#all I have left are vague memories and any remnants of notes on it

[warcrimesimulator]

Katya was one of my time-traveler people before I had the concept of that. The precursor to what would eventually become that, basically.

In the oldest versions of my story, when I first decided to create a fictional race of people, they were just a modern invention, a result of an unethical genetics experiment. Some Russian scientist wanted to create a new, "superior" type of person that were hardier to harsh environmental conditions and immune to diseases. But these newly-created people end up being stigmatized in society (and eventually Russia decides to genocide them so they escape and move to other parts of the world), so naturally they formed an identity of their own. And a lot of them became scientists themselves and played a role in various things. There really wasn't much depth to them though because I was like 15 and the primary point of my story at the time was just coming up with batshit insane WW3 geopolitics.

[ariseur]

hey!!! ive been reading your sephiroth fanfics recently and it has been such an intricate work of art i genuinely feel the emotion and love put into it, your writing is just perfect in terms of how you write his character! i was wondering if i could request a seph x reader maybe during or post advent children and is really angsty with some fluff regarding his return??? it's vague (sorry😭) but i know if you did take up on it youd do fantastic!! 💖🫶🏻

liberabo volucres 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

sephiroth (ffvii) x reader

┊ ˚➶ notes ｡˚ 🎼

omg you are literally so sweet!!!! thank you so much for this request, although i don’t think i did it justice 😭 i wasnt quite sure how to go about this considering after advent children, the remnants of seph faded into the lifestream (i think?) so it’s more angsty with lots of mentions of kadaj, but i hope you like it either way!! i’m glad you enjoy my sephiroth fics and don’t hesitate to send more asks!! love this one 💕

┊ ˚➶ warnings ｡˚ 🎼

mentions of kadaj and remnants of seph, written in a yearning type of way where you still have a hole in your heart left from sephiroth, don’t ask where you came from at the beginning!! just enjoy it 😭, intended lowercase, mentions of kissing kadaj’s forehead, lmk if i missed anything!!

┊ ˚➶ word count ｡˚ 🎼

1327 words, 7173 characters

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

“cloud,” your voice only a faint whisper as you called out to the blond, “what did you do?” he lifted his head, his skin glossier with the droplets of rain falling on his face. his eyes widened at the sight of you, chest still rising and lowering rapidly as he recovered from his battle with sephiroth. how foreign that name felt on your tongue, now.

you got up from your hiding spot beyond the debris, knees aching from how long you were crouched as your feet slammed against the flat surface of the floor. you watched as your kadaj’s catlike slits for pupils— pupils that constantly reminded you that he was still apart of sephiroth, despite his role as being only a remnant of your lover— flickered towards you with whatever energy he had left. the corner of kadaj’s lips quirked upwards ever the slightest as you rushed over him, cloud moving out of your way as he stood up.

cloud’s words, albeit firm, lay dormant in your brain, “he was going to kill me—kill us all.” and even with his sharp tone, you didn’t pay him any mind. the only thing you could focus on was kadaj’s eyes trained on yours, scoffing as he rasped out, “such— a drama.. queen.” you softly shushed him, watching as his eyes became emptier by the minute. your throat stung as a choked sob threatened to escape its enclosure behind your uvula. kadaj lifted his hand only for you to grasp it, moist leather clutched in your palm as you placed it back to his chest. he intertwined your fingers, a wince leaving his lips as you held his head up.

it took everything not to look away from him. his hair, his eyes, even the way he smelled, reminded you of sephiroth. sometimes, you wish it had been different. you wish you would’ve been there when it had happened, and even now, your memory’s fuzzy of the events. all you remember was the day sephiroth left you, and you haven’t stop thinking about him since. you wished he had come to you, and apart of you was angry. maybe you were angry that he left you with no word, or maybe angry that instead of opening up to you, he decides to burn a village down in his spiral, or maybe you weren’t angry at all.

you paused, taking another look at kadaj’s furrowed eyebrows and his lidded eyes. you wonder if this is how sephiroth felt upon his notice of who he really was— what he really was. he was only in his twenties when it happened, you couldn’t have imagined how he felt. you remembered; his friends, gone and turned against shinra, and with all the pressure on him about the cover-up, you thought that maybe it wasn’t entirely his fault. you realized now, that you can’t get what you want from this world without taking it yourself. saying please didn’t scratch the itch in the back of your throat the way that anger did, and you assumed sephiroth felt the same.

clasping kadaj’s hand, he let out a weak sigh. you let your hand, although shaky and so weak that you can’t make a fist, card a piece of his hair out his face; your heart ached at your hands in his silver hair, mind racing back to when you’d brush sephiroth’s hair for him. a true honor, you’d always call it.

the way kadaj’s eyes widened and his ears perked up made you pause, like he was listening for something. even with cloud’s tense presence behind you, you refused to let go of the part of sephiroth, your part of sephiroth. the only part you had of him left. you couldn’t be angry at cloud. he was only doing what he thought was best— and in the end, maybe it was for the best, you thought. you couldn’t even be angry at yourself, your mind only clouded with grief as your sniffles and teary sighs filled the air.

the sound of kadaj’s arm moving, leather rubbing against itself, interrupted your soft cries as he lifted his hand up to the sky. a soft whisper of, “mother—?” left his lips.

your hand snaked up and you rubbed your thumb against his cheek, watching as he turned his head towards you slowly. a teary sound left your lips, you weren’t even sure if it was a sob or a laugh. but you leaned down, pressing one last kiss to his forehead as his eyelashes fluttered, just the way sephiroth’s did when you’d lay with him in the morning where golden rays would seep through the curtains and shine onto your beloved.

all good things must come to an end, you realized, as you watched the only physical evidence that sephiroth had coexisted with you fade into the lifestream, his arm fading into reduced crystallized mako. you closed your eyes, shoulders heaving as you tried stifling your thick cries; after all, cloud was still behind you. you held onto kadaj’s hand until it was no more, his body being lifted up and vanishing although you couldn’t bear to watch it. and you didn’t open your eyes, not for a long while, in hopes that maybe you’d be back in the comfort of your home as you heard heavy footsteps trail behind you to the kitchen, sephiroth’s content face across from yours at the dinner table. and you didn’t open your eyes until you heard a low hum, beyond the loud sounds of the rain hitting the concrete, beyond your own shaking breaths. this couldn’t have been cloud, you thought. your head lifted up and squinted so as to not get any rain in your eyes.

and there he was— or more so a faded version of him. even in the rain, you couldn’t help but gawk at him in awe, his hair flowing so gracefully even in the humidity of the rain. even if you were dreaming, you’d wish you would never wake in hopes of spending one last minute with the one you held dearest to your heart. one last moment with sephiroth and you’d feel like you’d finally be complete.

his eyes, still sleek and catlike how you always remembered, almost look amused. he held a smile at you, his head cocking at the sight. you didn’t want to think of the possibility that this was just a hallucination of your grief. this was more than that. sephiroth was more than that.

he gave you a nod, a nod of which you didn’t understand. ever so esoteric, you thought. the way he always was after nibelheim. you sat back on your haunches, your knees still against the wet, cold floor— taking one last look at sephiroth before he turned around. his head tipped back, fingers twitching as he let himself face the sky, until he finally let himself go and faded away as well.

your lip trembled, a teary laugh releasing itself from your throat until cloud put a soft, awkward hand on your shoulder. head turning to face him, your eyes met his. you realized now that cloud did what was best, and you couldn’t possibly blame him for that.

he cleared his throat, almost cautiously as if you’d snap at him for interrupting the silence, “we have to go. i’m sure tifa’s waiting for us.”

you sniffled, wiping your eyes from both the rain and the tears that littered your cheeks. looking back down at your lap, once where kadaj laid, you were met with emptiness. closing your eyes once more, you inhaled and let the air fill your lungs. the first deep breath of air that you’ve taken in what feels like years, one that felt fresher— almost bittersweet. and when you turned back to cloud, you gave him a firm nod.

the urge to be changed is not metamorphosis, you realized. you can’t be changed without making a change of your own.

[saline-coelacanth]

I wanna ramble about the Mirage Memory Au since I haven't went in depth with the plot and stuff yet, so yeah, he's some various notes.

So the whole reality warping thing happens after the ninja go to this ancient temple to find some artifact and once they get the artifact, it accidentally activates causing the fake reality to happen

Lloyd ends up waking up in a field with no idea what happened or where the others are. He spots the mountain where the monastery is and decides to head there only to find out that the monastery isn't there. And there's no remnants of it, so it wasn't destroyed. It just looks like it never existed in the first place.

Lloyd then eventually makes his way to a village where he spots Kai who doesn't seem to recognize him or remember anything about being a ninja. He's just working in his family's blacksmith shop.

Lloyd tries to get Kai to come with him to find the others, but he's not buying any of Lloyd's story and refuses to go with him. So Lloyd just goes by himself.

Except Lloyd doesn't go by himself because Nya sneaks off to follow him. She doesn't believe Lloyd's story, but she just wants an excuse to get away from her overprotective family so she joins Lloyd.

Only problem is since Nya didn't tell her family she was leaving, they all think Lloyd kidnapped her, so Kai decides to go after him to beat him up to get his sister back

The order that Lloyd finds the other ninja are: Kai, Nya, Cole, Jay, and then Zane.

Cole and Jay go about the same way as Kai, they don't believe Lloyd and refuse to go with him

Zane starts off like the others, but after he finds out that his father is actually dead and he just made a robotic replacement to prevent Zane from knowing he was gonna die, Zane starts to vaguely remember Lloyd and decides to join the group

That's the thing with the ninja, they don't get all their memories back at once. It's very gradual a slow. And also some of the ninja start to remember things quicker than others.

For example, Zane is able to get his memories back quicker than the others because he has had to deal with his memory getting messed with before so he's more used to it.

Kai takes the longest to remember anything, most likely because he's the only one fully content with his fake life.

Cole and Jay eventually join Lloyd in a similar way to Nya where they don't really believe him, but they want an excuse to have a break from their lives (Cole hates being a performer and Jay secretly dislikes his life as a celebrity)

The only one who doesn't really join up with Lloyd is Kai since he's so stubborn about the whole fake memory thing and he's also under the impression that Lloyd kidnapped Nya.

Even after Nya tries to explain that she left on her own, Kai just brushes it off as Lloyd manipulating her.

And that's about all I wanna talk about for now. I could talk a lot about this au, but this post is already long enough so I'm just gonna end it here.

[anfie-in-the-box]

Each other's lifeline

Notes

Are you excited? I sure am! I love this series quite a lot, after all.

Do be careful, there're some self-esteem issues and self-deprecation here. One word: Nightmare. Doesn't need any explaining.

。。。

First steps

Nightmare vaguely remembers coming around a few more times, just for a few seconds at a time. He couldn't hear or see anything, and the darkness — or lack of any stimuli at all — didn't help him stay conscious, he supposes. That, and the kind person said something about him needing his sleep, saving strength?..

"Me? Kind? You're so messed up, kiddo, you've no idea…" they respond immediately, almost as if they waited for him to think something. Anything.

"I was," the voice confirms. "Not much to do without your consent. It's your body I possess after all. The negativity wants some action though, so not sure I'd be able to resist much longer. You're the warrior, not me."

The warrior?.. What are they talking about? It's just him. Weak, stupid, worthless him. He couldn't even do one job right. Now all's lost 'cause of him.

"Hey, none of that! From what I gathered from your memories, you're pretty amazing! You went through hell you didn't deserve yet never once stopped to even wish your tormentors harm. And you love your brother more than anything. It's admirable how loyal you are. You're definitely a much better person than I ever was. You are intelligent, too. It's not your fault that no one taught you to stay away from the golden apples. The previous guardian could've warned you two, at least. She's the adult, you two are mere kids who didn't know better. We don't even know if it's a lost cause yet; Dream got that last golden apple, after all. And the Multiverse hasn't collapsed yet, so that's good, am I right? Maybe the balance is upset, but we don't even know that for sure. It'll be okay, I'm sure we'll figure something out. You always do. You're smart like that."

Nightmare thinks he would've blushed if he could. Maybe cried, just a little; it's the kindest words he's ever heard not from his brother, after all. He has all the reasons to do just that.

You really think we could do it?..

"If not us then who?" they ask in return. "But first we should do something about the rampaging negativity. It's getting restless. You think I could go to a universe or two spread some fear and chaos?"

They really could just go and do whatever they want, now that Nightmare has no means to access his own body — or what's left of it, anyway. Instead they decide to stay and ask permission. To communicate. It's… exhilarating, somewhat. Nightmare's never been given the choice before. Even if it's not much of a choice this time — either he goes with the voice's plan or the negativity takes hold of the both of them, which is… less than desirable. Its mindless cruelty would destroy the last remnants of hope they have. No, they can't afford to lose control even for a moment. It's a team effort.

"Damn right it is! I won't let you down, kid. Promise."

It's so weird to share every thought with someone he barely knows… How does it even work? Nightmare can't hear their thoughts, after all. 

"No idea. Magic, I guess, and maybe something to do with me being the one in control. Maybe, if you were the one controlling the body, I would be the one with all my thoughts out in the open? Although I do hear you quite distantly, if you don't concentrate on getting the message to me. It's mostly background noise."

Good to know. It means if Nightmare ever gains control back, he likely wouldn't be too distracted by the voice. As great as their company is.

"Aw, I like you too, kid! And I'm rooting for you there. As nice as it is to have the ability to walk and talk back, it's your body, and you're very much alive to have it. To be honest, some part of me hoped you wouldn't make it after all; then I'd have a body of my own…" Anxiety and pain pierce through Nightmare's mind; do they really want him gone? "Stop that! Don't get me wrong, I just… it's hard being a tree after being a human, you know? And I'm really not all that kind. Or nice. Or… good in general. I'm a selfish piece of crap, you see?"

It feels like they want to continue that string of thought, but Nightmare doesn't let them. You helped me, he thinks in the smallest of voices. Possibly saved my life. So no. I don't see. 

They laugh; it's a light-hearted, warm kind. "You are obviously a sweetheart. How those jerks didn't see it is beyond me. They got what they deserved though. Now's your turn." 

What do you mean? 

"Freedom, of course! Not complete, you're stuck with the negativity for now, but… Even that's not so bad. We're strong now, you know? Can do whatever we want, as long as the negativity is satisfied. And we're about to find out what we need for that. So, am I to go cause some havoc? You in for a ride, kid?"

There's no going back, Nightmare thinks, as confidently as he can, might as well go forward. Let's do it. 

"Great! I don't have a certain plan yet, but I can feel the negativity from the worlds around ours so that's something. Probably might help with moving around?.. No idea yet. What do you think?" 

Hm. Let me think. 

The negativity of the other worlds, they say?.. Perhaps they could indeed use it. As a road, maybe? Or a beacon of sorts. Something that shows the way. It's amazing that they might be able to travel the worlds, especially considering Nightmare's never been far from the Tree, ever. The mere idea is fascinating, even though he wouldn't be able to see or hear anything. One day he would, and that's what he chooses to focus on. The future isn't all dark. There's something to look forward to.

I think you could try pulling the negativity. Not too hard, just enough for it to show itself for you to follow its path, Nightmare finally concludes. If that doesn't work, they'll just try something else. If only things always were this easy as they are with this person… 

"Worth trying at least. Let me just… oh." 

What? Nightmare asks, nervously. 

"It's weird. Like I know where to go. How to go. But I haven't the slightest idea! It's like my own mind moves ahead of itself. Is it what they call intuition?" 

Nightmare doesn't know how to answer that. Besides, he doesn't feel anything at all, and the description isn't the best. Would be hard to theorise. 

"It's okay though. You don't have to have all the answers, you know? I'll just do what feels right, I guess. Then we'll see what happens next." 

If anything changes, Nightmare isn't able to feel it. He's completely detached from reality, it seems. It's scary, this void where basic sensations would have been normally. Is he even alive? How can they be sure he is?.. 

"Don't work yourself up, kid. We don't want a panic attack, do we?"

They're right. Nightmare shouldn't give up. I think therefore I am, was it? That means he's alive, and he's not alone, and together, they'll figure this out.

What happened? He asks, uncertain but determined. 

"Well, we did it. Your advice worked. We're in a different world. Congrats to us, I guess." 

They don't sound too enthusiastic though. 

"That's because I'm not. Cautious, more like. It is a new world, after all. Who knows what dangers await." 

That's fair, Nightmare guesses. He focuses, How exactly do you think it worked? Can you do it again? 

"I'm really not sure, kid. But I'll try later. Let's investigate!" 

They don't have a plan, but at least they don't rush into it head-first. Good enough, as far as Nightmare's concerned. 

Can you see anything? Anyone? 

"You know what? Not… really. It's dusty here. And eerily silent. Monster dust?" 

The thought makes Nightmare sick. Yeah, this person possessing his body just killed everyone in the village, there's bound to be human blood and monster dust, but… they escaped their wrecked world. Why should anywhere else be the same? Is it wrong of him to wish for something less… destructive?.. violent?.. He doesn't know what word to use here. It's not like it matters. There's only one person he can share it with, and they hear his thoughts mostly unfiltered. 

"Oh hey, I see someone!" they call out after a while; Nightmare isn't even sure if they were moving around or stayed in the same place. "They don't look too friendly though."

Are they the source of the negativity that led us here, then? Nightmare asks, just to be certain. 

"Sure thing, kid! There's no one else anyway, it seems." 

That's… good, Nightmare thinks. If they're already distressed enough, nobody needs to intervene. Nobody needs to get hurt. 

"Should I approach them?" the voice asks, somewhat gently. Genuinely caring about Nightmare's opinion. 

Do they look safe? I don't want a fight when you have no idea what you're capable of. We should experiment before trying anything, don't you think? 

"You know what, you're right. Approaching now is just asking for trouble. I'll stay low. Thanks for keeping me in line, kid. This whole situation is a mess." 

I'm a mess though, Nightmare chuckles unhappily. Way messier than all of this. If it weren't for me, we wouldn't even be here. 

"Well, yes, but also, for me, it's nice to have a body again. And I didn't have to kill a kid for that. We co-exist. So there's that. It's good, isn't it?" 

And it is. It really, really is. Nightmare doesn't want to die, no matter how bad everything seems. He's depressed but not suicidal. He has Dream, and the kind voice believes in him, and there's a Tree to fix.

But for now, while the voice feeds off of this world's negativity, Nightmare allows himself to drift away to sleep. If he hopes to ever gain access to his body, he needs all the energy he can get.

"Rest, kiddo. I'll be there when you wake up. We'll find a safe place and run all the experiments you can think of. Get to know our limits and all that stuff." 

It's a promise.

They'll figure it out. One way or another. But certainly together.

It's… nice to finally not be alone. Pride shines through uncertainty and doubts — he's already helped, and so fast, too! So there's that, as the voice said.

There's that.

。。。

Notes

Nightmare and the voice interacting in this fic is the best thing to happen to me, I swear to gods. I love Nightmare and the voice's interaction in general, be it positive or negative, but here? Such a treat. Perfection. I love those two with all my heart. They deserve the world.

。。。

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[maythedreadwolftakeyou]

Like Teeth Against His Heart

Solavellan prose-poem, originally written for the Solamancy charity zine @solamancyzine

Summary: After Solas wakes up, he has many conversations with a variety of spirits. Sometimes they tell him what he wants to hear, and sometimes they don't. Mood: Contemplative/angsty. 1800 words

On AO3 here

NOTE: The formatting cannot be input as intended into tumblr (no right-align option). For optimal viewing please read on AO3 or in the Solamancy zine.  

_________________________________________________________

              Pride drags him from the quiescent depths of Uthenera.

                     Awaken, pretender.                                 Your seeking to prevent one future                                 annihilated the civilization you aimed to save.                                 Any left now know you as you are:                                 Disgrace inherent in the falsehood of your name.           

                     Restore the world, or it will all have been for naught.                                 Right this, or your legacy ends at genocide.           

i.

Solas is dreaming. He is dreaming because the world he awoke within cannot be real, cannot be the finality of a lifetime of suffering and rebellion and desperation. He is dreaming because the cold sensation of dread that sinks like teeth into his heart would paralyze him otherwise, with the knowledge of what he has done. What he has destroyed. So he sleepwalks his way across the land, searching for a way out he is becoming increasingly sure does not exist.

              Regret comes to him, and says:

                   The ache within you sings a hole into the world.                               We can only brush against the edges of your grief.                               Lie still. Tell us of the past. Let yourself weep.           

        Solas says: Forgive me.         All of this is my doing.         Forgive me.

 ii.

The Fade-scorched prisoner lies frail and pallid beneath Solas’ hands, the stillness of the crypt settling over her like a shroud. He steadies her spirit from both sides of the Veil as it tries to flee the battered ruin her body has become, while the shards of his Orb — the shameful remnants of his last desperate grasp for power — work to shred her being from within her flesh.

The humans allow him, an apparent apostate nobody — an elf — to heal their only living witness to this disaster because they are too desperate to ask the questions they should. Their eyes slide off him with the vague dismissal they default to for his people, in this fractured timeline. The ignominy of their disregard is necessary. It fills him with sorrow. It fills him with rage. He forces the anchor into stillness the same way he forces down the hammering of his heart, beating like a war-drum against his breast.

                   What will you do now?           

             Curiosity asks,              as they both watch the faint rise of her chest;              the way her breath stutters with each exhale. 

                   What will you do when the world ends again?           

       I will wait, he says.        I will wait and see.

iii.

He didn’t expect to like them, this stumbling crowd claiming itself an Inquisition. He didn’t think the easy camaraderie would ache so sharply, the smiles and conversations blurring together in this fragment of a future he must condemn. The Inquisitor is lively and vibrant against the severity of the spring snow, a magnetic hum that is more than the flicker of the anchor. A Dalish elf who listens so intently to the skeletons of his stories, the half-lies he shares of the world that once was. Listens — and asks for more.

Wisdom’s friendship is older than he deserves, and its hands take his, almost, in the only space left they can share.

                  You make ghosts of your past.                              So much less than memory,                              these echoes you fear to feel.                              You tell yourself distance is better,                              a focus beyond the great swelling of grief                              that rises like a tide beneath your skin.           

                  Yet — I can feel the thrum inside your chest,                              reverberation of heartstrings taut as a bow.                              She holds the last shreds of hope beneath her skin;                              you think of her as the jaws of a wolf                              waiting to close around you.             

        I cannot forget what I have done.         I cannot let this path continue.  

                   Is it such agony, to become a part of their reality?                               To learn the pyre you built                               could be for warmth, instead of sacrifice?                               You did shape this world.                               Choose to live in it.           

 iv.

He thought in dreams he would be stronger, but here in the domain of his shaping, self-restraint fails even faster. The cloak-shimmers of memory that disguise his careful constructed shell of a self are in tatters, his conviction abandoned from something so simple as her caress, as soft as sunlight. He stands in the Fade-ruins of Haven far longer than he should after Lavellan tumbles back to the waking world.

                    I can feel it, Hunger says.                                I feel the way you want it to swallow you whole,                                this longing. You could drown in it.           

       It is more complicated than that.

                    How long, how long,                                since someone touched you without malice?                                I could feel when it broke you. Not the kiss,                                but the tenderness behind it.                                You did not lose control, you                                abandoned it willingly. And why should you not?                                It is a delicious thing, to yearn so keenly.                                You remember her warmth. You remember                                the soft, sharp gasp when you held her,                                pulling her closer, not ending, not yet.             

                    Is it such a terrible burden — to want?           

             Solas says nothing, knowing Hunger can be just another name for Desire, in places such as these.

                 We are a reflection, Trickster,                             in this distorted mirror of a world.                             How could I resist such desperation?           

                 The cavern of your chest cannot be filled                             with the mourning you have chained there.                             You gorge yourself on sorrow,                  pouring the endless years                             into the cracks of your heart while the world yet turns,                             as though anything so far gone could offer                   absolution.           

                 The worst thing in the world is to be empty, after all.           

He opens his eyes to stone and plaster, and the shame that demands he hold himself separate from the shattered era he hovers at the edges of. Almost, he can still feel the press of her lips. Almost, the solemn gravity of this world releases its grasp.

 v.

The next time he meets Wisdom, it is too late. There is no time for debate; barely time to say goodbye. He sits for a long time, in the place he and the spirit used to share, watching the slow revolutions of the fog, the remnants of essence that will never be enough.

                    someday, something new,           

       Endure, he tells them.        Endure, so we may meet again.        Endure, so the next world I build holds you softly.

 vi.

Each time he goes to her he hesitates, despite the catch of his breath, the tidal wave of longing that surges through him at her touch. Despite how each time Lavellan reaches back he has failed to pull away. She has cracked his whole to pieces; rent the purpose from his being and embraced the jagged, broken thing she found inside as though it somehow brings her warmth, as though she doesn’t deserve more.

He could be happy. He could be safe. He could tell her, or not. Maybe tomorrow, maybe in a century; maybe somehow he was wrong, and she isn’t cursed to fade to mist, and he could spend a thousand years by her side and finally be free of the weeping grasp of the past.

Maybe he could become someone else long enough to believe he could ever be forgiven for what he cost them.

