#and since her attribute at the moment is ''shadow'' she is maybe the only one who could actually stop werm causing trouble

[shivunin]

FenHawke + 5 and Cullen/Salshira + 15 for the Florence + the Machine prompts? 👀

Oooh this is so perfect for them, anon. Good choice! I will do the second one in a separate post, as always c:

When to Fold

(Fenris/Maria Hawke | 1,519 Words | CW: references to alcohol)

Summary: After Danarius's defeat, Hawke throws a party at her home and reflects on the changes to her relationship with Fenris.

“The feeling comes so fast and I cannot control it I'm on fire, but I'm trying not to show it.” —Florence + the Machine, “Free”

Relief had made Hawke clumsy. 

She couldn’t explain herself any other way. Well, she probably could if she really put her mind to it—making things up had always been a special talent of hers—but it was the only way she could explain this to herself. 

“You’ve dropped your cards,” Fenris said in a low voice. 

He was sitting to her left. In and of itself, this was not remarkable. They’d played Wicked Grace together hundreds of times before, though they’d done so in her formal dining room admittedly less often. They’d sat together before. They’d certainly eaten together before. But—tonight was special and she rather thought they both knew it. 

For the first time in three years, Fenris sat at Hawke’s side. 

“Stop losing on purpose, Hawke,” Aveline said sternly from the other end of the table. Her coin made a faint scraping noise when she slid it to the pot. “I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”

“There, there, darling,” her husband said, tapping his own face-down hand. “You did very well on that last hand. There’s hope for you yet.”

Aveline cast him a look and Donnic lifted his hands, half-laughing. Maria tried very hard to focus on the two of them, but it was difficult when Fenris went on moving in her periphery. How long had it been since he’d told her he intended to stay in Kirkwall? One week, perhaps two? She’d been so delirious with joy that she’d thrown together a party to celebrate it and only come up with an excuse for the surprise after the fact. 

Something to celebrate all of them being in the same place for the very first time, she’d said. It wasn’t a lie; near as she could tell, this would be around when he’d made his way to the city. Even so, she knew that she’d drawn them all here for a different reason entirely: relief. Whatever she and Fenris were to each other—and it defied strict definitions—he would not be leaving her. Not yet, in any case. 

“Maybe you should lay off the fancy Antivan wine, Hawke,” Varric had told her only moments ago, after she’d dropped her cards the first time. 

Perhaps he was right. Perhaps her mood could be attributed to the heady rush of wine and good company alone. 

“Thanks,” Hawke whispered to Fenris, and gathered the cards up again with clumsy hands. 

He ducked his head to look between their chairs and leaned toward her, stretching. The light caught on the silver embroidery in his clothing, an admittedly indulgent gift. Worth it, of course; seeing him comfortable in fine things had done something rather odd to her chest. Well, seeing him at all did something odd to her chest at the best of times. Surely she couldn’t blame all of it on the clothing. 

“There,” Fenris murmured after a moment, sitting back again. He lifted a card, freshly fetched from under the table. Hawke looked at it for a long moment before she realized that he was handing it to her. 

“Oh, thank you,” she said, and reached to take it from his hand. 

Their fingerprints brushed. It was nothing; the simplest of touches. She’d shared more contact with the grocer. After three years, it should not burn her so. But—it did. It did, just as it had every time before. 

Fenris did not let go immediately. Neither did Hawke. He studied her face, lovely eyes rich and warm in the candlelight. The barest shadow hid under the curve of his lower lip, cast there by the very same candles. If she’d had more wherewithal, she might have wondered if she was blushing. She must be; she felt like her whole body had been set on fire. Not a fire that consumed, nor even a fire that slumbered safely in the hearth 

No—if she burned then, it was like a candle set on a windowsill. Waiting, always waiting, held safe from the winds of the world by the thinnest layer of fragile glass. 

“Forgive me,” he said after a moment, and let go. 

Maria nodded wordlessly and folded the card into her palm with a deft and thoughtless motion. Each place he’d held it was warm. She marked them each: the edge of the card where his index finger had rested, the place where his thumb and middle finger had pinched to hold it still. 

Clumsy. That’s all she was.

Clumsy, and relieved, and Maker but she’d forgotten how warm this gown could be. Hawke reached for her glass of wine and drained it all at once, wishing it would somehow cool her. 

“Now,” Sebastian said from the other side of the table, “I do not mean to be rude, but I will say I was lured here with the promise of cake.”

“Oh, Andraste’s a—” she caught herself at the last moment and fumbled for another phrase. “Ah—dimples—”

“Thank you,” Sebastian said at the plainly amended oath, the corner of his mouth twitching faintly. 

“—I’d forgotten entirely. I’ll go get it now.”

