#also. prayer hands are so hard to draw??? I straight up couldn’t get them right

[smh-tuna]

don’t mind me 🤭✨

[husbandohunter]

Your Stardew Impact has given me a serious brainrot and I couldn’t sleep on it so here

Imagine the boys getting Isekai to Stardew and meeting their (soon-to-be) s/o a.k.a the farmer who found them in the mines and dragged them out.

It’s basically the same as the original but the reader lives in Stardew universe from the beginning.

The Outlanders who trespassed the Stars [Stardew Valley + Genshin Impact]

Synopsis: You were a simple farmer who lived a simple life before crossing paths with these outlanders. A tale of greetings and farewells tells a story that loving someone was like looking at the stars in the sky; a sense of warmth amidst darkness, where the dots connect no matter what distance it was. But just like stars, they were meant to be unobtainable.

(Basically what happens if the boys get Isekai'd)

Genre: fluff, angst (faceapalm didn't mean to)

Characters: Childe, Xiao, Zhongli

(A/n): Hi anon, haha I didn't think the Stardew Impact series would be this enjoyable. Allow me to serve your brainrot. But just for future references there is a character limit! Also it long, a pro tip to use ctrl+F and type in the name :>

======================

~Childe's Story~

The day you met Childe was perhaps during the most fortunate yet unfortunate hour of your life.

Winter comes by, your fields were left dry, what else was there to do other than mining? You were aiming to build a new Barnhouse before summer comes, fishing only made average income thus you decided to take your pickaxe and hope to run into some diamonds, gold or even better: prismatic shards. However, expensive items could only be found in the deepest parts of the mountains, where dangerous monsters lurk by.

When peeking over the abandoned minecart you so carefully shielded yourself with, you began contemplating whether you've just dug yourself a grave instead. The whole area became infested, you weren't in the best condition and on top of all that, you were out of food.

You decided to make a run for it, with the treasures and goodies at hand, you couldn't give up. However, things only got worse when purple mist began taking over your vision, signaling a lava bat wave drawing nigh. It was thanks to your greed that you ended in such a predicament but it was also your greed that brought you to him.

"W-Woah!!"

You tripped with your toe pointing downwards into a pile of wooden crates. The bats swarmed in shortly after, daunting around the area above but you couldn't afford to look. Your face was down to the ground and you could only rely on your ears regarding their whereabouts. As if Yoba heard your prayers, the lava bats could not seem to find you, confusing them to think you've escaped. And so, they flew away.

"I'm never doing that again," The sudden impact was excruciating, you were sure that your lip bled due to biting too hard. At least the floor felt somewhat soft, cotton-like and warm enough to be comforting. Yet, for some reason it was also a little…bony?

"…Mn…."

Your body jerks up like a springboard when you felt something shifting. A man, no older than his twenties, no older than you, lays sprawled out under your form. He was beginning to stir and you panicked when a pair of blue cerulean eyes pointed into your seemingly shocked ones within the close parameter.

Too close.

The man gives a cheerfully wry chuckle, you could practically feel his breath almost, "Well this is quite unexpected, didn't think I'd end up in this position," he jests, soon his expression began to tighten into a grimace, "Mind getting off me though? With all due respect miss, you're a little-…heavy."

You scrambled to the side while still kneeling, "What the hell, who are you?!"

"Hm," The man didn't answer, instead he pushed himself upright and turned his attention to examine the surroundings, "Where are we?" He paused when he noticed how the ceiling was made of rocks, "Wait, is this a cave?"

"Ninety two floors deep and surrounded by monsters," you sighed in frustration while rubbing your head with your palm, "Seriously, whoever you are you shouldn't be here, especially if you're not even carrying the necessary supplies."

"Hey, I just got here. I'm just as confused as you," he puts his hands up in a defensive gesture, "But how strange," he mutters to himself, lowering his arms ever so slightly before pinching his chin in deep thought, "I swear it was the right portal��or maybe it was the other one? Hmmm, could it be the effect of the hidden seal?"

I have so many questions. You sweatdropped nervously. Here you were, hours spent to get to the deepest parts of the earth and looking like a cavewoman while his clothes were practically untouched, nor did they seem to be a recognizable fashion. You've seen many odd events within Stardew Valley but not to this extent, "Alright you know what, let's forget about it for now. We need to get out of here before those lava bats come back for us again. Otherwise we're toast," you gestured to the lava pool, "Literally."

He gave another one of his gleeful smiles, you wondered if he was afraid at all, "Sounds like a solid plan to me. Judging by the equipment you're wearing, you seem to have been here for a while. You know your way around?"

Figures that he doesn't know, you thought, "I'll lead."

"Glad we're on the same page. Though, we've only just met and yet you're still willing to help a stranger like me," he mentions in an off-handed manner, perhaps he wasn't used to generosity ever since being recruited as a harbinger, "But not that I'm complaining. You have my thanks, comrade."

"(Y/n)," you tell him, "That's my name. I'm a farmer that resides in this town."

"I see. A town it is then," he inquires, "Call me Childe, as where I'm from, not sure how to answer that anymore."

"What do you-"

But before you were able to question him further, a hoard of lava crabs were spotted crawling it's way towards where Childe sat. He shot you a confused look and turned to the direction, amusement sparks in his eyes,

"Lava crabs? You've got to be kidding me," your arms have already grown tired long ago, at this rate, you figured it may be best to pay a visit to Harvey's doctor office and check up for any muscle strains that have occured during the process. You most likely have considered how heavy your items felt now. Partaking in another battle would only make it worse.

"Ah an opponent, to think this place wouldn't have a set of new monsters to fight. I was growing tired of beating up hilichurls all the time."

His casual reaction caused you to scrunch up your nose in disbelief, "We're being ganged up on and your first response was that???"

Childe paid no mind, instead he propelled himself back to his feet using his trained reflexes and swaggered towards the crowd, "Relax girlie," Stopping just after a few steps, he turns his head ajar over his shoulder with a floppy smirk spreading his lips, "I've got this."

You held in your breath, wondering if you could trust this man. For now all you could do was sit back and hopefully regain some of your strength while observing by the stacks of crates that were abandoned years ago. The lava crabs formed a straight line in front of him, they were smart creatures, cornering their prey in a very well strategized form so that trespassing was out of the question. Childe wasn't intimidated in the slightest, he merely looked down at them with hooded eyes, flexing his fingers for preparation.

"Lava crab…in other words you're of the pyro element," the harbinger holds out his hand in front of him, trying to cultivate the shape of his bow, "A shame. This fight would end much shorter than I anticipated."

However, when he expected his element to manifest, nothing came out. Childe was left dumbfounded.

"Don't just stand there," you screeched, "Do something!!!"

"Wait," he halts you and tries to summon his bow again. Once, twice, as the crabs grew closer still there was nothing, "My powers…they're gone?!"

"Take this," left without a choice, you pushed yourself towards him and shoved Neptune's glaive into his grasp. He examines it with curiosity, but you knew this was also your own well-being you were entrusting him, "It's really easy to use, just-"

When a crab leapt forward, you ran back to create some manageable space for Childe to move in. He delivers a powerful slice using one arm, hitting the crab's weak spot while tossing it toward the side until a dent was formed in the wall. Your mouth parts, fast, he was fast, you didn't even have the time to blink. It was as if he knew the glaive more than you did. Though, the assumption wasn't that far from the truth. Childe was well adept with swordsmanship as he was an expert with many other melee weapons. Which is precisely the reason why he chose the bow as his main, a ranged device, the challenge to keep him on his toes. Just like he was now.

"He wasn't lying when he said he could fight," you watched in mesmerization, each single blow he delivered deemed equivalent to three hits on your part. Childe was both powerful and swift. He was formidable. The way he effortlessly deflected his opponents despite not having an enchantment ring made you forget how much of an idiot he was earlier before. Soon, the lava crabs began to lessen, leaving what remained of their dusted corpse while some retreated back into the depths of the cave.

"Not bad, it was kind of fun!" Childe laughs exasperatedly, glancing at his blue reflection upon the marred blade, "It's been a while since I last used a sword, and still haven't gone rusty either," he hands you the hilt, "Thanks for letting me use it by the way. You seriously got yourself a sick weapon."

"Keep using it for now, I think I'm a little too worn out to handle it," you say regretfully and pointed your nose towards the ceiling, "The mist hasn't disappeared so there's probably gonna be more monsters we'll encounter soon."

Childe looks up as well, "Huh I was wondering what that meant."

"By the way I've never seen anyone fight like that. Exactly what kind of place are you from?" You finally ask, "You somehow ended up in a cave, without anything to defend yourself with and it's not like you know your way out either. Are you...from another world?"

"Huh didn't think you'd draw that conclusion so quick," he comments jokingly, "Guess there's no reason to hide it anymore. Indeed I am from another world, at least, that's what I can tell so far. I've never encountered these types of monsters either."

You couldn't help but be taken aback by his honesty, "That was strangely easier than I thought...."

After escaping the cave, you introduced Childe to the wizard who lived in Cindersap forest, M. Rasmodius. He was extremely intrigued by the concept of an outlander and seemed happy to be of assistance. Since helping others was the culture of Pelican Town, you commissioned Robin to build a small cabin for him to live in temporarily. In return, Childe must accompany you back to the caves and make up for your losses. It was a mutual benefit since he had the opportunity to fight as well.

Childe befriended the townsfolk rather easily. On friday nights where everyone goes to the Saloon to enjoy their time, he would be found in the other room playing pool with the gang (Sam, Abigail and Sebastian)-- you as well when he managed to drag you along with him.

Crashes at your place when you were busy with the farm. You can bet that he would pop up suddenly midday through your window, “Can you use the door like a normal person???” But despite how much you get irritated by this habit, all bygones are bygones the moment he starts a conversation.

He sticks around as you carry your hay batches, sharing his stories. How the organization he worked in was a powerful militaristic force that had authority over many countries. But you didn't see him as a brute since he only joined for the sake of his parents, for the sake of his siblings and their dreams.

You thought of your grandfather who also once told you to pursue your dreams: live a peaceful life away from urban society. However, as long as the harbinger was with you, there wasn't much option for 'peace'.

"Tell me again why you dragged me out here? You know thatI still have a lot of work to finish back in the farm," you trekked your feet through the thick icy sheets with one hand clutching the zipper near your collarbone. It was incredibly windy in Cindersap forest and Childe happened to have convinced you to leave the comfort of your home for 'a surprise favour'. He purposely made a vague statement to draw in your curiosity but if you had refused-- well, that would have led to constant nagging on his part.

"You'll see," is what he said, it was what he told you through this whole ordeal. He lifted his chin to feel the frosty air against his face, "There's this one activity I wanted to try out. Back in Snezhnaya, I used to bring my brother to go skating out on the lakes. It's deadly freezing there so the ice is pretty thick to work on. Haven't done any of that since I joined the Fatui."

You shot him a deadpan glare, "That's why you brought me out here? Why didn't you just go by yourself?"

"Now that's cold (Y/n),” you rolled your eyes at the pun, “Can't you loosen up instead of throwing yourself in a pile of work all day?"

"It's not that I don't want to...I'm just very busy with the farm since it's the last day of the month. At least I want to do as much as I can before Spring comes."

"Haha you're right but you only live once y'know?" Childe noted happily despite your protest, "And like I said before, seize the opportunity when you see it. You never know when it will be your last."

You cocked your head to the side, "What do you mean?"

"Now let's get started shall we?" As you both reach the edge of the frozen lake, Childe takes a step forward ahead of you, "Have you ever gone ice skating before?"

"Yeah but..." You glanced at the glassy surface with skepticism, suddenly struck by hesitance. The thought of drowning made you retreat your steps right away, "I don't know Childe, it doesn't seem that safe."

"That's true if you're not careful enough," he pointed out, "Luckily you have me to help you with that."

"How does that work?"

He placed one foot onto the hardened lake and parts his mouth into a grin, "Watch."

In contrast to your cautious personality, Childe was considered to be more of a wildcard if anything. He loved adventure, just like you except his side often included bloodshed and the thrill that danger carries. You weren't sure if it was worth putting up with his antics or entertaining his idea of skating on thin ice, but you complied regardless. He had a way of delivering his words through that cheery voice you couldn't deny.

Prior to meeting him, life was boring. The corporate world was boring. You moved into your grandfather's farm in order to search for some form of fulfillment that Zuzu city couldn't give and you thought you did now that you had your very own farm, but slowly you began to pile more responsibilities than you could even count.

Everything you did, you did alone.

If it weren't for Childe, you wouldn't have learned the art of surfing on ocean waters. You never would have known the taste of mixing three different ice-cream flavours together despite what strange names they all had. Or what it felt like to mingle with the townspeople rather than mingling for the sake of business. Suddenly, everything became...fun.

Childe wanted to go far and wide. He was always running, so far ahead, somewhere beyond the stars as he could conquer the world to the point you might no longer reach him.

No longer reach him, huh. Curling your fingers into your palm, you renewed your courage and took a step onto the ice.

At the sound of boots tapping behind him, Childe spins around to see you wobble in your stance, nearly tipping over. He slid across to where you were and grasped your arm before you fell.

"Gotcha."

"Thanks," You sighed in relief, "Jeez, this is harder than I thought."

"Guess this is your first time then," he commented with a bit of jest, "Don't stress yourself over it too much, you'll be okay. I got you."

He carefully led you to the center, staying close in case you were to fall sideways again. You awkwardly tried to keep your legs straight, balancing on your own yet the fact that there was still water underneath struck fear into your nerve. It caused you to tremble and eventually skittered backwards.

"Haha ice skating isn't your forte isn't it?"

"I'm just getting started!"

He takes your hand in his before you could even protest, it was one of his many aspects that you found endearing-- the fact his impulse stems from genuine intentions, feelings, not giving them a second thought. The two of you glide using the soles of your shoes, he speeds up ever so slightly and the adrenaline begins to increase until there comes a rush of excitement, freedom. The stress you once had already forgotten once taking flight upon the ice.

"Look Childe! I'm actually doing it!" You couldn't help mentioning with a bit of youthful playfulness in your voice, "It's so smooth and fast! Almost like I'm flying!"

He smiles quietly from a distance, “See? I told you that you'll be fine.”

It was clear to many that the two of you were much closer than what meets the eye.

Childe began to notice the change in your aura. You were happier and much more soulful. Before you were always on the edge, cautious in contrast to his sanguine approach, he couldn't help but be caught off guard whenever you teased him. Or the sudden honesty that causes him to be flustered. By your side, he was no longer a Fatui Harbinger rather more of a puppy, adorable almost.

But when he saw that the reason you changed was because of him, it brought fear into his bones. Why? How did things get to this point? You were lost in a wonderland, ignorant to the blossom that had sprung inside of your chest.

Maybe it was better to be ignorant. Just live in the moment while it can still last.

"You're leaving?"

Standing at the gateway between the mountain cliffside and the starry sky, you call out to the man you've known in a way that carries more than what words could say. Because he left a mark in your years that could never be erased and here he was, trying to erase his existence completely.

Childe lets out a bitter chuckle, he didn't dare to face you, "I didn't expect you to catch up so quickly. You're quick-witted, comrade."

"It's (Y/n)," you corrected, trying to steady your voice so that he couldn't tell the expression you were making, "Why didn't you say anything? What makes you think that I'll just stay silent and let you go on your own way? This isn't a joke Childe! Don't act as if none of it matters to you because it sure as hell did to me."

His lips that held his usual smirk flattens into a straight line, "Even if I did, would it make a difference?"

The world stills. You knew the answer, he knew the answer, you just refused to admit it. One by one, the stars begin to collect themselves until a bridge was formed in front of him, on another day he would be enjoying the scenery alongside you. But today they would be for you alone to witness. The man who you spent your time with had slowly, regretfully, inevitably became a stranger. He was right. It wouldn't make a difference. You were already aware since the day you met him that he belonged to another world and you willingly offered to help him find a way home.

"You know, you could come with me."

Your eyes jolt open. His voice was so free of care. As if he was commenting on something so minor on a casual Sunday afternoon while accompanying you to the beach. But when you came face to face with the harbinger, his expression lackluster, you knew that he meant every word.

"Just you and me, we can travel across the world to our heart's content. I always thought you were an adventurer just like me and you know what, the farm life just doesn't suit you," Childe slowly extends his hand as an offer, for you it was a temptation, "So what do you think? Care to join me?

Your lip quivers. What he said sounded like a sweet dream that you so desperately wanted to take a bite out of. But even so, you thought about the townsfolk, your farm, your grandfather. Their images flashed in as if holding you back, chaining you to the ground, "I can't."

The answer pained you more than it did to him.

"Figures, this is your home after all," he huffs out, " Now do you understand? I can't leave my home either. If I did, heh, I think my siblings would despise me until the very end and I just don't want that. So no hard feelings, okay?"

You didn't reply.

"Don't worry. I won't pressure you if you don't want to," Childe turns back to the bridge, it was almost time, "Do what you have to do (Y/n), hate me if it makes you feel any better. You can even forget about me," he paused, renewing his resolve, "But I know I won't."

"Childe-"

You ran to grab his scarf only to have it ghost through your hands. He was relieved that he couldn't hear your voice, as he returned to Teyvat, Childe wonders what kind of expression did you have before he left? He'll never know.

---

~Xiao's Story~

The day you met Xiao...well, you weren't in the best of the best positions.

This was probably your sixth attempt trying to make it through all levels of the cave and reach the last floor. The quest had been sitting in your drawer for months.

Of course you didn't expect things to be easy, the fortune teller channel you watched every morning had yet to inform you with any good fortune and you would often bump into obstacles that would halt your progress.

But to be fair, sometimes the colourful ore would attract your attention and before you knew it, it was time to go.

So close yet so far. You dragged your feet tiredly against the ground. What time was it? Who knows. Judging by your state, you assumed it had already struck past 12 a.m.

However, today luck seems to have taken pity on you, just...slightly.

You puffed air into your cupped hands for the nth time, huddling deeper into the touch of your coat while trudging into the cave's cold climate. A little longer, any time soon, you kept telling yourself over and over but as if time was frozen, the wait felt like an eternity. Ah how much you wish to be in the comfort of your soft, fluffy bed right now. Though, merely visualizing the image only reminded how achingly freezing it was so you decided it was best to spare yourself from the details.

"I can't do this anymore..." leaning your head against the ice covered cavern, you whimpered, "I should have stayed home."

As you were about to shut your eyelids, something flashed by your peripheral vision. You darted towards the direction it came from, the light was a bright green hue against blue, could it be, "Warmth!"

It seems you jumped to conclusions too quickly. With impatience, you swung around the corner, expecting to find a heat source, only to meet something much more horrifying.

"KYAH!"

They stared straight into your eyes, those demonic eyes tainted by black and fangs that stuck out of the mouth like tusks on an elephant.

However, when the light evaporated you were able to have a better sense of sight, slowly revealing the monster's true form and the body of a human boy. He fell onto his back with a thud and you used this chance to calm yourself from the frightful encounter.

"He's...unconscious?"

You meekly crawled to where he lay and examined closely. Aside from the mask, there were various distinct features that stood out in his attire, his tattoo being one of them, imprinted in what looked like an eagle. You then realized how unsuitable his clothes were in this current situation. At least there were no injuries so far. But was that a good thing? This man practically came out of thin air as if some sorcery had been committed. Witches never left a good impression ever since they cursed your chicken coop. You were hesitant whether to help a stranger who could potentially be one of them or a creation they cultivated. What other explanation could there be?

"I can't leave him here, it's too cold."

Your gaze suddenly falls upon his covered face. The design, although intimidating at first, upon closer look was very alluring in it’s own way. You haven't stumbled upon anything like what the merchants had to offer in Pelican Town and the mask almost looked too foreign. Was he from the east? Curiosity eventually takes over and you gingerly reach for the mask, sliding it off his face.

"Eh...?" You gasp, taken aback by his striking appearance. A part of it made you feel this was no ordinary boy but that didn't mean he should be abandoned in this environment. It would be immoral to let him die in a place like this.

Before you could even make a noise, his eyes bursted awake, grabbing your wrist in a harsh grip. He used his other hand to push against your shoulder until you were instantly pinned on your back with no opening to escape. You choked a sharp sound as you stared with wide eyes. The man was akin to a beast, he had the expression to match it, like the glaring sharp gaze of wolves that roam at the mountain cliffside near Zuzu city and the ferocity of the demonic mask he once wore. You were breath taken but in a more fearful way as he continued to grip onto you tighter with the possible intent to harm.

"Speak!” He demanded, “What have you done to my powers and where have you brought me?"

In Xiao’s case, he was thrown into another world under the circumstances of fighting against one of Liyue’s unknown beasts. He was on high alert, thinking the fight was still ongoing.

You may look human but you could still be a threat. Xiao is the type to act upon instinct in the moment when something feels out of place. Like the spear he wields, he was trained to behave like one: to strike, strike down his foes without hesitation. Don't leave an opening for them to take the advantage. Xiao is a weapon and violence was what he knew best. He couldn't afford to lower his guard even for a minute.

You could say he left a pretty strong first impression to the point you were paralyzed. As he looked at your face, petrified and tense, he wavered and began to reevaluate things. Large doe-like eyes stare into his feline ones. They didn't seem to hold any sort of malice, was it possible for you to be the one who cursed him?

"Eeeeeek! I-I have no idea what you're talking about, let me go let me go!" you cried, "Please don't hurt me!"

Perhaps he shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.

Xiao feels your struggle and eventually gets off to give you some space. Your reaction was understandable, he was used to it anyways. Xiao scoffed to himself, why are mortals so weak? Their strength, if compared to the adepti, was separated by a large gap (Like it always should be). Xiao kept his gaze averted to the side as you rubbed your wrist, focusing his attention elsewhere. He glanced at the vastness of the cave in front of him.

Why was he sent here? For what reason did it serve? Ever since he sealed the contract with Rex Lapis, the guardian Yaksha had never entertained the thought of leaving his country nor did he act upon it; he was far too loyal to his god to do so. But here he was, against his own will yet free from his karmic binds, stripped of his divine powers in the return of endless questions about this new found mortal-like form.

What should I do now?

Choosing not to dwell in any longer, Xiao rises to his feet and proceeds to walk the other way.

"Ah u-uhm sir, where are you going?"

If the universe wanted to test him then he'll find his own answers.

"Wait! Please wait up!"

"Tch."

Although he intended to keep going, Xiao heard you running to his direction and slowed to a halt, some mortals surely do not know their boundaries, "Hmph there's nothing timid about you. Leave me be," he demands without turning around, "Don't forget what I'm capable of."

Stay away.

"I-I know that," you retaliate weakly. Just by hearing his tone made you want to melt away and become one with the ice. He was a scary man indeed, the same one who attacked you earlier. But even so, "That doesn't mean I want you dead! If you go that way, you might freeze to death. Aren't you cold? You don't even have a coat on."

"..." Upon the mention of his predicament, his senses started to kick in. As a yaksha, Xiao wasn't able to be affected by temperature but now he felt his hands beginning to sting, trembling from it’s impact. Ah, so this is what it feels like to be cold. Still Xiao was stubborn and continued to push you away, "What happens to me has nothing to do with you. Now leave, or else."

"I-I can't do that!"

Xiao clicks his tongue in frustration. How annoying. This is why he dislikes meddling with meddlesome humans. But quite frankly, he wasn't sure how to handle your type of forwardness since most tend to back away. And so, Xiao does what he usually does, he ignores you and continues walking, eventually you'll give up on him anyway. However he hears a loud thump and whips around to see your body laying in the snow. The hours of travelling in the cave have seemed to caught up that you inevitably collapsed from exhaustion.

Knitting his evergreen brows together, Xiao lets out an irritable sigh.

...

You wake up to find the sky above your head and your coat draped over your shoulders like a blanket. Dawn was slowly rising above the distance valley, you figured it was around 4a.m in the morning. Rubbing your eyes, you eventually noticed a figure sitting across, admiring the sunrise.

"Ah it's you!"

Xiao jolts ever so slightly, peeking over his bare shoulders until you could see the sun's light casted against his golden irises. Did he stay here while you were asleep? Then, that would also mean he was also the one who carried you all the way up from sixty floors below.

“You're awake,” he noted flatly, “If that's the case, then I have no reason to stay here."

Of course, that wouldn't be the last time you saw him.

You were a tenacious human being, always so insistent in dragging him away from his lonesome personality. He resides in the forest and camps there for the time being (similar to Linus since they’re both homeless lol). But you’d always run in, DAILY and sometimes for the most stupid and mundane reasons. It could either be giving him the snacks you snatched off the table since Xiao refused to participate in parties, or fancy seashells you found on the beach. You didn’t want him to miss out on all those things of course! Although he responds with irritation, it was as if his words went through your ear and then out the other. His efforts were futile (however, he was slowly warming up without realizing).

He learns how easily his body reacts in the presence of food purely because he was hungry. You bring an extra set of blankets and pillows to his campsite when the ones you gave him wore out (he didn’t ask by the way). Xiao needed help whether he liked it or not since he no longer has his powers, hence he couldn't run away. He somehow ends up moving in to live on the small islands near your farm.

Xiao doesn't understand humans very much. Just as he was unable to understand how human emotions work. He was the almighty yaksha, Adeptus Xiao and a formidable beast that killed thousands in thousands of years, at least that's what he used to be. Even now he still has yet to figure out what he was or who he was exactly without a weapon to define his existence. He was made for battle but nowadays, he found himself watering plants, chopping down trees and throwing seeds to the chickens living in your coop. How did everything escalate to this? It baffles him, how much his life changed so drastically.

Haha, you’re Xiao of course! The greatest farming assistant I could ever have.

But above all else, the one thing Xiao couldn't understand among those universal questions, is you.

"Why are you doing all this?" Finally he asked. The urging thought had been persisting at the back of his mind ever since.

You stopped on your tracks and turned to look at him, tilting your head with a complexion made curious, "What do you mean? Ah, did I do something to bother you?"

"I didn't say that," Xiao interrupts abruptly, he folded his arms across his chest and shot you a deep contemplating gaze, " You're...incomprehensible. All I did was drag you out of that cave yet why are you so kind to me? Don't you think you're extending yourself too much just because of one little deed?"

Because to him, saving a life was the norm. He does it unconditionally just like you helped him with those same intentions. Except, Xiao had been pursuing corrupted souls behind the scenes all this time and expected nothing in return. Experiencing someone's gratitude was rather new.

You shook your head, "It wasn't small to me," a satisfactory smile melting onto your face, "I'm here at this very moment, feeling the wind against my skin and smelling the scent that nature carries, these are just the few things I cherish. It's thanks to you that I can still watch over grandpa's farm, that's why I don't feel like I'm overextending myself in any way," suddenly you beam at him, "At first I thought you were a scary person. Haha. Time flies so fast, it's amazing how much can happen in between."

"Hn, you're a simpleton. But that's not a bad thing..." he points out curtly yet softly, "Do as you wish, I won't stop you so feel free to call my name whenever you need my help. I'll be there."

Xiao also finds you to be very clumsy. He couldn't leave your side even for a minute. But that was a lie. He just grew very attached to you.

When you tell him that you've been going into the mines for a quest, he tells you that you're far from capable. So he teaches you how to wield a weapon properly. Xiao was a strict teacher and he intends to keep it that way, he wouldn’t even allow you to set foot in the mines until he finds you capable enough.

You were a meek yet optimistic person, yet you were also strong-willed.

For a place that wasn't his home, he felt it was. And he found that it was all in your presence. Those peaceful hours hiding inside the barn while a storm rages outside, you sit beside him while hugging a sheep close to your chest. Xiao learns how to feed some of them, he even brings seeds for your hen house too. If you were ever short on materials, Xiao would travel to the enchanted forest behind the wizard's tower and get them for you, no matter how late it was. Though if you went by yourself, he'd deliberately go with you despite your protest.

The minute Xiao realized how much he was attached to you, it was devastating. As if the claws of his karmic debt had come back, pulling him into the shadows once more. He was an adeptus with a contract and bound by his duty, he must choose between his god who saved him from a nightmare and you, the girl he fell for, showed him that the world was indeed a beautiful place, he was stuck in an equilibrium and he felt that the binds may even tear him apart if he kept resisting.

But when did he ever have a choice?

"Where are you going Xiao?"

When he heard your voice calling his name, the yaksha willingly pulled himself to a halt. His sunset eyes narrowing from guilt before it shuts with a trembling sigh out of his mouth. Why is it that you always appear during the moments where he desperately needs to get away from you? He planned to sneak out the door, making sure his footsteps were unheard while you slept. And by the time you woke up, he didn't have to face you, he wouldn't have to say goodbye. He won't. Even if what he was currently doing said otherwise. He will never hear himself say those words.

"Xiao?"

Yet, he cannot refuse you. Not now, not ever. You were breathtaken to see a type of expression that you never thought was possible for him to make. The creases that once formed between his slender brows, the heaviness he always carried in his expression was replaced by a sense of sentimentality. Before you could register what was happening, Xiao took his step towards the porch of your house, not once did he tear away from your attention. He slides his hand beneath your jaw and affectionately against your cheek, the fondness evident in his gaze that you almost felt imprisoned by it.

"You never fail to appear in the most inconvenient of times," He gives a weak smile, a smile that makes your heart swell. Despite how much you could drown in his honesty, you couldn’t help but feel there was something wrong, “No matter how many times I’ve tried to push you away.”

You don't know him. You don't know his history and what things he committed in the past. But as if you've known this whole time, Xiao couldn't picture you leaving him for those reasons.

