#and she had hand carved all their cups and plates

[kagxme]

man im frfr glad my mom took me to meet her lesbian coworkers whove been together since '85. was out here ready to believe i was being weird and heteronormative for still wanting to be monogamous and married one day.

[criticallyinneedofadar]

Pls pls pls I have a request 🙏

Could you do (young) Elrond x fReader pls?

The reader is a Young Elleth who lives in Khazad-Dum and she's one of Diza's friends. Elrond meets her during a diner with Durin and he's kinda offended because Durin hide her from him for a long time. 👀

This was so fun to write! I would definitely be willing to continue the story of these two- maybe little one shots of cute moments? Let me know what you think!

A Flower Among Stone

The air in the dining hall of Khazad-dûm is thick with the rich scent of roasted meats, spiced roots, and the faint tang of molten metal from the forges below. Disa’s laughter rings out, a warm and vibrant melody that bounces off the carved stone walls, mingling with Durin’s hearty chuckles. You sit at the end of the long table, fingers idly tracing the etched patterns on the wooden cup before you, trying not to draw attention to yourself.

You’ve learned well enough that in Khazad-dûm, it’s best to let the Dwarves hold the spotlight. Your presence here has always been a delicate balance. Disa, with her boundless kindness, has made you feel more welcome than you’d dared hope. Durin, too, has treated you fairly, though his teasing often borders on exasperating.

But tonight is different.

The arrival of Elrond Peredhel, emissary of the High King, has shifted the mood. He’s seated across from you, his polished armor catching the warm light of the lanterns, his posture impeccable. His smile is practiced, though you can see the faint strain behind it. He has been nothing but polite to you, but not once has he addressed you directly.

It stings, though you try not to show it.

“I must say,” Elrond begins, his tone even but his gaze fixed on Durin, “it’s curious that in all our conversations, you never saw fit to mention the presence of another elf within your halls.”

Durin’s brow furrows. “Didn’t think I had to report every visitor to you, Peredhel.”

“Visitors are one thing,” Elrond replies, voice tightening, “but a representative of the Eldar? That seems… noteworthy.” His eyes flick to you for the first time, and though his words remain formal, there’s a shadow of accusation in them. “I trust your time here has been… informative”

Your shoulders stiffen. “It has,” you reply, meeting his gaze steadily. “Durin and Disa have been most gracious hosts.”

“And yet, the High King seemed unaware of your presence here,” Elrond counters, his words measured but pointed.

Disa’s fork clatters against her plate. “Oh, come now, Elrond,” she chides, her voice sharp but not unkind. “There’s no need for that tone. She’s been a dear friend to us, and if Durin didn’t mention her to you, that’s on him.”

Durin raises his hands in mock surrender. “You think I keep track of everything I say to the Peredhel? He’s lucky I remember his name half the time.”

Elrond’s jaw tightens, and you can see the effort it takes for him to keep his composure. “It is not a matter of names, Prince Durin. It is about trust and transparency.”

“And perhaps,” Disa interjects, leaning forward with a pointed look, “it’s about showing a bit of kindness to someone who’s done nothing to deserve your irritation.”

The tension at the table is palpable. You lower your gaze, wishing for the polished stone floor to swallow you whole. The rest of the meal passes in a strained silence, the usual warmth of Disa and Durin’s table replaced by a frosty discomfort.

You step lightly through the stone-carved corridors of Khazad-dûm, the tension from dinner still knotting your shoulders. The soft murmur of voices drifts from the dining hall behind you, and though you know it’s impolite to eavesdrop, you hesitate at the turn of the corridor.

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” Disa’s voice rings clear, her usual warmth sharpened into a reprimand.

“I beg your pardon?” Elrond’s measured tone holds an edge, though it lacks the hauteur one might expect from someone of his station.

“You heard me,” Disa retorts. “That poor girl has been nothing but respectful—more respectful than some, it seems.”

“I was merely—”

“You were rude,” Durin interjects, his deep voice gruff but not without humor. “Manners, Peredhel. Haven’t the elves mastered those yet?”

Elrond sighs audibly. “It was not my intent to offend. I was… taken off guard. I did not expect to walk into a situation so significant without any prior knowledge.”

“And that justifies putting her on the spot?” Disa presses. “She’s not some courtier at Gil-galad’s court, used to fancy words and sharp barbs. She’s young, Elrond, and far from home. You should know better.”

There’s a pause, heavy with unspoken meaning. When Elrond speaks again, his voice is lower, softer. “You are right, of course. My reaction was unworthy of her—or of me. I will apologize.”

“You’ll do more than that,” Disa replies. “You’ll mean it. And you’d better do it quickly, before she decides we Dwarves aren’t worth the trouble of enduring your bad behavior.”

A quiet chuckle escapes you before you can stop it. You press a hand to your mouth, feeling a guilty sort of satisfaction at hearing the great Elrond Peredhel, herald of the High King, being so thoroughly chastised.

Careful not to make any more noise, you step away and head toward one of the common areas, where the soft glow of lanterns and the steady hum of Khazad-dûm’s life offer a welcome reprieve.

The room you choose is warm and inviting, carved from the same sturdy stone as the rest of the mountain, with thick tapestries lining the walls to dampen the chill. A small fire burns in the hearth, its light dancing across the polished surface of a low table. A few Dwarves sit in quiet conversation nearby, nodding in greeting as you enter. You take a seat by the fire, pulling your cloak closer around your shoulders, and let the soothing atmosphere wash over you.

You don’t wait long.

Footsteps echo faintly down the corridor, precise and deliberate. You glance up to see Elrond appear in the doorway, his expression as composed as ever, though there’s a flicker of something almost sheepish in his eyes.

“May I join you?” he asks, his voice steady but less formal than before.

You incline your head, gesturing to the seat across from you. “If you wish.”

He sits gracefully, resting his hands on his knees as he regards you. “I owe you an apology,” he begins, his gaze meeting yours directly. “My behavior at dinner was unbecoming, and you bore the brunt of it without cause. For that, I am sorry.”

You study him for a moment, noting the sincerity in his tone. “Disa and Durin gave you quite the lecture, didn’t they?”

The corner of his mouth quirks upward, a fleeting smile. “They did. And rightly so.”

You laugh softly, leaning back in your chair. “Consider your apology accepted, then. Though I admit, it was amusing to hear them scold you.”

Elrond lets out a breath, almost a laugh himself. “It is not an experience I am accustomed to.”

“Perhaps it’s one you needed.”

His smile widens slightly, though it carries a hint of self-reflection. “Perhaps.”

For a moment, the two of you sit in companionable silence, the crackle of the fire filling the space between words. 

Elrond’s gaze, keen and thoughtful, settles on you with a quiet intensity as the firelight casts shadows across his features. “I find myself curious,” he begins, his tone gentler now. “What brought you to Khazad-dûm? It is… an uncommon place for an elf to reside.”

You take a moment to consider your words, the memory stirring a familiar ache in your chest. “Two years ago,” you begin, your voice steady despite the heaviness of the tale, “my mother and I were traveling to Eregion. We’d heard whispers of its beauty and hoped to visit the city.”

Elrond inclines his head slightly. “It is indeed beautiful, or it was the last I saw of it. Please, go on.”

You draw in a slow breath, the next part of the story weighing heavily. “We were nearing the borders when we were ambushed by orcs. They struck swiftly, without warning. My mother…” You pause, swallowing hard. “She did not survive. She gave her life so I could flee.”

Elrond’s expression softens, his sharp gaze clouded with sorrow. “I am sorry for your loss,” he says quietly.

“Thank you.” You offer him a faint smile, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “I was badly injured in the attack. I thought that would be my end, but one of the dwarves found me—not far from the mountain’s borders—and carried me back to Khazad-dûm.”

“The dwarves saved you?” His voice is tinged with surprise, though not disbelief.

“They did,” you confirm. “They nursed me back to health, though their methods were… slower than the healing arts I’d known among our people. Even now, I still bear the scar on my side.” You gesture toward your right side, feeling the faint pull of the old wound as you shift. “And my sword arm aches from time to time, especially in the cold.”

Elrond’s gaze drifts to your arm, a flicker of sympathy crossing his face. “And yet you chose to remain here?”

You nod. “I did. I owe them my life, and I’ve come to care for them deeply. Disa and Durin have been like family to me. I’ve stayed as long as they would have me.”

The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Elrond’s expression is unreadable, his sharp features softened by the glow of the firelight. Finally, he speaks.

“It is rare for one of our kind to form such bonds with the dwarves,” he says, his tone contemplative. “But perhaps it is in such rarities that the truest friendships are forged.”

You smile faintly, feeling the weight of his words. “The dwarves have a saying: ‘Stone endures.’ I think that’s true of friendship, too—if you’re willing to put in the work to shape it.”

Elrond’s lips quirk upward, the faintest hint of a smile. “Wise words. Perhaps I underestimated the lessons to be learned here.”

For a moment, the fire crackles softly between you, and you find yourself surprised by the ease that has crept into the conversation. Elrond’s demeanor, so guarded at dinner, has shifted, and you see not only the High King’s herald but a man of keen mind and deep feeling.

“Thank you,” he says at last, breaking the silence. “For sharing your story. It cannot have been easy.”

“It wasn’t,” you admit, meeting his gaze steadily. “But I’ve learned that some scars are worth bearing, even if they never truly fade.”

Elrond's gaze lingers on you thoughtfully, his expression warm but serious. “The pain in your shoulder—your sword arm—it lingers still, yes?”

You nod reluctantly, rolling your shoulder as if to test the ache. “Sometimes, especially when the air grows cold or I push myself too hard.”

“Then allow me to help,” he offers, his tone soft but insistent.

You blink in surprise. “Help? How?”

“I am trained in the healing arts,” he replies. “It is a skill I have honed over many centuries. Perhaps I can alleviate your discomfort.”

You hesitate, the idea of Elrond tending to you both unexpected and a little overwhelming. “I wouldn’t want to trouble you,” you say, your voice quiet.

“It is no trouble,” he insists. “Think of it as an apology—for my behavior earlier.”

His earnestness leaves you with little room to protest. With a nod, you agree, and he rises from his seat. “Come,” he says. “We’ll need a quieter space.”

Elrond leads you through the winding halls of Khazad-dûm, his stride purposeful but unhurried. You soon arrive at the guest chambers where he is staying, a spacious room within Durin and Disa’s home. The air inside is warmer, lit by a few softly glowing lanterns. A desk sits near the far wall, its surface neatly organized with parchment, ink, and a few books Elrond has brought with him.

He gestures to the chair by the desk. “Sit here,” he instructs gently.

You comply, settling into the chair as he gathers his thoughts. “The pain resides near your shoulder, does it not?”

“Yes,” you confirm, glancing over your shoulder at him. “It’s mostly where the orc’s blade struck, just below the collarbone.”

Elrond nods, his expression thoughtful. “I will need to see the injury,” he says, his tone careful and professional.

You take a steadying breath. “Of course.” With practiced ease, you reach for the straps of your dress, undoing them over your right shoulder and letting the fabric slip down to expose your back and shoulder.

The room is silent for a moment, save for the crackle of a distant hearth. You catch a flicker of movement in the polished steel that edges the desk—a faint blush rising to Elrond’s cheeks. He clears his throat softly, a sound that makes you smile to yourself despite the situation.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, regaining his composure.

His hands hover above your shoulder, close enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from them. He murmurs a few words in Sindarin, the lyrical quality of the language soothing in itself. Then, a gentle glow emanates from his palms, and you feel the magic begin to seep into your skin.

A soft gasp escapes you as the warmth spreads, soothing the tightness that has plagued you for so long. The ache fades, replaced by a sensation of lightness and relief you hadn’t thought possible.

“Are you in pain?” Elrond asks, his voice low and concerned.

“No,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper. “It feels… better. So much better.”

He works for a few more moments, his touch light but steady. When he finally steps back, the glow fades, and the room feels quieter somehow.

“The injury was deeper than I anticipated,” he says, his brow furrowing slightly. “But I believe the worst of it has been mended. The pain should trouble you less now, if at all.”

You glance at him over your shoulder, pulling your dress back into place. “Thank you, Elrond. I didn’t realize how much I’d grown used to the discomfort until now.”

He inclines his head, a small smile playing at his lips. “It was the least I could do, after my earlier misstep. I hope this begins to mend more than just your shoulder.”

You smile back, warmth spreading in your chest. “I think it does.”

For a moment, you sit in companionable silence, the bond between you subtly shifting—like a thread of gold woven into the fabric of stone and steel. The warmth of his magic still lingers faintly, and you feel a cautious sense of ease settling between you. Gathering your courage, you glance at him and speak.

“There’s something I’d like to show you,” you begin hesitantly. “If you have the time. The dwarves have cultivated gardens deep within the mountain. They use mirrors and lenses to bring in light—it’s unlike anything I’ve seen before, even in my own lands.”

Elrond raises an intrigued brow, his expression softening further. “Gardens, within stone walls? That sounds remarkable. I would be honored to see them.”

Your smile grows, tentative but genuine. “Then I’ll show you. I think you’ll find they’re worth the journey.”

He nods, the hint of a smile on his lips, and for the first time, you sense that his earlier guardedness has given way to something deeper—an openness to the possibilities that this unexpected connection might hold.

[giuseppe-yuki]

when the clock strikes 12'

baker!yuki tsunoda x princess!reader

w.c.: 2.9k

warnings: a sprinkle of fluff, slight allusions to sex, curse words, angst, mentions of death

summary: every night, you flee to the baker's son to receive the love you never got from your own family.

picture credits from pinterest :)

every day was unchanging. wake up at six am, breakfast of exactly one apple and a cup of oatmeal with a sprinkle of cinnamon, then onto history, etiquette, dancing class, horse-riding, brief pause for lunch, embroidery, languages, government, military tactics, dinner, then finally music. as the next brightest queen on the throne, you had to be perfect. you couldn’t be your little brother, running carefree in the woods, playing with wooden bows and arrows, or your younger sister, who spent all her hours gossiping and playing cards with the ladies of the court. trapped in a gilded cage, you had no choice but to endure all the classes your parents put you through and to your credit, you seemed to be the best daughter and heiress they could ever ask for. 

however, when the clock hit 12, you would routinely slip on your black cloak, pull the torch lever in the corner of your room, and flee down the steps out of the palace. the second your foot touched the soil on the other side of the towering stone walls, you could shed your disguise of being the powerful, multi talented crown princess of your kingdom. when you flew through the beaten path in the woods, cloak flapping behind you, and past the empty cobblestone courtyard, feet echoing quietly on each brick, and up the leafy vines, hands easily grasping the familiar branches, and into the arms of the boy you loved the most, you finally felt at home. 

he would unclasp your black cloak, fold it neatly, and place it softly on the singular wooden chair next to his bed. then, like always, he would flourish a covered plate towards you, pretending he was a fancy chef in the castle, serving you the finest food in the kingdom- dishes that average village people could only dream about. you knew, of course, that underneath the piece of tattered cloth, there sat two slices of warm bread, topped with your favorite golden honey, and a cup of milk from his family cow in the shed behind the bakery. no matter how many times you scarfed down the handmade bread, it tasted way better than any of the food you had at home. perhaps it had tasted so delectable, because he had made it with his love, something that you never felt in the castle. you would whip off the cloth like you always did, gasp shockingly at the worn, hand-carved dish and its contents in front of you, and pepper the boy with kisses until he was a giggling mess. then, you would each share a slice of bread (he would always purposely slide you the bigger piece when he thought you weren’t looking) and talk about your day together, as if you were just another average couple who were most definitely not a princess and a simple baker’s son. 

he would then tell you about the day’s customers, about the mean old grandpa named mr. horner who would yell at him for ‘lazing around all day,’ or his best friend pierre who always would buy three baguettes, cut up into fourths, or the kind blacksmith’s wife, susie, who would buy loads of pumpernickel for her husband, and sometimes his classmates, like carlos and charles, who would beg him to give them a sliver of cake. you pretended you understood what he meant when he would describe searching for wild potatoes in the forest with his friends, when the day’s bread was sold out. 

in return, you would tell him about your day, like when one of the lord’s sons, ollie, stepped on your white wool socks and ruined them during your dancing lessons, or when your friend dorianne told your french teacher that she ate un mur (a wall) instead of une mûre (a blackberry) for lunch, or how you galloped across the field on your horse faster than max, a duke’s son. he nodded like he knew the feeling of how ridiculous it was when the chef gave you one whole roasted chicken when you had requested a lamb chop and asparagus. 

later, when the soft bread was reduced to crumbs on the wooden plate, and you both had nothing left to say, you would kiss the honey off his lips, and he would laugh and shove you into his wood-and-straw bed. he would then lean over to the singular tallow candle on the patchy floor next to his bed and blow the flame out. underneath the glow of the stars, with the wisp of candle smoke wafting in the air, he would tuck you into his sheets, ‘like a princess deserves,’ and shuffle himself in the slot next to you, one arm around your waist. 

sometimes, you would both fall asleep immediately, one of your soft hands laced in his rough calloused one, your face nuzzled in the crook of where his shoulder meets his neck, breaths syncing together, and blankets swirled around like the hazy night mist outside the window. other times, you would look up at his face, where he looked down at you with lovestruck eyes. your gaze would drift down to his pretty pink lips that seemed to always be slightly chapped and you would forcefully pull him down into a heated kiss. those nights always seemed to end with your sweaty bodies tangled in his linen sheets, with you falling asleep on his naked chest listening to how his racing heart slowed to a soft pitter-patter and him gently caressing the length of your back. 

whichever night it was, you would always be the first one up at exactly five am, smiling at the sight of the baker’s son still sprawled on the bed, a drop of drool running down the corner of his mouth. you would get dressed in your black cloak, leave two gold coins that was worth more than a typical villager’s weekly pay (the baker and his wife never did understand how their son constantly produced such massive sums of money when their business was in a tight spot), and press a chaste kiss to his cheek. he slept soundly, knowing that you would always be back, like you promised, near midnight every night. 

quietly, you snuck out of his window, down the leafy vines, past the empty cobblestone courtyard, though the woods, underneath the stone walls of the castle, and up the stairs into your room, half and hour before your maid was to fetch you for breakfast. by the time the birds outside chirped their tunes and the maid knocked on your gold-embossed door, you would be back in your silk pajamas, underneath your thick hand-weaved cotton blankets and sunken into your soft feathery mattress. she would gently nudge you awake, and you would pretend-yawn, as big as you could, to make it seem like you had the best sleep in the world. and you did, but just not in your bed- it was in the arms of the boy you loved all but a half an hour ago in his bedroom on the second floor of his family’s bakery. 

very rarely did you ever see that boy not under the glow of his tallow candle that threatened to die out way too often, compared to the smooth beeswax candles you had lined throughout the rooms and hallways of your castle. once a month though, the royal family would pay a visit to all the towns in their region of rule. his village would always be the twenty second that you visited, and he would put on a knowing smile when you walked through the woods, down the cobblestone courtyard, and towards the building with the leafy vines on the side in your regal gold and white skirts and petticoats, procession in tow. the rest of the village would be gathered around the cobblestone courtyard as well, each individual working sector presenting a gift of gratitude to you and your family for blessing their town with your presence. your father accepted from the blacksmith a fine-crafted iron sword (which he threw into a box that contained the twenty one other similar swords from past villages), your mother accepted from the dressmaker and carefully stitched dress (that she immediately made plans to be turned into washcloths- the material of the dress was too rough!), your little brother accepted a little toy music box from the sales merchant (he would probably accidentally ‘break’ it on the way to the next village just to see what it looked like on the inside), and your little sister accepted a pair of sparkly gold shoes from the shoemaker (shoes that she would give to her maid, because a princess would never wear something so atrocious as shoes with fake pieces of gold on it!). and to you, the baker’s son would flourish, like he did the night before under your watchful eyes, a weaved basket with a full loaf of soft wheat bread, a pot of honey, and a big jar of cold milk. you would thank him profusely, hand lingering on his a smidgen too long, and softly place the item in your carriage to enjoy later. before you left the village on your horse-drawn buggy, you would glance out the window to see the boy give you a wink and a wave, because he knew, when the moon came out and the clock struck twelve, you would be back in his arms once more with the basket of food, and you both would feast like kings. 

