#and he looked at me with clear eyes in one of his rare lucid moments and told me

[freebooter4ever]

also, i can preach 'just swallow the panic and fear and insecurity' but the harsh truth is being in LA and having the artist's house become a second home...this is the first time ever i've had a steady constant source of reassurance and someone telling me 'you can do this keep going'. i dont think i could have done any of this without my friend's support. a huge part of my passion for teaching and making gaming programs to help kids while i was in pittsburgh was me remembering not having a lot of emotional support as a kid/teen. for me my escape in childhood was in teaching myself how to code html/css/java and to use that to create my own websites centering around my silly zelda and neopets fanart (hello elliot alderson origin story lmao). my introduction to it was a bright colorful 'lissa explains it all' website that then led me to studying more in depth about programming languages. decades later my nonprofit research team was a more advanced version of that.

and having finally experienced how much different life is when you do have that encouragement as an adult only cements my determination that tools that empower kids (in general but most importantly those who don't have this positive support) in storytelling and creating on their own volition are so important. with all due respect to my old research mentor, kids who do not have the strength and support behind them that others do should not be forced to knock down brick walls just to reach their goals. that was what our project was about for me: opening doors for kids.

if there's one thing im learning in the job search its how to swallow that welling bubble of adhd rejection sensitivity and remind myself that even though it all feels personal because my whole life is centered around my career and sculpting work and i dont really have an identity outside that....its not personal to the people looking at my work and i shouldnt take their reaction that way.

[ashisgreedy]

Richard Jackdaw xF!MC

“In Your Best Nightmares.”

Tags:Smut 18+ | Smut + Fluff | First Time Together | Sex | ‘Corporeal’ Jackdaw |

WC: 4,800

"If another ghost would dare to tell me he likes you, I'll have none of it; and, if a mortal man tries to steal you, I'll haunt his dreams."

"If you can haunt their dreams… then why don’t you visit me in mine?"

MC makes her way through the streets of Hogsmead delicately clutching a small parcel to her chest. Her feet pound the cobblestone as lanterns light her path back to her hamlet, a pleasant floral aroma wafting from the bag in her hands. She was two galleons lighter as she smiled into the night air, her cloak flowing behind her as her home grew in the distance.

“I got it!” She exclaimed, busting her front door open and yelling into the darkness.

She took a few deep breaths and watched the ghost of Richard Jackdaw float languidly down the short hallway from her bedroom.

“They had some in stock?” He smiled, nearing her with curious eyes. He looked down at the small bag in her hands and tried to take a whiff. He frowned when nothing accosted his senses.

“Yes! The shopkeeper said she had even more Blue Lotus flowers in case I wanted more later.” MC smiled and lifted her hand out to the apparition. It melted into his form as she gave him a wide smile. “She said it was guaranteed to produce results as long as I drank enough for my tolerance, that is.”

Richard moved toward her hand, as if he were leaning into her touch, and gazed into her wide eyes. “Well, this first night will be the test run, I suppose. We shall see how much Blue Lotus flower you must take first to induce lucidity.”

“Richard…” She took a deep breath and slid her fingertips in the air along his jawline. “I can’t wait. I want to take it right now and try to fall asleep.”

Jackdaw smiled and let out a small laugh “My dear, it is still early and you’ve yet to have dinner. Please, eat and go about your nightly routine as normal. Trust me, I won’t forget to remind you about the flower.” His hand moved to her face and she felt a tingle of ice race down her spine. It was a very welcome feeling and something she’d grown fond of since their ‘relationship’ had continued past graduation. She agreed and set the parcel down on her small dining table for now. 

Soon, the evening was in full swing. She lit the fireplace and cooked a meal for one in the kitchen as Richard made conversation. He watched her saute mushrooms over her shoulder. Telling her how he’d love to kiss her cheek at this moment, smiling pleasantly when she blushed.

Despite their relationship being full of “If I could’s” and “Where I able’s”, they’d managed a mostly ‘normal’ relationship in their eyes. Albeit, sometimes one or both were frustrated with their predicament, they still managed to work through it and continue in their blissful dream a bit longer.

The question “How long could this possibly last?” hung silently in the air, always unspoken but appearing as a look or even a gesture between them. It couldn’t end just yet, MC was sure of what she wanted. She wanted Richard for as long as they were both happy… or as happy as a phantom and a human could possibly be. Their relationship heavily weighted on emotional support between the two. Richard was her rock in any situation, happy or sad. They grew together and learned how to comfort one another with their words and fill the other's hearts despite touch and warmth being out of the picture.

Tonight's idea, however, could hopefully change their relationship in ways they’d only imagined. He made it known that an ability of his was to find himself in her dreams most nights. It took concentration and effort, but when he took the time to do so, he was able to witness her dreams as if he were part of it. MC rarely remembered her dreams, but one fateful night, when she’d gone to bed well past 3 a.m., she had a short lucid dream that caused something to change. She could see him clear as day, entirely human. She’d woken up, of course, and hugged her pillow tight as they both excitedly recounted their experience. They needed to try that again and for much longer than a few measly seconds.

When dinner was over, she entered her nightly bath. She poured copious amounts of lavender salts, and other calming herbs, to help aid her body in an easy and deep sleep.

Once she was dried off, she rubbed moisturizer over her parched skin and changed into a comfortable silk nightgown. Revisiting the parcel on the table, she peeled it open and removed three dried flowers.

“Starting out strong?” Jackdaw smiled from where he floated above the table.

“I don't want to risk it not working…” She added the fragrant flowers to a teapot and closed the lid.

“We have all the time in the world,” Richard reassured her. “We can try this every night, spirit willing.” He chuckled.

“And body willing,” She started a boiling pot of water on the stove. “I fear lucid dreaming may not be as deep of a sleep as I need… but I don’t rightfully care at the moment.” A grin split her face as all the possibilities filled her mind. They could be anywhere in reality and of their own creation bound only by their imagination. And, hopefully, they could do anything within those dimensions as they saw fit.

“You’ll care when your work suffers the next day.” He moved to the table and looked down at the book that started it all ‘Lucid Dreaming, The Induction Method.’ It was full of recipes and techniques to induce lucid dreaming in those who were unable to do so or didn’t have time to train their minds to do it naturally. The most promising method was making tea out of the Blue Lotus flower. It was known for causing Lucid dreaming and also a mild hallucinogen if taken in large doses.

“Depends on how good the dream is, I may have no regrets whatsoever.” She shot him a playful wink and brought the boiling kettle to her teapot and filled it slowly, making sure not to splash. “You don’t sound very excited.” She accused in a playful tone. She knew Richard well and his tendency to keep people, things, or ideas at arm's length until they proved themselves worthy of his time. This idea was no different. He wouldn’t be truly bubbling over with excitement until it was proven that it could work in the way they’d hoped.

“I am ecstatic, Darling. I assure you.” He gave her a small bow of his head. “I apologize if I don’t come off as such…”

MC watched the clock, waiting for 5 minutes to tick by for the petals to steep, as instructed by the shopkeeper.

“It’s alright, Dear. I know, in your phantasmal heart, you’re practically leaping for joy.”

With that, Richard's mood rose. “You’re smile is contagious as ever. Your excitement is my excitement. Tonight, we will meet each other in your dreams.” He reached out to caress her face, hand phasing through the skin.

She nodded, a surefire smile on her face as she waited for the minutes to tick by.

As the petals finished steeping, MC poured the lilac liquid into a mug. It smelled of honeysuckle and an assortment of fresh-cut berries. She blew on the steaming liquid and took a timid sip. “Mmm! Not bad!” She said, taking another larger sip. The tea tasted as good as it smelled and she had no trouble taking large gulps.

Richard grinned and crossed his arms. “Well, at least it's not repugnant.”

She pointed at him as if she agreed and took a few more deep gulps.

“Don’t drown yourself, Dear.” He shook his head, laughing a bit as she downed the rest of the tea.

“I will drink the second one slower.” She assured, wiping her mouth with the back of her arm. She poured the second cup of tea and held the mug in her hands. “Shall we be off to bed then?” She quirked a brow with a grin.

“We shall,” He offered his arm as a gesture to escort her to bed for the night. She happily pretended to take his arm and they walked down the hall to her room.

“The tea is making me feel a bit hot, I'm going to keep the covers off for now.” She took a large gulp of the tea and sat it on her bedside table.

“Where shall we try to go?” Richard floated through the room to the unoccupied side of the bed. “The book said, focus on a place until you can visualize it and allow it to build around you in your dream.” Richard sat on the bed next to her weightlessly.

“I was thinking, something as simple as just our bedroom?” She gestured to the familiar space. “I can easily visualize this. If this works, we can go to more complicated places next time.” She yawed, fluffing her pillow as she rested her head on it.

Jackdaw reclined back against the headboard with a wistful gaze. “Shall I sing you to sleep?” He jokingly offered.

“Oh god, no.” She laughed and lay on her side, facing him. “If I wanted to listen to a goose strangling itself, I’d go to upper Hogsfield.”

Richard balked at her comment. “Alright, Alright,” He laughed. “No singing then. Maybe I can tell you a bedtime story?”

MC yawned again and blinked her bleary eyes. The hot lavender bath and the tea settling in her belly seemed to be doing the work of making her whole body relax. She gazed out her bedroom window and focused on the twinkling stars in the night sky.

“I think I will be asleep soon, my dear.” She yawed again, kicking the blankets to the side. “Meet me in my dream, will you?”

“Of course, my love. I will be there.”

His smile was the last thing she saw before closing her eyes. Her breathing was steady and soft, as her whole body relaxed. Soon, she was slipping into the land of dreams.

Darkness prevailed as her mind floated in space. There was a whisper in the distance and MC blinked into the abyss. There was nothing but the void as she slowly became conscious of her surroundings. Another sound came from behind her and she moved her head.

“Hello?” She called out, her voice feeling inadequate in the vastness of the space.

“MC…” The masculine voice came again.

“That's my name.” She said straining her eyes to try and see anything from where the voice was coming from.

“Visualize! Remember?” The voice was closer. “Visualize the bedroom.”

She was confused and let the words wash over her. “The bedroom? What bedroom?" Her mind wandered.

“Visualize your bed.” The voice was right behind her. She spun again but no one was there.

The longer she was in that space, the more memories flooded into her head. She knew that voice. “Oh… right.”

“Remember? The tea? You’re dreaming.” Richard’s voice rang out from all around.

“I’m dreaming!” With her realization, the ground beneath her faded and she was falling. It didn’t feel scary to her, it was exhilarating as the butterflies swarmed in her tummy. She smiled and began to visualize her room. She pictured the bookcase in the corner, the lamp to her right, and the window showing off her small garden on the left.

Soon swirls of blue began to move around the edges of her vision. Her falling slowed to a hover and her room began to form around her. She visualized the navy blue bedsheets and the fuzzy plush carpet, her ceiling with one exposed wooden beam through the middle.

Before she knew it, she was standing in the middle of her familiar bedroom. Things were off, like a candle stick instead of a lamp. The bookshelf was empty instead of filled to the brim with collectibles and knickknacks from her adventures.

A knock came over the door and she flinched. She walked over curiously, feet sliding over the plush carpet as her heart raced. Who could be trying to enter her bedroom this late at night?

“Hello? Who’s there?!” She asked, hand squeezing the bronze knob.

“It’s me, darling.” Richard's voice was muffled by the door. “I-...” His voice trailed off. “It’s your boyfriend.”

Her mind snapped into place. Oh, she was dreaming, and she was lucid! Very lucid! She lifted her hands to her face and made fists. She had all 10 fingers and toes. She was MC, and this was a dream she induced herself. “Ha!”

She swung the door open and smiled at the man on the other end. He was devastatingly handsome, standing several inches taller than herself. His brown wavy hair was perfectly styled. He wore clothes that were several years out of fashion as he clasped his hands at his waist.

“Boyfriend?” She grinned up at him. “I didn’t think we had a label.”

Richard’s features were twisted with emotion as he reached out for her. “Would you like a label?” He asked, stepping closer and finally, finally, touching her face.

MC’s chest squeezed as she closed her eyes allowing the first feeling of his warm touch to wash over her. “Oh.” She bit her lip to stop it from quivering as he caressed her cheek. Not a single chill down her spine, nor an icy prickle on the back of her neck.

His hand moved through her hair and he looked every bit as misty-eyed as she was.

“Your hair…” He let it fall between his fingers “It’s so soft, like silk.”

She cupped his face, brushing a thumb under his eye. “You’re eyes are such a pretty shade.”

A warm smile grew over Jackdaw's face, his dark lashes fanning as he looked down at her hands cupping his cheeks. “I’ve never gotten that compliment before having brown eyes.” His voice wavered with emotion.

“There's a hint of gold flecks in the center…” She added, moving closer to take him into an embrace while still gazing into his eyes. They wrapped their arms around one another, pressing their foreheads together. Richard's hand ran up and down the center of her back, gliding along her silk night dress.

She drank in his corporeal features, very solid, and very vivid. His skin was pale, and smooth, with a single thin scar dashing through his right eyebrow. She smiled and lovingly rubbed the tiny blemish with her thumb.

He drank in a shaky breath “I just want to hold you for as long as I can.”

The bed springs creek under their combined weight as they settle into the mattress. Finally, Richard was able to occupy the empty space meant for him on their bed.

MC giggled, feeling his arms wrap tight around her and their legs twine together.

“It worked… it actually worked.” She whispered, unable to wipe the smile from her face. She played with a piece of his dark wavy hair as his large hand splayed over her stomach.

“It worked… I-I can’t even describe how I’m feeling at this moment.” His eyes looked between both of hers and then down to her lips. “I never want this to end…”

“We have all night…” She answers, leaning in closer to his face.

“I long to feel every bit of you, my love. I don’t want to stop until I’ve memorized every inch of your body.” He leaned in as well, taking a breath before pressing his lips to hers.

There it was, the spark… The spark she’d always known was there between them, waiting to be ignited. As their lips met in a new angle, fireworks went off in her heart. It was a profound understanding, a soul-deep knowing, that they were weaved for one another by something much greater than their minds could possibly imagine.

Richard's hand moved to hold the back of her head, holding her into his searing kiss. His brows were knitted, and she wondered if being here like this took more concentration than he’d previously led on.

“Richard,” She pulled away, worried he might disappear from the dream entirely if they kept on, but his lips slammed back into hers in an instant.

“I can’t stop, I’m addicted.” He spoke between kisses, slipping his tongue past her lips. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted since I met you.”

She welcomed it, wrapping her arms around his neck as he moved to hover over top of her. If he wasn’t concerned, she would not bear the worry as well.

His weight, his precious weight, pressed against her as his soft lips captured hers over and over. It wasn’t long before she was drunk on his kisses, sighing and breathing heavier than before. This was much better than the countless times she’d envisioned this moment.

His hair brushed her cheeks as he moved his lips down her jaw to her ear. He tugged on her lobe gently, nibbling over the cuff of the cartilage.

“Ah…” She let out a pleasurable noise.

“Hm… sensitive ears?” He whispered, running his tongue along the outline. “Let’s see what else I can get away with.” He teased, kissing his way down the curve of her neck.

She gasped when his lips lightly sucked the skin. “Oh… thats nice…” Chills rushed down her arm. 

He moved to kiss her shoulder, lips quirked into a small smile. “I want to know every part of you that makes you gasp, my Darling. So that I may kiss every one of those parts over and over until you are breathless and wanting.”

A sense of pride came over her realizing she made the impossible possible again. She wasn’t sure she’d share this new knowledge with others. Would there be many people who would have the need to touch someone who's long since departed?

His hands moved along her frame, touching every inch of her as he promised. He met her lips again while his hand squeezed her thigh. “Must I ask?”

“No, keep going.” She answered confidently. "And don't stop."

Smooth hands inched their way up her night dress and her heart hammered away in her chest in anticipation of his next move. Her hands moved up and down his back, gently rubbing and caressing him as their tongues mingled.

Their actions were that of two lovers separated for too long and finally coming together at last. Richard’s hands had not stopped, pushing her night dress up until her stomach was exposed. He broke the kiss, eyes connecting with hers. She felt weightless in the wake of his gaze, a look of adoration and starvation riddled his features.

“I love you.” He whispered, his warm hand cupping the side of her face. “I love you more every minute of every day and fall head over heels for you with every smile you give me.”

“Richard…” She swallows the lump that is growing in her throat. “I love you too, and in all things. I love and desire you the most.”

He smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners of the expression. “If I could grow old with you, I would. And if you want to live out a life with me in your dreams, I wouldn’t be opposed.”

They were both smiling now, hugging one another and squeezing tight. She memorized the full sensation of him in her arms, the weight of him pressed against her chest, and the softness of his waves tickling her skin.

“I don’t want this night to end.” The words Richard spoke hung in the air.

“Me neither.” She pulled back, pushing his hair out of his face. “I’m actually curious about some things…” She admitted.

“Such as?” His brow quirked playfully.

“I want to know what you like.”

Understanding washed over his features. “I want to know what you like first.” He kissed her jaw then her neck and that spot on her ear that made her squirm.

She laughed, but the sound quickly turned to a gasp when his lips latched onto the skin and lightly sucked. The thin strap of her nightdress was easy to slip down her shoulders. He stopped kissing her. “I want this off.” He indicated the night dress with a tug.

She nodded eagerly. He sat back on the bed, unbuttoning his shirt while she easily slipped the silk dress off and tossed it to the side. He stopped before he got to the last button and raked his eyes over her nude frame. Swallowing thickly, he pushed off his own shirt and moved to kiss from her neck down to her chest. His hands joined his expedition, moving to cup her breasts just as his lips found their way to them.

She touched his pale skin, nails scratching at his back the more pleasurable his mouth felt on her breasts. He took his time, his tongue sliding this way and that, moving in every way possible to find the one that made her moan the loudest. He was studying her body, needing to know precisely how she liked it to use that to his advantage.

Her fingers twined in his hair, pushing him gently to urge him to go lower. Not much else was needed to make Richard move lower. He was eagerly kissing a trail down her body to make it to his goal.

This was a new side of Richard she’d never seen, of course. Something swelled in her heart watching his never-before-seen actions play out in front of her. There was only so far fantasies could go, but they would never tell you the nuances of the situation. Before this night, she would have never known how his kisses left fire in their wake. How he hummed in pleasure after making her moan. Or how soft his tongue’s touch would be once he found her clit.

She fisted the sheets, legs trembling on either side of his body. Richard rested on his stomach, using both hands and his mouth to please her. One hand caressed her thigh, keeping it open enough for him to get close enough to pleasure her. His other hand ran up and down her slit, gently touching and caressing her most intimate parts while his lips and tongue focused on her clit.

His soft hums and delicate licks sent sparks through her body. It was easy to get lost and forget this was all one big lucid dream. The tea had made it feel extremely real. If it wasn’t for the small nuances that were different in the room and the fact her ghostly boyfriend was now a solid man, she could have easily been fooled into thinking this was reality. She tossed her head back wishing this could be her waking life as well. She was quick to bury that wish, replacing it with just being grateful for the opportunity they were given.

His finger slid inside her entrance, slowly moving in and out. She grabbed a fistful of his hair and held him there, silently begging him not to stop. Waves of pleasure washed over her skin. She wondered if this was how it would really feel or if the dream was amplifying the sensations. Her stomach muscles clenched, preparing for an eminent release. The excitement her body felt having her ghostly boyfriend now physically touching her built the pleasure faster than she was used to.

Before long, his two fingers were curling inside just how she liked it causing her back to arch off the bed. She moaned his name and he rewarded her with faster movements and gentle sucking. That was all she needed to skyrocket over the edge. Her body came alive. The room blurred before becoming solid again. She focused on his tongue placement, the feeling of his warm hand rubbing her thigh and on his other hand with two fingers stroking her inside while the orgasm rushed through her.

Once the release ended, Richard took his time kissing up and down her thighs. Her heart rate started to come back down slowly, but he remained low, kissing every inch of her skin. After a time, he made his way up with a trail of kisses, wavy brown strands tickling her skin as he did. It wasn’t until he got to her mouth that he spoke again. “I want you.”