“You’re gentle but you don’t let others put you down. You’re kind but you don’t allow it to be your weakness. I sometimes wonder how it is possible for anyone to be so forgiving?”

"I-I don’t understand why you’re this Xiao. Is something happening?”

He won’t tell you. He doesn’t see the reason why you need to know.

You wince when something poked the side of your neck and you realized it was a tranquilizer. You looked at Xiao with dismay, his face becoming hazier until your vision darkened and could no longer hold your own weight. Xiao caught you around the waist with one arm as you fell unconscious.

"How can you be so stupid...?"

But he speaks as if those words were meant for him.

Pulling your body closer to him, Xiao chains you down into a desperate embrace. A silent scream of desperation. His forehead pressed against the bent of your shoulder and the other arm rested his hand at the center of your back. He will relish in the shape of your body, memorizing every curve both perfections and flaws. The way you fit into his arms and the pleasant smell of nature that you taught him to love, this was the only remnant he was allowed to take. Every detail, he will remember it as if clinging to the last moments of his whole world.

If he was allowed to have a desire, let him meet you again. He prayed to a god, any god-- even if it meant damaging his oath, he will accept his punishment. He prayed to each star in the sky and if he must he'll pray to the devil himself, whatever it is, he will do it for you.

As he painfully lets go, Xiao lets his hand slide off your body until the last thing he felt was the very tips of your fingers. He settles you down gently into your bed. You belong here in this peaceful world, not the one riddled with monsters.

---

~Zhongli's Story~

The Skull Cavern was considered to be the most dangerous mine of Stardew Valley. It wasn't your intention to run into any trouble, all you wanted was to test your cool new galaxy sword on some easy monsters and then be on your merry way. At first.

Just one more floor. You say, before catching an arm sticking out a pile of rocks.

"I-Is that a person?!!!"

You dug as fast as you could, any time soon the mummies would wake up and start attacking. Quick quick! Moving the last rock, you saw the face of a young man, he was asleep but alive! and undeniably attractive oh wow *lip bite*. But despite your attempts of shaking him awake, it was fruitless and the monsters weren't waiting.

Taking out two warp totems, you raised it to the ceiling and chanted a teleportation spell.

It wasn't everyday that you brought a man to your house.

But when you did, he wouldn't be from a cave, six floors down and buried in a place filled with monsters.

"And this small black device you say is some form of communicator? That certainly is intriguing, never in my years have I heard of something so advanced."

However you were beginning to think otherwise. That this man would have been from the prehistoric ages who you managed to unbury after his thousand year slumber. Zhongli sits on the couch across from you while examining your smartphone, a term he claimed had been completely foreign. You were contemplating whether you should bother Harvey despite being past his work hour and book an emergency appointment to see if this man had a special case of amnesia.

You brushed the idea away. There was so much going on and nothing made sense, for now, you decided to settle this on your own.

"Uhm Zhongli is it?" you asked nervously, "Maybe you can try giving the name of a relative or someone you know. I can use the phonebook to see if I can find their number."

“Number?” He parroted.

You blinked a few times, making sure if you heard him correctly, “Yes, number. You know? To communicate?”

"I appreciate your kind gesture," Zhongli acknowledges in a polite manner, "But that won't be necessary. This device doesn’t seem to be at a level where it can communicate with the people from my homeland."

If he was travelling then how the hell did he end up in THE Skull Cavern is what I wanna know!

“T-Then if you don't mind me asking, where are you from?"

Zhongli takes this moment to think of an answer, aware that if he blurted something out it would not have translated in the way he wanted. But you so kindly invited him to your humble household that he felt it would only be proper to owe you an explanation, "I suppose a land from afar."

You sweatdropped, "Suppose?"

"Yes. Although I won't spare you the details since this is not your burden to bear, it’s quite difficult for me to try and remember exactly what happened," Zhongli took his chin into his hand, fingers almost covering his mouth, "Perhaps I would need search for clues in order to refresh my memory."

Oh no he really does have amnesia!!

"A-Actually why don't I just call the local doctor, I'm sure he wouldn't mind giving you a hand," you say while taking your iPhone.

"A doctor? There's no need," dismissed Zhongli, "My condition is only a minor one and I do not think I'm in a position to afford medical assistance. Besides, you have done more than enough. May you find great fortune in your years Miss (Y/n), I shall be on my way."

He pushes himself up from the couch and you watch him cross towards the door. But just when he was about to reach the space of your carpet, Zhongli pulled to an abrupt stop.

"Ah yes,” He began as if remembering something, “ Do you happen to know where the nearest Inn is located? I would need to find a place to shelter for the time being."

"..."

This was how the former god ended up being your roommate. Like Xiao, Zhongli also takes upon a human form. He needed to eat, drink and a place to sleep. He insisted that he would take the couch as well as help you with any tasks that needed to be completed during the day.

You question if Zhongli was even aware of what situation he was currently in. Answer: HE WASN'T because Zhongli is an extremely dense man. To feel embarrassed was not part of his dictionary when living with a woman.

The type to take long showers. You always find the bathroom steaming because he doesn't turn on the fan to get rid of it (but maybe you should've taught him). So when it was your turn to use the shower, the water was either lukewarm or worst case scenario, cold.

Also he somehow finds your old kettle (that your grandfather used) to brew tea even though you told him you already had a water boiler. He stated that he liked doing things the old-fashioned way, it brings him a sense of nostalgia. You couldn't understand what he meant (unless you considered that he was older than he seemed....no that can’t be it!)

Despite it all, Zhongli was incredibly polite and considerate. Tending the farm was not an easy job and you often came home with sore muscles, fatigued from running so many errands. He's knowledgeable in terms of making the best herbal mix for a soothing remedy.

You would see a warm cup, every morning before going to work and every time you come home, it was sitting on the kitchen table (if his drink had potion effects, they would be regeneration).

Gentle he was but it wasn't good for your heart.

Ever since Zhongli moved in, it became difficult to live in your own house.

There were many situations where he caused trouble despite not intending to cause disruption to your daily routine. And when he did, the repairs came out of your own pocket. One time you opened your microwave to find thick ash and burnt cinders stuck upon the walls.The entire space was a hazard and needed to be dispensed immediately since Zhongli thought that plastic-wrapped items were allowed to be microwaved. Another incident, as bizarre as it sounded, was when your vacuum cleaner zoomed out of your house...and never came back. You remembered the awkward cough he gave when you shot him a deathly glare, hence why Zhongli was not allowed to touch your high-tech devices (if you considered them high-tech) without your permission.

Even so, you couldn’t bring yourself to hate him. It was the opposite in fact. One day, all the flaws you counted suddenly became his charms. You came to find them endearing almost.

Zhongli was a handsome man. He carried himself with a distinct aura that could only be found in the rarest geodes; revealing orestones mined from the depths of a forgotten cave, sometimes in the shape of exquisite artifacts-- a type of ancient charm. Perhaps that was why people were willing to obey his every command without hesitation. Whenever Zhongli spoke, it was full of firmness and authority yet somehow deprived of arrogance. He was polite to all and does not indulge in conflict despite how tempting gossip can be in modern society. Always patient during your temperamental moments and considerate to the point you wonder if he even had any desires. He was so kind that soon enough, you couldn't help but be flustered by his presence. Forget about having a conversation, maintaining his leveled gaze was already enough of a challenge. Like staring into the sun after the morning dew. So gentle and so very comforting. But the more you linger onto the sun, it's rays will continue to set ablaze, eventually bringing you pain.

And you feared that you have grown addicted to those feelings.

Why can't he understand?

Stopping at the center of the bridge, you kept your head low while letting the anger take form into your tightened fists. The town was empty with only the sound of water flowing beneath your feet, filling the heavy air. They rippled and swayed, peaceful amongst your inner turmoil. The fact that such a miniscule attribute was able to make your blood rise was hilariously pitiful. How did you stoop to a point that even nature, the very being you've tended for a living, could bring you bitterness? Were your feelings this uncontrollable? The answer was obvious. It spiraled, violently and mercilessly as if commanded by another. There was a wave of emotions filling your heart and you could almost feel yourself drowning from the inside. If only they were as tranquil as the ones you stood upon.

"I thought I would find you here."

The voice you dreaded calls from across and you fight to keep yourself from gasping. Oblivious to it all, Zhongli proceeds to close the distance until he towered over you, looking down to your bowed head, "When you hadn't returned home without a notice, I was getting worried if something had happened. But I'm glad that wasn't the case."

Your whole face clenches.

"Is something bothering you? If you would like, we can discuss it after eating dinner. Come, I have already prepared our meal while you were gone as well as turning off the rice cooker once finished. I hope it can ease your stress since I know it can be difficult maintaining a farm like this."

"Zhongli."

He blinks hard when the sound of his name falls out of your lips. Zhongli was an experienced observer and listener, he was able to catch the glimpse of frustration that dripped from the tone you used. Relaxing his poised shoulders, Zhongli carefully asked in a reserved manner, "Have I...done something to make you upset?"

A trembled breath escaped when you breathed out. Dense. He was so dense that sometimes it made you want to crack him open.

"Tell me..." you began, "Are you also like this with other women?"

The former god sets a brief sharp pause, "I beg your pardon?"

"I'm talking about the way you act, they're...giving me all these mixed signals. We've been living together for months, we even share meals together! And sometimes you would help me with the farm and when I didn't ask, you still insisted on tending to my needs when I felt sick. I just…” you trailed off, trembling ever so slightly, "It's all perfectly normal. You’re nice to everyone. I know that. I know that!"

"(Y/n)," Zhongli whispered. They sounded like a thousand needles to your heart.

"I doubt you have the intention to put me in this situation. You're a really great person Zhongli but I sometimes can't help feeling this isn't just some roommate thing you know?" closing your eyes, you thought of your past relationships, how they started and ended, "Do any of your actions mean anything to you? Do you know how it makes me feel? Or am I just overthinking this, that it was all one-sided this whole time?"

Alas the truth spills and the air stills, bringing the waves to a halt. Peace, tranquility, nothingness. That was all you wanted. That was all you heard. It was deafening.

"I see, so that's why," Zhongli mutters to himself with eyes narrowed, "There's...something I need to confess."

After several months, he tells you everything. How his memories returned, some of them were already intact. He told you about his homeland and his true identity, that he was a god that once ruled over Liyue for six centuries before giving away the gnosis.

The reason why he hadn't said anything until now was because there will be a day where Zhongli must depart and return to Teyvat. He was a god with a contract, the circumstance didn't matter, he must stay with it until the very end of time.

Through his years, Zhongli learned to cherish his finite moments. He didn't want to taint them with troubles to come. Thinking too far ahead into the future would only bring strain.

But what he didn't tell you was his true feelings. You were a sweet woman, tender and enthusiastic about agriculture, the way your feelings extend to the earth with grace whereas many others chose to trample over without hesitation, he fell deeply in love with that side of yours. You taught him many things and showed him many sides of humanity that he had never seen before. He even discovered an aspect of himself. Like breaking a geode, revealing the beauties held inside.

Zhongli couldn't look you in the eye when your expression was covered in disbelief. He thought he hid his feelings well but it seemed that he was expressing his love in subtle and subconscious ways that eventually drove you to fall for him as well. You didn't stop him when he left the bridge. He wasn't even in your house. He chose this, he chose to set you free from his heavy presence.

And as the weight started to lift from your shoulder, you sank to your knees and wept. It was cruel of him. To give you these emotions yet he could not bring himself to stay by your side. But your heart would not allow you to hate the man you love.

Things couldn't end this way. You had to say goodbye to him, see him one last time because if you didn't, these burdens will haunt you forever.

When Zhongli looked up to the sky he saw his ending drawing near.

Three days had passed since he last spoke with you and he had no plans in seeing you again. Soon, the former god will return to his rightful place. Even though he had already given his gnosis to the Cryo Archon as Liyue already began to enter a new era, it seems that his decisions weren't his to make as he was born in a world where stars ruled above the archons. Fate-- they won't allow it. He does not belong here. If there was one thing Zhongli regretted during his time in your world, it was that he couldn't leave you a good memory before taking his departure. The sight of your large glassy eyes and quivering lips when he crushed you with the truth, he sincerely believed that they would haunt him much more than it probably did to you. But perhaps things would be easier if you despised him. Because if he had stayed and you came to forgive him, he would no longer have the strength to let go.

Despite it all love was indeed a selfish creature. He couldn't help but feel resentment towards the stars for bringing you into his life in such a mockingly sweet manner. They tied him with a contract, made him vow to his own beliefs and tested them by using you-- a bystander struck between the crossfire, eventually bringing you down into the depths of his battlefield and he thought that maybe...maybe there was hope that he could bring you with him as well.

How disgraceful for a god to let the devil tempt him so.

Zhongli was thankful that you weren't beside him. Otherwise he would dance with the ugly hope of a slim chance for you to come along. This was the best choice. It was for his-- your own good.

"Zhongli!"

The arch of his lined eyes shot upwards. As if fate had decided to give him one final test, he felt your small figure crash into him from behind and your arms coming to hug around his waist, tightly and fearfully that he felt like you would be the one who would slip away instead.

"I...I made it time," you panted, burying your nose into his clothed back, "I’m so glad...I'm so glad you're still here…!"

Your cry of relief was a thunder to his ears, a reminder that he was the main cause. Zhongli, casted by solemn smile, lifts his hand to cover over yours and grasped onto them, I'm here, he wishes to say. Yet he knew they were only temporary promises, "To come all this way despite everything that has happened. You foolish girl..."

"It's your fault Zhongli, I'm a fool because I love you! It's all your fault that I have to say goodbye," You grit your teeth as the tears fell down your face until it blended into his clothes, "Take me with you. Please. Don't leave me all alone…!"

The words he wanted to say melted into a silent gasp through parted lips. Zhongli merely clenched them back together and his hand on your hand, even tighter. He won't lie to you. At the very least, let his actions speak for him where he himself could not.

Take me with you.

Don't leave me alone.

Goodbye.

If it is fated Morax...we will meet again.

"I see," letting his thoughts echo in his mind from the distant memories, the former god begins to take a new perspective upon his wisdom, "For many years, I have experienced countless farewells from the people I've come to known," Zhongli reminisced, tilting his head back with his golden eyes against night, as if searching for some sort of answer, "And yet I never thought what it must have felt like being in their position."

"Zhongli…" you trailed off, "Then don't! I may not know everything about you but it doesn't have to be this way. At least, just answer me this, will I ever see you again?"

"I'm sorry (Y/n)," he apologized and you knew the answer. He gently pries your arms off him, turning around so he could swipe the corner of your eyes dry. There was a glowing reverence in his countenance, one that he reserved for you and only you, it was the only way for him to express the feelings that run deep in his heart, "I cannot thank you enough for coming into my life. If there will be a day when I erode from your memories, I truly hope that you will find someone more suitable than I."

"That's ridiculous," defiantly, refusedly, you protest, "No one can replace you."

Zhongli laughs sadly as the white halo outlines his whole figure, signaling that there wasn't much time left. He wonders if there was anything he could do in his last moments, a small token, something, it could even be as small as a single star in the sky, "If it is fated...we will meet again."

You watch him turn transparent until he slipped from your grasp. No longer was the man, only the dust being one with the sky. They shone brilliantly but you were left in the darkness.

[hearts-hunger]

half-cocked || javier peña x reader

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

Summary: Javi’s your boss, and he’s so damn stubborn. You’d have to be crazy to go off half-cocked twice in one night, right?

Pairings: Javier Peña x DEA Agent!Reader

Genre: smut, porn without plot (18+ only!)

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: god uhhh filth, oral (m and f receiving), thigh riding, choking, praise kink, dirty talk, hand jobs, unprotected sex, dom javi, sub reader, fluff at the end bc i think smut always deserves some fluff ♡ also, totally unbeta-ed.

A/N: full disclosure i was drunk on vodka cran and listening to “drew barrymore” by bryce vine when i wrote this, so it might be terrible or it might be really good. i just want javi to lovingly & tenderly top the fuck out of me :) let me know what you think!

“I told you not to go near those guys.”

Javi crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for you to answer, to explain why you’d done the exact opposite of what he’d told you to do. You felt yourself blush, face heating with anger and embarrassment and something you refused to acknowledge.

“I thought I could get something out of them,” you said, going on the defensive. “They know something, Javi. It would have been stupid to pass up an opportunity to get some intel from them.”

You watched the way his jaw worked.

“No, what would have been stupid is if you had gotten hurt,” he said, his voice tight with frustration. You almost wished he would yell at you and get it over with; this cold anger was harder for you to bear.

He’d expressly told you to stay away from the group of narcos you’d been tagging for a week, and he was your boss. But you knew you could get something from them - they’d talk to you quicker than they would talk to Javi, and you both knew it. You never disobeyed a direct order, especially not from Javi, but he was being so stubborn. You went ahead and questioned them anyways, and Javi had caught you red-handed.

“You don’t think I can take care of myself?” you asked coldly.

He ran a hand over his face. “Of course you can take care of yourself,” he said. “But you’ve been here for two minutes, alright? Sometimes you have to trust my judgement. I’m not a complete idiot. If you fuck around with these guys and go off half-cocked, you’re gonna get yourself killed.”

You opened your mouth to protest, to say you’d done the job without getting hurt. You knew that was beside the point; you’d gotten lucky with these guys - you could have just as easily gotten shot for your trouble, and both you and Javi knew that.

He cut you off before you could say anything. 

“You answer to me,” he said. “Are we clear? I don’t care what kind of wild ideas you have in your head about catching fuckin’ Escobar all by yourself. If I say to steer clear of a bunch of narcos, you do what I say. Not whatever bullshit you come up with. Got it?”

God, you could have screamed.

“Yes,” you managed. You started to leave, but that wasn’t enough for him. He took your arm in a grip gentle enough not to hurt but firm enough to show you how deadly serious he was.

“Yes what?” he asked.

You felt your face heat again. “Yes sir.”

You could have sworn you felt a fucking switch flip. The air in the office was suddenly hot and constrictive; you met his eyes and felt like you were on fire.

He was so close to you, so close you could feel his warmth and smell his cologne. You could see where his pulse beat furiously under his jaw; his eyes were dark as they met yours.

He gave a hum of agreement. “That’s better.”

You couldn't think of anything to say; you were completely consumed with him, the way his hair fell across his brow, the way the top two buttons of his shirt were undone, the way his skin looked so sunkissed and warm.

For the second time that night, you went off half-cocked; you pressed your mouth to his and hoped against hope it wouldn’t cost you your job.

His response was immediate - he opened his mouth against yours and took your tongue, one hand still holding your arm and the other moving to hold your waist securely against him. You carded your free hand through his hair, whining a little; god, but he could kiss. Your breath came in sharp gasps as he hooked your leg over his thigh,  drawing your heat closer against him.

“You want this?” he asked, breathless.

“Yes,” you said. “Yes, sir. Please.”

He sighed against your mouth. “Fuck. Alright.” He ran his fingers over the seam in your jeans. “What do you want?”

You could barely think straight; something you’d imagined countless times came to mind, and you decided to try your luck.

“Can I ride your thigh?” you asked, needy. “Please, sir.”

He groaned. “Yeah, pretty girl. Whatever you want.”

He stumbled backwards, one hand out to make sure you didn’t crash into anything; he found his desk chair and took a seat, looking up at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Come on, baby girl,” he said, patting his thigh. “Right here.”

You did as he said, straddling his thigh, feeling a rush of heat before you’d even moved. You put your hands on his shoulders and let him kiss you, deep and hungry.

You started to move against his thigh; his hands roamed all over you, desperate, needy. You rocked your hips, pressing yourself against his thick, muscled thigh. Your breath started to catch in your chest; he put his hands on your hips and pressed you down against him, each movement of your hips dragging over his thigh. 

“Javi,” you breathed. You gripped his shoulders and pressed yourself against him. 

“Tell me how it feels, sweetheart,” he said, kissing your neck.

“God - oh, fuck, feels so good,” you managed. “Oh, Javi - ”

“Such a good girl for me,” he said. “Getting yourself off on my thigh - what a good girl.”

“‘M close,” you whined. You were almost embarrassed with how quickly you’d come to the edge.

“That’s alright, baby,” he said. His big hands moved over your breasts. “Come on, honey. Take what you want from me.”

Your eyes fluttered open long enough to see his face, all flushed pink; he bit his lip when you moaned, his head leaning back like he was getting off on your whines.

“Oh, Javi, I’m gonna cum,” you said, desperate and a little panicked. Though you’d gotten yourself off thinking about him before, you’d never gotten off with him, much less while riding his thigh. Maybe this was crazy. Maybe this wasn’t - 

“Good girl,” he said, almost like a sigh. “Fucking gorgeous, getting yourself off on my thigh.” 

Your nerves faded and you wrapped your arms around his neck, moving your hips sharply against his thigh; when he kissed you, it was surprisingly tender. He kept his mouth against yours as you reached your high.

“Javi,” you said desperately. “Fuck, fuck - oh, god - ”

He held you against him as you rode out your orgasm on his thigh, moans tumbling from both of you. He sucked right below your jaw, murmuring words of praise.

“Thank you, thank you,” you babbled, leaning against him as you came down from your high. You could feel how hard he was through his impossibly tight jeans; you palmed him and kissed at his neck, sloppy and sweet.

He couldn’t help a choked laugh. “You’re welcome, baby,” he said. “Anytime. But really, you did most of the work.”

He lifted you off his lap, ignoring your slight protest; he stood you up and fumbled with the button on your jeans.

“Let me taste you, baby,” he said. He knelt in front of you, looking up at you from under his long, dark lashes; you would never have guessed he could look this needy. You couldn’t do much but nod your head.

As he started to pull your jeans down, you had a sudden moment of clarity. “Javi, wait, wait.”

He stilled, looking up at you for direction. “What’s wrong?”

You fumbled with the words. “I didn’t - you haven’t - ” You swallowed. “Let me get you off.”

He chuckled, a wry grin spreading over his face. “Patience, baby girl. You’ll get your turn.”

God, your mouth practically watered at the thought. He quickly put any other thought out of your mind as he helped you shimmy out of your jeans, his ease and control only making you more flushed. He made quick work of your underwear, pausing only a moment to comment on how wet they were.

“Hmm, someone enjoyed themselves, I see,” he teased.

You blushed. “Shut up.”

He grinned up at you. “Make me.”

He didn’t wait for a response before he nosed at your heat, gently bringing your leg over his shoulder. You grabbed the corner of his desk, your whole body like a live wire with desire and overstimulation. You’d only just come down from your last orgasm, you couldn't possibly - 

“Jesus Christ,” you gasped, tangling the fingers of your free hand in his curls as he went straight to business, eating you out like you were his last meal. The sounds he was making - god, they were downright sinful. You didn’t think you’d ever enjoyed a man going down on you with such pleasure or such skill.

“You taste so good, querida,” he rasped, catching his breath. “Fucking delicious, baby girl.”

You tugged a little on his hair, incoherent whines falling from your lips as he sucked on your clit. “Javi, fuck, oh, god, please - ”

“Gonna cum, beautiful?” he asked. “Gonna cum on my tongue?”

A sound came from your throat that almost sounded like a sob. “Yes, please, just - ”

You didn’t know what you were asking for, but evidently he did; within seconds, his tongue dipping into you and his nose nudging at your clit, you came so hard it made your legs shake.

“Javi, Javi, Javi,” you pleaded, like a prayer. He sucked your clit through your orgasm; when you finally came down, he grinned up at you and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said with feeling. “You sound so gorgeous when you cum, baby.”

You steadied yourself on his shoulder as he stood, shaking with residual waves of pleasure. He kissed you, salty with your own taste, pulling your hips against his.

“I wanna suck you off,” you said, almost begging. “Please, Javi.”

He groaned against your mouth. “If you want to, honey.”

You put your hands on his shoulders and pushed him down until he sat back in his desk chair, knees spread for you. You knelt in front of him like he had just done for you; your hands were shaking a little too much to easily undo his belt, and he did it for you. You pulled his cock out of his boxers and gave him a few quick strokes. 

“Fuck,” he bit out. You waited before you did any more; you wanted to be told what to do, but you were mortified to admit it. 

“What is it, baby girl?” he asked. You looked up at him, your hand wrapped around his cock, begging him to understand. 

He gave a quiet hum, seeming to realize what you wanted. He put his hand to your throat, just firm enough to let you feel the pressure of his fingertips. He met your eyes, looking for permission; you put your hand on his wrist and held his gaze.

“You like this, sweetheart?” he asked, giving you every chance to say no.

You looked up at him from under your lashes. “Yes, sir,” you said, incredibly coy for someone who still felt the pressure and heat of his tongue between your legs.

He studied your face. “You like to be controlled, huh, baby girl? Wanna be told what to do?”

You ran your hands up his thighs, just enough to tease, pushing him a little; he tightened his grip, just enough to make you still.

“Don’t be naughty,” he warned. He leaned forward and kissed you. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

“Javi,” you managed. “Wanna suck your cock, sir.”

“I don’t know, dollface. Only good girls get what they want. You disobeyed me earlier, didn’t you?”

You couldn’t help the whimper that escaped you. Now you were getting down to it. You’d disobeyed him and, like it said on your DEA profile, Agent Peña was in charge of any disciplinary action that needed to be taken in your case.

“But you’ve been such a good girl,” he mused. His thumb ran under your jaw, caressing the place he’s put a love mark earlier. “You won’t disobey again, will you, baby?”

“No,” you breathed.

His grip tightened. “No what?”

“No sir,” you whined.

“Good girl,” he praised. He moved his hand from your neck to your hair, brushing it back with intentional tenderness. You took that as your permission and moved your hand up and down his cock, drinking in the sounds he made as you pleasured him.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathed. A string of Spanish curses fell from his mouth, somehow melodic; you took him as deeply as you could manage, swallowing around him, running your tongue up the underside of his cock. He tasted so good, and his breathy moans were like music; you put your hands on his thighs as he tangled his fingers in your hair.

“So good, baby, god - ” His voice pitched up sweetly. “You’re so good. Fuck.” He only just managed to keep himself from fucking his hips against your face, trembling under your hands.

“Wait, baby, hold on,” he gasped. You came off of him with a pop and looked up at him, waiting for direction; he swiped his thumb over your bottom lip.

“Don’t wanna come yet, sweetheart,” he said, his chest pumping. Sweat shone on his chest where his button-down was undone. “And if I let you go any more, I’d be done for.”

“Yes sir,” you said breathlessly, your voice hoarse.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Good girl.” He stood and brought you up with him.

“I want you,” you said petulantly, your hands roaming everywhere. “Please, Javi.”

“Hold on, honey.” He took both your wrists in one hand. “You’re gonna do as I say?”

You kissed him hungrily. “Yes. Please. I want to do what you say.”

He kissed you and bit your bottom lip. “Bend over my desk, baby girl.”

You did as he said, pushing files aside to brace yourself against his desk; you felt him draw close to you, giving himself a few strokes before he drew his cock between your legs.

“Easy, baby,” he soothed, putting one hand on your hip, holding you steady; his other hand gently brushed over your ass. “Can you be patient for me?”

You pushed back against his hips. “Yes, sir. I want you.”

“I know, honey,” he said. He reached around to circle your clit with slow, deliberate movements, making you give a breathy little moan.

“You sound so pretty when you’re needy,” he praised.

“Please,” you said. You were confident he knew what you meant.

He leaned down to kiss the back of your neck. “Since you asked so sweetly.”

He pushed into you quickly, all the way to the hilt; you gasped as he filled you, warm and tight and almost too much.

“Alright, baby?” he asked gently. You knew he was being sincere, and he gave you a moment to settle. You took a deep breath and moved against him, desire and pleasure washing through you with even that small movement.

“Please, Javi,” you whined.

He started to move his hips against you, each stroke deep and intentional. His hips snapped against yours at a steady and delicious pace, filling you, dragging across the spot that made you moan and whimper.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Javi said, his voice tight and heavy with desire. “You’re so beautiful, baby. Can’t believe I get to be with you like this.”

“Javi,” you keened. His fingers circled your clit, bringing you to the edge as your pleasure grew. “You’re so good, Javi, oh - fuck - ”

You tightened around him as you tried not to cum, wanting to finish with him. His grip on your hip tightened.

“‘M close, sweetheart,” he said.

“Fuck, me too,” you gasped. “Oh, please - ”

“Cum with me, baby,” he managed. “Come on my cock, sweetheart.”

He pushed into you and pressed deeply against your clit; your orgasm washed over you with blinding pleasure, and you called out his name like a prayer. As you tightened around him, he came too, groaning like you’d torn his heart out of his chest.

“Christ,” he breathed, leaning his head against your back. He kissed your neck and stood you up as he pulled out of you, steadying you as your legs shook with ebbing waves of pleasure.

“That was incredible, sweetheart,” he said breathlessly. He turned you around to face him, holding you close, leaning his forehead against yours.

“Thank you, Javi,” you said.

He gave a quiet laugh. “Anytime, querida.”

You wanted to kiss him again, but feared it might be too intimate; he pressed his mouth to yours and kissed you tenderly, slowly.

“Don’t disobey me again,” he said, though his warning was gentle and you knew it came from a place of worry and care for you.

You shook your head. “No, sir.”

You could feel his smile against your mouth. “Good girl. Such a good girl for me.”

tag list: @tv-saved-the-teenage-girl​​, @punkgeekchic​​ ♡

let me know if you want to be added to my pedro pascal character taglist!