it was like clockwork, through spring, summer, fall and winter, that you journeyed to the village bakery. years passed, and your schedule never changed. you would always be there, a little bit after twelve, with your black cloak and a smile on your face, and he would welcome you with a kiss and honey bread. it was like that until it wasn’t.

your father had gotten suspicious with your actions one winter. his first clue was how you always seemed tired in your lessons- how you dozed off a little bit in history class, how you accidentally pricked your fingers way more than normal in embroidery class, how you would skip dinner more often than not, and then rush through music class as if you were in a hurry to go to bed. his second clue came more by accident, when one of his guards had caught one of the dukes, jos’, son sneaking off from a side exit to meet some random stableboy named charles in a nearby town. your father’s rather aggressive guards had caught them embracing in the shady corner of some cobblestone courtyard. they had nearly beaten charles to death right then and there, but was stopped by max at the last second when he tearfully pleaded to them he would do whatever they wanted him to do, even if that included adhering to his father’s jos’ lifelong wish of turning him into the best equine racer in the kingdom- even if he hated racing. trudging back to the castle with a sobbing max in tow and charles’ broken and feeble body left in the courtyard, they could have sworn they saw a figure in a black cloak that was too high-quality to be a villager’s dart by the leafy vines. his third and final clue was when he ordered the guards to check your room at precisely 1am to make sure you were still snuggled in your bed like you were supposed to be, snoring away.

alas, you weren’t. you were listening cautiously, with wide eyes, as the baker’s son described how a stable boy was found half-beaten to death and frozen in the courtyard a day ago, and all he cried was strings of ‘maxmaxmaxmax’ when the village doctor finally nursed him back into a barely-alive state. that night, when you whimpered the baker’s son’s name into the crook of his neck and he muffled his cries of ecstasy into his pillow, you made sure to hold him just that little bit tighter in the afterglow as if you never wanted to leave. when the sun peeked through the leafy vines at the edge of the window, you gathered your things, and gave the boy a kiss on the lips. this time he awoke, unlike normal, and sat up on the bed. he looked at you with his head cocked to the side and bleary eyes, then laughs when he sees you put not two, but six gold coins on the singular wooden chair next to his bed. he whispers a soft ‘i’ll see you tonight’ and blows you a kiss before collapsing dramatically back on the bed. you can’t help but giggle to yourself and lightly skip all the way back to your room. you fail to notice how the stems of the vines have been hacked slightly, or how the snow on the cobblestone road had one too many sets of footprints, or how the pathway through the forest had deep imprints way bigger than possible to be from your feet in the slushy watery brown sludge, and how the torch-lever-door was slightly ajar when you arrived in your room. 

when you are awaken by the maid, you brightly hop out of your soft bed, unaware of the pitying looks she gives you. 

you attend your history, etiquette, dancing class, horse-riding, scarf down your lunch, embroidery, languages, and government. you are in your military tactics class, learning how wheels could perhaps be attached to open boxes and go on a circular track to gain speed and agility when the son of a baker is dragged rather unceremoniously into the dungeons below. 

he stays mostly silent; he knows that no one will be saving him now. he waits for a bit in the dim holding cell, watching as the beeswax candle smoothly burns on the wick. it’s funny how even the dungeons of the castle was the teeniest bit more fancier than his bedroom in the room above his family’s bakery…oh yeah, the bakery. he just hopes that his family will survive with the gold coins he had piled on the wooden plate that he typically served the princess on. he had shoved the plate under his covers just as the guards came barging up the stairs and dragged him towards the castle, his parents wailing in confusion and despair. his mind can’t help but drift back to your body, laid out so prettily beneath him the late night before. it lingered on his mind when the executioner led him to a dirty, bloodstained, block and forced him to hold his head over it. and when the swoosh of the blade fell down, the last thought in his head was that if you’d miss the bread that he would make, drizzled with honey with a glass of milk on the side. 

when you sneakily tiptoe past the castle walls, through the forest, across the cobblestone courtyard, and up the vines, you expect to see your lover waiting on his wood-and-straw bed next to the tallow candle, a teasing smile on his pretty face and rumpled black hair all messy on his head. there should be the usual wooden plate on his bed, and his singular wooden chair ready for your folded cloak. but what meets you is a wailing couple, a woman that seemed to have the boy’s shade of hair, and nose shape, and the man that seemed to have his eyes and his chin. the candle is broken in half, unburning, a wooden plate overturned with gold coins spilt everywhere, and a singular wooden chair that has its back board splintered in two. 

ten years later, when your father and mother have passed on, leaving you queen regent, and the military generals look up to you for your orders, and when you are forced to be betrothed to a so-called prince who spends all his time in brothels, fucking women who aren’t you, and your talentless brother and sister have wasted away in the castle, only alive to spread gossip and eat your food, you still wonder what had happened the the baker’s son that wintery night a little past midnight. yuki, you remember his name was. a name that means snow- like the snow that was falling around you when you climbed down his window for the last time, never knowing you would never see him again. you hoped that yuki had a good life. maybe he ran away, and got with a some pretty little commoner that didn’t have the same responsibilities you did, someone who could be with him day and night, someone who didn’t have to arrive at midnight and leave at daylight. or maybe he ran away to become a famous cook or baker- you knew he always had that talent within him. maybe he was in a far-away kingdom, cooking up the most delicious meals that were made with love. you remember those honey bread slices and milk that yuki always made you. but when you requested it from the chef, it never tasted the same. she would always give you three slices instead of two, warm milk instead of cold, or drizzled way too much honey on the slices. wherever he was, you hoped that your paths would meet again. maybe then, he could fold your black cloak nice and neat, make you the honey bread exactly how you liked it with cold milk, and you could talk about your day, and you could kiss the honey off of his lips, and he would tuck you into bed, and lay there with you until your breaths synced up once more.

a/n: ummm so idk what happened it kind of just flowed out of me... it's my first attempt at angst though so lmk if y'all like it :)

[perlelune]

Tag, You’re It | Ethan Landry | v.

Happy, carefree college days meet their abrupt end when every guy who approaches you mysteriously turns up dead.

Warnings: NON-CON, Stalking, Bimbo!Reader, Clueless Reader, Loss of Virginity, Incel Ethan, Cheerleader Reader, Skin Carving (w/knife), Canon Typical Slashing, Voyeurism, Kidnapping, Forced Masturbation, Filming, Blackmail

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

Peering outside the window, you unleash a melancholy sigh. The sky is bright and blue above campus, not one cloud darkening its expanse. 

A stark contrast to your somber mood. 

You wish you could soak up the warmth of the sun spilling through the glass window of the café, but you’re too high-strung to bask in the sunny weather. 

"Here you go," Ethan enthuses, yanking you away from your lugubrious train of thought. 

You give him a wobbly smile, accepting the steamy cup he slides between your hands. In the process, your fingers brush against his own, and Ethan’s throat bobs. His gaze lingers where your hand touches his for a few seconds before he scratches the back of his neck and sits in front of you.  The spicy, warm scent of the drink engulfs your senses in a blanket of comfort and familiarity. Your lashes flutter in awe as your eyes round.

"H-How did you know my coffee order?" 

He shrugs, a lopsided smile canting his lips. 

"I think Mindy mentioned it." 

"Did she?" 

His smile broadens. "I think. How else would I know it?" 

You press your lips together. You suppose it does make sense. Still, it astonishes you the heap of little things Ethan has noticed about you since you met him. 

Acceptance settles within you beneath his unflinching gaze. 

"You're right." You nod then spot the little plate Ethan placed near the edge of the table. Your mouth waters at the sight, your stomach wrenching. When’s the last time you had a proper meal, or something sweet? "Oh, you got me a pastry too." Fingers stretch towards the appetizing treat but retreat as Alana’s voice rings in your head. Sending Ethan a contrite glance, you twist your hands in your lap. "I'm sorry. That's very nice but… I can't accept it."

Ethan’s bushy brows draw together. 

"You don't like sweets? I didn't realize." 

You wave your hands before you as you rush to elaborate, "I do. It's not that." A deep exhale drops from your mouth. "Alana…the captain of my team. She said we all needed to lose five pounds before the next game. So no one on the team is allowed to have carbs."

Your cheeks come aflame under his intense stare. The anger in his tone startles you. 

"That's mean. Who does Alana think she is?" he scoffs. His tone softens as he adds, "Besides, you're the prettiest girl I've ever seen. You don't need to change a single thing about yourself."

A spontaneous smile blooms on your face at his compliment and the sincerity laced in his words. 

"Thanks, Ethan. That's so sweet." His chestnut gaze beckons you, drifting from your face to the pastry. You nibble your bottom lip, stomach clenching. Alana would be pissed if she knew…but you’re also starving. You don’t ponder for long before reaching across the table for the sweet delicacy. "I guess I'll have it anyway. Just promise me you won't tell her."

"My lips are sealed."

Ethan patiently watches you take a few bites, a grin etched on his boyish features. As soon as the sugar melts on your tongue, your spirits are lifted. 

When you’re done eating, he pulls out books, paper and pens from his backpack. 

You remember why you’re here and straighten your back. 

"So, where do you want to begin?" he inquires, unscrewing the cap from his ballpen and beginning to scribble on a piece of paper. 

You fidget and cast your eyes downward. 

"I'm not sure," you mumble. 

"What do you struggle with most?" 

Embarrassment tickles your insides. 

"Uh…Everything?" He gawks at you and your face heats. "This class is way too hard for me, Ethan."

He shakes his head, that gentle, encouraging smile never leaving his lips. 

"You're selling yourself short." At your crestfallen expression, Ethan offers, "We'll start at the very beginning and work our way from here. How does that sound?" 

You gape at him, your chest swelling with hope. For some reason, you nearly expected him to give up on you right here and there. 

You know you’re not exceedingly bright and that you narrowly got into college. If it weren’t for Chad and Mindy helping you study for the SATs and giving you tips…you’re convinced you wouldn’t have made it at all. 

"Amazing," you chime, plucking a chest-deep chuckle from him. 

Hours fly by at the café as Ethan takes time to break down concepts, make you flash cards and draw figures to help you understand the basics of economics. 

You lose track of time, hanging to his every slow, patient word. Every time you ask a question, he never gets upset or belittles you, instead going over everything again without ever losing his cool. 

While some areas are still fuzzy at the end, you feel a lot more equipped to understand the course material than before. 

Ethan encourages you, promising the more sessions you’ll have together, the more things will make sense. 

And you actually believe him. 

"You're like the best tutor ever." 

You bounce in excitement as Ethan giggles.

"I didn't do much."

"Not true. You make complicated stuff sound easy, Ethan."

His cheeks glow pink at your praise. 

Leaning forward, you confess, "Even Mindy gave up on helping me with my assignments. She didn’t have the time…or patience. And she’s my best friend." Slanting your head sideways, you beam at him. "You're the smartest guy I know so I appreciate you taking the time."

Ethan ogles at you before clearing his throat and scratching the back of his neck. "Anytime," he says while putting his books back in his bag.

"Can I keep this?" you inquire, gathering the stack of papers covered in Ethan’s neat handwriting. You’re touched that he took the time to explain all this to you. 

"Of course, it’s all for you. If you need anything, just text or call me." His inflection lowers as he bashfully looks down. "Even nighttime is fine."

His words summon flashes of the night before. Overwhelmed, tears begin pricking behind your eyes. 

"Nighttime…" you quaver. You blink and salty water fills your gaze. Ethan immediately gets up and joins you on the other side of the table, handing you tissues and carefully putting a hand on your shoulder. Once again, you wipe your tears. You wonder how there’s still water left in your body considering how many times you’ve bawled your eyes out today. 

"I’m sorry," you blubber.

"It’s okay." He rubs your back, licking his lips before he whispers, "You don’t need to shed so many tears over him, you know?"

A shuddering breath cascades through your throat while you gape at him in confusion. 

"What?"

His jaw clenches, his gaze darkening somehow. 

"That alpha douchebro Connor. He doesn’t deserve you crying over him."

"It’s not…" you trail off, shame creeping inside you. You have no desire to revisit the events from last night. Every time you recall them, a wave of sickness takes hold of you. 

Ethan continues, his voice even harsher than before, "Truth be told I bet he had it coming." Your jaw drops. Ethan’s shoulders heave and slump as he explains, "I heard he was awful to girls… and that you weren’t the only one he was texting before he died."

Shock ripples through you at this newfound knowledge. It’s dumb and irrelevant now, but you thought Connor genuinely liked you at least. 

Sure, he got carried away that night and got a little pushy, but you’re sure he just had one drink too many and wasn’t acting like himself. 

Your forehead wrinkles as you chide him, "That’s an awful thing to say. Regardless of what he did…no one deserves to die like that, Ethan."

Ethan sighs and lets out an awkward laugh. 

"You’re right. I shouldn’t have said anything. Murder’s like…fucked up, I guess."

"Y-Yes, it is," you reply, taken aback by his casual tone. 

Gaze still holding yours, he bends over you and adds, "But he was a lame dudebro, and you can do so much better. I hope you know that."

You sink in the depth of his warm, brown orbs, both flattered yet a little unsettled by his fervent statement. 

It’s something even Mindy told you before, that you only fall for douchebags that don’t deserve you, but you never felt that was true. 

Still, no one ever said that to you with such emphasis. 

"I…appreciate it," you reply, rubbing your puffy eyes as fresh tears threaten to spill.  

His large hand travels up and down your back. 

"Is there something else by any chance? I’m a pretty good listener."

Heat rushes to your cheeks. There’s no way you can tell him what occurred. The mere idea makes you want to die. 

Your mouth trembles as you dip your chin.

"No, there isn’t."

After a few minutes of silence, Ethan’s gentle voice sweeps over your temple. 

"Can I do anything to make you feel better?" 

Your eyes lift to his, deep brown pools filled with concern. 

You mull it over. There is one thing. A thing you sometimes do with your friends, but you’re a bit self-conscious about revealing it to him. 

"I…" You emit a thin, unsure laugh. "No, that's silly. You're gonna think I'm, like, so shallow."

His thumb settles between your shoulder blades, caressing softly. 

"I won't judge you, I promise. Just tell me."

"When I feel bad…" You squirm and evade his focus, gaze darting about the café as you mumble, "I like to go shopping and eat ice cream afterward."

Ethan snickers, but not in a mean way. Mirth lights up his features. 

"I don't think that's silly at all, especially if it helps you feel better." His face softens. "I can take you if you want."

"Really?" Surprise and happiness coalesce in your tone. You hate shopping alone. Your brows knit as a thought resurfaces. "But I promised Mindy and Anika we’ll meet up later..."

Ethan sends you a wide grin. 

"I’m sure they’ll understand."

Going on a shopping spree with Ethan is surprisingly fun. He doesn’t mind how many outfits you try, praising your choices every time. 

And if sometimes his eyes rest upon you a tad too long, that strange smirk playing on his lips, you let yourself ignore that. 

After all, a lot of the clothes you picked display quite a lot of skin. 

Boys always stare, you’re used to that. 

And it’s just Ethan looking. It’s not like he’s getting any ideas. 

When it comes time to pay for your purchases, he stops you before you can collect your wallet, placing a stack of bills on the counter instead. 

You give him an open-mouthed stare. 

"Ethan?! Are you crazy? That’s a lot of money. You don’t have to-"

He grabs the clothes from you and gestures at the cashier to put them in bags before you can even think of returning them. 

"No way I’m letting you pay. My treat, okay?"

"Ethan…"

His tone gets firmer, quieting your protests. 

"I insist."

Your body deflates as you’re stunned by the shift in him, particularly his staunch refusal to let you argue. 

"Okay," you concede. 

After leaving the store, with Ethan carrying your bags and refusing to let you lift a finger, you get on your tiptoes and plant a kiss on his cheek. 

Red spreads on his face as he peers down at you. 

"You’re so nice to me," you say cheerfully.

He just smiles at you in that lopsided, mysterious way he does. 

"Well, I'd say you more than earned it."

~

[undead-supernova]

Masterlist / 18+

pairings: modern!boyfriend!Eddie x bisexual!fem!reader

plot: you and Eddie are very excited to spend 4/20 together. aka just two idiots getting baked and having fun

important note: this is a silly little unserious one-off of my High Tolerance series, dedicated to the best day of the year (other than Halloween)! This could be read as a stand alone but I think my series as a whole is pretty cool and it makes me squeal and kick my feet

warnings: W E E D, just as much fluff as you'd expect, actual smutty behavior, and YES in this one they're a COUPLE now !!!!

wc: 2k

It began the moment you woke up.

At the first indication of your eyelids opening, Eddie was putting an unlit joint in your mouth and carefully sitting a party hat on your head.

“Happy 4-20, Weirdo,” he whispered before presenting you with a cup of coffee. The mug was one of those ridiculous ones from Spencer’s, with a bowl carved in for the sole purpose of smoking while drinking coffee. 

And he packed the bowl. Packed. It.

Taking the joint from your mouth, you said, “Good morning.” It was all groggy and soft, resulting in a quick yawn and your hand lazily reaching for the lighter left on the bedside table. 

“We have a full day ahead of us,” Eddie said as you smoked. “Just you and me engaged in a state of bliss.”

“That’s what she said,” you murmured, smoke escaping your nostrils.

“God, I love you,” he said with a chuckle before taking the mug from your hands. As you got out of bed, he added, “Have I said that?”

“Not today.” 

“Well, I love you,” he said again, following you as you padded through the hallway and into your living room. 

But you stopped in your tracks when you saw a shitty banner strung up on the wall. Just a string holding green balloons with blaze it written out. Oh, and one with a shitty drawing of a weed leaf.

“Okay, I can explain that,” Eddie said, stepping in front of it.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, so there were literally no banners at Walmart, so I made this myself.” He lifted his hands and gestures towards it as if he was presenting it at an art gallery. “Look at that impeccable handwriting.”

“I know, I can actually tell that’s an e,” you agreed, nodding.

Eddie grinned. “You flatter me.” 

“Also, I think I love you more,” you finally said. “Just saying.”

“Uh, that’s false,” he argued, quietly skipping into the kitchen to grab a bag. “Not when you see your present.”

“You got me a present? When?” you asked. The two of you had a rare moment of having both days off together. You’d spent that time in bed watching TV and fucking. A normal day for you now, to be quite honest.

Eddie ran back over. “Jailbait Hemp had an early morning Wake N’ Bake sale,” he explained, presenting you with the bag. “Ballsy move to get me out of bed by eight, but I did it.”

“The bravest soldier,” you said with fake sincerity, putting a hand over your heart and bowing. “I owe you my life, my lord.”

“If you keep talking like that, we may have to play maiden in a tower again.” Eddie took a step forward, one hand on your waist as he put his other over yours. Cleared his throat before dramatically tossing his hair over his shoulder. “It is I, good maiden, that has come to rescue you. To guide you to freedom.”

Matching his straightened posture, you let out an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, dear prince, you have gone to war for me. How can I show you my appreciation and gratitude?”

“Oh, I can think of a few ways,” he murmured with a smirk, leaning in to kiss you gently. You couldn’t help but return the smile, your palm grazing his stubble as you caressed his cheek. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the plate of cookies you’d left on the counter the night before mostly eaten. A glass sat next to it, the milk gone but a white film left behind.

Raising an eyebrow at him, you nearly moved away. But Eddie wouldn’t let you go that easily.