“I want you too.” She replied. It was a breathless exchange as the couple turned to face one another side by side. His trousers were discarded along with any shoes and socks he’d been wearing. She kissed him passionately, hoping the sun was still hours from rising.

Richard’s hand smoothed down her back until he met her thigh. With a gentle pull, he hooked her leg over his waist and moved in closer. As their lips met in a passionate kiss, her fingers ran through his hair. She was still so surprised by how saturated the color was. His usual faded form washed out all his color making it difficult to visualize what he had looked like when he was alive.

It was slow and gentle the way he pressed inside of her. She felt full in an instant and grasped at his shoulder. He paused, gazing at her for a long moment. “Are you okay?” He asked, throat bobbing as he swallowed.

She nodded, forcing herself to take a deep breath. “Yes, yes.” She kissed his pale shoulder, trailing her lips to his neck. “I am perfectly fine.”

She felt him shudder when her lips trailed over his neck. She kissed the shell of his ear and noticed his breath catch. It was a delight learning all these new things about the man she’d been sharing her life with for years now. Her lips met the curve of his jaw before capturing him in another heated kiss.

Richard’s hand grasped her backside, bracing her body for his thrusts. Their moans of pleasure were muffled by one another's lips. He didn’t lose control, and, instead, went at a slow steady pace. The two’s skin began to grow clammy the longer they made love in her dream. She wondered for just a moment if her skin in the outside world was just as warm. His body, his voice, and his passion all washed over her and soon she was unable to think of anything else but how real this moment felt between them.

They lay like that for what felt like hours. The tea doing its job of keeping her deep in this lucid dream with her partner. The dream didn’t start to fade until the sun was already well into the sky. It poured into her room through the window overlooking her small garden.

Her focus faded from the dream and back into her lit bedroom. She rubbed her eyes with her hands and let out a yawn. Her lips instantly curled into a smile, and a profound sense of fulfillment and joy filled her chest. Her nightstand was decorated with her familiar lamp and abandoned cup of tea from the night before. She glanced over at the bookshelf that was now full again with all the knickknacks she’d acquired over the years. She was sure she was back in the waking world once again.

She turned over on the bed and noticed Richard’s translucent form resting next to her. His back was against the headboard, arms crossed and eyes closed as if he were sleeping. She could only imagine just how much concentration infiltrating someone's dream could be, let alone being an active member of it.

She swiped her hand through his form and he immediately roused, uncrossing his feet. His eyes fluttered open and a bigger smile than she’d seen in a while was plastered on it.

Despite not being able to hug him at this moment, she felt closer to Richard than ever. They easily slipped into a conversation about how the experience felt for them and what they’d like to try next time. Not even an ill word from her mother could wipe the smile off her face. Even if the whole world was against them and their unusual relationship, at least she knew that their love transcended the boundaries of life and death. Where there was love, there was a way, and nothing could take that away from them.

She would treasure every moment with him, in waking and in her dreams. There was nothing they couldn’t do despite it being unconventional. She thought about how they could arguably do more than a normal couple could making her deep sense of love feel even more nurtured and reassured. Nothing could keep them apart. Not time, nor space, nor death itself.

[enigmatist17]

The world came back in bits, flashes of color breaking through the white haze that had overwhelmed his senses when the bloody chip in his head fired off. He can't really remember what set it off in the first place, but can feel pain blossoming from several points all over his body, so it was clear he'd been attacked.

Oh, wait.

A bar, some men harassing a woman, and Spike stepping in with good intentions. He'd failed to notice two other men until they'd attacked, the chip preventing the vampire from fighting back or defending himself as he was beaten into submission. At least the bint who'd caused it all got away, so there was at least one mark in the white hat column for him.

The alley he had been in felt kind of soft under his shattered bones, and it took a long minute for the vampire to realize he was inside somewhere and on a bed. Oh, Spike doesn't remember getting up and going somewhere, but he'll take what little he can get these days, and gladly surrenders to oblivion.

He wakes once again to find himself feeding, the blood soothing the hunger he'd had constantly ever since the Initiative had used him for a sodding lab rat. While it's not the blood of a sire, something Spike hadn't tasted in several lifetimes, whoever was taking the time to feed Spike was clearly part of the Aurelian line and a fair bit older than himself. He lets out a soft snarl when he's pulled away from the source of the blood, annoyed when he can hear a chuckle somewhere to his left.

"You'll have more soon, don't worry."

What the?

Spike doesn't have the energy to open his eyes or speak, drifting back into sleep to the feeling of bone and tissue knitting back together. The next time he wakes, he's able to open his eyes and sit up, but he growls at the memory of being bested by bloody humans as he looks around the room he is in, sitting up slowly as he tests his limbs.

"Finally, he wakes."

"Penn?" The elder gave a short nod from his seat across the room, closing the book he'd been reading and setting it on the table beside him. "'Eard you were dead."

"Nearly died, survived." Penn shrugged, getting to his feet with a slight wobble. "Luckily for you, I am not, Angelus could not come."

"The poof wanted to come 'ere?" Spike was pleased to find his legs moved without pain, slinging them over the edge of the bed to face Penn proper.

"Yes, we found some...information on this Initiative group that is operating in town, but one of his pe-humans had a vision." The elder looked annoyed for a moment but shrugged it off. "Color me shocked to find you a bloody pulp in some alley, you don't seem the type to fall to humans." Spike cursed internally as he and Penn held each other's gaze, the other more curious than eager to find some sort of weakness Spike may or may not have.

"You'll want the Watcher, Slayer is never far from 'im." Spike finally scoffed, able to stand with minimum pain, Penn rising with him.

"Not coming with?" Those eyes narrowed as Spike growled.

"No, I'm not. He's not far from here, 'ave fun Penn." With that he swept out of the rather nice hotel room and into the night, heading for his crypt for some decent rest away from the prying eyes of family. He thanks his past self for ensuring proper sleeping quarters below the crypt he'd chosen, too exhausted to even kick off his shoes and he sinks onto his bed and back into sleep. It spared him from thinking about how humiliating it had been for Penn, of all people, to find him, and he knew that the Slayer and the others would most likely let slip his "condition" out of pure spite, leading to even more mockery. Maybe he'll just dust in his sleep; the Slayer of Slayers is gone as a footnote in demon history because of some bloody scientists.

Man his unlife just sucked, why the hells had he come back to Sunnydale?!

It's a pleasant surprise when he slowly starts to awaken to someone running a gentle hand through his hair, and Spike wonders if he's dreaming. Dru had been gentle in her rare lucid moments, whispering his poetry with a tender voice as she would hold him, both soaking up these peaceful moments before Miss Edith would inevitably return. Perhaps his brain was giving him a small mercy, so Spike decided to play along, chest rumbling with a purr as the hand continued its gentle pace.

Should we wake him?

No, he'll be asleep again soon, he's still weakened.

I still wish to hunt them sire, the ones who hurt him.

I know, but right now, my childer needs us.

Will we take him with us to L.A.?

If he wishes.

Spike isn't surprised to find the hand touching him is real, but is familiar with hiding his surprise to find that Angel is the one to touch him. He was sure Angel would have killed him; the hot pokers and torture were more than justification enough for his death, right? Instead, he's just...touching him, and speaking with Penn, who almost sounded like he gave a shite about Spike's health. Spike isn't sure what to make of this, so he just focuses on the gentle touch, lying to himself that it was just like old times until his brain decides to fall back asleep.

He can worry about everything later.

[sixcrowsbooks]

Thinking about something I may or may not include in my writing at some point…to set the scene: post-Chorus, Reds/Blues/Assorted Others have decided to stay for a while, and at some point Wash gets taken hostage. It’s been three weeks, and the Reds and Blues, Carolina, and Locus finally found where he is. They go in to get him out, and during that time, near the end —

.

Locus gripped Washington’s wrist and waist as he supported him against his body. He didn’t need his armor sensors blaring and blinking to know that the ex-freelancer suffered from blood loss, dehydration, and more as he leaned into Locus’ side. Washington was outside of his own armor, barefoot and in his undersuit. He was favoring his right leg, fresh and scabbed-over cuts alike riddled his face and arms, and his bottom lip was busted. Regardless of all of that, though, he was still conscious and, as far as Locus could tell, lucid. However, he wasn’t sure how long that would last.

“I got him,” Locus muttered into the comm. There was a best of silence…and then —

“Fuck, really? Where?”

“Oh good, that’s good. Um…where is it that you have him, Mr. Lotus?”

“Dude, his name is — ya know what, not fucking important. Where—”

Locus cut Tucker off by sending his coordinates and glanced down to Washington again. His hair was a complete mess, he had a definite 5 o’clock shadow, and he looked to be about two seconds away from falling into bed and sleeping for a week. But he was there, next to Locus. Alive. And that’s what mattered.

Washington caught him staring, and he blinked when Washington gave him a smirk. “You should see the other guy.” His words were a bit slurred from the busted lip, but Locus heard them loud and clear regardless. And it’s that — the tiny sliver of cockiness that Washington rarely lets anyone see, one of the things he learned from the simulation troopers that Locus just barely began to understand — that made Locus want to swallow him up into a hug and never let go. His throat tightened close, and so he merely grunted and stopped walking through the hallway, turning them both to lean against the wall.

When the moment passed and he felt like he could breathe again, Locus turned on his outer mic. “They’re coming to get you. I sent them the coordinates. Just…rest, for now.” He looked down between the two of them, ready to unhook himself from him, when he felt Washington sigh and burrow deeper into his side. ‘That can’t possibly be comfortable,’ he thought, but he stood stock still anyway.

They were quiet as they waited for a mere couple minutes. Locus watched as the markers for Tucker and Caboose came closer to his at a somewhat startlingly speed. He could hear their armor as they ran into the hallway he and Washington were in when he heard, “I knew you would find me.” It was soft, not anywhere near loud enough for the other two to hear. If Locus was a less seasoned mercenary, he would have taken a sharp breath, but instead all he did was freeze.

Because Washington included him, not just the simulation troopers and Carolina.

But then Tucker skidded to a stop right in front of them, Caboose only slowing down enough to not barrel right through Washington and the wall he was leaning against. Caboose threw open his arms, and Locus made quick work to let go of Washington and take a few steps away from the three of them. Caboose was yelling something indecipherable as he hoisted Washington up into a hug, Tucker was yelling at Caboose to put him down before he broke any ribs, and Washington wheezed out a, “Too late,” which had Caboose setting him down immediately, though never letting go from the hug. Washington threw open his arm toward Tucker, and Tucker swooped into the now-group hug. Nobody said word-one to Locus. The three of them didn’t even glance his way.

‘Ah,’ Locus thought as his throat closed again, and he clenched his jaw and took in a slow, deep breath.

He took another step back away from them, keeping an eye out for any enemy combatants that he and the others might have missed as they stormed the base, and he turned on his active camouflage. He slid his rifle into his hands and sent a message off to Carolina. Tucker and Caboose found him. No enemy combatants, will stick around to make sure.

And after that? was the response.

The cockpit.

‘What a dumbass,’ a voice snarled in his head. ‘Look at you, always poking your nose where it doesn’t belong. What’d’ya think was gonna happen? That they were going to accept you with open arms and sing kumbaya with you or some shit? Fucking moron.’ The voice sounded a lot like Felix.

Locus took one more look at the three Blue Team members, glanced down at his own armor, and made his way quietly away from them, scanning the area for any loose enemies that may have been missed. Or that was what he was telling himself as he slunk away from not only the Blues, but the Reds and Carolina as well, to slip inside the cockpit of their Pelican to await them all for takeoff.

.

[sailorstarr-chan4]

Beyond the Dream

Shout-out to @risingfire17-the-weeb-trash for convincing me to post this after having it sit in my folders, collecting dust, for the past THREE YEARS.