[pacific-rimbaud]

27 - panville (lets pretend its after their wedding) (lets also pretend this isnt me trying to extend bright objects epilogue in every way I can) (but just because you are the real queen of this ship)

Drabble #27: “I’m pregnant.”

by PacificRimbaud

Pairing: Pansy Parkinson x Neville Longbottom

Tags: WWII AU, unplanned pregnancy, hospital, brief mentions of war

Wiltshire, May 1944

“I’ve had a letter.”

Lavender’s voice dipped to a conspiratorial low, as though a letter was a secret Pansy both had an interest in and ought to be party to.

“From which one?”

Pansy shut off all attention to Lavender and inspected the label on a bottle of morphine tablets. Finding it sound, she filed it away in the back of the second shelf from the top in the medicine cabinet, and made a sharp graphite tick on the inventory form. 

“Lieutenant McLaggen. The fellow from Dunfermline. Oh, thank you.” Lavender received a wrapped bundle from one of the laundry girls, and set it down on the center of the table on the opposite side of the room. “He’s going to be in London next month, and wants me to come over on the train.”

Ticking at her form, Pansy fitted away a third vial, made another tick, and then filed a fourth in a martial row moving forward in the cabinet.

“You need to be careful with all that,” she said.

“Oh, I am.” Lavender checked the tag on the laundry. “I might seem silly, but I’m not daft.” 

Pansy scraped her pencil so hard against her form that it tore a small hole in the page.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“You alright?” Lavender asked, hand paused at the task of untucking the edges of the bundle.

“I’m fine.”

Lavender laid out the edges of the cloth wrapping, removed a stack of cloth face masks, and set them on the shelf in front of her. “It’s only you look a bit flushed, Pans.”

Pansy tightened the aperture of her attention down to a ruthless diameter, wide enough for nothing beyond the minute detail of dates printed on pasted labels and the tick of her freshly sharpened pencil.

Once the old bottles were secured at the front of the shelf and the new ones filed behind them, Pansy closed the cabinet doors and brushed her hands against the cotton of her pinafore.

“I’m going to get some air,” she said, her shoulder nearly glancing against Lavender’s on her way out the door.

“Alright, love,” Lavender called after her. “I’ll tell you about the letter I’ve had from Second Lieutenant Creevey when you’ve come back.”

For a long while, Pansy had thought of the hospital as a cheap robe hung on the exalted bones of Thornwood Abbey. The war would end, and it would fall away as immaterial and disposable as the wrapping on a parcel.

No stain, no echo, no vibration of its requisition would be left behind.

It would be her sanctuary once again, and only hers, free to take her tea in solitary silence by the large window in the drawing room, watching the mallards dabble in the lake.

As it was, the drawing room was filled with men who sent up prayers to God if they woke with a headache from the anesthetic.

Day by day, Pansy felt the memory of her home drain away, replaced as it needed to be by the urgent and essential now.

She passed Daphne in the hall outside the room where her servants used to eat their dinner. She intended to keep up her pace and offer nothing beyond a tip of her head, but Daphne slipped her hand into the crook of Pansy’s elbow. 

“Your captain is looking for you,” she said quietly. “I’ve tried to deflect him, but I think he’s gone to Pomfrey already and knows you’re here.”

A voltaic shimmer traveled down the surface of Pansy’s skin and back up again.

“Fucking hell.”

Pansy turned around and stalked off in the other direction, abandoning the idea of a turn around the rose garden.

She nearly escaped to the nurse’s dormitory that was once her own, solitary boudoir.

But naturally he recalled the narrow service stairs in the east wing, and opened the door to descend just as she arrived at the top.

“Pansy,” he said, almost breathless with a sort of half-panic. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Neville.”

He held his hat at his side, pinched between his spare, muscled fingers.

His hair was never fully tamed, and the impacts of having put his hat on his head and then removing it again made themselves clear.

Pansy flattened herself against the wall of the confining stairwell, grasping her own forearms in her palms behind her back.

“Well?” she asked. She pursed her lips and lifted her chin, fluidly performing the impatience and imperious nonchalance that constituted the entirety of her personality as far as most people were concerned.

“I’m leaving.” He breathed in, an intake of air meant to fortify and compose. “Today. Just now, actually.”

His dark eyes scanned her own, but her vision caught on the pink line of scar tissue running from below his left ear, over his cheekbone, through the outside third of his left eyebrow, then turning back to end in a jagged half circle at the hairline at his left temple.

The scar and a Victoria Cross he kept folded in a handkerchief at the back of his top bureau drawer were the only mementos he had been given for a wound that had done everything in its power to end his life.

The desire to trace it with her fingertips flooded her with so much force that she pinched the skin of both her arms hard enough with her fingernails that she sucked in a breath through her nose.

“I wish you all the luck, then, Captain,” she said, leaning hard into the clipped tones of her breeding to mask the quaver in her throat.

“Pansy, please.”

She might have persisted—would have persisted—had he been any other man, but his hand was at her hip, and then his elbow was crooked behind her nape, and she was in his arms, sighing against the mouth that had been mercifully spared of injury for her own selfish, covetous, unappeasable use.

“I’m going to write to you,” he muttered against her jaw.

“I told you. I won’t read them.”

“I don’t care.”

Pansy took his hand in hers, and folded it over her breast.

She might have known better. Should have known better.

He made her mindless with want.

His hand closed hard, in the way that she liked best, over her too-tender breast, and she gasped with the pain of it.

He pulled back instantly, skin flushed and lips heated for her, and stared at her with an expression of hurt and confusion that she hated, instantly and forever.

“Pans, I’m so sorry. I—”

She prayed, earnestly, fervently, for his stupidity.

But there was only one time she’d known him to be a fool.

His thinking was both careful and thorough, and after a moment his skin paled.

“You’ve been avoiding me for a week,” he said.

She wouldn’t tell him.

She refused.

He would go, and meet the enemy at the door with nothing to remind him of her except the knickers she’d folded into his pocket on the afternoon he’d first taken her, breathless, his scar still red, against the grass bordering the rushes at the edge of the lake.

He would go, and there he would be stupid, beating back disaster with the hard brick of his self-sacrificial love.

Maybe he would come back to find her Miss Parkinson of Thornwood Abbey, sitting in her drawing room with a cup of tea.

Maybe he would come back to find her another man’s wife.

Maybe he would come back with no desire to find her anywhere.

Maybe he wouldn’t come back at all.

“Pansy.”

She was hard as flint.

She was so soft.

She could have told him the hour of the disaster with devastating precision.

Lying on her back, a prohibited object in his bed, she’d been lost with him moving in her, bleary eyes half closed, muting her voice against the sweat at his shoulder, heels at the small of his back holding him tight to her as she gasped out that she loved him.

She had hoped he hadn’t heard, but outside the borders of her own unbearable arc of sensation, she was aware that he’d finished inside her.

If she’d moved immediately after, it might have been possible to have done something, but she couldn’t care about anything beyond how it felt to be held in his arms.

In the dreary dark of the stairs, he studied her with dogged and patient intelligence.

And then his fingertips stroked down her belly, and flexed over the secret below.

He moved quickly then, ducking down and tossing her over his shoulder, and marching with singular purpose up the stairs to the second floor.

Below her, the familiar carpet of her ancestral hall streaked away from the backs of his heels.

He finally stopped at the mahogany door to what was once the least-offered guest bedroom in the east wing, and pushed it open with startling force.

He set her down on her feet in the middle of the room, and tightened one of his long arms around her waist.

The chaplain sat at his desk ramrod straight, auburn hair slicked into an adamant wave over his forehead and spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose. He cradled a pen in his hand, poised over a sheet of paper.

“Captain Longbottom. Nurse Parkinson,” he said, mannerly and terse. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’m going to need you to marry us, Father Weasley,” said Neville. “Straight away.”

Father Weasley laid his pen down in a strict perpendicular to his page, and folded his hands together at the edge of his desk.

“I’m afraid you’ll need to submit the proper paperwork. Then Major Weasley will have to approve. He’s on leave in Devonshire at the moment,” he said, shifting his pen a millimetre to the right, “and isn’t expected to return until Tuesday.”

“Get Brigadier General Moody to sign off on it. He’s downstairs in the wards.” Neville’s hand tightened on Pansy’s waist. “I’m...that is so say we’re—”

He turned to Pansy, pink-cheeked, eyes shining, and smiled with half his mouth like an absolute clot.

Pansy couldn’t bear to look at him. Instead she stared hard at Father Weasley until he puffed a beleaguered breath through his nostrils.

He looked at the face of his wristwatch, then drew open a drawer at the side of his desk, and pulled out a blank form.

“You’ll need a witness.”

Neville released Pansy’s waist, stalked to the door and stuck his head out.

“Malfoy,” he called out. “You’re needed.”

Half a minute later, Captain Malfoy strolled through the door entirely unbothered, half-eaten apple in hand.

“Hullo. What’s going on then?” he asked.

“Give me your ring,” said Neville.

Malfoy looked down at the emerald ring on his little finger.

“What do you want my ring for, Longbottom? Go and get one of your own.” He looked Pansy up and down. “Where’s your wee cap gone, Pans?” He took an enormous bite of his apple. “I shouldn’t think the priest has it.”

“Father Weasley’s marrying us just now,” said Neville. “You’re needed as witness.”

Malfoy laughed. “What? Right now? What’s the bloody great rush?”

“I’m pregnant, idiot,” said Pansy.

Malfoy’s eyes widened. “Well that’s extremely naughty of you.”

With an effort, he pulled the ring off his finger and tossed it to Neville.

“You’d better have something a fair sight better than that in your vaults, Longbottom. I hope you’re aware that our Pans has champagne taste.”

Pansy tucked her hair over her ear. “Fuck off, Draco.”

While Father Weasley scribed at the form, Pansy tucked her hand in Neville’s, and turned to face him.

“I’m going to write to you,” he said quietly, rolling Draco’s ring in his fingers. “Constantly. I don’t care whether you read them.”

For two weeks, Pansy had watched the mirror with mounting terror.

She’d seen her soft, glassy eyes. Her swelling breasts. The heat rising visibly at the surface of her skin.

Fatigued and faint, nauseated and utterly sick with love and longing, she shifted to fill the open geometry of Neville’s body.

“Normally we’d get two days, Pans, but we’re...I can’t—”

She pulled up on her toes, and his arms tightened around her, lifting her nearly off the floor and into the warm space he kept reserved for her at the side of his neck.

“Were you going to tell me?” he whispered hoarsely.

“You can’t worry,” she muttered against his pulse. “You’re not allowed.”

“I’m going to use every last piece of paper I’m given.” He pressed his face into her hair. “I don’t care if you read a single one.”

Pansy breathed him in, using every sense to press him hard into the soft wax of her memory. “I’m going to read them all.”

[cupcakey00]

It’s Just Instinct, Pt. 2

hello, everyone! here’s part 2 of “It’s Just Instinct,” a super short Nessian fic! there will indeed be a part 3. Highkey don’t like this part nearlyyyyy as much as I did part 1, but still, I hope you enjoy :)

part 1

words: 3,321

warning: there is some foul language.

______________________________________________________________

Cassian couldn’t let go of Nesta no matter how hard he’d tried, couldn’t keep his hands off her. Not while she was injured. It was but a shallow cut, one a child’s mother would kiss and bandage before sending them off to continue playing, and yet he couldn’t stop the quiver in his hands as his fingertips traced the raised skin around the minor wound, his touch a sorrowful prayer against her skin, one that Cassian couldn’t begin to understand why Nesta would let him do after he’d failed her once again.

They sat in silence, Nesta atop the counter in their bathroom, Cassian standing between her legs. Nesta knew he needed time to think, to process his emotions before they could discuss. She was the same way. How she longed to speak with him, wished he’d let her in, but still she waited. She waited and she watched as he applied a healing salve and bandage to it as though her life was on the line, emotions turbulent across his face, with lips pursed one moment but not the next, eyebrows furrowed for one instant then smooth, eyes hard and then…well, Nesta couldn’t tell.

That was worrisome.

He finished dressing her wound, his hands resting in her lap, and still they were silent. Cassian could have burned holes through the bandage he was staring at from how angry he was, as though the bandages themselves caused her hurt, wronging her.

Breathing shakily, he let his hands trail gently to her hips up her sides, handling her with the sincerity one might cradle a porcelain doll, halting once he reached her waist. Nesta was expecting him to pick her up, so she leaned forward into his body, but Cassian tensed for a split second before returning what he thought was going to be an embrace.

Nesta could have wept from the gentleness in his movements, as though he was too afraid to breathe. She could feel his heart racing through his leathers, and still he hadn’t dared draw her too close.

In the past, Nesta would have been insulted by his actions. “I’m not a child,” she’d have snapped. “I’m not made of glass, Cassian,” she’d have said.

But over time, she gleaned that some days, he simply needed to hold her, needed her to stay close. She didn’t know why, but she knew that one day, he’d be ready to tell her, and when he was, he would. Eventually, Cassian would be able to tell her there were moments he wasn’t sure if this was real, or if he was living a dream where Nesta was a figment of his imagination. Sometimes he had to remind himself the war was over, not because it hurt him so personally, but because he couldn’t be sure Nesta was really alive, that she had truly made it out, or if his mind had conjured up her memory to keep him sane. There were periods where he couldn’t be sure if he was alive, or if he was in the hell he knew he was destined to go, that in some 300, or 400, or 5,000 years down the line, whatever cruel god traversed the underworld would reveal it all to be a lie, that he and Nesta had never really had that time at all. That the king of Hybern had killed them that day; that the ruler of Hell wanted not only to rip Cassian’s only true joy from him, but give him a sliver of the pain he’d caused thousands through bloodshed and loss over his 500-year lifetime.

Sometimes, Cassian didn’t know if that was the common sense speaking, or the guilt.

Maybe it was both.

Cassian knew he couldn’t go on like that forever, but still he could not say anything. He didn’t know how. Some days he was a bit quieter, a bit more reserved, and, when he’d hold her close, more tightly than usual, his eyes would burn with the need to blink, something he’d refrain from doing for fear he’d give in and she’d be gone, having never been there at all.

Nesta couldn’t take the pain and fear she felt through the bond. He held her there, head tucked into her neck, inhaling her scent, breathing soft whisps of air onto her skin. With his right hand splayed across her back, left hand in her hair keeping her head resting next to his, and her body pressed against him, her beating heart was a tattoo on Cassian’s chest. She was Cassian’s lifeline.

Nesta didn’t know what was wrong, but she felt deep within her soul that Cassian was barely holding on. He was suffocating although there was air, drowning despite not being submerged, dying without any wounds, and no longer could she wait. For this, for Cassian, she’d have to push, no matter how hard it’d hurt either of them.

She reached around, drawing his body even closer to her, and as she tightened her arms a bit more than usual, she felt him release a shaky breath, body relaxing but arms unrelenting.

She didn’t know that with this one action, she convinced Cassian this moment was real.

Nesta turned her head, peppering kisses to his temple until she felt his heart rate slow from its panicked staccato and his erratic breathing calm to the whisper of a baby’s breath. It could have been two minutes or 20 years, and still she would have held him. They had all the time in the world.

Eventually, Nesta drew her hands across his back up to his face, lifting his head. When he looked into her eyes, she leaned forward and kissed him sweetly, slowly, savoring the feeling of home.

“Cassian,” she started. “It’s more than just the mating bond, isn’t it?”

She was jumping right into it, Cassian realized with a jolt. No preamble, no introduction, nothing. His eyes widened and his breath held, the moment between them gone. He couldn’t maintain eye contact, so he stepped back and looked to the doorway.

Wordlessly, Nesta hopped from the counter and interlaced their fingers, leading the way to the den. She opted for their couch instead of the armchair, sitting next to him and released a shiver at the cold feel of the fabric on her skin. Cassian stood immediately and approached the fireplace to their left, a small part of him happy for the delay igniting the fire brought. Even though they had worked through Nesta’s trigger, he was still cautious about monitoring her body language. Trauma wasn’t always consistent, nor did it have to make sense. He knew that well enough.

Fire roaring next to them, Nesta’s body tensed such a minuscule amount that Cassian really shouldn’t have noticed, yet he did. He wanted to put it out, but he knew that’d only upset her. Instead he looked to her, facing the fire with her spine straight and chin lifted, eyes hardened as though she was in a battle of wits with her most formidable enemy.

“Scoot over,” Cassian forced out; he was tense. She did, making more room for him. He sat down and removed his boots, swinging one leg between the couch and Nesta so he could lean back, tugging her body to his chest, his arms around her, hands resting atop hers on her stomach. They lay together, fire going behind them, making the only sound in the room.

Nesta turned so her chest was touching his abdomen, laying the side of her head over his beating heart. She closed her eyes once Cassian’s hands began playing with a lock of the hair she let down once they reached home, reducing her to mush. She almost forgot why they were there.

“Cass,” she started, same as before. “We need to talk about this.”

Cassian’s hands stilled for a few seconds before resuming, going up to her scalp and massaging.

“I know.”

“It’s not just your instincts, is it?” She already knew the answer.

Cassian gulped. “Not always. Not– today. Sometimes it’s– it’s more. It’s worse. A lot of things.”

Nesta waited for him to continue. She was already pushing him as is. He wasn’t used to opening up. Cassian was the friend you went to when you needed advice, and not the other way around.

“You have to understand that my instincts, Nesta, they’re– they’re probably a bit worse than the average mated male’s. There’s the mating bond, but I’m also a warrior. Fighting is in my blood. I am the best living warrior in all of Prythian.” There was no pride in voice, he was simply stating a fact.

“I think that makes it worse. I’m not used to having rein myself in; the only time I’ve ever been even close to snapping is right before a battle, when my instincts are homing in for a fight. Add in the mating bond? Fuck, Nesta, some days I think it’d be better to lock us both in here than have to go outside.” Cassian couldn’t help wincing, but honestly, Nesta was surprised. She’d never thought about it, but it made sense. Fighting was his language, perhaps the one he knew best. To have to fight against it when for over 500 years it was a part of him? He was, perhaps quite literally, fighting a losing battle.

“And I’m working on it, I swear. I’m trying. You deserve better, you deserve someone who can not only treat you right, but protect you while respecting your autonomy, but fuck, Nesta, sometimes it’s just so fucking hard. I can’t fucking stand seeing you get hurt, and I can’t stand seeing the males or females look at you with that interest they’ve developed once they figured out you’d have killed them by now if you wanted to.” He was scowling, and sometime during his admission, his strong hands left her hair and formed fists. His knuckles were turning white.

Nesta couldn’t believe she was mated to a male like Cassian. With Tomas, the only other semi-serious relationship she’d had, he tried taking from her what she wouldn’t give, injuring her in the process until she’d managed to escape. She’d burned the torn dress to forget. Cassian, on the other hand, was killing himself inside to keep from overstepping, even when he felt she was in danger. Truly polar opposites. She was glad.

“Cassian, you’ve been doing well,” she said as she took hold of his hands, undoing the fists. “I know it’s been nearly impossible, but you’ve been doing it. Eventually, it’ll get easier. You’ll get accustomed to it.”

She didn’t understand, not really. “It’s not just– it’s not just that, Sweetheart. It’s the whole past. It’s the fact that I tried keeping you safe multiple times, and multiple times I failed. I failed to keep you from the Cauldron, I failed to keep you safe from the King of Hybern, Hell I almost lost you to Bryaxis. I have constantly failed you, Nesta. And I’m scared that one day, my failures will come to their final fruition and that’ll be it, you’ll be gone. Dead. Because I can’t keep you safe.”

She opened her mouth to speak but paused, feeling his trepidation through the bond. There was more. He hadn’t even gotten to the worst part yet. Instead, she rubbed across his knuckles, back and forth, feeling the ridges of each one, the dips that separated them.

“Sometimes I can’t tell if this is real.”

Nesta’s heart dropped.

“I can’t– I can’t tell if we made it out of the war. I can’t tell if you did, or if you’re a figment of my imagination that everyone goes along with or else the Commander of the Illyrian armies will go insane. They may hate me, but none can deny my skill. They need me.

“Sometimes I wait for the rug to be pulled beneath me, to find out I’m actually dead and that neither of us lived through the war with Hybern. That some cruel being in the Underworld wanted to give me a taste of what could have been before ripping it from me, leaving me mourning memories I never had – memories with you.”

Tears pricked Nesta’s eyes, and at the scent of their salt, Cassian lifted Nesta’s head so her chin was resting on his chest, staring deeply into his eyes. Nesta hadn’t seen so much sorrow in them since that moment on the battlefield before he’d kissed her, ready to die in each other’s arms.

“Sometimes I wait to wake up from what I can only describe as a dream.”

His voice wavered.

“My biggest fear, Nesta, is not that I can’t keep you safe. My biggest fear is that you never made it out alive for me to keep you safe to begin with.”

Finally her tears fell, throat constricted so tight it hurt. She couldn’t speak. Of all the things he could have said, this felt like the worst. It was one thing to fear for her safety, to war with his instincts to protect at whatever cost.

It was another to not know if these instincts were in vain.

“And I– I know it makes no sense. If you were a figment of my imagination, there’s no way everyone would go along with it, to act like you were alive, nor do I think Rhysand or Azriel would let me live my life like that. And it– it feels too real to be a dream. But sometimes I just can’t tell. I can’t tell if it’s a dream, or if it’s Hell. I don’t think the heavens would welcome me.”

Nesta didn’t know if she should be sad or angry. There was a lot to unpack.

“So when you get hurt, and I’m ready to maim and kill, that’s instinct. That’s instinct, that’s love, that’s being a warrior. But back in there, in the bathroom, it was more. It was my failure to protect you. It’s that I always seem to fail, and I wonder if my failure on the battlefield left you dead for a second, more permanent time. The Cauldron killed you once, and sometimes I’m not sure if the King of Hybern then did too. Do you hear what they say about me, Nesta? They think me similar to Enalius. What utter fools. They don’t even realize they insult him by comparing us.”

“Cassian,” Nesta spoke with resolve. Now she really was angry, although her eyes were rimmed with red. “You haven’t failed me, you big oaf.” Cassian frowned at that.

“You did everything you could. You risked your life, your wings to lead the King of Hybern away from me, and you did. It’s not your fault we almost died. You saved me. I would’ve been dead at the hands of Hybern if you hadn’t stepped in.”

He was unconvinced.

“Cassian,” she now whispered imploringly, “you are enough. I love you, and you are worthy.” Her voice rose, symphonious preaching to Cassian or the heavens, he couldn’t tell.

“You deserve peace and love and happiness; you deserve a life where you don’t blame yourself for things that were out of your control. You tried your hardest, and Love I know it hurts but you need to let go.” She grasped his hands tightly as his eyes shone with tears.

“Forgive yourself. Stop regretting the past. There’s nothing you can do to change it. All you can do is enjoy the present and dream about the future.”

She rested her forehead against his, eyes closed as she spoke impassionedly, hands caressing his cheeks. She couldn’t see Cassian’s wide eyes, flooded with childlike wonder at the goddess who knelt before him.

“If you won’t forgive yourself for your sake,” she whispered, “then forgive yourself for mine, because I love you and I want you to be happy. You make me happy, Cassian. After all the Cauldron put me through, it was worth it, because it gave me you. It gave us time that we’d never have without it. We have eternity together, Cassian. I can’t convince you that it’s real, but I ask that even if you think it’s not, you enjoy it.” Though her voice was nearly inaudible, he heard every word, could see the tears threatening to spill from her closed eyes. Their lips grazed as she spoke. She was so close.

“If you can’t yet accept this isn’t a dream, then in the meantime, let it be the best one you’ve ever had. Let yourself enjoy these moments together, because if you don’t, one day you’ll realize all of this is real, and you’ll regret having held yourself back.”

Her eyes opened and immediately narrowed.

“Now what the fuck was that about going to Hell?”

Cassian threw his head back and burst out laughing.

He couldn’t help it; it was so unexpected. One second she was praising him, blessing him with the reassurance he seemed to need more often than not but wouldn’t deign to ask for, and the next she was chastising him.

“Sweetheart,” he began, “you don’t kill the amount I have and get welcomed by the gods with open arms,” he admitted. She rolled her eyes and huffed. Clearly she lacked the patience for his stupidity.

“Cassian, you have a fucking warrior-god. Do you think Enalius is in Hell right now?”

…Cassian supposed not.

“And there are literally death gods. Are they in Hell right now?”

“Sweetheart, no matter what you say in bed, you can’t keep comparing me to gods right now. That’s borderline blasphemous.” The cheeky bastard. Never mind that none of them could be completely sure he wasn’t descended from Enalius after all.

Now she just glared.

Cassian cleared his throat, “Point taken.”

She scowled for a moment longer before her eyes softened.

“I know that we’ve been over this before. That you are enough, you are worthy, but Cassian, you need to tell me when you’re feeling less than. You need to talk to me.” A hand reached up to stroke his cheek again as she straddled him.

“You’ve helped me so much, Cass. I don’t think I’d be here right now if it wasn’t for you.” At this, he flinched. He couldn’t imagine a life without Nesta, couldn’t imagine the pain she’d been through after the war. By the time they mated, she was healthier, happy. Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure he could’ve lived if he felt the pain his Nesta had gone through.

But, like a phoenix, she arose from her ashes, silver flames licking her skin, her fingertips, her hair. Over the past few months she spent with him in Illyria, she became one with herself. Cassian didn’t think he knew anyone stronger.

The gods had nothing on Nesta. That, Cassian did know.

“Cass, I’m not going to lie to you, nor do I want you to lie to yourself. You’ve caused people pain, that you know, but neither of us are innocent. Both of us have hurt people, have hurt ourselves. Both of us have been held prisoners of our minds for far too long.”

She had an impossibly gentle aura around her, so at ease.

“All we can do is accept it and promise not to let the bad days win.”

Cassian didn’t think it was possible to love someone so fucking much.

Never daring to break eye contact, he grasped one of her hands in his, interlacing their fingers, while using his other to grab her free one, leaving a soft kiss atop each knuckle.

Then he opened her palm and sucked on the tip of her index finger.

“Cassian!” she admonished, blush flushing to the swell of her breasts.

He could only laugh.

Drawing her in for a kiss, one hand on her waist, the other fisted in her hair, he knew he wasn’t fine yet. Neither of them were, but eventually, they’d get there.

Together.

______________________________________________________________

AAAAAAH I hope you enjoyed!!! I made myself cry while writing this LMAOOOO. I’m excited for part 3!! we’ll finally see what really happens when Cassian can’t hold back...

tag list: @arinbelle @letstakethedawn @queenofbloodshed @thewayshedreamed @bookstantrash @allilal @illyrianshadowhunter @rainbowcheetah512 @skychild29

[seasonofthewicth]

A Groovy Kind of Love - Chapter 17

AN: Shout out to pink gin and the beach scene from empire of storms for making this chapter happen. Sexual content ahead. 

masterlist - ao3 - my askbox

-- 

The parking garage was quiet and dark as Rowan cut the engine and turned to her. 

The drive home had been a scene straight out of a movie. The windows had been rolled down and the last embers of the summer air had teased her hair as Rowan had driven away from the fading sunset. He had braced one hand on the steering wheel and the other held her own, resting against her thigh with their fingers interlocked. 

Aelin had snapped a photo of him on her phone, his side profile lit up in the fading sunlight, and then tucked it away, knowing she would make it her wallpaper later.

“That was the best kidnapping I’ve ever had,” She told him with a smirk. 

Rowan only shook his head, but Aelin caught the smile threatening to break through his bitten lip. He looked glorious, his skin slightly pink from a day in the sun and his hair mussed from the wind. 

Aelin liked something about the relaxed disarray he wore, it was warm and comfortable, but she couldn’t help noticing the way his rumpled collar exposed the length of his throat, the edge of his collarbone and the beginnings of his tattoo. The sharpness of the black ink against his bronzed skin was enticing and she reached out a finger to lightly trace one of the first lines of script. 

Her fingers traced the curls of the letters, dipping beneath the collar of his shirt and onto his chest. His skin was warm and soft as she explored and his chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm as she followed the words on his skin. 

“Aelin,” His voice broke the silence, her name almost a plea.

“Sorry,” She said with a mischievous smile, drawing her hand back, but Rowan caught it in his own and pressed a kiss to her fingers. 

“Don’t be.” 

His smile was pure contentment and one Aelin returned easily. Without a second thought Aelin unbuckled her seatbelt and leant across the car to press a kiss to his lips. 

He kissed her back immediately, reaching a hand up to cup her cheek and then sliding further to stroke the space behind her ear with his thumb. Aelin leaned into the touch, gently easing back from the kiss to smile up at him. 

“Thank you.”

The words weren’t enough for the day he had given her.

She pressed a kiss to his lips again, harder this time as his hand slid deeper into her hair. She tilted her head to the side, sinking into the kiss as Rowan took control, parting her lips with his own. 

He still tasted of the chocolate and hazelnut treats they had shared back at the beach and she wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, tugging him closer. Rowan mirrored her action, bringing his hand up to rest against her lower back, the pressure of his hand easing her over to him. 

Rowan broke the kiss and Aelin moaned her displeasure until he trailed his mouth down her jawline, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the length of her neck. 

She groaned at the sensation, the scrape of his teeth against her skin had heat pooling in her core and she tugged his face to hers again, kissing him harder, hotter, faster. Aelin shifted her weight until she was leaning up on the seat and cradling his face up to her own as they kissed. 

She could hear her breathing coming in fast breathless pants, desperate to be closer to him with every sweep of his tongue. 

Rowan’s hand on her lower back slid downwards to slip into the back pocket of her jeans and Aelin gasped at the feeling of his hand spanned across her backside, the warmth of his palm burning through the fabric. 