“Where’d the cookies and milk go, Eddie?” you asked.

“Oh, that?” he said, guilt written all over his face. “Babe, I told you Snoop Dogg would come and eat them.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Saw him with my own eyes,” he continued. “He told me to thank you for making them. He even left you two.”

“Two. Out of the ten that were left over.”

His cheeks tinged with pink as he tried not to laugh. “Snoop Dogg got up to pee, right? And then he saw all those cookies you left out and was like ‘Oh, wow, those look really good for a four-a-m snack. Thanks, bro.’”

But Eddie clearly knew he wasn’t getting out of it that easily. “And he was like, ‘Damn, your girlfriend is just so hot. Sooo sexy. Give her a kiss for me.’”

“Snoop Dogg said that?” you questioned, fighting a smile as you went to wrap your hands around his waist. 

“Mhm.”

You nodded, pulling him closer. “Every word of that, right?”

“Totally. And I told him to back off ‘cause I spent three years trying to date you.”

“Yeah, it ruined my five-year plan, actually,” you said with a smirk, lifting your hands to trace his collarbone. Eddie laughed, but he shivered at your touch. “Could you imagine still being just friends still? Today of all days?”

Eddie shook his head. “Considering I got painfully hard whenever I was around you—still do, obviously.” His eyes flickered down to the growing bulge in his pajama pants. “But I would not have been able to keep my hands off you. You, my dear, are the most outrageously beautiful being to walk this land.”

“Smooth,” you complimented, trying to slow your racing heart. “I may just forgive you for eating my cookies.”

“Remember when we decided to stop smoking?’ You nodded. “And we had an argument in the kitchen?” You nodded again. “I don’t know why, but I wanted to bend you over the counter so bad it was killing me.”

You couldn’t help your goofy grin despite the aching wetness pooling in your underwear. “That’s funny, ‘cause I was thinking the same thing.”

“Really?” he asked, surprised.

“We were eye-fucking each other,” you whispered, letting your hand move up to caress his face again, placing your thumb against his bottom lip. Watched as he opened his mouth willingly for you. 

Eddie’s breathing became staggered, slithering his hands down to cup your ass. “You can’t tell me that wasn’t hot, though.”

“Edging each other for, what, two of those years?”

Pressing you back against the wall dividing the living room and the kitchen, Eddie slotted his thigh between your legs. Lifted one of your thighs to sit at his hip, grinding himself against you. 

Being teased was so much more intense within the haze of your high. Every movement was another wave of pleasure, tipping you further into insanity. And you could tell Eddie felt the same from the way he swallowed, clearly trying to keep his composure.

“I do have you all to myself now, you know.”

He ground against you again, pulling a louder moan out of you. You couldn’t help but push your thumb past his lips, watching his eyes roll back as he sucked on it. Swirled his tongue around the digit..

You two were a dangerous pair.

“Eddie, if you don’t bend me over right now, I think I’ll fucking die.”

You didn’t have to tell Eddie twice.

It was almost impossible how quickly he had you pressed against the wall with his cock out and your underwear shoved down your thighs. You let out a sound of impatience, turning your head to watch him pull a condom from his pocket and roll it on.

Your eyebrows pulled tight in confusion when he pulled out another small packet, this time being lube. He messily pumped it along his length. And, before you could ask any questions, he was lining himself up at your entrance and pushing in. 

And, as he bottomed out, you gasped. 

“Oh fuck,” you whined, head falling back, feeling his wild hair against your face. “Did you have a condom and lube in your pocket the entire time?”

Eddie finally thrusted into you, a high-pitched sound leaving his mouth. “Jesus, sweetheart.” He sighed. “Considering we fuck like rabbits? Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

“Happy 4-20,” you teased, pushing back on his cock and reveling in the squelching sound and the way his cock buried even deeper inside you.

He gasped, tightening his grip on your hips. “Happy 4-20, baby.”

It took you and Eddie about two more hours to come down from desire, the intimacy too alluring in this state. It had only been six months since you started dating, having nothing but time to make up for. And you’d tried to stop after the first round…and the second. Popped some pizza rolls in the oven and tried to put a movie on. Ended up riding him until the timer was up.

And you would never admit to immediately forgetting they were still in the oven. Though, that was Eddie’s fault for not letting you go until you finished. Always a gentleman, that one.

You ended up in a tank top and a new pair of underwear while he threw on some boxers and one of your cropped t-shirts. Cracked open your windows to air out the joint he bought this morning. Let him crank up the music on his phone as you shimmied your way around the apartment, passing the joint back and forth. It was easy to forget to pace yourselves when he was pulling you close and putting it between your lips.

And it was an easy kind of love, the kind you’d always shared. Everything felt just the same as it had, only needing to remove the tension to fully embrace it. Eddie was always touching you now, no matter where you were. Always doting on you and whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

Steve and Robin always complained that you were lovesick idiots—and they were right, of course. Eddie was always blabbering about your shared future, all the plans that were practically set in stone now. There was no room for doubt or questions. 

“I’m gonna marry you, you know,” he murmured, kissing your forehead, one hand on your exposed hip as you swayed. “Just you fucking wait.”

“Mm,” you hummed, your content smile widening. “I’d like that.”

“Yeah?”

You laughed. “Eddie, you’ve told me that, like, a million times since we became official. You already know I wanna marry you, too.”

“Well, I won’t stop,” he promised. “And we’ll have joints at the reception and everyone will dance and we’ll do karaoke and do that cake shoving thing and I’ll have the sickest vows and it’ll be ridiculously cheesy.”

“You’re gonna cry more than me,” you teased. “A big ole baby.”

He giggled. Eddie fucking giggled. It was the cutest goddamn sound you’d ever heard, knowing that he was as elated by your love as you were. Two goddamn smitten idiots. 

“It’s gonna be fucking amazing,” he said, putting the last of the joint up to your lips. Watched as you took a puff. “And we’re gonna slow dance to the Lord of the Rings theme song.”

That made you laugh which then made you cough, stepping away from him and clutching your stomach. 

“Fuck!” he exclaimed, obviously trying not to laugh. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, rushing over to chug the last of your glass of water. Just so you could exclaim, “We are not slow dancing to that.”

“Why not?” he asked, scoffing as he put his unoccupied hand on his hip. “It matches our theme.”

“Our theme?”

“Yeah, like, you’re gonna dress up like Arwen and I’ll be decked out in Aragorn’s sick outfit. It's perfect. What about that don’t you get?”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, and let me guess. You think we’re gonna get replicas of that fucking ring.”

Eddie couldn’t help his goofy laughter, tossing the burnt filter onto the counter before taking your hands in his. “Was that not already established?”

“You’re the absolute worst boyfriend to exist,” you teased, moving to brush his nose with yours. Breathing him in, all hazy and at ease.

“Yeah, but I’m a great husband,” he whispered before kissing you once more.

another thanks to the lovely @strangergraphics for helping me with the dividers and the editing. you're the best I love you mwuah

[jules-writes-stories]

Elucien Week | Day 3 | Adventure | Full Chapter on AO3

A Heart of Gold

A Retelling of King Midas, Lucien x Elain

...The mortal lived in a hovel. But Lucien also noted her straight back, the proud tilt of her chin. The way she lovingly served the meal she prepared for her family. He noted how Silenus immediately went to the tidy bed beside the swept hearth, filled with sweet hay. The neat rows of dried herbs hanging in the rustic alcove. The way Elain cared for all.

Palace or pit, this woman would bring beauty wherever she roamed.

Lucien watched her sisters rise from the table, leaving their plates to retire to their corners of the single room, expecting Elain to tidy up. With a flick of his hand, the dishes were clear of food, stacked upon a cleaned tabletop. Elain gasped. Nesta’s eyes narrowed. “We don’t need your magic here, Fae,” she ground out. The human touched her bracelet of iron. The Prince bit the inside of his cheek to stop from laughing at the superstition.

“Why?” He asked instead. Lucien sat across from the elder man, who had not moved from the corner cot, now carving what looked to be a fox. Elain turned a basket over, and sat upon it.

The eldest responded with a cool, haughty voice. “Because the Fae give, only to receive something in return. Everyone knows that. And we don’t want to owe you any favors.”

Lucien hummed. “It is I, who owe you. For Elain found, and healed, my father’s pegasus.” He gestured to Silenus. “You have broken bread with me, and offered me a seat at your hearth.” His golden eye watched Archeron. There was a darkness around the mortal man, an emptiness. A need unmet. His eyes glittered as he watched Lucien.

Lucien turned to Elain. “I need to take Silenus back, tomorrow. To the Day Court.” He immediately felt her sadness tugging at him, making him want to revoke his words. Large brown eyes flicked towards the small horse, now sleeping by the hearth. The Fae Prince expected an argument, or tears. But this human was full of surprises.

Elain nodded and stood. She walked towards her tiny kitchen alcove, and pulled a small rucksack from a shelf. He watched her gathered herbs and ground them up to make a small cache. Then she went to a pewter jar, and took a cup of oats, placing it in a separate pouch. She packed it all into the sack.

Her lower lip quivered, and Lucien could tell, from the way her throat was constricting, that she was trying desperately not to weep. Her eyes were liquid, but her effort was so valiant, he could not help but feel proud. “Here,” she whispered. “He takes the powders in his oats, twice each day. It helps with the pain.” She pushed the sack into his hands, as her voice cracked. “Pardon me,” she whispered again, and slipped away, into the moonlit garden.

He looked down at the canvas bag. This human, with so very little to give, had given her own food to Lucien, a Fae Prince, for his pet. He planned to heal Silenus before they left for Day tomorrow, using magic, and here she was, giving him her hard earned herbal remedies… his chest cracked open at her kindness.

“She is the best thing I have ever done.” Lucien looked up, to see Archeron watching him. “Nesta is my head. Practically born grown, in a full suit of armor. Feyre, my legs. Always running away. But Elain? Elain is my heart.” He groaned, adjusting himself on the cot, then held up the carved fox. He placed it on a small table, beside a fawn.

Lucien stood, noting that both Feyre and Nesta had retired to an adjoining bedroom, closed off by a curtain. “I would like to thank her. Perhaps there is a way, to thank your entire family.” His golden eye whirred, noting the man’s wrapped leg. “I can heal your leg with my magic. And my father, is a High Lord. Perhaps… he can reward you, help your family.” Archeron’s eyes glittered, and that dark void that Lucien sensed with his eye, seemed to grow. It made him uneasy, but he pushed it away.

“First, go comfort my Elain. I imagine she would like to see Silenus off, in whatever way she can.” Archeron seemed tired, and lay his head upon the thread bare pillows.

Lucien nodded, and moved to the back door. He felt nervous—had never comforted a human before. Was it much different from a Fae? He made his way into the small garden, still mostly barren from the winter. Elain was seated on an overturned basin at the edge of the wood. Her shoulders were trembling. He smelled salt. She was weeping. Lucien hated it and needed it to stop.

He crouched beside her. “Elain. Please. I cannot say why, but I do not like your tears.” Her head shot up and she stared at him like he had grown wings. Anger now flashed in her eyes, her beautiful face flushed.

“Well, you do not have to watch me shed them.” She wiped her nose along her sleeve, in a very undignified manner. But tears no longer fell.

Lucien smiled. “It seems that you’ve stopped.”

*                      *                      *

He was certainly too beautiful for his own good. That slow, lazy smile. “So smug, aren’t you?” She huffed and stood. He followed.

“Elain, I never properly thanked you. For saving Silenus. For caring for him. He is only six months old. His parents, Dhahabi and Meallan, they miss him.” Lucien took her hand, like it was the most natural thing in the world. She softened, hearing of the colt’s family.

“I know he needs to go home.” Elain took a breath, her voice cracking again, and whispered, “I will miss him.” Tears fell once again down her cheeks. “He’s my friend, and I have so few these days.” She looked down at her scuffed boots, trying to steel herself. Why couldn’t she be strong, like Nesta, or airy and free, like Feyre? She tried to pull away, but this High Fae, who smelled like sunlight and spice, pulled her into his warmth. Elain let him, for a moment. It felt good to be held, to be touched. She was always so alone…

Lucien stroked her cheek, wiping away her tears with his fingers. And perhaps it was the moonlight, or her sadness, or this magical male standing in her garden, but Elain lifted her hand, and reached out to tuck his soft red hair behind a pointed ear.

He seemed to lean into her touch and said, “what if I invited you to see Silenus home? To meet his family? See where he comes from?” His fingers slipped along the knobs of her spine, a barely there touch, pausing at her lower back, sending sparks up her spine. She squeezed her thighs together and delicious little tremors quaked between her legs. Gods, what was he doing to her? She used to be a gentle lady of good standing.

“I would like that,” she said, “but Nesta would be scandalized.” Lucien tsked, and smiled, like he knew a secret. He could read her mind, couldn’t he?

“Your father may chaperone,” he offered.

Elain’s eyes grew sad. “He cannot travel.” The beautiful male took her hands in his own.

“Elain, I have already offered, as part of my thanks, to heal his leg.” He lifted her hand and brought it to his mouth. “I owe you much. Let me thank you.” And then, he reached out, and mirroring her own move, tucked a single strand of hair behind her ear. “It could be an adventure.”

And when he smiled that time, it was like the sun breaking through, and Elain found it impossible to deny him...

Read the full Chapter on AO3

@the-darkestminds @prythian-fashion @shadowqueenjude @elucienweekofficial @zenkindoflove

[ebitenpura]

Commander Stew

Theron cooks something for the Commander.

Odessen - The Kitchens

A young man sporting a dollop of white hair and refined features entered the communal kitchen of the Alliance carrying a large crate, wearing a plain burlap apron, rubber gloves, and waders over what usually would qualify as a stealth suit–a bit of an odd sight, but one Theron had gotten used to over time.

“Hey! You’re back early. Put ‘em down over there,” Theron glanced over his shoulder, nodding briefly at the young man, then motioning with his head at the kitchen island. Eight squeezed past him as he ran his hands under the faucet, careful not to bump into the other spy. They set down the box on the counter and patiently folded their hands, awaiting instructions.

Theron turned off the sink and flung the remnant droplets off his hands, drying them with a slightly stained checkerboard dish towel.

Even with his fearsome past, Theron found the quiet operative to be pleasant company most days, with Eight acting as his assistant in daily matters ranging from mundane chores to deadly missions. All at the behest of Lana, of course. She was the one who insisted on (see: forced) a pair of helping hands for him after he'd incorrectly assumed she’d wanted him to take on all her burdens.

Not that he was complaining about the extra hands. Certainly not today of all days–he was planning something special, and that required all of the help he could get.

Theron opened the flaps of the crate. Fresh from their gardening plot in the Odessen fields, the box was practically bursting with colorful root vegetables and leafy greens native to the planet. Purple, orange, striped yellows and swirls of blue–all packed with vitamins and the healthy color of a successful crop. Plain proof that their efforts to cultivate more organic food for the personnel had finally given fruit, after several long winters of withered stalks and exhausting meals of food chips.

Theron smiled wryly. He’d have to make a toast to Dr. Oggurrobb’s fertilizer and the Force Enclave’s agricultural knowledge later.

“Will this be enough?” Eight asked, mellow as ever. He watched him coolly through deep umber eyes.

“It’s more than enough,” Theron answered, a bit of uncertainty leaking into his tone as he stared at the foodstuffs. The vegetables taunted him from their comfy spot atop the counter next to the impressive array of knives and cooking utensils laid out side-by-side like an interrogation toolkit. “...I think.” He wiped the tip of his nose.

Theron hated to admit it, but he was no culinarian. Master Zho had never taught him (really, what could you teach a kid to cook in the wilderness besides canned goods and pre-packaged rations), and his stint as a SIS agent since his youth had left him with little time to prepare nor care. The extent of his cooking repertoire could quickly be summed up to sticking a frozen Orobird leg in the flash oven and waiting for two minutes, sadly.

So why was he making an effort now?

The image of the Commander’s tired face weary from battle and sleepless nights, aging lines etched deep into their skin with the carvings of a destiny too large for one person, flashed in Theron’s mind. He’d seen the way they’d fought–skipped meals, denied themselves sleep, hid the way their gaze turned vacant when they thought no one was looking, left their cafeteria plate practically untouched, compounded blackened bottoms of endless cups of caf, the stims—the Commander was burning themselves at both ends.

Hypocritical as it was, he couldn’t stand watching them drive themselves into the ground. The galaxy’s fate was important, but…not as important as they were to Theron. Yet he found himself at a loss; what words he wanted to tell them to eat better, to sleep more, to stop hurting themselves fell short whenever the Commander gave him that one look. That look of resignation, deep as the dull ache that would settle in his chest afterwards.

“I’m okay,” They’d tell him, smiling wan, “Thank you, Theron.” It’s alright. It’s nothing. Don’t worry about me.

Like hell he couldn’t. He–

“Theron…?”

Theron snapped out of his reverie, realizing he’d been wringing the dishcloth far too tightly for too long. Eight stared at him, puzzled. He released it. His knuckles returned to their previous pink.

“...Sorry. Just. Tired,” Theron shook his head, massaging his temples. Tired. Yeah. He was sure someone else was too, and he hadn’t asked Eight to come here to watch him have a breakdown. Pushing off from the counter, he clapped his hands together, mustering up a second wind. “Let’s get to work. Shall we?”

Commander Stew

Ingredients:

Young Makrin Legs

Orobird Soup Stock

Rootleaf, 1 Head

Imperial-issued Instant Glowblue Noodles, 1 Package

Republic Synth-Ham and Grophet Sausages

Odessen Wild Onions

Mandalorian Spice Sauce

Zakuulan Swamp Glowshrooms

Slice of Ration Cheese

Directions:

Prepare the young makrin legs by soaking them in water and shaving the fibrous exterior with a peeler.

Theron stared at the unassuming pile of…legs that resembled roots more than they did the limbs of any creature, and secretly shuddered. Makrins weren’t particularly uncommon on terrestrial worlds, but their crabby, tree-like appearance and tendency to wallow in loam didn't make them his first choice to eat. He wasn't exactly opposed to adventurous cuisine, but he wondered how exactly the legs of a chitinous creature equaled something that would make the Commander more appetized.

As if sensing his cause for pause, Eight peered over his shoulder where he stood frozen with peeler in hand. “The Jedi recommended them for use in medicinal dishes. When eaten boiled, it lowers blood pressure, and contains many nutrients.” He said thoughtfully, as if reading an entry from an encyclopedia.

“Is that so.” Theron inwardly balked at the mention of the Jedi–a little known fact was that Master Zho had raised him on Jedi cuisine, most of it vegetarian, but even then he hadn’t sampled every bit of agriculture the galaxy had to offer. Makrin legs were a bit out there, but seeing as they were native to Odessen, recommended by the enclave and another piece of stress relief on a plate for the Commander? His survival training told him the harmless limbs could only benefit, despite their gnarly appearance.

Remove the tips and fibrous base. When cleaned and processed, set aside.

He buckled down and began shaving the legs. Lack of proper nutrition was always a deciding factor in conflict–Theron had seen his fair share of soldiers who contracted disease from improper eating and lack of supplies– and he would feed the Commander any bit of ugly vegetables if it meant seeing a little more life restored to their pallid cheeks. His fingers found their rhythm as he removed the tough outer skin from the legs exposing their soft white core beneath the blade of the peeler, their texture reminding him oddly of Dantooinian tubers with an extra coat of slime.

Slice and dice half of a medium-sized onion.

Theron had to pretend he wasn't looking particularly emotional as he chopped the onion. Or maybe he was simply brought to tears at the thought that their food could have flavor for once, all thanks to the Alliance’s team of scouts who procured such supplies for them from the unmapped regions of Odessen’s wilds. Eight was among that team, hence Theron's willingness to let an Imp spy of all people join him in cooking. There was only a small handful of people he could use to conceal his efforts from the Commander, and Theron would make use of both his ability to obtain food in secret and his espionage skills to see this through, opposing factions be damned.