                    I can hear it, Hope says,           

              as his heart thrums inside his chest.                                                        

       It is a distraction, Solas says.        It is more than I deserve.

                  There is no deliverance                              in the denial of self. Each moment passes                              and passes again, and again, and again.                              Tell me, fair wolf,                              have you not suffered enough?           

                 Let yourself be gentle.                             Let this world be your atonement, not your sin.                           The earth holds warmth through winter, however deep,                            and spring’s green shoots turn over the decayed past                            to reach the radiance of day.           

                We bury the dead not for their sake, but our own.           

 vii.

They are a tangled thing, this knot of hearts and chance intersections. His universe narrows to the circle of her embrace, and he pretends she could live within the future he must build. The leisurely lethality of the past falls closer and closer, and he closes his eyes against it.

              Solas kisses her, and Desire says:

                    Taste it, the deliciousness of the inevitable.           

His fingers twist into her hair and the morning light gleams against the starkness of the snow, his lungs crackling with each frigid breath as he lets the vividness of the now sweep everything else clear.

              Sloth says:

                    The easiest thing is to do nothing at all.           

Vhenan, he calls her, and that this oldest word has outlived so many forgotten is, perhaps, a testament to the world she insists to save. He follows her through brambles and battlefields, across the stained-parchment land he would forsake.

              Compassion says:

                    You seem happier this way.                                Brighter, both of you.           

His heart quivers and Lavellan is almost, almost enough to fill the chasm of it.

              In the Fade, Purpose follows him, its words sharp and mocking.

                  Have you truly forgotten all that you promised?                              You claim your cause righteousness yet cast it aside.                              You forsake your goal. You forget your people.           

       “Forgive me,” Solas breathes against her skin.        “For what?” she asks him, and he cannot reply, so he kisses her again instead, wrapping himself in her belief and the bittersweet haven of dreams.

              When they plummet through the rend in reality itself, each word Nightmare speaks is a maw opening wide to devour him:

                    Pride will be your doom.           

In the dark silences of her absence — when, despite how he attempts to ignore it, the fate of the world turns his heart to grief — he knows:

       No matter the decision,        the choosing costs everything.

 viii.

It ends in disaster, as all things do, the slow arrow of his mistakes finally plunging through him. Lavellan deserves more; her birthright is the future he unwittingly stole. So he holds her as his heart outside his chest and builds a wall between them, closing himself so that this time she cannot reach into the abyss within and call him back. He cannot accept the desolation of the world he would consign her to — a slaughter of the present as well as the past.

He is cold and still as winter, as the frost that chokes the last green life from the world.

       This is what it means to be alone, he thinks,

              and Despair whispers back:

                    Here is where the dread will overwhelm you.                                Here is where you build the end of the world.           

 ix.

When he leaves, he sheds the self he has built like a second skin. He has failed through subtlety and subterfuge, too long he has faltered at the edge of the things that must be done. He told himself for years he was simply a person: not a symbol, no longer a revolution. His hesitation has made him now into something harsher: a reckoning.

He re-shoulders the burden of the world, and begins the work.

       Endure, Fen’Harel tells himself:        This is what it means to be a god. _________________________________________________________ Thank you for reading! This work can also be found on AO3.

[javier-pena]

alone

Chapter 1 of The Hunt

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Rating: Mature (for now but that will - spoilers! - change eventually)

Summary: When your best friend and companion is abducted by a group of outlaws, you hire a Mandalorian to help track down the men and get your revenge. What seems like a simple enough task stretches into a month-long trek through inhospitable terrain while both you and the Mandalorian are trying to come to terms with events in your past you cannot change. Set after Season 2.

Warnings: mentions (and short descriptions) of death, murder, and torture | a lot of hurt and no comfort | mentions of loss | mild to moderate language | a lot - and I mean A LOT - of talk about Din’s hands lmao

Notes: This is my first attempt at a Mandalorian fic and the first time in months I’ve written anything. It’s vaguely inspired by my favorite western movies, True Grit (1969/2010), The Quick and the Dead (1995), and The World to Come (2020). So yes, this is going to be very much like a western. I also want to - again - thank Dani @javierpcna​ who was like “are you writing Mandalorian stuff?” about a month ago and has, since then, read through this chapter more often than me and encouraged me to continue to write it and offered so much valuable insight whenever I came to her with an idea ... seriously, Dani, this fic wouldn’t exist without you and I hope I can find a way to repay you! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this first chapter (I’m already working on the second one) ...

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The day the Mandalorian arrives on Alvorine is the day you lose your best friend. You’re still busy putting out the fire, running your soot-blackened hand across your face, where the dirt mingles with the tears you’re too tired to stop from streaming down your face, when you hear the thrusters of a spacecraft roaring above you. You barely glance up; you can’t be bothered to. It could be the remnants of the Empire looking for recruits, it could be the New Republic looking for the remnants of the Empire, or it could be the bandits coming back for more. But what do you care? They already took away the one person you care most about in the galaxy. You just grip the shovel tighter and drive it into the soil so you can choke the fire underneath moist stones and dirt.

While you exhaust your body with physical labor, you occupy your mind with thoughts of revenge. Revenge as dark and quenching as the soil beneath you. With every load of dirt you heave onto the searing flames, your plan gains another sharp edge until all you can think of is driving the cutting edge down onto the throat of the man who gripped Brea’s arm and pulled her onto the speeder bike. Maybe his head would come off right away, maybe your tool would just obstruct his windpipe as you watch the life drain slowly out of his eyes. And even that would be too good an end for that monster.

It’s not just in your mind – those thoughts aren’t simply there to ground you while you continue your work in the ruins of what was once your home. It’s not pure fantasy, something to give you back a feeling of control. You are determined to follow through on it; you are going to hunt down these men who burned down your farm and stole Brea from you. You will not rest until they are all dead by your hand. And if you should die in the process … then you won’t go out without a fight, without taking as many of those bastards with you as you can. They have sealed their own fate by coming here today.

You know Brea isn’t dead; they won’t kill her unless she tries to kill one of them first. And she wouldn’t do that, she is too gentle for that, too docile. She would rather turn the other cheek. They should have taken you instead; she doesn’t deserve the fate that awaits her. You would’ve at least put up a fight, make them pay for what they did. And Brea? She would just die.

For now, she’s alive. But whatever you set out to do once you’re done here won’t be a rescue mission. You aren’t under the illusion you can save her. You know that even if you were to leave right now, even if you had your own speeder bike, you would never find her in time. No, this possibility hasn’t even crossed your mind. All you want to do is cause these men more pain than they caused you. You know it is impossible because you cannot imagine anything worse, but you sure as hell will do your best.

You straighten your back, drive the shovel into the ground, and use it as support while you try to catch your breath. The air burns in your lungs, and not just from the cold. There is also the steadily rising black smoke that makes breathing hard; your throat stings, so do your sides, and there is a bitter taste in your mouth. But you’re almost finished here, you’re almost done putting out the fire, so it won’t endanger the surrounding forest. And with every flame you bury, you also bury a piece of your soul until you feel like there is nothing left that makes you human, until all the pain and despair you’re feeling since listening to Brea’s screams grow quieter and quieter until they were swallowed up by silence has turned into a cold, brazen cry for revenge. But you’re glad this has made you less forgiving, less kind, less … human. Those things would only get in the way of the task ahead of you.

As the last flames go out with a wet hiss, one of Alvorine’s three blue white suns vanishes behind the treetops. You know the other two will be quick to follow. And you don’t have anywhere to spend the night. You wouldn’t mind sleeping with your back propped against a tree. You’ve done it often enough. But it’s winter, and the air is already cold and will be even colder once the other two suns set too. And you just lost every blanket, every single piece of fabric that could keep you warm in a small inferno. You know this is just an excuse, a comforting lie you tell yourself. The truth is you cannot spend a minute longer on this clearing, even if that means you have to walk the four miles to the next settlement. You’re so exhausted you cannot feel your legs, but you don’t care. Anything is better than spending the night here, even collapsing in the middle of the dark forest.

You leave the shovel where you stand and walk to the edge of the clearing, swallowing around the lump in your throat, trying to hold down more tears that are threatening to spill over and down your cheeks. Once you reach the edge of the forest, where the air is a bit clearer, you take a deep breath and turn around to look at the ruins of your home, now nothing more than a black pile of rubble. You have nothing, nothing but the clothes you’re wearing, not even a small trinket to remind you of Brea and the many happy hours you spent here tending to your fields, sweeping the front porch or sitting around the fireplace sharing supper. Even remembering how you worked on menial chores now feels like the most precious memory, one you will hold onto until your last breath. Because even though they have taken everything from you, they can’t take away the memory of Brea’s laugh.

***

They stare at you as you enter the inn. They stare and then look away. They can’t bear your presence because it reminds them of their own guilt. Not one of them came to your aid this morning, not one of them came afterwards to offer help. And you ignore them too because there is nothing left to say. All you want is some food and a dry place to sleep before you turn your back on them forever.

You sit down at a small table in a dark corner. The patrons around you either turn their backs to you or stand up to move their meals and conversations someplace else. It’s as if you’ve been marked. If you had any strength left in you, you would call them out on their behavior. Shit, you would wreak havoc, and only stop when the last one of them is on their knees begging for forgiveness. But you’re glad you’re too exhausted because your sudden hatred for everyone and everything scares you. The villagers don’t deserve to fall victim to your rage. There is nothing they could’ve done. They are just as defenseless and helpless as you. Would you have come to their aid if your positions were reversed? You would like to think so, but just because it gives you a false sense of moral superiority. Deep down you know the truth. Deep down you know you would hide too, praying that you would be spared.

As you dig into your bowl of soup, you realize how hungry you are. Even though everything tastes like ash in your mouth, your stomach is glad to have something to clench around when your thoughts stray to this morning’s events again. And you know there’s no need to punish yourself by refusing your body the nourishment it needs. The opposite, in fact – you know you’ll need all the strength you can get if you’re really going after them.

As you swallow one ashy bite after the other, you let your eyes wander around the room, looking for something that will distract you from your thoughts and your feelings of guilt. Everyone avoids your gaze; everyone acts as if your corner is empty. Everyone … except one stranger.

He sits in a booth close to the bar, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze on you. Or at least you think he’s looking at you – he’s wearing a helmet that covers his entire head, the kind you’ve seen twice before in this corner of the galaxy. He’s a Mandalorian, a bounty hunter, and his presence here doesn’t really surprise you. Even though actually seeing one is a rare occurrence, stories about them are countless.

Alvorine is a planet without laws, a planet that lives by its own rules, so many criminals decide to hide out here while they wait for their crimes to be forgotten. There is no military presence on the planet, no judicial system, no one to catch and punish the wrongdoers. The planet follows the rules of whoever is in charge, which changes frequently, but none of the powerful people have enough resources to enforce those rules anyway. Disputes are often just settled by the parties involved in whatever way they see fit. Only the Mandalorians, who are hired by people on other worlds, by people who have never experienced what it is like to live on Alovrine, are brave enough to get involved in those disputes. You have to admit you do feel a tiny bit curious as to why that particular Mandalorian is here ... who hired him? And who is he hunting?

You tentatively let your gaze wander over his stoic body, over the beskar covering his arms and chest, over the bandolier wrapped around his upper body, over the visor hiding his eyes. If you had one like him on your side, you wouldn’t need to worry about getting your revenge. He would catch those men in the blink of an eye. And if you paid him enough, he would do to them whatever you wanted.

He would cut off their limbs but keep them alive long enough to feel it.

He would make them run for it, give them the illusion of hope, only to crush it like their bones.

He would let you watch, let you choose whatever punishment you saw fit.

You shift in your seat because you can almost smell the blood, you can hear a faint echo of their screams, and it makes you feel light-headed and nauseous, but also elevates you, lifts a weight off your shoulders, even if just for a brief moment.

But he’s not here to do your bidding. And when you lift your head again, he’s gone.

You finish your bowl of soup and then decide to rent a room upstairs for the night. You don’t have a place to stay anymore and it’s too dangerous to start your pursuit while it’s dark. The forest belongs to dangerous creatures during the night, more dangerous than any man out there. And you’re planning on staying alive for just a little while longer.

You stretch and yawn and move to get up when your path is suddenly blocked. It happens so fast you don’t register anything at first apart from the cold, hard beskar chest plate that is level with your face. Its unexpected appearance makes you lose your balance and you fall back down onto the bench you’ve been sitting on. The Mandalorian extends his hand, his fingers closing around thin air. It’s a half-hearted attempt to stop your fall, and it comes too late – your backside has already painfully collided with the hard wood.

“May I join you?” His voice sounds distorted through the modulator in his helmet. He sounds like a machine, not like a being with a heartbeat.

You want to tell him no, want to tell him to fuck off, but for tonight you have no fight left in you. So you nod.

He sits down and you expect to hear the clink of his armor, expect to feel a tremor when his heavy body comes to rest on a stool opposite you. But there is no sound, no movement, and the lack makes you sit up straighter. This isn’t just another cowardly villager you can get rid of by glaring at him … this is an apex predator.

You swallow with some difficulty. “Can I help you?” you ask, your voice level, your eyes resting on his glove-clad hands lying on the table. You figure you’re safe as long as you can see them.

At first, he doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you. Or at least you think he’s looking at you. You cannot see his eyes behind the tinted visor. No matter how uncomfortable the situation makes you feel, you try not to move … you try not to show any sign of weakness, to give him any excuse to lunge across the table and strangle you.

Finally, he answers. “I’m looking for work.”

Now you cannot help but move. You exhale sharply, and with that release of breath comes a release of tension as you slump backwards, your back hitting the wall behind you. You cross your arms over your chest. “I can’t help you,” you say. You don’t have any work to offer him, no work worthy of the skills of a Mandalorian who usually hunts down important people, kings, merchants, people who influence the course of the galaxy’s history. Following a few lowly bandits is not the work he’s used to. You don’t even want to tell him about it because you know he’d take it as an insult. And even if - by some miracle - your quest for revenge would be deemed a worthy cause in the eyes of the Mandalorian, you couldn’t afford his services.

The slightest movement of his helmet is the only reaction your answer gets out of him. Whether he shifts because he’s surprised or because he’s angry, or whether his scalp itches under the metal you cannot tell.

Still, you feel the need to explain yourself. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any money.”

Shit, that’s the wrong thing to say. It implies you have work for him, but that you’re too poor to pay him. For all you know, this could be a grave insult in Mandalorian society.

His fingers on the table clench around thin air again. “What can you offer?” he asks.

He doesn’t want to know about the job, the quarry as you know they call it. No, he just wants to know how much he can earn.

“240 credits,” you answer. It’s all you have. You won’t need it anymore.

He tilts his head and you expect him to refuse, but then he says, “That’s enough.”

You’re taken aback, surprised. He’s caught you off-guard. You were fully prepared to see him walk away at hearing the ridiculously low amount of money you just offered. “You don’t even know what the job is,” you protest. The last thing you need is a Mandalorian hunting you down because you’re not paying him enough.

“They told me,” he says with a nod behind him.

You follow the movement with your eyes and see heads whip to the side, gazes wandering downwards, you notice conversations being picked up again. White hot fury fills you, more powerful than the flames that destroyed your house.

“They had no right,” you press out through clenched teeth.

The Mandalorian doesn’t say anything. He sits still like a statue, unwavering, as you fight a small battle with yourself. You should leave without looking back. Messing with a Mandalorian is even more dangerous than the task ahead of you. But he’s offering you something invaluable, something no amount of credits can get you: a chance. If you go alone, you’ll be dead in about a week. There’s no use pretending you’ll get out of it alive. But if you accept the Mandalorian’s help – his services, you have to remind yourself – you might make it through two. You might get to see your dreams of revenge become reality.

You sigh deeply as a heavy weariness settles over you. You’re exhausted, and now that all the adrenaline has left your body, you can feel all the small cuts and bruises today’s labors have left behind. And you feel empty … cold and empty, and utterly alone.

The Mandalorian still doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t defend the villagers, he doesn’t tell you what he knows about you or the job, he doesn’t try to persuade you to take him up on his offer, nor does he walk away from it. He just sits there and waits for you to make up your mind, as if it’s all the same to him. And it probably is. Either he goes with you and earns some money, or he doesn’t and looks for work elsewhere. He is completely detached from the whole affair. There is no emotional investment, just a job that needs to be done.

He doesn’t care if you live or die, he just cares if you pay him or not.

This realization is what finally helps you make up your mind. “I want to hire you,” you say, your tongue heavy in your mouth. All you really want is to sleep.

There is no reaction for the longest time but then the Mandalorian nods. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to say something, give him details or explain the specifics of the job to him. But before you can decide what to say next, he stands abruptly.

“I’ll be back in a few days,” he says before turning around.

Your brain needs a moment to catch up but when it does, you’re already on your feet. “Wait,” you say, and to your surprise the broad, steel-clad man listens to you.

He doesn’t face you, but he stops.

You briefly consider asking him if you can accompany him, but you don’t. You don’t have to ask, you get to decide.

“I’m coming with you,” you tell him.

You tell a stranger, a dangerous one at that, one who makes his money by making other people’s lives a living hell, that you will travel with him through dark, deserted forests where no one will stop him from taking what he wants from you instead of earning it, where no one will come to your aid should he not honor the deal you apparently just made with him. And you don’t care. Because no matter what he will do to you, it can’t be worse than what has already been done.

But all your worries and fears focus in on just one tiny aspect of this whole, fucked-up situation when he says, “I work alone.”

You don’t want to negotiate. This shouldn’t even be up for debate. You’re his employer now, you get to decide how things are done. But if you insist on this, he could just walk away from you. And you cannot let that happen now that you’ve had an idea of what it would be like to have a Mandalorian on your side.

“We’re not a team,” you say. “Think of me as an interested party. As someone who is fascinated by your work.”

You’re not sure if that is the right thing to say. His shoulders move, but he still doesn’t turn around. When he speaks again, you know it was the wrong thing to say.

“I work alone or not at all.”

You don’t want to accept that. You want to be there when those men are punished for what they did. You don’t want to wait around for the Mandalorian to come back, not when you don’t have anywhere to wait around in. You’ve lost everything. Had he talked to the villagers as he claims, he would know this. Or maybe he does. Maybe he knows you lost your home today but doesn’t care. He doesn’t even know the definition of the word home. It means nothing to him.

You take a deep breath. “Then I won’t be needing your services.”

This finally makes him turn around. Everything in you screams for you to take a few steps back, to put yourself out of his reach. You can feel the atmosphere between you shift – he draws back his shoulders, makes himself even taller than he already is. And you know, you just know, that refusing his offer, that backtracking on your agreement is the worst mistake you made tonight.

You’re pretty sure that not honoring a deal is the worst insult to a Mandalorian.

“Going alone will be your death,” he says when you cannot bear the tension a second longer.

“What’s it to you?”

The words are out. They are a challenge, one you didn’t mean to make, one you shouldn’t have made, but it’s done now. Your hand begins to tremble, and your feet grow cold with fear as you prepare yourself for his reaction. You don’t know if he will hit you, tie you up, torture you, or just kill you on the spot. He could do all of these things without having to fear any repercussions. You curse yourself for not having been more careful, for making this fatal mistake, because now Brea will go unavenged. Just because you couldn’t keep your damn mouth shut, just because you’re stubborn and hot-headed and oh so stupid.

But to your surprise, the Mandalorian shrugs. He lifts his broad shoulders, then lowers them again as your eyes follow the movement. But he’s not giving you anything more: He doesn’t insist on going alone, he doesn’t turn around and leave, he just keeps standing opposite you, motionless, emotionless, until you’re convinced you imagined the shrug.

So you decide to make the next move by removing yourself from this situation before he changes his mind and drags you back to his ship to do whatever he wants to you. You take a deep breath and start to step around him, a movement that is almost impossible to complete in this small space you’re both in. But you attempt it, nevertheless. When you’re level with him, doing your best not to brush up against him so you won’t enrage him, you hear his voice. It’s just one sentence, four words, but for some reason it sounds so much more human than it did when he was opposite you. Maybe it has something to do with the distance between his helmet and your ear, maybe it’s the angle from which the sounds hit your eardrums or maybe it’s because you feel light-headed, dizzy with the realization he hasn’t killed you yet and probably won’t.

He says, “Have it your way.”

You stop right next to him, staring ahead at a group of three men who do their best not to look at you. But you don’t see them anyway. In fact, you don’t see anything at all because the rushing sound in your ears drowns out everything else, even other senses.

“You can come with me,” he says, and it’s the first time he has spoken two sentences in a row. “But you do as I say.” Three. “If I tell you to run, you run.” Four. “If I tell you to get out of the way, you do so.” Five. “And if I tell you to kill, you kill.” Six.

Then nothing, just the faint sound of his deep breaths through the modulator.

Your thoughts are racing, tripping over their own feet like children running down a hill, and they’re unbearably loud. Everything is loud suddenly, from the sound of the barkeep filling a glass to the way that woman over there is chewing her food. The only thing that’s quiet is the last one you would have suspected to be so: the Mandalorian. Now he is waiting for you to say something and as he does, he balls his hand into a fist and then releases the tension again, over and over like a nervous tic, like he needs an outlet for the tension in his body, the tension you have no idea he is feeling until you see his arm flex beneath the fabric covering it.

But, once more, you’re at war with yourself. You don’t know what to tell him. There is still that shimmer of hope on the horizon, the light that makes you believe you stand a chance if you bring him along. But his terms … you’re not sure if you can accept them. He doesn’t know Alvorine or the men you would be hunting half as well as you do. And you’ve never been one for following orders. So if you feel that his assessment of a situation is wrong, you’re not sure you’ll be able to run just because he tells you to.

You have a feeling that defying his orders would be the most dangerous thing you could ever do, even more dangerous than hunting down a group of ruthless bandits who like to torture and kill for fun.

“All right,” you say finally.

His fist unclenches one last time and he exhales slowly.

“But when we find them,” you swallow hard, once, but your mouth is completely dry, “I get to decide what happens to them.”

The Mandalorian turns toward you so abruptly that you almost lose your balance. You lean back and hit your elbow on the wall behind you. The pain makes you curse under your breath.

“Agreed,” he whispers. He sounds like a machine again, as if everything that makes him human is shut away beneath that cold, hard, invaluable beskar steel. You too feel cold suddenly, cold and afraid. “But until then you do as I say. Understood?”

You nod, not trusting your voice. He is too close to you, and drowns out everything else, even the sounds that you considered to be too loud mere seconds ago. If he wouldn’t be wearing a helmet, you would be able to feel his breath on your cheek. He takes up your field of vision almost entirely. You’ve never felt more on display, and yet more hidden. And you know that if you say the wrong thing now, it will have terrible consequences.

So you just nod again.

“We leave in the morning,” he tells you, then turns around suddenly and leaves, his cape trailing behind him.

All sounds come rushing back at once, as if you’ve just emerged out of a pool of water. You release your breath quickly, only now realizing you’ve been holding it. Then you slump back against the wall, a shaking, quivering mess.

***

tag list: @bella-ciao​, @filthybookworm​, @frannyzooey​, @khalysa​, @leannawithacapitala​, @mothandpidgeon​, @mrsparknuts​, @mxsamwilson​, @piscespussybabe​, @something-tofightfor​

[naralanis]

little bumps in the road (pt. 10)

Previously on LBitR...

“Calm down,” Lena whispers, even though she’s having trouble doing exactly that at the sight of the empty bench where she had left Kara waiting not even an hour ago.

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” Alex hisses; the muzzle of her gun dis rather painfully on her back, and Lena would really like to step away from it, but the agent has her arm locked in a vice grip. “Where the hell is she, Lena? She was here when I followed you in!”

“Walk with me,” Lena says, quickly scanning the area--they’re standing in a stiff, unnatural way, and the last thing she wants is to draw any attention, especially when they’re both wearing stolen LuthorCorp lab coats right outside the building. She takes one tentative step away, hooking her arm around Alex’s as if they were just friends walking down the street arm-in-arm.

Thankfully, Alex understands Lena’s not-so-subtle hint faster than Kara ever could; her image-induced expression relaxes into a smile that barely looks forced, and her grip of Lena’s arm, though still tight and borderline painful, shifts so that it appears more casual.

“Is there any way you could have been followed?” Lena asks, subtly looking around them, noting that Alex is doing the same.

“That’s always a possibility,” Alex admits, sounding both panicked and defeated at once. “But I was very careful.”

“OK, let’s not panic yet,” Lena tells both Alex and herself. “Kara and I made plans to rendezvous back at the motel if I was gone too long or if anything happened.”

Alex gives her a look--it’s weird to have a patented Alex-Danvers-look-of-disapproval coming from a stranger’s face. “You weren’t gone for long, though.” She doesn’t voice the alternative.

Unthinkably, Lena reaches out and gently pats the hand on her arm. She means for it to be reassuring--it’s the kind of thing she would do for Kara--the kind of thing she has been doing for Kara over the last couple of weeks, but Alex looks just as puzzled by the action as Lena is.

She removes her hand and clears her throat. “Still, our best bet is the motel. Did you drive here?”