Aelin sank further into him still, throwing her leg across the centre console of his car until she was perched in his lap. She didn’t care who could walk past and see them-it didn’t matter. She was lost in him and threw herself further into his kiss wanting to be even more so. Rowan’s hand, that had until now been twisted through her hair, trailed a burning path down her body to join his other, flexing his fingers against her in a way that had her rocking her hips down into his own. 

A groan crossed his lips at the motion and his head fell back to rest against the seat. Aelin kissed a path down his neck until she reached the collar of his shirt, still rocking her hips down into his. His hands slipped upwards to rest on her hips, pushing her down to meet him with every roll of her hips and the tips of his fingers slid up above the waistband of her jeans. 

The sensation of his fingers against her skin sparked a frenzy and she began to fumble with the buttons of his shirt. She wanted his chest bare against her own. His hands crept up her sides until they teased the underside of her bra and she wanted more. 

Her pace increased as she wrestled with his buttons and she smirked in triumph as she got one undone. She pulled open the top of his shirt to reveal planes of divine golden skin as her elbow hit something hard. 

The car horn jolted her out of her haze of arousal and it stilled Rowan’s hands under her shirt. 

His green eyes blinked open slowly at the interruption as he caught his breath, his chest heaving beneath her fingers. A hazy smile began to tug at the corners of his lips and Aelin ducked her head to his chest, pressing her cheek to the skin to hide her own smile. 

“Oops,” She said innocently. 

It was all Rowan needed before he erupted into laughter. 

It was a sound she didn’t often hear from him, his displays of delight were usually muted smiles and small chuckles with a handful of smug smirks, but his laughter was a wonderful sound. 

Aelin allowed herself to laugh along too, partly at the interruption and also at the image of themselves, making out in his car like a pair of horny teenagers. She remained sprawled across his lap and despite his laughter she could still feel him hard beneath her. She slipped her hands into his shirt and back across his shoulders, allowing herself to feel the planes of his chest as she snuggled deeper into him.

After a moment she felt his laughter diminish as he stilled beneath her and his hands dropped from her chest to rest at her hips. 

“We should head up to the loft,” He said, his voice thick and raspy. 

Aelin lifted her head to kiss him again at the sound, but he saw the gesture coming and ducked to press a kiss to the base of her throat. 

“Come on.” His hands squeezed her hips as he spoke and Aelin was pliant in his arms. 

“Okay,” She murmured, but made no attempt to move from her position atop him. 

“I don’t want to push you off,” Rowan began. 

“So don’t.” Aelin lifted her head to meet his eyes, a challenge dancing across her face. 

Rowan’s head dropped back again to lie against the headrest as he groaned. “Aelin, you’re going to be the death of me.”

He shifted himself beneath her and Aelin leaned into the motion. She wanted to tease him, wanted to work him up the way he stirred something red hot within her. Aelin wanted his heart to pound in his chest at the sight of her the way hers did when she spotted him. 

Rowan squeezed his eyes shut, his head still tilted back in a silent prayer. 

“Aelin. The loft,” He said, unable to string any longer of a sentence together. 

Aelin leaned forwards until her breath was a whisper across his lips. 

“Fine,” She said softly. “Come and get me then.”

-- 

Aelin had all but thrown herself out of the car and sprinted her way across the space to reach the lift leading to the loft. Rowan had chased her, hot on her heels with his hands outstretched reaching for her waist as they ran, but Aelin had managed to twirl away, giggling, and beat him to the doors. 

Once inside he had swiftly jammed the button for their floor and crowded her against the wall, kissing her until she was panting and her back was arching away from the wall as she clung to him. 

She had half a thought to hope none of their neighbours would stumble upon them, or worse any of their roommates, but the thought was quickly swept away as Rowan slid his mouth down the length of her throat. She stamped down the other half of her brain that thought she might quite like being discovered in a position like this with Rowan. 

The image set her blood on fire again.

Aelin managed to keep her hands to herself as Rowan unlocked the door to the loft. She knew if any of their roommates spotted them the game was up, her hair felt like a birds nest and her lips were tingling from the pressure of Rowan’s, and she made an attempt to appear dignified, smoothing a shaky hand over her hair. Rowan’s shirt, only half buttoned, was a lost cause.

The fear of discovery, and the sly smiles she spotted on Rowan’s face, were reminiscent of the years she would sneak back into her parent’s house after spending nights in the park playing spin the bottle with Lysandra and some of the other kids from their school. 

There were differences of course. Rowan couldn’t be compared to those teenage boys she used to spend her time with and she knew this night would have a completely different ending to the unsatisfying and unsure kisses of her past. 

“It could be pretty useful,” She said with a glance to Rowan as they made their way quickly across the loft. “Our rooms being on this side of the loft.” 

“Oh, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” Aelin smiled as they came to a stop outside their bedroom doors. She reached up to loop her arms around his neck and Rowan’s hands came up to rest comfortably at her waist. “The rest of the loft don’t come down here. It’s only me and you.”

Rowan’s fingers flexed at her waist and he tilted his head to the side, taking in not only her words, but the presumptuous smirk she wore. “And that’s what we need? Privacy?”

Aelin licked her bottom lip as she considered him. “Definitely. We’re all in, right?”

Rowan leaned down to brush his lips against her own and Aelin smiled into the kiss. “All in,” He told her, his lips moving against her own. 

The touch was brief, soft and delicate, as Rowan smiled against her mouth. This was what she had been waiting for, all these months since moving into the loft. 

She hadn’t ever entertained the possibility of something like this resulting from her moving into the spare room in her cousin’s apartment, she had been too caught up in the loss of Arobynn and her job and the utter desolation she felt to even consider the three relative strangers that occupied the other rooms in the loft. 

The day she had wandered up to the loft and been met at the door by Rowan felt like a million years ago now, and she and Rowan had become something unexpected, but something brilliant. When she first moved in Rowan had still been worried about seeing Lyria. Gods, she couldn’t help her laugh at the thought. 

He paused his kiss against her lips and moved to nuzzle her neck. 

“Where’s your head at?” He asked, so carefully trying to muster a calm into his voice. Aelin smiled again. 

“My head is wondering whether we should go to your place or mine.”

She could feel Rowan’s smirk against her neck. “Mine’s closer.” He nipped the skin of her throat with his teeth and pulled her back into his bedroom before slamming the door tightly shut behind them. 

Rowan didn’t waste time before slanting his lips over her own. Aelin kissed him back enthusiastically, twisting her hands through the soft strands of his silver hair as she backed up until her knees hit the edge of his bed. 

Her fingers were hurried but steady as she fought the buttons of Rowan’s shirt for a second time. This time she was victorious, and Aelin yanked the material off his shoulders revealing a broad expanse of toned chest. 

Aelin broke the kiss to glance down at the newly revealed skin. She was helplessly into his tattoo. It stretched across the toned planes of his upper chest and down one of his sculpted biceps. The muscles tensed as she placed a flat palm against the upper left of his chest, covering the swirls of dark ink. 

Rowan’s hand came up to cover her own, before lifting it and pressing a kiss to the back of her knuckles. “Your turn.” He grinned at her as he dropped her hand to peel her shirt off. 

His gaze grew heavier as he took in the newly revealed skin and his hands skimmed her sides, sparking shivers across her skin. 

Aelin lifted her hands to unclasp her bra but Rowan’s voice halted her. 

“Let me,” He said with a bite to her bottom lip. 

Aelin surrendered herself and allowed her eyes to flutter shut and Rowan released the clasp and dragged the straps down her arms, his motion torturously slow as he trailed his fingers over her skin before throwing the bra across the room. 

Aelin’s eyes snapped open as he cupped a breast in his palm, his thumb flicking over a nipple. 

“You’re beautiful.” Rowan’s voice was hoarse. His eyes roving over her skin as his teeth worked his bottom lip. 

She preened at his words, her head ducking to the side to fight her blush.

“I know,” Aelin said with a grin as she dropped her hands to his belt. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

She caught the huff of Rowan’s laugh before he kissed her again, his tongue delving deep and twisting something deep inside her. 

Her skin was both pebbled by his touch and burning red as he continued his motions against her breast, squeezing the flesh and pinching her nipple between his finger and thumb. She pushed her chest up into his touch and his touch grew firmer and more demanding, flicking his fingers against her peaked flesh and sending heat directly into her core as he reached a hand down to grab her ass. 

Aelin moaned. His fingers were godly and she needed more. She dropped out of his touch and onto his bed, relishing in the soft cotton against her back but missing Rowan’s hands on her body already. 

Rowan watched her every movement with a focus akin to a hawk. His eyes catalogued every inch of her skin, darting up to her face and down her chest and lower where her hands paused at the button of her jeans.

“You want to do these honours too?” She asked with a raised brow. 

“With pleasure.” 

His voice was low and curled another flicker of heat deep within her. 

He kicked off his own jeans before peeling hers carefully down her legs. He held her ankle delicately before pressing a soft kiss to the bone. Aelin lifted her hands above her head and lay back to watch, biting her lip to suppress her smile. 

Rowan peppered kisses down the length of her leg, incorporating the occasional scrape of his teeth across her skin.

Aelin hadn’t known it possible to burn this hot, her skin was flushed and her mouth lay open, gasping any breaths she could as Rowan smirked up at her from between her legs, the leg he had kissed thrown over his shoulder.

Her breathing was too loud and she was struggling to keep her hips against his bed. Rowan lifted a hand, just as he came to hover just over the apex of her thighs, and pinned her hips to the bed and oh, gods-

He kept eye contact with her as he slowly pressed one sweet kiss to her center, watching her, and making sure she was watching him, before tugging her underwear down over her hips. Aelin took a deep breath, fighting to keep her eyes open against the anticipation of what she knew was to come. 

She arched off the bed at the first touch of his tongue. He devoured her without hesitation, tasting her with fast strokes that brought her close to a haze of euphoria before pulling back to press hot and wet kisses to her hips when she came close to her release. Aelin gripped her fingers through his hair to pull him back to where she needed him most and he hummed a laugh against her at her enthusiasm. The vibration through her core set her skin aflame.

Aelin knew a half conscious stream of babbling curses were falling out of her mouth but she didn’t care. 

“Please,” She whimpered and her toes curled as she felt him smirk against her. “Please, Rowan.”

He pulled back as far as her hands would allow to glance up at her. “If I knew this was all I had to do to get some manners out of you I would have done it a long time ago.”

Aelin groaned but the sound morphed into a gasp as he brought his mouth back down to her and lifted a hand to join. The feeling of his tongue against her and his fingers inside her lifted her up to her peak, working her higher and higher, until finally release barrelled through her with a cry of his name. “Rowan.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and her legs together, trapping him between her thighs as she came. 

It took her a moment to land back down on earth, and as her eyes fluttered open she saw Rowan grinning darkly up at her. 

“Come here,” She whispered as she released her grip around him and tugged his mouth back up to hers. 

The taste of herself on his tongue was enough to reignite the fire in her veins and as Rowan settled into the space between her legs, lining himself up to grind into her, she tipped her head back in a gasp. 

His hand dropped back down to play with her again gently and she moaned as she pushed at his boxers with a hand. She couldn’t form sentences, could only produce gasped moans and wild gestures. 

Rowan pulled back for a second to sling his boxers into the corner of the room and Aelin allowed herself to take in the magnificence of his body. Endless stretches of toned muscle covered in golden skin and a splattering of pale silver hair. Her mouth went dry at the sight. 

Aelin raised herself up on her elbows as she took him in. 

“Rowan.” Was all she whispered. 

It took Rowan only a second to settle over her again and slot his lips to hers. The kiss was filthy, all scraping of teeth against lips and battles of tongues. Aelin was desperate for him. 

She reached a hand in between their bodies, marvelling in the inches of soft skin, before wrapping a hand around the length of him. Rowan broke the kiss with a choked moan. 

“Aelin.” His hips stuttered into her hand as she crossed her thumb over the tip. 

Aelin relished in the sharp gasps and low moans he made into her neck as she worked her hand and she knew the smile she pressed into the side of his neck was wicked. She was proud of herself for drawing such noises out of him. 

Before long his hips increased their pace and he pulled back to kiss her hard. 

“Condom?” She asked between breathy kisses. 

“In the drawer.”

Rowan stretched his arm past her head to retrieve the small foil package. Aelin took it from him as her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip. Rowan pressed his face into her neck as she rolled it on and she pumped her hand a couple of times, relishing in the stutter of his hips against her, before pulling back to kiss him again. 

Their kiss slowed as she took her time to taste him, slowly rolling her tongue and hips against him and losing herself to the moment. This was Rowan, and the feeling of their bodies against each other was exquisite, but she loved the tenderness between them more. 

He towered over her usually but as they lay tangled on his bed they were eye to eye. Every glance between them was passionate and intense but reassuring. She felt safe under him, and that meant more than she could express with words. She lifted a hand to his face and pressed a soft lingering kiss to his lips. 

“I’m all in.” 

They hadn’t explicitly stated the terms of whatever it was between them, but she knew he read the wealth her words held. 

“All in,” He said with a nod before pressing into her slowly. 

He rolled his hips slowly as she adjusted, whispering promises of adoration against her skin as she gasped. Gorgeous, perfect, so good. Soon his pace sped up and Aelin blinked her eyes open as he wrapped an arm around her waist, adjusting the angle as he thrusted into her. 

Aelin dug her fingernails into his shoulders, needing something to ground her in the sensations rushing over her skin and flooding inside her. She was lost in Rowan, he was lost in her, and it was more than perfect. 

She met his mouth in a messy kiss as his pace increased. She barely heard her mewling cries and Rowan’s laboured breaths over the pounding in her ears. 

“Rowan,” She moaned his name unashamedly as the wave within her built to a peak. 

“Aelin.” He sunk his teeth into the flesh of her neck as he came and the sensation sent sparks through her body as the wave crashed around her. 

It took her a moment to reel herself and climb back down from her high. She knew her heart was racing and her breaths were hurried but she barely registered it, lost to the euphoria.

The soft kisses Rowan peppered across her skin as she came down were delightful and she knew without opening her eyes that he was smiling. She was too. 

Something between them had settled and she stroked the back of his head as he pulled out of her. Her eyes fluttered open as he pressed a final kiss to her lips. Aelin kissed him back gently but the kiss was broken by her smile. 

“I agree.” She smiled at his confusion. 

“With what?” He asked, rolling onto his back and pulling her with him until she was lounging across his chest. 

“We should have done that a long time ago.” 

He kissed the smug smirk off her face. 

-- 

Aelin’s bed remained unused for the rest of the week. 

Rowan had enjoyed taking his time to thoroughly get to know Aelin’s body. He loved coaxing each and every single noise he could from her throat, and rejoiced each time a new one was discovered. 

One in particular he had enjoyed was a soft cry when he had flicked his tongue just so against her as his fingers pressed inside her-he hadn’t been able to banish that sound from his head for a few days. It had haunted him in the shower when Aelin was at work for almost as long.

He had barely been able to walk around without a smile in the days since their date, and Lorcan and Fenrys had both repeatedly been shooting him confused and questioning expressions. He didn’t bother explaining, it would probably result in some level of easy mockery and they’d no doubt find out soon enough.

The level of secrecy within the loft was low, he still didn’t know how Aedion and Lysandra had kept their secret from Aelin for so long, and he doubted himself and Aelin would stay secret for long. Especially when Rowan himself had confessed to Aedion and Fenrys had made any number of comments betraying his insight to the situation. 

There was also the fact that Aelin’s room had been obviously empty for days. Someone would cotton on soon, but until then, Rowan was enjoying himself. And the peace he and Aelin had eased into. 

He had left her with a kiss when he headed to his shift, he didn’t know how he had managed to pull himself away, but here he was. Pulling cool pints for strangers while Aelin remained at the loft. Likely in the oversized t-shirt he had left her in. 

Gods, the image of her in his clothes sent a jolt through him. The gold of her hair against the green of the cotton, the hem barely covering her underwear that it had taken all of his self control not to peel off. 

Out of the corner he saw Malakai throwing him a weird look. He subtly adjusted his trousers and turned to the older male. 

“You alright?” He asked. 

“Yes,” Rowan said plainly, hoping the other man wouldn’t ask him to expand. Rowan doubted he would be interested in Rowan’s inner monologue about Aelin and the image of the miles of exposed skin he had been left with; Malakai’s husband, Emrys, couldn’t look any less like Aelin if he tried. 

Malakai only tilted his head, the sprinkles of grey through his dark hair shining in the fluorescent lights of the bar. He slung the rag in his hand over his shoulder and crossed his arms as he turned to face Rowan fully. 

“Have you thought anymore about what we discussed?”

Gods, not this again. 

“No, not yet. I will get back to you.”

He’d give his whole shift's worth of tips to have a customer turn up and bring this conversation to an end. 

Malakai nodded slowly. “Alright, I need an answer soon though.”

“I know,” Rowan said, still glancing around the bar. 

“I think you should consider it,” Malakai began, bringing up the argument Rowan had heard before. 

“I will.”

Rowan had never been so glad for the sight of his dark haired roommate as Lorcan plopped himself down at the bar in front of Rowan. He’d also probably never jumped to get his friend a beer so quickly. 

“What was that about?” Lorcan asked as Malakai wandered over to the other end of the bar without another word. 

“Nothing,” Rowan dismissed the thought and Lorcan narrowed his eyes before ultimately deciding it wasn’t worth it. 

“I need to ask you something.”

Rowan barely held back a wince. “What?”

“I need help to plan a date.”

Rowan thought his eyebrows could very well have hit his hairline. 

“With the captain?”

Lorcan nodded and Rowan tucked that piece of information away for later. 

“And you came to me?” The scepticism was clear in his voice. 

“I can go somewhere else and leave you to whatever conversation I interrupted,” Rowan narrowed his eyes. “Or you can tell me what you did with Galathynius.” 

Rowan couldn’t help the smug smirk at Lorcan’s words. It seemed the secret was already spreading.

His friend swung a punch to his bicep, slightly too hard to be completely a joke. “The date you bastard. I know perfectly well how to do the rest.”

-- 

tags:

@jesstargaryenqueen

@maybekindasortaace

@slytheringalathynius

@http-itsrebecca

@morganofthewildfire

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato

@fictional-horan

@tottenhamboys20

@dressedindustandshadows

@sleeping-and-books

@perseusannabeth

@ireallyshouldsleeprn

@superspiritfestival

@aelinfeyreeleven945tbln

@spyofthenightcourt

@jlinez

@queen-of-glass

@booknerdproblems

@sjmships

@elriel4life

@bamchickawowow

@woollycat22

@claralady

@illyrianwitchling

@SHINYA-HIIRAGI

@fangirlprincess09

@darlinminds

@bookittothelibrary1 <- this came up as the url please let me know if its not right

@thenerdandfandoms

@danibutterr

@inthecityair

@autophobiaxx​

@imaginedhaven​

[fantasyfan]

Coming Out: Nico di Angelo Oneshot

Summary: Nico summons Bianca to talk to her, and ends up spilling a lot more than he intended to. Characters: Nico and Bianca di Angelo, Hades Slightly angsty

(I apologize in advance if I get any Italian wrong, or put the words in the wrong place. I only used two words, but Google Translate was used for both of them.)  There also might be some italics missing, since I copy pasted from Google Docs, so apologies and if you think an italic is needed, reply to the post or smthn and I’ll add it. 

Without further ado, here it is!

12-year-old Nico sat on his bed, head in his hands. The Labyrinth was gone, and the battle was over, gone and over like all the praise he received. 

For once, Nico had been a part of the camp; he’d sat around the campfire, eaten and laughed, having fun. 

But all it took was a week for the excitement to die down, and the other campers became wary of him.

He was only 12, for Gods’ sake! Why were they so scared? Sure, he was a son of Hades, but Percy was a son of Poseidon (and older than himself, Nico might add), yet they all gushed over him.

This annoyed Nico to no end, so eventually, he found his way to his father’s palace, back to his old room. The one Hades had offered him after he ran away from Camp Half-Blood. 

The room was hardly touched. Nico had only spent a few days here before running off, trying to find a way to bring his sister back. 

Of course he’d been convinced to let her rest at peace. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to talk to her.

“Bianca,” he greeted softly, reaching out to touch her before drawing his hand back, reminding himself he couldn’t. 

“Nico,” Bianca smiled, brushing ghostly lips over his forehead. “Mio fratello.”

Nico closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, trying to imagine that Bianca was really here with him, in a physical body instead of a ghostly one.

Sighing, he sat back down on the bed. Bianca was here, able to talk to him at least. He couldn’t resurrect her, so speaking to her was the next best option. 

His mind subconsciously piece things together and he had a horrible thought. Panic shot through him as he jumped up and tried to grab Bianca by her shoulders, hands falling right through her image.

Gritting his teeth, Nico crammed his hands into his pockets and instead fixed Bianca with the most serious gaze he could muster.

“Are you going to reincarnate?” Though they were hidden from sight, deep in his jean pockets, Nico’s hands were clenched tightly into fists, knuckles white. In his head, he said a prayer to the Gods who screwed up his life so badly, hoping with all his might that his sister would say no. 

“Oh Nico,” Bianca began, looking at him regretfully, eyes filled with sadness. 

That was all the answer he needed. Trying to control his panic and the tears threatening to form, Nico clenched his hands even tighter. Nails cut into skin, and the son of Hades could feel blood seeping out from underneath his fingers. Even worse than that was the fact that even Nico himself could feel the absolute fear radiating off him. 

If Bianca reincarnated, then he would fully, truly, lose her. She was his only family, and Nico felt tears pricking his eyes at the thought of being completely alone.

“Don’t.” It was all he said, biting his lip to try and keep the tears from escaping.

Bianca stared at him in surprise, and Nico realized what he just said probably sounded like to his sister. 

Reminding himself that no matter what he wanted, it was his sister’s (regretfully ended, now ghost) life, and he couldn’t guilt her into staying in Elysium forever, just so he could be happy.

“Don’t answer my question,” Nico whispered, voice cracking. 

It was what he meant, when he said ‘Don’t’ but certainly not what he wanted. “Don’t tell me, Bianca. Not now, and not before you go.” 

Breathing sharply, his nails were now digging even deeper into the wounds they had inflicted. The pain was the tipping point for the tears that had been gathering in his eyes, and he began to cry, biting his tongue in a fruitless attempt to hold them back.

Gasping as he unclenched his fists, Nico drew his hands out of his pockets. There were four cuts on his right palm, each around the size of a fingernail. Identical wounds were on his left hand, and Nico bit his lip, watching as blood slowly seeped out, crimson red against his pale skin.

“Nico!” Bianca frowned, biting her lip in concern as she reached out for his injuries before realizing she couldn’t help.

That gesture hurt even more than his palms, and Nico clenched his teeth to keep his silent tears at that volume.

Trying to still his desperately shaking hands, Nico pulled open the nightstand drawer. Inside were squares of ambrosia and bottles of nectar that Hades had put for him, and Nico silently thanked his father. 

Pouring the golden liquid over his hands, Nico could feel cuts slowly closing, and the physical pain was soon gone with the injuries. 

Emotional hurt was harder to fix, and usually couldn’t be resolved with Gods’ food. That didn’t mean Nico wouldn’t try though, so he lifted the bottle to his mouth and took careful sips of the golden liquid. 

Pulling some ambrosia out as well, he slowly ate it, restricting himself so he didn’t accidentally burn up from consuming too much of the Gods’ food.

By the time Nico was done, the yellow square was gone, as was about half the bottle of nectar. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he looked back at his sister, who had patiently waited while her brother silently sobbed while taking swigs of nectar and bites of ambrosia. 

She was sitting on the bed next to him, handout of pure spite and anger, he cursed that Bianca was able to touch the bed but not him.

Using the (now) healed palm of his hand to brush away stray tears, Nico cleared his throat. 

“Bianca, since um, you’re not, uh, not,” his voice cracked and he stumbled over his words, but Nico forged on. “Since you’re not going to be here much longer, I figured I might as well make the most out of this time.” 

Before Bianca could say something to comfort him, Nico blurted it out. “I’m gay.” 

A ghost of a smile appeared on his sister’s face, and she reached out as if to touch his face, cup it with her hands like she used to.

“It’s okay, mio fratello.” She moved closer to him, and Nico could swear he felt her breath by his ear. “I am too,” Bianca breathed. 

Nico managed to somehow choke on nothing, beginning to gasp and wheeze as he clawed at his throat. Vigorously coughing, he stared at his sister in shock as he pounded his chest, trying to get air in.

Bianca nearly burst out in raucous laughter, but with a lot of struggling, she managed to keep it to a few quiet giggles. 

When he was finally able to speak, Nico simply choked out, “You are?” before blushing so hard he looked like he was still choking. 

“Yes, Nico, I am.” Binaca smiled, though looked slightly concerned at his reddening face and so pointed to the bottle of nectar on the drawer. 

Nico took a sip of the drink, letting the cool liquid run down his tortured throat, which hurt like hell from his (concerningly long) coughing fit.

Bianca snarkily pointed to the closet while her brother drank, smirking. “Do you want to try this the proper way?” she asked, batting her eyelashes innocently.

Nico rolled his eyes but complied, chuckling as he slipped into the closet. He stayed there for a good minute before bursting out, wearing a colourful pride shirt with many accessories.

“I’m gay, Gods dammit!” he screeched, looking like a rainbow in the cemetery, with his messy black hair and pale skin. 

Bianca burst out laughing at the thought, proudly watching her brother as ghostly tears (Ghosts can cry. Who knew?) threatened to trickle down her cheeks.

“I’m not going to ask where you got those things,” she smiled, pretending to brush an unruly curl from his forehead. The two of them ignored the fact that the hair stayed right where it was when her hand passed straight through it.

“Nico, go show Hades. Tell him.” Nico’s eyes widened and his mouth hung open like a fish’s. Bianca smiled again, her brother’s facial features hilarious. “Nico, I’m serious though. Come on, before your courage wanes.” 

“Why should I tell him?” Nico asked, scoffing as he turned away. The two had been chatting for a few minutes about all the troubles of being gay when Bianca ruined the mood by demanding he tell their father.

“Nico.” His sister’s voice forced him to look at her, straight into translucent eyes. “I’m not your only family. When I’m gone, you still have Hades.” She chose not to add the part about how Camp Half-Blood could be his family too, if he let them get closer. One step at a time.

“Hades,” Nico snarled, putting as much venom as he could in the name, “killed our mother. Hades put us in this situation.”

He knew that neither of those were true, but said them anyway; truthfully, he was just scared, finding excuses so he wouldn’t have to tell his father.

“Nico,” Bianca sighed quietly. Eyebrows raising for a second as she began to fade, Bianca quickly understood what was happening.“You’ve summoned me for far too long already, I have to go.” Nico let out a strangled sound, restraining himself from reaching out to try and keep her here with him, because he knew it would be useless. 

“It was lovely talking to you again, and I’m sure that Father will say the same when you tell him.” Nico’s lips thinned and he frowned, and Bianca knew that look well. “Please, for me, mio fratello?” She asked, voice barely audible as she faded away, back in Elysium.

Nico could never resist it when his sister spoke in Italian. It would only be used when she was expressing extreme admiration or happiness, which was why he absolutely melted when Bianca called him ‘mio fratello.’ 

That was also why he was tugging on a jacket to cover his pride shirt, buttons, pins, and bracelets as he went to find Hades.

Besides, what kind of brother would he be if he didn’t grant his sister’s last, true, dying wish? Nico felt like Bianca had been waiting for him to summon her one last time before choosing to be reborn. To let them have one more conversation before she was truly gone.

Pushing that thought away, Nico wandered the halls of Hades’ vast palace, looking in every room for the God himself.

“Father?” Nico finally picked the right room, opening the door to find Hades in a chair, reading a book.

“Yes?” He didn’t even bother to look up from whatever he was reading, and that slightly deflated Nico’s already waning confidence. 

“I have something to tell you.” Anxiously shifting from foot to foot in the doorway, Nico awaited his father’s response. 

Eyebrows raising by a fraction, Hades raised a hand, beckoning his son into the room. Nervously shuffling in, Nico stood a good meter away from the God of the Underworld, afraid. 

Not that the distance would do much since, well, Hades was the God of the Underworld.

“Do continue,” his father drawled, idly flipping a page as he spoke. 

“It’s kind of a serious confession,” Nico mumbled, almost visibly shaking from having to restrain himself from turning tail and running, as well as the feeling of absolute terror bubbling in his stomach.

Still not bothering to look up, Hades rolled two fingers, gesturing for him to continue.

“I’m...g-ga-” Nico stuttered, already feeling his face heat up. It took him a good minute to compose himself and finish his short sentence, during which Hades hardly blinked an eye at the awkwardness. “I’m gay,” he finally managed to choked out, voice barely above a whisper.

Immediately, Nico began to panic. His dad was the literal God of the Underworld, so even if he died, then he could still be sent to the Fields of Punishment. Afterall, who cared about the small Italian boy enough to argue with a God?

Bianca cares, he reminded himself. But she’s dead, you idiot! She’s a ghost, and going to be reborn soon. If you go to the Field of Punishment, what will she be able to do?

Panic overwhelmed him, and Nico was on the verge of hyperventilating. Until his father spoke and somehow calmed every nerve in his body.

“Okay.” That was it. One syllable to assure Nico that everything was alright. His breathing slowed, but he wasn’t so easily convinced that Hades was okay with him being gay.

“Father, I don’t think you heard me properly. Perhaps you were distracted with reading? I said I was gay.” Unzipping his jacket, Nico let it fall to the floor and made wild gestures at his clothes and accessories. 

“Nico, I heard you fine. What’s your confession?” Hades’ eyes flicked up but he hardly seemed surprised at the rainbow wear, going back to read his book right after looking.