And if others worried about poisoning, well. He didn't pride himself on being Chief of Security for nothing. The safety of the Commander was his priority, as were the characters of those he chose to fight alongside them. They were his responsibility. His to trust with their most important fight and everything in-between. Theron couldn't afford to keep the old grudges that the Republic and Empire maintained in these desperate times, and he would not fall victim to their need to blind themselves with their unending war. He had to fight for what was important, and that was…people. Not sides.

Theron would always be a son of the Republic at his heart. But now his heart belonged to another, and those lines had long blurred.

Slice the glowshrooms length-wise, removing the head from the stems. Set aside.

Clean and cut the rootleaf in half, then the following halves into quarters; chop into smaller squares until you have about 1 cup’s worth of rootleaf. Store the rest in a cool, refrigerated place.

Unpackage the Synth-Ham, Republic Ration #0625, and slice to desired thickness.

Theron opened the can of mystery meat and upended it onto the chopping board. The green ham-like substance plopped onto it with gelatinous grace. He poked it with his cooking knife. It jiggled away from the tip.

Eight placed an empty pot next to him along with a can of opened grophet sausages and an unwrapped package of Imperial ration Glowblue Noodles, their signature color shining through the foil. Theron quickly thanked him out of the corner of his mouth.

Arrange the rootleaf, onion, makrin legs, and glowshrooms at the bottom of the pot in even layers.

Add a helping of Mandalorian Spiced Sauce on top.

Theron couldn't forget Torian and his people. They were the ones who suggested using their own spices for the hotpot, as “no other spice in the galaxy compares to that of a Mando’s.” Though he’d initially expressed some reservations at setting the Commander’s tongue aflame, this special mix had been made with their preference in mind; Shae had been so impressed by their valor that she presented several crates worth as a gift after the battle of Darvannis. Spices were a luxury if not a grand gesture in wartime, and not one Theron intended to use lightly.

Add the Synth-Ham, grophet sausages, and top with a slice of ration cheese over the previous ingredients.

Finally, add the Glowblue Noodles and 3 liters of Orobird stock.

Theron blinked at the finished product. “Wait a minute. This is…”

“Revanite stew?” Eight once again helpfully supplied.

It was Theron’s turn to ask the questions as he raised a suspicious brow towards his sous-chef. “They ate this during the coalition, when the camps combined. How did you get the same recipe?”

Eight smiled quietly to himself, in his mysterious and elusive way. “Our Commander was there. It was their idea to share food across factions. I still haven't forgotten its taste. If you ask any of the soldiers from that time, they will say the same.”

Theron stared at him, speechless. To think the same recipe he’d been making this entire time was a result of their union on Rishi…he recalled seeing Imperial and Republic soldiers bonding over a cookpot, but hadn't joined in, content to watch the proceedings from a distance. So much had happened during Revan’s rise that he’d failed to pay enough attention to something so innocuous as a moment of camaraderie between unlikely allies.

It had been their idea to eat something both Imperial and Republic that fateful night. To form the basis of their Alliance over a simple, warm bowl of soup.

Theron felt his heart swell.

He…he had to remind them of what they had built. What they meant to him. With this.

Set on top of a burner and deliver to recipients with bowls to share.

Theron held his breath as he wheeled the cart of foodstuffs to the Commander’s quarters, careful to avoid jostling the stew that balanced atop it as he reached his destination. He rapped on the door with the back of his knuckles.

A puff of pnematic air revealed the Commander, yawning wearily from yet another sleepless night of work and burdens. “Yes–” They stopped. “Theron? What are you doing here?” They eyed his cart. “And what's with all the food?”

Theron cracked a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thought you could use some dinner, so…I brought you some. If you don't mind, that is.” He quickly added, feeling out of place in the deserted hallway.

The Commander smiled, a genuine one that reached their eyes, crinkling at the edges. “I’d love to try whatever you made. Come in, we can eat it together.” They stepped aside to allow Theron room to maneuver.

Enjoy with your intended party.

As expected, it was delicious.

Not as filling as seeing the Commander laugh to the point of tears at his explanations as to why he'd been so secretive all week trying to hide the fruits of his cooking from them, but filling nonetheless. He'd give it a 5/5, personally, as a true soup for the soul. (And a note to make it again with less sneaking around).

If the Commander was satisfied and satiated... so was he.

[xiihyunn]

Knife Play (18+)

Jenna Ortega x fem!reader

warning: murderer jenna, sexual assault, some angst, futile boy, murder, blood, gore, knife play, biting, marking, gagging, praising/degrading kink, rough rough sex, a tiny fingering, riding, carving, more blood, cunnilingus, slapping, a bit of cnc, possessiveness, and obsession.

summary: — everybody loves jenna ortega. the young talented and beautiful actress who wouldn't hurt a fly, and you just somehow love your girlfriend even more. but after what percy did to you, something dark inside of jenna snaps.

word count: 3.2k

> masterlist

a/n: its was a request and tbh kinda shit, but enjoy. finger yourself for me.

3rd person POV

Giggles were heard throughout Jenna’s trailer. Sitting across from each other on her table, you reach for the cup of water near you, as Jenna takes a spoon full of food to her mouth. It was lunch time, and all the actors and actresses for the new series, Wednesday, were currently eating.

The day went by normally, you waking up on Jenna's bed, showering together to 'save water', and went to film. Nothing unusual happened, but it didn't last long.

Before the lunch break, Percy was giving you way too much attention. Ever since you stepped foot into Romania, and met the other casts, he had his eyes on you.

You and Jenna's relationship was public, her fans knew, your fans knew, both of your circle of friends knew, and even the staff on set.

So when Percy asked you out on a date in front of everyone, in front of Jenna, the room was filled with awkward silence. Before you could even reject him nicely, Jenna had snapped at him then dragged you out of his view.

And now you were here laughing at how cute your girlfriend looked being jealous.

"J, calm down okay? You're the one I want, and not him." You smiled at the woman in front of you. Jenna was huffing, avoiding your eye contact.

"Was he fucking blind or something? Hell, even Helen Keller could tell we're dating." Jenna said, as she eats another spoon of her food. You playfully shake your head, "Now don't be rude to our girl Keller, Jen."

You take your plate and place it down on the sink. You turn and walk over to Jenna, she is playing with her food, resting her head on her hand as she rolls the small meatball back and forth on the plate.

Jenna had a mad look on her face, the grip on the fork was fairly noticeable, and her sharp breaths were evident.

Grabbing her cheek, you made her face you. Jenna's eyes finally looked at yours, and her stiff brows finally softened. "I love you, Jen." You whispered.

"I love you too, Y/n." Brushing your thumb across her bottom lip, Jenna's eyes flicker to yours, as she leans in for a kiss.

Meeting each other's lips, you felt Jenna's body relaxing. You chuckled in the kiss, she tasted like the spaghetti you both just ate.

You retreated from the kiss. Once you opened your eyes, you saw a confused looking Jenna staring at your orbs. "Why did you laugh?" Jenna pouts.

"You taste like spaghetti, babe." Jenna's cheeks turn red, as she smiles at you. "My bad," Jenna said.

While Jenna was washing both of your dishes, you on the other hand was preparing her Wednesday uniform. Cleaning her trailer for some time, Jenna was finished.

Wiping her wet hands on her pants, Jenna grabbed and wore her coat. "Baby, I have to buy some snacks for the pantry. I'll be back on 10, wait for me," You hummed in acknowledgement, as you gave Jenna a quick peck on the lips.

"Alright. Stay safe, Jen,"

Jenna gave you one last smile and goodbye, as she opened the trailer door and left.

—

The sound of a door opening caught your attention. It had only been 5 minutes, and honestly you thought Jenna was gonna take much more time than that, knowing the convenience store is like 4 blocks away.

You were scrolling on your phone laying on her bed, you looked up expecting to see your lovely girlfriend, but instead it was Percy.

You were caught off guard by him standing and looking down at you. "Um, hey Perc, do you need anything..?" You say at the edge of Jenna's bed, waiting for him to answer.

Percy smiles at you, and shakes his head. "Oh nothing, I just wanted to see what you were doing." You can't help but to give him a weird look, "Why couldn't you just wait 'till lunch break was over?" You asked him.

His right eye slightly twitches from the tone of your voice, but you caught it. Percy just stood there, smiling at you with his face all red. You bit your lip feeling incredibly uncomfortable, but then Percy started to rub his clothed crotch.

"What are you doing?" Your eyes were wide, looking at him humping his dick in front of you. Percy just smirks, as his eyes roam around your body and specifically your breast.

Percy continued to palm his center area, and it left you baffled. "What the hell Percy, you're fucking insane." You stood up and grabbed him by his arm, pushing him to leave the trailer.

As you were about to push him even more, Percy grabs both of your shoulders and pins you on the near wall. His tall figure pressing your body hard.

You felt his hard on pressing into your pelvis making you slightly gag. "Get off of me!" You shouted at him, as you tried to push his body off of you.

"You women are just meant to be fucked and used by us men, now shut the fuck up and take my dick in you whore."

Just as Percy was about to kiss you, the trailer door slammed open.

"What the fuck!?"

You tilt your head to look at Jenna staring at you, and then at Percy. Jenna saw the displeasure look on your face, and she pushed Percy hard making him stumble to the ground.

"What do you think you're doing to my girlfriend you asshole!" Jenna got on top of the shocked boy, and landed a punch on his nose.

Jenna felt her hand throb in pain, but she didn't care. All of the built up anger and jealousy Jenna had come crashing down, as she fists Percy's collar pulling him close up to her face.

"I'll fucking kill you, Hynes." Jenna saw red. Jaw tensing, nose flaring, and she was losing all her senses of control. Rage was making Jenna sick, the sides of her vision were slowly becoming black and it covered her whole sight.

Even the thought about him even daring to touch what was hers, made Jenna mad. And now he did, and he was going to pay for it.

"Jenna stop!"

Jenna snapped out of her trance, looking at your crying figure holding her arm. You sobbed, pulling her closer to you, Jenna immediately hugged you.

Patting your head, she kissed your ear. "It's alright, baby. I'm here, I'm here." You hugged her neck, tears slowly falling to her shirt. Jenna continued to pat your hair, but then she felt something wet on her hands.

Wet and sticky.

She looked down and saw her bloody hands. It was Percy's blood, but also some of it were hers. Jenna looked over to the side and saw him, Percy was groaning, clutching his bloody and broken nose, as he tried to crawl away from her.

His face looked really bad.

Looking down at her hands again, Jenna felt something inside of her. It was almost tickling her almost, the now dry blood staining her skin felt good. Too good.

Jenna smiles, and continues to comfort your shaken up state.

The blood on her hand felt right. It felt like she was made for this, and it felt like blood was always supposed to be there.

And thought that made Jenna smile even more.

—

It was bright in the streets of Romania despite it being 11pm. Jenna was still on set since the director heard what happened on the trailer, and they were planning to fire Percy.

You wanted to wait for your girlfriend but she told you to go home, and get some sleep after the incident. Knowing Jenna was persistent and hardheaded, you left the set and your manager drived you to Jenna's house.

You told her you wanted to stop by at 711's to get some instant noodles, and some chicken for Jenna to eat when she comes back. Grabbing your plastic back, you went inside the car and drove off once more.

You gave your manager a quick goodbye and thank you, as you opened the gate of Jenna's house. Walking towards her front door, you swiped a card at the card reader, only for it to ding meaning the door was already opened.

Weird. You thought.

We probably forgot to lock it before we left this morning. Shrugging off the feeling, your fingers twist the handle, and there it was.

Something felt wrong, really wrong. The hairs on the back of your shoulders were standing, and every fiber of your being told you not to open the door. A gut wrenching feeling made its way up your throat, as you exhale a cold breath.

Run.

That's what your subconscious told you. Your 6th senses were tingling, and you felt your instincts creeping up.

Oh if this was a scream movie, you'll definitely get killed. Don't you know the rules?

In one big breath you opened the door, and the sight in front of you drained all the blood off your face.

Jenna panted, wiping off the dripping blood off of her face. She stood with confidence, as Percy's body was on the floor bloody, and lifeless.

Adrenaline was coursing in Jenna's veins, looking down at the dead body of Percy Hynes White. The white carpet was now stained in crimson red blood, thick, and almost slimy by the blood clots slowly forming.

The smell of fresh human remains filled your nostrils. Dropping the plastic bag, you covered your nose and mouth with a small shriek.

Jenna's eyes looked back at your frozen state. You didn't look at her, the body on the living room floor caught your attention more.

You held your breath as your eyes finally met Jenna's. Panic visible in your face, you blinked rapidly.

"I-I…" You whispered.

Jenna's eyes were cold, and distant. They looked dead, and empty, but somehow it was still familiar.

Jenna stood there staring at you, her bloody clothes, and her bloody bloody face was deadpan. A tear of blood fell down to her forehead, and onto her jaw, and Jenna clutched her knife in hand.

"Jenna, what did you do..?" Slowly walking towards your bloody girlfriend, you made her body face yours. Holding her forearm, you looked up.

"Baby, let's go clean you up okay? A-And then let's.. let's go to the police.." Jenna's face suddenly changed, her cold stare turned angry.

"Jen—" Jenna tackles you to the ground. Pinning your wrists above your head with one hand, and the other bringing the wet knife up to your throat.

"No one is telling no one shit, darling."

The tip of the knife touching your chin, you gulped and looked at the woman in front of you. Jenna had a smirk on her bloody lips, licking them with her tongue, her eyes flickering to your lips.

You exhaled softly, looking at Jenna's eyes on your lips. Jenna smashes your lips together. Sucking harshly on your flesh, you tasted something metallic making you tear up at the thought of eating Percy's blood.

Jenna angles the knife to your throat and pressed it, you groaned in pain on her lips, as you tried to move your head away.

"Stay fucking still." Jenna muttered, pushing the knife further into your neck, drawing blood. You whined in pain, feeling the burning and stinging sensation.

Jenna forced her tongue inside of your mouth, lapping up your saliva with hers, as she sucks on your hot and wet muscle.

She retreats the knife away from your throat, and places it to her side. Wrapping her hands around your neck like a necklace, her thumb gaze over the open wound, and you hissed in pain once more.

You felt the blood on the carpet being sucked into your clothes. Uncomfortable at the warm feeling on your back, as Jenna disconnected your lips together with a small trail of saliva on each of your lips.

"You're mine. Only fucking mine." Jenna grabs the knife again. Still holding your hands in place, she slides the blade underneath your shirt, and cuts the fabric upward.

Missing your face for a centimeter, the cold wind hits your exposed top. "W-Wait Jenna, I-I don't think it's time for us to be doing this right now…" You plead, in your peripheral vision his body was just next to you.

Tugging your wrists aways from her grip, Jenna laughs. "God killing him felt so, so good, baby," Jenna cut her way through your shorts, and you laid there only in your underwear.

"The way I stabbed, twisted, and stabbed him again and again felt amazing." Cutting your bra and panties, you groan softly at her. You wrapped your legs around Jenna's waist, as she bent down over to your tits.

The angle made your cunt hole open. Jenna's hips rubbing your clit with enough force to make you hold out a moan. It felt so good, but so wrong.

This is so fucking wrong. You thought, as a shooting pleasure made its say to your core when Jenna grinds on your pussy.

"His blood was just squirting everywhere in the room, as I slit his throat. Baby, you should've seen it~" Jenna let go of your wrist, and discarded her own clothes on top of Percy's body.

"And now I'm wondering if I could also make you squirt.."

Jenna's hands groped both of your breasts in her hands, as she took one in her mouth. "Jenna—" A moan escapes your lips. She bit down on your nipple, hard, causing you to tug on her scalp.

Jenna snakes her other hand down to your core. "God Y/n, you're fucking soaked." Jenna muttered on your tits, as she took the other one in, sucking it like milk was going to come out.

She runs her middle and ring finger on your wet slit, coating your whole cunt with your arousal. Jenna's palm occasionally bumping your clit, your nails dug on her arm.

Jenna sat on the floor. Opening both of your legs wide, she grabs the knife. "A little carving won't hurt right, baby?" Your breaths rigid and irregular, you gently shook your head.

"Please don't.." You whisper.

Jenna slaps your pussy. "I didn't hear you, darling. What was it again?" She trails the edge on your inner thighs, and stops on your clit.

The cold metal hit you, as your body started to shake. "P-Please Jenna.. don't," Shaking your head once more, Jenna strikes a toe curling smack on your pussy.

You bucked on your hip at her, biting your bottom lip as a tear fell down your face. "What did you say, Y/n..?" Blood was seeping out of your core's lips, as the small cuts drew blood.

Your pussy was burning, and stinging. Was it from the pain? Or the pleasure? You couldn't tell.

"Fuck Jenna— Yes, yes! Carve your name into my skin, please.." Jenna smirks and slices a huge 'J' on your inner thighs, as she slaps your tits.

"What a fucking whore."

You were about to inhale another set of breaths, but the moment you opened your mouth, Jenna pushed 2 bloody fingers inside and wasted no time to touch the back of your throat.

Gagging at your girlfriend's finger, you hold onto her wrist, as she pushes something inside of you.

It felt weird. It was something hard but it wasn't a dildo, it felt long and textured.

Rolling your eyes back, you looked down to see Jenna holding the sharp part of the knife, her own blood dripping onto the carpet.

"So beautiful.." Jenna slams the handle further inside of you, as you moan on her fingers. You gagged again, but she pounded it inside of you. Your muffled moans fill the room, as your tits rocked back and forth wildly from the rough movements.

Feeling the plastic fucking your insides, you started to meet Jenna's thrust. "That's it, princess. You enjoy me fucking you with a knife right?" Jenna takes the whole thing out, before slamming it back into you, hitting the entrance of your womb.

Saliva was dripping down on your mouth, as Jenna pushed her fingers deeper. She angles the knife upward, and your legs start shaking.

"O-Oh fu-ck. Jenn-a right t-her!" You start choking on your own saliva, and Jenna finally removes her fingers from your mouth only for her to kiss your lips hungrily.

You tightened around the handle, as you felt your orgasm coming. "Be a good little girl and cum, Y/n." Jenna bites your neck. Her teeth sinking deep into your skin, as you moan out juices slipping out of your cunt.

Your orgasm washed over your body like a wave, your hips shaking violently on the handle. "Fuck—!" Jenna licks the surface of your bloody neck, lapping up the dripping vital fluid, and drinking them with a forceful suck.

Taking the handle out, Jenna wraps her legs on yours, making a scissoring position. "Wait!" Jenna's cold and wet cunt touches your clit, making you release a throaty moan.

Jenna's lips curved up into a smirk, as she rested one of your legs onto her shoulder. Rolling her hip, her clit brushes into yours.

Jenna grabs your pairs and squeezed them. Making them a tool to sit up straight, when she thrust into you more. "The amount of time I fingered myself to your tits, imagining them to be my personal little stress ball.."

You closed your eyes intensely, biting back your moans, but Jenna slaps the side of her knife to your cheek. "Open your eyes you slut, look how good I'm fucking your pretty pussy."

Wet slapping noises were getting louder and louder, making you flustered. Jenna trails the knife once more on your stomach and the sharp edge sitting directly on your nipple.

You felt yourself almost at your high. Toe curling, back arching, mouth agape, and overstimulation, as Jenna's hand reached to her back and suddenly pushed through your entrance, with 2 inside, she fingers you.

Grinding her hip, clit to clit, and Jenna's fingers curling inside of you, "I-I'm gonna cum.." You panted. "Fuck, me too baby." Bucking into her fingers once more, as you tightened around her fingers.

"Cum for me, princess."