Posted on: AO3 Fandom: Alice in the Country of Hearts Word Count: 1,620 Rated: T Genre: Psychological Setting: Asylum AU

~~~~~

She sat alone in her room, motionless and silent. 

When she wasn’t in bed, she sat by the window and stared outside, only blinking and breathing softly, otherwise not a single solitary movement. She rarely responded to outsiders, but if one happened to catch her in a lucid moment, she would say a few remarks, but they were so extraordinary and strange that one could hardly call it normal dialogue. 

The people who took care of her took turns watching over her, always in pairs, just in case. But she never showed any signs of aggression. Even when they got her talking, it was usually random, sporadic little moments where she’d babble about this and that and then just as suddenly shut up, lost in her thoughts. 

When she was first brought here, she didn’t struggle or deny anything. She meekly allowed herself to be moved from place to place, given shots here and there, dressed in a nightgown, and led to her new residence. Indeed, some found her compliance rather unnerving, like something inside her had died. 

But one observer noted that her eyes still gave signs of life. One minute, they flashed defiantly, almost triumphantly; the next, they were moist and tender, heartbroken. 

But regardless of any feeble signs of emotion, they remained deep, frighteningly empty pools of blue. 

She said nothing during the whole process. And only after staying in her new home for a while did they begin to learn how to communicate with her. 

The first time she spoke was two weeks after arriving. She was being hand-fed per usual (she never moved on her own), and after her mouth was wiped clean, she said calmly, conversationally, “Thank you, Elliot.” She was staring straight ahead, like she always had, but it was clear who she was speaking to, as the rest turned and stared, dumbfounded. 

This new development was so shocking, so utterly out-of-place, that the poor soul who was addressed as “Elliot,” ran off to tell the news. They observed her some more, tried to ask questions, and had the person she called “Elliot” stay by her side, but alas, to no avail. 

The moment of clarity, however strange, had passed. 

Two days later, she referred to someone else as “Blood.” At first, it was misunderstood: she had quite suddenly shrieked, “Blood!” and was believed to be hallucinating, perhaps having flashbacks. It was the only time she showcased physical struggle; she flapped her arms and attempted to push back the one helping her undress, shrieking and squealing in alarm. 

“Blood,” it turned out, was not what it seemed. There was now a second name she had dubbed them. Not only was there a new name (and a bizarre one, at that), but her reactions to “Blood” were the most extraordinary of all. Although her eyes still remained mostly vacant and empty, during these moments, she looked quite embarrassed. Oddly flushed. 

She seemed to fancy this “Blood!” 

It was debated for some time over whether to continue having “Blood” undress her each day. At first, it was ruled that he continued as usual, for the results were so wondrous, it was hard to resist pursuing. But it proved to make her too excitable and potentially dangerous for both parties, so they returned to taking turns. Her reactions to “Blood” grew gradually calmer this way, though her pink cheeks still gave her away. 

After the incident, she began responding more often to “Elliot” as well as “Blood,” and almost always with words and phrases that made no sense to the situation at hand. It became quite clear that different people created different roles. 

The next manifestation was in “Peter.” 

“Peter” was actually the one in charge of her care, and up until now, she never responded to his actions. But after the experiments with “Blood,” she suddenly would randomly scoff and say, “Peter, leave me alone!” or “Go away, Peter!” whenever he was present. 

“Peter” took her apparent disgust of him in stride (“Welcome to my life,” “Blood” would say with a chortle), and continued to take diligent notes as well as instruct the others to note any differences between when he visits her room vs not. 

One day, she made an off-comment about “cute ears” to “Elliot,” which sparked a new idea: animal therapy!

 “Peter” brought in the first test subject, a soft, white bunny. 

The results were remarkable. 

“Peter, why?” she said, her voice cracking as she ran her trembling hands over the bunny’s fur. “You’re such a pervert… but you’re so cute!” 

This was the longest sentence out of her mouth since she arrived. Up until that point, she made quick, short remarks, so this new development was exciting, indeed! On one hand, they rejoiced, having made excellent progress. On the other hand, her words were once again utterly baffling. 

 Still, animal therapy was a start. Next, they brought in a cat. 

“Boris, I forbid you to get yourself shot on purpose!” 

Then, a dog. 

“No, really, Mr. Gowland, I insist on working here!” 

They let her babble to the bunny, dog, and cat on separate occasions, though found it quite interesting that the one she called “Elliot” was sometimes referred to as a “cute rabbit,” and then an instant blush and murmured apology. 

Still, the animals broke a barrier and she was far more comfortable with babbling nonsense as long as one of them remained on her lap. And although she never harmed the creatures, she did sometimes scold them as if they were hurting her or someone else. 

More and more members were being named. “Boris” was not only the cat, but the one who brought said animal to and from her lap. Same with “Mr. Gowland” and “Peter,” but there were also ones not associated with anything else. Like “Ace,” who wheeled her down the hall for her monthly check-up. 

“We’re lost and it’s your fault, Ace!” she huffed, crossing her arms, a rare feat. 

One person who wore glasses was dubbed “Julius” after brewing some coffee in her room. 

“A sixty-five?! That is so not fair, Julius!” 

(No one understood the number, but then again, none of her odd remarks made any sense.) 

But so far, only “Blood” and “Peter” made her emote more than the rest. Until one member was named “Vivaldi.” 

“You’re so beautiful, Vivaldi” she had gasped, her eyes filling with tears as she gazed unseeingly at the newest member. “You remind me of…. someone I know.” 

They gently tried to nudge about this “someone” (excited, nervous, apprehensive, and hopeful all at once), but she did not comply, falling into silence once more. 

Then, one day, someone brought in a pair of dolls. 

“Dee! Dum! Cut it out!” 

They paused in their notes, glancing at one another. There was something oddly familiar about those names… 

Suddenly, one person (the one she had long since dubbed “Elliot”) cried out and mentioned a classic children’s story. A pause. Some muttering. 

Then, “Blood” said, “Well, when you consider her name…” 

The leader, “Peter,” instructed someone to get a copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland right away. 

They took turns reading the story to her. For the most part, there were no changes. She sat quietly, making no indication of listening. But then, they reached the caterpillar chapter, in which “Alice” says she’s not sure she’s “Alice,” and suddenly, they hit a breaking point. 

“I’m Alice… I’m Alice…. But am I? Nightmare, explain!” her vacant eyes filled with tears, overflowing and running down her cheeks, but still her body remained calm. If one did not see her tears, one would think she was perfectly at peace. 

The newly dubbed “Nightmare,” pitying her, reassured her that she was indeed “Alice.” 

“This is a dream, then?” For the first time, she turned her head and made direct eye contact. Her blue eyes, glistening with tears, still had that lost, vacant look, but any fool could see the desperation underneath that. The fear. 

“Alice, perhaps... you are dreaming, but I am real.” 

“Yes… yes, you are, Nightmare. But I wish you would tell me!”

“Tell you what?”

“Tell me!” 

“Okay. I am telling you.” 

“Yes… yes, I want to see my sister.” 

Everyone collectively sucked in their breaths. One year living here and this was the very first sign of Alice acknowledging her sister. 

“Nightmare” looked up helplessly at “Peter.” “Peter” released a shuddering breath and made a non-committal jerk of his head. “Nightmare” turned back to Alice and her tear-filled, dead eyes. 

“You … cannot see your sister. Do you know why?”

Alice’s lip trembled. She looked every inch the pouting child. “I have to finish the game.” There was a note of begrudgement in her tone. 

“Yes, you do,” “Nightmare” said, feeling every inch the idiot, aware that every single one of his colleagues was holding their breath, hanging onto every word. “And do you know how to finish the game, Alice?” 

“I have to fill up this,” Alice held up the pendant around her neck. It was a heart-shaped locket. 

After that, she stayed silent. Everyone congratulated “Nightmare” for being the first to engage in a full conversation with her, however ludicrous it sounded. 

“She actually mentioned her sister,” the one dubbed “Vivaldi” whispered. “The poor dear…” 

“You pity her?” scoffed “Blood.” Some of his colleagues gave him a hard time for being the only one to make Alice blush and scream hysterically. 

“Well, of course! It’s… unnerving, to be sure, but I am here to help her! Besides, she’s… well, it’s not really her fault, is it?” 

“She literally murdered her sister.” 

“In a moment of hysterical blindness. And she hasn’t exactly been in her right mind since, has she?” 

[wolfknightpoe]

Duality - The Knight vs. The Wolf (Open RP)

Starter 1

Sir Vincent looked out upon the land as he had his morning coffee. Cartorra's flowing fields of corn, alfalfa, and barley being tended to by the simple people further inland from his seaside castle. The only thing that broke up the enjoyable morning silence as the sun rose was the incessant clanging of metal and cutting tools coming from floors below, the dwarves and his sister, Abigail, clearly hard at work in the docks below. Finishing his coffee, he turned his attention to a mirror nearby.

Wait… A mirror? Here in his presence? Surely, he’d covered such portals a fortnight ago. But here one was, fully showing him, and his wonderful guest who was seeing to his morning glory with their supple lips. And yes, the fellatio was pleasurable, but it wasn’t enough to keep the hairs from raising on the back of his neck as his image swirled into a black mist. A black mist he knew all too well that began coalescing into a familiar shadowy hound with glowing amber eyes. The Mad Doctor’s pet would soon escape imprisonment if he didn’t act quickly. So as his current companion came about to get a breath, they were thrown aside, the coffee mug spilling its contents over them before shattering against the floor. He didn’t acknowledge their scream of pain as the hot liquid scolded them, too focused on busily cutting off the beast’s connection to this world with a heavy sheet. “Not today foul creature… Not today.” Then he turned his attention to his company. "Many pardons... Harm was not my intention. Let me see to your wounds..." (If you want to have been a companion of his for the evening prior)

Wait… A mirror? Here in his presence? Surely, he’d covered such portals a fortnight ago. But here one was, fully showing him in the buff. The hairs rose on the back of his neck as his image swirled into a black mist. A black mist he knew all too well that began coalescing into a familiar shadowy hound with glowing amber eyes. The Mad Doctor’s pet would soon escape imprisonment if he didn’t act quickly. The coffee mug crashed to the floor, spilling it's contents as he rushed forward. He didn’t acknowledge the shattered porcelain, too focused on busily cutting off the beast’s connection to this world with a heavy sheet. “Not today foul creature… Not today.” A moment passed before he calmed himself, now hearing his sister calling for him that he had a guest. He quickly donned his clothes and made his way downstairs to address the newcomer. "Hail citizen! What brings you to my humble keep this day?" (If you want something casual)

Starter 2

Today was a rare good day... Vincent was clear headed for the first time in a while. And he intended to hopefully keep it that way. At least the best he could. Sure the medicine wasn't pleasant, but it meant he could have a day in reality. As he got out of bed, he took a marker and went over to his calendar, doing his usual to keep track of how long his episodes had been lasting by marking the days he was lucid per his therapy directions.

"Not counting the full moon..." He counted up the prior marks, and let out an exasperated sigh. "Two months this time... Hope I didn't cause any particular trouble while I was absent from myself." He then went about his morning routine and readied himself for his day, making sure to grab his next dose before he headed downstairs to check on the job site and the crew before he'd head out into the city to pay for breakfast sandwiches at a nearby cafe for everybody. It was the least he felt he could do since they put up with their boss's issue when it cropped up.

On his way out the door, he noticed someone standing there. "Morning. Can I help you?" (If they don't know each other) "Good morning! How are you doing today?" (If they know each other.)

@covairecitystarters

[sonderrow]

A journal entry. 09/??

“Are you alright, Mr. Kessler..?”

I remember those words a thousand and thousand times. They make my knees buckle and my head sent to another realm. I had no childhood, it didn’t exist. Convincing myself so was the only way to make it go away; for when I became a man, I was reborn and the rest didn’t matter.

When I was around eight, I was to witness sex between two people. I had sort of a babysitter ―if I could even call that― that was to introduce me, as my father asked so. Probably prostitutes. I’d be educated on the body of a woman, not even of a man’s, before witnessing the two of them fornicating right under my eyes. My guardian would make sure I wouldn’t be looking away, although every single time, he’d get too carried away by the spectacle, taking part of it. Although I felt disgusted, I was unable to look away; this, to me, was knowledge I couldn’t miss, as painful of a truth as it was. From those moments, I’d come up stronger.

When I turned ten, however, my grandfather brought me down one of those basements. Those big buildings where hidden conventions would be held. Meetings. I was petrified at the human dolls I witnessed, as rare as they were for they were a costly and risky luxury, and, for the first time, I saw on video tape a woman having non-consensual sex. It was normal. In a normal position. Although it didn’t take much for the silent me to notice the wide difference between my previous experiences and of now. She was crying, begging, and her voice was cracking. Unlike other women who’d show pleasure or do so to put pride in their partner, this one was the most genuine voice I ever heard. And I’d be shaken. However, as I put my mind to the test, I’d go on. Then, because of how silent and stoic I was, the tapes became more adventurous. I was shown women put on contraptions, more and more partners for her. As my eyes would still be stuck although everything was done, I’d constantly be asked.

“Are you alright, Mr. Kessler?”

I recall telling my mother, although my explanations as a child were far from clear and I was too embarrassed to go any deeper. Mother looked at me with pleading eyes, but ultimately didn’t speak, much like me, she wasn’t one for words. Afterwards, without any clear explanations, I was left alone.

At some point, my grandfather let me be with another man to look out for me. They changed so much, so many, I cannot remember their face―and I don’t want to. I don’t want to be reminded their face. Having his own schedule, he brought me to a room. One with masked people looking so intensely at a centre lighten up stage. Some sitting, most of the up on their feet. All of a sudden, I turned around and my guardian wasn’t here anymore―later would I know that an emergency came up for me. I was left alone, in the most unfamiliar, terrifying environment I had ever seen. And then, two people entered.

One of them was a little girl. Around my age. Probably even younger than me. She was so dazed, clearly drugged, yet lucid enough so I could see absolute, unending terror in her eyes. She was wearing a see-through, childish nightgown and I had the urge to not look at anything but her face. It was the first time I saw the body of someone like me. I was absolutely disgusted. I cannot describe what the person with her on stage did to her, but it doesn’t matter.

It took only a matter of seconds, and her eyes almost locking with mine; for I was the only one without their face covered, that I turned around, leaned to a wall, and threw up uncontrollably. My eyes kept crying although I wasn’t sobbing, and the sick, darkening feeling inside me would never, ever go away. The pool of my own puke seemed endless, like every inch of the building was covered in it. I felt dirty, kept shivering while cold sweat came down through me… and then I realized. Every time I tried to straighten myself up again, I’d gag another time, and screams came out of me.

The attention came onto me. Those men, with certain who couldn’t hide what was going on in those suit pants of their, wiping drool off their mouth, noticed that I was here. A kid. With nobody by my side. Alone. What seemed like giant, threatening hands in the dark approached me. Suddenly, the door opened and my grandfather’s voice called on to me. I screamed, cried out and never ran as fast into someone’s arms. Obviously, he slapped me for being so impolite, and I had to apologize. When I was ordered to clean up my mess, I refused, vehemently, and it was left at that. I could only hear the staff asking…

“Are you alright, Mr. Kessler..?” And they’d give me snacks. I’d be unable to put any of them in my mouth and was left with a sweet icicle running down my arm.

My insomnia worsen, my nightly terrors too. I was too afraid to fall asleep, but exhausted I just didn’t want to think. When I would falter, I’d be constantly, firmly told to shape up, man up, stop being a wuss and get on with my average studies, was forced to eat all my meals and go to school.

And then, one day I told my homeroom teacher. Police was called, my parents too. That is when I started being home schooled. From there on, my moral never improved.

Then. And so…

At the very least, the exposition slowed down. I don’t know if they, whoever they are, deemed that it worked for having a more strong willed heir or some bullshit of it―I don’t care, I don’t mind. I’d slowly feel indifferent towards what I’d be looking at, but feel in thousand of pieces inside. Left with nobody but myself, I’d put myself back up. And that, actually, is how I feel like I became stronger than ever. However, it took a long, long, long, long, long, while.

The first time I had sex with my girlfriend as a teenager, I felt sick, disgusted. I actually threw up, mimicking I needed to freshen up in the bathroom, took a long, long while trying to gather my thoughts. I came back. She joked about the time, I said I wanted to be thoroughly cleaned and was cutely nervous. She loved it. I made her cum with my hands and mouth. I was unable to come. She was so understanding. Put it readily on the nervousness of the first time, and expressed how perfectly content she was.

She curled up in my arms. I stared at the ceiling the whole time, emptying my mind. When I made sure she was asleep, I sneaked out of the bedroom. Then, I threw up what felt like days worth of meals and all my guts in the toilet. Staring down at the mix of all the proteins I took for all those fucking sports I did. The strength I built to be that preppy jock I wanted to show shivered. I was a child again, skinny, shattered. That night, I rolled on my side of the bed, back towards her, hoping she wouldn’t notice I was having nightmares.

She hugged me and teased me, softly whining how I moved away from her in my sleep. She laughed.

“Awh, are you alright, Mr. Kessler ~ ?”

[madametrashbin]

You still want characters how about Xiao?

Ooh...! My sweet lil Yaksha boy! skjsksjjs I, uhh, my brain kinda melted on this because I didn’t know which idea to use. My brain is dying, not just from 2.2 but also Itto reveal is like- *wheeeeeeze*

I’m sorry, but like, Itto is a fucking himbo, radiates that energy and is canonically one from what I’ve read of the things that mentioned him in game... And I have a soft spot for himbo/bimbo/thembos so I kinda lost myself on Monday. (And the amount of content produced is astounding already, making me scream at myself to keep priorities for the future before I completely disregard that.)

But anyways, enough about that and uhh... have some Xiao food while I work on one last thing and then back into that wip.

Xiao lived to fight and protect the people of Liyue.

He fights to uphold the contract he made, to rid the world of its evils so people could live without worries and to ensure that incidents of the past do not repeat. That was all he had ever done, all he had ever known until you came around and everything feels different... his way of life so much more different.

Your hands beckon forth feelings within him that he never knew he was capable of having for as long as he lived... in both the darkness of the karmic debt, and in the light of the mortal world.

Your eyes look to him softly, and your touch burns his skin in a pleasant manner he grows to crave for. He does everything for you, for his life as he knew was all made to be yours... no one else could ever make him feel like this.

No one could ever make him feel so loved, so important, so fragile... but you.

And with your divine power, the karmic debt that linger forever in his life disappears as though it was just a fleeting nightmare... so how could he not love you for liberating him from that darkness? 

He could finally breathe, free from the pain as long as you are around, so...

“Don’t go.”

He says as you were preparing to get up from the bed so you could stretch your legs for the new day. The yaksha rarely makes pleas like this, and looking over to his sleepy figure after he spent the night in your room to get some well deserved rest under your orders, grabs your arm before you could leave.

“Please don’t go... not yet, Your Grace.”

His voice is groggy, the rasp very clear and the way his eyes look at you with such desperation... you couldn’t refuse him.

He looked so cute like that anyways, so you shifted back until he could wrap his arms around your waist and lay his head by your side while you remained sitting up against the headboard with your hands gently carding through his messy dark hair that quickly eases the tension from his body and allow him to fall back to sleep.

You remain in the same position for the next couple of hours before he is aware, and while your legs are rather numb from not moving for so long, seeing your little Yaksha well-rested and looking much better than the day before was worth it.

You tease him quietly once he was lucid enough to think properly, his face now left red from how bold he was in his half-asleep state and spent the next hour profusely apologizing to you. It took a while for you to get him to stop, telling him you didn’t mind even if your legs were numb that time.

Although Xiao remains embarrassed by that moment, a part of him was happy for being so close to you... that small part of him wishes to do it again, as long as you would allow him to stay by your side and sate his desire for your gentle touch that soothes his pain away.

...of course, he’s still embarrassed by how he acted, so he’s most likely not going to do something like that in a while.

[luminnara]

It’s Been A Long, Long Time | ch 4

Summary:  When HYDRA had their prized asset, the Winter Soldier, they did something no one ever thought was possible: they gave super soldier serum to an omega. With the sole purpose of tending to him during his ruts, she spends decades living in HYDRA facilities, denied her humanity and her life. Now, years later, Bucky Barnes has his mind and his own life back...and the last thing he ever expects is to see a familiar omega again. Bucky/OC, a little angsty but mostly smutty/fluffy/romantic!

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

Taglist:  @kyrah-williams @oceanmermaidwitch @shawnie--jo @super-cape @ferxaniti @namjoonwatcheshentai @fandomsstolemylife00 @youngblood199456 @nightlygiggless @darlingely

Amoretta swam in and out of sleep. Whenever she surfaced, she saw bright lights and strange faces, and, assuming that she was in a HYDRA lab, she decided it was better if she just kept on dreaming. After a while, though, she couldn’t manage it anymore, and she finally woke up enough to actually take in her surroundings.

She was in a hospital bed, and...a gown? She couldn’t remember the last time she had been given clothing. When she tried to move, she found that her arms ached, and she had an IV sticking out of her. Okay, so wherever she was, they were trying to take care of her. Maybe. That seemed like a good sign. 

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” a man’s voice said. “How’re you feeling?”

A figure came into view, blurry at first, and as he got closer she was able to get him in focus. Amoretta immediately stiffened, feeling threatened by this stranger, but as the scent of omega wafted in, she relaxed slightly. She couldn’t smell any alphas nearby, and that was good. 

Two good signs so far. 

“Wh-who are you?” She asked, her voice wobbly and hoarse. Her throat was so sore that talking was painful. 

“My name is Dr. Bruce Banner.” The man said, reaching towards a nearby table and grabbing a water bottle off of it. “I’m with the Avengers.”

Amoretta frowned. “The...who?”

He came near her slowly, twisting the cap off the bottle and offering it to her. “You’ve probably got a lot of questions. Mind if I ask a couple, though?”

She gave a little shrug as she raised the bottle to her lips. It felt strange to hold, the water tasting...different from what she was used to.

“Can you tell me your name?”

She thought for a moment, brows knitting together. “Subject 1096.”

It was Bruce’s turn to frown. “Did you ever have a...different name?”

After a moment, she nodded, trying to remember. It felt like it was on the tip of her tongue, just out of reach. Had it really been so long since she had gotten to say it?

“We can come back to that one.” Bruce said gently. “Do you know what year it is?”

She thought for a moment. “19...1986.”

The doctor pulled off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose and mumbling something along the lines of “Christ, not another one…”

She got the feeling that she was off by a few years. 

“Well, Ten...is it alright if I call you that?”

She shrugged.

“...alright. Ten, it seems like you were cryogenically frozen for a few decades.”

“...decades?”

He nodded. “Your body seems to have handled it well, though.”

“Did I puke?” She asked, wrinkling her nose.

“Not that I saw.” He chuckled. 

Well, that was a little surprising. She had a tendency to vomit after being wrenched out of unnaturally cold naps. “Where am I?”

“You’re in my lab, at Stark Tower.”

“What continent?”

“North America.”

She made a thoughtful noise. “What month is it?”

“June.”

“So Ursa Major is out?”

Bruce paused. “...well, it’s hard to see with all the light pollution in the city, but...yes, I suppose it should be…”

She let out a sigh. “I miss it.”

Her voice was already sounding tired again, and Bruce was quick to take the water bottle back before it slipped from her hand. 

“You should get some more rest, Ten.” He suggested. “We’ve got plenty of time to get you caught up when you’re feeling more energetic.”

