summary: tenko goes to art school and gets a little crush on a musical theater major.

×X×

Horizon Line -- an actual or imaginary line in a work of art representing the point at which water or land seems to end and the sky begins.

×X×

Tenko had fallen asleep before the performance had even started.

He had long lost track of how long he'd been awake for. It was the end of his second semester in university and the prestigious art program he was in made sure to keep him busy with project after project. He was running out of steam. Honestly, he had been running on fumes for weeks now.

He'd rather be in his dorm finishing his assignments instead of sitting in one of the theaters in the performing arts building. If it wasn't a requirement for Fine Arts majors to attend other Fine Arts events, he would have never set foot in this place. The noise of the attendees filling the room and the orchestra tuning their instruments in the pit was grating his sleep deprived nerves.

He grumbled and crossed his arms as someone took the seat beside him, his leg bouncing as he grabbed the program the usher had handed to him when he first entered. Tenko's bloodshot eyes were barely able to process anything more than The Phantom of the Opera on the front of the flimsy pamphlet, before shutting it and glaring at the scarlet curtains on the stage.

A few minutes later, the lights began to dim and he sighed in relief as the room quieted. He could finally catch some much needed sleep.

He tried stretching his stiff legs in an attempt to loosen himself up and closed his eyes.

Only to open them at the sound of your voice singing to him on the stage.

"Think of me, think of me fondly when we've said goodbye. Remember me, once in a while, please, promise me you'll try."

Tenko was mesmerized. Watching you on stage woke him up more than the energy drinks he'd been living off of all semester. He was absolutely immersed with your performance. He soaked in your every word and movement and before he knew it, two hours had gone by and the cast was being applauded as they bowed.

He sat in awe for a moment as the auditorium lights flicked on and he stood, shuffling through the crowd. He found a nice corner of the lobby behind a pillar as he and some other audience members waited. He skimmed through the program and found you. He whispered your name like a secret only he could ever know.

The cast slowly came out one by one and thanked the guests for coming. Tenko's eyes darted around impatiently. Finally, out came you in the white gown you wore in your final scene, looking like an angel that had come down to offer his sin-filled existence some respite.

You greeted and thanked the attendees as they praised you and handed you flowers. It was the final night of your musical and you were beaming. Tenko's fingers fidgeted at his sides as he yearned to get closer to you and experience your radiance himself.

A guest bowed and left, leaving an opening for him to approach. He took a step out from behind the pillar, but you turned at the sound of your voice coming from behind you. Tenko recognized the person as the man who played the Phantom and sighed when he saw you turn and leave the room.

When Tenko returned to his dorm, he searched your name online and found your social media. His night was spent watching your videos. He didn't realize how much time had passed until his alarm went off and he saw the sunlight peaking out from behind onyx curtains. It was time for him to get ready for class.

The semester had finished with him acing art and barely passing his core courses. It was winter break and with most students away, the campus was deserted. The thought of having no one to go home to didn't even cross his mind as he spent the break filling his sketchbooks with your image.

His second semester started off much better than the first one. His art had rapidly improved from how much he'd been practicing recently.

He found a spot he liked. It was a small outdoor table nestled between some trees on the southern campus dormitory area. The weather on this side of the country wasn't as cold as other prefectures would be in January, but there was still the occasional breeze that made his dry skin prickle up with goosebumps. It was the rain that was more likely to get him sick, although, since he was under the wide umbrella of the table, he found that unlikely and continued his sketch of you.

A week and a half later, he gulped down the last of his cold medication and slammed the container down in frustration. He leered at the harrowed reflection staring back at him on the dirty bathroom mirror. His eyes were heavy with deep bags, his skin a sickly colour, and his black hair hadn't been brushed in 2 or 3 days. He let out a sigh.

×X×

He found another spot he liked, safe from the chilling late January rain. It was in the performing arts building, in a seating area by the entrance. The art program may have been the school's top program, but the grand architecture and romantic interior design of the performing arts building clearly showed it also wasn't anything to scoff at, despite being was a few stories shorter than the building across the quad that Tenko was more familiar with. It was much noisier here, too.

Tenko had his earbuds in as he slouched on the upholstered chair, sketching, when he noticed a familiar form in the corner of his eye.

It was someone he recognized as your frequent scene partner that you seemed to be joined at the hip with, if your social media was anything to go by. Tenko felt a spark of excitement bubbling inside of him and he looked around hoping to see you, but your face was not among the crowd of students. His hope deflated to disappointment and he scratched the side of his neck. You were likely already in class.

It was ten minutes into the hour when Tenko decided to leave. He gathered his things and carried his sketchbook in his arms as he stood and walked away from the seating area.

He tripped over his feet and bumped into someone, his sketchbook flying out of his grasp.

"Oh no, I'm so sorry!!"

It was you.

Your sweet voice was full of apology as you bent down to grab his sketchbook for him. He watched in awe at how swiftly you moved. He was at a loss for words. Your fingers froze over the edge and Tenko realized what page it had landed open on.

"Is that... me?"