“I…” Nico stared in disbelief. Was Hades just dismissing his coming out as if it were a regular occurrence? Dismissing the fact that he was gay as though it hadn’t been something that Nico had fought tooth and nail to keep secret?

“Nico?” The God prompted, flipping another page.

“That’s it. That was the confession,” Nico whispered. “I’m gay. That’s the confession.” For the first time in their (admittedly short) conversation, Hades properly looked up from his book, frowning at Nico. 

“That’s your confession?”

The boy silently nodded, looking at his feet. “Well, I...I thought you’d be mad or something.” 

“Mad at the fact you’re gay.” Hades (somehow) looked Nico in the eyes (even though he was staring at the floor as though it were the most interesting thing in the world) for confirmation, and he nodded again.

Sighing, Hades closed his book and stood, gently placing a hand on his son’s shoulder. “It’s okay. I’m not and won’t be mad.” 

“Really?” NIco gasped, looking up at him with shining eyes.

“Of course,” Hades scoffed. “There’s no way you can be more gay than Apollo, and he’s been my nephew for thousands of years.” He paused for a second before summoning a chair. “That reminds me. You are long overdue for a Greek Mythology review if you think that I, a Greek God, would have a problem with a gay son.”

[lovelivingmydreams]

A story by heroes and villains Roman Castile: Prince

To bring out your inner truth, to stand by your friends. To be the hero of your own story.

The very next day he came out as gay to the school.

He walked through the hallways with his head held high, a confident cadence in his step. He knew that he was getting stares all over and that was rather the point.

When he walked into his first homeroom of the year he was pleasantly surprised to see Virgil there, and no Janus.

Upon seeing him Virgil’s eyes widened. Roman strode in proudly and sat himself on the empty desk next to Virgil’s, his back to the front, feet on the chair and planting his new sparkling, rainbow, backpack next to him, and dragging a hand to his matching hair.

“You are extremely extra any chance you get aren’t you?” Virgil chuckled.

“I am,” Roman agreed as he took off his jacket revealing the full extent of his once white, now rainbow colored shirt, which proudly read ‘I’m a Gay Disney Prince!’. The writing was part of the original shirt. Except for the ‘gay’ bit. That, Roman added himself while he dyed the shirt by using duct tape to write out the letters, paint the shirt and then take of the tape to leave one white word to contrast against the colorful shirt.

So he was pretty much a walking rainbow with a neon-sign on his chest.

It couldn’t be more clear if he shouted it at the top of his lungs. Or maybe if he kissed a guy in front of the whole school. But he wasn’t that extra and the guy he’d want to kiss would not appreciate the gesture.

“Well it looks good on you,” Virgil complemented and Roman made a bow.

“Why thank you, mi caballero guapo,” he teased. Just then their homeroom teacher came in and made introductions, prompting Roman to take his seat, while she handed out their schedules.

Roman looked over at Virgil’s and grinned widely.

“We have almost every class together!” he exclaimed excitedly. Sure the odds were in their favor considering they had the same homeroom, but it wasn’t a guarantee. Last year he’d shared homeroom with André and only had two classes in common.

“Aside from our electives that is. Why am I not surprised you’re taking drawing classes? Though you don’t really need the extra help. You are amazing as you are. Which reminds me. Did you think about sending in your designs?” When Roman looked up he saw that 1 his face and Virgil’s were much to close and 2 he was overwhelming Virgil with his fast paced rambling.

He sat up straight as fast as he could. “Sorry. Got a bit ahead of myself there,” he apologized.

Virgil blushed and looked away to stare at his hands that were tugging at his hoodie in his lap.

Roman tried his best not to hope that the color shining through the foundation was because his neighbor was at least a little into him. ‘He is uncomfortable for god’s sake! For once in your life try to not make it about yourself!’ he thought to himself.

“No problem… Well… I don’t know. You really think he’d want it?” Virgil asked awkwardly.

“Are you kidding? If I were forced in that atrocious ‘crime against fashion’ as you adequately called it, I’d be wishing on every star for a new outfit. And what you have drawn up. It’s not just an answer to his every prayer, it’s the most awesome costume he could ever hope for.”

Virgil offered him that adorable half smile of his and looked down. “Alright… I’ll send it in… But with some adjustments and under an alias,” he insisted.

“How about Dante?” Roman offered. He’d still know it was Virgil no matter what alias he’d choose. But BS and the others didn’t need to know who exactly designed his new look.

Virgil nodded. “Sounds good,” he agreed with the smallest smile.

Before Roman could ask what he was thinking about that made him smile, the door opened and none other than Janus strolled in.

“Mr. Bullard. So kind of you to join us,” the teacher noted displeased as she handed him his schedule.

Roman noticed Virgil’s good mood disappearing as soon as he walked in. Now Roman thought about it, while he got a rather detailed report on his neighbor’s summer, Janus hadn’t been mentioned once. Had Virgil and Janus gotten into a fight? Did this have something to do with the canceled plans Virgil mentioned right before the lamp came down?

Janus more or less ignored the teacher and looked around, eyes landing on Roman with contempt and narrowing when they spotted Virgil next to him.

He walked over. “Move, that’s my seat,” he growled.

“De ninguna manera. You want to sit with the coolest kid in school, get here on time,” Roman taunted confidently. He wasn’t scared of him and he wouldn’t leave Virgil with someone he seemed to want to distance himself from.

“Excuse me?” Janus’ eyes narrowed and he raised a fist as if preparing to punch him. Roman didn’t even blink.

“Mr. Bullard! Seat! Now!” the teacher insisted. Bullard glared at Roman one last time before looking at Virgil expectantly. “You heard the teacher Jan. Just go,” the purple wonder huffed.

Janus blinked a few times in disbelieve. Then his face hardened and he went to sit on an empty desk to their left.

“Good. As I was saying, I hope the rest of the year will go without any more incidents like yesterday. Mr. Anker, Mr. Castile, I speak for the whole school when I say that we are happy to see you two are back and unfazed by yesterday’s incident,” the teacher offered kindly.

“Thank you Mrs. Foster,” Virgil muttered a little embarrassed.

“I wouldn’t dream of depriving you of my radiant presence for another day,” Roman jested with a smirk. Causing his classmates to laugh. Well, most, Janus looked like he wanted to glare a hole in his head.

Roman ignored him. Virgil was chuckling next to him and that was a million times more interesting.

The teacher continued with taking attendance and going over all the basic first day announcements. When the bell rang Roman walked with Virgil to his locker, which happened to be only ten away from his. Virgil stayed with him as he retrieved his things and they talked about their homeroom teacher who seemed to be nice but firm. Something they could appreciate.

“Where are we headed next?” Roman asked as he dug into the back of his locker where his pencil case was currently hiding from him.

“Um…” he could hear Virgil digging through his backpack. He’d seen Virgil memorize their schedule earlier. He assumed that Virgil’s anxiety caused him to double check if he remembered right. Which wasn’t a bad thing to be honest. Better safe than sorry right?

“Hey!” Virgil exclaimed behind him. Roman dropped the case and turned around to find Janus looking over Virgil’s schedule with a frown.

“How can we have no classes together? I thought we were going to take sociology?”

“No!” Virgil stated firmly as he snatched the paper back. “You were. I tried to tell you that I wanted to do art, and you didn’t listen. Like usual,” Virgil bit at him before looking at Roman.

“We’re in building C. Let’s go,” he huffed. Roman nodded, picked up the case and shut his locker.

“Virge come on!” Janus objected frantically as he ran out in front of them, keeping them from making their way to class. “You are mad, I get it, I’m sorry okay? Can’t we talk about this? We always work things out,” he pleaded. Roman almost felt sorry for him. He looked genuinely terrified of losing Virgil’s friendship.

Virgil squared his shoulders and lifted his head.

“My decision is final J. I’m done enabling your behavior. I thought I was helping you out, but I was making it worse. I can’t protect you anymore… You are right. Sometimes we have to do what’s best for us. And for me, that is not being around you anymore.” Roman could tell that this was hard on Virgil. So when Janus reached out for him he went to stand in between them.

“He’s asking you to back off. Give him some space.”

Janus’ face went from pleading to murderous in a second. Next thing Roman knew he was pushed against a locker. “Stay out of it Chapero!” He said the slur in a mocking tone, with a purposefully horrible accent. Roman found himself letting out a growl as he turned their position around.

“You better not know what you just called me,” he warned.

“I don’t say anything I don’t mean. Payaso,” Janus taunted.

“Roman! What’s going on? Let him go. Let’s just go to class. Please.” Roman looked to Virgil, recalling that stress wasn’t good for him. “Sorry. You’re right. We’ll be late,” he sighed, letting go of the other teens collar and following Virgil, trying to calm himself down.

“Get to class Jan!” Virgil instructed his former friend.

“This isn’t over!” Janus replied. He didn’t come after them though. Good, Roman wouldn’t be able to refrain from using his powers a second time.

When they got outside and headed to building C Virgil laid his hand on Roman’s shoulder.

“You okay?” he asked worriedly.

Was he okay? “I’ll be fine, just pissed off. How about you? He was your friend for a long time right?” he asked instead.

Virgil sighed sadly. “He lives in the house next to mine. We basically grew up together I guess. And I tried to protect him from bullies as best I could, you know because of,” Virgil gestured to the left side of his face and Roman nodded in understanding.

“I didn’t realize he isn’t that same kid anymore. I guilted myself into sticking with him.

He was my friend, if I didn’t help him who would? He needed me. He stuck with me too. You get the picture. When he told me to take the same elective as him. I had enough. I told you about the summer camp I went to. What I didn’t mention was that it was a camp where they teach you to stand up for yourself. ‘your needs are important too’ and all that stuff. So when I got home I asked my dad to help me convince the principal to make sure I shared as little classes with him as possible. I felt shitty doing it. But at camp I also learned that me tolerating Jan so long isn’t helping him. Mrs. Danvers was on the right path when she separated us last year. We both need to learn be us without the other. And maybe when we’ve figured that out, we can try again.”

Roman nodded along, his anger finally calming down completely.

“What did he say?” Virgil asked. “Janus likes to brag that he is fluent in Spanish and French. I didn’t know he’d also learned slang.”

“He learned slang alright,” Roman huffed, back in a bad mood.

“I’m pretty sure he was just trying to get a rise out of me, which succeeded.” Why did he let that stupid word get to him? He should’ve just let it go.

“You sure you want to know?” he asked, not wanting to be the cause of more discord for his classmate.

“Yes. If it upset you that much, I do,” Virgil said firmly.

“Alright. Payaso, means clown,” Roman told him. Virgil nodded waiting for the other one. The one that had made Roman nearly see red.

“And… Chapero,” he felt his face reflect the distaste he felt just saying it. “It means- It refers to my…”

Roman gestured to his shirt, unwilling to say it aloud.

It was 2016! Being gay shouldn’t be looked down upon anymore. It’s just not right. That was what had bothered him really. Janus using his coming out to the school as a weapon against him. Especially because he lacked the spine to let Virgil know what he was saying.

“Seriously!?” Virgil growled already turning around, presumably to berate Janus on his behalf. Roman quickly grabbed the back of his hoodie to stop him. “We can’t be late. Not for him,” he reminded Virgil.

“You’re right,” Virgil agreed though he sounded extremely reluctant.

Soon they arrived in their classroom with a few minutes to spare.

Roman followed Virgil to a desk halfway the room. Not his own usual front row seat, but neither was it Virgil’s standard far back hiding spot.

“Well what do you know? My two favorite boys at one desk. Must be my lucky day!” Roman looked up from his backpack and saw that Stacey sat herself on top of his desk.

“Good morning to you too Stacey.” Roman offered politely. He knew it was his own fault, and she was his friend. But he was still a little jealous.

“Hi,” Virgil greeted casually, unknowingly making Roman feel significantly better. He didn’t look like he was very affected by the presence of a girl he was going out with.

“Ro. Guess where we’re going for our date?” Stacey asked, her eyes gleaming teasingly. She had called him last night to thank him and make sure that he was alright after being rejected. When he admitted he wasn’t technically rejected, he just panicked, she had burst out laughing. And now she was torturing him it seemed.

“No clue,” Roman admitted, noting that there was once again color shining through Virgil’s foundation. So maybe Stacey didn’t leave his neighbor as unmoved as he’d initially thought.

“The art studio! We’re going to go nuts on a blank canvas together. Isn’t that the coolest thing you’ve ever heard?”

It was a great activity to do together for two artistic people. Virgil clearly knew how to plan a first date. Stacey was going to love it.

“Well… It’s basically just hanging out,” Virgil corrected Stacey quietly. And Roman almost felt bad for feeling so relieved. He was getting emotional whiplash from this conversation.

“Yeah. What did you call it? Vibe check?” Stacey wondered.

“Something like that,” he nodded.

“Basically we’re going to roll with it as friends and see if we click romantically while we are pouring our souls out on canvas. No click? No hard feelings,” Stacey explained with a casual shrug. Then the teacher came in and she hurried to her seat.

During class Roman did his best to focus on the teacher. But every now and then his thoughts drifted to Virgil and what it would be like if he was the one going to the art studio with him. He imagined Virgil teasing him, because he wasn’t that great at drawing. Pretty soon they’d start painting each other and then… The bell rang. Right class, crush next to him.

The rest of the day went rather pleasant. At least until he was walking to his locker after Drama with Miguel and Kelly. He could hear a loud bang before they rounded the corner. There was shouting in the hallway and he and his friends hurried to break up what they were sure was a fight.

His eyes widened in horror as he saw Virgil was being held against the locker by his former best friend. Several witnesses were yelling at Janus to let Virgil go, but no one seemed willing to actually do something.

Virgil stared back at Janus with steady eyes. “No!” he stated firmly.

Roman had seen enough. He dropped his backpack and shouted at full volume.

“Let him go Bullard!” Everyone else fell silent. Janus looked over at Roman as did Virgil.

“I’ve got this Roman,” the shorter boy stated.

“I know. But you don’t have to do this alone,” Roman assured him, feeling Kelly and Miguel coming to his side. Time for Virgil to learn what it was like when your friends had your back.

“I texted the others. They are on their way,” Kelly informed him quietly. Roman nodded to show he’d understood her. Then he turned his attention back to Bullard.

“I’ll ask one more time. Leave him alone.”

Janus released his grip and Virgil barely kept himself from crashing to the floor.

“Think you can take me Castile?” he scoffed stalking towards him, putting himself between Roman and Virgil. He came to a stop a few feet away.

“I’m not going to give you the satisfaction of getting me in trouble,” Roman replied firmly. His mother would murder him if he got detention.

“So you’re just talk then huh? Afraid to get your butt kicked in front of everyone? Trying to score easy points with Virgil? Hoping I’ll let you steal him from me that easily?” he taunted.

“Trying to repay him in some small way for saving my life yesterday. But none of that is any of your business. Virgil’s decision to finally break free from you has nothing to do with me, and everything with how you’re treating him. I don’t understand what he saw in you that made him stick around this long. But you took it for granted and now it’s done. Leave him alone,” Roman told him, hearing footfalls of his other friends arriving, once they were complete they started sending the crowd away.

“If you’re not going to help go to your classes.”

“No need for all of you to be late.”

“Go on. Nothing to see here.”

His gaze was trained on his opponent, but he could see and hear the crowd dispersing around them.

Janus’ eyes narrowed at him before his face and posture relaxed. He got a glint in his eyes, a smirk on his lips.

“What’s wrong Castile? Don’t want an audience? I thought you lived for the cheers of a crowd?” Roman let the words wash over him. If he didn’t get a reaction, he’d leave. He always did.

“Or maybe this is an exclusive event? Just for your little fanclub and Virgil? Is he your newest devoted follower?”

Roman quirked a brow. “You guys should head to class,” he told his friends.

“Ro!” Nora exclaimed in disbelief.

“You’ll all get in trouble if you don’t get to class in time. Now go,” he turned to Clara.

“Tell our teacher that Virgil and I will be there soon. I’m not feeling well and Virgil is looking out for me.”

“Making your friends lie for you Castile? Some friend you are.” That idiot really didn’t know when to shut his mouth.

“Or tell them the truth. Apparently Bullard want’s detention on the first day,” Roman corrected himself.

Clara nodded and his friends slowly walked away. Now Roman didn’t have to worry as much about holding back. He could convince one witness that nothing strange had happened if he used his powers. But all his friends standing so close? Not a chance.

“Now we’re talking! A private show, just for you Virge,” Janus looked behind him where Virgil was still standing, rubbing at his chest where Janus’ fist had pressed into him and looking at Roman with worry.

“Virge? You okay?” Roman asked, once more ignoring the taunts.

“Yeah, fine,” he muttered as he moved towards him, but Janus gestured for him to stop and Virgil obeyed, so suddenly that it almost seemed odd… Was that a reflex from years of doing whatever it took to appease his friend? Or should Roman take a look to see if his adversary was using some kind of power?

Being gifted wasn’t very common, or at least, knowing you were gifted wasn’t.

Animotropolis was one of only a handful of places in the world that had an a system in place to help gifted people for a reason. Roman knew he wasn’t the only one in the program right now, even if he was the only one in hero training, but he’d never met other members before.

Was Janus one of them? Or maybe self-taught? He could find out with just a well-timed peak…

No, not with Virgil so close and clearly upset. Looking meant seeing everything. Including how this situation was truly affecting Virgil. It felt… intimate and like a betrayal of trust.

He wouldn’t unless it was necessary.

“Just get to class. I can handle myself,” Roman assured Virgil. He could get to their classroom trough the hallway farther back. And once he was gone, Roman would be able to see Janus’ energy, read his intentions and defeat him without either of them getting hurt.

“Stop mocking me!” Apparently Janus didn’t like being ignored.

Roman readied himself to block the punch and failing that, absorb the impact so he could defend himself. But he never got the chance to do either.

Virgil had made his way between them somehow and was now sinking to the ground in pain as he clutched his stomach. Roman was next to him in a second.

“V… I” Roman glared up at Janus, who was staring at them stunned, fist still raised.

“Messing with him emotionally and mentally isn’t enough for you? You have to resort to physical violence as well? What kind of friend are you?” he demanded. He knew that this instance hadn’t been aimed at Virgil, but he hadn’t forgotten that Janus had clearly been too forceful when pushing Virgil against the wall.

For the first time since he’d met him, Janus didn’t have a snappy retort. He just looked away in shame and left.

Roman turned his attention back to his apparent guardian angel.

“You okay? Should we go to the nurse?”

Virgil shook his head. “No. Dad will lose it if he knows someone actually hit me. Let’s just go to class. I’ll be fine by the time we get there,” he assured Roman.

“Okay… If you are sure…” Roman allowed reluctantly. “Thanks for catching that one, but you didn’t have to. I did some self-defense courses.”  More accurately he’s been trained in several forms of hand to hand combat for the past four years as part of his hero training.

“I would’ve been able to get out of harm’s way without hurting him,” he informs Virgil as he tries not to think about the fact that he, the superhero, had been saved twice by his romantic interest. And by the stars, it makes him like Virgil even more. Who wants a damsel, when they can have a knight in shining armor? Sometimes a savior needs saving. Then again, Virgil seemed like he could use some saving as well.

“I’ll remember that,” Virgil grinned trough his pain.

“Seriously though that’s the second time you’ve jumped to my rescue. Thank you,” Roman offered gently as he helped Virgil up and they both started walking to class.

Virgil grinned back at him through the pain. “Guess DreamPrince inspired me to be heroic,” he joked.

“He does seem to inspire a lot in you. I’m almost envious of him,” Roman admitted, not really looking at Virgil to hide his sincerity. “I’d love to be the one to inspire someone so much, artistically and the like I mean. Oh, that would be the dream. To be someone’s muse and have them be mine in return.”

Sadly Roman Castile didn’t inspire Virgil much. Not even remotely in the way Virgil inspired him. He was the one who’d made him want to be a hero. Thoughts of him had made him write monologues and characters, play and sing his heart out like never before.

He’s had other crushes. But Virgil seemed to be always there somewhere on the peripheral of his mind.

“That would be pretty cool I guess,” Virgil allowed, now seemingly back to normal.

“Are you sure we don’t need to have you checked out?” Roman worried. Virgil nodded firmly.

“I barely feel it anymore. He didn’t hit that hard,” he shrugged.

Roman decided to let it go.

The rest of the day went by without much trouble. Virgil even sat with Roman’s group over lunch. They didn’t sit next to each other for every class. Most classes they shared with a few of Roman’s other friends and they seemed to have decided that Roman had to be saved from embarrassing himself by method of constant supervision. So while they always sat close, they only shared a desk for English and History.

At the end of the day Virgil and Stacey left for the art studio and Roman couldn’t think of anything else than that all evening. That is until he got a text from Stacey.

“Awesome evening, no spark though. ;p Don’t blow it this time!”

Roman’s heart hammered in his chest. What was he supposed to do? Call him up right away?

No. He probably should wait for Friday. Hang out with him and see if sparks fly without the pressure of it being a real date. And if the evening sucked, well he had patrol after dinner, so that’d be too bad for any villains he came across.

@moonlightshow00 @naturallyunstablegamer @alias290​ @meowthefluffy​ @frida0043​ @angelic-cali​ @selenechris​ @theblackveilinreverse​ @cirishere​ @hestianerd1​

Passion and duty

Masterlist

[lottiethroughthelookingglass]

Another 15x19 coda/15x20 fix-it? It’s more likely than you think. Anyway I think they should have delivered on the whole barn thing also feeling personally victimised by Lord Huron’s “The Night We Met”

on ao3

It’s a pull in his stomach.

It starts the moment they agree to check out the strange deaths of three IT professionals in the same small mid-western town.

He almost turns it down, says it’s was probably nothing, says they should probably let someone else take it. But he doesn’t

Sam hasn’t connected the dots. Then again why should he. He’d been off with Ruby or something. There’s no reason for him to even think of that night.

The hunt turns out to be a quick salt and burn. The three IT guys had stolen software from the company and the ghost of their ex-boss apparently couldn’t rest without vengeance.

These people need to get their priorities sorted. Dean thinks as he shovels dirt from the boss’s freshly dug grave while Sam stands watch for cops or security guards or the ghost or whatever else might decide to fuck up their night.

The body burns quickly and they’re able to head straight back to the motel. Done and dusted. Sam showers and then conks out almost immediately on his still-made bed.

Dean can’t sleep. Typical. He stares at the faded wallpaper on the dingy hotel room wall. The pull feels like a burning. He wants to throw up. But then again, he wants to throw up most of the time these days.

Grief’s a raw nerve ending. But it can’t last forever. He knows that. It’s not the first time he’s grieved. Not the first time he’s filled his days with drinking and nights with numbness.

But before there’d always been other things to distract him. After Sam there’d been Lisa and Ben, Sam and Jack after Cas and then Chuck and the end of the goddamn world after Mary.

He’s spent the better part of the last year wishing for nothing more than a chance to stop Chuck once and for all and now he almost wishes they hadn’t. Almost wishes that Chuck or Michael or Lucifer or just some damn bad guy would poke their head up and make his life miserable again. At least give him something he can fight. Some goal to work towards. Something he can defeat.

Because this. This he can’t do anything about. All he can do for this is turn through the motions and pretend that he’s ok.

The pull is in his chest.

Maybe it would help. Maybe it’s what he needs. Some kind of closure. Completing the circle bullshit or whatever.

He leaves just after 1am. Sam’ll be out for at least a few more hours. He leaves a note anyway on the cheap motel notepad – gone for a drink, will be back in the morning – Dean.

Sam won’t like it. He’ll be mad in the morning but he’ll be over it soon enough.

It takes almost two hours to get there. The roads all begin to look the same and he soon realises that despite having a good memory for locations it turns out finding a random barn you visited once twelve years ago isn’t as easy as he thought it would be.

He keeps driving. If nothing else it’ll be a way to pass the time and the search at least gives him something to do.

Eventually, he begins to see a few familiar signs. A dirt road with a twisted tree he recognises and it’s suddenly before him.

The barn’s still standing but the years haven’t been kind. Even more slats of wood are missing than before and one end is badly charred from a long-extinguished fire.

He parks Baby behind the barn, in the same spot he had twelve years prior and enters reverently like a parishioner to a church. There’s no need for a torch as the moonlight finds its way through the holes in the roof to bathe the floor in a cool blue light.

The pull turns to an ache.

The sigils are still there upon the walls. Hardly touched by graffiti over the years.

He makes his way down the centre of the barn, the dirt and grass crunching softly under his boots.

At the end of the barn he turns to face the doors.

There’s no breeze, they stand still. Firmly closed.

He doesn’t fall, just finds himself on the ground. His back against the wall and head raised to the sky. The heavens shine above him, stars in their multitudes glitter above.

Cas…

He breathes it out. It’s not a prayer. More a lamentation.

He prayed the first few nights. Racing after Chuck he prayed and he prayed and he hoped that Cas could hear him. But after Chuck was gone and the days started to blur praying became too much. It was just a reminder of the silence that would always face him.

In the stillness of the night there’s a flutter. A familiar sound.

Dean doesn’t move. His mind’s gotten particularly good at playing tricks on him lately.

“Dean?”

A silhouette against the closed barn doors. No sparks rain down. Permanently messy black hair and rumpled tan trench coat and skewwhiff blue tie illuminated by the pale moonlight.

“What are you doing here?”

The figure approaches him. His steps hesitant, nothing like the march under gunfire he’d made that night.

“Saw it on TripAdvisor. Apparently, this barn’s a top tourist attraction.” Dean replies with a crooked but mirthless grin.

Castiel stops, his head tilting.

They regard each other. Castiel’s eyes seem to brim with pain.

Dean’s are empty. He’s cried enough tears and he isn’t going to let some ghostly hallucination draw more from him now.

“Why are you here Dean?” The apparition’s voice is firmer, more demanding.

Dean sighs, tilts his head against the wall, “Just looking for some closure. A bit of sense I guess.”

His mind’s image is before him now, leaning down, reaching out-

A solid hand presses against his arm.

“Dean?”

Dean’s whole-body flinches. Visions can’t touch.

He stares up at the man before him, his eyes wide.

“Cas?” He breathes. “You’re not-”

“I’m sorry, I just saw you were here and… Jack was worried for you. He said I should talk to you.”

Dean tenses, “What do you mean saw? Jack-”

Visions of leaping up and embracing are dashed even as Cas begins to retreat.

“How are you here?” Dean demands, anger bubbling to the surface over any relief.

Cas hesitates, “Jack needed angels to rebuild heaven and well the Empty was getting crowded.”

“So he brought you back?”

“Among others.”

“You’ve been back this whole time.”

“Not the whole time.”

“How long?”

“I- I don’t know. Time is different in Heaven.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me. Me or Sam? I thought we were family Cas?!”

He finds himself on his feet. Words of anger coming so much easier than the tenderness he’s been holding near his heart

“We are. But I didn’t want to make things hard.”

“What the fuck does that mean Cas? What the fuck do you mean hard? Do you have any idea-”

Dean stops. He can’t. This is all his wanted for weeks. Months? He’s not sure. Time is different here too. And now Cas is standing in front of him and he just wants to fight.

Cas is staring at him. Cas is so close. Cas said he loved him.

“Why didn’t you come back?”

Cas looks to the ground.

Dean curses, slumps against the wall of the barn. Of course, it’s not what he thought. Why would it be?

“I used to come here often.” Cas’s voice cuts through the silence, gravel deep and rough.

Dean scuffs at the barn floor, “Why?”

“When I was questioning.” he says, “I would come here and I’d look at what you and Bobby had done. The sigils, the bullets, everything. You had no idea what you were facing. I- Heaven, Angels, it was something you couldn’t comprehend. Something so entirely beyond you. And you took your paints and your books and your weapons and you tried so hard to protect yourselves.  You were so scared. And this barn would remind me of that. That no matter what you said, how confident you were, The Plan was more than you and if you couldn’t even comprehend a single angel then what was the worth in listening to you.”

Cas comes and stands beside Dean. A solid space still between them.

“But then, when I was falling… I kept coming here. And looking at this place.  You were so scared. The warding, the weapons, you were just trying to cover up your fear. But it was also your bravery. You knew that this was something bigger than you’d ever seen. Something you couldn’t understand and you were terrified. But that didn’t stop you from trying, from going for it with everything you had because you knew confronting your fear was better than it letting it fester and control you. I was afraid, of everything knew I was feeling. Of falling. But this place reminded me that I couldn’t let that stop me from doing the right thing. Even if I was scared…”

Cas falls quiet. The night air lies stale and still between them. Dean almost wishes it was storming but all is quiet.

“I’m still scared.”

“What are you scared of now?” Dean asks, barely a whisper.

Cas frowns, chews over his words.

“I’m afraid you won’t ask me to stay”

Dean’s eyes met Cas’s and the air becomes electric for a moment.

“What are you afraid of Dean?”

Dean can barely breathe.

“I’m afraid you’ll leave.” He wants to look away but he forces himself to hold Cas’s gaze. “Cas, please stay.”

“I won’t leave Dean.” He says, barely a whisper.

“Good.”

He looks away. He can’t hold that gaze. Doesn’t know what to do with the energy vibrating between them. So he does what he knows, he looks away and tries to brush it off.

“It’s good to have you back Cas.” He says to the wall ahead of him.

He feels a hand on his sleeve. Cas reaching out to him. He turns back to him and suddenly finds himself in a bone crushing hug.

“It’s good to be back.” Cas whispers into his shoulder.