“Mhm.” her eyes fluttered closed. “Doctor?”

“Yes?”

“What city am I in?”

“New York.” He said, looking down at her curiously. “Manhattan, more specifically. Why?”

She smiled a little. “I wanna see...Brooklyn…”

As she drifted off to sleep again, Bruce rubbed his face. Well, that certainly was oddly specific of her to say. It was a good sign that she seemed lucid, though. 

“Captain Rogers is outside, Dr. Banner.” FRIDAY’s AI voice said. 

Bruce met him at the door, making his way out as quietly as possible. Steve looked anxious, standing with his hands on his hips as he waited for news. He hadn’t gotten a chance to find Bucky yet, his friend either working out or sleeping, and all he had managed so far was a quick debriefing and a shower. 

“I ran down as soon as FRIDAY called,” he said. “How is she?”

“Sleeping again. Just missed her.” Bruce said wryly. “Walk with me, I’m starving.” 

Steve fell into step beside him, heading towards the elevators. “Did she say anything?”

“She did. She seemed a bit out of it...couldn’t remember her name, hasn’t been awake since 1986.” He hit the UP button and stood back. “Seemed very interested in constellations, though. And Brooklyn.”

Steve stared at him. “Brooklyn?”

“Told her she was in New York, and the last thing she said before she fell asleep was something about Brooklyn.” Bruce shrugged. “Really interesting thing was her blood tests, though.”

“Blood tests?” Steve asked, stepping into the elevator and waiting for Bruce to join him before the doors closed again. 

“Definitely an omega.” Banner said as they headed up several floors. “Her scent is so muted because they pumped her full of enough suppressants to kill a normal person. Pretty sure that’s why she’s so tired...her body is working overtime trying to process such a high dose. I think it was just pooling in her system while she was in cryo, not really going anywhere, so now her kidneys are doing everything they can to—“

“Banner.” Steve interrupted before he had to listen to an entire scientific explanation. 

“Right. Sorry.” The scientist cleared his throat. “There was something else that I found already. She’s, uh…well, at some point, she was given super soldier serum.” 

Steve froze. “HYDRA gave the serum...to an omega?”

“It’s confusing to me, too,” Bruce put his hands up in defeat. “Thanks to that, though, it’s hard to determine how old she is, or who she is, without her telling us. All I know is that she’s an unmarked omega super soldier with a hell of a dose of heat suppressants to work through.”

“Any idea when she’ll be up again?” Steve asked as the elevator dinged to signal their arrival. 

“Hard to say.” Bruce said, following the alpha out towards the shared kitchen near the common area. 

“I need to get to the bottom of this, Banner. FRIDAY, will you find Bucky? I need you to tell him—“

“Tell him what?” A voice asked. 

Steve smiled in relief. Bucky was there, sitting on the couch with a plate of Alfredo balanced in his metal hand, looking mildly curious about whatever his friend was talking about. 

“Oh, good,” Steve said, approaching him, Banner following behind. “You’re already here.”

“What is it, Stevie?” He asked, an eyebrow raised. 

“Well, as you know, I visited an abandoned HYDRA base today.” 

“I’m aware.”

“And I found...something.”

“...something. What kind of something?”

Steve suddenly wasn’t sure how to describe his discovery. “Well, it’s a...not an it, I mean, I found a…”

“Rogers here brought back an omega test subject.” Bruce interrupted. “She’s down in the lab right now sleeping off some nasty meds.”

Bucky’s posture hadn’t changed, despite how awkward and almost nervous Steve had gotten. He leaned back against the cushions, slurping down a few noodles while he regarded his friend with a mild expression. 

“Alright, so?” He asked. 

“So...I was wondering if you had any idea what HYDRA was doing experimenting on an omega.” Steve said, hands on his hips in a stance that was supposed to say I mean business, so listen to me.

Bucky wasn’t bothered by it. He was the biggest, toughest alpha in the tower, aside from the rare occasions Thor was roughing it down on Midgard with the rest of them. The others could puff up and posture all they wanted at him, but it never had any effect. He was always calm and cool, generally disinterested in their displays. He knew he was stronger, and he didn’t need to prove it, especially not when he didn’t have an omega to fight over. 

He shrugged. “I want exactly privy to all their secrets. I know they kept cells full of omegas around for a while.”

“What did they do with them?” Steve asked.

“Whatever they wanted?” Bucky shook his head. “I really don’t know. If they were experimenting on ‘em, that never concerned me.”

“You’ve gotta know something, Buck.” Steve sounded exasperated. 

“Why do you care so much?” He asked. 

“Because something isn’t adding up.” Steve growled. 

“They gave this omega enough heat suppressants to last a lifetime,” Bruce said. “Her system is all kinds of messed up.”

“Makes sense.” Bucky ate another mouthful. “HYDRA wouldn’t want to deal with hormones going crazy or any unplanned pups.”

Steve stared down at his friend. “Did they let you rut?”

“Stevie, at least take me out to dinner before you start asking about my sex life fifty years ago.” Bucky said dryly. 

Steve just raised an eyebrow.

“...yeah. They did. Think they couldn’t stop my ruts.” He relented. 

“So did they...you know…” Steve trailed off awkwardly. 

“Were you ever given omegas to get you through them?” Bruce asked, proving once again how much more capable of having this conversation he was than Steve. 

Bucky finally had to glance away from them in embarrassment. “Well…yeah. But I, uh...the Soldier, he would just kind of...well, they didn’t really last long, if you uh. Catch my drift.”

Steve paled. 

Bruce gulped. 

“...what? Look, I’m better now, I’m way past that. Besides, I never meant to hurt anyone, I wasn’t myself—“

“This omega is a super soldier.” Bruce said quietly.

Bucky’s face dropped, a flicker of something passing over his face. “...what?”

—

“Finally,” Bruce sighed happily, inhaling the smell of leftover pizza. 

“Bucky, does the number 1096 mean anything to you?” Steve asked. He was sitting in a chair across from his friend, Bruce sitting at the kitchen island while he ate his dinner. 

Bucky shook his head. “Don’t remember any numbers like that. They mostly just called ‘em all omega.”

He was trying to seem cool and collected, but his scent had shifted slightly. Steve could catch just the slightest hint of distress in it, and as he did so, he narrowed his eyes. He may have been separated from Bucky for almost 80 years, but he was still his best friend, and he could tell when he was hiding something. 

“Why would they give the serum to an omega?” Steve asked. 

“Branching out?” Bucky shook his head. “Why do they do anything? They’re HYDRA. They can do whatever they want.”

“So you don’t remember anything about an omega super soldier?”

“I don’t know.” Bucky sniffed defensively. 

“Buck, it’s okay if you do.” Steve growled. “We’re not going to judge you for anything you did. We just want to help her and figure out who she is—“

“Well I don’t know,” Bucky snapped, big fangs bared in a warning. 

Steve responded with a low growl. 

“There’s a lot I don’t remember, or did you forget how many times they wiped my memory?” 

“Seems like you’re hiding something, Buck, and I wanna know what it is.”

“Why do you care? You should just drop it,” Bucky snarled. 

Steve regarded him carefully. Oh yeah. He was definitely hiding something. 

“Hey, hey,” Bruce interrupted from the kitchen, intent on stopping their fight before it could start. “Relax, fellas. Don’t make me get the big guy out to shut you both up.”

Steve backed down. The threat of having the Hulk going after him was enough. Bucky didn’t seem to share the sentiment, though, his lips still pulled back in a blatant display of aggression. It was the first time in a while that Steve had seen him acting so defensively about something, and it was concerning, to say the least. 

“Buck,” he said, voice low with warning. “Are you hiding something?”

Bucky’s nostrils flared angrily and the insinuation that he was keeping secrets, but he managed to reign himself back in, stifling another growl with a loud sigh. 

“I dunno, Steve.” He admitted. “There’s...a lot I don’t remember. If I’m bein’ honest with you, I’m not even sure why I’m feelin’ so worked up about this.”

Steve nodded. It was a relief to hear that Bucky wasn’t acting this way entirely on purpose, at least. 

“You feel okay?” Steve asked. “Not rutting soon, are you?”

“I’m fine, Steve.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.” Bucky snorted. After a moment of silence, he spoke up again. “Is the omega, uh...is she okay?”

“Physically, she doesn’t seem to be too worse for wear,” Bruce said from the kitchen. “The only abnormalities I found in our preliminary blood tests were evidence of the suppressants and the serum. Other than being exhausted and needing to adjust to consciousness again after decades of cryo, she’s fine.”

“Good.” Bucky said, a little too quickly. “I mean...that’s good.”

“She should be awake again by tomorrow. Hopefully, she’ll be up for a longer chat then.” 

“You comfortable talking with her?” Steve asked, looking at Bucky. “It might be good for her to see someone else who used to be connected to HYDRA. Might help her ease into everything.”

Bucky gave a nod, already distracted by thoughts of this omega. Was it possible that the girl he saw in his dreams was real? It was hard for him to know what had actually happened to him and what he had imagined, what with HYDRA wiping his memory whenever they felt like it. Ever since he had gained his mental freedom, though, he had been plagued with nightmares, his sleep always filled with the faces of people he had killed. 

As time went on, they were getting better, but they never really stopped. He just...didn’t always have to deal with the worst ones. Sometimes, he even got to have dreams that were...nice. Sometimes, he dreamt of a familiar scent, one he couldn’t really place and that he could never remember when he woke up. Sometimes, he dreamt of an omega, with long, dark hair, and the prettiest eyes he could ever imagine. He always saw her in flashes, a smile here, a sigh there, and with no idea as to who she was or where she came from, he had chalked it up to his mind trying to give him some relief from the nightmares. It had to be wishful thinking, and nothing more. 

Unless it wasn’t. 

He spent a while chatting with Steve and Bruce before retreating to his apartment. With Tony and Pepper gone for the night, spending it in some fancy hotel so that Stark could give a talk at some expo, and most of the others resting after missions, the tower was quiet. It left Bucky too much time to wander and think, and before he knew it, he was making a detour down to Banner’s lab. 

As soon as the elevator doors opened, he paused. What was he hoping to accomplish, exactly? He didn’t have the kind of clearance that Bruce did. He wouldn’t be able to sneak in, and even if he could, what would he do? Appearing at her bedside would just freak the poor omega out, and that wasn’t the kind of first impression he liked to leave these days. 

He shook his head, pressing the button for his floor and leaning back against the elevator wall. He needed to be patient. Tomorrow, when she woke up, he would be able to see her for himself and decide if his weird dreams had any truth to them. 

Not that he was getting his hopes up. He shouldn’t, after all. He would just set himself up for disappointment. 

Just before the elevator doors slid shut, though, the tiniest, faintest hint of a scent wafted in, and Bucky’s eyes widened. He knew it. He knew that scent, or at least...he used to know it. Somewhere, in a part of his mind that he tried to forget about, he had memories of a peaceful, starry night sky, a hint of pine, and a touch of cinnamon. 

Then, the doors closed, and it was gone again, leaving him confused as the elevator rushed upwards.

[neonacity]

LUCID | NCT DREAM ‘00 LINE X READER | CH.3

LUCID DREAMS - A TYPE OF DREAM WHEREIN THE PERSON IS AWARE THAT THEY ARE CAUGHT IN A DREAM WORLD.

Summary: It was supposed to be a harmless, professional transaction. You were to tutor a group of boys, get your pay at the end of the day, and go home to your loving fiance. Kids aren’t supposed to be dangerous, right? So why, then, are you caught up in a web of madness that slowly makes you feel like you’re in a living nightmare?

A/N: Third chapter is here! Again, thank you to all those who are supporting the story. Once again, this is a yandere plot featuring NCT Dream ‘00 line which means there will be mature themes in the story as well as obsessive, toxic behavior. If you’re a minor, please refrain from interacting. If this isn’t your thing, then just scroll and skip. In no way am I condoning anything written here— this is not love, this is obsession—nor do I think that any of the people mentioned here will act any way like in this story. This is purely a work of fiction.

Genre: yandere, horror, suspense

TW: abuse, obsessive behavior, toxic relationships, suggestive scenes, stalking, possible kidnapping, mental health. Age gap–though nothing dramatic. Everyone is of legal age. Creepy, creepy, creepy! This will be updated as the story goes along.

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

“Insane madness of the living can be more, more terrible than the bloody hunger of the undead...”

― Silvia Liam

The rules of hunting down prey are simple. First, you observe to take note of their weakness, then you stalk...waiting for the right opportunity to take your shot. Hunting is more often about a game of time than aim sometimes. You jump too soon and you risk scaring your target to a successful escape, or you do it too late that you let them fully slip through your grasp. Hunting... has always been about perfect timing.

"You already know the rules of the game, right boy?"

The frail form of a seven year old child cowered against the foot of a dead tree, eyes shaking as it regarded the man leering at him. The sky was a deep dark velvet above them, and the only source of light came from the full moon that dipped in and out between the passing clouds. A bell dingled from the tight chain strapped around his left ankle when he moved, the sound causing the smile on the man's face twist into a wicked grin.

The hum of a gun being cocked sent the boy to give a choked sob. He shakily tried to stand up from his spot and pressed his palm against the rough bark of the tree to support himself, his wide eyes set on the looming form that has taken a step closer to where he stood.

"It's the first sturgeon moon tonight, so we are going to change the rules a little bit, okay?" Those words only made the child shake harder, the thin shirt he had now clinging to him like second skin due to the cold sweats gripping him.

"You run. And if I catch you, you die," the man cooed as he craned his face a bit to the side, causing the light from the moon to illuminate his features briefly. He looked handsome, inhuman, like he was one of the fallen souls exiled to earth at the beginning of times.

The man moved the arm holding his hunting gun and used it to lift the chin of the boy still cowering in front of him. He smiled—a smile so beautiful and dangerous it can make angels weep.

"But if you die, then your brothers will be the one running in this forest to take your place. So...make sure I don't catch you, hmm?"

Tears finally streamed down the bruised cheeks of the child as he realized what he was up to tonight. Eyes wide with fear, he pushed himself off the tree he was leaning on and started making a run for it.

He could still hear his words even as he dove deep into the woods, the bell on his feet masking his thundering footsteps.

"Seven bullets! You have one minute to hide, son~!"

Gunshots pierced the night air like a wailing scream.

------

Bang!

Jeno lowered his hunting rifle and let go of his breath slowly. Despite the shadows cast by the towering trees surrounding him, his eyes could still clearly see the slight flailing of the fawn he just shot before it went completely still. Above him, a flock of crows looked down on the fallen prey with their beady eyes, as if gauging the best time to dive for their feast.

He slowly picked himself up from his hiding spot, a wide oak tree with overarching branches that hid him from sight. He's been crouched there for a good half hour or so, just waiting for the fawn to finally circle the area. He's been observing it for the past week or so, taking note of its routes, and today he decided to make the kill.

Unlike other hunters, Jeno prefers the thrill that comes with stalking his prey over simply making a successful game. For him, the fun of hunting is in the process and not in its ending—a kill , after all, means nothing if you didn't work hard for it.

He looked down on the small fawn now as it lay lifeless on the mossy forest ground with its glassy eyes still open. Leaning over, he lightly pressed his hand over it to feel its heartbeat just to check if he killed it properly.

It was so beautiful and graceful just prancing in the forest a few days ago….it would be a shame if it suffers now.

"Hey, you got it?" A voice from the edge of the clearing made him look around. Haechan emerged from between the trees, his own hunting rifle slung over his shoulder.

"Yup. What did you get?"

The other boy lifted a brown sack and gave it a light shake.

"Got three rabbits. I'm too lazy to skin them here so I'll just ask Taeyong-hyung to do it. Want to go back now?"

Jeno turned to look back at the fawn in front of him briefly before finally shaking his head. He didn't really want to go back to the mansion yet, so he decided to just throw an excuse to the other for now.

"You go ahead. I'll just skin it right here," he said casually over his shoulder at his brother. Haechan, too cold and too bored to stay another minute in the humid woods, gave a wave of his hand before turning back. Unlike Jeno, he prefers the comforts and luxuries of the manor over anything else.

"I'll go ahead then. Try to get back before nightfall, the forest can be a dangerous place~" he said in a sing-song voice, knowing full well it was a useless warning he just gave.

Jeno simply ignored him and silently pulled his skinning knife from his belt so he could get to work. Nights in the forest have never scared him, he knew it like the back of his hand.

If anything, it is the creatures there who should be terrified of him.

------

You glanced over at Jisung and Chenle who were currently immersed in their readings over the page you’ve been scanning. The sun is about to set in just a few minutes and you have the last session of the day scheduled for the pair before you could pack up and go home. Your lips slightly quirked into a smile as you watched Jisung lean over slightly into the other to silently ask about something, Chenle looking up from his pages to roll his eyes before patiently answering. The two have such different personalities from each other, which adorably and ironically, makes them work so well together.

If you're going to be honest with yourself now, you'd say it is your time with the two youngest that you enjoy the most as Rosewood's tutor. Chenle and Jisung were withdrawn and shy at first, but the pair slowly started warming up to you as time went by. Maybe it's because they are younger, but you prefer the innocent air around them every time you would have your lessons. Chenle is the chattier and the more confident of the two, but with his help, even the shy Jisung also started lightly joking around with you on his best days.

That's not to say that you hate your time with the rest of the brothers. You've only ever had one session with Mark—which went so well as expected from the eldest—while the rest have always been polite and casual. There isn’t really anything about your job and connection with any of the boys that should put you on edge and yet... you have to admit that there are still those rare moments when you just feel as if something is out of place. You couldn't really place your finger on it, nor have you blatantly caught anything suspicious, but sometimes you just feel odd whenever you are around any of the four middle children. It’s something similar to being watched...like there is an imaginary pair of eyes always pinned to the back of your head, or the ghost feeling of hands hovering around your throat.

Your eyes flickered now to the grand clock on the far side of the room which finally struck five. Closing your own book which you have been scouring over, you called out towards the two who quickly looked up from their work.

"Alright, time's up. Have you answered the first two questions at least?" You asked with a smile. Chenle groaned and pointed at Jisung accusingly.

"I only got three questions because he kept disturbing me, noona."

Jisung frowned and you had to keep your laugh back with how offended he looked.

"Hey, I wasn't disturbing you. I was just asking questions."

"Okay, okay. Don't fight now. Do you want an extension for the chapter quiz? We do have our next lesson the day after tomorrow."

Their faces simultaneously lit up.

"Can we do that?" Chenle asked.

"Yes, but I'll have to leave you the assignment of reading another chapter and finishing the questionnaire for that as well. That'll be your homework, okay?" You tried your best to put on your best impression of a stern look, which only made the two giggle.

"Okay, noona."

"You promise you'll do it?"

Jisung put up his right hand and placed his left one over his heart.

"We promise."

That made you chuckle. "Well then, that will be all for today. I'll see you again tomorrow, okay? I'll have lessons with your brothers but just come to me if you have any questions." You gathered the rest of the papers that you have sprawled on the desk you were using before waving the two goodbye.

You were in the middle of trying to fit in a rather stubborn pile of files on your bag that you didn't really notice the tall figure that entered from the front door. When you finally looked up, it was already too late for you to stop crashing straight first into someone's chest, if not for the strong hands that held you steady. You felt an arm settle on your waist, and another on your back as you almost toppled when you hastily stepped back.

"Oh! I am so sorr—" you looked up with wide eyes to see Jeno looking down on you. Your words died in your throat when your eyes caught the red stain on his neck and you gasped.

"Jeno, what happened?!" Your voice raised in panic as you stared wide eyed at the blood running down the side of his neck. He gave you a slight look of confusion before raising a hand to touch the area you've been staring at.

"Ah… this…"

You didn't wait for him to finish. Quickly, you grabbed his hand and turned on your heels to drag him to the opposite direction. You didn't look back to see his surprised expression, and before he could even say anything, you had already pushed him into one of the expansive bathrooms down the nearest hallway.

"Sit there."

You pushed him urgently on the closed toilet seat before you proceeded to rummage on the hidden compartment behind the mirror that Taeyong showed you before. You quickly grabbed the box of first aid kit there and hastily opened an antiseptic wipe.

"Uhm...noona…"

You didn't pay him any attention, too focused on what you needed to do. You quickly kneeled in front of him so that you were more eye-level with each other before finally pressing the damp wipe against his injury.

"Shh. This might sting a little. We have to see how deep your wound is and stop the bleeding," you said, a small frown creasing your brows as your fingers gently dabbed at his skin. You were so focused on what you were doing that you didn't notice the light in his eyes shift as he looked at you closely. 

His gaze dropped to your slightly parted lips, then at the look of concentration on your features.

Are you...worried about him?

Your frown deepened as you finally managed to wipe most of the blood away from his skin. The antiseptic sheet you were using has already turned dark red from the liquid, but still you haven't—

"It's not my blood," Jeno said plainly, his voice suddenly sounding too close to you. You looked up to him in confusion, and for the first time you realized how close the two of you were. His gaze didn't waver from your face, pinning you into the spot where you are kneeling in front of him.

"Not your…"

"I was hunting. I was skinning the game I caught but my hand slipped and I hit a major vein. This is deer blood."

If your face wasn't burning after realizing how close the two of you were at the moment, it is definitely on fire now. You opened your mouth to say something, then closed it again in embarrassment. Jeno continued staring at you and you watched as his lips ever so slightly curled into a smirk.

That made you suddenly stand up from your crouch. He calmly followed you with his gaze, a mix of curiosity and amusement in his brown eyes.

"I-I'm so sorry. I thought you were injured so I panicked," you stuttered as your eyes fell on the bloody wipe that is still on your hands. You quickly ducked to throw it away just so you could avoid his gaze.

Jeno followed your every move closely before slightly leaning his head to the side. He seems to be mulling over something, face now devoid of any telling emotions.

"Were you concerned about me?" He asked, tone curious. You glanced at him in surprise, stunned that he would ask such a question. It was bad enough that you stumbled over your words when you finally managed a reply.

"Of course I was concerned. Anyone would be."

Jeno slowly stood up from where he sat and for the first time, you realized just how much he towered over you. It didn't help that the two of you were in a much smaller space than usual which sent a wave of claustrophobia to wash you over briefly. You involuntarily took a step back, eyes only high enough to meet the base of his neck.

"Why though?" He asked again, and you could genuinely hear the curiosity in his tone. You frowned. He was asking...as if he isn't used to such a level of care. As if things like this are so foreign to him.

"Because you are my student. And I wouldn't want to see anyone hurt."

For a moment, Jeno didn't say anything else. He simply looked at you while you tried so hard not to flinch under his heavy gaze.

Then, as if a switch had been turned, he took a step to the side to free some space between the two of you. Your eyes shot to his face when he did that, and you were met by his boyish smile that crinkled his eyes into half moons.

That made you blink. You see it on him whenever he is with the rest of his brothers, but it was the first time he ever smiled that way to you.

"Thank you, noona. I appreciate it."

It was as if a blockage in your throat dissolved all of a sudden. You smiled back, a sense of relief overtaking you.

"Don't worry about it. I'm sorry I panicked, too."

"It's cute. Nobody has ever…" he trailed off before shrugging. "I guess, it's because we're all men here. So none of us are used to that kind of care."

You nodded slowly at that. It really must be hard...being in this kind of household. Now that you think about it, the boys are technically orphans.

"Anyway, I have to go. I need to get back before dark. I'm not really a big fan of night drives," you said as you picked up the bag you had haphazardly thrown into the sink in your panic earlier. Jeno simply watched you silently from where he stood.

"Make sure to be careful next time alright? Don't give anyone a heart attack again," you smiled before finally excusing yourself out. He smiled back and gave a nod of goodbye as you closed the door.