Your body convulses, as your high comes rolling on your figure. Both of you moaning each other's name, your muscles gave out and went limp.

Your eyes meeting Jenna's. Your body aches in pain, tears swell your eyes, as guilt fills your veins. With a shaky breath, you tried to push your girlfriend away, only for her to slash the knife on your tits.

Blood gushes out of your chest. Moaning and groaning in pain, you throw your head back, feeling the black void consume you fully.

"I said, you're fucking mine."

—

y'all chill, u didn't die

[ricardian-werewolf]

Chapter 9: Portrait of a Dead Girl/Beautiful Boy.

Ao3 Link

Summary:

Alina has hit rock bottom. It takes a hard look from Zoya and Genya to get her back up. She has sheathed her claws long enough. Now, she is out for blood.

Notes:

Title taken from two songs by the Last Dinner Party Apologies for the long, long delay. Midterms swallowed me whole, and horrific writers block sapped me of any energy. I hope y'all enjoy!

Taglist: @lordbettany, @dreadbirate, @fauxraven, @hysterionic @rovinglemon

Chapter below the cut!

Alina’s sleep was plagued by painful nightmares. 

It seemed as though the memories of the past few months could not flee her mind, even in the depths of post-amplification fever. She tossed and turned in the bed, feeling the pitch-dyed satin sheets rustle as she moved about. The antlers were horrific to get comfortable with sleeping in, since them being around her neck caused some issues. Finally, it seemed as though days had passed, she awoke. As her eyes adjusted, they locked onto the sight of a creature on her chest, snuggled close under her chin and began to purr . It had seemingly endless shadowy limbs that writhed and reformed with every movement it made. 

“Oh..” Alina whispered weakly. “Who are you from?” She asked it as it yawned, showing a gaping maw of endless teeth that glittered like distant stars. It couldn’t have been the Darkling. He wasn’t kind enough to send her something like this. No, it had to have been Nikolai.

Alina looked up as a sudden intake of breath filled the room, and stilled at the sight of Genya and Zoya carrying a box of tea and a tray of food respectively. Zoya’s hair was frazzled and crackled with static. Her left cheek bore a long, dark smear of grease or oil. Genya was perfectly pristine, though she now bore an eyepatch on her ruined eye made of the same blood red fabric with the blue embroidery of her Kefta . Both women looked extremely fetching, though even their powers couldn’t hide the crushing exhaustion of being in the Darkling’s camp. The fear of reprisal and violation hung over everything with the delight of plague . 

“Morning.” Zoya replied briskly as she marched over to the samovar and set about brewing a pot of tea for them. She fiddled with a match, finally coaxing the wind to allow the sparks to light. She grumbled in Kerch as she worked, never liking to be the one relegated to tea-girl duty. Meanwhile, Genya took out a bowl, saucer and cup from the box on the tray. She held up the plate silently to Zoya. her first finger pointed at the black porcelain with gold rim and in the centre of the plate’s surface, the Darkling’s symbol combined with Alina’s.

Zoya rolled her eyes, and mouthed tacky.

Genya snorted, then stiffened as Alina sat up. The critter gave a sort of almost purr, and skittered across the sheets to sit on Alina’s lap. Genya lifted the lid on the tray and grimaced down at the dinner given to her by the harried cook. Canned vegetable and pheasant soup with hardtack, and wafer thin slivers of chocolate. Peaches swimming in their juices were in a cut crystal bowl, carved into the shapes of suns. Alina noted all of it, and her lip wobbled. She pushed back her greasy hair, feeling the collar around her throat digging into her windpipe, and winced.

“How am I supposed to eat?” She asked softly, feeling the hollows of her cheeks. She felt the antlers around her neck, probing the infected edges. A sob formed in her throat, and she buried her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook as she clutched the critter to her chest until it gave a plaintive cry of pain. Her hands crept up to her hair and she tugged her long, ragged nails through her dirty tresses. She and Nikolai were no more than a half mile apart, and yet she couldn’t go to him. She was bed bound despite her body and mind being whole and hale. Yet…

You’re weak, Alina. Mal’s been shot, Genya had her eye ripped out, Nikolai is dying, and you’re here, in bed, crying .

“SHUT UP!” Alina cried, clapping a hand over her mouth in shock. She’d not meant to say that aloud. Genya and Zoya jumped, their faces paling. Zoya gave Alina a sideways glance and her eyes roamed the antlers around the girl’s neck. She looked at the older girl like a cornered, wild animal. The months of being on the run, constantly looking over her shoulder and waiting for the Darkling’s snare to take had broken her. 

“Self doubt?” The squaller inquired as she poured tea. Alina’s greasy hair and her evident distress made Zoya’s heart twist with pain. She had never truly hated Alina, merely seen her as a threat to her power over the other Grisha. Power, she realised now, was something none of them held. That was all the Darkling. She crossed over to Alina’s side and pressed the tea into her hands. A wave of her hand removed the grease buildup in Alina’s curls and she sighed in relief. Her wan face and plain features were starker in the soft light of the oil lamps that wavered and sputtered around the room, like miniature suns. 

“Is Nikolai…?” Alina whispered, daring not to speak of his condition aloud.

“He’s alive. Recovering.” Genya squeezed Alina’s hand. “On his feet already.”

Her eyes brightened at once, and she moved to get out of bed, but Zoya pushed her back down. “You won’t be able to see him, Alina. We must make the Darkling think he’s sicker than he is.”

Alina glared at Zoya. 

She glared back. 

“I knew that.” Alina snipped, sipping her tea. Zoya hid a brief smile at the surprised expression on the sun Summoner’s face. Even one of the darkling’s favourites knew how to brew a cup of bloody tea. Genya rolled her eyes - eye - and sighed. She turned to examining Alina’s food again and beckoned Zoya over. In low tones of the southern Ravkan districts, the two girls discussed feeding Alina.

“She can probably feed herself.” Genya grimaced. “But the Antlers…” She gave a helpless shrug. Zoya snorted. 

“They’re in her collarbone , Safin. She won’t be choking anytime soon.” 

“She certainly thinks so.” Genya rubbed at her jaw and turned back to the food. She laid the hardtack against the soup’s surface to soak and handed Alina the tray of food. Alina stared down at it for a moment, then began to eat silently. For all of her training at Ana Kuya’s hands, the starvation of amplification made her forgo her manners. As she drank down the dregs of soup with the bowl’s rim at her lips, her eyes skirted to Zoya again. 

“Why’re you helping me?” She asked as she wiped the back of her hand against her mouth. Zoya raised a brow. “Should I not be?” She shot back. “If your estimates are correct, I should have put strychnine in that soup.” Crossing her arms, the squaller sighed and rubbed at the bridge of her nose.

“I hate him as much as you do, Alina, if not more.” She raised her gaze again and shook out her cuffs. “I’m not doing this out of a desire to be your friend, or some sort of cuddly word. We’re allies. We watch one another’s backs, the three of us.” Zoya looked at Genya and then back to Alina. “We all bear his scars.” She replied cryptically. 

Genya sat down beside Alina and turned to digging through the drawers of Alina’s vanity. Her face was pale, the black wounds stretching long over her empty eye socket and face. She looked monstrous, as horrific as Zoya’s amplified wrist and Alina’s collarbone. The Darkling’s greed took and took, caring not for a sinner or a saint. Her fingers closed around a black package of silk tied with a pitch coloured ribbon, and she stilled. Alina looked over her shoulder, knowing instantly what that was.

The kefta she had been ordered to wear to the Winter Fete. The one she had refused to wear. The cycle had come back to the beginning. Once more, Alina was powerless, everything out of her control. She cut her gaze to Genya again as the Tailor smoothed down the crinkles in the tissue paper. “Is… is there more?” She breathed, looking at the other drawers. Genya nodded, and began pulling out more silk-wrapped packets. It was a wedding trousseau. This vanity was a glorified steamer trunk with drawers and a closet, turned on its side. 

Alina closed her eyes and pressed her palms to her face. She didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t want to sit here in this bed with sheets that weren’t hers, in a tent that wasn’t adorned with her symbols. It wasn’t just the collar that kept her bound here. There was more. A noose so tight and so secretive that she couldn’t say she was being strangled without sounding like a madwoman. 

“Alina.” Genya’s hand reached out, gripping her wrists tight with the strength of manacles. “Stay here. Stay here, with me.” Her eyes - eye - was wide, like some sort of cornered animal. Alina supposed she must be much the same. A broken girl with nothing to offer the world, not even her light. She squeezed her eyes shut, let the tears drip down her face once more. What was strength when one’s aims and hopes were scattered to the four winds? What was trust and mercy when the knife was always plunged back into the same gaping wound, always twisting?

There would be no bandaging up this scar, no hiding the pain of this cut. 

“Is he alive?” Cecily choked, thinking in that moment not of Nikolai but Mal. She didn’t give two shits about him, but knowing he was alive was her sign of the Darkling’s mental stability. If he hadn’t killed such an insignificant tracker, then Nikolai would be safer a little longer. 

“Yes.” Zoya replied automatically. “It seems he still has a need for that wretched boy.” She looked over her shoulder at Alina, goading the girl. If rage kept her out of the endless dark pit that was defeat, by the saints, Zoya would be the first in line to keep her upright. The three of them, they kept one another marching, teeth bared and claws unsheathed.

“What kind of need?” Alina growled, leaning forward in the bed. The tray on her lap teetered ominously. Zoya leaned over, her hands clamped down hard on the wood to keep Alina from kicking it up at the Squaller’s next words:

“The need to keep you like some whimpering, simpering whore of a girl.” She purred. The crack of Alina’s fist colliding with Zoya’s nose was welcome. Genya looked up, her eye widening. She stepped forward at once to repair the bones, and Zoya sighed in relief. Shaking out her cuffs, she glared at Alina, who spat out a wad of rock-hard carrot.

“I want that fucker’s head.” She growled. “On his own heraldic platter.”

“Consider it a given, Starkov.” Zoya groaned. “But first we need to cut it off. And to do that, you need to stop lying around crying hysterically. You’ve been through worse shit. Pull yourself up.” She ordered.

Alina swore.

“You…” She scrunched up her face and glared at Genya. “You’re in on this.”

“Of course.” The Tailor snorted. “As Zoya said, I want that fucker as dead as you do. He made me into what I am. I want him to suffer as the Tsar has.” She pushed up the cuffs of her Kefta and picked up Alina’s tray. 

“You in, or are you going to keep cowering in that bed, Starkov?” 

Alina sucked at her teeth for a moment, then touched the antlers again. She remembered the way the stag had been cut down at the Darkling’s orders, the rage and powerlessness she felt at his hand. His leeching of her power, what was not his. Her light, snuffed out.

Something within her writhed, gnashing its teeth. It wasn’t some sort of animal of prey, hunted and cornered like a wild rabbit. No, it was  far more vicious, a pure predator . She looked up at Genya and Zoya again, and pushed the sheets back. The cold air was a shock, but she ground her teeth and forced herself past it.

Swinging her legs down, she stood on steady legs. Her white nightgown swept the floor as she gripped the edge of her vanity and glared at herself in the mirror. She had avoided staring at herself until now, and she forced herself to focus on the antlers, their silver gleam reflected in all of the honey-combed oil lamps and candles scattered around the tent. As her rage rose, the lamps flickered and flared, blooming like miniature, wavering suns.

The creature of pure shadow Nikolai had made her brushed against her feet, chittering excitedly. It purred as she picked it up in her hands and placed it on the vanity in front of her. Glancing through the mirror at Zoya and Genya once more, she gave them steady, sharp stares.

“Call him in.”

It was full night by the time he came to see her.

The Darkling stepped once more into Alina’s tent expecting darkness. What he found, instead, was light . The gas lamps and candles around the space glowed with the light of suns. Alina herself stood by the vanity, dressed in the black kefta he had originally given her for the Winter Fête, her hair pinned up and decked with the infamous garnets of Obetz. The yellow stones suited her ink-dark hair and regal expression. But, what surprised him was the rage that rolled off her skin in waves of visible heat . She radiated power.

Aleksander nearly flinched, nearly let his fear show. He had sought to punch her down, to bring her to heel so that she saw him as her only option. But something, some small seed of righteous power , survived. Not even his hand with the antler’s fragment in it, brought her down. Aleksander averted his gaze for just a second, thinking over what he would say to crack the ground under her feet. Her submission meant everything to him. To chase her, to have her, this maddening obsession, would soothe the raging hunger in his mind.

No matter how much of the world he burned to possess her.

Cocking his head to one side, Aleksander regarded Alina again, saw her hands creep toward the kefta’s collar. Similar to a frill-necked lizard, she pulled the collar out and bared the antlers. her eyes flashed with cold fury.

“You made me this, when we could have been equals.” She spoke softly, but each word was a dagger to his blackened and withered heart, that to him, had just begun to pump blood again. 

Alina… His thoughts scattered with the storm of betrayal she threw at his feet. He looked up at her, swallowed once more. She was wide-eyed, her voice reedy with hysterics. If he could just dig up her old insecurities, threaten her with the Tracker’s death, or Saints forbid Prince Nikolai, she’d crack, shatter even.

But that had been then.

Now, he was face to face with something not even he was sure he could tame, nor bring to heel.

“I did it to protect you. Protect the Grisha. We are hunted, Alina. I did this to ensure your safety-”

The words sounded foreign falling from his lips. What he had done was make her a martyr. She was more the Otkazatsky’as than the Grishas. He could see it now. Sankta Alina, with a golden halo, clothed in gold with the silver antlers glowing with pure light. His work of the antlers was not a power play. She’d find her own way to break free from under him soon enough.

Alina, meanwhile, glowered . She was sick of being afraid of this thousand year old man. Lied to at every turn by him. He wanted her to expand the Fold? Fine. Then she’d feed him to the blasted Volcra that her parents or some such became, and go on her merry ass way with Nikolai.

“You did this to control me. To make me your little pet.” She picked up a glass of kvas , slugged it back. To him, this was no time to be drunk. To Alina, this was what she needed . She cast him a dark glare. 

“You want me to be your little pet?” She snapped. He winced, smoothed it over with a dark cough and a curl of his lips into a smirk. If she agreed to his power play, then it would be so easy for him to keep her pinned down and malleable. Soon it would be so that she could do nothing but watch as he expanded the Fold to cover the whole of the West, to silence their enemies.

There would be no more war, no more of the money-greedy Kerch and their exploitative work against Grisha, no more of Shu Han’s experiments, no more of Fjerda’s Drüskelle. Nothing that threatened their people would remain, and she would herald in a new age of saints. Mechanization had weakened the need for Grisha. By cutting off access to the West, the need for Grisha would surge, rearing its head. They would be necessary once more, honoured . A deposition of the current Tzar and him taking the throne would all slot together perfectly.

It would be only Ravka. Nothing else would dare breathe, dare go against them. Novyi Zem and its honouring of Grisha would allow them to survive. Until Aleksander got bored and decided to colonise them. However, that would be a problem that was best suited to a few years' time down the line.

Alina sniffed, and slapped the glass down onto the table, which he noted with a wince, was carved with his symbol - the sun in eclipse. She stared at him, and pursed her lips. Crossing her arms over her chest so that the double sunburst on the front of her kefta was hidden, she raised a brow.

“Fine.”

He blinked. She’s agreeing? Why isn’t she fighting me? She should be screaming, be cursing my name aloud, be… His thoughts trailed off, and he stiffened. Something felt off, felt wrong . No girl he’d broken like her before had been so willing to turn around and accept his offer of submission. They so often bared their teeth, never letting his hands near their fragile, trembling pulse points on their throats. But Alina had. She had bared her throat with all of the fire and regalness of a queen, and in turn unsettled him.

He could only stare at her, open mouthed. 

“When do we leave?”

Aleksander stilled as he stepped toward the tent flap. The carriages were waiting. The Tracker had fled in the night, and Prince Nikolai had been sent south to recover in the Royal Army Hospital outside Poliznaya. Nothing would protect Alina from him.

Perhaps that’s why she’s so agreeable to me. He thought hopefully, and extended his hand to her. His palm was up, slender and pale in the glimmering light. Alina glanced at it, and sniffed. A maid placed the matching cloak around her shoulders, made of black corecloth. It bore more of the golden sunburst embroidery that she deserved as his queen . The high collar framed her chin, and the cloak fell to her feet, which were encased in impractical heels. Alina flexed her gloved hand, and placed it into Aleksander’s.

What the Darkling did not know was that the cloak had been tailored. Doing more than keeping her warm, it acted as camouflage and dampened her light. Alina’s free hand, hidden under the fabric, produced a glowing, miniature ball of light. She snapped her fingers, and the ball of light extinguished, only to reappear seconds later as all of the camp’s lamps flared to light at once.

The Darkling’s eyes widened as the light flared all around them, and he raised a brow. He flexed his fingers, but the night did not waver, nor flicker out. Confusion registered upon his features, and Alina gave a ghostly smile. “I believe it is a saintly thing to allow the men some light for which to read and rest by.” She replied, knowing that this would soothe the man beside her. Baghra had spoken in mere fragments of her eldest son, but also had mentioned that he feared the dark. Alina dipped her head. 

“Indeed.” He replied gruffly, and guided her by the arm to the black lacquered carriage. Fedyor opened the door, and bowed his head, murmuring to the couple: “ Moi Soverenyi, Moya Tsarina. ” The door snapped shut behind Alina and she settled effortlessly into the seat across from the Darkling. Quick, simple flutters of her fingers had the cloak falling from her shoulders. She allowed a female Heartrender stationed in the carriage to wrap her in thick, fur blankets and place heated bricks under her feet. The Darkling afforded himself no such luxury. 

The crack of the reins jolted the carriage into motion, and through the crack in the curtains, Alina saw the fort and its Grisha camp grow smaller with each passing second. She laid back, and sighed deeply. Behind the black carriage, the red Corporalki carriage fell into line, then the blue Etheralki carriage. She knew that Zoya would no doubt be there, along with Genya, perhaps. 

But what neither knew was the silent, steady purr of a motorbike moved to trail the convoy. For atop it was a rider whose body and soul crawled with the Morozova taint; a boy who had seen the darkness in others, and forced himself above it. Slung across his back was a repeating rifle, and strapped to his belt were two pistols. His booted feet clenched fast to the great machine’s flanks, and he adjusted the strap of his goggles over his eyes.

A feral, fox-like grin split his face as the moon emerged from behind the cloud cover. He watched how it painted the lacquered carriages in jewel-bright tones, and shifted his foot placement. 

Under his skin, the shadows sang and writhed with the promise of bloody, righteous vengeance. For him, for his childhood friends, and for the woman he loved. He certainly knew she could handle herself, but Nikolai Alexandrovich Lantsov was not the kind of man to leave a duel un-answered.

He pulled his goggles over his eyes, and let the engine roar. The cry broke the night sky like a crack in the ice, and with a howl of war, Nikolai gave chase.

 As he roared off into the distance, Dominik watched him go from his office window, and turned his head. Now, it would be his turn to act, to have the First Army desert the Tsar and follow their prince. He picked up the telephone resting on his oak desk, and dialled a number he knew by heart. 

In the room across from him, Baghra snapped her carpetbag’s mouth shut and strode out of the fort’s walls, to a simple cart embellished with a red cross on a white circle. Propping herself against the wall, she felt the cart judder under her, and begin to creep forwards. Glancing around the half-lit space, she turned her attention to the wounded at her feet. No more boys would die, none more deserved to.

It would take three days to reach Kirbirsk. There, the stories of Alina and Nikolai had converged. Now, once more, they would meet again, under far darker and more drastic circumstances. It would be seen as to how the events unfolding went, and what good would come of things.

End of Chapter 9. 

****************

End of Act II: Twist the Knife

Beginning of Act III: Saints, Guns and Money.