And if Dean holds onto that hug a little longer than he should, if his head turns to breathe in the scent of ozone and that missing storm and home that lingers on Cas, nobody needs to know. If he should really take this moment and kiss the miracle of an angel standing before him but he doesn’t – well, there’ll be another moment he tells himself. There’ll always be another moment.

Cas breaks the hug first, pulls away and Dean almost doesn’t let him. But Cas doesn’t go far. He raises a hand to cup Dean’s face, and he’s got that same look on his face that he had that night.

There’s something Dean should say.

Cas pulls his hand away.

They separate and then they’re in the car and they’re going back to the motel and Sam’s hugging Cas and asking questions and the moment’s gone and Dean can’t stop looking at him but the tugging feeling hasn’t gone. There’s still that sense of grief and he doesn’t know how to fix it.

No. He does know how to fix it. He’s just afraid.

-

They drive straight back to the bunker – back home. They don’t talk much but between the music Sam fills the silence. He calls Eileen who says she’ll meet them when they get back. She’s happy to hear about Cas.

Maybe Dean’s still angry. It’s been three days and he’s barely talked to Cas. It’s better than it was before. He can eat now, he can sleep and every day doesn’t feel like a rusty nail being dug into his gut.

He told Cas to stay but every time he sees him he can’t help but feel that Cas is just itching to leave. He can feel it radiating off him. He left all of heaven and his son to be here. To be with a human who hasn’t even been able to articulate what he wants after this angel gave everything for him.

The third night Sam and Eileen go out for dinner. Sam tries to invite Dean and Cas along in the kitchen over lunch and Dean just gives him a confused look. “No, I don’t want to go on your date Sam.”

Sam shrugs, “Suit yourself.”

Cas comes down to the kitchen after they leave.

“Where’s Sam and Eileen?”

“Went out for dinner.”

“Oh.”

They stand for a moment in the kitchen before Cas goes to leave.

“Do you wanna watch a movie?”

It’s an easy suggestion. Not that he really wants to watch anything. He just doesn’t want Cas to walk out again. Needs some reason to keep him here without actually having to talk about it.

“Ok.” Cas says.

-

They end up on Sam’s Netflix account. So, Dean can snoop and judge more than anything. There’s a half watched terrible looking Netflix original film in his Continue Watching section.

“What the hell Sammy?” Dean says as he hovers over the description.

“Maybe it was Eileen?”

“Hell no, Eileen has much better taste.”

“Was it you then?”

Dean shoots him a stinky look. “No, I have better taste.”

“We should watch it.”

“Really?”

“You’re always insisting I watch “classics” and “good films”. I think we should watch bad things too.”

“Ok.”

They play the film. It’s as terrible as the description suggested. Within five minutes Dean’s cackling at the bad CGI. The dialogue is as clichéd as anything and he’s never seen a man look so stilted while professing his undying love.

Beside him Cas is smiling– almost laughing.

He pauses the movie two acts in.

“I need to take a break.”

“Are we giving up?”

“No, we’re finishing this. I’m just gonna get popcorn.”

He comes back with the popcorn and sits back down next to Cas.

Cas reaches in and takes a handful of popcorn.

“Hey!”

“I thought it was for sharing.”

“Yeah, but you don’t need to eat. I thought it was all molecules to you anyway?”

“I like the texture.”

Dean doesn’t know why his cheeks flush at that. He doesn’t know why he sat down so much closer to Cas. Or rather he does know but he’s not sure if it’s the moment yet.

He starts the movie again.

At least it is a moment. For the first time since Cas came back things feel right.

He looks across at Cas, the angel of the lord that stormed that barn twelve years ago, taking rounds of bullets to his chest without flinching, as he shoves popcorn that he can’t even taste properly into his mouth and laughs at this stupid Netflix movie.

A smile crosses his face.

There’s something he should say.

Cas moves to rest his head on the back of the sofa. He’s got a content smile on his face. He looks like he wants to be here.

“I’m afraid you won’t ask me to stay”

“I love you too Cas.”

He barely registers the words coming out of his mouth.

Cas turns to him, the content smile gone from his face.

“Dean?”

“I don’t really know what you meant. And I’m terrified that we both mean two different things but I just need you to know that I’m so glad you’re back and- Cas you mean so much to me and I’ve been such a dick since you got back but I just don’t want you to go. I just want you to stay and I need you to know before I fuck this up anymore that I love you too… I love you Cas.”

The words stream out of him all of a sudden and Cas is staring at him his mouth slightly ajar.

God, did I look this stupid, Dean thinks.

Cas moves his hand like he’s going to do something with it but it’s still filled with popcorn. He looks at it for a moment. Dean pushes the bowl towards him and he puts the popcorn back in.

The moment feels awkward again but thank God Cas seems to be committed.

He cups Dean’s cheek. His fingers are buttery and it’s kind of gross.

“I- I love you too Dean. And I want to stay. I don’t want to go back to heaven, and I haven’t for a long time. I just want to stay here like this… with you.”

“Ok.”

It’s Dean who leans forward, takes the final leap and presses his lips feather soft against Cas’s. He leans awkwardly, hyper aware of not spilling the bowl of popcorn in his lap. Cas shifts closer so that he can properly kiss him. He tastes like popcorn and ozone and Cas.

They break apart but not far. Dean can feel the ghosts of Cas’s smile against his lips and his breath on his cheek.

The moment’s interrupted by a sudden chorus of loud rap from the movie.

They both turn back to the screen briefly.

“Why the hell are they all dressed as carrots?”

“I have no idea.” Cas replies.

He smiles again and looks over to Dean, their noses almost touching. “You do realise this is now going to be our movie.”

Dean’s eyes go wide, “Absolutely the fuck not.”

[blissfulalchemist]

amaryllis, angelica, holly, rose, tulip + hayat xx

Thank you so much Stella! You gave me some good ones! and I hope they make sense  Under the cut cause I got a little long with answers.

amaryllis :   what is something or someone that your muse takes pride in ? how do they express that pride ?

Hayat takes a lot of pride in his friends and coworkers. He’s a team player and does also stand with the belief that much of what has been accomplished couldn’t have happened without those he worked with or the ones that did those little things in the background that no one really notices. He expresses this pride in manners that feel appropriate to the person and situation. The most common ways is that Hayat will tell the person how much he appreciates their contributions and how proud he is of them. He is also one that is prone to throw the “pizza party” that many jobs will hold where there’s catered lunch but he puts more thought into these events and so therefore they feel more genuine. With Unit Bravo this translates more to activities and/or meals that he takes care to think about (Yes there is a rotating chart coupled with impromptu things happening, so at least once a month there is a trip to the museum). Honestly at the end of the day he will let you know any chance he gets.

angelica :   where does your muse draw inspiration in life ? what motivates them ?

Hayat on a more unconscious level draws much of his inspiration from his culture and religion which are important to him. Now granted he takes some liberties with his faith as he has adapted it to his personal lifestyle. However he still holds to the pillars of Islam (Though he feels that getting to Mecca may be a long ways away) as best that works with his lifestyle, for example even while growing up he really tried to get all five prayers a day in but sometimes you’re in a rush because you have that test and you’re already behind because the group project took longer than you thought it was and then your grandmother calls and it takes you a good ten minutes to tell you have to go and that you’ll call her later only for your boyfriend to then call after and remind you that you have a social thing that really doesn’t matter in the long run but you still gotta go all while you’re trying to not eat shit on wet concrete as you dash across campus and so you end up missing one during the day as life just gets in the way (He does do at minimum two out of five if life is just being like that). Sometimes his prayers look like this just to help give a bit more visual.

I feel I’m getting off topic now so back to the question. His faith plays a role in how he lives his life. Many of the core teachings boil down to be a good person and don’t harm others. There is one Pillar of faith that also contributes heavily to a more giving and doing right in the world which is the pillar of charity. This involves giving back some of what you have to those that need it more than you. Hayat doesn’t really have financial means to do so but he still feels that you can give more than just monetary means, he also feels that ones skill can be used to give back. This was a basis for his first dream (that Bobby crushed for him) in gaining a skill set that was going to be used to help the world. Creating things new and old that will make life better for those that need it. 

Now granted there are other things and people that motivate him but at the end of the day none of the giving back, caring, and kind nature wouldn’t be such a core trait of his had it not been for the way he was raised.

holly :   how strong is your muse’s sense of intuition ? are they aware of it ? do they ever fear that it is only paranoia ?

His intuition isn’t bad, he’s good at picking up on emotions and little nuances on people hiding things, holding back, or masking. Hell his intuition works really well for solving things on a more technical level to when I comes to creating and working with machinery. However the biggest downside is that he no longer listens to it as intently or just straight up ignores it as he feels it kind of screwed him over back in college. He wasn’t wrong with his intuition though, Bobby did love him and care about him that was all correct, where it gets him is that he trusted that part being true too much and it caused him to stay in that relationship for far longer than he should have. He still uses it and picks up more trust in it once getting more acclimated to Unit Bravo and the supernatural life as many times it comes in handy with these situations.

rose :   how much does your muse value other people ? do they wish to have many friends ,   lovers ,   and/or associates ? are they an easy person to love ?

Hayat values people very much, there is no life, no society without other people. Everyone has inherent value and it is intents that matter once you get to an individual basis. Hayat grew up with family around him so it lends him to wanting to be around people and having a good amount of friends, though he would rather take a few friends that are genuine and care about him over many friends that are there to just be there. Given his more out going personality it leads to many people gravitating to him which creates this illusion that he’s got all these friends but really he just is very friendly which people tend to respond too. 

As for if he’s easy to love....well that becomes a bit of a subjective question. Does he personally find himself easy to love? Not really, he is easy to like but love is a different matter as that primary attachment left him and grew distant, along with an ex that took advantage of him more than love him, so there must be something wrong with him for love to be hard to tie down for him. He’ll never admit it though and with the relationship with Mason there is an element of acceptance that the whole thing is temporary until Mason gets bored, but he accepts it as he can play pretend that there’s love there and elements to a committed relationship which can satiate the lonely feeling he keeps locked away. 

Now from an outsider’s perspective they would tell you that he is. There’s a genuineness to him that just makes people feel good and you can be quick to love him because you know there’s this part of him that would do anything for the people he cares about most which is what love can look like. Hayat doesn’t want from people other than their kindness and respect of him being a person just like them in the same way he approaches people.

tulip :   how does your muse view people in general ?

Many of these questions show aspects to how he sees people and I feels as if I’d be repeating myself in trying to describe it all. In short what it comes down to is: Until proven otherwise there is a light within every person and that’s what gives them life, no matter how much that person hides it with their own perceived darkness and so one should treat them as if all they had was that light to show until it has been proven otherwise. People are good and capable of doing good things if we can just start by offering that hand first.

[dailydianakko]

Diana vs. The Webcam

I’m back, and with another one-shot! This is kinda a gift for Mod Nightly! Also I do recall getting an ask about Diana struggling with technology, so I guess this fits? Kinda? Anyway, this is my longest fic yet, clocking in at around 2,600 words. A big thank you to R5H for helping me edit!

Diana booted up the old computer in her study.  While she waited for the old thing to finish starting up, she let her eyes roam over the old room. Had it not been for the perfectionist tendencies of Anna, Diana figured the whole study would’ve been covered in dust. Much of it was as she had left it. This room had been her hideaway last school break. Anna may have cleaned it, but the books had been meticulously put back in the same skewed positions as Diana had left them. The obvious overflow of the literature made Diana make a mental note to either find better space, or perhaps put the lesser used books back into the family library. Tapping the mouse in a staccato beat, her eyes ran from the bookshelves to the paintings on the wall. Diana wasn’t attached to the multiple portraits of fruits; perhaps she would replace them with more personal pictures soon. She doubted it though, this room stayed the same. She may claim it would be renovated, but in the end she found that she rather liked the room and its timeless charm. It would always look the way she expected it to be. Like grandmother’s study.

A chime interrupted her thoughts and her attention turned back to the screen. The blue glow caused her to squint and quickly turn on the desk lamp. It eased the strain on her eyes and allowed her to log into the old contraption. The keyboard was bulky and grey, making loud clacks as the password was hastily typed in. Now to hook up a “webcam” as Akko had called it. The stubborn brunette had refused to allow Diana to purchase her a crystal ball and instead had presented Diana with a box. Inside had been the “webcam”. Akko had demanded that Diana “Get her head out of the 1800s and learn how to be a modern witch”. Diana let out a huff as she recalled that particular spat. Although, she was planning on looking into modern technologies anyway. Just in case Croix tried something again that would put Akko at risk.

Diana cracked open the webcam box, and flipped foremost to the instruction manual. As she quickly skimmed through the pamphlet, small disgruntled noises fell from her lips. “What in Beatrice’s name is a MicroSD, and how does one insert it into a computer?” This may take longer than she originally thought. Diana snapped the hairtie she was wearing over her wrist and pulled her hair up into a high ponytail. After rolling up her sleeves, she removed her wand from the holster she kept on her hip. Muttering a quick chant and performing the proper wand movements, she summoned a wispy green spirit. “Please tell Anna that I request some tea and refreshment to the southern study.” The tiny spirit saluted and Diana covered her mouth, lest she let out a giggle and draw the ire of the small fae. With a nod, Diana dismissed the spirit and watched it zip through the door.

Once the spirit had left, she turned back to the task at hand. She wanted to at least have some sort of an idea before Anna saw her in this miserable state of confusion. This was why crystal balls were superior to mundane tech; you didn’t have to add anything. All it required was the right sort of spell. Although, now that Diana had a proper moment to reflect, Akko would most definitely have a harder time conjuring the required spells. While the excitable witch had made progress in leaps and bounds, the magic that required more finesse still left the brunette floundering. If Akko was trying hard in the more magical aspect for Diana, Diana could try hard in the more mundane aspect for Akko. Diana figured she had at least forty minutes for proper snacks to be made and for the tea to boil. She wouldn’t confirm nor deny knowing that the snacks meant for this evening had disappeared rather early today after she had passed by the kitchens.

Thirty minutes later Diana was feeling rather frazzled. Small curses she would never be caught dead uttering were flying from her mouth at an astounding rate. Her hair was messy, her back ached from frustration, and nothing was going right. Anna was due in the room at any minute, and Diana would rather she uphold her current reputation as a level headed and intelligent witch. She counted her blessings that O’Neill wasn’t here, lest the obnoxious redhead never let Diana live down her inability to hook up a webcam, and saying ‘fuck’. It had been uttered at least twelve times now. 

“Fucking hell” 

Thirteen.

Sitting up and taking a breath, Diana tugged on one of her loose bangs. She was an intelligent witch. She could do this. She twirled the desk chair once and got comfortable. Squaring her shoulders, she picked up the accursed instructions and gave them another look. As she was absorbed in sifting through the obscure text, a knock softly rang through the room in a pattern. One, two-two, one- one, one, two. “Come in, Anna,” Diana said as her eyes continued to scan the page. She absentmindedly waved her hand .

Her nursemaid glided into the room, tea tray in hand. It was piled with cucumber sandwiches, scones, and assorted tea cookies. An elegant teapot with a gilt rose design and matching teacup sat elegantly in the middle of the tray. Anna stood next to Diana and gave her a look of rebuke. The young heir was sprawled in the chair, one leg draped over the armrest, the other on the ground. Diana was using that leg to make tiny half revolutions as she slouched in the chair, one hand holding the instruction book, the other tugging her bangs. Anna cleared her throat, and Diana didn’t even flinch. Her hand flailed around, grabbed a sandwich. She began gnawing at it irately as she focused harder on the task at hand.

“Lady Cavendish.” Anna’s eyebrow raised and the frown lines on her face deepened. “Please refrain from such behavior.”  Diana froze mid bite into her sandwich. With a scramble of one moving for their life, she quickly straightened her posture. Smoothing her hair and practically tossing the sandwich back onto the tray, she faced Anna. The instruction manual fell abandoned at her feet. Diana would rather she not make a fool of herself trying to grab for it. Nine knows she had made a fool of herself already.

“Anna. Thank you for the refreshments. I ask that you forgive my behavior, I have been,” Diana glanced at the computer screen. It had gone back into sleep mode some time ago. “Rather occupied.”

“Of course, Diana. I only ask that you emulate the behavior of a lady when necessary. It would not do for you to show a sloppy side in front of those of a lower station.” Anna rested the tray on the desk and gently straightened Diana’s messy hair with a gentle hand. “Now, may I inquire what has you so distressed?”

Diana’s faced flushed as she glanced at the fallen manual. She cleared her throat in an attempt to buy some time to formulate an answer. “I wish to add a webcam to my computer, but much of this does not make as much sense as I wish it would.” Diana kicked the evil pamphlet gently. Her arms wound themselves around her torso and she pouted slightly. “I just want to video call my dearest friend, Akko”

Anna did a quick sign of the cross and muttered a Hail Mary at the mention of Akko’s name. She straightened up and gave Diana a faint smile. “Together we can puzzle through this, Diana. May I offer my assistance?”

Diana gave a tiny nod and quickly moved out of her seat. She wrapped Anna in a quick blink-and-you-miss-it sort of hug, and then flashed back into her seat. Anna let out a nearly inaudible chuckle at her young charge’s affection. Diana didn’t often like to be vulnerable. Weakness was easily taken advantage of in high society. Diana had caught on that regrettably quickly after the passing of her mother, Bernadette. Anna had done her best for her young mistress in a house absent of love. Seeing Diana smile more and act like a child was refreshing, even if it was improper. Anna crouched down and picked up the manual. “Now let’s take a crack at this together. Please eat while I go over and see what you could’ve missed.”

It took a full two hours, one and a half pots of tea, and at least ten cookies before the two had finally figured out the problem. As soon as the proper window had finally popped up, Diana let out a joyful cry and latched onto Anna, giggling. Anna couldn’t help but smile, and she indulged a minute or two in her almost adoptive daughter’s embrace. All too soon she extricated herself from Diana’s grip. “I’ll bring a fresh plate of cookies, Diana. Why don’t you call your friend?” Diana’s eyes lit up even further.

“That would be acceptable. I shall call Akko right now.” Diana practically wiggled in her seat. She then froze as if coming to a realization. Frantically she tidied her desk area and clothes. She took out her ponytail and grabbed her wand once more to cast a spell to neaten her hair. She had to look her best for Akko. A quick look to the wall clock told Diana it was about 9:25PM in Japan. Surely Akko would still be up. Anna hid a smile and quickly exited the room. Diana still had some cookies on her plate, and Anna wanted to leave the two girls alone for a bit.

Diana hastily booted up the program and went through the steps to call Akko. She waited with bated breath as the dots loaded across the screen. She looked as if she was in a silent prayer, hands clasped as she chewed on her lip.

“Konbanwa….” A messy haired Akko filled Diana’s screen. The hair that usually was stowed away in her little pigtail was practically sitting straight up. “Oh! Diana!” Akko’s accent had gotten even thicker during the few days she had been at home. The brunette rambled a few more words in her native tongue until she caught herself. “So!” Akko ran a hair through her adorably spiked hair. “Finally got the webcam up, huh, Diana?”

Diana blinked. She had been caught up in memorizing Akko’s cute bedhead. “Yes, it was quite a simple matter once I figured the instructions out. Took merely minutes to install.” Diana flicked her hair away from her face and stared Akko right in the eyes.

“Diana~ Your teeth are gonna rot from telling lies! You only ever do that hair thingie when you’re not being honest! I bet it took you hours. Did someone help you?” Akko flicked her screen and her picture flipped. “Oops.” The brunette deftly righted the mistake and began teasing Diana with that little smirk of hers.

“I’ll have you know-” Akko spun around in her chair, stopping mid spin to pull a face at Diana. “Confound it, Akko!” Diana dissolved into giggles. Akko looked on utterly smitten as Diana laughed. She missed this. Akko was so carefree, truly a breath of fresh air in Diana’s stagnant life. The rapid shutdown of the school due to the virus had sent Akko on a one way plane back home. Away from Diana.

 After Diana managed to compose herself, she noticed Akko had switched positions. Her hand rested her cheek, supporting her head as she looked at Diana in a dreamy manner. The slight knocking noise in the background clued Diana into the fact that Akko was swinging her legs under her desk. It was just like Akko during classes at Luna Nova. She could never truly sit still. Quarantine had made them both a little stir crazy. Seeing each other like this made things seem okay again.

“Atsuko, I truly missed you.” Diana’s eyes had a melty quality to them as she said this. Akko thought they kinda looked like the water in the Fountain of Polaris. Except while the waters in the fountain were cold, Diana’s were warm. Akko wanted nothing more than to give Diana a hug.

“I missed you too ,Diana. But! Guess what, you can finally see my room!” Akko slid her rolling chair away from the computer with a flourish, she gestured to her room. It was smaller than Diana imagined, and quite messy. The bed hadn’t been made and clothes were strewn about. The empty chip bag poking out from under Akko’s bed was especially incriminating. Of course, Diana also saw Shiny Chariot posters and collectibles littering the walls and bookshelves of the room. She noticed some other unknown cartoon characters, and made a mental note to look them up later. Akko’s birthday was coming in three months, and Diana wanted to send a care package to her.  The room was overall warm and lived in, just like Akko herself.

“It’s just as messy as I figured, Akko.” Akko let out a squawk and jerked her head to actually give her room a good look. Scrambling up from her chair, she jerked her sheets over the messiest bits of her bed and kicked her clothes out of view.

“Look, it doesn’t normally look like this,” Akko began to make a gaggle of excuses, each word coming out faster than the last one. She had turned back towards Diana, and was standing in the middle of the room.

“Oh? Now who is the one lying, Atsuko?”  Diana teased gently, a small giggle bubbling forth from her lips.  Akko paused in the middle of her wild gestures.

“I like it when you say my name, Diana.” Akko’s eyes gave a quick blink as her brain caught up with her mouth. Diana began to slowly turn red as she too processed what Akko had said. “I mean-what I want to say is-uh, etto, I really like the sound of your voice.” Akko covered her face and curled in on herself, wiggling from side to side.

“Akko,” Diana said softly, “I like it when you call my name too. I love your voice as well.”

Akko let out a muffled scream and wiggled harder. Her feet stomped lightly on the floor, tiny thuds accompanying her shriek. Diana felt her hands cover her face as well. She wasn’t usually as honest with her feelings as she was now. Akko tended to make Diana do crazy things, like venturing to the top of the stratosphere to stop a giant missile. Or like telling her things she swore never to say. Or actually giving people physical affection.

Akko peeked out from her hands, only to see Diana practically mirroring her embarrassment. “You’re cute, you know?” she blurted out. If Akko was going to die tonight, she might as well make sure she’d be six feet all the way under. It was Diana’s turn to let out a little squeak, so adorably uncharacteristic. “When this is all over, can I take you out to Blytonbury sometime?” Akko crossed her fingers, practically praying whoever was up there to let this work.

Diana peeled her hands from her face and took a deep breath. Looking a nervous Akko in the eyes, she gave her answer. “I suppose I would not be remiss in indulging on an outing with you at a later date. However, perhaps we can do something sooner? I’ve heard marvelous things about the internet.”

Akko let out a cheer and jumped into the air, only to scream as her foot slipped on some discarded shorts she had missed in her mad dash to ‘tidy’ her room. “Daijobu” a weak groan came from the floor as Diana let out a guffaw that evolved into full blown laughter. Akko watched happily from the floor. She would make Diana laugh more in the coming video calls, she hoped.

“So, how about a movie?”

[mcfreakin-bxtch]

Langdon’s Got a Witch

Pairing: Michael Langdon x Reader

Warnings: Smut (not that heavy), language

Word Count: 4k

A/N: So I thought about making this two parts or more but if this gets enough hits and you guys ask I shall!

Langdon’s Got a Queen

Y/N Y/L/N’s mother had always told her to stay away from that woman. The woman in black, the one with evil written all over. She never really had a problem with Miriam Mead, but boy did her parents. Mommy and Daddy dearest, devoted lovers of God, casting away the devil with their prayers and high ground morals. Now Y/N never had a problem with that either; to each their own she’d say. Besides, who was she to really judge other beliefs? If they weren’t bothering her that is.

Now Y/N was a confident person all around, knew she’d be destined for something great. Not in the supernatural sense, but in one where she played an important part in her career of choice, men and women parting ways as she walked through; wearing proudly, as one could conceive as, a devil’s smirk. She had straight A’s and B’s in school (a senior now, relieved to be done and over with), kept out of trouble to the best of her ability (of course she smoked, drank, always went to the biggest party thrown). Y/N Y/L/N made her parents proud all around with the outside persona she showed them. But she also wasn’t convinced that anyone would remember her (well her family maybe, a few friends here and there who probably wouldn’t make an effort to attend her funeral), but she would own the shit out of her life that was for sure. Completely ordinary was she, or at least she thought until that boy moved in.

Michael fucking Langdon. Y/N remembered watching him from the window of her bedroom, which conveniently faced the street of their neighborhood. The first thing she noticed from afar was the curiosity in his eyes as he inspected the outside of his seemingly new home. Next was his beautiful blonde curls, which she imagined she could run her hands through. Miriam, or Miss Mead as she’d always say, was all over the boy. He seemed to enjoy it though, seemed to thrive off it. Y/N had to know where this boy (or man?) came from. And why the hell he was stuck with Miriam Mead, the outcast Satanist. She waited, not sure on why she did really; a part of her was always scared of him. She would sneak peaks of him through her window when she could, catch him on his porch after school. And each and every time it seemed as though he knew she was watching, would always look her way as if he sensed her; she got the strong feeling that he did. And this is when he started to scare her a little.

“I’m just running these to Christine,” she lied smoothly to her mother, who was mindlessly cutting her vegetables as she listened. “I’ll text you if anything changes.”

Her father was more lenient than her mother. Sometimes she thinks that he wasn’t so religion crazy until he met her mother. He says otherwise, preaches that that was how he was raised. She doubted it. But no matter what she couldn’t say she hated her parents, quite the opposite actually, but there were times where she highly disliked them; when they made her go to church for something she cared little for or didn’t even think believed in herself, and the constant, searching eyes of her (she also hated to admit this at times) beautiful mom. When she met Michael, she was curious as to who his real parents were and what they were like. She’d ask, but there was always malice in his tone when they were mentioned; the venom in it would slap Y/N every time she heard it.

“Okay honey,” her mom said. “Tell Christine I said hi!”

“I will!” Y/N called out as she walked out the door.

Christine was one of the few people Y/N actually liked from her school. She was a shy, quite girl with beautiful (at least Y/N thought so) brunette locks and chocolate colored eyes. Some kids didn’t understand why someone like Y/N would ever hang out with someone like Christine; the dorky, shy girl who had no business being at the parties Y/N would drag her to. But Y/N did not care. She felt as though Christine was the only person on Earth she could be herself with; all her secrets and fears were locked away with the pure heart of dear Christine. That is until Michael Langdon.

Confidence, yet fear of the unknown bounced away with every step Y/N took to her neighbors’ door. She could sense this uneasy surge coursing through her as soon as she stepped foot on the property, uncomfortable but not entirely. Something different and dark calling to her, and she strangely loved it. With her heart drumming in her chest she knocked politely on the door, waiting patiently for what she assumed would be Miss Mead. It was Michael instead.

“Hello,” Michael said.

It almost felt as if he heard her, felt the call in his veins just as she had. Hearing just one pure, normal everyday word coming from his lovely, melodic voice made Y/N weak in her knees. There was a part of her, the alert, behaved subconscious of hers telling her to run. To be done with the boy and never look back. But the stronger part, the one who invited danger and the unknown of tomorrows, fell in love with him immediately.

She was never one to be a sap, didn’t believe in ‘love at first sight’ bullshit. Love took time, commitment, understanding, and above all patience. Fairy tales were fairy tales, and, unfortunately, they were stuck in reality. But with Michael Y/N felt as if nothing else existed but them, their love. That feeling alone felt enough to kill her, and never did she ever think it would happen to her. That was also something Y/N loved about him; he always teared down everything she thought she knew and showed her greatness.

“Hi,” Y/N breathed, sounding as though she ran miles to get to his door. “I’m Y/N Y/L/N, the neighbor. I figured I should welcome you to the neighborhood with some cookies. They’re chocolate chip, freshly baked too.” She added with a smile.

Michael looked at her wearily, but soon smiled back. “Chocolate chip is my favorite.” He told her.

Y/N could’ve sighed in relief and thanked God right then and there. Over chocolate chip cookies.

“Great!” She exclaimed. “Well I could just give you these for you and Miss Mead to enjoy. You can keep the plate too, it’s honestly not a problem.”

Y/N honestly didn’t want to leave. Because if she did that meant she had to leave that beautiful scent Michael carried on him, miss his beautiful blue eyes that she’d kill for, that seemingly sweet, innocent smile. It would mean going back to her everyday normal life, where now she didn’t see much of a future for herself. His aura was dark but full of promises and deep desires that would draw anyone and anything in. It was sweet, sweet poison and she couldn’t get enough of it.

“You can come in,” Michael said before Y/N could turn around to walk back. “Miss Mead isn’t back from the store yet but I’m sure she won’t mind.”

Y/N could feel the heat of a blush rushing to her cheeks. For what reason she didn’t know. Maybe it was because Michael was the one who invited her in. Or maybe it was the fact that Miss Mead wasn’t home, and this would be the first time she’d ever see the inside of a Satanists home. Either way she couldn’t help the eager nodding of her head before Michael stepped to the side to let her in.

Miriam’s house was surprisingly homey for having so many Satanic articles around the house. The house was obviously kept nice and cleaned, no blood on the kitchen table from sacrifices, no crosses burning in any corner of the house. She expected something far worse and darker in comparison. She watched as Michael set the plate of cookies down on the kitchen counter, awkwardly twiddling his hands together as he thought of something to say; Y/N was selfishly happy that he was just as nervous as she was.