Jeno turned to the mirror in front of him and slowly touched the part of his neck where your fingers grazed earlier. It was cold now from the antiseptic you had rubbed, but he could still remember how good the warmth of your touch felt against his skin when you were trying to wash the blood away. He curled his fingers slightly over the area now, leaving half moon marks as his nails dug there.

Oh what he would do to have you touch him again.

-------

"Pretty neat, huh?" You grinned at Jaehyun as he parked the car in front of the manor. You watched as your boyfriend's eyes moved over the impressive facade of the structure in front of him, knowing full well that his architect training is kicking in.

"Not bad. Victorian-era, probably. The stones look old but the place looks pretty well-kept…"

You grinned to yourself now as you leaned back on your seat. Of course you have absolutely no reason to be proud of something you don't own, but you can't help but boast a little at your boyfriend. It is your workplace after all.

Jaehyun turned to his seat now to give you a slightly guilty smile. He sighed before reaching out for your hand.

"Are you sure you will be okay though? I'm sorry about borrowing your car all of a sudden, the timing is just so bad."

You gave his hand a squeeze before patting it with your other. He was supposed to go on a three day business trip away from the city when his car, all of a sudden, just wouldn't start this morning. He wouldn't make it if he waits for the shop to fix it so the both of you decided to just have him use yours for now. At least he has enough time to drive you to work, which is why the two of you now are parked outside the manor, 10 minutes before your first lesson has to start.

"Don't worry about it. I'll make sure to pick up your car later. I'll have the taxi drive me there."

Jaehyun glanced back at the mansion briefly.

"Are you sure you can get a taxi here though? This is pretty far off the main road…"

Well...to be honest, you weren't even really sure about that yourself but he didn't have to worry about it right now. You nodded and reached over for your bag with a smile.

"Yes. Or I'll just ask Taeyong for help if I can't get one. I'm pretty sure they have some taxi companies in contact."

Jaehyun still didn't look convinced but gave you a small nod nevertheless. His eyes were back to studying the house again which made you chuckle.

"Jae, I'll be fine. You have to go now or you'll be late to your conference. Thanks for driving me here," picking up the last of your things, you leaned over to give him a quick peck on the cheeks. He responded by pulling you over for a slightly longer kiss when you tried to move away.

"Yah, Jung Jaehyun. We'll both be late if you don't stop," you whispered softly with an amused tone. He laughed before finally letting you pull back.

"Just getting my fill of it since I won't see you in three days. Call me once you get home later, okay?"

"Mmn. Take care, too. Go get that deal closed," you gave him a wink before finally opening the passenger seat. You watched as he finally pulled away from the driveway and waited until he disappeared again on the long winding road before turning towards the manor again. You were almost at the front steps when the doors finally opened, spilling Haechan, Renjun, and Jaemin out of them. You frowned slightly as you took notice of the canvases they were carrying as you approached the group.

"Hey...are you going somewhere? Class is about to start." You asked curiously, eyes landing finally on the small leather bag that Renjun was carrying. It seems to be full of art supplies.

"We're doing a free art class today, right noona?" The eldest of the trio asked. You nodded, still a bit confused.

"Renjun suggested we do it in the garden since the weather is nice today," Jaemin finally said. "We think it'll be a nice change from the stuffy rooms inside," he slightly jerked his head back at the wide windows of the manor which are currently shut back with thick curtains. You glanced at them briefly too before nodding slowly in understanding.

"Oh… I mean… It's not a bad idea. We can have the first session outside while the sun is still bearable, I guess."

That made Jaemin, and most especially Renjun smile. The boy can be withdrawn most of the time, but you did notice that he looks happiest whenever you do creative classes.

"Thank you, noona."

"No problem. I'll just put my bag inside and then I'll follow you. Why don't you set up your things first?"

You've taken a couple of steps towards the front door already when Haechan suddenly spoke up.

"Who was with you, noona?"

That froze you on your tracks. Slowly, you turned to face the trio again. They saw Jaehyun drive off?

"Oh, that was my boyfriend. He dropped me off today," you said casually with a smile. Haechan leaned his head a little bit to the side in curiosity.

"But he took your car…"

"Yes, he did. His broke down so he had to borrow mine. He's leaving for a three-day trip so—" you stopped all of a sudden, realizing that you're explaining things too much. There's nothing wrong about what you said but there was still a part of you that made you feel a little...exposed. Jaemin, Haechan, and Renjun, fortunately, didn't seem to notice and continued to politely look at you.

"Anyway, I'll just grab a cab to go home," you continued with a smile. "There are some who stop by here, right?"

"Yes. Or we can just ask Taeyong-hyung to drive you. He is the only one who has a license among us," Jaemin offered with a casual shrug.

"Ah, maybe I'll have to bother him this one time if I can't get a cab," you said with a sheepish smile. "Okay, I do have to bring my things inside. I'll see you."

You have already reached the top of the steps before the double doors when you finally realized something. Quickly you turned to the three boys who were just about to disappear to the side of the house leading to the manicured gardens.

"Wait, where's Jeno?"

It was Jaemin who answered.

"Oh yeah. He can't come. He is on bed rest."

You frowned.

"What happened?"

Haechan snickered which caused Renjun to shoot him a reprimanding look.

"He got into a hunting accident," the boy explained as he barely tried to keep his lips from twitching with amusement. "He was foolish enough to get stabbed in the chest by a stag."

-----

You gave the oak wood door a few light taps before drawing your hand back to yourself. You still weren't sure if this is a good idea, and yet here you are standing outside Jeno's room, the expansive hallway making you feel too small and out of place. This is the first time you've been in this part of the mansion since you only ever roamed the lower floors for your classes, and you couldn't help but feel a little strange at the heaviness of the air clinging around you now.

Maybe it's because it is where the private quarters of the boys are, but the corridor was only slightly illuminated by dimmed lighting from the lamps on the walls. Everything was silent, and for a moment you wondered if you got the wrong door that Taeyong gave directions to when you told him you wanted to check on Jeno. You have already taken a step back and was about to turn away when you heard some rustling from inside the room. It was followed by a voice muffled by the thick wood separating you from the other side of the door.

"Come in."

You froze on your spot for a few seconds before finally managing to shake yourself to open the door before you slowly. Peering around it, the first thing you noticed was how big the room was—it looked more like a smaller section of a house than a private quarters. It was dark, but a quick look at it told you that it was mostly bare if you don't count the essentials, which is a simple desk by the side, a long couch, and, in the middle, a four poster bed.

Your eyes landed on Jeno who was looking at you with equal mild surprise. He was propped against the headboard of his bed, the light from the laptop on his lap illuminating his face. You noticed that he didn't have a shirt on, but most of his skin from the right shoulder down to his chest was covered by bandages.

"Hi," you smiled, suddenly feeling conscious now as you stepped into his room.

"Um. Hi. What are you…"

"I heard that you were injured so I just dropped by to check on you," you quickly answered to diffuse any awkwardness that is in danger of settling between the two of you. Jeno blinked, as if processing what you just said.

"Uh… sorry, I didn't realize that I might be disturbing you. I can also just go back another time and—"

"No," He said all of a sudden before you could excuse yourself. Quickly, he closed his laptop and put it away on his side. "You can stay for a bit."

"Oh...great. I uh…" your eyes roamed around his room once again, hoping to find a chair that is closer to his bed. There was none. You figured the couch was the only place you could go to so you started walking towards it, Jeno's eyes on you.

"You can sit here," he suddenly said and you looked up to see him pointing at the foot of his bed. That made you stop before glancing again at the couch at the farther side of his room, something which he immediately noticed.

"It's too far away. It'll be awkward for us to talk if you sit there,” he said, as if he read your mind. 

That...makes sense. With a slight nod, you closed the distance between you and the bed instead and chose to sit by its far end.

Jeno was back to watching you as you settled down, his expression curious. You softly cleared your throat.

"How are you feeling?"

He glanced down his chest briefly. "Oh, I'm fine. It didn't hurt as much during the weekend, but I was still told to stay in bed. I can't really move that much yet."

"What happened anyway?"

He scratched the back of his head almost sheepishly and looked away.

"I was trying to hunt a deer. I didn't know its mate was just around the area when I approached it so...yeah."

You winced as your eyes fell on his bandaged chest. You know next to nothing about hunting, but you know enough that an angry stag doesn't spell good news for anyone. Things could have been more serious for him.

"Are you sure that you shouldn't be in the hospital though?"

"Yes. We have a private doctor anyway. I just need to make sure I don't move too much to keep my wound from opening. And I also hate hospitals so I prefer to stay here…"

"You have to be more careful next time, okay Jeno? The forest is such a dangerous place…" you sighed before shifting your attention towards the window at the far wall of his room. He only had his curtains partially open but you could still see a sliver of the woods from where you sat.

Something about what you said shifted something in him. You missed it entirely thanks to the shadows from the room's dim lighting that masked his features, but it was there, hiding in plain sight.

"You take care of us so well."

You turned to him again as you heard him whisper something.

"What?"

Jeno simply smiled. He leaned back against the headboard, as if mulling over something.

"Since noona is worried about me, can you help me change my bandages?"

You blinked. That wasn't something you expected him to ask at all. Before, you figured Jeno to be one of the more withdrawn among the brothers, always with this air of intimidation about him, but lately, he has been throwing you off with these kinds of moments. He isn't flirty like Jaemin or sly and playful like Haechan, but he’s just so...direct. Almost pushy, sometimes. 

"I uhm… I don't know. I wouldn't know how to do it, maybe I can call someone and—"

You watched as he already started to undo the bandages on his torso, your eyes growing wide as he started to expose more skin.

"Jeno wait, I think we should call Taeyong for thi—oh my god."

Your words were cut off when he finally let the last of the bandages fall to reveal the cut on his torso. It started from his right chest, a few inches above the collarbone, and ran sideways to the middle where it cut off. Stitches held the skin together, and you could see the darkening sides of the flesh where it broke.

Yet it wasn't only that which caught your attention. Despite the dimness of the room, you could see other marks in his body, old scars that adorned his pale skin here and there. They varied in length and thickness, and you couldn't figure out what might have caused them. Were they from hunting accidents too…?

You immediately turned to look away. You didn't want to seem rude for staring. Jeno, however, seemed unbothered, if not mildly amused. Watching you through hooded eyes, he let you squirm for a little bit first before finally calling for your attention once more.

"Noona."

"Yes?"

"Help me, please?"

The tone he used on you finally made you turn with a slight wince, which only made him chuckle.

"You're not used to seeing injuries?"

"I'm not fond of them. I don't think anyone is."

“So let's get this over with then. I just need you to hold one side of the bandage for me while I wrap it again. It's hard when I do it alone."

You were about to open your mouth to say something again but chose to purse your lips after in the end. With a soft sigh, you finally picked yourself up from your spot by the foot of the bed to move closer to him. Jeno had already uncapped what looked to be a bottle of antiseptic at this point and had started to dab gently at his cut. You tried to watch without wincing too much as he tried to do the job, but it was probably too painful for him to move too much because he was missing a lot of it.

"Hey, just give me that. I'll do it," you asked as you gently took the cotton pad from him. Jeno wordlessly let you take it, eyes closely watching you as you ducked a little to clean his wound. You tried your best to keep your eyes on target, not allowing them to move anywhere else…

"It looks so bad… I'm surprised you can still move…" you whispered, more to yourself than to him as you frowned over it. You completely missed the way the corners of Jeno's lips ever so slightly tilted as your fingers brushed against his skin.

"Your fiance must have never gotten injured before, noona."

Your hand froze at what he said. Slowly, you looked up at him, only to see him smile at you.

"How did you…"

"Oh, Taeyong-hyung told us. He just reminded us to be nice to you or else you might quit. He said you are saving up for your wedding."

You didn't say anything at first after his explanation. There's nothing wrong about it, and it seems very in-character for Taeyong to say that since he seems to be the most worried about the possibility of you quitting. Still, you couldn't help the odd feeling that tugged at your chest, one you tried to shove back as you turned your attention again to what you were doing just so you could escape Jeno's gaze.

"Well… yes. I am saving up for it. But I also enjoy my time here… so far…"

Jeno smiled to himself as he looked down on you, eyes watching your every move.

"We'll behave too, we promise," he said softly that you almost didn't catch it.

"Until then, I'm sure your boyfriend wouldn't mind us borrowing you from him."  

----

"Jisung! Chenle! Don't run too far into the forest, okay?" Taeyong called out to the two boys who have already turned on their tails and have started running towards the woods. You watched as the two laughed and pushed at each other playfully before finally disappearing into the forest edge.

Taeyong sighed beside you and let the hands he had on his hips fall to his sides. You turned to him and he gave you an apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry for suddenly asking you to watch over them. I totally forgot that I had to drive the rest to their dentist appointment today," he said with a scratch of his head. You simply shook a hand at him to wave him off.

"Don't worry about it. I don't have any other classes today anyway so I'll just wait here for them. But... uh... are you sure that it is safe for them to play there?"

"Yes. As long as they stay in the right zones. There are parts there where some wild animals might roam around this season but Jisung and Chenle already know that, don't worry. It won't be the first time they'll be going there too. They've been playing there since they were kids."

You nodded slowly, still a little bit unsure as your gaze floated over to the woods once more. If it were you, you wouldn't let them go near it, especially after what happened to Jeno.

"I'll have to go then. I promise I'll be back by 5. Then I can drive you back to town after."

You turned to look at Taeyong once more and gave him a grateful smile. You usually would have declined the offer under normal circumstances, but you honestly think it will be easier and safer for you to just have him take you back later.

"Thank you. I appreciate that."

The other nodded before giving you one last smile. Turning around, you watched him go to the car where Haechan, Renjun, and Jaemin were already waiting. Jeno was still in bed rest, so he is skipping the impromptu trip this time.

You only turned back to look at the woods ahead when you finally saw the black sedan disappear down the road. The forest looked foreboding in front of you, one look at it and you know there is no way you'll venture there in your own free will. With a sigh, you picked up the book you've brought with you and let yourself take a seat by the grass as you wait for Jisung and Chenle to return.

A sudden sharp caw that tore the air made you look up in surprise from the current chapter you were reading. You didn't have any idea how much time had already passed after you lost yourself in your book, but you were surprised to see that the sky had gone red over the horizon as a flock of crows soared from the depths of the forest. You watched as they circled just above the trees before finally disappearing far into the sky. That was when you realized it; it's been a while since Jisung and Chenle left.

With panic slowly creeping into your chest, you glanced at your watch then back at the mansion behind you. Taeyong didn't say anything about a curfew for the two kids, but your own sense told you that the pair should be back before night falls. Your gut told you that you should start looking for them, but the problem is that there is still more than half an hour left before Taeyong said they will return and the only other person left in the manor was Jeno—who can't even get out of bed. 

You swallowed. Before you could make any decision, however, a bone-chilling sound floated into the air that made your blood turn cold. It was faint at first, making you wonder if it was just your imagination playing tricks on you, but then it called out again, and you felt your heart drop to your stomach.

It was Chenle. Screaming.

You broke into a run without a second thought.

It took you everything you have not to topple over the uneven forest floor as you wove through the trees. You have no idea where you were going, your mind and vision reeling as you tried to follow the voice. Your skirt have caught countless times on shrubberies and wayward tree barks as you tore through the woods but you kept going, not minding the tears on the fabric and the skin of your legs.

"Chenle! Jisung! Where are you!"

You called out desperately when the cries suddenly stopped. You were only barely aware of your heart thundering in your chest and your lungs burning from overexertion.

No. No. Don't stop screaming. I can't find you if you do.

"Chenle! Jisung!" You called out again desperately as you stopped at the edge of what seemed to be a small patch of land that dropped off to a ravine. The trees beyond were denser than the ones at the edge of the forest and the already fading light of the day wasn't helping the thick canopies above you that rained shadows on where you stood. You looked around and swallowed thickly. Something inside of you told you to turn around and run again but you stayed frozen on your spot, waiting for any sound from the kids.

It took you a few more heartbeats to pick up something again. Jisung's voice sounded far off to your right, maybe about 15 meters from where you currently are.

"Noona! Help! Chenle fell down!"

Your adrenaline jumped into action again.

"Jisung?! Jisung! Wait—Is Chenle with you?” A soft voice called out and you breathed in as you recognized the latter's tone. “I'm coming! Don't stop calling for me, okay, so I can find you!"

You were about to turn away from the edge of the steep ravine you were still standing on when you felt your back hit something hard. Before you could even turn around to look at it, however, a blunt force hitting the middle of your shoulder blades sent you toppling forward, straight into the sharp fall beyond.

You screamed, before everything went quiet as your head hit the bedrock below.

---

A.N. GOD THIS WAS SO LONG IM SO GLAD IT IS FINALLY DONE.

Taglist:  @negincho,  @jhornytrash, @jaeminhyuckiii, @jungwoosswhore, @jsturkey​, @aj--7, @pukupukupawpau​, @tomiesgirlfren​, @vsszn

CHAPTER 4

[fictional-scenarios]

hello! can i request an angsty fic with aizawa and f! reader where they break up? thank you!

i hope you enjoy this! i did it from his perspective, hope thats okay! also i know he probably wouldn’t actually be like this in a relationship, but for the fic, this is the only way i could see him being at fault :3

always appreciate reblogs and comments! if you’d lie to support me, here’s my ko-fi!

In the worst of the aftermath, Aizawa was not angry. He was never angry, not truly. Not even when he’d snap at his friends for bringing up her name, or when he’d feel rage churning in his stomach at the thought of her being with another. He was never angry. 

He was sad. So devastatingly, core achingly sad, that it kept him bed ridden for days at a time. Work, come home, eat and sleep. It wouldn't end. 

He’d always considered his quant home a safe haven, but lately it’d been feeling like a prison. It felt like a haunting museum, little bits of her as far as the eye could see. The memories were so vivid, he could still almost see the figure of her standing in his doorway. He could see her leaning on the window sill peering outside. He could see her shoes by the front door, her toothbrush in a cup upon his sink. He could see her under the covers with him, hushed laughter and soft snoring into the early morning.

Even now, he see’s her beside him in bed. He see’s the indent of where she should be, now terribly empty. It makes him feel cold, alone. 

But, being alone had never been a huge issue to him before all this. In fact, he knows it was the downfall of him. 

She’d just wanted him to go out with her now and then. She just wanted to take photos with him, hold his hand out in public without feeling like she’d been forcing him. 

Aizawa buries his face in his hands, his back leaning against the cold wall, blanket curled around his waist like a weight. 

All she had wanted was just a little more life. Just a few more kisses, a few more hugs. A few more signs that he truly cared for her, but he wouldn’t hear of it. She knew he loved her, why couldn’t that be enough? 

He refused public dates that weren’t anniversaries or events. He hated photos. He hated when she’d clasp fingers around his own, hated it because all it brought was attention. Paparazzi's scavenging and ruining every affectionate and tender moment they’d shared together in public. 

He never understood why it had to be public. He couldn’t wrap his mind around why she would insist they get out and so something together. Why couldn't hanging out in the seclusion of his home be enough?

Always so stubborn, especially when it would have been the correct time to give in. His annoyance and unwillingness to be anything other than slow moving and low maintenance drove her away from him. He was just fine being on his own, so why couldn't she?

‘I feel like you’re embarrassed of me,’ She’d cried, having hit her breaking point. ‘I feel like you don’t even really care about me.”

Aizawa’s jaw tightens. Of course I care about you. Why else would I want you here?

He should have said that. But, he didn’t. Just silently witnessed the destruction unsure of what to do next. Unsure of whether to argue, or remain dormant and quiet. Not quite apathetic, but he was never one for a shouting match. 

Unfortunately, he chose to remain still in the face of a crumbling heart. 

‘Even now, you won’t say a word. You don’t ever talk to me, Shota. You never ask how my day was, or if I want to go do anything. Why do I feel like I’m just here so you’re not lonely?’ She’d had fat tears welling in the pits of her eyes. She looked drained, broken. ‘I need more,’ Voice cracking, a terrible realization she’d stumbled upon. ‘I need more than that.’ 

It was a tense moment of silence. She shook her head and choked back a harsh sob.

‘Then that’s it.’ Lip trembling, feeling unwanted. ‘I can’t do this with you anymore. I’m leaving.’

At the lucid memory, Aizawa wish's he could go back and punch himself in the head. Say something, you idiot, he’d scream. Tell her to stay.

She’d passed him by, and the door slammed shut before he even turned to watch her go. 

It’s been weeks now, and he can’t seem to get his head right. It’d taken days before she came to collect her things, something he hoped would never come to be. A stupid part of him believed that she’d come around for some reason. It’d happened before- her storming out, him never changing, her missing him enough to just... Get over it. This time, however, was much different. 

Sinking in the memories, Aizawa feels his throat tighten at everything she’d said, and even worse, everything he didn’t say. His phone lights up beside him. 

yamada: are you still moping in there???? come out w us tonight! you need to get outta bed at some point

yamada: its been weeeeeeks!!!!!!! come on!!!!!!!

Aizawa knows he does. He knows his friend has been trying to get him to leave since it happened, but it’s hard.  He answered his friend, deciding that tonight he would in fact go out for a few hours just to clear his mind- anything is starting to become better than seeing a home empty of her. He sends the message, and his heart grows heavy.

He said yes to his friends when he was feeling sorry for himself, but never for her. He knew he deserved it, but it hurt not having her anymore. Especially when all he had to do was say yes sometimes. 

What stung the most was that he didn’t get to see her when she came to collect all her items, cram them into a box and leave for the last time. He’d hoped at that point, if it ever came to that, he could convince her to stay. But.. She hadn’t told him she was coming. Perhaps because she knew she was bound to give in. 

He came from from U.A., hoping that she’d be there, sleeping soundly or sitting terse on the couch ready for an argument ending conversation. 

But, she wasn’t there. In fact, nothing of her was. All her things vacated. Everything but the memory of her stripped away. 

Aizawa had stood stunned in the doorway. Then, it all came crashing down. She was serious this time. It was set in stone.

She’d really left him.

He didn’t think she’d actually leave him. Arguments were always so easy for Aizawa. He was a firm believer in ‘take me as a I am, or don’t take me at all.’ But, he’d never realized just how much changing she’d done for him. 

When he’d first met her at a group outing, she was full of life. She was bouncy and energetic. She had a sea of friends, a world of opportunities. But with him, with Aizawa’s stubbornness combined with her need and want to spend time with him, she went out less and less. Contacts in her phone dwindled from a vast ocean to merely puddles. 

Seldom she went out, and on the rare occasions she was able to get Aizawa to go, she’d dress in her best just for him to chastise her. ‘We’re not going anywhere that fancy,’ he’d remark, not noticing how her eyes fell. ‘Aren’t you a little over dressed?’

Guilt tore up his heart, now. She was always so beautiful dressed up like that, how could he ever say those things? Too late did he notice how she’d changed everything for him. Lost friends, missed outings, just so she could remain by his side. He did everything wrong and wasn't even willing to see it. He felt like a neglectful, stubborn, ass. 