Your voice sounded so pretty, even when you were confused. He felt his face burning as you grabbed the sketchbook and stood. Your eyes stared down at the sketch of you he had just done while in the seating area, when he was itching to catch a glimpse of the top of your head through the crowd.

You were so close now and it was going to kill him.

"This is from my Jekyll and Hyde audition in Spring 2220, right? Back when I was trying to get the role of Lisa. I can't believe it's already been three years since then..."

You were so close now and he knew you'd think he was a creep for watching your old videos and bumping into you. You probably thought he had it all planned out, like some sort of stalker.

"Is it okay if I flip through..?"

His brain was screaming at him to say 'no, give it back' but his head nodded, unable to deny you of anything you wanted from him. Yes, there were sketches of you without any clothes on and he was well aware of how that would look, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. He would rip out his heart for you to use as a hand warmer, if you asked.

He watched with a gut wrenching mix of horror and delight as you flipped through and took your time to study every page. Drawing had always come easily for him, with hands being his favourite body part to draw. Expressions were a bit more difficult for him to feel satisfied by so he preferred to leave faces blank or smudged out. With you, he actually put in the effort to capture your expressions.

He could see your eyes carefully observe every stroke he had made and take in the details. The furrow in your brow as you focused had him contemplating whether or not he wanted to reach his hand over to your face and smooth it out or leave it perfect the way it was.

You hand him the sketchbook and he snaps out of his thoughts.

"Huh?" He had been too in his head to hear what you had said.

"Thank you, I've never had someone draw me before. It feels really nice." You say with a soft laugh.

The sound made his skin itch and the tips of his fingers tingle with electricity. He clutched his sketchbook tight enough to pale his knuckles. His nails dug into the material as he barely remembers to stop staring and nod as you offer him praise and he feels dizzy. You were so nice. Why were you so nice? To him? He wanted to speak but he couldn't decide on what to say.

"I gotta go. I'm super late to practice and my partner's going to be on my ass about it." You sighed. You wave goodbye and disappear down the hallway.

He was also a bit late to class. His figure drawing professor shot him a judgmental look as he entered the room. Tenko couldn't bring himself to care.

You knew he existed.

×X×

The weather was nice and Tenko was sketching at the outdoor table, when someone sat across from him. He looked up and saw you with an ice cream cone.

"I knew you looked familiar! You're the person that's always out here working on something."

He felt his face heating up as you took a lick of your ice cream. You were so forward. He didn't expect you to approach him again. He had chalked the positive end of your last conversation up to politeness.

"I guess you've been drawing this whole time, huh? Mystery solved. Also explains why you're so good at drawing."

"Thanks to your performances," Tenko says without thinking. He immediately panics at how creepy he sounded.

"Oh, is that why you draw me? I thought it was the outfits since the costume department goes all out. Huh, interesting."

You continue licking your ice cream while watching him and he has to look away. He felt so shy in your presence. He didn't feel worthy of your attention. You were so soft, so pretty, so talented and he was just a creep with a crush that couldn't stop himself from sketching you constantly.

He looks down at his hands as he stumbles through his nerves when he explains how watching you had helped him with movement, making his art more fluid and dynamic. When he finishes, he looks up and sees you smiling at him. The sight made his breathing hitch and he rasped out a small, "What..?"

Were you making fun of him? Is that what this was? Were you actually just here to--

"I could do some reference work for you, if you'd like?"

His eyes widened and he could feel his face heating, the corners of his lips tugging. He didn't know how to speak without making a fool of himself and he was thankful you kept talking. He was happy to sit quietly and watch you.

"We could schedule private sessions, that way it can be just the two of us without anyone interrupting."

"What?" Questioned a third, deeper voice.

The two of you look up and see your partner staring down at you while holding an ice cream cone of his own. "What kinda weird shit you getting into now?"

Your brows furrowed. "Hm? What do you mean?"

"Your wording sucks."

You took a moment to think about it and became flustered. "I didn't mean anything strange," you assured Tenko.

"Sure, pervert."

"Anyways, this is my new friend, uh..." you look over at him sheepishly, "Sorry, what's your name?"

"Shimura Tenko..." His fingers fiddle with the corner of his paper.

"Can I call you Tenko? Or is that too familiar?"

Tenko's face heated up, "Th-That's fine..."

You nod enthusiastically before looking back up at your partner. "This is my new friend Tenko. They're the artist I was telling you about!"

"Oh, so you're the creep who draws her naked."

"I-It's art..!" You defended.

"S'weird, but whatever." The man seemed bored as he licked his ice cream and took a seat in the chair beside her. "Todoroki Touya. She's like a leech so you're stuck with her now. My condolences."

You nod as you take a lick of your ice cream, "We are now bonded for life."

Tenko awkwardly looks between the two of them, unsure of what to say. The two performers end up in a conversation and he can tell you were trying to include him so that he didn't feel left out. After some bickering, Touya takes a bite out of your ice cream.

"How can you just bite it like that!? Doesn't it hurt your teeth!?"

He shrugs, "The cold never bothered me."