Alex nods. “Great,” Lena continues, mind already working a mile a minute. “Kara probably took the bus back--we didn’t want the car to be seen downtown,” she explains, and Alex lets out an undignified snort.

“That’s remarkably sensible of you,” she quips sarcastically. Lena ignores her.

“What I’m saying is, if you drove here and we take your vehicle, we may beat Kara to the motel, or get there shortly after her. It’s one hour from LuthorCorp to the motel by bus--she’ll switch routes at least twice on the way.”

Alex looks impressed despite herself. “And if she doesn’t show, what then, genius?” she challenges, lips pursed.

Lena breathes out steadily, calmly. “She will,” she says with as much conviction as she can possibly muster in her tone, because the alternative is simply unthinkable.

Alex smacks her lips, slowing her walk as she considers their limited options. “Fine,” she finally concedes, dragging Lena down an alleyway.

They dispose of their lab coats in a trashcan in that same alley, and Alex practically hauls Lena towards a secluded spot behind down another alley a few blocks away.

“You better hold on,” she says, removing a few strategically placed cardboard boxes to reveal a sleek black motorcycle, discreetly parked behind a dumpster. “I did not bring an extra helmet.”

Lena does hold on, mainly because Alex weaves and cuts through traffic like an absolute manic as she follows the directions Lena has to practically shout in her ear as they go. She knows Alex is desperate to find Kara and make sure she’s OK, but Lena also wishes she would ease off the gas a little; she’s got enough to be afraid of at the moment.

She feels like her heart is about to burst out of her chest when they finally reach the hotel; they’re nowhere close to the room she and Kara had checked into, but she’s already fumbling in her purse for her key card. with Alex hot on her heels.

They stumble into the room together, and Lena has to stop, has to take a second to try to stop the cold dread she immediately feels at finding it empty, exactly as they had left it this morning.

Alex begins pacing like a caged tiger immediately. “She’s not here,” she gasps, tapping at the image inducer at her temple, and then it’s Alex, really Alex, looking worried and panicked and slightly disheveled in this empty room, and now Lena is belatedly realizing it’s up to her, Supergirl’s would-be killer, to try and comfort the hero’s sister while they wait.

As if she is not on the verge of a panic attack herself.

“We knew she wouldn’t be,” she tries to reason, keeping her voice as even as she can, though she can’t stop tugging at her fingers out of sheer nervousness.

She’s doing the math in her head, thinking of the bus schedules, of which one Kara probably had gotten on and when; she’s mapping out the routes in her mind, considering the usual trip times, factoring in the average Metropolis traffic at two in the afternoon on a Thursday.

Alex takes one look at Lena’s fidgeting hands and immediately sighs, sinking into one of the beds. “Take that stupid wig off,” she barks. “Blonde you is freaking me out.”

That lets out a little chuckle, but it feels like some kind of hysteria. She takes a seat on the opposite bed, and Alex regards her quizzically.

“Kara said something similar yesterday,” she explains, carefully removing the wig and setting it on the nightstand. “That’s too bad; I really thought I was pulling it off.”

The attempt at humour falls completely flat--Lena can see it plainly in Alex’s wooden expression. “You definitely weren’t,” she deadpans. Her knee is bouncing up and down, up and down, up and down, boot tapping dully on the carpet.

It’s driving Lena insane.

“Kara will be here soon,” Lena says, still tugging at her fingers. Alex doesn’t look convinced. 

“And if she doesn’t?”

Lena has no answers to that, refuses to consider the possibility.

“She will,” she says again, in an almost silent whisper, for her own comfort. “She will, she will, she will.”

Alex says nothing, only continues with her bouncing knee, keeps her gaze locked onto Lena. And Lena, Lena tries not to squirm under the agent’s scrutiny; she fidgets, she stares at the blinking red numbers of the alarm clock, steals glances at the door--she looks at anything and anywhere to avoid Alex’s gaze.

When Alex does speak again, her voice is low, but it still startles Lena enough for her to jump a little in surprise.

“What do you remember about that day, Lena?”

When Lena turns to face her, Alex’s eyes are as hard as stone. Her scowl has returned, and the way her brows are furrowed is far more telling than the cold tone of her voice. It says, plain and simple, I don’t trust you.

It takes Lena a long time to come up with an answer Alex may find even remotely satisfactory--she knows that ‘I don’t know’ that is on the tip of her tongue simply won’t cut it, even if it is the honest answer. Her memories, the few that she does have from that day, are murky and sparse, and don’t feel altogether hers.

She struggles to recall any details, searches the blurred images interred somewhere in her subconscious and tries to make sense of the tangled mess she has been left with. “Flashes,” she tries, settling for as much truth as she can muster at the moment. She swallows. “I remember... I remember Kara falling--I remember seeing her from the top floor at LuthorCorp.”

Alex raises a brow like she doesn’t fully believe her. “The top floor?” she asks, voice oddly neutral. “Not from the basement labs? You didn’t watch it from the screens?”

Lena furrows her brows, tries to poke at whatever remnants of memory she has latched on to. “No, I don’t...” she closes her eyes, sees Kara falling, riddled with green, her body limp falling past her windows as fast as a bullet. “I-I don’t think so, I was... I think I was at the top floor.”

“You were apprehended in the basement, Lena,” Alex says brusquely.

“N-no, that can’t be right,” Lena chokes out, but all she sees behind her lids is Kara’s body falling, and her mind provides the most horrifying sound effect as it hits the pavement. “That can’t be, I watched her fall, I w-watched from my window.”

Alex shakes her head. “What do you remember before the rockets?”

Lena rattles her brain with difficulty; her lungs can’t quite return to their normal rhythm with the images her mind is supplying. “Before?” she gasps, keeping her eyes shut so she doesn’t have to see, doesn’t have to wither under Alex’s unyielding disappointment and doubt.

“M-myriad, the, um, the Fortress, ah... I was there with K-kara, and--”

She’s close to hyperventilating; she can’t get the image of Kara’s body--her bloody, broken body falling, falling--out of her mind.

“The Fortress? Lena that was two weeks befo--Lena? Lena, are you OK?”

Lena can’t respond--she can’t speak, she can’t even breathe. her brain is giving her the most terrifying flashes of memories, memories that don’t feel like her own, and she’s scrambling to fill that gaps at the same time as the images come, unbidden, to her mind. Her mental boxes are teetering, swaying in their little organized, compartmentalized stacks, unbalanced, and she can’t, she can’t breathe.

“Shit,” she vaguely hears Alex say, marginally registers the agent rushing to her side, but then someone is touching her and there is another flash--it is white hot and painful in her brain, like an electric shock, and she feels someone grabbing at her shoulders, pushing her down hard, pulling, and dragging, and, and--

Lena yelps and recoils, bats away at the hands reaching for her shoulders in uncontrollable, all-consuming panic.

“HEY!”

It’s another voice, worried, coming from someone bursting through the door with force, nearly slamming it off its hinges. Lena’s only somewhat aware of Alex yelling--she sounds happy, surprised, worried, and a whole gamut of other things Lena cannot focus on, because suddenly, there’s just warmth all around her.

She’s being held, tight, tight, tight, but it isn’t restrictive--it’s the opposite, warm and comforting and it envelops her almost entirely, like a heavy blanket, muting the sounds of her own frantic heartbeat.

“Sh, Lena, it’s just me. You’re OK. I’m here, I’m here.”

It’s Kara’s voice--low in a soothing murmur, rumbling in her chest as she whispers right at Lena’s ear, and the vibrations are soft, reassuring, and tranquil, almost enough to ease Lena’s trembling.

She’s wrapped tight in Kara’s arms as her awareness returns, slowly and fuzzy. Kara’s hand rubs circles on her back, and Lena instinctively tucks her head under Kara’s chin, seeking more of her warmth. Kara is taking deep, deliberate breaths, and Lena finds herself subconsciously trying to match them at every inhale and exhale, using the pressure of the rise and fall of Kara’s chest against hers as guidance.

When the flashes cease, she dares open her eyes again. Over Kara’s shoulder, her gaze locks with Alex, who’s awkwardly standing to the side, watching them closely.

“OK,” the agent says, gaping a little. “What the fuck?”

Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

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[magioftheseas]

The Remnant

Written for @izuruzine

Summary: Post-Canon AU where Kamukura Izuru is a ghost that starts haunting/terrorizing his once former self.

Rating: PG

Warnings: Vague references to canon events.

Notes: This is the other fic I wrote for the zine! It’s more like a bonus piece, but I do quite like it. I’m all about post-canon recovery, and I thought this would be a fun and interesting take. It’s not my usual brand of sentimental, but I don’t think that’s a bad thing. It’s still short and sweet.

***Alternate Ao3 Link*** Commission? Donate?

He had already predicted everything that would happen. But regardless of what happened, it would be of no concern to him because he would no longer be present. Regardless of the future, Kamukura Izuru’s existence would come to an end.

There was no reason to meet any of the remnants once again. Or so he thought.

It turned out that even one so beloved by talent was not omniscient.

--

While he was no longer present in a tangible sense, he still existed as a specter. A transient observer to Hinata Hajime’s life from then on. Watching the once normal boy make use of his talents here and there, and toss back and forth every night, plagued by scattered memories. Every so often, Hinata would wake with a strangled gasp, his chest heaving, his shoulders trembling, and his face wet with tears. With twitching fingers, Hinata would reach up to comb his fingers through his hair. He’d flinch whenever his fingers brushed against the ruined scar tissue atop his head like a twisted crown.

Kamukura Izuru would observe. Night after night. Watch Hinata Hajime muster up an air of normalcy and force himself to lie back down and attempt restful sleep once more.

“You are hopelessly dull, Hinata Hajime,” Kamukura said. “You have people you can confide in. Suffering alone does not suit someone as plain as you.”

Of course, Hinata Hajime hadn’t responded. How boring.

--

Simply watching became intolerable, so Kamukura Izuru began to test the extent of his capabilities as a specter. He found that while Hinata Hajime responded to brushes of contact with a shiver, inanimate objects were more complicated. He could flip the pages of a book, but he couldn’t pick up or carry the book itself. He could only move small, relatively light objects such as chopsticks and empty glasses.

Hinata Hajime always jumped when Kamukura swept aside his eating utensils. He was especially startled when Kamukura knocked over his glass. Hinata’s gaze jerked towards Kamukura’s direction, except it wasn’t quite lined up.

Kamukura flicked his forehead. Hinata stiffened, but it wasn’t long before his shoulders slacked.

“Must be going crazy,” Hinata muttered to himself.

“As if you weren’t already?” Kamukura asked him and, predictably, didn’t receive a response.

--

On one hand, making Hinata Hajime worry he might be haunted was rather pointless. On the other, Kamukura did feel a twinge of satisfaction when Hinata flinched in front of the mirror. More so when Kamukura knocked away his toothbrush and Hinata was left looking rather helpless.

Kamukura was acting out. He’s quite aware of this. These acts of defiance and rebellion made for poor justifications of his existence.

Well, he hadn’t exactly wanted to keep living upon entering the simulation. In a way, this was karmic punishment for threatening to throw away not only the lives of the remnants but the remains of Class 78.

“It’s your fault as well,” he told Hinata. “You were the one who agreed to the project in the first place.”

Hinata continued to comb through his hair furiously. He can’t seem to get the antenna quite right. His grimace was darkening.

He yelped when Kamukura pulled on his cheeks.

“S-Seriously what the hell?!”

“Hell is right,” Kamukura hummed. “This existence is hellish. However, you know the saying, don’t you?” As there is no point in waiting for an answer, he simply prodded the once normal boy and watched dully as Hinata turned away. “Misery loves company.”

--

Of course, Kamukura Izuru could not be satisfied with stagnancy and solitude. It had only taken X amount of days before the vacancy of living day to day as a mere tool and accessory for the Hope’s Peak Steering Committee had driven him to take the first hand offered. It hadn’t mattered the wretch that hand was attached to.

Hinata Hajime could not fully retreat into himself either. Or, rather, he would not be allowed to.

“Hinata-kun! It’s been a while!”

Komaeda Nagito. The former Ultimate Luck of the 77th batch of Hope’s Peak Academy. Recently recovered from once malignant lymphoma. The second ‘owner’ of a certain wretch’s hand has since been replaced with a bionic one, which Komaeda Nagito was using to wave at hi—them.

Komaeda’s gaze flickered towards Kamukura Izuru. His smile widened. He waved again at both of them.

“Aren’t you going to let me in?” Komaeda asked in a purring lilt as if Hinata had the heart to slam the door in his face. “It’s rude to just make someone stand on your porch.”

The sky was overcast, but Komaeda Nagito is more threatening than any storm. Hinata Hajime might manage a smile, but Kamukura Izuru was now alert.

Because. Komaeda Nagito could see him.

“Come inside,” Hinata said, standing aside.

Kamukura huffed. Komaeda smirked in his direction, which was wholly different to the snide glee of one Enoshima Junko but was unpleasant all the same.

--

“How lucky it is that I’ve gotten the chance to see you!” Komaeda exclaimed, gushed really.

“I mean, all you have to do is call,” Hinata said. “I’m always willing to meet up.”

Komaeda’s smile didn’t twitch, yet Kamukura saw through him easily.

An irritant as always.

“I don’t know,” Komaeda went on with a patronizing attempt at innocence. “Lately, it seems you’ve been keeping to yourself.”

“Has it?” Hinata grimaced. “That’s... I just...”

“No man is an island, you know. I worry the isolation might drive you mad.”

Hinata flinched at that. But even under Kamukura’s darkening glare, Komaeda was a careless beam of light. So irritatingly bright, especially with an avid gaze that was as sharp as it was often intense.

Komaeda was similar to Hinata in some unfortunate ways. Their dedication to talent for starters. When compared to Kamukura however, Komaeda was his complete opposite.

Nosy, pushy, and passionate in his pursuits—Komaeda was...completely different.

“I guess I do...get lonely,” Hinata muttered deferentially. “There’s just so much going on my head.”

Komaeda looked at Kamukura.

“Stating it out loud might be a good start,” Komaeda said. “Simply not acknowledging it will not cause those problems to disappear. The opposite, really. You’re causing it to fester.”

“Is that really what you think I am?” Kamukura huffed. “A mere problem to solve? A loose end to tidy up?”

“I think,” Komaeda said, “That ignoring Kamukura-kun isn’t doing you any good.” He paused just a moment, looking at him. “You’re behaving rather childishly.”

Hinata was quiet. Komaeda smiled.

“You don’t need to make such a dour face,” he laughed then, waving his bionic hand. The mechanical whirl was only slightly less grating than the wheeziness of his giggling. “It’s just a comment.”

Because of his transience, Kamukura could not see whatever face he was making reflected in Komaeda’s twinkling gaze. All he knew is that he felt agitated. It was as if his very being was bubbling.

“You’re such a jackass,” Hinata remarked quietly.

“Ill-bred, even now,” Kamukura agreed just as quietly. “It is as if getting on the nerves is your talent, Komaeda Nagito.”

Hinata tensed beside him. Komaeda looked rather despicably pleased with himself.

“It’s just a comment,” Komaeda repeated stubbornly. “Rather than insult me, we can all talk things out like adults, yes?”

They both wanted to throw him out. It was easier, after all, to just be childish. To simply lash out at annoyances and pretend that menial rebelliousness was enough.

Some time ago, on a boat en route to a certain island, Kamukura had met this annoying person he quickly dismissed.

“There is no reason we’ll ever meet again,” he had said.

There hadn’t been any reason for Kamukura to think he’d still exist after. And perhaps for that reason, Komaeda could not be deterred now.

“Hinata-kun. Kamukura-kun.” Stubborn until the end of time, Komaeda kept smiling at them. “Let’s talk things over.”

“This is your fault,” Kamukura told Hinata sourly. “You were the one who let him in.”

Hinata...flinched. Then, Hinata let out a long, heavy sigh. Kamukura, too, couldn’t help but sigh.

It was a little like submitting to fate itself.

“What do you even want me to say?” Hinata asked.

“I do not want to even have this conversation,” Kamukura muttered.

Komaeda laughed again.

“I think it’s lucky that we’re all here,” he said. “There’s no reason not to take advantage of this opportunity, right?”

Even one beloved by talent can be unlucky.

That was the thought Kamukura Izuru had. But now that it came to this, he could only look forward.

Because he was here, he would have to move forward.

“I suppose I should begin,” Kamukura said.

Hinata gave him a wide-eyed look as if seeing him for the very first time.

It was, admittedly, not only comical but another push forward for someone who had thought his existence would be voided. Perhaps, then, there could be other forms of amusement down the line.

Either way...

“I had thought I wouldn’t be present anymore,” Kamukura said. “And yet, here I remain.”

This will be the first step.

[coffee-and-quill]

Birthday Wishes

Stucky x Reader: You have been feeling neglected lately, but Bucky and Steve promised they would be there for your birthday. When they don’t show up, you are left feeling broken, and they are left wondering how they will every make it up to you

Warnings: Angst, Bucky and Steve being adorable morons

_ _ _ _ _

It had been months since you spent any quality, romantic time with your boys. Months since you had woken up cuddled between them, months since they had eaten dinner with you or even gotten home before you fell asleep. Furthermore, it had been months since you had had any intimate sex, nothing more than a quick fuck before rushing off for work. You tried so hard not to get upset. They were superheroes after all; the great Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, the Captain and the Soldier. Villains didn’t stop being villains just because you were feeling a little neglected.

           So you shut your mouth. You gave them polite smiles when they said they would have to stay late, you packaged up the dinners you made with love every night, you gave them quick kisses and declarations of love in the morning, and you hoped that things would slow down eventually. Life has a way, you figured out, of really taking the piss out of all of your hopes and dreams.

           You had told Steve and Bucky at least 50 times over the last three days that you needed them here on Saturday. You sent them texts, put notes up on the fridge, and even called Tony to explain the situation. They had missed Thanksgiving, they had missed Christmas, they had missed Valentines Day, they were not going to miss your birthday. You didn’t want anything but a full day of attention from the two men who you loved the most.

           Yet when you woke up that Saturday, your bed was cold. There was a not on the dresser from Steve saying that something important had come up and that he and Bucky would be back before dinner. You tried to hold back the feeling of dread. You told yourself that a romantic dinner with your loves was more than what you had gotten in a while, and that it was better than nothing. You might even be able to indulge in some well needed release with the two afterwards. So you sighed and began going about the preparations for that night.

           A feeling of peace came over you as you sipped your coffee and took out the ingredients for your cake. You had made one on every birthday you had shared with the boys. It was a favorite of all of yours: chocolate devil’s cake with rich ganache frosting and raspberry filling. You still remember the sinful moan that Bucky had let out when he first tried it on his birthday. You had almost creamed your panties on the spot. You smiled at the memory and continued to prep the ingredients, swaying your hips to the soft music playing. It was almost muscle memory at this point. When the cake was in the oven, you prepped the food for dinner. It was one of Steve’s mother’s recipes, rescued from the Smithsonian last year. You lived for the look of nostalgic glee that he got on his face whenever he came home to this meal. It made your heart soar.

           As the day wore on, you got more and more frustrated. You had gotten calls from your family, friends, even Tony had called to wish you a happy birthday, but you still hadn’t heard from your boys. It was getting later, closer to the time they would get off. You figured they wanted to surprise you. So you went upstairs, showered, and put on your favorite dress: a sleek, satin, red number that always made Steve and Bucky’s eyes grow dark. After, you set the table, placing the roses you had picked up yesterday into a crystal vase and lighting a few candles. You poured three glasses of the fancy wine you kept for special occasions and sat down to wait.

           By the time the clock rolled around to 9, you knew they weren’t coming. You had already drank half the wine and were feeling very, very pissed. You picked up your phone, hands shaking and tears on the edge of you eyes. The dial rang twice before Steve picked up.

           “Hey, sweetheart! Sorry, I didn’t realize the time. What’s up?” his voice was far too chipper, and it made you sick.

           “Where are you?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

           “We got caught up with something, there is a lot of paperwork. It looks like me and Buck will have to spend the night.”

           “I told you that I needed you today, Stevie.” You wanted to throw up.

           “I know sweetheart, but can we postpone? Maybe we can have date night next weekend?”

           You were crying now. Your breaths were coming in short bursts, and your heart felt like ice; a cold, heavy weight sitting in the middle of your chest making it impossible to breathe.

           Steve’s voice cut through, “Is everything alright sweetheart? Did something happen?” You could hear Bucky in the background, clearly recognizing the worry in his boyfriend’s voice. They had forgotten. You had been together for so long, and they had forgotten. You hung up without answering his question.

           The room was spinning. Everywhere you looked you saw the remnants of your life with the soldiers. Bucky’s work boots standing by the door, Steve’s favorite book on the coffee table, your mugs set up on the counter together. It was mocking you. You stumbled up to your shared room, ignoring the ringing of your phone downstairs. You didn’t want to think, you just wanted out, away from the pain, away from the reality of your loneliness. You threw some clothes in a duffle and left. You didn’t take your phone. You didn’t want to talk or be found. You could barely see as you drove, tears running down your face and smearing your makeup.

           Your mom didn’t ask any questions when she opened the door to find you there, still in your red dress with puffy eyes and a lost look. She opened your arms, and you fell into them and cried.

_ _ _ _ _

 Steve was already starting to panic when you didn’t pick up the third time. He racked his brain trying to figure out what was wrong. Did someone break in? Were you hurt? He vaguely remembered something about you asking them to take the day off, but it was lost in the panic of the attack. Some new recruits had returned from a scout to reveal information on three new Hydra bases that they hadn’t even known about. There was paperwork, lots of it, and plans that needed to be drawn up, teams that needed to be assigned. All of that seemed small at the thought of you hurt.

Bucky was pacing nervously. “Did she say anything else? Anything at all?” he asked, biting his lip.

“No,” Steve responded, “She hung up without answering.” The two super soldier were too preoccupied to notice Tony had entered. The billionaire eyed the men curious.

“I’m surprised you two aren’t home yet. I’d assume you’d had some grand plans for your girl’s birthday,” he said smirking. The words hit Steve like a bucket of ice water. He looked over, seeing Bucky with the same expression of shock, guilt, and fear.

Tony looked back and forth between them, and his cocky expression fell. “Don’t tell me-,” he didn’t finish. The boys were out of the room before he could, sprinting as fast as they could down the hall.

_ _ _ _ _

             The door swung open, nearly punching a hole in the wall as Steve and Bucky heaved through the door. One look told them all they needed to know. Steve walked up to the table, a gorgeous dinner lying cold on the plate and an empty bottle of wine next to two full cups and an empty one. The candles were burnt out and the roses had been knocked over. As he went further, his breath caught in his throat. The cake, so beautiful and made with so much love and effort, was smashed, and next to it on the counter was the promised ring he and Bucky had given you two years ago. A wretched noise left his throat as he sank to his knees.

           Bucky wasn’t fairing any better. His eyes scanned the room with military precision, but inside was a panic like nothing he had ever felt before. As Steve cried on the floor, he rushed past him and up the stairs to their bedroom, hoping to whatever god was out there that you were still here. He knew before he stepped in the room that his prayers were unanswered. The closet was open and your travel duffel was gone. Your toiletries which had so long held the place between his and Steve’s were missing, leaving a gaping hole on the counter that he could feel down to his soul. A cold feeling began to creep through him, starting deep in his chest and spreading outward. It was painful and heavy and dark, and Bucky hated it. He would take Hydra any day over this. What made it worse was he knew it was his fault, he knew and he could do nothing to fix it. You were gone.

           He trudged back downstairs where Steve sat motionless, still on the kitchen floor, clutching your ring like a lifeline. He slumped into one of the table seats, where he noticed your phone, abandoned and out of battery.

           “What are we going to do?” he asked, voice hoarse with emotion.

           Steve looked over, tearing up again. “I don’t know.,” he whispered. Bucky felt his heart sink even deeper.

[volexis]

my favorite ghost; sakusa x gn!reader

summary: sakusa loved you, and he was sure you loved him too. over time he’s come to know love is fickle, always ready to dissipate at the drop of a hat or the proposition of one all-important question.

warnings: fluff to angst, implied break-up, mentions of past relationships, proposals

wc: 1.6k

note: general taglist is open, send an ask or fill out my form to be added!

a/n: here's some angst since it's my birthday today! i've had this drafted for months now, i tried something new here so it took me a while to actually gather the courage to post it but yeah this was the fic idea from a poll i made like a billion years ago!

Sakusa didn’t expect to enjoy his mornings with you, nor did he expect them to become his favorite part of the day. No matter how the night started, by the time sunlight streamed through the windows, he’d always find you encased in his arms. On the days he woke up before you, which tended to be a more common occurrence, he’d take the time to really look at you. He’d take in the unusual sort of gentleness that consumed your generally placid features. Sometimes, he’d catch a thinly veiled smile on your lips and wonder what you were dreaming about to have given you that grin. Most of the time, he’d leave the bed before you could open your eyes. Before he could cave in and take the chance to ghost his lips over yours. Today wasn’t one of those days. You stared back at Sakusa as he all but jumped away from you in his fright, half-embarrassed to have been caught looking at you so unabashedly.