Forcing himself up from bed, it takes all his strength to get up and wander into the bathroom. He’d need to start getting ready then if he was to go later. He was a slow moving creature, after all. Lazily, mentally drained and exhausted, he opens the mirror and pulls his toothbrush from the little shelves inside. The mirror swings shut and he’s met with his dreadful reflection. 

His eyes are even darker, redder, than they ever were with his quirk. Even he could tell he looked worse for wear. Drained, emotionally vacant yet so powerfully overrun with them at the same time. He looked dead. He brings the toothbrush to his teeth, but can’t bring himself to find the motivation to actually begin cleaning up. 

So tired. 

He just wants to sleep again. 

He wants to text her. But he doesn’t.

Tossing the toothbrush into the sink, resting his elbows on the edges and allowing his head to hang in sorrow, he wonders what she’s doing right now. It’s a warm Friday evening, the blue sky wide and clear. He’s sure she’s going out tonight, finally allowing herself the freedom to make up for all the time she’d missed with her friends. Friday’s were always Aizawa’s least favorite day. He just knew she’d want to go out, and he’d always combat it with a movie she’d been wanting to see, coming up with some random excuse as to why it wouldn’t be an ideal idea to go out. 

Then, he’d ignore how she sadly watched her friends social media stories about the night, and ignored their texts asking why she’s never around anymore.

God, what he would give for one more Friday night with her. He’d dress up, he’d take her somewhere so nice even he would be afraid he couldn’t afford the food. Her and all her friends. Whoever she wants, the whole world if need be. He’d do anything she wanted, strut her to a party on a red-carpet. Anything just for another Friday night. 

Aizawa’s eyes cast back up to his reflection. A lump forms in his throat, he watches his eyes glisten with tears. He wants to fall into the floor and forget about everything. 

Pushing himself away from the sink, he shake his head and gags on how tight his threat feels. Without even a moments hesitation, he finds himself right back in his room, pulls the covers aside, and drowns in them all over again. It’s dark, it’s cold. His own rooms uninviting without her. 

Yet, he can’t seem to bring himself to leave it.

His phone sits on his pillow. Aizawa opens his friends message. 

‘im going to stay in tonight. thank you for inviting me. im tired’

Aizawa doesn’t even want to see the messages his friend instantly starts blowing his phone up with. Instead, seconds after the text sends, he holds the power button until the entire screen goes black. He rolls over to face the wall, and he feels like he’s made of led. He swallows hard and gives into sleep all over again. His arm slings around a pillow, and he clutches it to his chest. 

A forever inanimate reminder of where she once laid. 

[cdroloisms]

Dream tried to stop Wil from creating L'Manburg, Phil tried to stop him from blowing it up, BOTH value people over items and builds, Phil has said that they're replaceable but people aren't, Dream traded spirit for his best friends fishes (we kno he's not someone to talk abt feelings:[) BOTH were kind and selfless but used by almost if not everyone, BOTH were ready to be THE VILLAINS if it meant everyone else could live better after. ONE of them always had someone there, ONE didn't. Intentional?

aaaa sorry for the really inconsistent posts ,, im gonna try to post a little more in the next few days. i have a few things written up, so look out for them? maybe? for now, have this *gestures vaguely* thing ,, it’s kinda a mess but *shrug*

phil is such a fun character, anon, especially for all the reasons that you mentioned in the ask!! he’s a really fun character with a lot of complexities that go (sadly) overlooked by a large portion of the fandom, but he’s super cool even tho i havent analyzed him too much. hope you enjoy (and i hope my interpretation of c!phil isnt too ooc lmao) 

tw: mentioned blood, injury, implied torture/abuse, starvation, trauma, mentioned death, prison arc/pandora’s vault

When Techno first brings Dream back from the prison, Phil doesn’t quite know what to think.

“I don’t trust him either,” Techno assures him, but there’s a flickering anger in the backs of his eyes, one that had emerged ever since he came back from the prison with the other man in his arms, and Phil knows his friend well enough to know that the words are empty in the face of the piglin hybrid’s particular brand of to-the-death loyalty. He shakes his head in reply, refusing to voice his thoughts for Techno’s sake, at least, but the look that the other slants at him suggests that he’s caught onto them all the same.

At first, the work is thankfully mindless; even if Phil has reservations on the man that Techno has more or less dumped into his house, he would hardly wish the clear suffering he’s been through on anyone. The first few days pass in a flurry of brewing potions, wrapping and rewrapping dressings, stitching up cuts and setting broken bones straight. The damage is extensive; Phil has to take more than a few breaks to just leave the house and breathe - he’s far from a stranger to blood and carnage, had received the title of ‘Angel of Death’ for a reason, but even he had never been particularly familiar with this form of cruelty. Torture was a level of violence that extended beyond what even he was willing to bestow - his hands may have caused many deaths, and the weight of each one would continue to haunt him for the rest of his life, but even those had the mercy of being a quick end. The wounds and scars that ripple over Dream’s skin, thin and stretched tightly over his bones with little muscle and fat left to cushion them, speak of horrors that were anything but merciful.

“I didn’t know they were capable of all of this,” Techno says, once, as they huddle of Dream, wringing towels in cold water to wipe his feverish skin. Techno’s hand reaches for the ribboning gold-filled scars that remain from the execution - carefully, Phil raises his hand to let his fingertips brush over them as well. “I mean, I knew he was dangerous and all, but-”

“I know, mate,” Phil looks back at Dream’s face, tight even in unconsciousness, at the darkened, hand-shaped bruises that remain around his throat, at the scar that runs over his left eye, clearly meant to mirror the same one that makes its way down the duck hybrid’s own face. “You said that Quackity and Sam were working together?”

“Yeah,” Techno’s expression darkens, eyes focused somewhere on the wall, seemingly very far away. He said that nothing happened to him in the prison, and he seemed relatively unharmed when Phil activated the stasis chamber, but ever since he came back, sometimes he’ll have moments, and Phil can’t help but - wonder. “Quackity does the dirty work, Sam gives him the way in and out, probably also the tools to do it. It’s-” he huffs a short, self-recriminating laugh. “It’s bad, Phil.”

“Mate-”

Techno shoots him a look, and Phil cringes, knowing already that he’d used the wrong tone. Even with the execution, Techno had been adamant to hide all traces of his own terror and fear away from him, masking it all with fury for Phil’s own sake. He knows, just from the way his old friend looks at the ribboning scars that remain sometimes, that he is far from as over the whole ordeal as he acts, but Techno never wants to talk and Phil never knows the right time to ask and they smooth it all behind plans and explosions and hope that the TNT can blow apart the trauma, too. He’s got a sneaking suspicion that the same thing is going to happen, here.

“As soon as we can,” Techno starts again, pointedly shifting his eyes away from Phil’s face, “we’re calling a Syndicate meeting to figure out what we’re going to do about the prison. Like- come on, man, you couldn’t make a more transparent abuse of institutional power if you tried, really-” he looks over, uncharacteristic uncertainty warring over his features. “If you think that’s good, I mean-“

“Of course, mate.” Phil’s voice softens. “Whenever you’re ready.”

‘Whenever he’s ready,’ as it turns out, is easier said than done, becoming even more evident when their charge wakes up from his days long spell of unconsciousness. The worst of his injuries have, under their careful care and the benefit of many potions, healed enough to no longer directly threaten his life, but the vast majority have quite some time to go before being healed completely. Being as the goal was torture and not death, most of his injuries weren’t made to be life-threatening, but rather to cause as much pain as possible - from the grimace that twists Dream’s face when he struggles to force himself awake, they’re doing their jobs.

“Hey, mate, slow down,” Phil murmurs, pressing the man down by his shoulder when Dream weakly tries to push himself up and off the bed, and his struggling only lasts for a few more minutes before he gives up and slumps against his pillow, eyes cracking open and seeming surprisingly lucid.

“Where-“ his voice is wrecked, and Phil reaches for the glass of water at the bedside as Dream coughs. “Where am I?”

“You’re at Techno’s house,” Dream’s eyes widen and then slip closed as he processes the information, a wrinkle forming between his eyebrows as they knit together. “We broke you out, after Techno escaped with a stasis chamber with your book. Do you remember?”

Dream gnaws on his bottom lip. “Um- yeah. I think.” His head turns as his eyes crack open again- “Techno-“

“He’s out, right now. He’ll be back in a bit.”

“Oh.” Dream falls back into the bed, strength seemingly sapped from the short conversation. His breathing stutters, then steadies. “Okay.”

Recovery is slow. Phil doesn’t actually find himself seeing the man very often; now that he doesn’t need around-the-clock care anymore, he’s moved back into his own house, letting Techno do most of the work when it comes to rehabilitating the escaped convict crashing at his house. As he begins to spend more of his time awake and aware, he brings a whole slew of new problems; Phil catches him screaming one day, blurting harsh, angry words as Techno reads, unbothered from the other side of the room, and he stops in his tracks standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“Um-“ he winces when Dream curses, smashes something against the floor, and then curls into himself at the sound. Techno doesn’t even flinch. “Am I interrupting something?”

Dream stomps away, face flushed, arms wrapped around himself. Techno raises an eyebrow.

“You lookin’ for something, Phil?” he asks, and the unpleasant knot in Phil’s chest refuses to unwind.

The episodes, unfortunately, don’t seem to get much better. Though he’s rarely outright violent, Dream looks constantly murderous, usually muttering underneath his breath about something or another while he stalks the grounds of Techno’s house. It’s not too long before Techno sends him out to work around the house instead of just moping within the cottage, which also means that Phil sees him a lot more - tending to a small farm behind the house, feeding the dogs, hacking away at mobs, and usually complaining the entire time. It’s unnerving, even as injured and unarmored as the man is, to see him walking around like this; despite his rather pathetic appearance, swamped in sweaters that dwarf him thoroughly and thin enough to look like the slightest breeze will knock him over, his eyes are flinty and intelligent and bubble with promises of revenge.

“FUCK!” Phil turns to see him slamming a shovel into the snow, stomping away into the woods, and his hands tighten around his cup of tea. Next to him, Techno shrugs.

“Nerd’s got a few issues,” he drawls, and Phil laughs shortly.

“That seems like an understatement.”

“He’ll ease up in time,” Techno sounds surprisingly confident, completely content despite the muffled curses that come from the woods next to them. He’s probably used to it, with Chat and all, but Phil can’t quite seem to find the same calm.

“I just don’t know, mate,” Phil shakes his head. “You sure having him around is the best idea? He doesn’t seem...stable.”

Techno looks up at him over the rim of his cup of coffee. His head tilts, considering, but there’s a small smile on his face that tells Phil that Techno, inexplicably, doesn’t share the same sentiments. There was always a part of him that was, for the lack of a better word, softer than the rest of the server for his self-proclaimed rival, a sort of understanding that Phil could hardly hope (nor would really want to) understand.

“Don’t worry, Phil, if he tries anything I can always just tie him up in the attic or something,” Phil huffs a small laugh, amused, and nods to concede the point. “And- well, call it intuition. You could really try talkin’ to him, you know. He reminds me of you, sometimes.”

The words stick in his head despite his best efforts, rattling in his skull when he tries to sleep, lingering when he catches glimpses of the green-clothed man stalking around their properties. He can’t imagine what would’ve prompted his old friend to make the comparison, can’t think of a single thing (besides their affinity for the color green) that would mark him as similar to the - from what he’s heard - deranged menace with a particular penchant for destruction (not that his rants and fits of anger are doing anything to correct that impression). Even so, Techno had sounded so sure when he’d made the comparison, the words offhand like he’d thought them a million times before, like it was a simple observation that held no more weight than commenting on the color of the sky. Phil watches as Dream lugs a pile of logs behind him, huffing at one of Techno’s dogs that comes to chase and nip at his feet and grumbling loudly before faceplanting into the snow. He just...can’t see it.

Days later, Wilbur comes to visit, a grin on his lips as he dramatically recounts his newest exploit: a nation by Las Nevadas, a supposed safe haven away from the glitter and glory of Quackity’s city; it sounds brilliant, it sounds lovely, and more than anything it sounds stupid, and Phil tells him as such immediately.

“You’re being reckless,” he rants at his son, wings flaring outwards and only barely noticing Dream watching from the corner of his eye, “What are you doing- picking fights with Quackity? Starting another nation- didn’t you see what happened to the first two you made? You’re going to get yourself killed, Wil!”

“Well, I’ve already seen what’s on the other side of death, and it’s really not that bad-“

“You’re my son!” The words are angrier than Phil would’ve liked, and he knows that he looks ridiculous and overbearing, criticizing the actions of his fully grown son, but all he can see is Wilbur’s face, slack with pain and grief, stained with ash and soot as his eyes flutter to half-mast in the midst of the rubble of a country he loved and destroyed and destroyed him in turn. “I can’t lose you again, Wil!”

Wilbur doesn’t quite storm out, but it’s a near thing, leaving with a clipped goodbye and leaving Phil seething on his doorstep. He spends the rest of the night pacing around the house in a sort of mad frenzy, wings stretching and folding over and over. Not for the first time, he longs for the sky, to feel the air through his wings and let the world fall into pinpricks below him; it’s this that leads him to the roof of his house, staring stubbornly at the clouds as the sun sinks down to the horizon.

“Hey.”

Phil startles; there, down below him, is Dream. He rocks back on his heels, seeming awkward, before clambering up the wall (Phil rolls his eyes at the ease with which he scales it, the feeling in his chest almost fond) and settling himself on the shingles at Phil’s side.

“Hey, mate,” Phil shakes his head. The fondness leaves, and the irritation that had risen at Wilbur’s words, earlier, comes back full-force. “Sorry- Wil came to visit, we talked. I just needed some time to think.”

Dream hums in acknowledgement, and they fall into a comfortable silence, watching as the sun dipping down past the mountains in the distance.

“You know,” Dream starts, sudden, “I told him the same thing.” He looks up at Phil, eyes faraway with old memories. “Wilbur, I mean. When he made L’manburg- I told him he was being reckless.” He shrugs. “I guess he never listened.”

Phil pauses, Techno’s words ringing in his ears. He reminds me of you, sometimes.

Dream looks surprisingly normal up close - face no longer reddened with fever or pale from blood loss, even the scars fail to really take from the boyishness of his face. He bites his lips, eyes falling away at Phil’s scrutiny, golden blond hair flopping over his forehead, newly trimmed to be something a little closer to his old length, at least in the front, the back pulled into a small ponytail. He’s young, and shockingly awkward, teeth worrying his lip, hands fiddling with each other, shifting his weight from one foot to the other several times a minute. He looks like a kid.

“He never does,” Phil lets himself smile, watches as Dream smiles back, almost like they’re sharing a joke. He wonders how well he really knows the man behind the mask. “Want to come in for some tea?”

Dream smiles wider, and something old and worn in Phils chest, knocked loose ever since he felt his son fall limp in his arms with his own sword shoved between his ribs, falls back into place.

“That would be great,” Dream replies, the words almost hopeful, and they go inside.

[where-dreamers-go]

Heyo! May I have Eragon's reaction to reader saying "I've loved you from the very start! I love you, but you don't love me! So why am I even confessing?" because I love drama and I do need a lot of fluff rn.

“The Many Questions And A Confession” Eragon x Modern!Reader

(A/N: How about a continuation to the one Modern!Reader slipping and telling Eragon how they know about him telling Arya about his true name?? I shall give the drama this day. It shall be a journey towards the fluff. Looks like this turned into an insert reader type deal. Needs a title now? Oops?

Drama time! Because Reader is really frustrated with Eragon in this one. Woo! How’s Eragon handle it? Spoiler: He doesn’t stop talking.

Continuation of this one: https://where-dreamers-go.tumblr.com/post/647030131496534016/if-modernreader-has-read-the-books-and-knows

Warnings: Angst! Fluff. Mild language.

Word Count: 1,703 words)

Hiding in your room’s bathroom, you remained silent. It was not so much that Eragon could not find you, it was that you did not want to be seen at least. So what if you had locked doors and were sitting in a dry tub? The worst that could happen would be if he decided to invade your mind.

“(Y/N)?” Eragon’s voice echoed throughout the chamber as the door to your room opened.

Of course he opened it. At least I didn’t barricade it, you thought. Can’t have thirty seconds to myself.

“Are you going to talk to me?” He asked quietly from the other side of the bathroom door. Apparently locating you was not an issue.

You narrowed your eyes at the door as you sunk further into the empty tub.

A barely audible sigh reached your ears.

“I’m not angry with you for knowing,” he said. “I just don’t understand why you’re running off.”

You glanced up to the ceiling. Did you forget your last guess?

“Then…you do have feelings for me?” Eragon asked. “Or you think I’m foolish for having feelings for Arya.” His voice softened, more speaking to himself than asking you another question.

You sighed and muttered, “Not so much that your feelings were foolish….just some of your actions.”

“You still haven’t answered my questions.”

“Because…wait for it….I don’t have to.”

“(Y/N),” Eragon’s tone lowered. “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks and it could not be for you knowing what I’ve done. If that were true…then you would have avoided me much sooner.”

“Brave of you to assume that I wasn’t avoiding you then.”

“We spoke more often then.”

“You asked me at least twenty questions a day. It’s hard to avoid that kind of persistence.” Kind of like now.

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Because I had just met you! I’m not trying to hurt your feelings. I would never do that.”

“So please stop avoiding me. I promise to be less foolish if that will help.”

“It won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Stop asking so many darn questions.”

“No. Just tell me.”

“No.”

“Why—?”

“I’ve loved you from the very start! I love you, but you don’t love me! So why am I even confessing?” You threw your hands out in a wide gesture. “Why do I bother? What does it even matter? …why am I even still talking?” You huffed. “Are we finished now?”

Silence.

You heard nothing else. Nothing in the bathroom you were hiding in nor anything out in the bedroom.

He has to be still out there. You thought. But I swear to all that is good, if he so much as tries to enter my mind, I will loose it. I’ll probably scream, cry, or…whatever. You crossed your arms and tried to ignore the uncomfortable position you were in. Physically, emotionally, and mentally.

The lock on the door clicked and the door opened. Walking in with an unreadable expression, Eragon made his way to you.

“No.” You said shortly, but he made no move of stopping. “What are you—?”

Eragon stepped into the dry tub.

“What are you doing?” You sat up straight as he sat down in front of you.

Settling in, Eragon folded his hands in his lap.

You shook your head at him.

What in the world? If someone thought he couldn’t get stranger…he did.

“What the blazes are you doing?” You asked, too bewildered to kick him as the opportunity was brought up in your mind.

“I’m sitting.”

You rolled your eyes so far that you were staring at the ceiling. If there was one place you did not want to look, it was straight ahead.

Wanting to hit someone upside the head and still wanting to kiss their face can not be good right now, you thought.

“Why are you even in here?” You asked through clenched teeth.

“You have been avoiding me and I haven’t seen you,” Eragon said simply before his voice softened. “I’ve missed you.”

Keeping your gaze up or up to the side, you avoided eye contact.

“Can we skip to the part where you say ‘I’m sorry, but you’re right, I don’t feel the same way about you’?” You asked. “Not going to lie…right now…you’re kind of making this worse.”

“I’m sorry.” His voice was a murmur that tore through your heart.

“Alright.” Finally tearing your sights away from the ceiling, you hoisted yourself up and out of the tub.

“Where—I wasn’t finished.”

“Save your pity. I want to be alone.” You walked out of the bathroom and headed straight for your bed. There was an extremely low probability that he would follow you there too. Some lines weren’t crossed.

“I know you want to be alone.” Eragon was trailing after you.

I’m going to die from being not surprised, you thought of a quote.

“Please let me speak.”

“You’ve been speaking this whole time.” You yanked off your shoes. “What possibly could you have to say now?”

“I never said that I still loved Arya.”

You paused for a moment before saying, “Well…you don’t really need to. I’d be really surprised if you didn’t.” Tossing a pillow towards the middle of the bed, you kept your back to him.

“I don’t love her.”

Face scrunched up in confusion, you took a glance over your shoulder.

“Bull crap.”

His eyebrows pulled together. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m calling you out for lying.” You explained and crossed your arms under your chest.

“I’m not lying.” A smile slowly spread across the Rider’s face.

You rose your eyebrows, challenging him.

“Sure. And what changed your strong feelings for Arya? Cold soup?”

“You.”

“What?” The word hardly reached your own ears.

Eragon walked up to you, albeit cautiously, with a full smile on his lips. His brown eyes were lit with a happiness you were not comprehending.

“What are you talking about?” You whispered. “Why are you smiling like that?”

A chuckle rang out into the room as he stopped to stand in front of you. “How am I suppose to keep a stoic face after you confessed that you love me?” His smile only stayed on his lips when he did not receive any verbal response from you, locked into his happy moment. “I know you would never lie about your feelings. Not something as strong as love.”

You watched on, cautious.

What is he trying to say, that he likes the idea of me loving him? Uh. Is this normal? You thought.

“Perhaps I should have stated my feelings for you much earlier. Clearly you have been worn down with your heart and for that I apologize.”

“Feelings?”

“Yes,” he wet his lips briefly and straightened his posture. “I do care for you deeply, (Y/N). My feelings were already growing before I even recognized them.” His smile turned sheepish, but he persisted onwards. “I didn’t think I could have those feelings for anyone else, but….it’s different somehow. I’m not sure how to explain it. I feel better when I’m around you. We’re honest with each other and you’ve taught me so much already. I’ll make this as much like home as I can for you. I really want you in my life.”

It took a moment before you breathed in a small breath.

You knew that you were probably looking at him as if he had lost his ever-loving mind. Who could blame you at that point? You were in a completely different world. And one you knew of, mind you. It was bound time for a round of unpredictability.

Eyes the color of enriched soil underneath the blooming flowers in light of a summer sky watched you with surging hope.

Were you hallucinating? Lucid dreaming? No, you couldn’t be. There were far too many moments that would have had a timeskip or objects from back home. The only way you would have this much time with Eragon would be if it was real.

He’s serious? He’s serious.

Your chest tightened and somewhere inside all of your tension released. In its place there was a warmth that brought tears to your eyes.

Frustration rapidly melting away, you carefully turned to sit on the edge of the bed to compose yourself.

“Are you alright?” Eragon asked, kneeling down to look upon your face.

“I’m…,” you swallowed. “I’m still processing what you said.”

“Processing?”

“Just…uh… Can you give me a second?” You waved a gentle hand in his direction.

“Take as much time as you need,” Eragon said as he delicately took your hand in his own.

You internally groaned at how sweet he was even after you verbally rampaged him about leaving you alone.

Seeing as you did not retract your hand, the Rider held your hand against his chest. The position allowed you the rare opportunity to feel his heartbeat. A rapid beating of his heart as he awaited any sort of verbal response from you. Anything that would tell him if he should indeed pursue the strong feelings he had.

You snuck a peek at his face; clear of any imperfections of the sun and brown eyes lit up in hope.

“You’ve been interested in me this whole time?” You asked. “And I didn’t know it?”

After reviewing your choice in words, Eragon nodded.

“What the actually hell?” You laughed. “You develop feelings quick, sir.”

A lopsided smile appeared on his face. Your light teasing of his actions always did surprise him in the most satisfying ways.

“You’re not upset with me?” He asked. “About earlier.”

“A little.”

His smile dropped a fraction.

“But I’ll find it in myself to forgive you.” You smirked.

“Then I should be grateful.” Eragon held his head high. “I would rather face your affections than your wrath.”

“Alright,” you rolled your eyes. “That was smooth, but cutting it close.” You tugged on his hands. “Get over here.”

Before Eragon could stand, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders in a tight embrace.

“You’re a bit of an odd one, you know that?”

Eragon nudged his head against your own. “I will gladly be odd if it means I can be with you.”