You hum a song from a children's movie as you pull out your phone and hand it to Tenko, asking him to insert his Line I.D. because you want to friend him. He looks between you and Touya, crimson eyes glancing at the arm the other man was lazily resting on the back of your chair.

"Is that okay..?"

You tilt your head in confusion, reminding him of a puppy. "Why wouldn't it be?"

Tenko looks from your kind eyes over to the man beside you whose turquoise pair that seemed to be blazing with fire. Tenko blinks and Touya's now impassive expression. Perhaps the dark look directed towards him was simply his mind playing tricks on him.

He typed in his username and you send him a friend request as soon as the phone is returned to you. You angle the phone above your head to take a selfie. Touya shoves his head into the frame, lazily sticking his pierced tongue out as he photobombed.

You notice the time and stand up in a hurry. "I still have that history paper due tonight and I haven't even started it yet! Bye guys!" You run off towards the student housing that happened to be across from the outdoor table, swiping your student I.D.

Tenko watched as you disappeared into the building before looking over at Touya who still sat at the table, only to find that the man was already staring at him. Tension thickened the air like smoke from a fire that made him feel almost suffocated. He opened his mouth to speak, but Touya merely scoffed at him. He finished his ice cream in a single bite and left. He watched as Touya swiped his student I.D., shooting the timid Tenko a cocky grin as he entered the same building as you.

Before he could think much of it, Tenko felt his phone vibrate and unlocked it to see you had sent him your class schedule so that you two could plan a time to meet up. He eagerly studied the photo and you sent him another photo. It was the selfie you took before you left.

"It was nice seeing you again, Tenko! Let's set up a day to hang out!! Here's a photo in case you forget who I am."

He could feel the heat rising from his neck to his ears.

You were too cute.

He could never forget you.

×X×

Over the next 3 weeks, Tenko lost track of the amount of times the two of you had hung out. Sometimes for drawing references, sometimes to eat at the dining hall, sometimes just for the hell of it. Your schedule was busier than his, so he was appreciative of the fact that you went out of your way to be with him. Especially on today, of all days.

You and Tenko sat on the floor, your backs against the mirror of the small practice room as he clutched the bag of chocolate cookies you had given him.

They were homemade, you said. You had baked them on your dorm floor's shared kitchen. They were in the shape of hearts, flowers, and there was even a bunny shaped. He didn't think he would ever forget the ache in his chest when you told him he reminded you of a bunny. The cookies had pink and red icing made with natural ingredients, which was why the palms of your hands were stained red from the beet juice. He licked his dry lips at the thought of you working hard. Just for him, too, because apparently Touya was a picky eater so you simply bought blue food colouring to use on his cookies. He swallowed anxiously as you continued speaking.

"I was hoping that maybe I'd get chocolates today."

"Isn't Valentine's Day when the girl gives the guy the chocolate..?"

You nod, "The norm is that girls give chocolates to guys on Valentine's Day then on White Day the guy can give the girl chocolates in response, but you never know! Girls can give girls chocolates, too. It happened to a friend of mine in high school, though it was the guy version of that. Anyways, why do Valentine's Day and White Day have to be gender specific? Just show the person you care about that you were thinking of them."

You sighed before continuing, "I've never gotten chocolates before. I know, it's kind of silly to whine about this, but I'm a bit of a hopeless romantic so can you blame me?" You laugh softly to yourself. "If Touya was here, he'd say yes and that it's my fault. He's always teasing me about these kinds of things." Tenko watches as you purse your lips deep in thought.

Tenko chewed his lip before quietly asking, "And Touya..? Won't he give you any on White Day?"

"Maybe, but it'll be different." You pull up your knees and hug them.

Your thighs were distracting and he struggled to keep his eyes off of them.

"The cookies I gave to Touya were obligatory chocolates, not the 'real feeling' kind you would give to someone you like. Last year, I gave Touya obligatory chocolates and he started complaining because he had already received too many sweets. I was so jealous. At least I managed to convince him to give me his chocolate."

Though he enjoyed snacks, Tenko didn't really care for the holiday. He never really had a reason to... until now.

"Tenko, have you ever gotten chocolates? I mean, other than the ones I just gave you?"

"No."

"So, I'm your first?"

He nodded, moving his head to stare down at the sketch in his lap. His fingers fiddled with the corner of the page, crumpling it more and more until it became limp from wrinkling. He had always found destroying things to be quite soothing for him.

"I..." Tenko was hesitant but decided if you were going to reject him, it was better if you did it sooner rather than later. "I used to live in an orphanage..."

In the corner of his eye, he can see you moving your head quickly to look at him. He tried to swallow his nerves as he continued speaking.

"My family died in an accident when I was five. I was sent to live with a distant relative since there was no one else and the situation was not... ideal. The kids at my new school picked up on my gloominess and shunned me. Even when my great uncle died, my presence would be deemed too unsettling to anyone that tried getting to know me."

He was too afraid to turn his head to look at you so he continued fiddling with the page, ruining more and more of it. You place your hand over his, calming the destruction.

"I used to live in an orphanage, too."

Tenko's eyes widened and he looked at you. "Are you... lying?" He whispered.