[meowww-ffxiv]

#FFXIVWrite2024

Prompt: Tempest

Once again borrowing a WoL, Qisya from my friend on Twitter, @/bardings.

.

Bad sea weather was common enough in the Ruby Sea, to the point where the Confederates had docked all of their ships hours before the ocean began to churn with the force of winds.

It was quite different to view a storm from underwater rather than upshore, Qisya thought. Sound was much dulled in the bubble that served as the Blue Kojin's village, but she could still see the way the currents strengthened and flowed through the patches of seaweed, violently swaying them to the point of uprooting. She felt bad for the fishes desperately struggling against those currents, of all sizes and colors drifting rapidly around the bubble, but there were some that looked like they'd just given up the fight and let life take them wherever. Those were quite funny.

At her side, G'raha chuckled. He, too, was watching the fishes. "There is a metaphor here somewhere about no matter whether you are above or below the surface, the storm reaches you all the same," he said.

"At least all the ships are docked," Qisya remarked, eyes drifting directly upwards. With her keen sight, she could just barely make out how the surface above rippled with what must be a powerful rainstorm. "I haven't seen any ships' undersides for hours."

G'raha squinted after her. "You can see that far?"

"Not very well... But, kind of?"

"The bards don't sing enough of your sharp eyes," G'raha sighed, like a scholar who had just discovered a deficiency of information in some common topic. Only to immediately cringe, like he just realized how weird he sounded. "I-- I only mean that, um. Most people don't seem to know something so... You are the Warrior of Light, after all. Yet history speaks of your deeds and so rarely your person."

Qisya smiled at the way his words tripped and stumbled over each other. Seeing this, G'raha's face colored an interesting pink, and he stammered something else incomprehensible before seemingly giving up on the whole endeavor. Ears drooping, he shrugged, then gestured to a nearby... Something that passed for an outdoors restaurant, perhaps.

The Blue Kojin who manned the stall, in a very poor attempt to not look like she'd been watching them for the past ten minutes, nodded as the two visitors sat down. "Warrior of Light," she greeted Qisya, then turned to G'raha. There was suspicion written all over her reptilian features. "And her friend. What will you have?"

"What do you recommend?" Qisya asked her, since honestly, she didn't even know there were places that served foods to non-Kojin here. It had been awhile since she visited, but with the two of them in the middle of the ocean as the storm was beginning to gather, coming here seemed the only way to not throw away their entire Ruby Sea excursion altogether.

And better these folks than the rowdy, gossips-starved Confederates. Especially when G'raha was with her.

In short order, Qisya and G'raha were served some sort of small fish that was grilled until the bones were digestible, ostensibly. They were also given water that still tasted slightly salty, but both of them were too polite to mention it. The stall owner then moved to the back of the kitchen, seemingly content to give them their privacy.

G'raha studied the stone cup their water had been served in, fascinated. "This must come straight out of the rock in the cavern you took me through to get here," he told Qisya, rotating it to show her the reliefs of tiny shells and coral branches on the side. "Do you think this was carved, or were they fossils already in the stone?"

If joy was a source of light, G'raha could almost be said to radiate heat. Qisya leaned her chin on her hand and watched his continued fascination with a smile, her answer unneeded as G'raha emptied the salted water in one gulp so he could turn the cup upside down to look at its bottom for an artisan's mark. Then he studied the plate of fish served to them, then lifted his eyes once again to the bubble ceiling above their heads.

His eyes, red as the most precious pearls on display in Kugane's jewelry shops, gleamed with curiosity and excitement. The gentle light from the many lanterns the Blue Kojin had set up all around seemed to stick to them, and to his hair, a subdued yet warm crimson glow.

"I have read of these towns in the chronicles of your life," he said to Qisya, though sounded like he was talking to himself. "Yet never could I imagine it to be so grand in person."

His tail entwined with her, a sort of hand-holding that made Qisya blush. But she leaned close to him, and G'raha leaned over to touch their heads together. His smile was wide.

"Thank you, for taking me here," he said.

"But of course. If only the weather isn't so bad," Qisya replied.

G'raha shook his head. "Detours are what adventures are all about, isn't it?"

[danosrosegarden]

Angel (Part Three) - Edward Nashton x GN!Reader

Contains: a small dose of angst, mentions of sex work, and that's about all!

Note: once again, I'd like to say Angel Eddie has minor differences to Paul Dano's 2022 Riddler. I'm so pleased with this little series so far, and I hope you continue to read!

The lights inside of Josephine's were stuck in a constant whir. Perhaps it was just your eyes having grown accustomed to the dark, gloomy, rain-drenched streets of Gotham, but Josephine's blazing yellow walls and buzzing overhead lights were nibbling on your nerves and giving you a blasting headache.

Your waitress wasn't Josephine. Her nametag said Olga. She was old. She frowned by default, the wrinkles of her face carved deep into her mole-speckled skin. She stalked over to your table slowly.

Olga pulled a notebook from the front of her apron and clicked a pen. "Go ahead," she said in a gravelly rasp.

You looked up from your cup of black coffee and peered at Edward, who stared back at you with a straight face and empty eyes. In the light of the diner, you could finally see his face better. Round, freckled cheeks, an eternal blush dusting the dotted skin. His nails were torn and jagged, the skin of his lips chapped and peeling off. His glasses were thin and crooked, resting on his curvy nose at a slant. He was beautiful. Disheveled and anxious, but undeniably beautiful.

"Gonna order something?" Olga grunted.

"Oh. Um. Can I just have, um..." Your eyes frantically darted around the breakfast section of the menu as your cheeks tingled with heat. "Pancakes? An order of pancakes?"

"You want fruit on the side?"

"Sure, sure, thank you."

"Hmm." Olga snatched the menu from your weak grasp and turned to Edward. "What'll it be."

"The coffee is just fine, thank you."

Olga plucked the menu from in front of him and walked away without another word.

"You're not getting anything?" you asked.

"No."

You'd noticed something about Edward the moment you first interacted...he did not like to look you in the eyes, but when he did, he stared. He stared long and hard, and that stare had sharp, frosty icicles. His stare was deep, penetrating, and though it felt rather invasive, you were the one who had asked a stranger to roll down their window and open their door. You were the one intruding, spending his money, wasting his time.

Through the guilt bubbling in your stomach, you thirsted for any scraps on Edward's plate. You wanted to know more.

"Are you going to tell me what you were doing in an empty parking lot at five in the morning?"

Edward's stare faltered for a split second; a single crack in the code. His eyes darted away for a fraction of a moment and quickly targeted back on you.

"Sometimes I drive when I can't clear my head."

"Fair enough. What was on your mind, Edward?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry."

"No, don't apologize."

You listened to the clicking of plates in the kitchen for a moment, the boisterous laughter from the cooks. The place smelled like maple syrup. The air tasted of something thick and cinnamony.

"What were you doing?" Edward asked, his eyes now fixated on the table.

"I told you, I got kicked out."

"I'm sorry."

You shrugged. "Hey, it's not your fault, it's mine."

Something inside of you was tugging at your vocal chords, urging you to share more. You weren't exactly sure what to make of Edward and what you felt about him. He couldn't be a friend...you had just met, and met under circumstances less than ideal. But something lying dormant was peeking out from under the covers, begging you to let go, to have faith in him. Speak.

"I was living with a...uh...a boyfriend, let's say."

"Let's say?"

"I don't know what to call him, Edward. My..."

Here we go.

"My work. Having a serious relationship didn't always work so well, considering what I do for work."

"What do you do?"

You sighed, resting your face in your cold, dry hands. "I'm a sex worker."

There was no twitch of his eye, no perk of his lip, nothing to gauge a reaction.

"I hope you don't look down on me." You could've decked yourself in the face for sounding so pathetic. Who gave a fuck what he thought?

You did. There was no explaining why, there was just a sorry, feeble wish that he'd still want to converse with you.

"I don't look down on you, Y/N."

"Do you want to know something, Edward?"

"What?"

"I'm glad you were there when you were. I-I know this sounds crazy, but you're already like a friend to me." Your stomach flipped in wild leaps as you talked. You were like a bursting firecracker, crackling through the air without a break. "I mean, you don't care about my work. Marshall started off as a client. I thought he didn't care. But he fucking kicked me out. I needed more money to live, Edward, and he didn't understand that." You hands shook and your heart started to race. Your voice was raising, but it was all gas, no brakes. You couldn't find a way to stop. "I mean, who does that? He knew what he was getting into when he got with me. And since when were we even an official thing? Sure, we were living together, I guess, but he liked to drink, he liked to smoke. Those are expensive hobbies, Edward. He just...he didn't get it."

The air around the table was shrouded with a foul-smelling cloud of awkward silence. Edward peered up at you, nursing a bleeding strip of skin from a hangnail he'd ripped off while you were ranting. He said nothing, his face pale and blank.

You cleared your throat.

"My point is," you spoke, even and calm, "you're not like that. I feel as if you understand me already. I...I don't know. I feel as if we were meant to be here together."

"You do not want to be my friend."

Your eyebrows furrowed. That's what he had to say after everything?

"Why do you say that?"

He shook his head. "I-I'm sorry. There's just...there's so much you don't know about me, Y/N."

Edward was beautiful, yes, but in a disheartening way. There was something crying in the chasm of his hazel eyes that looked broken, stitched from torn pieces of dirty fabric. Perhaps there was something in Edward that also felt used, hurt, stamped on, burnt out. Maybe in sharing this space with him, your pain would coalesce into one broiling ball of shame you'd hold onto together. Could your charred skin ever heal? Could those acidic burns of the past ever cool, or was it wishful thinking? You wondered.

Edward took a sip of his coffee and set the cup back down with a shaking hand.

"Y/N, it is a brave thing to love me. That's what I'll say."

He was beautiful, dishearteningly gorgeous, and shrouded in mystery. Before you had time to begin unraveling his words, Olga bumbled over to your table and set down your plate of pancakes.

Fruit on the side.

"Thank you," you said softly, pulling a fork from the wrap of utensils on the table.

A brave thing. It echoed in your mind like a call out in an empty church. It is a brave thing to love me.

You did not speak to God often. When you did, you were usually asking Him for something. As you chewed on your warm, cloudy pancakes and watched Edward watch the carpet, you asked for one thing.

Let me know more. I'd like more of him. Please.

[kyunniebuns]

˗ˏˋ Solo Leveling Oc: Sung Kiwoo◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕂𝕚𝕨𝕠𝕠˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

╰┈➤ ❝ [ A Child of Beauty and Glee; The Prince of the Blue Waves.] ¡! ❞

There was a deafening silence around me as I drifted in cold and motionless waters. The sound of a humpback whale interrupted my moment of solitude, so I opened my eyes, only to be met by the empty waters with the sun peeking from above.

It was a beautiful sight.

With the song of the whale drifting all around me— I felt at peace.

…

I sat up, startled and shaken for some reason. The door clicked, and my brother entered.

His jet black hair was unkempt and lazy gray eyes peeked behind them. His initial nonchalance switched to a worried expression as he went over to me.

"Did you have a nightmare again?" Suho asked as he sat on the edge of my bed and placed his hand up against my forehead. "Well, you're not running a fever, that's good."

Ah, right, nightmares.

I was prone to them for some reason. I've always had terrible dreams containing beasts that couldn't be processed by the human mind. They wouldn't do anything, but their empty stares frightens me all the time. In the worst cases, I would wake up running a fever after having those dreams.

"...Not a nightmare" I finally replied. "It was just… Whale songs."

"Whale songs?" Suho cocked up an eyebrow and removed his hand. "Which whale?"

"Megaptera Novaeangliae." I said as I rubbed my eyes.

"English."

"....Humpback Whale."

Suho then just shrugged and ruffled up my bed hair even further before saying with a smile, "At least it's not a bad dream. Now take a shower, mom made pancakes for you."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be down in a bit. You can eat without me" I told him as I got off of my bed and started fixing the sheets.

"Not a chance, baby brother" Suho teased and I threw him a disapproving look.

"I'm only an hour late born after you!" I protested at him, "So don't call me a baby!"

"Sure, sure,..." Brother waved his hand dismissively and approached the door. "Baby brother"

I clicked my tongue, obviously offended at the time baby. I'm going to be 18 soon so how come he still refers to me with that term?!

Sigh.

Well…

I looked up, observing the white walls decorated with various marine animals. One side of the room had a net hung up with shark stuffed toys and starfish, beside it were three jellyfish lamps. Another wall had blue fairy lights with the shapes of various whale species and some stingrays. My desk meanwhile had various little clay jellyfish and whale sharks and a decorative mini blue whale wood carvings. My shelves contained various marine biology books and some law books too.

Okay, I get it. This room is for a baby. But at least my room is well decorated compared to my brother's bland room!

I kept grumbling about incoherent things as I took a shower and wore my uniform. I kept muttering until I went downstairs to where my mother and brother were waiting.

"Kiwoo" My mother greets me with her pretty smile, washing away the tantrum I was throwing because of Suho. "Goodmorning, dear. Come sit down, mom made sure your pancakes are extra fluffy."

"Thanks mommy" I smiled warmly at her then sat down at the table next to my brother. "Is dad out early for today?"

"He's investigating a major case" She replies as she gives me my warm cup of milk along with my plate, making me feel excited at the sight of it. "So he had to leave early, he did tell me to remind you both to be good in school."

"Yes, yes" I said half-heartedly as I started nibbling my food and drinking milk. "Ah… So yummy."

"...You know you're too old for milk and pancakes." Suho playfully nudges me and I shoved a fork-ful of pancake into his mouth.

"Shut up, man" I laughed at him. "Milk is good for a growing boy."

"Baby," He said it like he was correcting me.

"I hope you stub your toe today" I retorted.

"I hope it's you instead," Suho smirked.

"Knock it off boys" Our mother chuckles and pinches our cheeks to make us behave. "You're supposed to watch over each other."

"But he keeps calling me a baby!" I expected her to scold Suho, but instead she snorted and looked away. "Mom!"

"Well, you technically are the baby of the family" She grins prettily again, making me feel more mocked.

"I won" Suho snickers with a smile.

"..."

After a while of playful bickering, we finished up our meal and bid our farewells to our mom. I gave her a kiss on the cheek before following Suho outside the door.

We were a pair of odd brothers really. Rather than discussing school and games— We were instead informing each other about our hyperfixations. While my brother talked about bugs, I rambled endlessly about jellyfish and cetaceans.

It went on like that until we arrived at school.

We were both deathly bored with everything, we didn’t need to talk to each other to know that we were both very sleepy and tired. Suho glanced at me from the corner of his eye by the time the lunch bell rang. So with a sigh, I begrudgingly followed him towards the hall and out into the school.

“Hyung, you better get me a can of juice” I grumbled as I followed him to the back of the school where we could hear the smacking sounds of someone getting hit.

“Yeah, yeah” Suho rolled his eyes as we turned the corner and found Jo Sung-ho getting beat up pretty badly.

“Make it quick” I yawned lazily and leaned on the wall as my brother said some stuff I didn’t bother to understand.

I watched his swift and precise movements that resembled our father but not really. We were both trained by him, and of course the both of us would imitate his fighting style. We’re not quite there yet though, especially me. Although me and my brother are twins coming from the same parents, Suho was far more clever and sharper. I was different, I was slower and took more time in trying to understand things. I’m even stupid enough to the point that my brother needs to explain some jokes to me, if not, it would normally take me an hour or the next day to finally understand jokes.

I was shameful as a child from the Sung family.

Rather than feel proud, I felt so bad for my family who had a kid who had trouble understanding social cues.

Suho finished up the mess and helped Sung-ho up to his feet and told him some stuff before going back to me and slinging his arm over my shoulder.

“Did I make you wait, baby brother?” Suho grins widely as we started walking to where the vending machines were. “Hm, you’re a little down huh? What’s up? You’ve been awfully quiet and you haven't even balled your fists and shook them.

“...Please don’t talk about my stimming like it's a cute thing” I looked at him in a bit of a disapproving way, feeling embarrassed that he is mentioning my habits.

“But it is?” He muses while ruffling my hair. “Don’t be so down now, hyung will get you bunggeoppang after school.”

I nonchalantly nodded my head at his suggestion.

Was today interesting? No. Not one bit. It was a burden even, every teacher already gave the outline of lessons that will be covered for the semester. Normally, students would ignore this and just go on with their day, probably go to the internet cafe or party with friends somewhere. But I had to study them in advance because I’m stupid, I suck at studying. I am bad at understanding things, that’s why I have to do advanced reading back home as soon as I can.

But it seems… That my brother has fallen asleep. He’s in front of me, completely knocked out cold and gone to the world. He looked silly sleeping like this with a drool slightly coming out of his mouth, so I gently wiped it off.

Looking at him from this angle, he really is the spitting image of our father. From the shape of his nose, the thinness of his lips, the way his hair behaves; he really looks like dad, except he had our mother’s eyes. I admired Suho alot, after all, he has an innate talent for martial arts and he inherited dad’s cunning personality and many other aspects from him.

And for that, I am jealous of him.

Do I hate my brother? No, no. Damned will I be if I ever did. I love Suho, so much so that I am willing to bloody my hands for the safety of my older brother.

“Woonie?” Suho sat up, his messy black locks falling over his gray eyes. “Ack… I think I played too many games.”

“Yeah?” I cocked up an eyebrow at him. “Did you have a weird dream?”

“Yes… Dad was in it” Suho rubs his eyes. “I was just so… Bizarre.”

“I see” I stood up and held my hand out to him. “Wanna head home early for today?”

“Y-yeah–” His words were cut off when a girl opened the door and glanced at us.

“Why are you two still here? I’m locking up” She said in a confused tone as she glanced at us. “I’m bout to lock up the rooms”

“Can we join you?” Suho asked.

“Suit yourself”

We then grabbed our bags and proceeded to follow her out of the classroom and helped her lock up the other rooms. I kept glancing at Suho who looked baffled and in a daze.

Just how bad was his dream? Normally it would be me who has a ton of weird dreams and terrifying nightmares. Surely my bad luck with that stuff didn’t pass to him, right?

Even after Suho and her little game of rock-paper-scissors, he would suddenly glance up at the sky as if he felt something. Well I would be lying if I didn’t feel something odd too.

I would have asked, but I also felt a slight shift. There was an unfamiliar scent that lingered. Something in the air suddenly changed, like a small burst of air suddenly washed over the air. There was a tinge of an unpleasant scent.

But we both just ignored it and proceeded to make our way back home. Though I insisted that my brother just forget about his promise, he stubbornly brought me a box of sweets. I couldn’t deny him anymore, so I just sighed and accepted my faith and carried the box back home.

Suho was just so out of it, he was in a complete daze during dinnertime and seemed to be contemplating whatever the hell happened earlier afterclass. I didn’t want to press him any further about what happened, so we just went into our separate rooms.

As always, I sat down immediately on my desk after a quick shower. I started with the hardest subject, which was of course, Calculus. I focused on the subject for five minutes until I felt a strong gust of wind beside me.

There was a huge, blue wall in the shape of an oval, it produced a foul stench. It whirled, humming as it slowly sucked the air around it.

Part of me wanted to run, wanted to scream for my brother.

But most of me,... Wanted to go in.

Somehow, someway, that ‘thing’ feels familiar. Like an old friend from a distant part of my buried memories.

It felt like it was calling me to go back home.

I stood up, walking towards the thing and running my hand along it, watching that limb of mine get sucked in. Before I knew it, I was inside.

The walls were damp and heavy, everywhere was dark. Only the light of the blue torches illuminated the path. It appeared like a tunnel of some sort. It was creepy, but I didn’t feel scared– No, not one bit of me was frightened.

“What would dad do?” I mumbled as I took a torch from the wall and walked around.

I kept a steady pace until eventually I came across a section of the tunnel with weapons hanging around. I placed the torch down and ran my hand around the various weapons.