~~~

(If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful.

Best wishes and happy reading.)

~~~~~

DreamerDragon Tags: @cubedtriangle

Inheritance Cycle Tags: @shewhobreathesfire @emburbaguette

**Let me know if you would like to be tagged in insert readers, either through replies, ask, or message.**

[no--envies]

Nightless City – An analysis of Wei Wuxian’s accountability

I’ve come across several takes about the bloodbath of Nightless City that don’t really sit well with me. Some people say Wei Wuxian is totally to blame, others that he’s totally blameless, and I personally disagree with both. I think that, like in many other events in the novel, what really happened is more complex.

(All the translations are by Exiled Rebels Scanlations)

First of all, the text shows us that Wei Wuxian wasn’t completely clear-headed even before going to Nightless City, which is normal considering what he was going through. His whole world had crumbled in just a few hours. Everything he’d done until that moment – the sacrifices he had made for what he believed was right – appeared to be for nothing. He ended up hurting the people most dear to him, and he couldn’t even protect those he had wanted to protect. When he could move again after the three days he spent in the cave immobilized by Wen Qing’s needle, for a while he didn’t even know what to do or where to go.

After he got down the mountain, he stood amid the bushes, catching his breath. Bent down, he propped his hands against his knees for a long while before he stood up straight again. Yet, looking at the wild grasses that covered many of the mountain paths, he didn’t know where to go.

Burial Mound—he’d just gone down from there.

Lotus Pier—he hadn’t been back in over a year.

Koi Tower? Three days had passed already. If he went now, it was likely that Wen Qing’s corpse and Wen Ning’s ashes were the only things left.

He stood blankly. Suddenly, he felt that the world had no place for him, despite how large it was. He didn’t know what to do either.

(Chapter 77)

It’s rare to see Wei Wuxian so utterly lost and miserable. What happened was too much for even someone like him – who always tends to look at the bright side of any situation – to be able to deal with it. Since he doesn’t know where else to go, he decides to go to Koi Tower to retrieve the Wen siblings’ ashes, but he doesn’t manage to do anything before he’s discovered and forced to flee. He wanders without purpose for a long time until he arrives at a city gate where he hears a group of cultivators talking about him with contempt, which triggers his anger.

The longer Wei WuXian listened, the colder his expression grew.

He should’ve understood long ago. No matter what he did, not a single good word would come out of these people’s mouths. When he won, others feared; when he lost, others rejoiced.

He was cultivating the crooked path either way, so what exactly did the years of persistence mean? What exactly were they for?

However, the colder his eyes were, the brighter the raging fire within his heart burned.

(Chapter 77)

We see him come to a very bitter realization: no matter his noble intentions and moral integrity, everyone has already made up their mind about him, he would be made into a villain no matter what he does. Before what happened at Qiongqi Path he had managed to keep a positive mindset, since he was doing fine in the Burial Mounds with the Wen remnants. It wasn’t an easy life, but they were safe, they didn’t starve and Wei Wuxian was free to focus on his research and inventions in peace, creating the Compass of Evil and the Spirit-Attraction Flag. He missed his family, but he also found another one. He had people who loved him and valued him, and whom he loved and valued in turn. All in all, he was content. He thought that as long as he didn’t actively seek trouble, the world would leave him alone. But he was wrong. Jin Zixun ambushed him accusing him of something he didn’t do, and everything spiraled down so quickly he couldn’t do anything to prevent it, until he lost control of his demonic cultivation and killed Jin Zixuan.

In this moment, Wei Wuxian feels completely alone. The Wen siblings are gone, his beloved shijie might hate him for killing her husband and the cultivation world as a whole can’t wait to besiege him. If it had been another time, he wouldn’t have beaten up those random cultivators. It’s not like it was the first time he heard awful rumors about himself. The fact that he reacts so violently here says a lot about the state of mind he’s in. Wei Wuxian is clearly looking for a way to vent his anger, so he takes it out on the cultivators who are speaking ill of him. His rage is justified: not only were they saying malicious things about him without even knowing the full story, but they were doing it cowardly behind his back. However, his reaction is somewhat disproportionate to their offense: one of them gets kicked in the face until he passes out from the pain, while another gets his legs broken for daring to speak up. Although he doesn’t kill them, he does terrorize them and in the end he leaves them there immobilized by the spirits he had summoned (if Lan Wangji hadn’t been looking for Wei Wuxian, who knows how long they would have had to wait to be freed).

After this, Wei Wuxian sees the announcement of the pledge conference and goes to Nightless City. I’ve seen people argue that he was only trying to protect the Wen remnants and that the people who were there had already pledged to kill him, so it was self-defense. But is it really the case? Personally, I don’t think what he did was self-defense. Sure, he tried to discuss first and didn’t attack until he was attacked, but defending himself and the Wen remnants wasn’t the main reason he was there in the first place.

The crowd flung curses at him, but Wei WuXian accepted all of them.

Anger was the only thing that could suppress the other feelings within his heart.

(Chapter 78)

All of his pain, desperation and guilt were too much to handle at once, so he tried to suppress them all with anger, and directed that anger at the people who hated him. Wei Wuxian didn’t go to the pledge conference to try to prevent the siege from happening (since he thought it wouldn’t change anything anyway) or to weaken the Sects’ forces. He went there to vent his anger and frustration. Wei Wuxian is not clear-headed here, as highlighted by this passage:

Wei WuXian spun around to dodge the attack and laughed, “Fine, fine. I knew since the start that we’d have to fight a real fight like this one sooner or later. You’ve always found me disagreeable no matter what. Come on!”

Hearing this, Lan WangJi’s movements paused, “Wei Ying!”

Although he shouted the words, any sane person would be able to tell that Lan WangJi’s voice was clearly shaking. However, right now, Wei WuXian had already lost his judgement. He was already half-mad, half-unconscious. All evil was being augmented by him. He felt that everyone loathed him and he loathed everyone as well. He wouldn’t be scared no matter who came at him. It wouldn’t matter no matter who came at him. It was all the same anyway.

(Chapter 78)

In this moment Wei Wuxian believes everyone hates him and there’s no use trying to convince them otherwise – there’s no use trying to reason with them in a diplomatic way because no matter what he says or does, his words will be twisted to fit the opinions of the crowd. He almost welcomes the attack because this way he can attack them back and vent all his pent-up anger. Wei Wuxian is not behaving like his usual self here. He can’t see Lan Wangji isn’t trying to hurt him because his mind is not lucid. This is why he loses control of his demonic cultivation for the second time, injuring Jiang Yanli.

His shijie is the only one who manages to calm him down a little despite his chaotic state of mind. He manages to stop the corpses from attacking everyone and waits for her to tell him what she thinks of him, if she forgives him or not. However, she dies to save his life before being able to say anything, and the whole situation becomes simply too much for him to bear. All of his emotions crush him at once, so in his already half-unconscious state he activates the Tiger Seal, effectively erasing any chance he might have had to redeem himself in the eyes of society.

The point of this analysis isn’t to blame or absolve Wei Wuxian. It’s very easy to empathize with his anguish in these scenes. What he was going through was incredibly stressful and the root cause (the ambush at Qiongqi Path) wasn’t his fault. Even Lan Wangji says he can neither condemn nor justify his actions, but he’s willing to face all the consequences with him anyway.

I told [Wangji] when I went to see him, Young Master Wei had already made a grave mistake, there was no use augmenting it. But he said… that he could not say with certainty whether what you did was right or wrong, but no matter what, he was willing to be responsible for all of the consequences alongside you.

(Chapter 99)

Wei Wuxian isn’t blameless for what happened at Nightless City. I don’t think he’s proud of what he did and all the people he killed, either. The fact that he destroyed the Tiger Seal after returning to the Burial Mounds is quite telling. He definitely didn’t act in the most rational and clear-headed way, which resulted in a lot of people – including his shijie – to lose their lives, but the point of all this is that Wei Wuxian is human. He makes mistakes because no one is infallible, no matter how heroic, selfless and virtuous. Not even he can be totally immune to all the criticism and accusasions, even though he often acts like he is. Wei Wuxian is a fundamentally positive person, so most of the time he can ignore the bad things that happen to him and focus on the good, but this time his situation was simply too extreme for anyone to be able to stand it.

[crit20art]

fuck it. jmart kid fic preview

Somewhere Else, 2027

The walk between work and home is always longer going than it is coming. Maybe it’s the fatigue. Maybe it’s some subtle undulation of space. There are things like that here, shimmering at the edges of Jon’s perception, dewdrop-spangled webs catching stray slips of this reality’s sunlight. They aren’t Hilltop tears, just threadbare stretches, places where this world rubs up against the next. Made it a prime candidate for the invasion of Fear, Jon supposes.

The thought sends a shudder through the tension of his upper back, and his jaw clenches, and-- fuck, he’s bitten the goddamn cigarette in half. “Blast it,” he hisses, and spits unceremoniously into the street. He gets a look from a passerby, and has to swallow back the urge to return a much eviler eye. 

He lights up as soon as he gets home. Leans out the window on his aching elbows, closes his eyes, and lets the smoke roll through him. The nicotine glitters around the crown of his skull, stimulating neural pathways that don’t get much exercise outside of this ritual. What did he used to do to feel alive?

Live, probably. 

He’s just tipping a second cig into his palm when knocking begins to resound through his flat. He stands straight and frowns at the dead-bolted door. While he (understandably, he thinks) has some unpleasant associations with knocking, this is not the ominous sort that he might have once feared; it’s light and fast and won’t give it a rest. Monsters have more restraint than that, he thinks. Probably some kid harassing him.

Grumbling like the old man he’s quickly becoming, he grabs his cane and snaps, “Alright, alright,” as he approaches the door. The knocking falters. He opens the door.

His own eyes blink back at him.

Jon drops his cane. It clatters to his faux-wood floor. He’s swaying, then; he goes proper dizzy, and only snaps back to full lucidity when his shoulder crumples into the door frame. He leans there, mouth agape, and blinks stupidly as the child on his doorstep stoops to pick up his cane. She holds it out to him. He stares at her.

She’s tall for her age. (Nine, he knows without Knowing.) Her warm brown cheeks are still soft with baby fat, and freckles crowd her nose. Wild hair wreaths her head and shoulders, controlled only by glittery barrettes tucked into the curly black jungle.

“Uh hi,” she says, and then she smiles. It’s a smile he knows better than his own, captured somehow on this child’s lips. Jon’s knees waver.

“Holy fuck,” he says.

Her smile falls, and she scrunches her nose at him. The gesture is so familiar that Jon thinks he might pass out.

“Uh--” Jon tries to stand upright, but he just staggers and sinks back against the door jamb. “You-- How-- you’re--”

“Are you gonna fall down?” she asks.

“A-almost certainly,” says Jon. She stretches her arm and shakes it a bit, bringing his attention to the cane she’s still offering him. Finally, he makes himself take it. “You’re. I, uh. Um.”

“I’m Aamal,” she says. 

Ah. There it is. Jon’s knees give.

He slumps to the floor, startling the child’s brown eyes saucer-large. Before she can react further, Jon gasps, “How- h-how are you here?”

“I followed the black ribbons,” she says. 

Flashes of magnetic tape tangle across Jon’s memory, as clear to him today as they were nine years ago, when the noose of them cinched tight around everything he loved. 

“They… ah. Right.” Jon lifts a shaking hand to his face, as if touching something real will steady him, and stares at his guest. His--

His daughter.

“Yes, um,” he whispers, shaking, “H-hello… Aamal.” Her name feels small and sacred on his tongue, fragile as a dissolving wafer. How unworthy he is, to say it. “You’re, uh. Y-you’re- you’re here.” His hand skitters up through his hair, displacing combed-back licks of grey over his forehead. “H-how- how- how did you find me?”

And Aamal says, very matter-of-factly, “I saw you in my dream.”

Jon inhales so sharply that he almost chokes. “Your--?”

“My dream,” Aamal confirms, and bounces on her heels. “I have it every night. I thought it was a bad dream at first, because it was so scary? Like, the world was angry and hungry and I knew it wanted to eat me up while the sky watched. But then I realised that wasn’t gonna happen, because my daddies were there with me, and they’d keep me safe.”

Jon covers his mouth again. Teardrops slip over his fingers.

“You are my daddy, right?” Aamal asks, her cheeriness shrinking to something timid, little hands fluttering together nervously. “That’s how it felt in the dreams.”

“Uh- y-yes? I-- yeah. Yeah.” Fingertips still trembling against his lips, it occurs distantly to Jon that it’s probably time for him to pull himself together and try to offer some kind of comfort to the child who, regardless of whatever uncertainties surround her, has definitely hopped dimensions to be here. Gritting his teeth, he gets his cane under him and forces himself to slide back up the doorframe, then takes a few moments to catch his breath.

“Yes,” he says, finally, when he knows the words will come out steadily. “I, uh. I-I’m your father. My name is, uh, it’s Jon. Jonathan Sims. Um. You can- just- you can call me that.”

“Okay, That.” Aamal grins very widely and looks at him with expectant eyes.

“Oh,” says Jon, after an embarrassingly long pause. “Ha. Yes, uh. Call me ‘That,’ right. Um.” He takes a deep breath, and it punches back out of him in a nervous, awkward chuckle that would make most adults uncomfortable. Aamal just beams, and seems proud to have got a laugh out of him. “Well- no sense having this discussion in the hall, is there? Uh, do- do come in.” He stands aside and gestures at the dim, sparse interior of his flat. He does not blame Aamal for the hesitation that precedes her entering. Reflexively, Jon leans out into the hall and squints one way, then the other. Satisfied, at least, that no one is lying in wait, he shuts and bolts the door. 

He turns, and finds for the first time since he signed for this flat that he is not alone in it. His daughter stands in the middle of his thrifted rug, her hands buried in the pockets of her dungarees and her freckles pinched together by her scrunched nose.

She’s here. She’s right here.

“It stinks in here,” she says.

Jon laughs. It’s hoarse and stale, bitten back the moment he realises how wrong it sounds. He clears his throat. “Yes, ah. Smoking’s a nasty habit.” He glances at the pack of cigarettes abandoned on his windowsill, and feels an odd twinge of guilt in his longing for a puff to steady himself. He looks back at Aamal, who has begun to make a circle of the room, touching his shelves, poking at the clutter that always builds up despite his best efforts.

“Um,” says Jon. Aamal doesn’t look at him. She’s shuffling through his books, the little divot between her brows settling deeper as she considers each second-hand paperback. 

Jon clears his throat. “Do you, uh, like to read?”

Aamal turns her frown on him, mouth a squiggle of confusion. “Did you cut out all the eyes?”

Ah. 

“I, uh. Well- uh.” He picks at the ragged grip of his cane. “That’s-- it- it hardly matters right now,” he manages, exhaling raggedly. Aamal opens her mouth, but he seizes what momentum he’s collected and asks, “Are you here alone? Where’s- do you still know Georgie and Melanie?”

Aamal forgets the books instantly, her face lighting up at the names. “You know Mummy and Mellie?”

“Mum- and--? Oh! Oh, they.” His throat feels like it might close up. “They raised you, then.”

“Yeah, they’re my mums.” Aamal wanders past Jon and drops onto his couch, gasping a squeak when the cushion sinks lower than she was apparently expecting. She wriggles for a moment as if trying to get comfortable. “Do you have any snacks?”

Whiplash-stricken, Jon flounders for a few moments before saying, “Maybe?”

Aamal’s brow drops like she doesn’t find that very promising, but she hops up from the couch and makes a beeline for his tiny kitchen. She’s sticking her head into his fridge before he plucks up enough lucidity to follow her.

“Do you like, ah--” What do kids like? What did he like as a kid? “Uh, how about a sandwich?”

“Sure,” says Aamal. She pulls her preferred makings, then rests her elbows on the counter and her chin in her hands, and watches Jon assemble. A long-lost hope flutters at the edge of Jon’s memory, a future he’d once imagined: a little face looking up at him, a meal to be prepared, a solid presence at his side, stolen kisses that might make their daughter stick out her tongue and make gross-out noises in the way of children too young to know how rare and precious it is for their parents to love each other so easily.

“Does your hand hurt?” Aamal asks.

Jon comes back to himself. He blinks down at his hands; habitually, he’s only using the one, letting the other rest half-curled on the counter. “Ah. No, n-not today.”

Aamal stares for a moment, then draws a sharp breath and looks Jon in the eye. “Sorry!”

Jon lifts a brow. “What? Why?”

“It’s rude to ask about scars,” Aamal informs him, and something in her intonation sounds so like Georgie that it twists up Jon’s stomach in an odd amalgamation of fondness and loss. 

“Ah- well, as a general rule, maybe. But it’s alright.” He clears his throat, then stretches his burned hand with a small wince at its stiffness. Aamal watches his shaky fingers unfurl, and her eyes are intent, and maybe he’s imagining it, but… there’s a kindness there, he thinks. He tries not to think of other kind brown eyes, of other gazes falling so gently on his scars. “It hurts less than it used to,” he says softly. “I’ve had it since… lord, about a year before you were born, actually. Eleven months, almost to the day.”

At that, Aamal’s eyes grow wide. “Oh! Did you have me? Like, when I was born?”

“Oh! Uh, n-no, that wasn’t me.” Jon pulls his hand back, feeling very suddenly out of his depth. “Your, uh- did Geo-- did your mums tell you about that?” 

“Yeah. They told me that before they adopted me, my parents were two boys, but I wasn’t confused or anything. I know all about genders,” she says, with all the confidence of a tenured professor. Then she looks around, as if suddenly noticing an absence. “Wait, where’s my other daddy?” She turns back to Jon, and he’s struck by the worst urge to look away. “Will he be back soon?”

Jon meets her hopeful eyes, and for the first time in years, actually feels the wound yawning wide in his chest, deeper and bloodier than the scar through his heart has ever been. 

“No,” he says, very softly. Aamal’s face falls, her brows drawn in question. Jon can’t look at her. He stares at his good hand, knuckles yellowed by his grip on the edge of the counter. 

“He, uh.” He swallows. It goes down like rocks. “He’s not coming back.”

“Why?” Her voice is high, pinched with a note of anger. Unbidden, Jon chokes out a small, miserable laugh.

She sounds just like Martin.

“Because,” he says, raw, both hands shaking now, “I messed up very, very badly.”

thanks for reading this lil preview!! i’m almost finished with ch 1 and planning to publish on ao3 next week. it’s gonna alternate between the present and the past, told through Jon’s POV post-200, and Martin’s POV throughout season 4/5. 

[theyreonlynoodlesmike]