"My parents died in an accident when I was little. Wrong place, wrong time. I had no other family in Japan, so I got placed in a children's home."

His eyes scanned your face, looking for any sign of this being a trick but he could tell from the warm sincerity in your eyes that you were telling him the truth. "I don't know what to say."

You smile softly at him, "You don't have to say anything."

The feeling of your thumb rubbing circles against his thumb made Tenko's heart tremble. He wanted to swim in this feeling, to drown in your touch.

He watched your eyes glance down from his dark eyes to his lips, his breathing hitching in anticipation as you leaned in slowly to--

The practice room door opened, making the two of you flinch. Tenko missed the feeling of your hand as you leaned back and glared at the intruder.

"I thought I told you to knock before opening doors. You scared me." You folded your arms against your chest.

"I guess I won't give you my chocolates," Touya taunted as he walked over to you. He dropped his bag at the side of you Tenko wasn't on, making a loud 'thump' as it hit the wood floor.

"Chocolate!!"

Touya smirked as you opened it and pulled out a heart shaped cookie with the kanji for love written in icing.

"Whatever, eat later. We've got rehearsal."

You look up at Touya while stuffing your face before looking over at Tenko, then back at your partner. "Already? It's not for another twenty minutes."

Touya rolled his eyes and grabbed the bag before you could reach in for more sweets. "Early is on time, on time is late."

"Hey, that's what I tell you! Don't use those words against me, they sound weird coming from your mouth." You wipe your hands against a handkerchief before moving to stand up. "By that logic, you're always late."

Touya moved towards the door, beckoning you closer with the bag, "Here, doggy."

"Doggy..!?"

"If you spin around and bark I'll give you a treat."

The two of you could hear him laughing as he walked out of the room with the bag.

You pout, "That Touya... doesn't he know dogs can't eat chocolates?" You shake your head and Tenko stands, pulling his backpack on. "I guess I'll... see you later then?"

It felt kind of awkward now, but Tenko didn't mind that much. He only wished that your time together wasn't cut so short.

"Yeah..."

"Can't wait." You grin and walk out of the dance practice room together. You wave as you go down the opposite side of the hall to catch up with Touya. In the distance Tenko can hear you woof.

As Tenko exited the performing arts building, he felt his phone vibrate. He opened it and saw a selfie of you with chocolate smeared on the side of your face, while trying to shove Touya's face out of the frame and seemingly getting the chocolate on his face in the process.

He grinned. He also couldn't wait to see you again.

×X×

"Chocolate? For me?" You gaped at the small bag of chocolates.

Tenko nodded, his eyes shyly peering up at you as you grabbed the bag and opened it. "There's only four. I made more but they… got ruined…"

"They're handmade?" Your face softened at him, making his heart flutter and his fingers flex at his sides in excitement. You took a bite of one and grinned wide, covering your mouth with your hand as you spoke. "This is really good, Tenko. I didn't know you could cook."

Tenko couldn't but he wasn't going to ruin the moment by speaking. He watched as you ate. The two of you were sitting side by side at his favourite outdoor table near your dorm.

Last month, on Valentine's Day, the end of your conversation was a little awkward but thankfully it was gone the next time you guys saw each other. Once again, the two of you had hung out together a bunch of times. The biggest difference though was proximity. Tenko had noticed you getting closer and closer to him at every encounter.

"I finally received chocolates from someone. I'm really happy that it was you, Tenko."

He felt like he died and went to heaven. It would explain your presence. You just needed a halo.

"They're…"

Your eyes looking up from the bag made him nervous and he shook his head, deciding it was better if he didn't finish the sentence.

"They're what?" You ask, sensing his hesitation. "It's just me," you reassure.

"Just you..?" Just you? Just you?

You smile at him before looking down at the bag of chocolates with a pensive expression for a few moments. You look back up at him.

 "Tenko."

"…Yes?" His voice nearly broke. Did he go to far? Did he?

"Even if your hair is always in your face, you're pretty cute." You reach out and brush his hair to the side, tucking it behind his ear. The warmth of your finger tips were no match for the heat flaring across his entire body at your sweet gesture.

You giggle and slowly lean in to his face. He doesn't move. He is frozen. You place a kiss on his cheek and he panics, moving further away in his chair with his hand coming up to hover over the site of your affection.

"Y-You kissed me…"

"I-- I'm-- I'm sorry! I didn’t think you would be offended by it. Are you okay?"

"What about Touya!?"

You look at him with a puzzled expression. "What about Touya?"

"He's your boyfriend, isn't he!?"

"Huh!?" You sat up straight in your seat, eyes wide with shock. "I don't have a boyfriend??"

"What.!?"

"You mean --this whole time-- you thought Touya was my--" A laugh escaped your lips for a brief second until you collected yourself, looking at him seriously. "Touya's my best friend. I mean… I did like him at one point but it wasn't reciprocated. Not that it matters, that's old news. I like you, Tenko."

The air left his lungs and he was pretty sure it wasn't going to come back anytime soon.

You liked him?

You?

Liked him?

Shimura Tenko?

Was he dreaming? Hallucinating this entire conversation? It was the only way any of this made sense.