For some reason, they had weird status windows hovering in front of them.

“A game?” I tilted my head, “How neat.”

There were a number of different weapons to choose from. Greatswords, axes, claymores, shields, bows, lances... And my most favorite weapon of all, daggers. My brother sees these weapons as cowardly. But I always found these things fascinating, I always had a weird magnetic pull towards them. The daggers are just so pretty, fine hilts and black blades with crimson red edges– So I picked those two up.

Light, just as I want my weapons to be.

**Whoosh**

I tilted my head to the side instinctively, the wall in front of me having an arrow. In a split second, I immediately started bouncing back.

Large and imposing figures at least 8 feet tall, bodies made of metal– Knights. 20? No. At Least 50 now that I took a proper look at the back.

Just what the hell are these damn knights doing here?!

“Not playing nice, are we?” I flicked the daggers in my hands for a proper grip. “I’ll bury your damn heads 6 feet under”

So I pushed on my heel, charging head first towards the giant things with the intent to murder.

They didn’t smell like humans, for some reason I could tell.

I stabbed my dagger under their chins, with others, I crushed them by giving them consistent and brutal blows.

Level Up!

Level Up!

Level Up!

Level Up!

“???” I panted, looking at the status window in front of me which had some numbers.

Name: Sung Kiwoo

Level: 5

Fatigue: 15

Job: NONE

Title: NONE

Mp:15

Strength: 15

Agility: 15

Sense: 15

Vitality:15

Intelligence:15

Remaining points: 8

“So it really is like a game…” I said as I rolled my shoulders and cracked my knuckles. “I need to be extremely careful, I don’t know what will happen if I die here.”

As fun as this thing was, I was worried what would happen. This is an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar sceneries. Everything was eerie and dark, whatever these knight things were– They are after me and they want my blood.

And for that, I need to be out for their blood too.

I’m just trying to survive after all.

I still have a family waiting for me to come home.

Bloodying my hands is just a necessary thing to do for the sake of my survival. I’ll do what I need to do.

I pressed on, leveling up everytime I took down more knights. I stripped off my dress shirt, leaving only my tank top after the wave of hollow knights stopped.

“That’s one big door.” I mutter as I glance up at a giant door.

It looked old, with the cracks and the cut off patterns all around it. I traced my fingers around it, feeling the embedded patterns.

Something is in there.

And that something was strong, I could tell with just the way my heart was thumping and the feeling of my blood pumping uncontrollably.

I took a deep sigh, opening my eyes before ultimately pushing it open.

The room was dark, almost pitch black if it weren't for the blue torches lighting up the area weakly. But that wasn’ what I was worried about– No, no. Not that.

At the far end of the corner stood a throne, and upon that throne sat a figure with a body of black flames so to speak. It looked like a knight, with how casual and lazy it looks, I felt like it was taunting me with its stance. The knight then stood up and took a hold of it’s claymore standing by the side.

I prepared my stance– ????????

“Huh? Huh????” I sat up exasperated, looking around in a panicked manner before feeling my chest up. “What?”

‘Did that knight just murder me?!’ I thought, scratching my nape before getting up and looking around.

“Isn’t this where I started?” I looked around me, seeing the familiar patterns “Ngh… Not again, I don’t wanna deal with those bloody knights.”

….

I woke up again, still in the same spot.

“Oh, come on!” I groaned, laying down on the floor again and kicked my feet up in frustration “That damn thing is so powerful, what the hell am I supposed to do?!”

That knight is way too fast, it’s godforsaken claymore puts me at a huge disadvantage with my short-ranged weapon. As much as I love daggers, it’s not cutting it out for me. Of course, it could be a skill issue but if that’s the case then I’ll be getting nowhere! I need to do something, I want a weapon that is both short ranged and long-ranged.

A sword would be good, but I don’t like the stats of the swords I saw.

A lance is passable, but I don’t want it.

I pondered for a while before approaching the weapon hallway again and picked out a pair of daggers, with the intention of trying out something

“Where are you, where are you?” I murmured as I looked around before ultimately yanking something off of the wall. “Bingo.”

I then sat down on the floor, holding the long and cold chains. I honestly don’t know why there are plain chains amidst the line of great and giant weapons. But maybe because it has quite good stats? Either way I’m glad it's here.

I made small holes at the edge of the hilts before inserting the ends of the chains I had opened before forcibly closing it. I stood up again, wrapping the chains around my arms.

“Oh? Their stats had mixed with just tinkering them like this?” I hummed, before shaking my head and then looking up at the horde of knights marching towards me. “Good,”

I pressed on my heel, launching myself towards the creatures with outrageous speed.

“You bastards are gonna help me test out my new toys.”

Level Up!

Level Up!

Level Up!

Level Up!

Level Up!

Level Up!

Level Up!

Level Up!

Level Up!

Level Up!

I don’t know how many levels I climbed with how much I lost myself in battle. I panted, standing atop of a pile of corpses from the hollow knights I slayed. I had some cuts here and there. My fatigue was up to 80, but why is it that I don’t feel that tired? The more I breathed, the more I felt alive and hyperaware.

“Now, it’s your turn” I looked up at the tall and condescending door.

Now that I think about it, it seemed to glare at me. As if these doors had a pair of eyes judging every fiber of my being. Was I afraid? No. Why should I?

Those eyes should be fearing me instead with how I’m gonna lay that thing behind those doors to rest.

I opened the door, and of course that knight was waiting for me.

“Sorry to keep you waiting” I pressed on my heel again and charged forward. “I wanted to make sure I’ll beat you this time”

The knight seemed a bit flustered at my sudden advances as it jumped back the moment I striked towards it’s stomach. I threw my dagger towards it, the blade circling arm– I flicked the chains, causing a reaction that hurled the knight onto the ceiling.

But I knew that it wasn’t enough to beat that thing.

And surely enough, it started hurling towards me again.

We shared intense blows, sparks and flames sizzled out with each impact shared along with static bursts of electricity.

That knight is still way stronger than me, of course it is. Compared to that thing—I know I'm at least a hundred years way younger to actually expect I would win against it easily.

But I guess that is what made it more exciting. The fact that I am facing something ancient and unknown. It's making my heart race uncontrollably and I feel more excited to beat it. The adrenaline is pumping, I feel alive. My fatigue is at 90 but why the hell does it feel so good right now?

I don't know how I did it, but I managed to swiftly dodge the knight's sword blast thing before closing in on the opening and stabbing my dagger up its chin.

Of course, it dispersed in an instant like a bubble bursting into nothingness.

"I WON!" I yelled out, jumping on my feet excitedly while swinging my arms happily. "Holy crap I actually did it!"

Level Up!

Level Up!

Level Up!

Level Up!

Level Up!

Level Up!

Level Up!

Level Up!

Level Up!

Level Up!

"Uwaahaaa!!!" I kept jumping as more dings ran into my ears. "Come to me you sweet little thing!"

I celebrated widely.

But for a brief moment, I recalled that knight's dying face. It looked at me… So tenderly? It felt like it was a father looking at its child at some point. Maybe it was just my eyes playing tricks on me. Either way, I jumped around in pure bliss until another oval white and blue thing appeared.

“Is it over or am I going home?” I tilted my head curiously. “I wanna go home and eat cake…”

I take another heavy sigh before entering the thing again.

What greeted me was the intense blaze of the buildings, the sight was like I’m inside the hottest place of hell. It was rather amusing to see really, the ruins were all quite pretty to look at. My attention then goes towards a three headed cerberus, a cute creature to be honest. When I had my mythology phase, it was one of my most favorite creatures aside from Jörmungandr.

But why did it’s face pale when it took a good look at me? As if its three souls got knocked out of it.

“Bye?” I said to the Cerberus, which caused it to flinch and whimper while scurrying away.

I rolled my shoulder again, before continuing forward.

As I pushed through the hot blazing flames and took down monsters back-to-back, I remembered what my father had told me: “Don’t expect too much, Kiwoo. The reason why you’re always so disappointed is because you set the bars at an unnecessarily high standard.”

I should have listened to my father.

Because damn it am I so pissed right now because of how boring and bland monsters thrown at me were. I had expected more monsters to be like that knight I defeated. It’s so infuriating that it’s suddenly so easy to beat everything.

But I know better than to lower my guard, the moment I slip up cause me my doom. If this was an ordinary game– Well, it still is a game, but the point is, if I die right now, I might be a real goner. So I still need to stay vigilant no matter how easy things are right now. This might just be a rest period for me to relax to prepare for the next stage which would undoubtedly be a far more intense one than that knight.

It’s still frustrating me though, I’m leveling up slower than usual and it pisses me off.

I eventually climbed all 100 floors until the final oval thing.

The moment I went in, my chains shot out and wrapped around the demon in front of me. I hurled the creature towards me.

I raised my dagger, about to plunge it down the demon until it shrieked.

"Wait, wait, wait!" She(?) shrieked and I immediately stopped.

"????"

“Hahaha… You truly are of monarch bloodline, you didn’t even struggle as much even though you don’t have any shadow soldiers.” The demon girl speaks with a nervous smile as I uncoil her from my chains. “You two really are alike, managing to make it this far with just a few attempts at tremendous speed. Time truly passes by so fast”

‘Monarch? Shadow Soldiers? You two?”

“Excuse me?...” I cocked my head to the side.

“Nothing, nothing ” She shook her head. “I am Esil, daughter to the demon clan.”

“Kiwoo.”

“Such a pretty name” Esil says, her eyes having this glimmer in them that I found quite unusual since she is a demon. “Ah, right, we also have a banquet–”

“Sorry, I can’t go” I shook my head, trying to be as polite as I could with the demon girl. “I’m too young to drink and I don’t like the smell of alcohol along with being in a crowd.”

“Ah…” She frowns, but smiles right after. “Of course”

“I’ll try to come next time, if I ever come back. I can’t promise you though”

“What a shame…”

“Before I go,” I then point out at the portal thing “Can you tell me what those things are?”

She nodded eagerly.

I listened to what she has told me, to what the monsters are and the purpose of these gates. It was really like a game just as I had suspected, it was quite surreal. Well, everything that happened up to now is like a dream. Skill, stats, all that stuff– It felt like maybe I’m having a psychotic episode and that this is all just in my head. I wanted it to be that way on a surface level.

“I’m heading off” I say, politely walking past her. “I’ll see you later, auntie Esil”

Auntie?

The words had slipped out of my mouth and I couldn’t control it, it was as if it were a habit to call her that even though I don’t exactly know who she is. But regardless, that slip up I made seemed to have pleased her, since her features softened and looked more human.

I gave her one last smile, before entering the gate.

As soon as I entered the thing, swarms of ants would lunge themselves towards my direction. I knew better than to be distracted while in the middle of a fight, but truly, I cannot help but wonder what my brother would feel if he saw these massive creatures. He always had a fascination for bugs after all.

“I’m starting to miss my hyung” I mutter to myself as I open the tall doors in front of me. “I wonder if he is sleeping well right now”

**Sniff** **Sniff** **Kieekkk**

Right in front of me was a much larger and more humanoid looking ant with wings. I wanted to try and remember its specific species but… Why is it crying?

It pushed itself towards me, striking with such speed and precision I almost lost my footing. But my reaction was quite fast, so I managed to somehow keep up.

…. Why is it still crying?

Ahjussi, you’re really making me feel bad with those tears…

It’s like I’m watching someone have the worst case scenario of mental breakdown, I can’t tell if it’s happy tears or sad tears. Has my brother ever mentioned anything about ants crying? No, I’m sure he never did. Can bugs even cry? Maybe I should ask him.

“Kieeekk… I lost again” It says before pathetically plomping down on the floor like a pancake.

“H-hey” I tried calling out but it’s body disintegrated into the shadows beneath it’s mentally-broken mind and body. The dings of my level going up in large numbers rang on and on for a bit as a new gate whirred.

“I hope you feel better” I really felt bad, I really did, so I patted the floor where the ant disappeared to somehow make it feel at ease.

Was it a stupid move? Of course.

Will I do it again? You bet.

And so I head to my next destination, growing tired because of the continuous adrenaline rush.

I thought I would really be resting now, but now I’m in front of titans standing tall like skyscrapers. Giant orcs and dragons. DRAGONS.

Oh how I wanted to leap up in the air and celebrate like a madman right there and then but I wasn’t even given a headstart as the beasts jumped at me all at once!

What the hell is with this realm anyway? Why is everyone jumping at me left and right? Have I wronged anyone here in some way shape or form? I mean yeah, I’m basically an alien here but god, can’t they at least have mercy and let me breathe even for just a while?!

God they just keep coming one after another, I swear the beasts all looked different but somehow everything is starting to look black and purple at the same time! Is my head going even madder when I’m already losing my mind this much?

“Huh, what was that?” I blurted out randomly as I sent a blackened soldier flying.

I wanted to take a breather, I really did, but suddenly there was an unexplainable pressure on my body. It hurt.

It hurts

IT HURTS

IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS!

I was on the floor, glued to the soil as gravity pulled me down further.

“You, it’s you isn’t it?” I looked at another creature that was wielding a staff flying in the air.

I need to beat that thing.

“Crap.”

The various mouths of dragons fling about opened their jaws, charging up incoming attacks that will surely end me if I do nothing

‘Hahh…. You really wont let me rest, huh?’

A burst of energy would come through, I broke free of the pressure somehow and lunged towards the dragons, effectively killing each one with relative speed. As their corpses fell one after another, I hanged onto a ledge, breathing heavily.

Then, that orc mage… Whatever it is– pointed it’s staff towards me and blasted a massive fireball. I dodged it narrowly, with a huge explosion coming behind me.

“!!!!!” If that thing had hit me I would have been an overcooked fried goldfish.

Why is everyone and everything around me trying to murder me?...

‘Focus,... Focus, Sung Kiwoo!’ My father's voice would boom inside my head.

Deep breaths, deep breaths, at ease, deep breaths.

“Huu….” I sighed for a moment

“Control, I need to control myself more, speed and strength aren’t enough” I gritted my teeth. “Focus, Kiwoo!”

Another burst of energy would come forth again and I charged towards him.

It was a blur, everything was too fast and I felt like I’m about to faint. But I knew it wasn’t over when I slashed that orc in half. Another presence would come forth, I felt light headed as the giant shadow started mumbling stuff. I couldn't even feel my legs when we fought.

And before I knew it, I said: “You, where’s the master?”

“...” The shadow looks at me, his sword stabbed on the floor as I pointed a dagger on his throat.

“Is your master a shadow too like you? Will it refer to me as little monarch too?” I asked, glancing up at the sky to find a dragon circling in the sky like a hawk. “There you are”

As magnificent and elegant that dragon made of mist was, I was glaring at the figure perched on its back. Sensing my acknowledgement, it leapt up in the air and aimed for me. I lifted the flat of my blade, blocking its foot.

The attack was heavy, causing my feet to sink and create a crater. It leapt up in the air again and landed gracefully in front.

“Wait, you’re a woman…” I muttered, looking at her figure donned with an outfit like she was a saintess.

Her face was hidden under the shadow of her hood, making her look more angelic and pretty. As if I was in front of a goddess.

“N-noona” I call out, stammering and causing her to flinch a bit. “Can you get me out of here? My parents and brother must be really worried about me now. As much as I like the thrill of fighting, I think my disappearance is causing them a lot of pain.”

She froze, I could tell with the way her pretty lips quivered and trembled. It felt like she was contemplating. She was hesitating. I didn’t say anything for a while and let her ponder before ultimately charging towards me.

I swallowed down, blocking her incoming attacks that were incredibly devastating

She was so fast and nimble, that raw strength she landed on me was so heavy I swear my bones must be shattering with every blow.

But… She was beautiful.

Every strike is calculated, she charges forward when I go on offense and redirects my attacks so that it would backfire on me. Her blade stings me but hell, I wanted more cuts. I wanted to learn more. Even though my body is already pushed to its limits and I feel like I’ll die any second now– I wanted to see her movements more, it was like she’s a flower dancing so gracefully amidst the hammering blizzard. It’s like I’m watching a ballet performance in a ruined theater.

I would bleed from every part of me, I was leaking a pool of blood, and at the end... I was on the floor, kneeling while the tip of her blade was pointed on my throat. Her robes fluttered so prettily that I could only stare at her.

“Noona, can I be like you?” I ask absentmindedly. “Can I be beautiful like you too?”

I felt the blade tremble on my neck and she dropped her blade before hugging me.

“You silly child, why are you still like this even though you’re such a big boy now?” Her voice was familiar.

“Mom?”

“Too early, you’re still too young, you need to remain oblivious and sweet.”

“H-hey wait, Mom–”

But either way, I was thrown into a gate from god knows where and I jolted awake in my bed sweating and hyperventilating.

“.....”

“I played too many games that my dreams are all messed up” I mutter, ruffling my hair in confusion.

That dream was too confusing that I immediately headed into Suho’s room without thinking. As expected, he immediately opened the door the moment I knocked.

“Kiwoo, it’s already midnight why–” I cut him off

“I’m not gonna sleep alone tonight, can I stay here?”

“Nightmare?”

“No?... It was just wild, I need some comfort”

“You too I guess”

No words were further exchanged as I crashed onto his bed and Suho followed by sitting at the edge. I thought for sure I wouldn’t be able to sleep anymore because going through that hell is making me a bit anxious.

But in the end, I was dreaming again.

Once more, I’m drifting along the waters. It’s cold but comforting. The whales are singing for me again.

“My ocean is empty”

…

“I wonder if I grow a little more, will this abyss be full of life? Can I turn it into a lush coral reef? Will fish of various species swim around with apex predators around too? Will cetaceans appear here? Dolphins leaping up in the air and with more whales singing and clicking for me? I want to dance above the waters…”

“ I want the ocean to be my stage and the marine life as my audience,... I want to be beautiful.”

[browniejeane]

Chapter 3 - The Calm Before the Storm

Chapter 3 has been posted - The calm before the storm; the last moment of rest before they take on the last two gods.

Enjoy a snippet of the chapter under the cut.

The air was still. Nothing moved except for her. Fingers light on the railing, she ghosted down the steps carefully, mind swirling about what the next few hours would hold; what the next several days would look like. Letting herself take a few more minutes, she let her hand drift along shelves and books and scrolls as she made her way around the small table in the center of the room, smiling at the signs of life it held. Abandoned mugs, mostly empty but a few with dregs of tea or coffee floating about the bottom; empty snack plates dusted with crumbs and scraps of food; books left open, their places marked with bookmarks or a griffon feather or even a piece of leather tucked between the pages, holding the place that somebody wanted to reference again at a later date; a half completed wood carving sitting on one of the bookshelves, a sharp carving knife set next to it as though the owner had merely meant to step away for the briefest of moments; artifacts half taken apart left scattered about…it made her heart ache knowing that Bellara wasn’t there to tell them all about whatever it was she had discovered and was working on. Settling herself into her chair, Rook let her eyes closed as she breathed through her discomfort. A book had been tucked into the chair between the arm and the cushion, its sharp corners digging into her thigh. She shifted slightly and pulled out a copy of The Joyous Wyvern, which she knew she had spotted next to Lucanis’ cot on more than one occasion. She tucked her legs up under her before setting it fully on her lap and calling for the Caretaker to summon her remaining companions to the library for her. Smiling softly to herself, she leafed through a few of the pages, eyes skimming over the words as she waited for them to arrive, losing herself in the tale that Lucanis had so loved as a child.

“Mi vida,” a warm yet admonishing voice startled her out of the tale some time later, a mug of hot coffee waving under her nose. “What are you doing?” Lucanis looked worried, his brows slightly furrowed and a gentle twitch of his lips let her know that he did not approve of her being on the first floor.