Before you could open your mouth and ask the undoubtedly teasing question that rested on your lips, Sakusa asked a question of his own.

“Are you busy this Friday?”

You blinked owlishly at your boyfriend and quirked an eyebrow. “Well, good morning to you too,” you whispered into the air between the two of you, voice slightly hoarse and threaded with remnants of sleep.

“Good morning, my love,” he relented after making a point to exaggeratedly roll his eyes, but not before pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. “You still haven’t answered my question, though.”

At his words, your eyes lost the playful glint they carried. Whatever caused the shift strung a weight in his chest and made his stomach plummet.

“I don’t think I am. What’re you planning?”

You paired your words with a desperately bright grin. Sakusa said nothing and sent you a cheeky smile of his own, hoping it was enough to mask the sudden sting of fear in his heart. He rolled out of your shared bed, chuckling lightly as your indignant protests followed him out of the room. He never revealed his plans, no matter how much you tried to trick him in the days that followed. He always chose to send you a ridiculously charming grin in response and promising that you’d know soon.

Sakusa was unbearably obvious, in his eyes at least. He’d never say it outright; the words weighed far too heavy in his mouth to ever escape. The way his eyes trailed your figure with a sickeningly saccharine fondness spoke volumes in his stead. Fortunately for him, you were oblivious to the way your boyfriend radiated absolute adoration in your presence. Though not everyone else was.

“So, Omi-kun, when’s the wedding? Seeing you all so lovey-dovey is making me sick." Atsumu mimed a nauseous expression, grinning at his teammate’s callous, unimpressed glare.

“First of all, my romantic engagements are none of your business, and second," he paused to riffle through his gym bag, lifting his prize for the blond to see. “You wouldn’t have been invited to the wedding, anyways.”

Atsumu’s eyes widened as he blinked slowly, momentarily stunned. A smug grin split his face as he wolf-whistled.

“Congrats, Omi Omi, I didn’t think you had it in ya.” He clapped his back, much to the annoyance of the former, before leaving the changing room.

The blond’s words left a sour, indignant taste in Sakusa’s mouth. He was not the type to lack courage given his silent yet almost teasing demeanor, but the tiny box in his pocket haunted him. It sent anxiety spiking through his nerves every time you reached too close, breached his most climacteric secret. Yes, Sakusa had plenty of bravery and will, but he lacked one thing. Patience.

“Where are you taking me?” You lightly tug at the cloth that covered your eyes, laughing as he immediately swats your hands from the blindfold in response.

“You’ll see when we get there,” came an obnoxiously indifferent reply from somewhere up ahead. You could feel the smirk on Sakusa's lips without having to look. His dodgy words did nothing to quell the swirling butterflies swarming your stomach. Nor how they fluttered in time with every exhilarated beat of your heart. His hands felt far too warm in yours as he guided you through an undisclosed area. You vaguely hear what could’ve been a car in the distance, the familiar noise prompting more questions than answers.

“We’re here,” he whispered into your ear, lips dangerously close. Your skin prickled deliciously with embarrassment, but you chose to ignore the feeling to take off the dark fabric tied over your eyes.

Before you lay a quaint picnic blanket nestled between broad trees. Thin lights were strung on its branches, illuminating the modestly charming set-up beneath them. Assorted snacks were carefully placed on the blanket with enough space to comfortably sit and eat.

“You mentioned a while ago that you’ve always wanted to go on a picnic. So, I thought now’s a good time as any.”

His words were quiet and surprisingly bashful. You couldn’t help but smile as you pull him down to sit with you, quickly reaching for whichever treat caught your eye.

Sakusa sat before you, methodically fiddling with the worn lining of his jacket. The ring burns a hole in his pocket, weighing down on his heart and sending anxiety creeping up his throat. He couldn’t do anything but smile as you rambled, seemingly unbothered by his lack of participation.

Was now a good time? Would there ever be a good time? He worked his hand into his pocket and fiddled with the ring. Flipping its box open and shut with every thought that streamlined through his mind. The box tumbled out of his jacket before he could make a choice, landing on a platter between the two of you. Your words quieted at the sight of it as you stared at it, then at him.

“This… this isn’t exactly how I planned it, how I planned to propose to you,” Sakusa spoke up before you could. He picked up the box from where it lay and gathered himself into a semblance of a kneel, the best he could do while on the filmy, slippery blanket.

“I wanted to take you to that restaurant you like first, buy you flowers, walk through the streets as the sky darkens. Take you to your favorite park, the one where we met, and then I’d propose. I wanted nothing less than perfection because you mean the world to me. Before I met you, I never really understood what it meant to love so fiercely you’d give the world, paint the sky, wring the stars, just to see them smile. Now, I know what it’s like to love someone with everything that I am. You’re everything I could ever want, everything I’ve longed for, and infinitely more. I love you more than words could ever possibly dream of encompassing. Anything I say would pale in comparison. I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life making you as happy as you make me if you let me.”

His voice faltered, the tear-stained smile stretched on his lips mirroring your own. When did he start crying? When had you started crying? It didn’t matter, not really. You were and will always be the most beautiful person Sakusa has ever known, regardless of how you look.

“So please, tell me you’ll say yes.”

You couldn’t trust your voice, not with the way tears freely coursed down your cheeks and into your mouth every time you tried to speak. You nodded, laughing softly at the relieved grin on his face once you slipped the ring onto your finger. Sakusa’s eyes softened as he reached to cup your cheeks and pull you in to press a kiss to your nose, cheekbone, wherever he landed first. He chuckled into your lips as you fisted his shirt and pulled him even closer. His eyes fluttered shut at the taste of sparkly citrus and the feeling of your tongue swiping against his.

Honeyed lips on his melted into the ardent warmth of sunlight, breathing kisses on his skin. Sakusa never expected he would have to get used to mornings without you, longing for your touch. Coming to terms with the gut-wrenching reminder that it was nothing but a dream. It was the gleaming proposal he longed for. The one he wished he could’ve given you instead of hushed, awkward confession whispered into the night while he held a ring between shaking fingers. It’s no wonder you said no. The look in your eyes was sickeningly sorrowful, almost apologetic. It reminded him he would never be enough for you.

Your face now seemed turbid at best, glossed over and all but forgotten in the balmy morning haze. Sakusa wished he could forget you, what you were, what the two of you had together. The ring still sits heavy on his nightstand. Next to his clock, next to where a framed picture of your wedding should have been.

Sakusa could never hate you for it. If his love were enough, you’d still be here with him. The fact was glaringly obvious, at least in his eyes. Your presence never fades, not with the weaning sunlight or the occasional breeze that rushes along. It’s phantasmic in the way it lingers sweetly yet heaves a bitter taste onto his tongue all the same. Your memory, everything about you, would always be his favorite ghost.

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Glass Swords

Summary:  Tovar knew he had bad luck–it came with the curse the witch gave him on his thirteenth birthday. Trapped in a contract by a band of bloodthirsty noblemen who use Tovar for his skill with a sword, he has all but resigned himself to a life of servitude. But then a job shoves him into the path of a princess who almost makes him smile. (Cinderella!AU)

Pairing: Pero Tovar/F!Reader

Warnings: None really. I make an allusion to the events of the movie but you don’t have to have seen it to understand this. 

Word Count: 4.8k

(Banner by my darling @starlight-starwrites​)

Or you can read on Ao3!

Once upon a time, there was a boy who seemed to have remarkably good luck. He was born to a wealthy, aristocratic family, and being the firstborn and a son guaranteed him a title of his own. His horse always came first in races, his opponents were always making simple mistakes in duels. He always had the keen eye to find a forgotten bit of coin on the ground. His first shot always hit its make when he was hunting.

Yes, Pero Tovar was lucky.

Until his luck soured at the hands of a woods witch.

On his thirteenth birthday, on a hunt with his band of friends and loyal servants, he darted into the forest to call for the hunting dog that had gone after gods-knows-what instead of the fowl they’d been hoping for when they set out. Again and again he called for the hound with no luck.

“Your dog has ruined my garden,” came a sudden voice behind him.

Pero turned to see a woman, old and shrouded in tattered grey robes, emerging from the forest shadows. An answering howl soon followed and a muddied hound bounded up to him, remnants of flowers and trampled vegetables hanging from his panting mouth.

And Pero laughed. What else was he supposed to do?

“For too long I have been held at the whim of your family. They have forgotten the treaty they signed when they came here, building your castle on my land and promising that you would provide. That you would never forget. But you have. And then you laugh when my little source of happiness was trampled by a hound.” Words tumbled from her chapped lips in a language he did not recognize and soon felt as if a bucket of icy river water had been dropped over his head.

“What did you do?” He hissed, feeling himself shake like a scared deer.

“I have made sure the world treats you as it treats me.” Her weathered mouth stretched into a smile he could see beneath the cowl. “But I am not cruel. I only want you to learn a lesson. But your lot seem stubborn so I would not be surprised if it took you the rest of your life.” She stepped forward and pulled a blade from the folds of her robes and Pero took an instinctive step back.

Almost instantly, his heel caught on a root and he tumbled to the moss-covered ground, pain zig-zagging up his spine as he landed.

The witch only laughed and continued forward. She twisted the blade in her hand and she held it out to him. And it was not as if he could say no. Not now. The short sword was clear—like glass. As soon as his hand wrapped around the handle, he felt the cold stone form to his grip, imprinting itself to his touch.

“When you’ve pierced the heart of a princess with your glass sword, then and only then will the curse lift.”

“A-a-a princess?” Pero parroted, feeling his stomach drop.

But the witch was gone and all he had was the glass sword.

His bad luck made itself known when he collided with his sister as they both rounded corners and she tumbled down the stone stairs of their home. Sancha was fine, thankfully but Pero would never forget how the blood pooled around her head or the scream she let out as she fell.

That was his fault. He knew it would only get worse as time progressed. He would not endanger his family. And so, Pero left a short note for his mother and father, telling them that he would return once he’d earned his honor on his own. The note he left for his sister told the truth, apologize for her injuring asking for her forgiveness even though he knew he already had it. Sancha was too pure of heart to ever hold any anger.

He set out. At first, trying to find another witch to counteract the curse. Then, to healers who promised anything and everything for the right price. And then, little by little, his hope faded. For a moment, he did consider driving the short blade through the heart of a princess—any princess—to just be rid of the curse. So he could see his family again. So he could live without worrying about bridges, loose bricks, or roots—or the millions of other things that the witch had made unlucky.

But he couldn’t. And in desperation to stay fed, he took up work as a mercenary. Another unlucky decision. It had led him to far flung lands that would have been an adventure to rival any explorer—he had fought creatures from another world!—but he did not enjoy any of it (aside from a few fleeting moments). And he could kill people who were trying to kill him all the time. Pero was good at it, he found. But it did not necessarily give him much opportunity to even know any princesses or be able to pick them out of a crowd so he could…stab them.

His bad luck continued.

When he failed to return to his employers, a group of nefarious noblemen from some country he didn’t care to remember, with the Black Powder they had requested, there were consequences. And now he was stuck in a contract, unable to leave his ‘employment’ because a bottle of ink had spilled across the contract and blotted out a very telling bit of information. He could not leave unless they were all dead. And if he broke that contract, his life would be forfeit.

He never would have signed—obviously—if he had been able to read that line.

But it was done. He was trapped. His bad luck mostly did not endanger his life—and he was sure the witch made sure of that. It would be no fun if it killed him and he was able to rest in death. The closest he had come to death because of his luck was when an ornamental sword fell from its hold on the wall and nearly took his eye.

One of the noblemen who benefitted from his terrible contract said the scar made him look fearsome. But he said it with a curdled milk smirk that rolled Pero’s stomach. It wasn’t a compliment, he knew.

And now he was called in by his ‘employers’ to settle another job. He vaguely listened—something about needing the little kingdom’s valuable port for some trivial reason and the easiest way to acquire the port was for Pero to kill at least the king and his eldest son so the second-born son could become king. Apparently, the noblemen who were employing him had an agreement with the power hungry prince. Pero was sure there were more details but he did not care to commit them to memory. He knew how to kill and his timeline.

That was all that really mattered.

But first, he needed to scout through the dense forest surrounding the castle to find a way in.

He weaved between trees as he started toward the castle. The outer perimeter walls had been easily climbed without drawing attention and while the surrounding grounds were vast, they were not heavily patrolled. As he continued to close the distance to the dark stone of the castle, Pero started to believe that this might the easiest job his contract had ever permitted him. The one solace he had was still being able to learn languages easily so he was able to learn of this mostly-unattended part of the perimeter wall by listening at the nearest market.

The sound of a horse’s hooves on the drying leaves drew his attention, his head whipping to the side, to one of the few bits of sunlight that slipped through the thick trees overhead.

It was a woman—one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, if he was being truthful—sitting atop a horse. She was smiling up at the birds as they sang in the branches. She was dressed in a simple smock and her horse was unsaddled. She was probably a maid from the castle.

But that did not detract from how his throat tightened as he looked at her. She was, after all, beautiful. It was almost embarrassing how he didn’t even realize she had spotted him until it was too late.

“Hello, sir.” Her voice was kind on his ears and he was instantly wondering if she would speak again.

“Hello, my lady.”

“Are you lost? It is not often I see strangers in the kingswood.” She nudged her horse toward him, uncaring of the danger strangers often present. Or maybe she was unknowing. There was a certain sweetness to her that Pero knew could not be feigned.

“I am hunting, my lady. I hope I did not disturb you.”

She shook her head. “I was not aware the king was having a hunting party today. I hope I did not scare away your prey.”

“No, my lady. I have just lost the rest of our party. Do you work at the castle?”

“Yes.” Her smile seemed to be hiding something but Pero thought little of it, instead focusing on how the light made her eyes sparkle.

“Do they treat you well? I am sure I could put in a good word for you,” he said, knowing his roguish smile was starting to cut across his face. He might have the worst luck but he still knew how to make a pretty woman smile.

And it worked because she demurely averted her eyes before biting her lip for a moment. “They treat me much better than they should,” she said with a shake of her head. “But I thank you for the offer.” She cleared her throat before looking at him again. “I can fetch you a bit of water or ale from the kitchens, if you would like? You must be parched.”

“No, no, my lady. But you are kind to offer.”

The sound of someone calling out in the distance had her turning her head with a frown. “I’ve lost track of the hour. I must go.”

And then her dark horse was setting off, galloping between the black-barked trees, and disappearing from sight before he could even ask for her name.

Pero did not find a way into the castle that day. He could have, but he didn’t. His employers allowed him another day of scouting in the woods and he happily took advantage of it and hoped his curse would subside just for a day, or even a few hours, so he might happen upon the maid again.

And his silent plea was heard as he found her at the base of a large tree, a well-worn book settled on her lap.

“Hello again,” she said as she spotted him.

“Hello, my lady.”

She patted the bit of grass beside her and Pero wavered for a moment before taking the offered seat. “Hunting again today?”

“No. I must confess that I was hoping to see you.”

Her answering giggle had something squeezing in the deep recesses of his chest. “Well, you have found me.” She closed the book carefully and turned to face him a little more. “What is your name? I have tried to guess it but I do not think any name I might have conjured would suit you.”

He could have told her his true name. It was not as if she would be able to stop him in his quest. But he knew to never think he could outsmart his curse. “I am Tovar.” And then he quickly added his title that he had not used in decades: “Marquess Tovar.” As if that would somehow make his lie about hunting with the royals more believable.

She gave him her name in return and then started to gently, simply pull him into conversation about anything and everything—from the animals he was unfamiliar with in the forest, to learning how the she grew up inside the castle and still got lost in its twisting, turning halls and rooms.

He knew he should be committing the hints she was giving to him about the castle’s layout to memory but didn’t want to. He only want to continue to hear her speak. She would ask him questions too, about how he was finding her homeland and if he still “did not require a bit of drink to slake his thirst from the kitchens.”

She was…sunlight. And such a sharp contrast to the darkness of the kingdom she resided in with its masses of dark stone, fog, and black wood trees. She did not deserve such darkness. Sunlight. She should have been bathed in sunlight, in warmth, in all things light and lovely. Not here. Not in the dark and cold. Even if it was her home—even if she called it home with a tilt of her beautiful lips.

“Tell me, Tovar. Are you coming to the Masque tomorrow night? I would like to see you again.”

“There is a Masque tomorrow?”

She nodded with another smile and stood, brushing the moss and dirt from her little dress and apron. “The King is celebrating his birthday and his daughter has finally returned from her time abroad.”

“A princess?”

She laughed and held out a hand toward him, helping him to his feet. “Yes. I thought the king would have told you about her when you were hunting.”

“I’ve only heard of his sons,” he said, not entirely lying.

“Either way, will you come to the Masque tomorrow?” She looked so hopeful, so happy. He could not tell her no. And it was with a soft kiss to his cheek that she bid him goodbye and he was left in the dark of the forest, watching her disappear again.

A Royal Masque. And a princess. Perhaps his luck was turning on its own.

This would provide the perfect opportunity for him—kill the princess and be able to dance with the woman whose lips pleasantly burned his skin.

**

It had been easy to procure an invitation to the Masque. It had been harder to find an outfit that would not gain him unwanted attention. The shops were nearly all too busy or too empty but he did eventually find a decent enough ensemble and matching mask without emptying his coffers too much. His employers had been pleased to know he had found a way into the castle without too much fanfare and seemed to approve of his plan to carry out their plot at the masque. (And if another royal died that night, who would think that it was not part of a larger plan instead of a desperate man trying to break a curse?)

Pero handed over his invitation to the major-domo standing in front of the black and gold doors and was finally ushered inside—even after a few of the knights eyed the short sword sheathed at his hip. The halls were filled with more shining dark stone and gilded suits of armor from centuries past. Paintings and tapestries were hung along the walls, depicting the kingdom’s fabled rise to power. Blooms of white flowers were littered about, a sharp contrast to the darkness that seemed to permeate each corner of this little kingdom.

No couples had already to the floor to dance yet but he did spot a few practicing an almost-familiar set of measured steps away from onlookers. The raised dais filled with a few ornately carved chairs—thrones, he supposed—was empty. His targets were not here yet.

But perhaps she was.

He scanned the crowd but did not spot her—even with everyone wearing masks, he was sure he would recognize her from leagues away.

Music suddenly blared, announcing the arrival of someone important. He turned with the rest of the crowd and listened as the royals were announced. There was the youngest son, the next, and then the eldest. The king was escorted by his daughter, but the answering applause and cheer drowned out her name and Pero could only crane his neck too much to try and get a look before he started to look suspicious.

The first official song was called and the heir apparent took the dance with his betrothed before other couples were allowed to join them on the gleaming wooden floor.

Pero continued to scan the crowd, briefly touching the small vials he’d hidden within his doublet, and found the servant in charge of bringing goblets of wine to the king without much trouble.

It was easy.

But then a woman dressed in fine clothes of the kingdom’s sigil was striding toward him, uncaring of the masses of people bowing and curtseying in her wake and she only slowed to a stop when she was right in front of him. This must be the princess. A mask of gold covered most of her features but her eyes sparkled in such a way that Pero could have sworn he had seen them before. They were alight with recognition and mischief.

“Dance with me,” she whispered.

“Your highness, I-”

The princess tilted her mask up and…

And that was when he realized, the girl from the forest and the princess…were the same person.

His fleeting moment of happiness had actually been another stroke of bad luck. How cruel.

She looked just as beautiful in her finery and jewels as she did in the smock she had donned in the forest. Her grip was gentle as she carefully started to lead him in the dance and didn’t laugh when he stumbled over her gilded shoes. Eventually, thankfully, he righted himself and was able to properly dance with her, letting the music guide his steps with her gentle corrections whenever he missed one or two.

“You’re a princess,” he said, hating the moment they left his lips.

“I am. Very astute of you, Tovar.” She laughed and stepped back from him as the song ended with a flourish and clapped for the minstrels. But then she turned back to him “Come with me,” she murmured, just low enough for him to hear. The princess didn’t wait for his answer and grasped his hands, quickly leading him through the crowd, some of whom tried to stop them, asking for his name, for a moment of the princess’ time, on and on it went. But she did not falter. Her grip did not loosen.

Not until they were out of the humid air of the ballroom and in the beautiful, cooled night air did she finally stop. Her smile was still wide and his face hurt as he felt himself trying to, unconsciously, mirror her expression. His face was not used to the movement. “What are you up to, princess?”

“I have something to show you.” She squeezed his hands once. “Do you have somewhere else you’d rather be? I don’t mean to steal you away if you have someone else waiting for you.”

Pero shook his head. “No. No, princess. I am happy to know you want my time as much as I desire yours.”

She bit her lip with a soft giggle. “Well, I do hope you like it.” She stepped back to link her arm through his, and continued to guide him down the shining palace steps and into the lush, green gardens. It was as easy for her to pull little bits of information from him as she tossed her golden mask into a bush without a care.

“Tell me of your homeland.”

“It is beautiful, your highness. Filled with sunlight and…” he drifted off, finally allowing himself to think of his home and family for the first time in years. “I miss it very much.”

She was quiet as he thought and did not seem to mind as he came back to himself—a familiar, gentle smile on her lips as she looked at him. “You do not strike me as a man who would leave someone or someplace you love so fiercely without cause. What pushed you to do so, if I may be so bold?”

“Bad luck,” he answered simply. “But tell me, why were you in the forest? Not once, but twice and without an escort or lady’s maid.”

Her face twisted into a pout for a moment. “I must admit that I do not care for every bit of royal life. It can all be so…tedious.”

“So, you snuck away?”

She nodded. “Donned my maid’s dress and took my horse from the stables while the hand was busy tending to my brother’s mare. It took hours for them to even notice I’d missed luncheon.”

“Did you not just return from abroad? I would have assumed that they would scarcely let you out of their sights.”

She shook her head with a laugh as they slowed to a stop in front of rusted gate she opened and waved him through. A secret garden greeted them, filled with all the color that the rest of the kingdom seemed to lack. Even in the moonlight, he could see the vibrant yellow, pink, red, and orange hues of the flowers that were growing haphazardly and unkempt by practiced hands. It reminded him, achingly, of the gardens his mother and Sancha would tend to on their own at home. They had always liked the free-roaming blooms over the careful structure of the manicured grounds.

“They like having me close, true. But underfoot is nothing but annoyance for everyone involved.”

“What is this place?” He asked, letting her pull him onto a simply carved bench in the center of the garden.

She turned to him with another smile—she seemed so fond of smiling. “This was my mother’s secret place. Free from the confines of my father’s kingdom and his advisor’s disapproving eyes. She would bring me here when I was little and teach me the names of all the flowers and how to care for them.”

It did not take long for Tovar to recognize the hurt in her tone.

He wondered if she heard it in his voice when he spoke of home. Of his beautiful family in Spain. Perhaps that was why he rarely spoke of them. But he wanted to tell her. Wanted to tell her everything. So, he tried. He told her of the gardens his mother grew and refused to let their servants touch. Told her of how the fields around his home smelled sweet in the spring. Told her of all the colors he had seen on his adventures—even if he had to omit some bits of information to not reveal his true profession. And she listened keenly, asking questions and always seeming to think whatever he had said was interesting. In turn, she told him of her brief time in her mother’s ancestral kingdom, learning all she could and feeling torn when she knew she had to return to her home kingdom.

He was hardly aware of time passing, or how close they had grown on the bench until he heard a crier announcing the time—it was nearing midnight. He turned at the sudden noise and his hand slid across the bench—and quickly earned himself a handful of thorns to the webbing between his fingers. He hissed but hurriedly stopped himself as her gentle, soft hands cradled his and started to remove the thorns one by one. “Bad luck indeed,” she said, teasing. “I had trimmed those blooms back.”

Bad luck.

Bad luck.

Bad luck.

The sword at his hip grew heavier.

He could do it. He could run the blade through her chest and pierce her heart and be done with this wretched curse. But her eyes were shining in the moonlight and she smiled at him and he…couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

Seeming to sense his distress, her smile faded. “Tovar? What ails you?” She reached out toward him and the moment her soft hand touched his cheek…he fled.

Decades of running toward dangers left him in an instant and he ran like a coward. Out of the garden, through the crowded ballroom where people shouted for him to stop, and out into the courtyard.

He fled. He ran until his legs gave out.

And it was only then that he noticed his sword was missing.

**

Hiding in the woods was not the most comfortable of living quarters but it was not the worst he had used since he had run from home.

He would not face his employers’ wrath. Another job left unfinished would cost him his head, he knew it. To survive, he hunted and forged, only moving into the outskirts of the market when he truly needed to buy something—like healing herbs for when he cut open his arm on a low hanging branch, or new boots after his toe caught on a sharp stone and tore the sole clean off.

Perhaps it was his need to survive and not be noticed, but it took Pero weeks to realize that the kingdom was in a tizzy.

The King had nearly been murdered as the masque and his second son was implicated in the plot. A band of foreign nobles had been arrested and their heads now sat on spikes outside the castle.

But that was not all.

Apparently, the princess had been scouring the kingdom looking for the man she had danced with at the masque—who had left behind a very peculiar short sword; its handle seeming to fit only one man’s hand.

It felt silly to let himself hope.