"Here, eat some of these chocolates with me. They're really yummy. The perfect mix of sweet and salty." You pluck one from the baggy and lift it towards his lips. He stares into your eyes then down at the chocolate.

"I'd rather you eat them…"

You pout, "Okay, I won't force you."

You nibble on the chocolate and Tenko licks his lips at the sight.

"What?" You half-laugh. His eyes snap back up to yours.

"I like you, too."

"You do?" You look at him shyly. "I guess now would be a good time to tell you those chocolate cookies I gave you last month were the 'real feeling' kind?"

You've liked him for that long?

Tenko couldn't control himself anymore and, without warning, he leans in and takes your lips into a kiss. It's clumsy and awkward just like him, but you don't shove him away.

He can taste the salty sweet on your tongue as you kiss him back and though he wants to keep going, his lungs protested. He pulls back and the two of you stare at each other as he gathers his bearings.

"Was that your first kiss?" You ask.

He offers a small nod, "It was that bad..?"

"It's okay, we'll have plenty of time to practice."

Surprise filled him. "You want to d-do it again?"

You giggle, "Of course I do. As long as you're alright with it…"

"Right now? We can do it again right now?" He knew he sounded eager but he couldn't bring himself to care. He needed to feel the softness of your lips against his own.

"I like your enthusiasm." You laugh. "Let's do it when it's just us, okay? We're in public. I'm sure we can schedule in some more uninterrupted private sessions, right, Tenko?" You teased lightly.

Tenko gulped, nodding since he didn't trust his voice at the moment.

You weren't disgusted by him, you wanted to kiss him. You wanted to be alone with him. You accepted him and all his faults.

You liked him.

Tenko, impatient as he was, could wait as long as you needed him to.

He loved you.

[loving-n0t-heyting]

If it’s not too personal, can I ask about your experience with antipsychotics and why they didn’t work for you? And general opinions? I was considering them really hard but I’m very wary and don’t want to take something that isn’t like. Worth stopping hallucinations. I guess.

Definitely. Somewhat tmi at parts, below the readmore

So i should say upfront that I am not psychotic and was not prescribed antipsychotics for psychosis, and the medications on reflection achieved basically nothing for me beyond their “side” effects; so I can’t speak directly to the comparative badness of hallucinations and antipsychotics (though there are many, many psychotic ppl you can easily find who will attest the cure is worse than the disease, and I have promised myself on the basis of my own experiences not to seek out medication even in the event I start undergoing serious hallucinations—it’s just that bad ime). This is the sort of thing that happens in psychiatry bc the entire discipline is half-submerged in the equivalent of bloodletting and humours-balancing

My own experience is principally with “extrapyramidal” symptoms: akathisia, dystonia, and a weird symptom I have not found attested in the literature that tended to co-occur with dystonia where I would desperately seek out circles in my field of vision. Akathisia was the worst of these (followed by the circle lust and then dystonia—tho they were all torture), and it went away after 6wk on lurasidone, but would start up again from 0 if I dropped the meds for more than a few days and then picked them back up. I experienced a brief respite from suicidality when I started the drug, which at the time I chalked up to efficacy, but looking back was more plausibly just akathisia painfully draining so much of my attention to itself I could not even contemplate suicide. Propranolol helped mitigate it, but only partially. You can find a lot of claims on the internet to the effect that akathisia is torture (the wiki article even includes citations for the claim it was used as such against political dissidents in the USSR), and they are right

The other two were also quite awful, developed only some time into my taking them, usually occurred together by the end, and persisted until I quit the drugs altogether; I am told from a nurse that inducing dystonia over the course of years is known to cause permanent neurological disability, which I was lucky to escape. My particular brand was “oculogyric crises” every 2-3 nights lasting ~5-7h, in which my eyes would roll painfully far back into my head virtually uncontrollably, taking a Herculean effort to move at all, at which time I would suffer from horrifying intrusive thoughts and lose my ability to speak clearly and without needless repetition. I could go into great detail about the circle lust, too, but suffice it to say it was miserable and incapacitating to the point that unlocking my phone became a struggle (too distracted by the circles in the numbers on the keypad to focus on entering the passcode)

At some points the drugs I used to treat these symptoms were almost as bad as the side effects themselves. Cogentin was the only one to really stop the dystonia, and even at a low dose it caused urinary retention that forced me to go to the ER to get a catheter installed so I could walk around for the next several days with a tube connecting my bladder thru my urethra to a bag of piss strapped to my leg. After that, I had to start relying on increasingly large doses of Benadryl to achieve a lower level of dystonia suppression; I did not reach the point of the drug’s notoriously bad trips, but I was running the risk

I was lucky enough to avoid the cognitive blunting also known to commonly affect antipsychotics druggies but that was dumb luck on my part, and they sound both nightmarish and fiendishly self-obscuring. Check out robnost’s category tag in the link

In conclusion, I would strongly urge you to seriously question whether the hallucinations are bad enough to be worth it, especially in light of the drugs’ tenuous levels of long term effectiveness . I think categorical denunciations of drugs are generally most likely to shut down thought one way or the other, but this comes as close as anything could for me I think. I would urge particular caution getting them prescribed by a professional embedded in a system capable of forcing compliance if at some point you abandon compliance of your own accord: involuntary confinement and drugging are very much realities for the psychotic and otherwise seriously mentally ill

Good luck, whatever path you decide on. I’m sorry the hallucinations are giving you trouble

[jace-writes-about-things]

An Orb In The Way

It had been a hard fight, but it was finally over, the grove was safe and much to Tav's delight it was time to relax, have a drink and forget the impending doom their party had been feeling for the past week. It's not every day you're thrust into a mission, save the world and everyone in it to ensure the continued survival of the entire world, was a pretty big burden to be forced to carry.