“We have work to do, love,” she replied softly, accepting the hot drink as she set the book aside. “We can’t keep putting it off.” Rook watched as Lucanis crouched next to her, cupping her cheek in his hand as he studied her face for something, anything, that said she wasn’t ready for this. She nuzzled into his palm with a sigh.

“Things can-”

“They can’t wait, Lucanis. Everybody here knows that. We’ve been lucky so far. But we have to keep pushing forward.” Taking a sip of her coffee, she met his gaze, softening at the way he frowned at her. “Once this is over, you can fuss over me all you want.”

[bodhranwriting]

A little hint into a future character in the Arcane Skies trilogy…

She dreamt a lot.

They weren’t quite nightmares, exactly, more like something next door to them in her personal dreamscape.

They always started the same: twelve doors, each of a different colour and material, stretching deeper and deeper underground. She had the keys to each and every door, the pockets of her ink-black dress seemingly infinite and – at the same time – quite empty until she reached her hand inside.

The keys were all different too. She pulled out great, ornate silver monstrosities, tiny pearl-inlaid delicacies, rusted brass keys straight from her childhood music boxes, even once a key which she was sure was carved from bone.

The bone key was the last one. The door it opened was the only real one; a cell-door with polished bars and arcana padlock.

Always, always, the voice in her head told her not to open it, to leave it alone in the depths of the dungeon.

Every night she opened it.

Every night it was seemingly unoccupied. The bed was perfectly made, the plates empty of food and wooden cup desert-dry. Sometimes she had time to run her finger through the dust before the realisation dawned.

She had been followed.

She’d turn, fear rising in her gullet, and she’d see the angel.

He was more beautiful than he’d ever been in life; neater, smoother, dressed in a robe of indeterminate colour which hurt her eyes like the midday sun. Always, he’d tower above her with parchment cream wings peppered with lead-silver and black ink.

He never spoke because they did not need to.

She knew what she’d done to him.

But before the white fire descended upon her, she’d stare into his face that she both knew and did not know, searching for his eyes.

They were dark and full of hatred, yes, but there was something which made her heart sing before she died.

He might hate her, this dream-version of her oldest friend, but he knew her.

And that was all that mattered.

[dragonfelling]

Anemoian Halloween Snippets

4 short snippets. One about the history of the festivals, one about mask crafting, another about a ritual, and another about a ghost.

- Autumn Festival

For a long time, Aemoi’s autumn festivals were ones regarding the harvest and a final hurrah before the colder winds came down from the north to frost the lands. Gourds would be harvested, brush burnt, and winter wheat would be planted. 

A costumed festival would be held when the frost stayed in the ground, with plenty of sweets and warm food and drink would be served cheaply in the markets. As midnight came, a short vigil would be held and the shrines would be covered in offerings and prayers would be spoken to it by a festival master.

Over the years Midonian influence had made room for a change. Midonia had always been a nation of death. It had always had standing folk traditions to appease the dead and strike fear into the patrons of death itself and the Nidus who traveled this time of year.

Gourds and other hard vegetables were carved into faces and tilted up to the sky as if to watch the nomadic feathered people following the migrating ungulate herds.

Fires, drinks, food and prayer for those departed and to honor for the faithful. Church groups  would go door to door asking for donations.

As Midonian culture integrated with the city of Aeraki, some new traditions were born from the union. For some, this meant more emphasis on the rituals, for others earlier in the night it meant something much more fun. 

- Mantis Mask

Cassius spent forever working on his mask. He has cut his hand over and over trying to carve the wood. Hand bandaged and a determined squint, the young boy of 9 would scrape off the final touches on the epistomal suture. It was perfect in his eyes! a mantis with all its fixings! Anna had tried to find one for him, but unfortunately not many artisans made invertebrates. The few that his mother had brought home had not been to Cassius’ standards. Cas wanted the mask to look much more realistic then the ones they offered… but, he was appreciative either way. He could at least get some inspiration from how they built the mask. He pulled the straps from it and used them for his own creation.

He painted it like one of the local species; pink and orange.

Cassius’ twin brother, Isaac, was much less picky. His only request was that he wanted a well crafted Vultu mask. He had recently read a story about a very brave Vultu and that was his most recent obsession. 

Both boys had their outfits matched with their masks. Cassius’ cloak looked like mantis wings and Isaac’s looked like the frills of a male Vultu. 

They had insisted upon the whole family going, so, after a long while of bugging their mother picked up a mask for herself, Aideen, and the toddler, Owen. She wore a deer doe’s head, while Aideen picked out a cute looking kitten with a fluffy mane. Owen pointed at an owl and made an excited squeal.

- The Shrine

Two people stood before Pinnas shrine; before the city of Aeraki. 

The festival master and his daughter in Pinnae Dragon masks, holding decorated candles.

Prince Iasis lit the first candle to be placed upon the stone and metal shrine. He supported an arc of light between his fingers, lighting the wick with his electrokinesis. 

He placed it in the cupped claws of the statue that held a copper alloy plate. It had recently been cleaned, but generations of wax build up left a greasy film that made the metal matte.

He turned to the crowd, putting his left hand on his chest and with his right he raised an open palm to the sky. 

“Another good year for us all; another year of prosperity. Be it they leave their wealth or sacrifice, Lord Pinna I ask you… Bless the lands another year and bless our people so they may bring a good harvest come the spring storms. Let us all live under your watch, warm, protected, and fortunate.” 

He reached his hand down to plant a hand on the shoulder of his daughter, Arias. She shifted from behind Iasis with another candle and held it up for him to light using the flame of the first candle.

When he handed the candle back to Arias she held it as if she were mirroring the statue. She bent down onto her knees carefully and slowly to place it at the Dragon God’s feet. She reached back to unclasp her necklace, resting it beside the candle and saying a short prayer by placing her hand on her chest and raising her hand just as her father did.

Iasis smiled down at her, a welling proudness filling his soul. She would make a wonderful festival master one day…

He assisted her to her feet and stepped down from the altar to their God king.

Iasis’ voice was replaced by heavy drums and woodwind, and two others replaced the festival master and his daughter.

Two new little dragons, who jumped up from either side of the shrine and pointed their blunted swords at each other. One was dressed as Lord Haeres, the other Lord Anemos. They’d dance an ancient production; one about the death of Haeres. The ending was finalized by Anemos holding his brother in his arms towards the shrine. 

‘Haeres’ pulled a red ribbon from under his wing cloak, making a loud “BLEEEHH” and ‘dying’ dramatically. 

Iasis crossed his arms… “DEIDRE! FLUVIUS!” he barked, face gone red under his mask.

This was not part of the ritual and he’d hear that over and over all night now from his older peers who would NEVER let their students pull that kind of stunt.

‘Anemos’ pulled ‘Haeres’ off the shrine stage, giggling and smiling wide under her mask.

After applause, a short laugh and chatter, the crowd would make their way in droves to leave candles, their gold, jewelry, craftsmanship, and delicate, expensive foods. 

- Ghost of the Infirmary

Jeremias laid back in his chair, staring out into the dark room with his signature frown. He squinted, trying to see whatever his girlfriend was seeing. Amara rubbed his shoulder, her arm around his head as she stood.

“Callahan's right there, Jere. I promise I'm not messing with you.”

“No, no, I believe you…” he muttered, covering his lips with a balled up fist. 

“I just… He's there?... What is he doing?”

Amara was relieved to see Jere had some belief in her. All her life, all these issues with dead boys among the castle grounds were simply her imagination according to her kin.

“Well, right now he's just looking at you.”

“Is… Is he in pain? Amara, please. I need more details then that.”

“No, I don't think he is.”

“You’re sure it's Calla?... Mar, a lot of boys have died here. It could be any of them.”

“Well, unless a ghost can lie about its own name, I don’t think it's someone else.” 

Jeremias sighed, bringing his hand up to his forehead and rubbing it. “Is he in pain?”

“No. He looks as he did when he passed on, but he's not in pain.”

“Why is he even still here?... Calla- Please-” Jeremias’ voice cracked, his brows furrowing deep grooves into his forehead.. “Please, you need to go. Go see mom…”

Amara squeezed his shoulder, leaning down and kissing the top of his head.

“He wants to watch you, Jere. He-” she frowned at his sudden, irritated interruption,

“GO. Dad is DEAD. He is GONE. He can't hurt us anymore so you can go. I don't need you to PROTECT me anymore.”

Amara frowned harder as she stared into the empty room. Silence rang through the hallowed walls.

“He can't yet. He's just not ready.”

“Why?... Is it Josef? Is he scared about Kid?”

“...Maybe. He won't say. All he tells me is that he can't go yet.”

[strawberrykidneystone]

hey pumpkin

summary: shepard and garrus have a fun fall day and end it with a bang (LOL)

a/n: happy butchtober!!! this turned out way longer than i thought it would be. also can you tell i want a green kitchen in my house😋

tags: spacer!fem!shepard, butch he/him lesbian garrus, porn with little plot, brief anal licking, eating it from the back‼️, tribbing/scissoring, ass taps, spitting

ao3 version

shepard and garrus were visiting earth for a small date just for the two of them, doing classic fall activities that shepard fondly remembered doing in her childhood with her family when they were stationed on earth. her mother, hannah shepard, recommended the old apple orchard where they went when she was little and she was so excited to share her fall traditions with the love of her life. while garrus couldn’t eat the traditional fall festival human foods, like apple cider donuts, pumpkin confectioneries, etc., they were happily surprised to find that they had turian alternatives to her favorite foods. even more to see other human-alien couples who were also celebrating the newly cool weather and changing of the leaves. the fresh cool air was a nice change from the usual stuffy atmosphere of being stuck in a ship for an undetermined amount of time.

garrus complained afterward that his least favorite part of the day was the hay ride, insisting that a piece was lodged somewhere in the bottom part of his exterior suit padding. shepard laughed and shook her head, knowing that the hay was absolutely sticking in her ass during the ride too. regardless, they both still had a wonderful time.

the couple returned to their beach house with a basket full of red apples and two freshly cut pumpkins, ready to be carved into jack-o-lanterns. garrus didn’t understand the tradition of carving into the giant orange gourds and when he asked shepard about it, she couldn’t remember where it came from as she had vaguely learned the traditions in elementary school. the two were going to look up the actual origins of halloween on a datapad when they arrived back at their shared home.

unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, that would have to wait for another time.

shepard had barely set the basket down in the kitchen before she felt two taloned hands gripping her hips. garrus pressed the front of his pelvis against her ass, burying his face into her neck which trapped her against their granite kitchen island. he inhaled deeply and placed a few pecks up her neck, noting how cinnamon from their previous treats was mixed in with her usual perfume. she smiled and pushed her hips back against him, reaching a hand back to the nape of his neck. she trailed her finger down the back of his head and stroked the sensitive space along his carapace. garrus shivered at her delicate yet precise touch, grinding himself into her plush ass. he reached his hand into the front of her pants and slipped his talons into her panties, quickly finding her protruding clit in between her wet lips, “god you’re soaked already, this all for me?”

“yes yes, all for you baby,” she cupped the back of his neck and pulled his face down to hers, pressing her lips desperately against his. garrus nipped at her bottom lip, causing her to gasp against his rugged lip plates. he took the opportunity to plunge his tongue into her mouth, circling the tapered blue muscle against her much smaller one. he was careful as he massaged the inside of her mouth, one wrong move and he could easily brush against her uvula while going down her throat. she rubbed her tongue against his and hallowed her cheeks as she softly sucked on his long blue appendage, slightly bobbing her head back and forth. shepard was grateful for the counter in front of her, leaning on it with one hand like a lifeline as her legs became weak from her focus on the pleasure in between her legs while her other hand was clutching onto the back of garrus’ neck, stimulating one of his main erogenous zones. he moaned into her mouth, rutting himself further into her and purring happily as her fingers continued to explore his tender nape. garrus pulled back with his tongue slightly hanging out of his mouth like a dog, a string of saliva connecting the two of them.

fuck that was hot.

“turn over, ass up, and lay down on your stomach,” he growled and dragged his hand out of her panties, stepping back to give her the space to properly get into the ledge.

shepard whined in frustration at the loss of contact but obeyed his orders. she bent over the counter and pressed her cheek into the cold surface, wiggling her hips back in anticipation. garrus licked his lip plates in anticipation, a habit he picked up from shepard. his mouth was watering at the delicious sight before him. he took his time peeling her pants off, watching goosebumps form on her legs as they met the cool air of their beach house. garrus kneeled down and couldn’t tear his eyes away from her soaked panties clinging to her pussy, admiring the outline of her lips as well as how her bush spilled over the sides of the soft fabric. he couldn’t stop himself from pressing his nose plates into the wet spot that formed and inhaled deeply, groaning as he could feel himself getting just as wet as she was. shepard felt heat rise to her cheeks at his ministrations, her hips involuntarily grinding back against the hard plating of his nose. he nodded his head along to the rhythm of her nips, his nose getting slightly damp. shepard could feel the bumpy texture of his plating even though the fabric barrier between them.

spirits he couldn’t get enough of how she smelled.

pride warming his chest as he noticed the subtle mix of his own scent in hers.

garrus hooked the side of her panties and slowly dragged them down her legs. he slipped them off her feet and tickled her arches with his talons, causing her to squawk in surprise followed by involuntary giggling. he kissed up the back of her calves, licking as he went. shepard unconsciously had her thighs pressed together, desperate for some kind of friction from his teasing. garrus tutted at this and pried apart her thighs with his rough hands, “open your legs for me honey, i wanna see all of you.”

he trailed his talons up the back side of her thighs and spread his hands over her ass cheeks, giving them a harsh squeeze. garrus licked up the side of her thighs, flicking his tongue against her outer lips. he gently circled his fingers softly from her labia majora to her labia minora, explicitly not touching where she wanted him the most.

“garrus please… stop teasing,” shepard begged breathlessly, feeling him open her lips up with two talons.

“patience sweetheart,” he purred, admiring her slicked folds gleaming in the soft lights of the kitchen.

garrus stuck his tongue out and instead of going between her folds, he went right in between her ass cheeks, massaging the puckered hole with his tongue. shepard shivered at the sensation, still not used to stimulation around her anus. they had slowly been experimenting for a while, but she wasn’t ready for full penetration yet. she clenched around nothing at just the thought of being so vulnerable with him, feeling empty and needing his thick tongue inside of her more than anything else in the galaxy at that moment. he could feel her impatience and frankly, he loved the way she tasted too much to tease any further.

so he finally indulged her.

he parted her lower lips with his ridged tongue, rubbing along her wet folds all the way up to her clitoral hood. shepard gasped at the sudden contact, the texture of his tongue adding to the pleasure she felt as her clit was finally being stimulated. garrus skillfully drove his tongue back and forth against her wetness, slick noises filling the room and ricocheting off of the green linoleum tiles. he switched his ministrations to a side-to-side motion, focusing specifically on her clit and using the tapered tip of his tongue to meet the tip of her sensitive nub. shepard was a moaning, withering mess on the counter, grinding her hips back against his tongue and holding onto the edge of the kitchen island so hard that her knuckles were turning white. garrus relaxed into her and let his mating subvocals vibrate out, loud enough to make his tongue vibrate against her aching heat.

"o-oh spirits garrus!" she moaned out, her toes curling in pleasure with her thighs slightly closing together, pressing against his face.

he hummed in appreciation and lapped at her folds, taking one hand off of her ass and giving the cheek a few love taps. his own hips were desperately grinding against nothing, rubbing his thighs together as seeing her wither under him was making his own arousal pool into his underwear. garrus drew his tongue back and used the thumb of his hand to rub tight circles on her clit. he let his saliva build up in his mouth for a little and spit on her exposed vulva. shepard quivered at the warm liquid, feeling him swirl his spit with her slick using his long tongue. he teased her opening with the tip of his tongue, adjusting his grip on her hips to hold her down firmly as he slid his tongue inside of her. shepard gasped as he split her open, feeling every textured inch of his tongue inside of her, filling her up just like a cock.

garrus thrusted his tongue inside of her, hitting all the right spots and vibrating inside of her. the thumb stimulating her clit started to circle faster, getting wetter and wetter with each movement. he moved his head back and forth while he was plunging his tongue deeper into her, massaging her walls with precise motions. feeling her clench around his tongue. the knot in her stomach was already starting to tighten embarrassing fast, her walls fluttering around his tongue. he knew that she was close without even needing to hear her choke out, "g-garrus, 'm close!"

he nodded against her and continued at his same pace, hearing her breathy moans above him until she suddenly let out a loud guttural moan. she clenched tightly around his slick muscle, her cum and arousal fluids completely soaking his face. garrus carefully pulled out his tongue and licked up her fluids, gently swiping over her clit with his tongue as she twitched away from overstimulation. he slowly stood up and kissed the middle of her back in a silent 'thank you'. shepard smiled a the gesture and picked her chest up off of the counter, turning around to face him. she studied the wet sheen on his face for a moment before cupping his cheeks and pulling him into a deep kiss. garrus pushed his lip plates into her soft lips, cradling her waist so that her back arched with her chest flush against his.

shepard grabbed his hand and led him hastily onto the couch, lightly pushing him down onto his back. she checked and made sure that his fringe was safely hanging over the edge of the couch before climbing ontop of him. quickly, she pulled down his pants and underwear along with them, sharply sucking in a breath at how wet he was. she couldn't help herself and reached a hand down, rubbing his folds with two of her fingers. garrus' hips bucked up and he leaned his head back against the armrest of the couch, groaning at the meticulous movements of her small fingers. shepard gathered his slick onto her fingers and brought them up to her mouth, making a show of licking up her fingers before inserting them all the way in. garrus was hypnotized by her teasing, feeling himself pulse with need.

she carefully slipped a leg under his and leaned her weight back on her hands, scooting her hips forward until their vulvas touched. garrus' hands naturally went to her hips, guiding them to grind down on him while he rubbed with a hint of desperation against her, seeking his own orgasm. he selfishly gyrated against her as much as he could with her weight on top of him. shepard rocked her hips against his perfect pussy with garrus pushing back with equal force, slick sounds filling the pair's ears as they both drew closer to their highs. they could both feel each other pulsing against one another, adding to their overall pleasure. garrus looked up at her as if she had hung all the stars in the sky. his hot body temperature only added more stimulation.

shepard's whined out a moan as she came first, the tightness in her stomach snapping from overstimulation. she weakly continued to rub her pussy against garrus' letting herself be moved by his grip on her hips as her mind was numb with her second indulgence. garrus watched as her clothed breasts bounced with her movements, groaning as he used her hips to easily slide himself against her. shepard leaned forward and scratched her nails along his fringe, sending him over the edge with a grip on her hips that would definitely leave a few bruises tomorrow. garrus moaned out her name as he reached his peak and his cum gushed out, his hips still rutting against her involuntarily as he was coming down from his high. he couldn’t help but look down at their connected lips, puffier and covered in their mixed juices.

shepard snapped his out of his haze by leaning her forehead against his. garrus returned the gesture by nuzzling his forehead against hers, reminding shepard of a cat which brought a slight smirk to her lips. the room was warm with the smell of sex lingering in the air, a welcomed warmth after a chilly afternoon spent outside. shepard brought her leg over so that she was simply straddling his lap now and leaned her head onto his chest. his shell was too thick for her to hear his heartbeat, but she could feel the calming subvocals coming from his throat. garrus ran his talons through her hair and cooed sweet nothings to her. shepard reached down and ran her fingers against the bottom of his hip, finding a piece of hay between his ass and the couch. she held it up in disbelief and looked at him, both of them bursting out in laughter with garrus squeaking out that he was 'right the whole time!'. shepard shook her head and threw it across the room, lunging forward and wrapping her arms around his neck. he returned the gesture by wrapping his arms around her waist, chuckling as he felt her press kisses all around his face while he rubbed her back.

maybe the hay ride was worth it after all.

a/n: save me freshly made apple cider donuts....