Could he? Should he let her find him? The curse still loomed. He would not subject her to the danger that seemed to follow him. He could not-

“There you are.”

Apparently he had been ruminating too long and had not noticed the small band of people approaching him at the edge of the market. The princess—and he was loathed to admit that he had momentarily let himself refer to her as His Princess—was standing in front of him with her familiar, beautiful smile on her lips and his sword in her hand. She turned it over, holding the hilt toward him as he hastily bowed.

“This is yours, yes?”

He nodded and reached out for it, feeling the familiar hand fit into his hand like it had for decades. But soon a gentle warmth bloomed up his hand until he could feel it burrowing in his chest. Something had changed.

**

When the king learned of Tovar’s true identity, he was able to grant his daughter’s wish of allowing their betrothal. A son of duke of a wealthy kingdom was a worthy match—and the king liked to make his daughter smile, too, even if it was at the side of a foreign duke who came into palace looking slovenly.

But Pero was still nervous. Even if he no longer tripped on stairs, bricks did not fall and nearly crush his skull, animals did not dart in front of his feet. He wanted to be sure—after all, he had not delivered a heart to the woods witch.

But, on the eve of their wedding, as Pero paced in his ornate and comfortable bedchamber, a sudden blast of cold air had him turning. In front of him stood a familiar woman. Her robes were still tattered but she was…glowing. Near ethereal. The woods witch had come again.

“I could feel your worries from leagues away, little duke.” Her smile was all teeth and he knew to keep quiet. “While I would have preferred the actual heart of that beautiful princess, the curse has been lifted. That little glass sword led her heart to you. You are free. I promise you that.”

“I am sorry,” Pero said, feeling the words rush out as he looked at her. “I am so sorry, my lady.”

“I know,” she hummed before she glanced around the room. “She will like Spain more, little duke. I promise you that.”

Before Pero could ask for specifics, the witch was gone in another gust of cold wind.

**

Pero watched his wife’s smile grow broader and broader as their carriage drew closer to his castle.

The sun was shining. The air was sweet with the scent of springtime flowers and green grasses. It was filled with the colors he had promised her that night in the garden.

His family greeted them warmly and his sweet mother and sister cried in joy at finally having him back home while his father did look quiet near tears, too. Pero just watched it all with a smile on his face, so large and persistent it hurt his face.

“It is beautiful here,” she whispered to him that night in their bedchamber. “But, of course, I would expect nothing more from the land who gave me you.”

Pero kissed her, smiling against her mouth.

His glass sword was forgotten on their bedside table.

He had all he needed, all the good luck in the world, right here in his arms.

And they lived happily ever after.

The end.

A/N: please let me know what you think! 

[yuthoe]

Time (MONSTA X: Chae Hyungwon)

a few things:

1. yes i'm a monbebe now too and i fully blame fatal love era hyungwon for it. he has my multistan ass whipped

2. THIS IS THE LONGEST FIC I'VE EVER WRITTEN FOR THIS BLOG HOLY GAWD

3. i'm back to going to the office everyday for work, so we're back to infrequent posting lmao

ok so. i've wanted to write a vampire fic for so long now (the previous/first one i wrote was back in 1st year high school and despite my massive vampire kink i didn't attempt to make any other vamp related stories haha), and when i saw hyungwon in that red suit with the long hair and the eyebags and the turtleneck i just kinda went feral. this thing took me like, almost a month to write; it's been hard to cook up writing brain juice between work and trying to be healthy and keeping up with the pan de manila.

i fully intended for this to be like, sexy suggestive and leading to something more for the ending, but like. it turned out soft. somehow. the premise was perfect, but somehow my brain was like, "no make it soft" and we have whatever this is.

this is unedited bc i wrote it half-asleep and wanted to get it out there

PAIRING: Chae Hyungwon x reader. GENRE: vampire!AU, some fluff, modern fantasy. WARNINGS: vampire-typical injuries—biting, blood—some very mild sexual themes. WORD COUNT: 3,589 (holy shit).

---

The entryway is lit by the two dim overhead lights, casting an orange tint to the concrete floor. You take care to slip your shoes on quietly, not wanting to accidentally wake the slumbering man in the other room; he just got home a few hours ago and you didn’t want to cut his sleep short, remembering how he slowly slipped under the covers with you, winding an arm around your midsection and releasing a heavy breath before passing out.

So with a glance at your watch—the one he got you for your birthday a few years back, the one you’ve worn almost everywhere since—you grab your work bag and try to slip off the chain lock with as little sound as possible.

“Are you leaving for work?”

You flinch at his voice, huskier now with remnants of sleep. Hyungwon has a thing about soundlessly walking into places and surprising you by suddenly speaking. Your face scrunches at your failed attempt to slip out unnoticed, and a loud sigh escapes your lips as you turn to face him.

“How long have you been awake?” you ask, stepping right to the elevated wooden floor that separates the entryway to the living area. Hyungwon is wearing a white shirt that completely swallows his slender frame and loose pajama pants. You cup his soft cheek, drag your hand to his neck, his shoulder, down his arm, until you’re intertwining your fingers.

“Pretty much since you left the bed,” he mumbles, taking his other hand and wrapping it around you, pulling you to his chest. You feel him rest his face on the top of your head and breathe in your scent.

“Aw,” you reply quietly, smoothing a hand down his back. “And I thought I was being super quiet this time.”

There’s comfortable silence as Hyungwon basks in your warmth and you can swear he’s close to falling asleep where he stands. You think there’s no other place you’d want to be right now, but unfortunately, you need to work and he needs to sleep.

You let go of the strap on your bag and tap his side gently. “I have to go,” you murmur.

Hyungwon groans, lowers his head and tilts it to the side to whisper directly into your ear. “Do you really have to? Because there’s something more important you need to do here.” He noses at your temple, his cold breath fanning against your ear.

“Oh? And what is that?” It’s too early in the day for goosebumps, and the faster you force him back to bed, the better your chances of resisting the sweet pull of his voice.

“Mmm…,” he groans again, and you feel his smile as he kisses your ear. “Sleep.”

You snort, pulling away with a soft smile, free hand coming to cup his face. You pass your thumb over his cheekbone and watch as he melts at your touch, dark bangs falling over his closed eyes. “I’ll be home early today, love,” you say, pressing a soft kiss to his plump lips.

Hyungwon’s eyes open unhurried, and he leans down to return the peck, lips moving slow against yours like honey. “Hurry back,” he mumbles against your lips.

***

A quiet sigh leaves his lips as Hyungwon toes off his shoes, leaving them at their designated space at the entrance. He hangs his bag and coat on the hooks before silently walking through the apartment to the bathroom, eager to scrub himself clean of the aggravating scents and grime of the club.

Hyungwon loves his job, he does. The people he interacts with there, though? Still up for debate.

The hot, almost scalding water seeps into his skin, warming him up from the outside. He’s used to the cold, he himself being below the normal human temperature for nearly a century now. The droplets sting a little, but it’s the pain that grounds Hyungwon to reality, a sort of proof of life in his years of floating along the endless river of time, never knowing when and where his journey would end.

There’s another pain, a burning in his throat, that reminds him well of his immortality. It assaults him every few days, and over the years has dulled from hurting so bad he nearly claws out his neck, to just being a pain in the ass that makes him cough if he doesn’t slake the thirst.

Hyungwon’s body cools rapidly when he shuts off the water, the soft April chill helping it along so that he’s mostly dry when he grabs his towel.

The bedroom is silent when he slips in, quickly dressing in the huge shirt and loose pants from yesterday, before he ducks out again to make a beeline to the kitchen, folding his tall frame into a crouch as he opens the refrigerator. There’s a space just for his blood bags in the far corner of the fridge, that he immediately scans and finds empty. Hyungwon groans and slaps a hand over his face.

Of course he forgets to stop by the blood bank tonight. He vaguely remembers taking the last bag four days ago and making a mental note to call Kihyun for his refills, but there must have been something that distracted him at the time because at present, he can’t recall contacting Kihyun about it at all, despite exchanging messages regularly.

He stands to his full height as he closes the door, leans his head against it as he mulls over his forgetfulness that never went away in all his years of living. And before he slips back into your bedroom and into the sweet realm of sleep, he rummages in his bag for his phone, texts his friend, gets a short scolding about his poor memory, and then sets a date to pick up his food.

Hyungwon quietly pads back to the bedroom and closes the door soundlessly, careful not to wake you. He slides in next to you, pulling the comforter snug against him as he rests on his elbows. He takes a few seconds to gaze at your sleeping figure, something he does every night. The random thought of coming off as creepy on the off chance you wake up runs through his head, but at the same time he thinks he wouldn’t mind if you catch him watching you sleep.

You know Hyungwon loves you, and he’s told you before that you’re one of his anchors to his hold on humanity. Never once in your two-year relationship did you take his vulnerability for granted, and he’s (quite literally) eternally grateful for your kindness and love.

He settles in on his side, and his shuffling has got you adjusting to his shape under the covers. Hyungwon feels you turn to face him and reach for his arm. You groan small, pull at his slender limb to wrap it around you, and he just lets you move him the way you want, an amused smile on his face. His other arm slides beneath your neck, and you nuzzle closer to him, breathing deep when you’re finally satisfied. He counts five seconds before your breaths even out in slumber.

Hyungwon presses a kiss to the crown of your head and inhales your scent, relaxed now and ready to follow you into sleep.

***

His alarm wakes him at noon, the shrill tone making him jerk and tighten his arm around the warm body in front of him, brows scrunching as he groans softly. Hyungwon stretches an arm towards the nightstand and turns off the alarm with an expert swipe of a finger. He buries his nose into your hair, not wanting to enter the land of the living yet. You respond with a hum, shifting and turning so your back is pressed against his chest.

You both try to doze off again before Hyungwon realizes two things:

One—It’s a Friday.

Two—You’re still in his arms.

“Love,” he mumbles against your hair.

You reply around five seconds later, with a simple grunt.

Hyungwon snorts a laugh, eyes still closed, but mind slowly waking with every passing second. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

Another grunt from you, this time louder and longer. You shuffle under the sheets to turn to him again, eyes persistently closed and brows knit slightly. “Took the day off,” you mumble and slither your arm under his, scooting closer to bury your face in his neck. “Wanted to spend some time with you.”

At this Hyungwon smiles, rests his cheek on your head. “So we have until tomorrow night to do whatever then.”

It’s quiet for a few moments before your head shoots up. The movement startles Hyungwon and makes his eyes pop open. Bleary eyes meet, yours equal parts confused and suspicious. “What do you mean? You took the night off, too? But it’s Friday—the club’s gonna be packed.”

He levels you with a casual shrug. “Yeah,” he says, sliding his hand up your arm that’s around him, and stopping at your neck. His large hand completely covers your neck, long fingers splaying onto your cheek and winding into your hair. “I wanted to spend time with you, too.” He clears his throat. “I’ve missed you.” Hyungwon can feel the steady pulse under your skin and he clears his throat again.

You smile, lean down to press a sweet kiss to his lips.

And another one.

And another.

And you would have rained more kisses on him had he not started coughing and turned his head away. The ache in Hyungwon’s throat wasn’t that bad when he was asleep, but now that he’s awake, it’s irritating to the point of annoyance. He knows the thirst is his fault, but damn, would it kill him if he could have a peaceful morning (noon) with you before his body complains about being hungry?

He feels a hand smoothing down his back as the coughing goes down. He takes shaky breaths as he sits up and leans on the headboard. After a big exhale from him, you say, “Are you okay?”

Hyungwon looks at you and smiles tightly. “I’m fine. Just a bit hungry.” He sits up, only to scoot closer to you and wind an arm around your back. He rests his forehead on your shoulder as he talks, voice low and scratchy. “Ran out of my supply and I forgot to call Kihyun about it, and it’s been a few days since I had a drink. And it’ll be a couple more days before I can stop by the blood bank for my refills.” A cough.

Your arms are around his wiry frame, fingers running up and down his spine and making him drowsy. He’s still tired and sleepy, but the thirst is keeping him awake.

“Do you want a drink?” you ask quietly. “From me?”

Hyungwon stills, a shiver running down his spine. It’s not all the time he gets to drink from you; in fact, he makes it a point to not do it because he doesn’t want to scare you off. You’ve been living together for six months, known each other for years before that, but he still worries, silently waiting for the day you decide that being with a vampire isn’t worth it after all.

“No, it’s fine,” he says. “I’m fine.” He pushes down the cough building in his throat.

You card your fingers through his long hair. “I know you try not to, but I’m okay with it. You sound like you’re really hurting.” You rest your head against his. “We’ve done it before, and it didn’t really hurt. And I trust you, Hyungwon.”

Hyungwon is tired. Is sleepy. The thirst isn’t all that bad, but the coughing is aggravating his already dry throat. He hasn’t gotten a sip of blood in five days and nothing else could quench this particular thirst quite as well.

A small cough. “Are you sure?”

Your head is still resting on his and he feels you nod. “Yeah. Besides, I…” You clear your throat before speaking. “I like it when you drink from me.”

The vampire freezes, not quite knowing what to do with this newly revealed information. He’s not sure if what he feels right now is mild lust or genuine surprise. In the (very) rare times he drinks from you he thought he saw a twinkle of anticipation in your eyes, like you’ve been craving it, too. He thinks maybe his view of himself is clouding whatever opinion you have of him, bad and good alike.

Hyungwon’s lips purse, trying to keep himself from laughing because he can tell you’re serious about this, just as worried about him as you are excited about the prospect of being bitten; it’s still a bit unbelievable. He finally raises his head and looks square at you.

“You’re really okay with this?” he asks again. “You really want me to drink from you?” He crosses his legs under the blankets and pulls you with the arm still around your back.

Sometimes you forget Hyungwon is so strong—he doesn’t make his strength known to you, unless you both need it a little rough in bed. Now, he practically lifts you onto his lap, emboldened by your declaration. You straddle him, sitting snugly with both his arms around you; your hands naturally find themselves on his broad shoulders.

“Mhm,” you simply say, nodding your head. Adrenaline is running through your veins, and you’re sure Hyungwon can clearly hear how loud and fast your heart is beating right now.

It also seems like he can read your mind because he takes one of his hands and rests it softly against your chest, right over your heart.

You see him swallow. “Your heart is beating so fast,” he says, dragging his hand up to your neck, fingers soft on your skin, and you shiver. “Your pulse is racing.” Hyungwon is looking at you like you’re a meal he can’t wait to devour. “You’re really excited about this, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” you say, even though you don’t really know if what you’re feeling is excitement or embarrassment or lust of fear. You can’t recall any of the previous times he fed from you being this tense—it was always out of desperation and pain that he reached out to you for this, and despite this moment being along the same lines, it’s… very different.

The loose collar of your sweater—one of his you pilfered long ago—is pulled to the side, and you shiver again as his fingertip brushes against your skin. Goosebumps raise on your arms as Hyungwon trails that single finger over your collarbone, up your neck again, to cup your chin and pull you in for a kiss.

His lips are gentle, but you can feel he’s holding back, trying to take it slow in case you change your mind. When you respond and bite his lip, he growls and pulls you by the back of the head to kiss you deeper. The arm around your back tightens, and you feel his fingers tangle in your hair as he angles your head the way he wants.

Tiny moans spill from your lips as Hyungwon’s tongue explores your mouth. When he pulls away, your sight is flooded with his red irises, gold specks swimming in the pool of his eyes that almost glow in the dark room. So chillingly beautiful.

You’re breathing hard, unable to look away from Hyungwon’s captivating gaze. A thought passes through: No wonder humans just fall at their feet—who could look away from such a mesmerizing sight?

“Last chance,” he mutters, wetting his plump bottom lip, his scarlet eyes fixed on your neck. “You really want this?”

You card your fingers through his head and tilt his face up, dropping a kiss to his closed eyes, his nose, his pretty lips. You cup his cheek and give him a small smile. “Do it.”

Hyungwon takes a deep breath and kisses your cheek, trails his lips to nip your earlobe, and then lower… He goes slow, building up your anticipation, getting your heart rate up with every kiss and nip and suck.

He laves his tongue over a spot on your neck, and you let out a sigh, relaxing in Hyungwon’s firm hold. The hand still tangled in your hair guides you, tilting your head to the side. He noses at your neck and gives you a final soft kiss, before he draws his fangs and punctures your jugular.

You squeak in pain; the bite stings, but it goes away as fast as it came. You feel Hyungwon draw back his fangs and begin to suck, dragging his tongue over the wounds, and groaning low in his throat at the sweet taste of you.

It occurs to him how much he misses feeding from you. Because of the rarity of these occasions, your blood becomes a treat to him, a sort of delicacy that he deliberately denies himself of. It didn’t take him too long after that first taste of you long ago, to realize that your blood is dangerously addicting.

Hyungwon focuses on drinking your blood, drinking in the small moans you make as he marks your soft skin. He feels your restless hands clawing at his back, the other winding through his long hair—pulling him close or pushing him away, you don’t know.

Your senses are heightened and dulled; you’re acutely aware of every miniscule movement of Hyungwon’s lips on your neck, but the rest of your body feels like it’s floating. He groans against your skin and the vibrations send a jolt of lightning up your spine and you whimper.

Hyungwon immediately pulls back, worried he hurt you. His mouth is stained red. “Are you okay?”

You’re nodding before he finishes, cupping his cheek with a hand. “I’m fine, Hyungwon.” You give him a small smile as he melts into your hand, one of his coming up to keep it there. “Did you want more?”

He shakes his head. “I’m feeling better now. Thank you, love.” He exhales, and you think he does look better than earlier—his skin is brighter, the bags under his eyes are gone, and he’s even breathing more easily. “Let me go clean you up,” he says, and lifts you gently off him, setting you down on the soft comforter just in front of him. He pats your knee before getting up and padding to the bathroom.

You gaze at him as he leaves, the sight of his model-like figure waddling like a penguin amusing. Hyungwon stops at the door and turns to you, smiling at you softly.

He returns a minute later, warm damp washcloth in hand, mouth clean and eyes a lovely brown. He sits at the edge of the bed and cleans your neck with gentle swipes. The bleeding has stopped and the wound is closed, but the surrounding skin is blooming with black and purple bruises. Hyungwon clicks his tongue. “I’m sorry, love. The bite’s gonna leave a mark.”

You carefully tap the wounds, smoothing fingertips over the raised marks. They sting a bit, but it feels more like the soreness after getting a vaccine shot than anything. “It’s okay, love. They’ll heal over the weekend.” You catch his lips in a soft kiss. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

He sets the bloody rag on the nightstand and moves closer to you, kissing you back, cradling your neck for support as he coaxes you to lie on the bed. You smile through the kiss, giggle as you wind your arms around his neck.

“Thank you,” he mumbles against your lips. “You looked so beautiful earlier… Thank you for letting me do that.”

You hum. “Anytime, you need, babe. I enjoyed it.”

Hyungwon is propped above you, a thigh slotted between yours. Lazy, slow kisses against the soft sheets seems like the perfect activity for the rest of the day. But you have other plans.

“I gotta admit, though,” you said, brushing his long bangs from his eyes. “That was… kinda hot.” You try to fight a smile, embarrassed at the admission, despite the compromising position you were in just minutes before.

Hyungwon chuckles, ducks his head to press a soft kiss to the puncture marks, the underside of your jaw, your earlobe. “I didn’t expect you to be so into it,” he whispers, his baritone voice seeping into your bones and making you shudder.

You laugh loud at that. “Well, my boyfriend is a hot vampire, what did you think was gonna happen?”

Hyungwon laughs with you, rests his forehead on yours and kisses you again. He buries his face into your neck, the unmarked side, and snakes his arms around your back and rolls you to your sides.

Fingers trace mindless shapes on his back, play with his long hair that’s tangled from your restless hands earlier, relax in the quiet of the afternoon. Your heads are at the foot of the bed, legs tangled together. From the top of Hyungwon’s head, you can just barely see the sun peeking through a slit between the dark curtains, but all you want to do is sleep.

You’re close to dozing off when Hyungwon suddenly speaks. Three words. Your favorite.

“I love you.” He squeezes you slightly and breathes in your scent.

You smile and reply, “I love you, too.”

The world outside your window keeps turning; the weather looks nice today. But you’re not stepping out, not when your whole world is right here, snuggled in your arms.

[gunshou]

Registered Logo excerpt from Chapter 2  CW: htp, referenced abuse/rape Note: I am so stuck on this chapter, 1550 words and I haven’t moved the story along much. I’m determined to finish this week, though! .  .  .  .  .

One of the infrequent American honeypots in the beginning of the new millennium dispatched the Soldier to a party with instructions to charm a state Senator whose proposed legislation would have made it more difficult for pharmaceutical companies to charge exorbitant prices for life-saving medication. Hydra had tentacles throughout the medical fields and resisted the idea that their research — some of which was conducted on the Winter Soldier himself — would somehow not be monetized. A secret world-wide organization dedicated to ushering in a new world order through pain and suffering didn’t run on thoughts and prayers and fundraiser donations, after all. The legislation was an anomaly for the Senator, inspired by his daughter’s struggle with leukemia, so removing him from office or existence wasn’t ideal. Coercion via blackmail, however, remained a tried and true Hydra tactic.

Clean-shaven, dressed in a suit and tie, his long hair slicked back neatly and bound in a discreet little knot at the back of his head, the Winter Soldier appeared almost unrecognizable to his handling team. 

Junior STRIKE team member Brock Rumlow, however, saw the same vague bewilderment that always shone from the Soldier’s eyes when he had no clear orders, and felt uneasy. A confused Soldier acted erratically. While Rumlow had only been on STRIKE Bravo for eight months, he’d spent hours studying the Winter Soldier files his rank allowed him access to and knew that when the Soldier lacked specific and thorough instructions, missions tended to develop complications. Although Brock didn’t think it happened because of any defect on the weapon’s part; after piecing together information out of redacted reports, he suspected that the Soldier leaned into malicious compliance whenever possible.

Whatever faint remnant of James Barnes still existed as a ghost in the programming  swam up to give Hydra a big old ‘fuck you’ whenever he had the chance. Rumlow respected those kind of brass balls; he wasn’t sure he’d be capable of retaining even that sliver of his own sense of self after what Barnes had endured. After what the Soldier had endured — Brock corrected even his thoughts to keep from an accidental slip of the tongue.

His commanding officer looked over the group and frowned, obviously coming to the same conclusion as Brock regarding the asset’s current effectiveness. “Rumlow,” Skelton said, “explain the Solider’s mission to him. Use small words.”

A couple of the others snickered at that, and Durant made a comment about seasoning a scrambled egg. Rumlow kept his face impassive and gestured the Soldier to a quieter corner of the suite they’d rented as a staging room so he could hold the asset’s full attention. The Soldier constantly tracked everyone and everything in his vicinity, and it exhausted Rumlow to watch those oddly pretty pale blue eyes dart back and forth as though the weapon’s life depended on cataloging every scrap of input. Brock hooked his arm under the back of the desk chair and dragged it over to the stuffed armchair in the corner. He set it down, pointed at it, and told the Soldier to sit. He did, back perfectly straight and gaze fixed somewhere to the left of Brock’s shoulder. 

“Look at me,” he ordered, and the Soldier shifted his gaze to Brock’s mouth. “Close enough, I guess. Do you understand your mission?” He spoke clearly, but not any more slowly the way some of the others did. The Soldier may have had extensive brain damage from repeated memory wipes, but no one who survived sixty years in Hydra could be stupid, whether or not he could rightfully be called a human being any more with all the circuitry in his head. 

The Soldier’s voice sounded as incongruously soft as his eyes looked, a warm baritone rusty from disuse. “Identify target: Senator McCord. Seduce target and return with him to prepared room. Have sex in view of hidden cameras. Engage in…” here he frowned, a crease folding between his dark brows. “Engage in what Commander Skelton described as ‘dirty, nasty fucking’ so as to obtain as much footage as possible. When done, retreat to this staging room for debrief and extraction.” After another hesitation, he added, “Prepare for recreational use by by STRIKE upon return to base.” His expression didn’t change, but Rumlow thought he saw something turn over in those revealing eyes; their color shaded from pale blue to steel grey in the darker light as the Soldier ducked his chin a bit.

Rumlow nodded. “That’s right. How are you going to seduce your target, though? You can’t be a robot, kid, you gotta act more —” He broke off as the Soldier leaned his shoulders back into the chair and spread his legs, hands relaxed on his upper thighs. His chin lifted again and tilted into a confident pose, and his generous mouth curved into a lazy smirk.

“Charming?” he asked, his voice pitched a note lower, sounding more natural. He leaned forward, elbows on his thighs and hands clasped loosely in front of his crotch, pushing just a bit into Rumlow’s personal space and dropping his broad shoulders into an insouciant slouch. “Oh, I think I can manage, sir,” the Soldier said, and for a moment Bucky Barnes, devastator of hearts and loins throughout Brooklyn, grinned shamelessly at Rumlow.

[victoria-daydreams]

Of Vices and Virtues

Chapter Seven: Specialty

AN: I meant to post this earlier, but I had errands to run and then I got sidetracked after that. Anyways, enjoy the chapter.