“So,” Michael started, clearly trying to seem confident, and Y/N found it hard to believe that such a gorgeous being had no such experience at all. “Wanna see my room? We can play a few games if you want, I got a PlayStation.”

Y/N found herself smiling and nodding before she could even process what she was agreeing to.

‘Keep it together Y/N’ she mentally scolded.

Michael didn’t talk much about his family that afternoon as they played video games. Y/N couldn’t help but notice how childish Michael seemed to act. Not in a bad way, but in a way as though he really was a child. It confused her, even made her a little uncomfortable at first but she learned to understand it. She was telling Michael all about herself and family (she noticed that he nodded as if he already knew everything about her, his eyes conveying an aged and senescent look that pushed and pulled at Y/N’s entire being) when Miss Mead came home. The first thing she noticed is how Michael looked a little scared, like he had just committed a crime.

“I’ll be back,” Michael told her, standing up and rushing out his bedroom before Y/N could utter a response.

She folded her hands in her lap, looking around his room some more. It was simple for a teenage boy, some posters on the wall, a nice bed set, tv, clothes scattered in various parts of the room. She could hear them talking downstairs, picking up scattered words from their muffled conversation. A few minutes later Michael came back up, leaning against his doorway with a small, eager smile.

“Miss Mead brought home some takeout, wanna join us?”

Her heart stuttered at this. She was already having dinner with his family! Well adoptive (?) mother, but still. There were so many ways one could take it as, but she would never admit at the time that she wasn’t ready to leave him yet. She was willing to walk through fire if it meant spending another moment with Michael, and it scared her to death at how fast these feelings were catching on; like he was a magnet and she was ensnared in his trap.

“Thank you for the cookies Y/N,” Miriam said as they ate at the dinner table. “You certainly are the baker!”

“Thank you, Miss Mead,” Y/N said politely.

“Miriam, please,” she corrected, then straightened up a little in her seat.

“Do your parents know you’re over here?”

Y/N frowned, hoping that this conversation wouldn’t come up. “Not exactly,” she figured it was best not to lie to her, and hell she wasn’t afraid to admit that she was still a little scared of the woman. “But I’ll be alright. I just wanted to say hi, see if he needed help with school and everything.”

That also wasn’t entirely a lie, she had had school on her plans for discussing, a way to cave her way deeper into the boy only for him to turn the tables around on her.

“Huh,” Miss Mead huffed. “Well that was very kind of you Y/N. But Michael doesn’t need your help honey.”

Y/N was taken back, not quite expecting her brutal honesty. Michael looked at Miriam, horrified and embarrassed. Before Y/N could argue or agree, she wasn’t sure what, Michael said,

“Well I like her company and I want her to stay.”

There was a moment where Y/N looked at him and swore she saw the promise of a threat in his eyes as he stared at Miriam; fire burning behind the promise, endless torture and pain. This should’ve scared her, like run out of the fucking house and never, ever look back or even utter his name scared. Instead, her heart melted a little at the weight of his words and the fact that Miriam caved so easily. She went back home with more uncertainty than she ever felt before, but it also felt misplaced; like it wasn’t completely brought on by Michael. Rather, it was an immense pressure coursing through her body, and it felt as though it was seeping into her brain as well. She managed to somehow bypass her parents with a simple greeting and informing that she was heading to bed and passed out as soon as her head hit the pillows.

The dream Y/N was experiencing was one most would heavily consider to be a nightmare. And one that was visibly too real. There were barrens and she was still in her tank top and shorts she slipped in before falling asleep. She was standing in what she realized used to be Earth. Well, it was still on Earth, but everything alive was dead, nothing but dust and ash in the poisoned, polluted air. It did bother her, seeing all gray, no colors of life. It filled her with dread, and she did think about her parents and Christine.

“Y/N.”

She spun towards the sound, seeing, in the distance, a figure in a dark cloak. Somehow, she got the feeling that this figure was safe; to her at least. She found herself walking towards him, only realizing she was doing so when she stood a few feet in front of him. Under the hood of his cloak was a pale face, smiling down at her and holding his hand out. It was not the face of the boy she had just met, but rather an ancient evil; she knew that he had caused this. Still, she placed her palm in his. Waking up abruptly from the dream with a gasp, she faintly smelled the smoke before seeing it. There, in the corner of her room near the window where she would watch Michael from, was a fire. A fucking huge fire. Immediately jumping out of her bed and to her parents’ room made her dizzy from the smoke, but she damn near almost fainted from the screams that tore from her.

Miriam was talking with the police as Michael sat with Y/N in the ambulance. Her house was still burning down, her parents burnt to a crisp into their beds, the firefighters working hard to control it. She sat with a blanket around her shoulders as she was being checked out, dazed and in shock. She thought Michael was trying to talk to her, to soother her out of her shock, but the words came in jumbled messes, sounding as though she was underwater. She knew that she had somehow caused it. But what made her feel really guilty, that made her realize just how deep into hell she was already in, was that she felt so much better. The pressure was gone, as though it disappeared into the fire, and she felt oddly happy and free.

Michael had told Miriam that she was to stay with them until otherwise. Y/N didn’t have a problem with it, brought her closer to him. Miriam only tolerated it because of Michael. Christine would try to visit, her phone always blowing up from her constant calls and texts, but Y/N didn’t want them anymore; she didn’t want to bring Christine down with her.

Michael and Y/N’s relationship continued to change every day. The first few weeks were a daze, and she noticed things moving without her touching them, the pressure coming back every now and then. She would beg Michael to help her with this, afraid of repeating the same fate she left her parents in. Their faces haunted her in her dreams until Michael made them better. It was soon after that he told her everything about who he was. It surprisingly didn’t shock her as much as it should have. Miriam grew to like her and almost worship her as much as she did Michael when they all came to the conclusion that she had magic (almost) like Michael. Y/N and Michael would work on them together, her becoming more powerful with her newfound abilities. It felt amazing, letting it all out, and she wished she knew about them before accidentally killing her parents. Michael convinced her it was for the best. And he could be quite convincing; it only took a week into their new training before Y/N made the first move, kissing Michael with some much passion that she thought was going to cause another fire. She could tell he was inexperienced and very scared and nervous about her reaction to this revelation; it only made her more careful with him until he no longer needed her guidance.

The day Cordelia Foxx showed up at her door was also the day Michael was arrested for killing the butcher at the grocery store and was taken in by the Warlocks. Cordelia explained to her who exactly she was and that she was indeed a witch, and an already powerful one. She took her in, New Orleans being a place Y/N never expected to visit, and made quick friends; somehow, she knew not to worry, Michael was okay and she’d see him again.

Y/N passed through with flying colors, discovering so much more about herself and witches and magic. She was happy there, could see herself standing among the witches. She was closest to Mallory most of all, whom she sensed such a deep connection to that she couldn’t explain. But there was always that pull; there was always Michael. Every night away from him she could feel him, could practically taste him with every breath she took. Her dreams -she wasn’t sure what to call them anymore- were filled with soft caresses and words spoken of their adventures away from each other.

“Witches and Warlocks, huh?” Y/N joked the first night. “Who would’ve thought they were actually a thing.”

They were sitting in his room, or at least a version of it they created, on his bed, Michael propped up on one elbow as he looked up at her. She could sense the major changes in him as he could with her, but she knew his was darker and more terrifying; she still couldn’t find herself to break from his spell.

Michael couldn’t but chuckle with her, trailing a finger over her knee, sending shivers down her spine.

“They’re saying I could be the next Supreme,” Michael said. “The first Warlock one at that.”

Y/N knew what this meant, and it did bother her a little at first. Cordelia was a good person and her mentor, and she was also very kind to her. Sometimes she reminded her of her mother with the way she would dot over her, give her womanly wisdoms; it came with a comforting feeling.

Michael and Y/N had decided to hide their relationship from the Warlocks and Witches when Y/N learned they were to come to the Warlocks themselves to prove if Michael was worthy to take his rightful place. They would steal looks here and there under careful supervision, a brush of fingers as they walked by each other in the hallways. It seemed as though their plan was working, as no one questioned them at all. It also gave a little thrill to their trice’s, when Michael would sneak to her room to fuck her silly (thankfully her roommate was a very heavy sleeper), or when he would lick her pussy like his life depended on it in the library. She never felt guilty afterwards and wondered if Michael’s influence was finally in her system; no traces of the old Y/N Y/L/N left, but rather something more beautiful and powerful than before.

“She’s scared,” Michael said the night before his trial. They were lying in her bed, her roommate gone for reasons Y/N didn’t care about; she was just happy she wasn’t there. “She knows I’m going to pass.”

Y/N hummed as she ran her fingers through his luscious locks, his head resting over her heart.

“She is,” she agreed. “Cordelia isn’t stupid though, Michael. You should be careful.”

Michael lifted his head up to get a good look at her, a twinkle in his eyes. “Sure, sure,” he said. “But I’m worried about your apparent lack of faith in me Y/N/N.”

Most people would scurry away from the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice, so full of authority. But Y/N was destined to be with Michael no matter what, and he would never hurt her intentionally. He did, however, depend on her love and loyalty to him, fed off it; she couldn’t blame him given his track record.

“I have plenty of faith in you, baby,” she cooed. “It’s just, I worry sometimes.”

He smiled, that soft, adorable smile that was reserved for her and her eyes only. He placed a chaste but oh so sweet kiss to her lips, Y/N whimpering when he pulled away too soon. He cupped her cheek, now laying on top of her.

“Nothing, and I do mean nothing, will ever take me away from you.” The conviction in his promise made her heart stop, blood rush to her cheeks, her breaths shallow. All that and his hand traveling down the curves of her body, lifting her left leg so he could put his weight between her legs; she could feel his want for her already, a pool of arousal between her legs because of it.

They quickly shed their clothes, stealing sloppy, needy kisses in between. Michael knew her body well now, could play her like a fine instrument and she would let out all the beautiful notes he thrived off of.

“We,” he breathed out, placing the head of his large cock at her entrance, teasing her clit as he did so. Y/N moaned, rolling his hips to get him inside before he pinned her hip down.

“Are meant for each other.” He finished this sentence with a hard thrust, making Y/N cry out. He didn’t give her any time to adjust, starting a brutal yet somehow soft, loving pace as she babbled, already so close to internal euphoria.

“We were destined for such great things together,” he boasted, one arm on the headboard as it was beginning to bang against the wall, the other touching her everywhere. She never wanted him to stop talking, each time his lovely voice bringing her close to release.

“This world will be ours. By our delights and creations, we are the beings of God and the Devil. They can do nothing to stop us. They can do nothing to separate us. We will create a new world in our making, a better one, atop the ashes of the spoiled.”

God Y/N loved him. She felt every word through every thrust into her wet cunt, through every touch, every breath she took in from him, from their bruising kisses. She knew every word he was saying was completely and utterly true. She felt the power coursing through them, and she truly believed that it was enough to burn the whole entire fucking world down as they were fucking.

“I love you!” Y/N practically screamed, clutching to him as he rubbed her clit with a rough thumb.

“I love you,” Michael breathed, nearing his release as well and pounding into her harder and faster.

She couldn’t hold it back any longer, letting out pornographic moans into his chest as her pussy tightened around his thick length. He growled as he felt her velvet walls clutch him, releasing deep inside her a few thrusts later. He collapsed on top of her, her arms wrapped around him as he did. She thought over what he said as they caught their breaths. She couldn’t find any fear in her at them.

Michael lifted his head up and placed a loving kiss to her lips, nipping at her bottom lip before pulling back.

“You are mine.”

Y/N nodded, grinning from ear to ear. “And you are mine.”

[deadlygoddess85]

Eternal Soul - Serie

- Part 1 - 

Chapter 1 - The Beaconing

Paring: OT8

Words: A lot

Genre: Fantasy with a touch of horror.

Songs suggestion: The Queen of the damned soundtrack and Nothing else matters by Apocalyptica. 

Characters presentation: The Vampires   

Characters Presentation: The Witches

The clacking of her heels resonates in the dark alley, she’s terrified. She’s trying to escape something or someone. Her breathing is fast, it’s hard for her to get the air in. She looks around not sure where she needs to go now. A noise behind her makes her squeal in fear. She looks toward the commotion, nothing. Suddenly, she feels it, the intense pain. First on her neck, then throughout her entire body. She wants to scream; her mouth opens but no words come out. Her head tilted back; she finally sees the cause of her pain. It’s him, the man from the bar. But he is not alone, as another join him. She feels a new pain on her wrist, then another one on her ankle where a smaller figure wraps his arms around.

Her body gets numb. She’s cold now. Her eyes, glossed by tears that won’t fall, look up at the moon as she breath out her last breath. The three men leave her dead body in this dark back alley where no one will find it. It will collapse on the ground in a muffled thud and will be forsaken.

---

Perched on the edge on the roof of the adjacent building, Seonghwa was observing the whole scene in silence. The soft summer breeze blew a small string of his dark hair in front of his piercing blue eyes. The moonlight cast a dim light on his perfect features giving him an ethereal presence. He thanks his decision to wear his dark blue velvety shirt. The long sleeves covering him from the brisk wind of the night. His slender fingers rake his chestnut hair in an attempt to put the rebellious strand back in place but in vain. He sighed slightly irritated. Seonghwa crane his neck, following the three creatures who were walking down the road, unnoticed by the street crowd, until they were out of sight.

“It’s the twelfth victim this week” he stated without moving from his position.

His partner, who was standing behind him, step forward staring at the inanimate body in the alley below them. Hands in his pockets, he stayed silent, feeling for the poor soul who just died tonight. San was one to care about humans more than his fellow brothers. He hated to see them become useless victims for the rival clan. Thanks to his telepathic powers, San was able to read the last thoughts of the dying victims. Thoughts he would always write down in his precious notebook as a sort of tribute. He took the small journal from his jacket’s pocket, the purple cover feeling strangely comforting under his fingertips. He adjusted his glasses on his nose and, taking a small used-up pencil from the same pocket, he started to scribble what he had hear from the dying lady.

“Are you listening San?” Seonghwa asked as he looked over his shoulder.

San finished writing the last words that were trapped in his mind and he finally put the journal back to its original repository.  

“I heard.” He answered bluntly, his purple eyes falling on his squatted partner.

Seonghwa got up from his vantage point and faced San, towering him with his tall figure: “Have you been able to get something out of their thoughts at least?”

The black hair man looked up at his ally. Under the moonlight his illuminated eyes looked like two amethyst. He also had a jawline close to perfection and on his neck, a small trail of freckles that only the most intimate could see. He squinted at the question:

“I couldn’t read. They must have known we were around.”

‘If he wasn’t spending so much time reading humans mind, maybe he could do his job as “The Mind reader” of the clan,’ thought Seonghwa. He considered his younger partner. San was a brave vampire, but his love for humans will be his death one day if he is not more careful. Seonghwa sighed:

“Come on! Let’s go back home and inform the others”

And the two men vanished from the roof without a sound.

The cold breeze of the wind blows through the branches of the trees. An owl hoot into the night. The full moon illuminates everything under its magical light. The cemetery is quiet and empty, the tombstone and monuments are keeping guard in memories of those who passed away.

Sitting alone on the ground, knees to his chest, head low, Wooyoung prays. In front of him, a single tombstone with a small cherub looking down at him with sadness in its eyes. Grave in the ashen stone, a name: “Liana”. The young man sits still, reciting his prayer in the hope one day, it will be answered. In the pit of his stomach he could feel it: The hunger. He hated it. Wooyoung slowly lift his head, tilting it back to face the sky. His green eyes opened to look at the moon and he cursed at his new craving. Then, his gaze fell on the cold stone in front of him. A single tear rolled down his cheek, trailing slowly along his jawline.

“I am longing to be with you my love” his voice is a whisper and yet it echoes down his very soul.

The pain was harrowing. He was damned to spend eternity without the love of his life and he despised his master for that. He never wished to become a vampire, he never asked for it and yet, Hongjoong transformed him. Forcing him to fake his death and hide from everyone he loved, his friends, his family, his love. She committed suicide a few weeks after Wooyoung’s acted death, unable to live her life without him.

The young man shifted position, kneeling in front of the tombstone. He leaned in and pressed his palm on the cold granite. His long fingers traced each letter of his lost love’s name. Another tear rolled down his cheek. He closed his eyes trying to remember her face, but it was fading away from his memory. He couldn’t even retrace the shape of her eyes. He sat on his heels and sob quietly.

Wooyoung stayed like this for another hour or so, then he found the strength to pick himself up. Running his fingers in his golden locks, he gave a last look to his love’s tomb and silently walked out of the cemetery. Once he passed the iron gates, he looked up at the sky. The moon was slowly disappearing in the horizon. Still, the hunger was present in his stomach, but it would have to wait. It was time to go home. Ignoring the ache from his craving, the young man turned left and walked down the street, following the familiar path back to the manor.

“The cold strike him like a million needles piercing his body. He opened his eyes despite the pain. Ice. Cube of ice and water surrounded him. He tried to hold his breath as best as he could, but soon his lungs screamed for oxygen. He battled against the cold water, trying to find something to grip, something that could get him out from under this iced bath. But as he started to feel his lungs filling up with water, someone pulled him out. Dragging him out of the tub. His vision was blurred. Water was spilling from his mouth. He felt his arms being stretch over his head, he slowly looked up. A meat hook, his tied-up hands were suspended on this hook. His feet barely touched the ground. Then nothing. For a second. A minute. Until the snap of a whip is being heard. The awful pain that follows makes him screams and flinch. Once, twice, three and four time, up till he can’t count anymore. The screams are mere whimpers now, as his back is shred to pieces. He is about to lose consciousness and he hears a name: “Pierce”…then the words “rare blood” – “keep him alive” – “kill the others”.”

Yeosang woke up from this vivid vision and sit straight on his bed. Panting heavily. It took him a minute to realize he was still in his room. He touched his back and felt his silky-smooth skin under his satin shirt, he sighed and cursed at himself. He lazily got off his bed and walked to his private bathroom. Leaning down the sink, he splashes some water over his face and stared at his reflection in the mirror. His hazel eyes analyzing every aspect of his features. He recalled the vision he had. The bathtub. The ice. The meat hooks. The torture. And the name “Pierce”. Yeosang sat at his desk and started to sketch every aspect of his vision with precise details. Once the portrait of this “Pierce” was done, he looked at it concerned:

“Who are you?” he whispered at the man on the paper. He quickly got out of his room with his drawings in hand and walked down to his master’s private quarters.

His steps are light despite the heavy boots he was wearing. His movements, somehow gracious. Some inexperienced eyes would believe he was almost dancing. Yeosang followed the long hallway down to the living room where Mingi was hiding.

A Machiavellian smile on his face, his eyes forming small crescent behind which two mesmerizing orange pupils shines like sun stones. The red-haired vampire, hidden in a corner of the room almost invisible to the eye, waited for the right time. On the floor, in the middle of the room was laying, an almost imperceptible cable, each end attached to a different anchor. It was harmless. Yeosang was dangerously close to the wire, Mingi concentrated on it, stretching it slowly with his mind and…nothing! Yeosang stopped and lazily walked over the wire:

“Good Morning Mingi. Don’t mess around, someone could get hurt” he said without even looking in the young vampire’s direction.

Mingi got out of his hiding place, a surprised expression on his face.

“How?” he pouted.

Yeosang turned to his fellow vampire as he continues to walk backward.

“I have eyes to s…*thud*” There he was, on the floor. His butt hurting by the sudden fall, his drawing scattered everywhere around him. In front of him a misplaced footrest and Mingi contorted by his laugh.

“Hahaha! You should have seen your face” the young vampire said laughing at his victim.

“Mingi.” Yeosang got back on his feet. He brushed the dust from his jeans and shirt. He gathered his drawings, securing them on the coffee table near him then he calmly walked toward the prankster “I’m gonna kill you!”

Before Yeosang could get a hold of him, Mingi disappeared and teleport to the other side of the living room. The tall vampire leaned against the wall behind him, a cocky smile on his face.

“You’d have to catch me first pretty boy!”

Yeosang gave up, throwing his hands in the air. He gathered his papers, gave a last angry look at the young vampire, and stormed out of the living room to meet with the master.

“Are you bothering our dear Yeosang, Mingi?!?” a sweet and kind voice ask. Mingi left his position to walk toward the new incomer. The man was as tall as him, blond hair with darker root showing, beautiful features and piercing yellow eyes. He salutes Yeosang with a small bow and swat Mingi’s in the back of the head to scold him

“How many times have I told you not to bother the other members?” his voice was stern with a fatherly tone. Mingi let out a small groan before massaging the back of his head.

“Sorry Yunho.” He answered, “It just get boring when the others are out.”

Yunho listen to his brother with attention but didn’t answer. He understood that for a man who used to be super active in the past, being indoor almost everyday wasn’t something easy. But he couldn’t just let Mingi roam around town like the others, he was too vulnerable.

It happened about a year ago, while they were raiding a rival clan, Mingi almost got killed. Two rivals ambushed him and almost drank all his blood. Fortunately for Mingi, Yunho was able to get to him before he was dead. It took half a year for the young vampire to be able to walk again. He had never been able to fully recover as a vampire normally do. Till that day, Yunho is working day and night on a way to regenerate vampire’s blood cell quickly. For now, Mingi had to drink a special mix of blood to keep his strength and powers.

Yunho handed a small cup to his brother “Here, it’s time for your daily dosage”

The young vampire took the cup and drank the whole content in one shot. Yunho massage his brother’s neck lovingly and kissed his temple before going back to his lab. Alone once again in the middle of the silent living room, Mingi sat on the couch and sighed. Even if now he had 7 brothers, he never felt so alone in his life. He brought his long hand to his neck where, if you were paying enough attention, you could see the scar of a bite mark. He brushed it with his fingertips, remembering the night of the fight. Mingi hissed, the healed wound was still burning, he cursed, feeling extremely guilty. Angry, Mingi concentrated on a pile of books that was sitting on the coffee table and they went flying across the living room. He laid his long body on the couch and brought his arms under his head before closing his eyes, wishing he were outside with the others.

In the basement of the manor, at the end a long narrow hallway, loud hip-hop music was blasting into a stereo. Muffled behind the song, several thumping could be heard. In the middle of the room, illuminated by a few dim lights, a muscular young man was beating a hanged punching bag. His dark brown hair was sticking to his forehead as his sharp red eyes were concentrated on the un-moving target.

After his workout, Jongho sat on one of the benches in the room. A little veil of sweat was covering his shirtless upper body but somehow, he wasn’t feeling exhausted or out of breath, one thing he still wasn’t used to.

He untied the white bandages that were covering his hands and he massage his knuckles. Since he got transform, they felt bigger, stronger, rougher. He loved the feeling. He walked to the mirror in the room and looked at his reflection on the glass. The small pearls of sweat were slowly gliding down his tone chest muscles. With the faint lights of the place, it almost looked like he was sparkling. He frowned at the sight

“Urgh! I look like one of those Twilight pussies” he took a towel and wiped the sweat away.

The loud ring of his phone took his attention away from his figure. He took the small device in his hands and answered it.

“Yes Sir! I’ll be right up!” he hangs up and took his duffle bag before leaving the improvised gym in a hurry.

---

Sitting on the railing of the balcony, his feet dangling in the air, he was admiring the moon, the stars and the colors changing in the sky as the hours were passing by. The soft breeze of the night, slowly brushing in his silver locks made him hummed in appreciation. His dark brown eyes caught something moving a few miles away from the manors, his eyebrow cocked as he was trying to discern what it was.

His soft pink lips formed a tiny grin when he realized it was a stray cat walking down the street. So, they were not the only creatures of the night – he thought to himself amused.

The door of his room opened, and footsteps approached him. Yeosang stood behind him, his precious drawings in his hands. The silver haired vampire broke the unbearable silence

“I presume you’re not in my room, simply to admire my back!?!!” his voice was soft, almost like a sweet melody.

Yeosang hesitate a moment before moving closer to his master. He handed the drawings to the older vampire and cleared his throat.

“I got a vision Sir!”

At the same time, Jongho who took the time to change into more appropriate clothes walked in the room, as Seonghwa and San appeared in front of them.

The older vampire looked at the drawings attentively “Do you know anything about this man?” he asked Yeosang.

The young man shook his head “No, the only thing I know about him is his name. Pierce!”

“Pierce?!” Seonghwa walked forward and looked at the drawing in his master’s hands.

“Yes! He would be valuable for the other clan. Something to do with his blood” continued Yeosang

Seonghwa scoffed “Lunatics!”

The master drop off the railing on his balcony, he handed the drawing to Seonghwa

“I want you and San to investigate about this Pierce!”

“Understood!” the slender vampire bows to his master taking the drawing in his hand and passing it to San. The black haired vampire folded the drawing and put it in his jacket’s pocket

“On it, Sir!” he responded.

The master walked to Yeosang, he put a hand behind his neck, his long nails slowly dancing on the young vampire’s neck making him shiver at the sensation. The master leaned in and whispered in his ear

“You did good Horacle, keep me updated with any new visions.” To which Yeosang responded with a small nodded.

Seonghwa step forward, his hands in his back “Hongjoong, there was another attack tonight. Three Nightshades. They barely hid their crime.”

Hongjoong considered Seonghwa and San a moment, he sighed, bowing his head with sadness in his eyes

“Another victim?!” He turned to face the city, his delicate frame leaning on the railing of the balcony. He looked at the horizon, the streetlights slowly fading as the sun was about to rise. He remembered those nights, back in his younger vampire days, where he used to keep a victim for days. Treating them with love and care, like they deserved. Humans were not just food to him; they were a precious treasure to keep and cherish.

“Tonight, we’ll roam the streets. Remind the Nightshades this city belongs to us.” His voice was stern but still so soft, he turns back to his brothers “For now, get some rest my dearest, you’ve worked well. We’ll plan our night later”

Seonghwa, Yeosang and San bowed to their master before leaving the luxurious room. Jongho closed the door behind them and stood in front of it, like any bodyguard would do.

Hongjoong took his initial position, on the railing of the balcony, his eyes glued to the sky, he hummed a sweet lullaby as he watched the stars disappeared while the sun rises in the horizon.

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

“So this is the beginning of the serie. I hope you enjoy it so far! there’s more to come. Stay tune!!! 

All right reserved to DeadlyGoddess. DO NOT COPY or USE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. 

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

[shirtlesssammy]

15x09: The Trap

The Road So Far:

PURGAYTORY

Now:

Sam and Eileen are trussed up at Chuck’s casino. (Sam, if you tried hard enough, you could slip those zip ties.) Chuck admits to Sam and Eileen that he’s been manipulating her this whole time to get close to Sam again. He couldn’t watch his favorite show and it was killing him (LOL, CATCH ME IN JUNE.) 

Sam and Chuck are connected and it needs to stop. Chuck pulls out a scalpel. And then utters the eight scariest words of a Supernatural fan: “All good things must come to an end.”

Meanwhile, in the bunker, the bickering exes continue on their line of bullshit. Cas is expertly making Borax bullets while Dean tries to reach Sam, with no luck. Dean’s worried that there’s something wrong.

Chuck wants to cut out whatever festers in Sam that won’t allow their wounds to heal. Eileen surreptitiously calls Dean. Chucks senses it and ends the call before it really gets going. Dean knows that they’re in trouble though and wants to save them. Cas calls Dean “stupid” (will the bickering ever end?!) and tells him they have to find the blossom in purgatory to trap Chuck.

Sam notices Chuck’s hesitancy to torture him and mocks him a bit. Um, maybe now’s not the best time to bring out Sam Fucking Winchester, okay buddy? Eileen joins in the mockery (#soulmates) and in retaliation, Chuck gets Eileen to do the scalpel digging for him. He likes to watch. The scalpel digging is very squishy. A+ work sound effects. 

Dean and Cas are in purgatory and there’s still very much a rift in their relationship. 

Dean wants to split up but Cas makes it clear that that also is a stupid idea. Dean brings up possibly running into Benny while there in Purgatory….and I just want to sit a little and think about that was practically Dean’s first thought. He thinks of Benny, and the friendship they had. I am sad. 

With a simple “C’mon”, Cas wins the argument and they start walking together. Something tracks them from the shadows. 

Eileen continues to be forced into digging into Sam’s wound. Through the pain, he tells her he knows it isn’t her that’s doing it. He’s bleeding out though and things aren’t looking good. Chuck sits back and plays on his guitar. What a nice douchey touch that is. 

Sam talks reason to Chuck, and while that pisses him off, he also heals Sam’s wound as much as he can. Chuck can’t understand how Sam can continue to be so defiant. He realizes that Sam still has hope --hope that Cas and Dean will save them, hope that they can still defeat God. 

*Coordinated Domestic Dispute to Draw Out the Monster Alert*

Dean notices a corpse that he swears he’s seen before. Cas tell him he’s wrong. He has an excellent sense of direction. Dean gets down to look closer at the body and the leviathan makes his move. Cas hand waves him away. They interrogate the leviathan. He tells them that there’s a blossom that grows from them after they die. Dean wants to end the monster right there but he tells them it takes months for the blossoms to appear. He knows a place. 

Before they get walking, Dean asks the Leviathan about Benny. BRB STILL CRYING. Benny’s famous --and he’s dead. (Cas’s concerned look to Dean as he hears the news will haunt me forever.) 

Chuck decides to take Sam on a Christmas Carol adventure into the future, and shows him what life will be like if they win. 