Their party, although exhausted was ready to celebrate their victory over the Goblin Camp, it had been a tedious and hard fight clearing out the entire camp but with the help of the Archdruid they'd come to know as Halsin, they had managed to save the grove from destruction and stop Kaugha's Rite of Thorns from sealing the grove off from the rest of Faerun. Of course, their journey was far from over, but this brief respite was welcomed by the party, and Tav found herself in camp. Surrounded by fellow Tieflings, the party in full swing around her as people celebrated their continued survival.

Making the rounds, talking to her fellow exhausted but celebrating party members, she began with Shadowheart found at her tent sipping on what appeared to be a goblet of wine. "Enjoying the festivities?" Shadowheart asked over the rim of her goblet, she seemed a bit on edge with the sheer amount of people who we're celebrating around the camp, of course she was used to her life of seclusion as a servant of Shar but Tav seemed to notice the slight happiness to her expression, she was enjoying the company of others even if she would staunchly deny it, "Just making the rounds, wanted to check in with everyone before I finally let loose a little." Tav responded, taking a seat at Shadowheart's stool, allowing herself a moment to actually sit down for the first time that day, she didn't realise how heavy her limbs felt till she finally felt a bit of rest. Noticing her leaders fatigue she passed her goblet to the tired Tiefling which she accepted gladly with a sigh before sipping lightly on the rather bitter wine, she must have made a face at the taste judging by Shadowheart's quiet laugh. Handing back the goblet Tav rose to her feet, much to her bones and muscles protest, but she had more than Shadowheart to speak to.

Giving Shadowheart a smile and quick wave she made her way to the rest of the group, noticing that a good chunk of the team was actually drinking together, it was nice to see the small group getting along, even if they had been thrust together with very little concern for some clashing personalities. Looking around, noticing a certain wizard trying his best to keep up with Karlach and La'zel discussing their preferred choice of weapon was a sight to see. They had only known each other a short while but watching the wizard's awkward smile and nodding along as he pretended to understand the different advantages great axes and battle-axes had, considering to him they are pretty much the same thing just that battle-axes are a little smaller. It was rather endearing, someone Tav never thought to even consider, herself a brutish barbarian who very much swung first and talked after, compared to the composed and educated wizard, Gale.

Feeling eyes on her, of course she had been caught staring and of course it had to be Astarion. Looking over at the pale elf, he didn't even have to say a word his smirk speaking for itself, well she'd been found out might as well admit it, even if it had to be to the one person who would absolutely rip the piss out of her. Making her way over to the smug elf with what was definitely an embarrassed look, "Something caught your eye?" said with such smugness it almost made Tav want to slap the expression right off his face, but she was learning to think before acting seemingly getting her further into places and having better outcomes, so she played into Astarion's teasing, "Why? Feeling a little jealous?" she almost laughed at the quick change in his expression. How the tables could quickly turn, but as quickly as his embarrassment came his features were stilled and the facade was back, "Jealous? Of you pining after that wizard? Come on darling you have better standards than that surely?" hiding his face behind his goblet as he drank, almost ready to spit the sour liquid back out, without giving her time to respond to his rather rude assessment of Gale, "Gods this wine is disgusting, you would think that we deserve something better for saving these people’s lives." it wasn't so much as a request more a demand, shaking her head at his rudeness, "Expecting greatness for simply helping people? Not sure you're quite deserving of the hero title, are you?" Tav jested, maybe she could get under his skin the way he does with everyone else, give him a taste of his own medicine.

But of course no luck, seemingly nothing could make the man squirm but this conversation was quickly becoming one that Tav didn't exactly have the energy for, giving the man a short smile and a short farewell she were off, looking around the camp for anyone to have a much more pleasant conversation with.

Of course, everyone was deep in either their own conversations or drinks, a head to the clear sky and the heaviness of her limbs led Tav down to the small bank at the edges of the camp, not entirely silent but still quieter than the full swing of the party happening behind her. Looking out to the water she lowered her tired limbs down to sit just at the cusp of the small tide of the bank, gazing out to the wilderness ahead, peaceful. Lost in her own thoughts, reviewing all that had happened, what was to come ahead, the choices they may be faced with...