Melting Wax, Crawling Vines: Part 11 (Vincent Sinclair x Fem!Reader)

<- Previous Chapter

Warnings: smut, oral, fingering, cum-eating, trauma, blood/gore, hypersexuality as a way to cope my dudes

Word Count: 3846

The smut chapter I promised is finally here

It had been a month and you'd been thinking about it. You knew you shouldn't have. That it did nothing to help you. That going over the events over and over in your mind would only bring back more pain. But, like a wound on the inside of your cheek, you couldn't help but touch it. 

You were pouring your cup of coffee, thinking about the blood. The gore. The broken face and his final cry. You thought about what he'd been trying to tell you, what he'd been trying to get at. The wax bodies all over town. He'd mentioned your type, and, for a moment, you wondered if you really were just attracted to crazy. You shook your head. Vincent wasn't crazy. Bo on the other hand. Maybe. But Vincent was lucid. And he still did the thing he did. You bit the inside of your cheek. Okay, maybe your track record wasn't amazing. And maybe if you'd listened to him- 

"Shit." You said, feeling the hot coffee touch your hand. Your thoughts had gone elsewhere for too long, to the point where you'd overfilled your cup until the coffee spread across the counter and down onto the floor. You were quick to grab some paper towels to clean up your mess, and Vincent was reaching over to help you. He quickly signed,

"You okay?" And you gave him a nod. It wasn't a lie. Physically, you hadn't been hurt more than a minor shock of the initial burn. Mentally, however? That was another story. You ended up dumping out a little bit of your cup, just so you wouldn't end up spilling it on your way down to the workshop. 

You spent all of your time with Vincent. You went down to his workshop with him, carrying your coffee and your breakfast. You were going to spend some time reading, maybe take a nap, and try your best to hold onto your slipping sanity. Vincent, despite his hobby, was a big help. He understood that the whole event was traumatizing, and your hesitance to really leave the safety of the workshop. It was away from the rest of the world, perfectly hidden and the perfect place to recoup yourself. He would let you lay in his bed, reading, sleeping, or even prepping for some more lessons for the others. 

But, after you finished eating, you couldn't find it in you to pick up the book you'd left on the side of Vincent's bed. You knew you could try your hand at drawing, as Vincent had offered to let you use any of his notebooks and had given you some of his own lessons. After a moment, you asked for some of his pencils and he was quick to offer you a variety of drawing tools. Charcoal, pencils, pens, markers. You almost wanted to ask if he had crayons. You chose a simple pencil, before you reached for one of his notebooks and began flipping through the pages. Vincent always let you use whatever you wanted. He had plenty of notebooks, plenty of tools. It was rare that he'd ever need all of them, and he always told you that it was all at your disposal.

So, you hadn't expected to find what you did. You knew that Vincent drew you. Hell, you'd posed for some of his drawings. But this was not the usual portraits you found. You flipped further, quickly figuring out that this notebook seemed to have one specific purpose. Part of you wanted to just tuck it away and pretend you never saw anything. And another part of you wanted to tease him ruthlessly for it. 

Finally, you decided on the former. You tucked that particular notebook away, looking for a different one for you to begin sketching in. As much as you just wanted to draw whatever came to mind, you found the only thing that came to mind was Vincent.

You and Vincent had kissed and done some light touching, but your original path had been undoubtedly slowed by what happened with your ex. Vincent didn't want to push, you knew. So, the most you'd done was a few light kisses that you'd initiated, and it was always nothing more than something to relieve some of your stress or to bask in the comfort of the early morning. You were aware that Vincent was inexperienced, but it was almost reassuring to see that he did desire you. Even if he planned on keeping it to himself.

You stared at him for a moment. You watched the way his hands moved, how they moved with the utmost precision and certainty. How his movements were both gentle and sure, like a well oiled machine. The muscle you knew he possessed was covered by a sweater that hung off of him, and his long black hair was tied back at his neck. You wished for this morning to return, wished that you'd spent more time running your hands through it. Well, you knew you'd get to play with it when you settled for bed.

You drew him until Vincent was done with his pet project, a lamp for the upstairs bedroom. When Vincent came over to peek at what you'd been drawing, you thought you could see a crinkle in his eye and you watched the way he played with his hands. He was embarrassed, you could tell, and, after a moment, he signed,

"Me?" And you gave him a smile and a nod. He turned away, busying himself by fixing his ponytail. But you knew he was pleased. You smiled to yourself. Even if it wasn't as good as Vincent's, he still liked it. He grabbed the lamp, holding it with one arm. You were quick to say and sign,

"You're going upstairs?" And he gave you a nod. After a moment, he moved it in his arms to comfortably sign,

"You don't have to come." He said, and you bit your lip. You knew that he knew you liked to avoid the House of Wax as much as possible. After everything that happened there, he understood. You frowned. It had once been your favorite place in all of Ambrose. You glanced down the hallway. But you didn't really like being alone in the basement either. You sighed, deciding that you'd rather face your issues than stay alone in the basement.

"It's fine. I'll come." You said, and you pulled on your slippers and one of Vincent's sweaters over your pajamas. You couldn't ignore how Vincent seemed happy, even if he wouldn't say anything. He held out his hand for you, and you took it and gave it a squeeze.

He guided you through the underground tunnels, even if you'd been going through them long enough to know where to go. He walked up the steps, and you absentmindly reached out to touch the faces carved into the walls as Vincent walked in front of you. You were following him like a lost little puppy, your mind elsewhere as you tried not to let memories of what happened the month before flood your mind. Surprisingly, you were able to find a pretty good distraction. 

You thought about the images that Vincent had drawn, all the positions he must've imagined. Even if he was inexperienced, he definitely had quite the imagination. As Vincent guided you and you trailed behind him silently, your mind flooding with different images of all the ways Vincent could take you. On your back, one your stomach, on your knees. You tried not to blush as you thought a particular angle that made it clear Vincent had been imagining something slightly more self serving. 

It made it so you could completely ignore all the terrible reminders of what you'd done, up until you were in the wax bedroom Vincent had created. You glanced at the bed, immediately imagining Vincent in-between your legs. And then you in-between his . It was almost unfair. Vincent seemed to know about every little dip and curve you had, how he knew that you'd figure out another time, but you had barely seen anything. A couple of flashes here or there, but Vincent was shy. He kept his clothes on even when you did some experimental touching. You bit your lip, just before Vincent signed,

"You okay?"

***

Vincent knew this was a bad idea, but he didn't want to force you to stay in the basement. Any time you came up into the House of Wax usually didn't end well, and his nerves only grew as your silence stretched on. 

He watched how you bit your lip, refused to meet his eyes. How you seemed far off and in your own head, millions of miles away from him and where you were. He thought the flush on your cheeks was just from the heat of wearing his sweater. Why would it be from anything else?

Even when you nodded and assured him that you were fine, Vincent didn't believe you. He knew this was a bad idea. He knew he should've just waited until you went to take a nap. Then, he could've slipped away and been back before you ever knew the wiser. Instead, he'd brought you here and now you were- His self deprecating paused as you reached a hand under his sweater. 

His hand instantly went around your wrist, but he didn't pull it away. It was out of surprise more than anything, but his grip quickly relaxed. Still, his bigger hands circled your wrist as your hand moved. It was just the lightest of touches, your fingertips barely brushing against his skin. You were touching the flesh of his side, before your hand was sliding up and you were moving your palm across his abdomen. Feeling his happy trail, before teasing the edge of his sweatpants. He stared down at you, watching as you gazed up at him. You were still biting your lip, your cheeks were still flushed, but he finally noticed the way your pupils had blown out and- Oh . Vincent wasn't the most experienced. It's probably why it took him this long to figure out what you'd been thinking about. Or what he assumed you were. A quick thought told him he was being silly, that you couldn't possibly want that. 

Even as you leaned up to nip and kiss at his collarbone, as your hands pushed his shirt up further and felt the expanse of his chest. Even as you leaned forward to suck a hickey into his chest, leaving him practically trembling. He didn't believe you could want him like that up until you whispered,

***

"Vincent, can I touch you?" You watched as a look of surprise was quick to flit through his eye. He gave you a nod, almost a jerk of his head compared to his usual slow movements. You gave him a grin, before you were sliding your hand under his pants. You'd never been so bold before with him, but you couldn't help it. You wanted to know. Wanted to feel the weight in your hand. On your tongue. 

You barely had to brush your fingers against the front of his briefs before you could feel that he was half-hard already. A few more light brushes and he was straining against the material of his underwear. Vincent let out a soft noise, the sound of a puff of air hitting his mask. You had barely touched him, but he already looked half-wrecked. It occurred to you then that Vincent probably wouldn't last long, and it was strange to you. To hold power over someone.

You pushed his sweatpants down his narrow hips, sinking onto your knees in front of him. He practically jumped when he realized what you were doing, and you quickly asked,

"Is this alright?" But he was quick to nod. He leaned back, resting back on the dresser he'd made. He motioned for you to continue, and you smiled up to him as you leaned forward to nuzzle the crotch of his pants. Your nose bumped along his clothed cock, before you were giving it an experimental lick through the fabric of his underwear. You heard him sigh again, and you watched as he tightened his grip on the edge of the dresser. "You're so handsome, Vincent." You whispered the praise, kissing along the waistband before you were tugging his underwear down. You looked up, seeing that his flush was heading down his neck and towards the tips of his ears. Once again you asked, "You're okay, right? You'll tell me if you want me to stop?" He'd started to fist his sweater, to bring it up to hide his face. He gave you another quick nod and you pulled him free. You gave him a few experimental pumps, leaning in to lick along his shaft to lubricate your hand. You watched how Vincent shivered at the feeling of your wet appendage, and you had to bite back a satisfied grin. After that, you didn't waste any time wrapping your mouth around the head of his cock.

You sucked him off slowly, flattening your tongue against the underside as you bobbed your head half-way. He was big, as big as his height and the size of his hands may have suggested, and thick. Even if you were more experienced than him, you found it difficult to fit him completely down your throat.

His hands tugged and pulled at the fabric of his sweater before one of them was cupping the back of your neck. He tilted his hips forward, rocking his hips ever so slightly with every bob of your head. This was the most noise you ever heard Vincent make. He let out little groans and sounds, half-keened whines and breathless gasps. He shivered and trembled with every flick of your tongue. You held his hips, thumbing them as you stared up at him through your lashes. He was keeping his head tossed back, his eye firmly closed from what you could tell. But when he'd finally looked down at you and made eye contact with you, you practically felt his resolve snap. 

His hand moved from your neck to the back of your head. He only pressed your head down farther for a few thrusts, ones that practically slid his cock all the way down your throat, before you felt him tense. He held your head, doubling over as he slid his cock down the back of your throat. You could feel his cum hitting the back of your throat, giving you no choice but to swallow around his cock. You could feel tears in the corners of your eyes, and you tried to blink them away as you focused on trying not to gag. He let out a strangled sound, no doubt feeling the muscles of your throat work around his cock. His hips stuttered, before he was pulling out with panting breaths. He leaned back against dresser, his head falling back and strands of his hair falling out from his ponytail from where he'd gripped at it. You almost wished you could take a picture.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, watching him as he calmed himself down and you helped him tuck himself away. You lifted yourself to your feet with his help, and he signed a simple,

"You okay?" And you nearly laughed. Vincent seemed to ask you that at least five times a day. 

"I'm fine. Are you okay?" You asked, prodding his chest. You heard him laugh, a soft and raspy sound. He gave you a nod, even if it still seemed like he was collecting himself. He reached out, running a hand through your hair before settling his palm against your cheek. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, running over the sensitive skin. You hummed, parting your lips and sucking his thumb into your mouth. You barely realized what you were doing before you did it, but you gave his thumb a slow suck as you ran your tongue over it. You watched as his eye darkened once more, and you squeaked when he pulled his hand away and tugged you up like you didn't weigh a thing. 

You squealed and laughed when your back hit the wax mattress, which, despite looking comfortable, was only slightly less forgiving than if he'd shoved you against the wall. But you barely had time to think about that. Vincent was quickly pushing his mask away from his face and you shut your eyes out of habit. You felt his lips clumsily press against yours, and his confidence was either from the month of practice or from the rage of desire that was flooding his system. He boxed you in with one arm, his other hand quick to trace all the parts he'd already memorized. You giggled. You couldn't help it. You'd never felt Vincent so eager, so confident . It sent the rush of a thrill through you, and you were wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your chest against his to get him as close as possible. 

"Touch me, touch me, touch me," You practically begged, your legs curling around his hips and drawing him closer. He groaned at the press of his front against yours, undeniably sensitive from before. He drew his lips from yours, mouthing down your cheek to your jaw until he reached your neck. His fingers weren't moving fast enough, and you pressed your chest against his hand to urge him further as he fondled you through your shirt. Even as he slipped his hand underneath, teasing and gently twisting your nipples, you knew it wouldn't be enough. You rolled your hips against his, trying to get any sort of friction as you tugged on his black strands of hair. He moaned against your skin, before his lips were attempting to clamp back onto yours. You begged for more, and Vincent wasn't one to keep you waiting. His hand rubbed you through the fabric of your bottoms, and he swallowed the moan that left your lips. He traced your heat through the fabric, pressing hard enough to feel his touch.

It wasn't enough until his hand was slipping inside, slipping past your panties and running his bare fingertips through the folds of your cunt. You whined, gripping his shoulders and bucking your hips against his hand. Vincent pulled away from the kiss, but you were too distracted to care as you guided his fingers over your aching clit. 

***

Vincent was watching you, memorizing the expressions you made as you screwed your eyes closed and gasped. You gasped and whined, bucking and practically throbbing against his hand. When he dipped his fingers inside you, he found feel your walls sucking his fingers up. Trying to drag them deeper and swallow them in your warm, wet heat. 

His cock was already heavy and hard in his sweatpants again, but he fought the urge to grind against your thigh as he fingered you. This was about you. He pressed the heel of his palm against the spot you'd lead him to, watching the way you shuddered and trembled underneath him. He drew everything in, only muffling your sounds when he needed your lips against his.

He kissed you anywhere his lips reached, trying to silently tell you how beautiful you were. How precious you looked. Everything that he couldn't sign to you with your eyes closed and one of his hands down your pants, his fingers buried and thrusting inside of you.

***

You whimpered as he pushed you further and further, your hips jerking as Vincent listened to every word you told him. He moved his fingers just so, seeming to even listen just to the way your voice would change. You'd been touched before, either by yourself or by your ex, but you couldn't remember a time you'd been listened to so eagerly before. Had someone that could reach the spots inside you that you couldn't.

"Right there, Vincent. Ah- Just like that." He rubbed that spot over and over until your hips were jerking. Whether to get closer or farther away you didn't know. But Vincent pulled back almost completely. You could feel his weight shift, and then you felt his other hand holding you down by pressing his large hand flat against your stomach. So you couldn't move and so you were forced to feel . "Oh, Vincent ." Your voice went up an octave. You tried to fist the sheets of the bed, but all you did was scrape your nails against the wax. You tried to move your hips, but you couldn't. You tried to shift away from the intensity of the pleasure, of how he'd shifted from using the heel of his palm and instead circled your clit with his thumb, but he was relentless. Persistent with his pleasure.

You felt close to tears, a stream of cries and praise leaving your lips before you could feel your thighs start to shake. Your abdomen start to tense. You reached to hold onto his forearm, your nails biting into his skin as the other gripped your own hair. You came around his fingers, a cry of his name leaving your lips as you arched your head back. He didn't stop, even if his actions slowed. You shivered and trembled through the aftershocks, twitching before you finally begged him,

"Open." And you knew that you hadn't been mistaken. It was rare that you heard his voice. You were almost sure that it had been the first time. You knew he didn't speak simply because it pained him to do so, and you knew that he wouldn't do it unless he was absolutely sure. So, slowly, you peeled open your eyes and looked into the half-scarred face of your lover. Your hand glided over the smooth, untouched side of his face. One that was identical to Bo's. You didn't dare touch the scar tissue, as you didn't want to potentially hurt him. But, still, your eyes glided over it as if there wasn't a blemish there. Softly, you whispered,

"Okay, okay, okay, enough. Fuck- Vincent, I can't-" And he finally drew his hand away. You panted and relaxed, slumping against the solid block of wax and waiting until Vincent told you he was ready for you to look. Instead, you felt the plushness of his lips press against yours. It was soft and short, before he was kissing you again. And again, and again. You giggled, running your fingers through the strands of his hair and kissing him back each time. He kissed your cheek and your forehead, before he pressed soft kisses to the back of your eyelids. They nearly fluttered open, but then Vincent did it again. You made a face, questioning if you thought he was telling you to do what you thought he was. Then, he did it again and you heard the raspy whisper of the word,

"Hello, handsome." And you finally got to watch him blush properly.