Word Count: 4.6k

Trigger Warnings: none

Taglist: @azayamari​

Chapter Eight: Fun & Games

"You are nothing but a freak!"

"You would be nothing without me!"

"No one wants you!"

I sat up abruptly in my bed, a gasp loudly escaping my mouth as my eyes shot open, sweat caking my hair to my forehead and my clothes to my body. I threw the covers off of me, stumbling out of the bed as I went into a little state of panic before I registered where I was. I was in my cozy bedroom in Charles' mansion, illuminated by the outside sun that shone through the large window.

"He can't hurt you anymore, remember," I whispered to myself.

I slid to the floor, wiping the stray tears off my cheeks and took a couple of deep breaths, my shoulders no longer shaking as violently. I drew my legs up to my chest, arms hugging my knees and face resting on top of my arms. A hiccup escaped me from the hysteria that had seized my body momentarily as I felt the world right itself. I was okay. I was safe.

Ever so slowly, I came back.

I unwrapped my arms from my legs and slowly pushed myself up from the wooden floor and went to my bathroom. Along with the cold sweat, the remnants of my nightmare seemed to cling to my skin like particles of dirt. The sensation of warm water on my skin would hopefully wash away the memories.

Before entering the shower I stared at my reflection, my hand slightly trembling as my fingers grazed over the discoloration around my eye I had received two nights prior. Shaking off my stupor, I quickly went into the shower, shedding my night clothes as if they were on fire. The water stung where it hit the small cuts on my back, but I ignored the pain, blissfully soaking up the warmth it offered the rest of my aching muscles. I scrubbed myself down with soaps and oils, I washed myself at least five times, trying to rid myself of the unpleasant sensation plaguing me.

Five minutes later, I wiped the steam off that fogged the mirror and I found myself looking at a completely different person. Her eyes were bright and she looked comfortable and clean and...Happy. Very happy. She was smiling. I liked when she smiled.

It was my best defense to mask that I was not slowly, painfully slowly, beginning to lose my mind.

~~~x~~~

"I think today is going to well," Charles beamed, after breakfast, everyone had left the kitchen and the two of us cleared the table while everyone changed into their training gear. Ever the gentleman, after collecting all the dishes, he ushered me into the kitchen. "Ladies first," he gestured with his free hand.

"Is that so?" I asked, grabbing the pitcher of syrup and tray of butter. "Thank you kind sir," I returned with a slight curtsy, and a flirtatious smile thrown over my shoulder, as I proceeded towards the fridge. "What's the lesson plan today, Professor?" I joked, sticking the syrup and butter back in the refrigerator.

"Ha ha ha, very funny," Charles drawled, placing the dishes down on the counter and turned the knob to the sink and water streamed out, he placed his hand underneath the water waiting for it to warm up. He squirted soap into the dish filled sink.

I reached out to the dishes on the counter, and with a telekinetic tug floated the dishes over to the sink. The moving dishes startled Charles a bit and I laughed as I walked over to him, rolling my sleeves up.

I scrubbed the first dish, "I'll wash, and you dry," I instructed, handed him the first cleaned dish and a towel. We made skin-to-skin contact, the touch was electric and both of us flinched involuntarily. Charles almost dropped the dish. He looked over at me, just as I turned my head to look at him as well. A smile pulled at his lips and I laughed softly, shaking my head before turning my attention back to the task at hand.

I continued to soap the dishes and Charles dried them in silence. Tension hung in the still air. The only sound came from the running tap. After the eighth dish, Charles finally broke the silence.

"You know, I could set up a course for your telekinesis. It looked like you were struggling there to lift the dishes," Charles gibed with a smile, as he dried off the last dish.

I blinked at him, "Charles, if you weren't such a great masseuse, I would break each and every one of your fingers to show how wrong you are," I leaned back on the counter with a grin. "You are so lucky you have magic hands," I commented, shaking my head.

"Is that all I am to you?" Charles countered with a smile, "Just a pair of magic, telepathic hands that make you putty over my treatment of your feet?"

"Yeah," I answered bluntly. "Face it, pretty boy, this is all you're good for," I shrugged, his blue eyes amused as I raised an eyebrow at the telepath.

"Oh Claudia, love, how you wound me," Charles grinned, placing his hands over his chest where his heart is.

"Would you like a kiss to make it better?" I asked, a smile making its way on my lips.

Charles had a smirk on his lips as well as he moved closer to me, "Is that an offer?" He questioned, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

I bit my lip and smiled as I sauntered up to him, "It could be a promise," I whispered into his ear. "The world may never know," I added, backing away from him with a grin on my face.

~~~x~~~

Closing my eyes, I leaned against the railing, breathing in the cool air. A gentle wind started up and I welcomed it, leaning my face into the soft breeze. It wasn't until I felt another warm body near mine that I turned my head with a raised an eyebrow at the mutant next to me.

"Something I can help you with?" I questioned, focusing my gaze to Erik.

"Is that your favorite line to say?" Erik asked back, and I just smiled, quirking an eyebrow that expressed the answer of 'maybe'. "I want to try something, help me warm up my powers you could say," he began.

"Shouldn't you be discussing this with Charles?" I quizzed, my smile falling slightly as my eyebrows came together, confusion in my eyes.

"Charles, wouldn't exactly agree with what I have in mind. But I think you would," Erik answered vaguely.

"Erik, why do I feel I'll be the guinea pig of this experiment?" I replied wearily a small smile on my face.

"For what I want to try I will need you to trust me," Erik stated, staring deeply into my eyes.

"Trust," I repeated, lazily stretching out my arms in front of me. "That's the foundation of a friendship," I stated, mirroring his eyes. "Are we friends Erik?" I questioned, all joking aside my gaze sincere and intense.

A soft grin appeared on Erik's face and his hand appeared before my abdomen, "Claudia Walker, I would be honored to call you my friend, if you'll have me," Erik affirmed, I mimicked his motion and firmly shook his hand. "Even if you can be a royal pain," he finished smiling at me, as he let go of my hand and I lightly punched his arm. "Come on, follow me," Erik motioned leading us down the balcony steps and towards the back lawns.

"Alright Erik, color me intrigued. What is so special about this training that you needed to give me a disclaimer?" I questioned, crossing my arms against my chest as we came to a stop. Erik reached into his pocket and slowly pulled out a sleek gun and my eyes widened to the size of saucers. "Are you insane?" I exclaimed, my eyes bouncing from the gun to Erik.

"You have nothing to fear, I promise," Erik assured, as the unmistakable click of the safety being turned off was deafening to my ears.

"Easy for you to say, you're not facing the barrel," I quipped, moving my hands to my hips.

He aimed the gun towards me his eyes boring into mine, "Do you trust me?"

I lifted one hand from my hip and pinched the brim of my nose, "This feels like one of those moments where I know I should go with my gut feeling and say 'no', but I have this strange feeling in my heart..." I trailed off, taking a deep breath closing my eyes before opening them again to face Erik. Staring determinedly at him, I repeated his words. "I trust you Erik," his lips quirked up into a smile momentarily, and he nodded his head.

The tension in the air was monumental, his finger slid to the trigger. I knew he could stop it, hell, I could stop it, yet my heart still raced and my hands trembled. BANG! The bullet soared through the air stopping right in front of my heart. I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. We both looked towards each other laughter flowing freely from our lips.

"I have to say Erik you sure know how to treat a girl shooting at her with a gun after proclaiming we're friends! I can't imagine what your wedding day would be like with your wife!" I teased smirking.

"Very funny! Don't you forget I could have easily let that bullet hit you!" Erik reminded smiling.

"No, I don't think you'd do that, you see I think I'm growing on you," I challenged, mirroring his smile. "Which is why I want you to shoot me again," I requested, a plan formulating in my mind.

"What?"

"And don't stop the bullet,"

Erik looked at me doubtfully, "You're not serious?" he asked, I could hear the doubt in his voice that matched his expression.

I returned his gaze, a smile lifted the corners of my mouth, "What's wrong? Scared?" I asked smiling, because now the tables were slightly turned. "It's not like you didn't just shoot at me only a minute ago," I reminded smirking, placing my hands on my hips.

Erik regained his stance, "Okay, but you asked for it. Ready?"

I nodded and braced myself. This worked almost every time, hopefully it would not fail now, or I would be dead. That would be unfortunate. The gunshot cracked through the the silence and flew towards me and I heard Erik hold his breath in anticipation. Just before the bullet hit me, I stuck my hand, a violet barrier formed in front of me, and the bullet bounced off of it and onto to the ground

Erik smiled, "Well, I know now not to get any ideas," he noted cheekily.

I dropped my hand and placed it on my hip, "Honestly Erik, I would be offended if you didn't attempt to try at least another time," I quipped, as the barrier vanished into thin air.

Just then I heard quick, light footsteps pounding on the gravel approaching us, Charles emerged from around the corner of the mansion.

"What are you two doing?" Charles asked, gasping for breath.

I quickly glanced at Erik before returning my stare to Charles, "Trusting each other," I answered simply, with a shrug.

~~~x~~~

Five minutes later, the three of us had entered the mansion. Erik and Charles went to the library to play a match of chess and plan out new training's for the younger mutants and I found myself in the kitchen facing the back of Moira, she was doing dishes, obviously just having finished eating lunch herself. I hadn't eaten since my time spent with Erik, and I could feel my stomach rumbling painfully.

"Afternoon Moira," I greeted, stepping forward to a cupboard and grabbed a cup.

Moira greeted me in return with a smile, "You gave Charles and I quite the scare when we heard gunshots," she stated still smiling, as she dried her hands on the towel next to the sink.

"Oh, come now, I can't take all the credit. Erik was the one that actually fired the gun," I quipped returning her smile, as I poured myself a glass of water from the sink.

I set the glass down on the island and moved over to the fridge, opening the door I stared at the array of food available, still partly overwhelmed by the sheer amount of choices I had. Grinning, I grabbed a jar of mayo and slices of ham proceeded to make a sandwich. As I prepared my meal Moira turned her back to me, focusing on her dishes. Which gave me time to observe her and the burning question that had been in my mind since we arrived at the mansion.

"Why is Moira still here?" I thought. "After everything she has seen I expected her to turn on us the way most humans do when they're scared,"

I decided to voice the thoughts that had been floating through my mind, "Moira...why are you still here?" I asked curiously, screwing the lid back onto the mayo and Moira's body stilled at my question. "I mean after what you saw with Shaw and the Hellfire Club, not to mention the destruction of the CIA facility, why did you decide to trust us and still want to work with us?" I clarified, as Moira turned to face me.

Moira looked at me like the answer was obvious. "I was being realistic, I mean there's good and bad in all of us. Mutant, not mutant, Black, White, man, woman–it doesn't matter," she answered.

"If you were realistic you would have picked up and left. No one in their right mind would stay and help us," I said bluntly, though my intention was not to be rude. "Hell, if I were a normal human, I'd probably wouldn't if we're being honest," I confessed, before going back inside the fridge, placing the mayo down.

Moira leaned back against the sink, The reason I trust you, the reason I trust all of you is because you're you," she answered sincerely, and I didn't detect any dishonesty in her statement.

"You know what? I respect that," I stated, nodding my head. "Thank you for your honesty Moira," I smiled.

She returned a smile of her own, "No problem. I just hope the feeling is mutual," Moira had said it jokingly, but it sounded more like a question.

"Of course I respect you Moira," I addressed her, flashing a smile. "Just as long as you don't get the romantic idea of you being able to help us will somehow make you the savior of mutants," I explained, and arched a challenging eyebrow.

Moira shook her head side to side vehemently, "Oh no, never!" she concurred.

"Good," I answered, and flashed Moira another smile.

~~~x~~~

I was bored. So very bored. I could envision what the other occupants of the mansion would be doing right now. Alex was probably storming around the mansion aimlessly, taking his anger out on whatever objects happened to be within kicking distance. Raven was staring at herself in a mirror, Hank locking himself up in the lab, Sean running off to probably get stoned. I could see Charles curled up in a chair reading a novel with a cup of tea and Erik was probably in his room plotting multiple ways to kill Shaw. And who knows what Moira does, maybe she reads files in her spare time?

I watched from the window as the rain fell, clouds had rolled in and the sky darkened making the once bright, sunny day, dreary. Then came the rain, the sky had opened up about an hour of ago and showed no signs of stopping. The rain fell steadily, drops running down the windowpane I was in front of. Music from the radio played softly in the background and it reverberated throughout the living room.

"So why exactly are we here?" Sean asked from behind me.

I twirled around lowering my knuckle from my mouth and faced the four mutants behind me, "I wanted to have some fun since the rain has canceled training for today," I explained, shrugging my shoulders. "Speaking of training, I've been wanting to practice an ability of mine," I added, walking closer to them.

"And what would that be?" the redhead boy questioned curiously.

"My ability to create illusions," I answered smiling. "I can change how something looks, I can make people see what I want them to, make them believe or feel something that not there or that's not true. I can make things appear out of thin air, although somethings are harder than others," I finished, interlocking my arms behind my back.

"Awesome! Show us!" Sean cried in delight, I smirked, this was gonna be fun.

"Who wants to be my guinea pig?" I asked grinning wickedly, and tented my fingertips together, tapping them lightly. I was met with silence. It wasn't surprising from my smile and sinister finger tapping that no one would want to volunteer. "Fine I'll pick," Hmm. Who shall I pick on? I looked at them until my eyes landed on my favorite red head and smirked. "Sean, get up," I ordered, pointing at him.

"Aw! What! Why me?" he groaned getting up as everyone else laughed.

"Because you were the one who was so eager to see my power," I responded to him. "Don't worry. You won't be the only one who's going to be my victim," I carried on still with a grin on my face.

"Victim?" he balked as everyone else shouted out a, "What!" or "Come on!"

I focused on Sean and trapped him in my stare and watched the blank look manifest in his eyes. I closed my eyes and thought about I wanted him to do for the next minute or so and implanted it into his mind. My eyes snapped open and he burst into motion. Sean quickly crouched down, placing his hands on the floor and began panting as if he were a dog. Everyone burst out laughing and I joined. He started spinning around as if he were chasing his imaginary tail. He then turned his attention to Raven. She let out a firm "No" before Sean pounced on her, grabbed her hand and started repeatedly licking it.

"EWWWWW! GET HIM OFF! GET HIM OFF!" Raven started screaming in a mix of disgust and humor as the rest of us carried on laughing.

Sean then whipped around to Alex, quickly crawling over before he started to hump his leg.

"OH MY-! CLAUDIA GET HIM OFF!" Alex yelled at me whilst he attempted to keep Sean at bay. By now Raven, Hank, and I were hysterically laughing, Raven even had tears streaming down her face.

Finally Sean backed away and sat back on his chair, the blank look coming over him before he was released from my illusion and he looked around at all of us.

"That was awesome!" he laughed. "Apart from the humping, obviously. Sorry man,"he apologized looking at Alex who looked traumatized, whilst everyone still laughed. "It was weird like I knew what I was doing but I couldn't stop it. And there was a purple tint over my vision. Does that happen every time you do that?" He asked.

"Yep," I told him as I sat back down. "Anyone up for another game?" I asked smirking, looking around.

"NO!" the four of them yelled in unison.

"Oh come on," I began. "I was thinking about a harmless game of hide and go seek," I stated, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief. "What do you say?" I asked.

"I'm in!" Raven cheered.

"Me too!" Sean agreed.

"Why not," Hank murmured.

"No powers!" Alex demanded, and I raised my hands in surrender.

"No powers," I repeated, nodding my head in agreement. "Not it!" I called quickly, standing up from my seat. Everyone followed my lead except for Alex because he called 'not it' too slowly. "All right Alex, you know the rules. Cover your eyes and count to fifteen since this place is so huge," I said, slowly backing away from him.

Alex grumbled under his breath and covered his face with his hands

"One," Alex began, and everyone in the living scattered in different directions.

"Two," As quietly as possible I bounded up the grand staircase and swiveled my head from left to right, looking down at each side.

"Three," I moved down the hallway and decided to hide in the last place that Alex would like. Feeling quite proud of myself I reached the door to my hiding spot. I opened the door without even bothering to knock, and spun around closing the door both quietly and quickly at the same time.

I leaned my head against the door momentarily and smiled, lifting my head from the door I turned and quickly glanced around the room. It was a lot like mine, the only difference being the strong masculine cologne that floated in the air. I spotted a cozy chair arranged near the fireplace and made my over to it sit down in the chair, only to be startled out of doing so by a familiar voice.

"Please don't," whipping around and looking down at the chair, I found one Charles Xavier sitting with his left leg over the right, where he had not been just seconds ago and grinning like a loon. "Sorry for the deception, love, but I was curious to see who was quickly approaching my door,"

I crossed my arms against my chest, "But why hide yourself?"

"You're playing hide and seek with the children, are you not?" Charles asked grinning.

"I was thinking of it as more of a training exercise," I replied, my lips forming into a smirk, "They don't know it, but I'm teaching them to think outside of the box," I explained. "Although, I think making yourself invisible is cheating Charles. No powers remember?" I pointed out.

Charles' lips upturned into a smile, "Out of all of the rooms in this house, why did you choose my room, Claudia?"

"Because I knew no one would be bold enough to try," I retorted.

"No one except you," Charles smirked.

"No one except me," I repeated grinning.

"I shouldn't have expected less," the telepath chuckled, his eyes sparkled with mirth. I opened my mouth to respond, but he just put his finger to his lips. "You'll thank me in a moment," he whispered, and almost simultaneously his bedroom door was opened by two familiar blonde headed mutants.

Alex and Raven both looked directly at me, but yet made no comment, it was like...I was invisible. I felt a small smile begin to work at my mouth and I looked back at Charles who mirrored my expression as he had two fingers on his temple.

"I thought you said you heard talking," Alex stated, slight frustration in his tone. "Because there is no one in here," he added, stepping in the room and checking the most obvious spots to hide like the closet, bathroom, and underneath the bed.

"I swear I did!" Raven exclaimed. "Maybe it was just the music I heard," she suggested, as Alex walked back to door.

"Maybe," he agreed, closing the door behind him.

Charles and I waited for about thirty seconds before erupting in soft laughter, "This house is enormous, this is hardly a fair fight," Charles pointed out, and I merely shrugged. "There's never been a dull moment in this house since you got here Claudia," he smiled, brandishing a book that had previously escaped my notice. "Can I assume you're the one responsible for the mayhem downstairs about five minutes ago?" Charles inquired.

"I wanted to further explore my abilities," I answered smiling. "Do you mind a companion?" I asked.

"Not at all, provided you don't try to sit on me again," Charles quipped, before looking back down at his book.

I glanced around the room seeing there wasn't another chair for me to sit.

"I might have to," I thought.

And so, it was with a small smirk that I sidled up the handsome man before me, and slid down into his lap just as Lena Horne cooed ‘Stormy Weather’ from the record player in the corner of the room.

Charles nearly jumped out of the chair, "Claudia! Wha-What are you-"

I looked up at him, "There were no other chairs, so I'd figure we could share," I explained, before raising my brows at him and watching a red flush crawl up his neck.

He swallowed thickly but managed a cool smirk of his own, "Is that so?" Charles asked, cocking his head to the side. His book slowly slipping out of his grasp and onto the floor with a soft thud.

My fingers moved to his shirt, straightening it out and brushing the strands of hair from his face, "Very much so," I smirked, flipping my hair over my shoulder. I leaned closer to Charles, my lips close to his ear, "Stormy weather. Just can't get my poor self together. I'm weary all the time, the time. Yes, weary all the time," I sung, slowly raising my knee until it brushed his crotch, my teasing, mischievous nature coming into play.

This harmless flirting had to peak eventually right?

His Adam's apple bobbed up and down, "T-This is inappropriate," Charles' breathing hitched.

"How so?" I breathed out. "You're surely weren't thinking that this morning," I reminded.

"Well, I'm not going to deny that you are the most amazingly beautiful woman I have ever met-" Charles began.

"Oh how you flatter me Charles," I smiled.

"I've also been thinking about how I'm much older than you," Charles continued, and I rolled my eyes before pulling my head back to face Charles.

"I've been with old men before Charles," I drawled.

"Are you calling me old, Claudia?" he questioned, his lips quirking into a small smile.

"I never did such a thing, you called yourself old, Charles," I retorted, tilting my head slightly.

He chuckled and looked at me, his intense blue gaze that was fixed upon my own. I glance down at his lips and back to this eyes and he did the same as I leaned forward, our lips barely touching.

Charles lifted one of his hands and caressed my cheek softly, "While I want nothing more to claim your lips with my own," he sighed, pulling away from me. "Let's not rush into things, love," Charles suggested gently, a small smile gracing his features.

I recognized the look in his eye as he smiled at me. Charles Xavier may have been abnormal in almost every other aspect of his life, but when it came to attraction and women, he was exceedingly normal. And for the first time in years the thought of a man being attracted to me suited me just fine, especially one who said there was no need to rush.

I exhaled deeply and nodded my head, "If that's what you want," I conceded, pulling my head back as well. "Well, guess I was right," I mused, and Charles furrowed his brow. "The world may never really know when you're going to get that kiss," I smirked.

Charles grinned and I contented myself with him wrapping an arm around my waist as he read to me, all the while watching in amusement every time one of the children came in and searched the room over, each more frustrated than the last.

Chapter Nine: Challenges

[yanderenightmare]

YANDERE ! CHISAKI KAI

goodiebag WARNINGS: dubcon/noncon, yandere, abuse, anxiety, eugenics, kidnapping, abduction, manipulation, stalking

BREAKING VASES

“How are you feeling?”

His voice was a blur of sound she fought no battles to make out. Annoying in some sense, antagonizing the base of her skull, poking and prodding at the back of her mind. Yet she managed to piece together what he’d asked after deciding it’d be unwise to leave his query unanswered.

Having broken through the thick haze she’d momentarily been lost in, she didn’t quite know what to make of his words. It was an impossible question. It was an impossible question due to the fact that it had infinite answers. There seemed to be no end to what she was feeling. Robbed, estranged, vulnerable. She was given a robe, but it acted as a weak replacement to the smoke-ridden garments she wore before. Those scented with herbs, dirt, sweat and blood and culture. Those with holes and rips painting a story of the past few years of her life. Granted, they’d probably pose as nothing more but mere rags to anyone else, but to her they posed as something, out of a select few things, that truly belonged to her. Her armor. The piercings that once acted as her weapons, her axes and spears and swords and arrows, were gone too, stolen away, leaving phantom remnants to fill what empty punctures should have been left, however who had miraculously grown shut as though never even there to begin with. Sentiments of those occasions where she’d gifted herself with the cheap jewels; memories she cherished beyond whatever more money could buy her. The feathers and string woven into her hair, her shield, had also been taken, untangled from her locks, letting the dull tresses fall unenthusiastically down around her shoulders. Her scars as well, the blooming bruises on her knuckles and knees and elbows; gone, and the stories of her victories gone with them. Gone, not healed; removed from existence. She even missed the grime that used to coat her skin, the smudged mascara she never bothered to wash away, the soil beneath her fingernails and stuffed between the ridges in her skin. They were as much part of her as the blood simmering through her veins.

She knew she was exaggerating, thinking of her bath in antibacterial as an acidic Armageddon. She’d merely been washed, but it felt as though her spirit and soul had gone down the drain as well. Her body scrubbed to the point where she could have sworn her skin had been torn away, leaving nothing but blood and bones in their wake. She felt raw. She felt lonely. No, worse. She felt left. Reborn but dead in the same moment, yet she was still alive and the fact felt forever unavoidable by the presence of the man sitting before her. The man who looked like some heathenistic God she might have worshipped once if it were not for his demeanor telling tales of what felt like the onset of destruction. The man who demanded to know, what now felt like ages ago, how she was feeling.

He felt he was being generous with his patience, but that generosity would soon shift if she were to keep on being unresponsive to him. Granted, it was a simple question, a question with a mere two answer option. But she seemed to be weighing the world in her pensiveness. She’d answer for her disobedience sooner rather than later, nothing good ever came from delaying the inevitable. But for now, he would kindly gift her with more of his patience, even though it was running thinner by each second spent of his eyes taking in her presence. Her spotless and cultivated purity. He’d shined away for hours on what would seem like coal to the naked eye, revealing what he knew to be a diamond in the rough once he finished. Chipping away at the edges to create the perfect symmetrical shape he knew she could inhabit.

Her shivering didn’t go unnoticed by him nor did the way she averted her eyes from his peering gaze. She had her knees tucked up under her chin, her position placed picture-perfectly in the middle of the bed; her whole being speaking volumes of how alienated she felt being surrounded by the ocean of silk and cotton and pillows as large as herself. Newly washed hair splaying in thick meanders down her shoulders, legs and spine. Not wet enough to be dripping but enough to damp her clothing. A few dry locks irritatingly dancing across her face, making her nose impulsively scrunch up every now and again.

She was cute, he’d give her that. But being cute wasn’t enough to quench his temper. In fact, it merely aided in his frustrating. Spit rising, pooling under his tongue which writhed and lurched at the sweetness of it. Mere seconds away from starting to drool, similar to how a hound would react upon eyeing a slab of meat, and despite him not wanting to act like a wild beast he found more and more just how hard it was going to be to resist the brute force he was in capacity to use.