So lost in thought she failed to notice that someone had joined her in her seat at the bank, "Did you know that a great axe is great for landing devastating blows to your enemies, but a battleaxe is better for wielding alongside a shield for added defence." came that honeyed voice, a slight laughter escaped Tav at the seemingly genuine interest Gale showed to the different advantages to the different weapons, gazing to her side there he sat with his eyes glowing like a child who'd just learned such important information. Regardless the topic it seemed he was always willing to listen and learn something new, it was endearing. A soft smile thrown his way as he blushed at the attention, "Sorry, I couldn't help but notice you straying away I thought to come check on you, you've made sure we're all alright but it seems no one's thought to ask how you're faring." he looked at her expectantly, willing to be an ear to listen, to rant at, looking at him it felt all too easy to just tell him everything, all of her problems, everything bothering her little or large.

With a sigh and a soft smile she simply looked back out to the water, gazing intensely at seemingly nothing in particular, his gaze followed her own out to the soft flow of the water looking to try find what she was staring so intently at, finding nothing he seemed to realise. A moment of peace, of respite is all she needed, maybe without him, he began to try to stand but a soft hand on his leg stopped him in his tracks, looking towards her again, her gaze still out towards the water, a silent plea, "Stay." it was simple, an easy instruction for him to follow.

His hand over her’s he resumed his seated position, tracing small patterns over her hand that rested on his leg. He'd be lying if he didn't feel the warm burn of blush on his face, isolation had done a number of his tolerance of physical intimacy but in this moment, this moment of peace he couldn't bring himself to care much about the blushing reaction to simple hand holding because it was Tav's hand he was holding, it was Tav's hand.

Sensing a slight shift in his demeanour Tav tried to pull her hand away from the wizard, mistaking his silence as rejection readying herself to pull away completely, if he didn't feel the same way she could simply shut off, it wouldn't be too hard, would it? But the quick snatch of her hand told her otherwise, a glace towards the wizard revealed his reddened face, simple hand holding had reduced this educated and put together wizard to a blushing mush, she could only describe it as cute, "You look like you're about to start running a fever." Tav teased, giggling as the wizards face deepened a shade if that was even possible, his other hand reached out to cover his face, desperate to hide his face in worry that Tav would find him to be childish, blushing at her simply touching his hand, it was embarrassing, horrifying he wanted the ground to swallow him whole but as Tav's hand reached out to block his attempts at hiding he found himself unable to cover his feelings any longer, "I'm sorry I'm usually much better at discussing my feelings but I seem to forget myself around you." even in explaining his embarrassment his words sounded like utter poetry, enough to make Tav swoon.

Gazing into his eyes could have revealed all, dark brown orbs looking back at her like she hung the very stars in the sky, a soft hand reaching up to her face seemingly to wipe a speck of whatever was bothering him from her face, she could get lost in his eyes for however long he would let her, but his glace down towards her lips gave way to a much more appealing idea. Smiling softly, leaning in, eyes drifting closed their lips met in a soft kiss. Tav didn't believe people when they said that when you kissed 'the one' that it felt like fireworks, until now. It felt like a whole crate of smoke-powder bombs had exploded the minute their lips met, it was soft, sweet and almost better than any drink that had ever graced her lips, quickly escalating to hands grabbing clothes and clutching onto his robes for dear life. Teeth clashing, tongues mixing desperate to taste each other like horny teenagers sneaking behind their parents backs it felt rebellious.

But a soft hand pushing against her chest gave them pause. Pulling away to gasp for air, taking note of their new position finding her legs wrapped around his waist planted firmly on his lap as he gripped her hips with the strength of a man holding himself back, hooded eyes as he drunk in her state, breathless and ready for more that he couldn't give, not just yet, "Sorry, I don't trust myself, with this unstable orb willing to see me ended I don't think it smart getting it too... um, excited?" it seemed almost like a question, one that he himself wasn't sure of the answer to. A soft chuckle escaped Tav, of course she couldn't risk Gale letting off an explosion all for the sake of a lay, disappointed but understanding of their situation, grasping his face between both hands she gave him a quick peck, pulling away as he chased, almost as if he himself was fighting the urge explosion be damned, he wanted her but alas the rational part of his brain won the fight, pushed down for a later date hopefully.

Rising to their feet together, gazing at each other glad of the admittance of feelings, the sharing of a moment together albeit not quite what they both yearned for, but a moment, nonetheless. Strolling back to camp with linked fingers and an obvious glow surrounding them both, it almost made Astarion sick to look upon

Thank you so much for reading my first cross posted Gale fanfiction, I've been posting all my writings over on AO3 as well if you want to have a nosey over there at my other writings, if not worry not I will be posting the rest of my fanfictions over here as well!

AO3 - jacethed00d

[rumbelleshowdown]

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Author: Muenster Maven

Group: D 

Prompts: True Love's Kiss.  Skinny-dipping, secret relationship. Voyage

Note: This is a continuation of my previous entry, “Of Shepherds and Sizes.”

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Of Rivers and Romance

The barge trudged along the river slowly, as though the late-summer heat had made the boat as lethargic as its passengers. Belle reclined in the shade from a sail, trying to maintain a ladylike composure. 