April 17, 2020

Sam and Eileen are looking up cases in the bunker. Dean’s “resting his eyes” in the corner chair. Cas shows up with beers for all. Things look pretty great. They all decide on movie night and popcorn. HUZZAH! 

Well, until Sam gets a call from Jody. Claire’s dead, from a hunt gone sideways. HURMPH. 

Back at the casino, Chuck tells Sam that’s just the beginning. He pulls out the time clock of doom.

In purgatory, Cas, Dean, and the other dude, are walking. Cas expresses his condolences about Benny. Their hostilities come roiling to the surface. Cas calls Dean out on not accepting his apology about Jack. Dean is pissy that Cas just walked away. The other dude, presumably, just wants one of them to shoot him with Borax.

January 6, 2021

In the burned out wasteland of the future, Sam and Dean drive. Things are going downhill fast. They’re not saving people. Cas is gone. (CaS Is GoNe) The monsters are winning. 

Once at the leviathan blossom site, Cas quickly realizes it’s a trap. The leviathan tells him that Eve wants a piece of Cas for killing the alphas and taking the leviathan. Others attack Dean.

He comes to later. The place is scorched and Cas is gone.

November 3, 2021

Sam’s prepping for another hunt. Dean’s giving up. Sam wants to know what’s up. “Ever since..,” he starts. Dean jumps into why he’s giving up. They’ve lost everyone. HE had to bury Cas in a ma’lak box. Bobby and Jody (and Sam) all have death wishes. Sam wants to go out swinging, like Butch and Sundance. “We lost, brother, we lost.” 

Our Sam can’t believe what he’s watching. 

Chuck swans into the scene. He claims he’s “just the messenger” benevolently sharing his knowledge of the future. Sam can’t believe that Dean would ever give up, but Chuck swears he’ll tell no lie, stick a needle in his eye. 

Dean stalks through the quiet woods, calling for Cas. He’s got just under a half hour left to reach the portal. In desperation, he pauses and centers himself. “Cas,” he begins to pray. “I hope you can hear me.” Dean calls Cas his best friend and apologizes for letting him go.

And then this show gently murders me because Dean looks around warily and, seeing that the coast is clear, kneels to finish his prayer. On one knee now, he cries as he unpacks the terrible anger which he’d turned against Cas. “When things go bad, it comes out and I can’t stop it. No matter how bad I want to.” (I’m with many other viewers when I point to childhood trauma and parental neglect and abuse as one source for that deep anger.)

For I am DEAD Science:

Further pushing me deep into the grave, Dean continues, “And I forgive you. OF COURSE I forgive you.” He apologizes and sends out a desperate wish that Cas will be able to hear his prayer - wherever he is. Dean wipes his eyes, sniffs, and pushes himself up with a quiet “Okay.” It’s time to move again.

Back to the future, Dean stews morosely at a table in the bunker when Sam enters with a bag slung over his shoulder. Sam’s going to take out the vamp nest - alone, if he has to. Dean shakes his head sadly, then drags himself off to go with Sam. “I guess I don’t have a choice, do I?” They head out, two broken down, hopelessly alone men. 

“It can’t end like this,” Sam insists. So Chuck has him flash forward in time again using the magic watch. 

It stops on December 9, 2022. End of the line! 

In Purgatory, Dean has just over two minutes left before the portal closes and there’s still no sign of--- WAIT WHAT’S BEHIND THAT TREE? 

“You made it,” Cas sighs in relief as he stands to greet Dean. Dean hauls Cas in for the T I G H T E S T hug. Very good content! I approve! They check in with each other. Cas reveals that he was being marched to go see Eve when he spotted a leviathan bloom. Cas dropped the monsters guarding him, and snagged the bloom which he adorably describes as “a little smooshed.” Dean validates Cas’s achievements! It is very soft! I am emotionally compromised! (I have watched this scene at least 10 times.)

Cas reveals that he heard Dean’s prayer. They exchange soulful, meaningful looks, and then head straight outta Purgatory. I look forward to your post-episode canoodling codas, everybody.

In the future, Sam and Dean barricade the door in a ratty old hotel. They’re being hunted by……….JODY AND AU BOBBY! (Jobby? Body? Ugh, both of those are terrible.) Current Sam watches in horror as his future counterpart (and brother) fang out. They’re both vampires now! Oooo. Awkward. 

There’s a fierce fight. Dean chews Jody’s throat clean outta her body, hissing like an angry cat the whole time. It would be awful if there weren’t so many funny memes of hissy Jensen floating around right now.

Sam wakes from Chuck’s vision which was A LOT. Chuck apologizes for the terrible ending. (All these ending narratives in this season are the result of 15 years of exhausted writers room shit talking, right?) Chuck reveals a couple of things. 1) He “powered down” Eileen in a closet while he’s talking to Sam which is just….GROSS. And 2) The heroic and free ending which Sam aspires towards is actually awful. Is dying as monsters really worth locking up Chuck? 

Safely back in the bunker, Cas and Dean prepare the spell with the leviathan bloom. Dean pauses, questioning Cas’s choice to take on the Mark trapping Chuck. Cas insists that Dean can’t take on the Mark again, and that the only choice is for Cas to take on that burden. Dean agrees, remarkably not insisting on damaging himself this time, and the spell is completed. It all gets sucked up into a sphere. Since Cas will contain the Mark, Dean or Sam will have to destroy it (thus sealing Cas’s fate along with Chuck’s).

In the casino, Sam shouts at Chuck. “We will beat you. I will make it better!” Chuck sneers at Sam, and accuses him of playing fast and loose with the laws of nature and magic. There’s a whole lot the Winchesters can’t know about the universe, Chuck insists. Only he - God - can grasp it all. As one, the Supernatural audience collectively fake-coughs, “Billie!”

Chuck prompts Sam to reflect further on the visions. Was the worst thing truly the way the Winchesters died, and all their friends were decimated? Or was there something even WORSE which befell the world after Chuck got trapped? In horror, Sam realizes that monsters were taking over the world. Chuck affirms this conclusion. Without him in it, the world descends into evil. (Somewhere, on a wholesome farm, Garth is asking, “Hey, who are you calling evil?”)

While we’re all trying to unpack this latest revelation, Dean and Cas break into the casino. They free Sam from his chair. Eileen, still puppeted by Chuck, comes in swinging but Cas tackles her away. 

Dean punches Chuck. Chuck punches Dean. While they’re exchanging blows, Cas rolls the bespelled ball over to Sam to smash and trap Chuck when….

Sam falls to his knees. He can’t do it. He can’t trap Chuck knowing what he knows about the future. The ball rolls out of his fingers. 

Suddenly, light flashes in Chuck’s shoulder. The Equalizer wound in both of them is healed at last! All it took is for Sam to...lose hope. FROWNY FACE! Chuck crushes the sphere and destroys the spell. That’s two anti-God weapons down and how many to go in the next ten episodes? 

Dean confronts Chuck and he is 800% bluster at this point, cosmos bless him. He insists that Chuck won’t kill their motley band. Chuck wants his ending too much for that. After all, the “drafts” Sam saw in his visions--

Chuck interrupts that thought. All the “visions” Sam had were Chuck’s memories of other, actual worlds where Sam and Dean made those awful choices and destroyed each other. That move, in Chuck’s mind, is inevitable. “Just like you, they didn’t think they’d do it, either.”

Dean growls. “No. Not THIS Sam and not THIS Dean. So you go back to Earth II and play with your other toys. Because you will never get what you want.”

“We’ll see,” Chuck says, rather ominously, and poofs out.

Back at the bunker, Sam and Eileen bid farewell. Eileen’s been puppeted back to life and romance...and she’s not sure what’s real. (Where have I heard THAT before?) She needs to head off on her own for a bit.

Sam kisses her so sweetly. “Now that was real.” She caresses his face lovingly before walking out. (I firmly believe we’ll see her again - next time on her own terms!) 

A shaken Sam makes his way to the kitchen where Dean and Cas are decompressing.

Sam brings up the botched Chuck trap, and tells them he believes Chuck showed him the true future. Dean accepts Sam’s choice, and his calm acceptance is a balm to my fucking soul. What’s next? “We find another way,” Dean says.

Cut to Jack in the Empty. He’s taking in the non-sights when Billie appears. “It’s time,” she says, and Boris and I throw a giant party!!!

I Don’t Know Why I Get So Quotey:

I hate missing my favorite show!

Come on, Eileen

Stop being so stupid!

Chuck, you dick

“Okay let’s split up.” “WHAT?!”

You still think you’re the hero of this story. You still think you can win

The Dean who raised me, he’d never give up no matter how bad things got

I should’ve stopped you. You’re my best friend but I just let you go, ‘cause it was easier than admitting I was wrong

Sorry, kid. It’s a crappy ending. You and your brother deserve better. 

We know about your galaxy brain idea. How you think this story is gonna go

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive! 

[tisfan]

I Hear You Call My Name

Title: I Hear You Call My Name Written by: @tisfan (3023) Square: S1 Kink: Sex Magic Rating: explicit Pairing: IronStrange Triggers/warnings: barebacking Tags: anal sex, oral sex, sex magic, plot what plot Created for: @tonystarkbingo Word count: 2,240 Link https://archiveofourown.org/works/22204078

Summary: Stephen needs a little extra oomph for a spell. Tony really needs to get laid more than once every two months...

 “You know, when I said I was willing to help you with a magical experiment, taking a bath in some sort of herbal sauce wasn’t what I had in mind,” Tony complained. The water was tepid, the herbs were smelly, and he was naked and up to his nipples in Stephen’s tub. It was a nice tub, when the water was warm. And preferably when Stephen was in it with him.

“You need to be purified,” Stephen said again, dropping another few flowers into the water and murmuring words. Sparks of light glittered down from his fingers, limning the petals and then fizzing out with another spell.

“That might take quite a while,” Tony pointed out. “Do you have to do this, too?”

“I already did,” Stephen said. Well, that explained the floral hug hello, at least. 

“When?” Because this had taken an hour already and Tony was cold and uncomfortable. And Stephen had called to ask for help and Tony was locked in a heavily perfumed embrace within ten minutes.

“I cheat,” Stephen reminded him, tapping the Eye with one long, shaky finger. “I can get all my prepwork done in only a few seconds.”

“So why aren’t you doing that for me?”

“Who says I’m not?”

“Oh. Are we almost done?”

“Just a moment,” Stephen said, then he knelt by the tub. He put one hand in the water and murmured another spell.

By the time he’d finished speaking, the water was to the point of just a little uncomfortably warm, the steam fragrant as it rose off the surface. 

“Kiss me,” Stephen told him.

“You sure, because I have some really impure thoughts--” 

Stephen’s mouth came down on his, gentle, but insistent. His lips were soft, firm, and he parted Tony’s without so much as a by your leave. Which Tony would have given him anyway. He always liked kissing Stephen. Lips moved over his, Stephen’s tongue slipped inside, and Tony moaned eagerly, pushing up and into it, his arms going around Stephen’s neck.

He could almost hear the Cloak’s offended sigh as it slithered off Stephen’s back and fanned itself out, trying to get rid of the water from the bath.

He was smiling too hard to kiss back after that.

“Are you ready?”

“You still haven’t explained what we’re doing,” Tony said. But he let Stephen give him a hand out of the tub, and a towel to dry off with. The room was warm enough, and Stephen didn’t seem to have brought in a robe. Nudity was the choice of the day, Tony supposed.

“Nuptive prayer,” Stephen told him and drew him into the bedroom. Stephen’s rooms in the Sanctuary were laid out in a circle. Bedroom to bath, bath to sacred space, sacred space to living room, living room to bedroom. Tony had supposed they’d go the other way.

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Sex magic,” Stephen said. “I need-- I’m experimenting with soul-sexive energies to power certain abilities.”

“You what?”

“I need a double orgasm to power a spell, Tony,” Stephen said. “From someone, and I quote capable of intense mental, volitional and affectional energy, combined with perfect sexive and orgasmal ability.”

“And you thought of me, I’m flattered,” Tony teased.

“Well, truth, you do have one flaw that might make it difficult,” Stephen said, and he started to disrobe. “Once I light the candle and we begin, you cannot talk. And we must achieve orgasm within forty-nine seconds of each other.”

“That’s gonna be tricky without some sort of communication. Also, I hope moaning is allowed, because really, I’m not cut out for the quiet sex thing. I’m a screamer.”

“I know. Wong knows it. Hell, half the initiates know it,” Stephen said, and Tony felt his cheeks heat, just a little. He wasn’t ashamed, but-- well, it did explain the looks he’d gotten from Wong from time to time.

“You’re hilarious,” Tony told him.

“Yes, darling, I know,” Stephen said. “But we can communicate. When you get close, open and close your right hand.” he demonstrated, opening his fingers, crooked and scarred and shaking, and then making a fist, and opening it again. “If I cover your hand with mine, hold off until I let you go again. We will meet there.”

“What if we miss?” Because he’d been around for a few of Stephen’s failed magic spell attempts and they were often explosive, sometimes involved angry demons, and nothing he really wanted to face while naked and mid-coitus.

“Don’t miss,” Stephen said. “But if we do, we merely have to wait a period of time and try again.”

“Wait?” He peered at Stephen suspiciously. 

“Forty-nine days. Until we can try again. Until we can have sex again.”

“At all?” Tony’s voice spiraled up. The hell he was going to wait almost two months to have sex. He hadn’t been celibate-- 

“Not even masturbation,” Stephen said. He tugged off his shirt and kicked aside his trousers.

“You’re shitting me.”

“I’m not,” Stephen said. “Don’t miss.”

“Yeah, okay, are you-- are you sure you want to do this? I might mess it up,” Tony stammered. 

“I’m not going to ask someone else to help me with it,” Stephen said. “I require the necessary energy requirements.”

“Where’s the energy going?”

“Into the candle,” Stephen said. “I’ll explain the rest of it later, when we’ve achieved the double crises.”

Tony almost protested, but then decided it wasn’t going to make any more sense if he thought about it. Magic, by nature, didn’t.

Mostly.

Sometimes.

And Stephen’s hands were on him, anyway, stroking his skin. It didn’t take long to send his pulse racing, his body craving. “Was there… saffron in that herb mix,” Tony wondered, because Stephen had used it before, to increase libido.

“And fenugreek and red ginseng, and a little maca root,” Stephen said. “I’m not leaving anything to chance. For my benefit as well as yours. We’re neither of us young.”

“Speak for yourself,” Tony said. “You’re the one with grey hair.” Tony ran his fingers through it, the lines of silver at Stephen’s temples. He liked it, actually. It was sexy.

“I know.” Stephen pushed him down onto the bed. “Now… no talking.” With a flick of his finger, he lit the candle.

Tony almost said something immediately, because, well, it was Tony and he’d never been one to do things the easy way. 

But Stephen was already touching him, light, shaky fingers stroking Tony’s skin. He nudged Tony over onto the bed, picking up a bottle of lube -- sometimes Tony wondered why Stephen didn’t just magic it up, and then decided he wanted to ask that question, but later -- and raised an eyebrow. 

Going right for the goods, are we, Tony thought really loud. Stephen probably couldn’t hear him, but supposed the expression on his face would get the point across. 

Stephen rolled his eyes a little, then tapped his wrist. Tick tock, tick tock.

Tony gave a shrug, leaning back on his elbows and spreading his thighs. He knew he made a pretty picture, even without the warm, admiring look that came over Stephen’s face. Good looks were mostly a matter of good genes and ridiculous amounts of skincare. But it was nice to have all that work appreciated.

Stephen crawled on the bed after him, cradled himself in the vee of Tony’s knees, and lowered his mouth for a kiss.

Tony was happy to give them, even if he couldn’t quite stop smiling enough to kiss seriously. Stephen was often too grave, too serious, and it was one of Tony’s favorite things to do was get him to laugh when he was trying to be Great and Mighty Wizard.

The smile disappeared in an open-mouthed, silent gasp as Stephen cupped Tony’s cock, hand warm and fingers making a loose circle. Stephen knew all the tricks to get Tony wriggling and pushing up against that hand. The way Tony liked to be stroked, the twist at the top, the squeeze at the base. As soon as Tony’s hips moved, Stephen pushed Tony’s knees further apart, slithered down his body and took the head of Tony’s cock into his mouth with a single, eager movement.

His tongue lapped along the broad head, and Tony had to bite his lip to keep from swearing. How the hell was he supposed to be quiet, not tell Stephen how good this was, how amazing, how--

Tony rocked up into that soft, heated wetness, feeling Stephen’s tongue on him like a lash, swirling one way, then the other, drawing his length in.

Tony reached a hand down and touched Stephen’s cheek, feeling the way his own cock bulged in Stephen’s mouth, the way it pushed obscenely at the jaw.

God, that was hot.

Stephen didn’t -- pardon the pun -- dick around. He was going straight for the kill, sucking Tony back like a pro. He dropped one hand between his own legs, tugging himself off, and Tony leaned up on his elbows to watch. He couldn’t really see very well, but he got the idea, and Stephen’s mouth on him, combined with an active, healthy imagination--

And probably the herbs that Stephen was plying him with…

Well, Tony never really did have a huge problem with going from zero to sixty in any sort of manner.

It wasn’t long before he was closing his fist, and then opening it again.

Stephen popped off Tony’s cock with a wet slurp, gave him a sweet, knowing grin. Took Tony’s hand and drew it down Stephen’s body.

Well, Tony had played that game before, so he found the lube -- they were going to need it soon anyway, he might as well get started -- and slicked his boyfriend up, stroking him with steady, easy rhythms, watching as Stephen’s eyes glazed a little, as his jaw clenched and let go.

Perfect. You are so beautiful.

Stephen arched into it, all but shoving his cock against Tony’s hand, fucking up into that tight, slick grasp.

Tony knew Stephen probably as well as Stephen knew him. Knew the way that Stephen’s breath hitched and held when he was getting close.

Tony was tempted, briefly, to make Stephen work for it, but he also didn’t want to test Stephen’s resolve about not getting laid for almost two months, either.  When he sensed Stephen was getting close, he drew back.

Stephen backed off a little and Tony flipped over, grabbing the pillows to prop himself up. Doggie style wasn’t his preferred -- Tony liked to be able to look at Stephen’s face when they made love. Riding, or face to face, but he had to admit, for sheer ability to come quickly, doggie style was easiest.

One hand on Tony’s hip, Stephen lubed him up, and then himself, hissing air between his teeth as he was already oversensitive.

The head of Stephen’s cock nudged at his entrance, and then it was burn and press and squeeze.

Tony let himself bend more in the middle until his chin was buried in pillows, until he was biting at his thumb, and--

Oh, god, there...

He couldn’t talk, and it was making everything that much more intense, that much more powerful, that much-- both better and worse, because he was having to think about keeping his mouth shut, and then the rhythm would get to him, he’d sink back onto Stephen’s cock, feel the way he was stretched and filled, and, oh, oh, god.

He clenched his fist, opened his hand again, soon, oh, Stephen, come on….

Stephen’s hand came down on his, palm against the back of Tony’s knuckles. Tony nodded, reached back with his left hand, face all but planted in the pillow and tugged his cock like it was a race.

And it was, because Stephen’s steady rhythm was dissolving into excited bucking, their thighs slapping together like applause and it was so, so good, he was--

Tony spilled over, emptying himself onto the bedsheets with a breath that was not quite a moan, clenching down, and then Stephen stiffened behind him-- rhythm faltering into stillness.

Sometimes Tony couldn’t feel it, when Stephen came. He could tell, because Stephen jerked and groaned, but Tony couldn’t usually feel the actual moment of release. 

This time was different, somehow. He felt Stephen’s spend, like a gush of heat and wet, and--

The candle flickered out.

Tony lifted his head, wanting to ask and not knowing if he was allowed to talk yet.

“That was supposed to happen,” Stephen said, softly, then ran his hand down Tony’s trembling, sweat-damp thigh. “That was just right. Perfect, even.”

“Did it work?” Tony wondered, his voice a little strained. Not, he told himself, because he was dreading the no sex for two months, but because he was honestly interested in his boyfriend’s magical studies.

“I think it did,” Stephen said, and he pulled out.

Ew. Tony’s thighs were almost instantly wet. It was the one thing about condoms that he liked. No mess. But sex magic; well, he imagined that it had to be done bareback. Probably some hokey voodoo shit. He’d ask Stephen about it.

Later.

“Good.” He let himself move a little to the side -- he hated laying in the wet spot, and flopped. “I’m not moving. For like, a week.”

Stephen snuggled up behind him, resting his chin on Tony’s shoulder. “Now, you getting more than six hours sleep? That’d be a real magic trick.” 

[ohshcscenerios]

Could you do a HC of the angsty events that lead up to Kyoya and Haruhi confessing their feelings for each other and becoming a couple? I ship them so hard. 🙃 Thank you 💞💞

I apologize for my late response, it took me a while to decide how to answer this. Also please don’t be upset if it’s not very good, I literally wrote and uploaded this at 4:03am. I couldn’t decided between headcanons or writing a one-shot so I wrote... this? I hope you enjoy. 

Kyoya didn’t think much about the Host Club’s new addition; only keeping a sharp eye on her debt as she slowly paid it back with her services. However, a year mingling with the host maiden proved detrimental to his indifferent attitude. Beginning his second year he couldn’t be bothered with the opposite sex. His main priority in being named heir to the Ootori Group was greedy and didn’t allow room for anything else, least of all love. Nearing the end of his second year his foolish heart had convinced his foolish mind to at consider the foolish emotion; love. 

Haruhi had once considered herself level-headed; not as to brag but considering her straight forwarded nature it seemed to fit best. Her serious personality steered her on a straight path towards her goal. There was no time for bee-lining through life. She could stop and smell the roses once she finished her studies - once she graduated - once she got accepted into college - once she obtains her law degree - once she’s hired onto a law firm - etc. etc. She was a human bulldozer with horse blinders secured in place. So how did one year in serving the host club manage to loosen her reins and make her step out of line? 

Kyoya began noticing the little things first; how she tapped her pencil against the notebook paper when she was deep in thought, how long she steeped a tea bag for her preferred strength, how often she glanced at the clock when a she was expecting a supermarket sale to begin within the hour. He shouldn’t have paid any mind to these miniscule details for they served him no purpose. He cursed himself for even retaining the useless knowledge. Why would he bother himself with such fickle things that wouldn’t provide an ounce of merit in the future? The only considerable benefit was that he knew Haruhi a tad better than before.

Haruhi didn’t like noticing Kyoya’s quick glances as she busied herself hosting her guests. It proved to be a distraction. Haruhi hated that his brief glimpses of attention was distracting her. She wanted to focus on pouring tea for her giggling guests and recalling precious memories of her late mother to move her guests to tears. She wanted to focus on lowering her debt – the cursed debt that trapped her afternoons in music room three. She didn’t want to focus on her debtor.

Kyoya asked Haruhi to stay behind one afternoon to discuss the details about her debt. He didn’t often offer this liberty for he felt it wasn’t truly her business. Her responsibility was to lower the debt. His responsibility was to manage it. So far their mutual agreement carried on smoothly without any suspicious questioning or accusations. However that day Kyoya felt he should allow Haruhi to see her progress. The act of kindness didn’t offer him merit. There was nothing he could gain from Haruhi learning her progress. There was nothing Haruhi could gain either. So why? He pondered that question throughout hosting hours until his door of opportunity was wide open. Before she left for the day he called her over with a lazy wave of his hand.

Haruhi didn’t appreciate his tone. She didn’t appreciate his sly smirk as he reasoned the high interests and the damaged tea sets that somehow landed on her bill. He almost sounded condescending as if he enjoyed toying with her. Her freedom wasn’t something he could yo-yo for his amusement. The very thought made her sick. How could this faux egoist flaunt her debt like… like… like he’d own her forever. She would forever be under his thumb, scrambling for a foothold that would never appear. Haruhi feared she would never be rid of Kyoya Ootori.

Kyoya noticed Haruhi parted her hair differently one day. Usually she parted her bangs to the left but that day she parted her bangs to the right. It wasn’t a beneficial detail and he silently cursed himself for even noticing – yet he couldn’t help but like the sudden change. It was subtle enough to not draw attention but just enough to draw his attention.

Haruhi wanted to part her hair different that day. The sudden urge was thanks to the Hitachiin twins. She had overheard them spatting nonsense to their fellow male classmates before their sensei started class. They rambled on and on about how to coax forth a love interest living in the shadows. They bragged about their experiences in drawing forth the many young ladies who had crushes on them just by changing a slight detail in their appearance. If the young lady noticed the change then her heart belonged to them. That day Haruhi parted her hair differently to test the obnoxious theory. She had to question why she wanted to test it but an inkling urged her to go through with her plan.

Kyoya quickly adjusted his glasses when Haruhi noticed his persistent staring. However he didn’t notice her smallest of smiles after he looked away.

Haruhi was surprised to learn Kyoya was the only host to notice her little change that day. That night she lied awake in bed mulling over the same scene; over and over and over until it nearly charred her memory. She remembered how Kyoya adjusted his cool exterior after being caught by her assertive eyes. She remembered the slight blush on his cheeks. She remembered his guests swooning over his brief dishevelment, thinking their endearing flirts caused their cool host to stumble over himself. Haruhi smiled, knowing the truth was much weirder. The truth that Haruhi’s parted hair made Kyoya Ootori blush.

Kyoya wasn’t a stranger to long sleepless nights for they became his routine many years ago. He was fond of the silence of night, the chaotic clatter from his keyboard, and the occasional warm cup of tea. However that night Kyoya attempted to retire early. He prayed for sleep to befall him and deliver him from his pesky thoughts. That night Haruhi haunted his mind and he couldn’t shake her loose no matter how much melatonin he swallowed or how many prayers he offered to the ceiling. He couldn’t fall asleep with her in his mind. He couldn’t fall asleep without her on his mind. He simply couldn’t fall asleep and no matter the angle it was Haruhi’s fault. It was her fault for parting her hair to the right.

Haruhi greeted the next day with confusion heavily sitting on her chest. Her dreams were pleasant. Her dreams were of Kyoya. Pleasant and Kyoya were two words she never dreamed of stringing together in the same sentence and yet that’s exactly what happened. She had dreamed of Kyoya and she woke up… happy.

Kyoya woke up entangled in his silk sheets and growled at the sunlight pouring over his face. He would have a stern talking to the new maid for drawing his curtains before due time. He never cared for a rude awakening. When he moved to sit up he felt another very strange and very uncomfortable rude awakening… particularly one that stood at attention between his thighs. He had dreamed of Haruhi and woke up… happy.

Haruhi walked into an empty music room. It was strange considering she was three minutes late. Her tardiness wasn’t unusual but the silence was.

“Haruhi, you’re late.” Kyoya stood from his hosting couch and leaned against the arm’s rest.

“It appears so is everyone else.” Haruhi searched the music room but found no one else. No one but Kyoya Ootori.

“They are not late for they are not coming. I gave the afternoon off.”

“It would have been nice to know that Kyoya-senpai otherwise I’d gone home an hour ago.” Haruhi miffed.

“I didn’t want you to go home. I wanted you to come here.” Kyoya adjusted his glasses.

“Why?”

“How do you feel towards me Haruhi?” His eyes studied her closely as he spoke, determined to have this conversation. Haruhi had haunted his mind for far too long and he needed his rambunctious thoughts to obey him once more. If that meant inviting Haruhi into his life romantically then so be it. So be it.

“I don’t understand what you’re asking.” Haruhi didn’t want to understand what he was asking. She didn’t want to venture down the rabbit hole that she feared she’d inevitably dive into one day. The dark deep endless hole that is the beginning whispers of love.

“I believe you do.” He retorted.

“I should get going if I’m not needed today.” Haruhi turned to make her exit but was forced to a stop when two form hands gripped her arms. She was spun around and staring straight into a mad man’s eyes; a hungry mad man’s eyes. Kyoya seemed unnerved – no, distressed – and his intense glare sent shivers down her petite body.

“I need you to get out.” He nearly growled.

“I was about to before you grabbed me.” Haruhi barked back, anger coloring her cheeks a shaded red.

“No, I need you to get out of my mind.” Kyoya corrected, leaning forward until he nearly rested his forehead on hers. The intense dangerous emotions that heated his body just seconds earlier left his widened eyes and gnarled teeth; loosening his tense expression.

“Get out of my head.” Kyoya nearly pleaded. He closed the space between them and captured her gaped lips in a spontaneous kiss. Her skin against his skin. His breath merged with her breath. Her hesitance bowed to his hunger. His hand found her slender waist. Her fingers found his raven hair.

Haruhi pulled away for a fresh breath, long enough to see his charged dark eyes staring into her chocolate wells.

“You don’t want me to leave.” She said.

“No.” Kyoya agreed. He pulled her close once more, sealing her virgin lips with another kiss.

There was no merit for Kyoya to pursue the commoner. Her social status offered no valuable connections and her low-grade upbringing didn’t teach her a lady’s natural grace. He reasoned her two left feet would spark unfavorable gossip at Galas, her never ending appetite would be looked down upon by even his maids, and her blunt lethargic personality couldn’t keep up with the demanding life of an Ootori. And yet, Kyoya wanted her.

Haruhi found Kyoya to be an enigma; a kind selfless man wrapped in a cold callous shell. She learned to tip toe around him without ever being asked. She knew when to hold her tongue and her breath. His warped reality forced him to march on a difficult and reclusive path. She watched him swallow his loneliness for this sake of his pride; wiping his brow and adjusting his glasses to refocus his priorities. He didn’t ask for help, didn’t smile often, and enjoyed looking down on his opponents. And yet, Haruhi wanted him.