He'd at some point removed the bejeweled plague-mask, as she saw it now repositioned on a counter-top. Not daring to face the male, letting his frame remain a blur in her peripheral vision. “Naked.” Her voice was tender… meek. It took him a while to understand that it had been her answer. It had come such a long time after he’d asked and the answer wasn’t exactly orthodox. However, as curious as it was, it was at least more candid than he would have hoped, which made him… not exactly satisfied, but… let’s say… less displeased.

Not sure what to make of it, he figured he’d more or less ignore her retort. Refraining from explaining why his remedies had to be done, as he’s sure it wouldn’t help ease any of the woes, worries and feelings of sentimental loss currently flagging behind her eyes. He was never prone to establishing such ridiculous attachments to anything himself, therefore having a hard time understanding her catatonic sorrow, but he could at the very least make an effort to understand their complications. Thinking perhaps replacements were in order. “Would you want more clothes?” He wasn’t dim. He knew that it wasn’t the same type of naked she meant, but more clothes in exchanged for the translucent kimono she was wearing couldn’t hurt. Perhaps she’d even realize that it all was for the better. She couldn’t possibly prefer the filth she wore before above what precious materials he’d bestow upon her now that she belonged to him.

He was wrong, evidently. “I’d like my clothes, please.” There was a hint, a weak hint, of scorn in the request, but it was rather drowned out in timid timber of her soft voice. He enjoyed the caution she spoke with, as though she’d already assessed the situation and come to terms with her new role. Yet, the shy inkling of ire still caused the hairs on his arms to rise in frustration. Not so much because of her meek defiance, but more so due to the fact that the request was based in such silly audacity. The reason as to why she would ever want those cheap rags back was beyond him, and would hopefully soon be beyond her as well.

His brows flatlined to a nonchalant expression as opposed to the low furrow they’d been held before. “I burnt them.” It was still spoken through grit teeth, unable to hide his annoyance completely. She noticed, scurrying her heels closer to herself, trying to better hold onto her frame, not wanting to slip outside the self-made confinement. Her knuckles turning ashen with how hard she was hugging her body. Trying to better balance her fear in hopes of not causing enough uproar as to make the male sitting a mere meter away suddenly pounce like any other predator might. The feeling of her heart in her throat was choking, making her swallow thickly even though her mouth felt dry.

She flinched when he moved, squeezing her eyes tightly shut, trying to find comfort in the blinding dark behind her eyelids, however failing. The sharp padding of his leather shoes across the floor were intimidating enough on their own, enough to make the image of the golden snake-like slits he had for eyes rise up in front of her. His presence was closer when she dared peek a glance through her lashes. Tears glued them together and it was upon seeing it she understood she’d been crying without noticing, but come to think of it, she did feel the salt rivers sting on her freshly scrubbed cheeks.

He’d come back with garments in his hands. Lace she noted; white, expensive, luxurious, revealing lace. And a dress, just as clinically white, yet far from resembling any of the lechery as the lingerie. No, it was rather something she’d expect you’d dress a doll in. Thin shoulder-straps met with a sweetheart neckline which eventually strutted out into a short airy skirt. The fabric detailed in enhancement of the textile, bumps and ridges forming a vague pattern of roses across. In fact, it was so lavish and occasional that, if the skirt had been floor-length, she’d guessed it to be a wedding dress.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d even worn a dress. She couldn’t even remember the last time she wore the color white. White, in its impracticality, stains too quickly, so granted if she ever even wore the color it wouldn’t remain that way for long. Nevertheless, she reached out. Dainty fingers, what should have been bruise-knuckled were it not for whatever procedure he’d put her through, stretched out in an ever so shy descent from its position atop her knees. But the movement was short-lived, killed with a gasp caught in her throat, for as soon as she brushed fingertips with the displayed fabrics was her wrist tightly snatched from its proceedings and brought forward in an action so rough it made her entire body tumble in the same direction. Promptly pressed firmly and snuggly into his chest as he made quick instalments to secure her new position in his lap. The roughness of his dress-buttons making abrasive contact through the silk of her robe, as the cool metal of his belt-buckle caused similar yet more intrusive discomfort to the place found in between her thighs.

“What do you want from me?” Was the only thing that made it past her quivering lips, granted it was the sole question that seemed to burn with a terror-fueled passion inside her.

“What good would come from stating the obvious?” He said as he cocked his chin to the side. Searing, golden eyes unmoved, or rather amused, by her prominent fear-stricken features. “All you need to know is that my name is Chisaki Kai, and how if you call me by anything but Kai, I will hurt you.” Her wrist felt cold in the pressure of his hold. Her other hand limply placed on his abs. “Do you understand?” Her chest seemed to tighten more and more with the knot tying itself in the pit of her gut, rendering her just barely able to even comprehend what he was saying. Unsatisfied with her blank expression, his eyes narrowed even further. “Let me make it a bit more clear.” His gloved hand rose from the position it had on her thigh and made contact with her face, pinching her chin in an effort to slant her head to the side. “You see that vase over there” He nodded in the direction he’d faced her in. The warm breath of his words tickling the shell of her ear as he spoke. “Watch closely.” She was too afraid to shut her terror-wide eyes, even with the sentiment he’d brought with his words, gently biting into her earlobe as he dropped her wrist. The hand repositioning, palm facing the vase he’d mentioned.

She wouldn’t have guessed it was a vase. Vases were for flowers, but this cauldron could roam at least three liters worth of water. She figured it must have been some ancient artifact, given its placement in the rich complex she found herself situated in. The texture decorating the shell of it resembling that of a toad’s back, bumpy and wriggly and swamp-colored. And it was because of the uneven appearance she didn’t quite catch the moment it all started moving. Ripples, waves, earthquakes seemed to run across the surface of it, before pieces started completely dislodging from the original assignment. Reanimating before his gloved fingers. The sight, acting as the onset of horror, had her guts in turmoil, her stomach folding in on itself, toppling in ways she hadn’t known were possible, as her tongue suddenly felt heavy and foreign in her mouth.

“Do you understand now?” His voice was soft; calculating, yet so very grave in its nature. Turning her head back to face him, fingers making a move to sharply cling to her cheeks yet again, keeping her chin in the palm of his hand. Wishing for a moment he’d removed his gloves, but the regret was too weak to battle the feeling of pleasure at the sight of seeing her lips puckered together between the force of his fingertips and the swimming look of hopelessness displayed so deliciously less than an inch from his face.

“Yes…” The word was only barely audible amidst her quivering, and the display, though brought him great pleasure, didn’t seem to satisfy him. Therefore, quickly adding his name to further her understanding of the rules she’d been giving. “Kai.” He felt his well-fitted pants tighten at that, his member growing hot and heavy, being sure she felt it too.

His hands sank from their endeavors of holding her face in place and of rearranging the vase, and, whence lowered, was placed back on her thighs, stroking a path upwards as to push the silk away from her skin, exposing the cooling soft skin. Soon pulling at the end of her belt, which easily fell away, opening the curtains so that he could peek more clearly at what was found inside. A chill wafted flush against her skin, goosebumps springing to the surface of her breasts; nipples perking as the soft material rubbed across them before being removed. His hand wandered further, inside the kimono to untangle the last tie found by her waists.

“Are you gonna kill me?” Her words lacked momentum, void of purpose, laced with defeat instead, as though she’d already answered the question herself. And if he at all heard what she’d said, he didn’t feel the need to show any indication of it. “Once you’re done with me?” She furthered the question, and at that the man seemed slightly shaken.

She had no doubt what she was there for. If his current actions weren’t any indication, the past hours certainly were. She’d been prepared for him. Groomed to fit his idea of perfection. It was all evident now. His eyes still trained over her body, never once showing any further acknowledgment for her words. “What makes you think I’ll ever be done with you?” It was as though he weren’t even speaking to her. It looked more as though he were speaking to himself, ignoring the growing terror he was increasing by the second. His hands exploring with his full attention at their disposal. Gloved fingers running over smooth skin, having the new foreign urge to remove the protective garments.

He moved slowly, controlled, yet she could see the fidgety urge he possessed to get the gloves off as quick and effortlessly as possible. Pulling each gloved finger halfway off. The act soon became a strange type of clumsy; childish, as if he couldn’t quite do it fast enough. However, despite his hurried movements, whence the gloves were fully removed he took the time to place them neatly beside him, as though they were of outmost importance, too good to be thrown on the floor in the fit of his impatience.

Momentarily mesmerized by the strange actions of the golden-eyed boy, she shook out of her stunned state. “Toys break… and broken toys are no longer fun to play with.” She didn’t know when she gained back her confidence, perhaps somewhere along perceiving him nearly trip at the mere strive to remove his gloves.

“That’s true.” He stated, naked fingers hesitantly making first contact with unresearched, untested skin. Yet, once his fingers only barely brushed past the thin peach-fuss found on her hips, unscathed in their venture, there seemed to be nothing keeping him at bay. “Only… you’re not a toy.” It was hard to believe the sentiment when he was poking and prodding and playing with her flesh as though she were some type of doll. Still and withal, despite it being unwanted, the touch wasn’t unpleasant… at least not for now as he went on with the tender cautious ticklish strokes of a child. As if in reverence or savory or relief or all of them at once. Though, it would soon turn into possessiveness.

His hands were soft, to her great surprise. Just as soft as the silk she wore before. His nails were long, sharp, groomed, manicured. The talons sinking into her skin more so than his fingertips, in an amateurish fashion, giving off the impression he hadn’t ever done such a thing before or that it had been a very long while since he had. He seemed confident despite it, or… any grain of angst was thoroughly outmaneuvered by his curiosity.

“What am I then?” She feared the answer as she eyed the growing lust in his starry irises, as his pupils seemed somehow a darker color than black beside the godly glow of gold.

He had half the mind to repeat the answer she’d first given him, given that it was now true in all its information, but decided against it. It would be wrong of him to mock her when he was the one nearly drooling at the sight of her in such a state. He took a breath, surprised to find it uneven. “Perfection.” It was only barely above a whisper. Frightening adoration and unwanted worship over-seasoned the one word.

Her brows furrowed at the endearment, it feeling so foreign an adjective to describe her of all people. Confusion wafting over her, nearly replacing the fear. “I think you’ve kidnapped the wrong person.” She didn’t exactly think he’d stop, yet the light-hearted smirk that soon quirked at the corner of his lips still came as a surprise, it serving as a convinced resolution, disagreeing with her foolish accusation. She guessed it was the certainty that surprised, or scared, her more than anything. The way he acted as though nothing was out of place, as though she was exactly where she belonged, just another relic, quite like that vase, he’d get to manipulate to his will without her having any more courage than ability to stop him. “I’ll disappoint you.” She said, more as a warning than a fact. He eyed her as though she were some sort of angel on earth, still with his entitled godlike gaze, yet she knew she was no less human than faults themselves. She was far from perfection, far from wanting to be either.

She sucked in a breath, her hands crinkling into the bedsheets as a thumb rubbed across the nib of her breast. “Impossible.” He spoke with resolution now, yet again eliminating her doubts with more grave timber added to his already gravelly tone. “Besides…” It was the first time in a while where he re-gifted her with his gaze. Sharp, golden eyes fixated onto her teary orbs. “I fix things just as easy as I break them.” She was reminded of the vase and how it so eerily represented her situation. Images of it being her demise spilling, flooding her mind, causing her brows to rumple. It was no question to it being a threat and if she’d been standing she was sure her knees would have given out under her. Especially as his chin prodded forward and hers was once again caught firmly between his fingers. The action stopped in its tracks upon her pouring words.

“I don’t understand, this makes no sense, you’re…” She shook her head as she spoke, words tumbling from her lips like speedy rain, as though she were shaking them from the confines of her mind, however pausing in her process, biting her lip as if what she was about to say were too insensitive, as though genuinely not wanting to hurt the feelings of the brute man before her. “Not to sound superficial, but…” She bowed her head in apology for her next words. “You’re…” She looked around, at the expense surrounding her. “Rich.” Her eyes found his again, as though searching for something her words had aggravated, but found nothing but attentive eyes staring back at her. “And you’ve pretty lashes.” She added, more on a spur than anything. Shaken out of her puzzlement for a brief second before finding her way back to it. “I don’t... I don’t understand… why go through all this trouble?” Her body shifted as she spoke, and the movements did not go unaccounted for by Chisaki. However, the current bewilderment strewn on the girl’s face called for more entertainment. “You can have as many girls as you wish, willing girls who’d love a rich guy like you-” She was stopped, her sentence caught in the air, unable to finish.

“It has nothing to do with quantity.” She had to think for a second to remember the meaning of the word, finding she felt uncertain by what she decided upon. ”But everything to do with quality.” That word she knew well enough, yet it left her even more puzzled than the confusion his previous statement gifted her with.

“If it’s the acid bath you’re talking about…” She queried cautiously. “You’d be surprised how much people will put up with for cash.” He wouldn’t, he knew very well of people’s adamant desperation. How often it made him sick.

His head tilted, giving her words more time than they needed to breathe. Yet, time he needed to evaluate and admire the freckle adorning her neck. “You possess something other people lack by lacking something everyone has.” His hands felt heavy on her thighs as she was once again left puzzled beyond comprehension, leaving room for the pressure in his grip to come to mind as she rummaged her brain for the meaning of his riddling words.

“A quirk?” She said it with too much enthusiasm, caught in her split-second satisfaction for cracking the mystery, before reeling herself back into reality. “You want me ‘cause I’m weak?” Her nose scrunched at the thought, gut winding like livid snakes. “That’s sick.” She hiccupped in her oncoming cry, feeling the desperate hopelessness of her situation hanging around her, the air itself becoming suffocating to take into her lungs.

His hands made a sharp stir at her words, nails briefly poking into her skin at how twisted her reality was. “I desire you because you’re pure.” He didn’t let his guilt shine through in his tone, making it sound ridiculing instead, as though she were stupid to question his intensions, despite her suspicion being nothing but unfounded and sound. “Quirks are a disease not a blessing, you’re spared from its corruption.” He spoke so matter-of-factly, lecturing her as though she were clouded by some ignorance he saw past. It was the tone more than the words that had an effect on her. The lump in her chest, resembling that of shame, rose in her throat. Though, she weren’t stupid; the undeserving condescension vanished once awareness of his manipulation came as a realization in her head. Clarity of the situation soon finding its footing in her mind, no longer feeling insecure in the clouds of his judgement.

She decided to play his game. Having a strong feeling that no amount of questions or arguments would have her leaving her current imprisonment in the house, let alone her position on his lap. “I have conditions.” She quipped quickly, trying to sound assertive in her command, however it playing off as what it actually was, which was insecurity.

A curious glint flashed in his golden orbs as well as a humored tug at the corner of his lips. “You have conditions?” He had half the mind to inform her she was in no such position to demand anything, but he figured there’d be no harm in hearing her out. “Amuse me.” A brief and terribly low chuckle erupted from somewhere deep in his throat, a noise similar to what she’d imagine an old heavy door creaking would sound like.

“I want a garden.” She said first and foremost and what would soon be revealed as last.

Although he didn’t enjoy the messy past-time of hers, some part of him had understood it was something more than that in his time stalking her. How he’d seen her treat her plants as though they were something precious above being mere dirt. “Already provided.”

“Really?” She looked astonished, happy even. “Well, uhm…” She skimmed her brain for more commands, more because of a yearning to exercise the power to command than actually having anything further to request.

“You have nothing else to ask for, do you?” He gave a knowing look. A look of content endearment. “Such a humble creature you are.” The smile, though rather flat, still exuded an inane amount of awe, so much so it made her feel even more exposed than what she already was.

“Don’t call me creature.” She said, more as an attempt to wipe whatever frenzied state he’d escaped to than from actual discomfort by the word itself.

Her attempt didn’t seem to do the trick. “Hmm, anything else?” He started leaning toward her again. Her lips trembling from his exhales. “No?” It would be wrong to say she had no more desires, however those which she had seemed out of reach or strangely punishable if mentioned. “Well, if there’s anything you might feel the need for, do not hesitate to ask.” She most certainly would hesitate before asking for anything from the man, however… she figured it was more or less a purposeful joke than a genuine sentiment.

He hesitated once again as he did when he first touched her, lips only barely brushing over each-other, hovering in the presence of one another’s breath, before primly pressed together. It felt like fire against her freshly scrubbed raw and swollen lips, but she made no effort to stop him as he pressed on. Teeth seemed like fangs as they tugged at the sensitive chunk of flesh, grinding it between them, his tongue soon accompanying her own inside the comfort of her mouth.

It was strange; foreign. She’d kissed, been kissed and shared kisses before, yet the sensation was always adorned with the scent of smoke in the air and on her breath, and the taste of bitter beer swirling and pooling on her tongues. But this, this transaction of something that was purely them, left her feeling barren and at a complete loss for words. With nothing else to cling to sept for the taste of him on her and the even stranger feeling of him desperately trying to taste her.

She felt like a rag-doll, a toy more or less, as she made no effort to move; limp and only barely lively as he laid her beneath him on the bed. Lips caught in each-other’s embrace all the while. His hesitance diluted quickly, turning rougher and painful in a sense, as though he were in some sort of hurry, or as though he couldn’t quite satisfy whatever yearning had awoken in him as fast as it was building. His large hand wrapping around her throat, squeezing to paint a clearer point of who it was that were in charge. “Look at me.” The talons made their presence known, digging crescent moons into the delicate flesh of her spine. Growling accompanying the act, beckoning whimpers from the small thing beneath him. His other hand helping him hunch over her, acting as a pillar for his weight to rest upon. One of his knees soon diving between her legs, prompting her thigh on top of his, preforming the same maneuvers with the parallel leg. Having her knees spread to either side of his hips, nuzzling between them. Her windpipe seemed to bend more than break beneath his viscous hold, yet the sensation felt no less painful.

As lips continued to clash and teeth started to do more than just graze, small hands made to push at his tough chest. Not in an effort to shove him away but to subdue whatever frenzy had taken ahold of him, as a weak attempt to get her discomfort across. He didn’t seem to notice how he’d started biting, or of her rather obvious distress, and if he did it would seem he’d elected to ignore it all, as his weight remained unmoved by her desperate actions.

He didn’t know what he was fussing about before. She clearly respected his authority. How could he ever think that a creature like her, quirkless and infinitely vulnerable, would ever have the heart to disobey him? The mere thought of it was laughable now, as she made such feeble attempts to simply soothe him and not at all in an effort to make him stop. Too kind in her nature to ever want to deliberately upset him. It would be cruel of him to not answer to her prayers of making the ordeal more comfortable, especially when she was being so sweet in her request, in her begging. She should be rewarded, not ignored, he resonated, deciding to go slower, softer.

His hand moved from cramping around her neck to cupping the side of her cheek instead, fingers spreading to either side of her ear. The hand keeping him in a menacing stance, towering over her petite frame, bent at the elbow, lowering him down to rest more intimately against her chest. Feeling her hands move instinctively away from his chest to grasp his shoulders instead, an inkling to perhaps tangle them behind his neck burning in her thoughts, but she was left at a loss for how far she was willing to sell her freewill, but also because she had no way of knowing if such an action would please him. The doubt was soon answered as he assisted in placing her hands above her head, one large hand securing her wrists in a firm yet strangely delicate lock.

Newly free of anything to do, his other hand repositioned to grasp her breast. Lips soon joining as he slobbered a wet path down to her exposed nipples. She fought the urge to scurry away, knowing there was nowhere to go and how nothing good would come out of it, or if it would at all change the events of what was currently in motion. She wasn’t sure just how far his temper reached, but she wasn’t at all that inclined to find out. Besides, he’d already installed the measures to keep her from doing anything of the same caliber of foolish, her position unmovable beneath the inescapable presence of him.

He was broad. Not thick, but thick with muscle to a sense where her legs where thoroughly spread by the mere diameter of his torso. Her knees tightly hugging him because of it, unable to spread even further without it becoming an uncomfortable stretch.

She felt strange. So unavoidably naked. She’d done it before, shamelessly more times than she could count, proudly shared her body with past lovers and friends, yet this seemed a strange type of surrender more than an understanding. Perhaps because she was fully naked whereas he still wore his black suit-pants and matching black dress-shirt with the contrasting white tie. Or, perhaps being naked had nothing to do with it, and the explanation laid solely in the fact that he had taken her from her home without hindrance from both herself and the law it would seem, bathed her and groomed her and dressed her and taken claim of her as some type of belonging all without her being able to object. She was powerless. He was living proof of her hopelessness, helplessness, weakness. Weak and fragile and infinitely exposed beneath him. Inferior, but… it would seem… desirable to some unfounded extent as his golden attention locked on her where nothing else seemed to be worth any significance.

His lips again finding their way up to her throat, his gelled hair tickling her chin and cheek before his breath splayed across the tender skin of her ear. “I undressed you…” He whispered matter-of-factly in the seductive tone, lips brushing against her earlobe at the sentiment. “Time to return the favor.” He shuffled back and made to kneel between her legs, helping her prop herself up with both hands at her waist, pulling her so close she was made to sit on his lap again with her legs cradling him behind his back. His hands serving as the only leverage in keeping her position upright and from falling back onto the bed.

It was selfish and greedy of him to want to test her obedience, especially when she was shaking so violently like a leaf caught in a hurricane. Her head bowed, afraid to meet his height, yet her eyes still peered back up at him through the thick veil of lashes.

She felt his hands tighten around her waist, fingers and talons digging into soft plump flesh as large, glossy eyes stared at him for far too long without her acting on his command. For it was a command. “Need I remind you of what happens when you disobey me?” The belt-buckle seemed a frozen or electric type of cold against her clit as the threat boiled in the back of her mind. She shook her head, or… that was the intention, yet her whole body seemed to quake with the movement.

Hesitant hands and fingers that seemed far too frail for this world reached out to undo his tie. Once he reassured himself she knew what she was doing he tilted his head to lean in for another kiss. He was sure she didn’t do it on purpose, yet he needed to inform her of her mistakes as she seemed to use his tie as some sort of rope that would keep her from falling as she leaned backwards away from his antagonizing lips. His hands once again digging calloused fingertips into the doughy flesh of her waistline.

As though shocked from her transgression she did the opposite action of averting his kiss and came back to meet him. Sniffling as she loosened the tie, reciprocating the unwanted kiss. The realization of how hopeless her predicament coming down on her, as well as the impending events of violation and perhaps unwanted stimulation wracking through her with a vengeance. She couldn’t help but start crying, only this time she noticed the tears as they streamed hot and heavy like silent waterfalls down her face and neck, dripping from her chin onto her chest and falling down further in soundless rivulets, streaking her skin with reddened irritation. He must have tasted it on her lips, for soon his kisses turned sloppier, as though elevated and somehow frenzied by the display of her struggle. His tongue, flat and all-capturing, soon licking up her cheek to better taste her tears, making her cry with increasing fervor. Clutching onto his tie in false comfort as though it were some lifeline. “Put it on.” He demanded as she lifted it above and off his head, hesitating for a second, scanning his eyes for humor but finding nothing sept for lustful impatience. She complied and the once false lifeline turned into a very real noose. She whimpered as one of his hands left her waits to grab onto the tail of the tie, pulling her closer to his face in a choke-hold. “Come on.” He growled against her lips, referring to the still movement of her hands, the hands that were supposed to be halfway done with the unbuttoning of his shirt.

She hurriedly undid the buttons, nimble fingers working precisely despite it. And, although he was under no illusion her hurry was a product of his threat, he could fantasize the rush was of the same desperation he felt festering inside him. However, it was hard to imagine when she finished unbuttoning the shirt, her hands hovering above his pants, left yet again at a loss for what to do.

With his patience running thin, he let his temper get the best of him. The last hand leaving her waist to grab her face with a growl. However, upon seeing the tearful, terrified look displayed swimmingly in her orbs, his snarling features softened. He could pretend she didn’t know how to unbuckle his belt. He could pretend it were some inconceivable contraption you needed to be familiar with beforehand to ever hope understanding. He was good at pretending.

She yelped as he dropped her back onto the mattress, his weight quickly followed suit as he kissed a trail down the valley of her breasts, before rising back up and admiring the sight of her in his tie and the blooming love-bites that had formed from his teeth’s last encounter with her skin. He decided, in his constant growing impatience, to go back on his command, granting her one mercy by removing his belt on his own.

Not wanting to see or find out if she’d disobey more of his clear commands, he placed one careful yet firm hand around her throat, strong fingers pressing into the sides of her throat as so to keep her in her place. Feeling her precious little heartbeats drumming against his palm. Eyes locked with each other. Fearful, tearful, spiraling eyes seemed to take up half her face as she searched his business like, monotonous features in a desperate scramble for hope or escape. Blotchy, red, screaming skin surrounded those gorgeous round eyes of hers. Tear-slicked lashes seemed thicker, hugging each other close for comfort. Nose a blossom shade of pink, nostrils flaring in the meekest of flutters each time she sniffled. She didn’t mean to whimper as Chisaki stroked his middle finger over her neck. She was reminded yet again of the vase from earlier. The vase that was meters away, yet broke apart easily despite the distance and how she was infinitely closer to his destructive hands. How expensive that vase must have been and how priceless in the sense of carrying no expense she was. The possibility of him breaking apart her anatomy similar to the vase was uncertain, on purpose or even by accident.