It was a losing battle. She was wearing her lightest dress, with as little undergarments as an unmarried woman could get away with, but the thin linen was already soaked through with sweat. The humidity had made managing her hair impossible so it hung loose and limp on her shoulders. The sun was too bright and the air was too thick for her to do anything but fan herself. If she wasn’t so miserable, she might be the picture of decadence. 

“Why did we have to make this voyage now?” she grumbled. “It could have waited a few months.”

“In a few months, who knows where the ogres might be?” Rumpelstiltskin was on the other side of the deck, sharing her shade, but keeping far enough away to be respectable. “Besides, sheep rut in autumn, so we have to have them home before then.”

“Of course,” Belle closed her eyes. “Safe at home, in the cool mountain pastures.”

They were heading south, into the lowlands of Maldonia. King Naveen’s lands were riddled with swamps, which gave their sheep a remarkable resiliency. Belle and Rumple had left Baelfire with the main flock and set out to study the foreign animals. Hopefully, they’d be able to select a few to bring back to Avonlea. 

He was ‘Rumple’ now. Months of working together had brought about a closeness between them, an informality that almost bordered on friendship. Or perhaps something deeper. Belle didn’t know how to go about having something deeper with a common man--or any man. Surely it would be a scandal. Surely it would be better to let things come no closer than almost-friendship.

“This is silly.” Rumple took his staff and began to stand. “I’m getting in the water.”

Belle sat up. “You’re what?” 

“I’m going for a swim.” Balancing carefully, he began to take off his tunic. 

The heat increased a thousandfold as Belle filled her eyes with the shape of his body. Lean muscles roped around his arms and back. A sheen of sweat on his tanned flesh glistened like jewels. When he turned around, she saw the thin, dark hair on his chest. Hair that grew thicker as it traveled down his waist, leading into the band of his breeches. 

He cleared his throat, clearly meaning to draw her attention back to his face. “By your leave, my lady?”

Still stunned, she nodded slightly, and he went down to the other end of the deck. A few of the crewmen had thrown a rope ladder down into the water for this exact purpose. All of them had been taking dips throughout the afternoon as respite from their work. Belle watched as Rumpelstiltskin took off his breeches, secured his staff on the deck, and jumped off the railing. 

Shielding her eyes from the glaring sun, Belle ran over to where he had jumped. She found Rumple treading water. He had splashed his face and wet his hair and now looked the very image of cool contentment. 

“The river is filthy!” she called down to him. “And in this land, it might be cursed!”

He laughed--a sound that was rare and always too brief. “Not to worry! If I get cursed, it can be broken with a kiss from my True Love.” 

Belle laughed back. “Who’s your True Love?”

Rumpelstiltskin didn’t answer. He just smiled and began to swim to keep up with the slow pace of the boat.

He moved better in the river than he did on land. His sinewy arms pulled him forward, unhindered by his bad leg. He looked lighter here, more free. So many of the burdens that troubled him were gone, if only for just a moment.

Belle saw that freedom, that relief, that joy in Rumpelstiltskin’s face, and she wanted to be a part of it. After only the briefest hesitation, she pulled her dress and her chemise up over her head and dove into the water after him.

He greeted her with a shocked smile. “My lady!”

“I’m hardly acting like a lady now,” she said. “You mustn’t tell anyone back home about this.”

“I would never,” he said softly. “All your secrets are safe with me.”

In the cool water, Belle felt a warmth begin inside her heart. Her eyes met Rumpelstiltskin’s and he didn’t break away. His gaze washed over her face in clear adoration. 

Her breath stopped. She understood.

His eyes stayed on her as he swam closer. Only water separated their naked bodies. Rumpelstiltskin’s arm found her waist, and he pulled her closer.

He kissed her.

Under the cool water and the earthy taste of the river, she found the warmth of his lips and the flavor of him. His mouth covered hers and his hands pressed into her skin, but he held back. He didn’t move, he didn’t pull her any closer than she was. When they parted, he kept his eyes on her face. It was the first time she realized how deliberately he wasn’t looking at her bare bosom. 

He shook his head and swam back, breaking the connection between them.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“No,” Belle followed him. “You did nothing wrong. Nothing that I didn’t want.”

“But you are a lady,” he said. “And I’m--I’m the lowest of the low.”

“You’re a good man.” She reached out to touch his arm. “You’re gentle. You’re caring with your sheep and your son. You listen to me. My thoughts and ideas matter to you. That--that means more than birth or rank.”

He took her hand from his arm and held it in his own. The contrast between them was clear--soft and lilywhite against scarred and tanned--but it didn’t matter. Not when their spirits were so clearly equal and matched. 

Belle pulled herself up to him, keeping one hand in his but placing the other on the back of his head. She brought him down to her lips.

This kiss was longer, and sweeter, and more needful. They broke apart slowly, drifting away in the sluggish current. 

“A secret,” Rumpelstiltskin whispered. He seemed to be making up his mind. “We can have this, if it stays a secret. I don’t want to ruin you.”

“You couldn’t,” Belle answered. “Not in any way that really matters. But yes, this can be a secret, if that is what you want.”

“Please,” he said. “For your sake.”

“As you wish, Rumple.”

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