He made no further moves, just feeling up her pulse beneath his fingertips and watching her eyes go rounder and wider with fear of what he might do. She had completely lost her composure now, and he knew the sight should have awoken some form of regret inside him, some form remorse or guilt, yet the only thing he seemed to think was about how pitifully beautiful she looked in her helplessness beneath him, how undeniable his ownership now was, and how victorious he felt.

To her it felt as though he were oblivious to her discomfort, as though he didn’t even register the tears streaming down her face or the ever-present tremble in her body. How her stomach toppled in on itself, how she was afraid to even as much as move her hands from their places on either side of her head, how she felt as though the sheets swallowed her whole and how the whole atmosphere seemed too strange, too foreign. How the smell of bleach in the air had all five of her senses in utter turmoil, how the cleanliness of everything made her skin crawl, how the silk tie around her neck was both the softest and roughest form of embrace she’d ever felt. How the love-bites on her body represented bullet-wounds, how he’d poked holes through her skin into her very core, how she felt as though the remnants of her soul seeped out through them, spilling onto the fresh bedsheets. How his eyes oddly looked like the eyes of God despite her not believing in such things, how even in her fear she found herself wondering why his lashes were so long and why his skin looked like porcelain and why on earth would a divine creature like him ever show such a devoting interest in the likes of her.

The sharp clashes of an unbuckling belt weren’t enough to shake her from her rambling thoughts, nor was the unbuttoning of his pants or the sound of the textile being thrown on the floor. Fingers however, fingers easily brought her out of her own mind. Fingertips grazing tender, unprotected, wet skin. Slender-veined, long, striking fingers that reached farther inside her to that spot she couldn’t ever hope reach on her own. Fingers that easily entered through the slick of building wetness, pooling with the rush of blood that had celebrated by the countless accidental, conditional and intentional feather-touches she’d received throughout the events of her time in his presence. It felt good. Undeniably so, in spite of her fear, maybe even in product of her fear. Two digits buried knuckle-deep inside her, slithering, bathing, curling, stretching, molding her walls to their liking.

With his face inches away from her, with the fingers of his hand dancing curious choreography inside her and his thumb drawing careful patterns onto her clit, she couldn’t help put moan past the hand tightening around her throat. His hot breath fanning over her face she felt him grow restless at the lewd sounds she made. There was a still present stretch in the outer ring of muscle despite her growing wetness, but her insides fluttered, happily and welcomingly sucking on the guests taking up space within her. Her knees pressing harder into his sides in an impulsive desperate attempt to rub her thighs together, hanging onto every precise move his fingers made, wanting more, needing more.

“Look at me.” Eyes wrenched shut at the unwanted yet much enjoyable pleasure, peeled open at the threat of his words and the tightening enclosure of pressure her vocal cords sustained beneath the grip of his hand.

She had at a point tangled her hands around his neck, despite her dilemma with the movement earlier. Teeth adamantly biting down into her bottom lip as she proceeded in getting lost in his eyes and at the pooling sensation of his fingers pumping in and out of her. Un-allowed to look any other place but his eyes, un-allowed to move when his digits disappeared and the soft velvety tip of his cock nuzzled at her entrance, feeling warm and much bigger than the expanse of his fingers.

He made a sound. A low, guttural moan which reverberated through his chest and erupted somewhere deep within his throat; hungry in its conviction and greedy in its quest, making the girl beneath him whimper as his swollen cockhead kissed past the lips of her pussy, beginning to push through into her plushy walls. His hand soon finding its way to cover her mouth, muffling each pathetic little whimper that came with his throbbing cock tearing through her constricting walls with its monstrous girth frustratingly slowly, the small sounds vibrating, tickling him in the palm of his hand. The frustrating slow move letting her feel every ridge, every vein, every prodding rift on his bulging cockhead.

Nails belonging to small hands dig into the back of his neck as he thrusts the remaining length of his cock inside her, his pillow-like tip bumping into her cervix, bottoming out in one quick movement of his hips furiously slamming up against the underside of her thighs. She gasped at the intrusion, her velvety walls fluttering around the size of his, moaning whence he pulled out ever so slowly. He groaned blissfully, lolling softly into her. Her eyes once again closing, falling into the back of her skull, but that couldn’t be allowed. “Look at me while I make you mine.” It was hard to bring herself back, it was hard to even open her eyes and even harder to focus on keeping eye-contact as he continuously buried himself inside her. However, the throaty growls and moans and croaks, that somehow deafened the wet creamy squelching of his shaft driving into her sopping folds, served as enough a wordless threat to keep her attention tethered to him.

The pace was slow, agonizingly so, but he drove deep. And as the speed picked up, she couldn’t help that her needy walls began clamping around the girth of his length, sucking his cock right back inside her warmth each time he reared his hips back, as if he belonged there. Her struggle was unnecessary as he eagerly slammed his pelvis back into her, creating an ear deafening smack with each bone-shattering thrust. Her back arching into him as her warm walls seized up around his cock rapidly pumping in and out of her, feeling the early building fluttering of her orgasm closing in, chasing her in her bliss. His hand still tightly enclosed around her neck, the space dividing their faces nearly nonexistent as his hot breath fell upon her face each time he grunted and groaned with the thrusts of his hips.

She moaned his name, trying to find the words to warn him of her upcoming release, but between his thrusts she had had to prioritize breathing above anything else and as the feelings inside her spurred violently she was rendered unable to even as much as think about anything but the bliss. Her legs cramped around his torso, bringing him close and holding him there as her body convulsed in earth-shattering spasms. Moans slipping past the fingers on her throat, forgetting they were there for a moment. All movements stilled before she opened her eyes to find those weighty eyes staring back at her, feeling an inclination to apologize but having the words choke in her throat by both his hand and once again picked up speed, as he slammed into her with a newfound vigor. Her orgasm still ricocheting, pulsating, crippling her body in warm heat and fuzzy shocks, the tingling contrasting with his sharp and angled thrusts into her swollen walls, riding her through the feeling. Her crying had partially subsided, however started returning. His pounding so crucial and stinging she sobbed at the brutality of it, her throat feeling sore beneath his fingers.

He bit into her neck, stuffing her again and again with his cock, heavy balls hitting against her ass in wet slaps. He drove harder, making her hiccup and scream at the force of his shaft tearing a hole through her abdomen. She begged him to stop, but he was chasing his own form of release. Her hands slamming and pushing at his shoulder, but he was neatly and snuggly slotted against her, in no hopes of moving without wanting to himself. His hand descended to gripping the underside of her knees, spreading her further out for him to rut into. Face buried in her chest as he selfishly groaned and moaned and grunted like some animal, ignoring her spluttering cries. His noises grew louder, uncontrolled, building to one final croak, feeling his cock spur in warm twitches, ropes of white thickness sprouting from his pulsating tip into her, creaming up her walls and dripping out of her crammed hole.

He sighed contently, continuing to slot his cock inside her warmth however slowly, feeling his cum run down the length of his and she felt it smear her thighs in stickiness. Her hands shook, clinging to him for comfort from the relenting attacks, her entire body aching. He pulled out all the way only to fill her up again, his cock keeping its size and length without faltering in the slightest, she was afraid he wasn’t done, but he seemed content relaxing into her chest, eyes closed and resting. He lied there for a bit, cock going limp inside the comfort of her warm walls, before he rolled off. A large hand still left on her stomach.

Part of her told her to simply fall asleep. Her aching body begging to find rest in the soft sheets, yet the almost wild need to get as far away from the man at her side outgrew her need for comfort, as it usually did. She stirred from her position, slipping out from under his hand, yet the movement was quickly silenced with the hand coming to snatch her wrists instead. “Where do you think you’re going?” His voice was calculated despite groggy and tired, annoyed in some sense yet desperate in another. She opened her mouth to speak but the words fell stillborn on her tongue. “You’re not going anywhere.” He pulled her towards him again and she was sure he wanted to go another round, but found that instead of lining her up with his cock another time, she was instead firmly placed against his chest. One arm coming to wrap around her, whilst the other made to grab the duvet from its place at their feet, draping the both of them in sterile white cloth. “If you move during the night, expect to wake up to a punishment.” He added softly in her ear. His fingers delicately dancing across her cheek to brush a tress of hair behind her ear. His lidded eyes intently locked; admiring, the curves and slopes of her face, even as the red and teary confusion started back at him. He was glad to see no hints of hatred or scorn laced with her gaze, or perhaps he was just too tired to notice. Though, she did as commanded. Keeping her frame neatly placed where he’d positioned her. Her eyes scanning the man’s features until sleep as well soon brought her to her knees. And she would like to dispel the notion, but the truth wasn’t easily buried. Despite the burning swollen soreness found between her legs, the soft comfort of clean pillows and covers and sheets had her body relax more so than she knew she should. The smell of bleach accompanied by lavender and lilac soon aiding her in her relaxation as well. And when all was said and done, the warmth of Chisaki’s body was a strange type of welcoming consolation despite it also being the reason to her aches.

[hopeaterart]

Evil Ozpin AU: Dinner with a bird

Context: Ozpin and Salem more or less swap place, it's a bit complicated. This fic is here to explain how it happened by way of Ozpin monologuing to a (still on Salem's side at the time) Qrow. There's some hints of Ozqrow in there. Like, you're definitely supposed get Vibes. For those unaware: here's my Evil/Swap!Ozpin.

"So... You're Salem's latest pawn." Qrow scowled, eyes narrowing at the monster sitting from across him. How he'd ended up sitting at the same table as Ozpin, also widely known as 'the Wizard', was a blur in his memory, and granted, not that great a story.

Went on a mission for Salem to find his base of operation, with the only info being that it was somewhere in the forests of Sanus. Had to go alone because Tai and Raven had their hands full with Yang and a pregnant Summer. Got caught by Ozpin's latest apprentice- a blond woman about his age with the ironic name of 'Goodwitch'. Letting himself be captured in order to get taken to Ozpin.

One trip to an old monastery latter, he was now separated from Harbringer, had Aura-suppressing manacles on his wrists (thankfully with no chains), and was sitting in front of the Wizard himself. They were on some kind of balcony with only a small table between themselves, and there was a plate on the table with bread on it that neither were touching.

"And you're the guy who's trying to burn down Remnant." He bit back. Ozpin sighed, silver eyelashes fluttering as he narrowed his eyes.

"Is that what my traitorous ex-wife told you?" Ozpin asks, smiling like a predator about to eat it's prey when Qrow's eyes widened in confusion. "I mean- she's not wrong, but Salem isn't exactly the hero of our tale."

"Wh- your ex-wife!?" Qrow exclaimed, before gritting his teeth. "You're lying." He accused Ozpin, who didn't even flinch at the accusation.

"So she didn't tell you." He observed. "Oh, what am I talking about? Of course she'd keep that hidden, that self-righteous hag." Ozpin hissed as he took one of the small bread. "Doesn't want to acknowledge me being a thing is her fault, after all." He opened his mouth, momentarily exposing too-sharp canines as he bit the bread in half. He stared in Qrow's eyes as he chewed, before swallowing. "It's garlic bread. An entrée before the main dish, if you will. I'm not going to poison you, erm... Qrow Branwen, is it?"

Qrow grit his teeth. "And I should believe you, because?"

"Sheer pragmatism on my part, really. We're eating the same food, and I am not interested in poisoning myself." Ozpin explained, shrugging as he finished eating the bread he had in hand. "'Poison damage' is not really the kind of pain I like."

Qrow raised an eyebrow at that. He'd heard stories of Ozpin letting anything and everything hurt him with ecstasy written all over his face, but hearing what seemed like confirmation was a bit... much. "Uh... so what's the deal? Why are you having me eat here with you instead of- oh, I dunno, locking me in some kind of torture dungeon?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, pretty bird?" Qrow averts his eyes at that, his gaze landing on the plate of bread as his cheeks warm up. He hesitantly took one of the bread, shoving it in his mouth and chewing quickly.

He took another one, eating slower and actually savoring it this time as Ozpin turns to look at the scenery. The forest stretches beyond the horizon, any traces of Grimm hidden from sight. Qrow's not fooled, he knows the monastery probably hides a few nasty surprises. The marble-skinned weirdo in front of him is proof enough.

Credit where credit is due, whoever cooked this is a damn good cook. "Who made this?" He asks as he takes another bread. "Didn't expect you to have a five-star chief."

It was Ozpin's turn to be caught off-guard. "I'm... glad you like my cooking." What. Qrow stared at his third half-eaten bread. "Oh, don't be a baby. I have literal centuries of experience behind me, and my cycle of immortality is different from Salem's. Since I need sustenance, might as well be good at it."

"Still not entirely convinced you're not poisoning me." Qrow noted.

Ozpin groaned in exasperation. "If I wanted to kill you, there's a myriad of ways that would be easier and less-headache inducing than this." Ozpin snapped as he got up and started walking away. Qrow turned to look at him as he went behind his chair, before going rigid as cold fingers dug into his shoulders. "Stay there. I'm getting the side and main courses."

Ozpin left the balcony in a puff of smoke, and Qrow let out a breath he didn't knew he was holding. He reached inside his jacket, relieved to see his Scroll was still there. Only for his mood to immediately crash when he realized that this part of Vale didn't get reception.

"Trying to call for help, are you?" Qrow whirled around, scowling when he saw Goodwitch. "I'm telling you now, it's not gonna work. Ozpin has taken precautions."

"What, precautions against modern tech!?" Qrow snapped, getting up as his chair rattled. He didn't care if Goodwitch had one of the most powerful Semblances he'd ever seen while he couldn't even activate his Aura right now. He brought misfortune wherever he went, made sense his shit Semblance would turn against him one day. "Does the guy think we still live in the Dark Ages?"

Goodwitch bristled. "Why, you insufferable- Ozpin is trying to offer you a chance to redeem yourself from working with Salem, and you're squandering it for-"

"Glynda." Both stilled as Ozpin came into view. There was a disappointed frown on his face. "That's no way to treat guests."

"But sir-"

"No buts, young lady." Ozpin reprimanded, waving his fingers as floating plates, glasses and a bottle of something came into view. "Help me with putting on the table, will you?" He asked Glynda, who nodded and took the two plates with food on them to put on the table. "Sit back down, Qrow."

"Don't call me that." The huntsman hissed even as he sat back down. He glared at his plate, which had fish and some kind of salad and... something else in it. He raised his head slightly as the bottle landed on the table, Ozpin dismissing Glynda with a 'thank you' before sitting back down. He pointed at the weird stuff. "What is that?"

"Oysters." Ozpin told him. "I opened them earlier, they're all good. Do you know how to eat them?" Qrow shook his head. "Alright, so first you need to loosen them up..." Qrow followed Ozpin's instructions, pulling a face after eating his first one. Ozpin frowned. "Don't like it?"

"Texture's weird." Ozpin hummed, before taking the bottle and popping the cork off and pouring Qrow a glass.

"It's champagne. Laurent-Poirier. Goes well with oysters, use it to wash them down." Qrow nodded, taking the flute and taking a small sip. "Not a fan of alcohol?"

"Opposite, actually." He started, remembering how his father got after too many bears. "Runs in the family." Ozpin thankfully didn't push the subject, simply turning toward his own plate and taking a bite of his salad.

The two ate in silence for a while. Ozpin opened his mouth again as Qrow tried his second oyster. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Does it matter if I say no?"

"No, but you don't have to answer it." Qrow nodded. "How did you end up working for Salem? I thought the Branwen were a bandit tribe from Mistral?"

Qrow hissed in between his teeth. "I... me and Raven, we... Our parents, they- urgh. Look, all that matters is: we're not going back, and we're never going back."

"Raven..." Ozpin seemed deep in thoughts, as if he was trying to remember something. "That's your sister, right?"

"Yeah." Something occurred to Qrow. "Say, the whole reincarnating wizard thing. You used to be, like, a regular, not-Grimm person, right?"

"That's one way of putting it, but yes." Ozpin answered. "I used to be mortal."

"Did you have siblings? Before the whole..." Qrow made a vague gesture in the other's general direction. Ozpin stilled at that, a faraway look on his face.

"No, none by blood. I grew up in the mountains with only my parents before obtaining my powers." He answered. "I... did have someone I considered my sister, but I was already well into becoming what I am now when I met her." The look on Ozpin's face was absolutely miserable. "Salem killing her pushed me over the edge."

"... Ah." Qrow took a sip of his champagne. "That sucks. Sorry for your loss."

Ozpin waved a hand. "I- it's fine. You're not the one who blasted her with magic for the crime of trying to help me stay me." He quickly ate an oyster, seemingly cheering up. "Anyway, my turn to ask you a question!"

Qrow snorted despite himself. "What is this, 21 questions?"

"My crush is no one, if you're wondering." Ozpin joked, before straightening in his chair. "What did Salem tell you about me?"

Qrow shrugged as he cut some of his fish. "You want to burn down Remnant. You can do magic. Whoever you reincarnate in dies the moment you come into the picture. You started the whole thing with Salem. And she doesn't know how to stop your cycle."

Ozpin hummed. "I see. Your turn."

"How... much of what I told you do you agree with?" Between the ex-wife comment and the very real grief he had when talking about his sister, it was clear had a different version of the events. Besides, the monster Salem had described to him wouldn't simply sit him down to talk.

Ozpin hummed, a piece of fish on his fork as he waved it in the air. "I do want to do some burning, but it's more 'everything Salem ever worked for' than Remnant. Come on, Qrow, I live here. And I'm stuck here." He ate his fish. "If I really wanted to destroy Remnant, I'd simply use the Relics."

He hummed. "Yeah, that's fair- wait. You know where the Relics are!?" The amount of people that were on wild goose chases to find them... And this whole time, Salem's sworn enemy could get to them the moment he decided to stop playing around.

"Of course I know where they are. I'm the one who hid them in the first place." Ozpin noted. "Can't have Salem blowing up my body with the Sword again... urgh, retrieving it and the Lamp was such a pain!" Qrow numbly nodded. "Anyway, you wanted to know about my magic?"

"Uh-" Ozpin snapped his fingers, whisps of green and gold rising from them as pitch black eyes burst into green flames. Like a Maiden's. "Oh shit!"

Ozpin smiled as the magic faded, Qrow numbly realizing there were brown irises somewhere in those pools of tar. "I can. And unlike Salem, I'm willing to share."

"You- you're the guy who created the Maidens!?" The fairytale explaining their origin spoke of an old, cruel magician, who took four sisters under his wing and taught them how to use magic.

"Ah, yes." Ozpin spoke with fondness. "The first Maidens. They reminded me of the first daughters I had, and they were so very loyal to me... loyalty deserves to be rewarded, don't you think?"

Qrow frowned. "Is that why they keep turning against Salem when she finds them first? Something to do with your magic?"

"What- no!" Ozpin exclaimed, clearly offended. He then frowned in confusion. "I think. If it is a thing, then it wasn't intentional." A pause as Ozpin downs his flute, before pouring himself more champagne. "Anyway, my reincarnations..."

Qrow raised an eyebrow as Ozpin downed more champagne. "Sensitive point?"

"More angry about Salem being right on this one. Or..." He chuckled. "Was right. I proved her wrong, in this life. Ozma isn't in control anymore."

"There's literally nothing in what you just said that's reassuring." Qrow noted, Ozpin smiling at him as he finished his salad. "Who's Ozma?"

"The name of the first soul in the cycle." Ozpin told him. "He used to absorb whoever he reincarnated in into himself the moment he was in their bodies, but his soul weakened over time, and it took more and more time and efforts to absorb them. By the time he reached me, it him almost twenty years for our souls to fuse, and then..."

"... you're the one who absorbed him." Qrow finished. He frowned. If Ozma's soul was driven by anger at being betrayed by the woman he loved, then... "Holy shit, what did Salem do for you to hate her that much!?"

"What would you do," Ozpin started. "If you wanted to live, but someone wanted you dead? Because you know of something you couldn't care less about that could destroy her life? What would you think if someone thought of you as nothing less than the latest stain on her self-inflated ego? Proof that she's just human, if not worse than that?"

Qrow frowned at that. Was that how Ozpin saw the conflict? But nevertheless, he knew the answer to that question. It wasn't one he was happy with, but... "I'd kill her before she killed me."

"Good answer. And the answer to who started our conflict: as far as I'm concerned, it's all. Her. Fault." The two finished their plates in silence after that, Ozpin first and spending the next few minutes watching Qrow.

They stared at each other for a while. "Uh. All that fancy stuff, and no dessert?" Qrow joked. The tiniest bit of relief struck him as the corners of Ozpin's eyes crinkled.

"Now, you're speaking my language!" The pale-skinned man clapped his hand, and Qrow nearly jumped out of his skin when a Grimm came out of the shadows.

It was unlike any Qrow had seen before. A glossy sphere with bone shards on it's lower half, floating with an array of thin tentacles trailing under it. There was an ominous light coming from into the sphere, even if it wasn't really visible in this light.

It was also green instead of red, which meant Ozpin had created the fucking thing. Black smoke rose up from under the plates at a wave of the Wizard's hands, handing them to the Grimm. "Bring these to the kitchen, and bring back the dessert. It's on the pastry cart." The Grimm simply took the pile of plates and floated back in the darkness of the inside.

Qrow inhaled sharply. "What the fuck was that-"

"Seer Grimm. I've put enchantments all over the place so we don't end up getting detected by the CCT, but I need a way to communicate with my followers when they're away." Ozpin explained with a shrug of his shoulders as he poured himself yet another glass of champagne. Qrow stared at him. "Oh, don't look at me like that. I'm pretty sure most of my bodily fluids have been replaced by Grimm sludge, it takes an insane amount of alcohol for me to get drunk."

"Yikes." That word alone could describe at least half of what Qrow had learned about Ozpin today.

"Want a refill?" Qrow looked at what Ozpin was pointing at. His own flute, now empty. He nodded, letting the wizard pour him a second glass. Ozpin got up from the table after that, his glass in hand as he leaned on the balcony, back to the Huntsman. "Anyway, there's still one part of your question I haven't answered yet."

Qrow frowned, before remembering. "Is there a way to stop your cycle of reincarnation?"

If he had seen the manic smile on Ozpin's face, Qrow would've been scared for life. "Nope~. There was, but Salem would've had to die, and she was unwilling to. And now, the only way to get rid of me has been made useless."

"What do you mean by that...?"

Before Qrow could get his answer, the Seer Grimm was back, pushing a tray with a plate that had a mountain of what looked like chocolate truffles on it. Ozpin turned around, snapping his fingers as he did so. The Seer rotated, floating toward Ozpin as the wizard reached a hand out, caressing the smooth surface. He looked at the Grimm warmly, before turning those same eyes on Qrow, making something in his chest flutter. "Slit my throat open."

One of the Grimm's tentacle morphed into a blade, and faster than Qrow could see, Ozpin's throat was opened with a gush of tar-like blood. Ozpin gurgled, more of the black sludge coming out of his mouth as he took a few steps back, before falling backwards over the edge of the balcony. Qrow's better nature took the better of him as he rushed out of his chair, rushing to try and catch the wizard. "OZPIN!"

... Only for the man to raise into the air, eyes ablaze as a gentle breeze carried him. Ozpin laughed awkwardly as the other man stared at him in shock. "Were you scared for me?" Qrow took a step back as what he realized was a nothing less than a living god touched down on the balustrade. "Don't worry, there's no need to! I know it's always a bit scary when I take risks like that, but I assure you: there's no need to, since I-"

"Can't die." Qrow finished, realization hitting him like a ton of bricks. "You can't die."

Ozpin frowned sympathetically at him as he sat down on the balustrade, looking up at Qrow. "She didn't tell you, did she?"

His answer came in the way Qrow crumpled to the ground, breathing harshly as if he was trying to refrain himself from crying. "No one wanted me-" He started in between gasps, Ozpin frowning as he came to kneel down next to him. "I gave my life to her because she gave me a place where- where I belonged-" He continued, letting the other man manhandle him into a hug. "I thought I was finally- finally-"

"Doing some good?" Ozpin finished for him. That opened the floodgates, Qrow burying his face in Ozpin's chest as he sobbed. Ozpin gently carded a hand through his hair, resting is lips on the top of his head. "You poor thing..." He muttered. "I'm afraid meeting Salem was the worst luck of your life."

Qrow continued crying, not noticing Ozpin manhandling him further until he was sitting in Ozpin's former chair. The wizard had his back turned to him, taking the plate with the truffles. "What are you...?"

Ozpin turned toward him, a kind smile on his face. "After everything you learned today, you must be exhausted. I just want to make you feel a bit better, is all." He came to sit on the table, plate next to him. He picked the truffle at the top, bringing it to Qrow's mouth. "Open."

Qrow nodded, opening his mouth and letting Ozpin handfeed him sweets, the wizard occasionally cradling his face or petting his hair. Ozpin smiled, picking up Qrow's discarded glass of champagne and sipping on it as the other leaned in his hand.

I win this time, dear~