She stood so quickly that she almost knocked her chair over, but gathered herself with a laugh and made her escape to the empty kitchen. For a moment, she leaned back against the door and pressed her hands to her cheeks. 

Three years. Three years of holding herself carefully apart and reminding herself over and over and over again that she had to let him go. Three years, and the tiniest trickle of hope had her stumbling now. 

“It’s too much at once,” she said aloud, passing her hands back over her hair before crossing at last to the desserts laid out on the table. “That’s all. It caught me by surprise.”

It was too much. It wasn’t as if she’d ever stopped loving him. Of course not; she might be a practiced liar, but three years was an awfully long time to close her eyes and cover her ears. Hawke had watched Fenris walk out her door and done everything she possibly could to forget what they’d done. Instead, loving him had carved a new sort of groove in her heart. He was one of her dearest friends, and knowing they would never be anything else had allowed her to know him as he truly was. Fenris was flawed, irritable, biased, short of temper when pressed…but also clever, strong, kind when he had no call for it, thoughtful even when he thought nobody would notice, and unfailingly loyal. 

When they’d stumbled up the stairs to her bedroom three years ago, she had wanted him more than anything. It was a desire that had overridden any good sense she had left, that had rushed her where she knew better than to go, but she was wiser now. Maria loved Fenris down to her bones and knew she always would, but that needn’t change anything. She’d be a fool to think otherwise now. 

“Alright,” she told the cake, decadently draped with summer fruits. “Alright. I can handle this.”

“Do you need help?” Fenris asked behind her. 

Clearly, she had been too lost in thought if she hadn’t heard him enter. Hawke tried to mask her surprise, but it was difficult after she’d already yelped and clapped a hand to her chest. 

Fenris eyed her, one hand pressed to the center of the open door. 

“Forgive me,” he said. “I did not mean to—” 

“No, no, of course you’re not to blame,” Hawke told him, half-laughing. “I’m afraid I was lost in my thoughts. Thank you for fetching me back.”

He studied her for a moment. There was something soft in his face. She was certain she was not imagining or inventing that much. Perhaps it was only the release of a lifetime’s worth of fear and anger. Perhaps he was relieved to stay, too. 

It didn’t explain why his ears were faintly red, but she wasn’t the only one who’d been drinking, was she?

“Thank you,” she told him when he rounded the little table and took the other side of the platter. “It’s heavy to manage on one’s own.”

“Then we will carry it together,” Fenris said gravely. When he bent his head to look down at it, a lock of pale hair drifted over his forehead. 

“Ready?” he asked, and unexpectedly lifted his eyes to hers. Hawke blinked and nodded once, unable to look away for a moment. She was clumsy in a way that had nothing to do with her hands, but it seemed she would go on stumbling. Perhaps she ought to just resign herself to this. It would pass in time, when she got her feet under her. She was sure of it. 

“Always,” she told him. 

Fenris hesitated, opening his mouth to speak, but shook his head instead. 

“Lead on,” he told her, as he had a hundred times before, and Hawke turned her attention instead to the path back to the dining room. 

Well—most of her attention, anyway.

[gloriousncss]

{nicola coughlan, 36, cis woman, she/her} We are so glad to see you safe, QUEEN ELISABETH “LIESEL” HATZFELD of GERMANY! It’s dangerous out in the world these days, but I hear that you are DECISIVE and EMPATHETIC enough to handle it. Just don’t let your EXPLOSIVENESS bring you down! Stay on your guard, because with your secret being at risk for exposure, you wouldn’t want everyone to find out YOU WERE EXONERATED FOR A CRIME YOU BELIEVE YOU COMMITTED.

The Basics:

Name: Elisabeth Hatzfeld Nickname: Liesel Title: Queen of Germany Age: 36 Birthday: December 28th (Capricorn) Sexuality: Bisexual/Biromantic Marital Status: Betrothed Positive Traits: Decisive, empathetic, nurturing, sensible Negative Traits: Explosive, competitive, temperamental, restless. Hobbies: Embroidery, star-gazing Family: King Elias Hatzfeld (deceased, twin brother), Crown Prince Stefan Hatzfeld (brother), youngest Hatzfeld royal (sibling).

Physical Attributes:

Height: 5'1" Hair Color: Strawberry blonde Hair Length: Stops right at her natural waist Hair texture: Wavy and frail Eye Color: Blue Markings/Tattoos: None Accent: English Languages Spoken: German, English, French Skin Texture: Constantly dry, she is always washing and moisturizing her hands

Prologue:

Ever since Elisabeth was born, she's known two things were absolutely true. One twin was destined for greatness. The other was destined to be his twin sister. Elias was a dream, or so his admirers would say. If anyone ever wanted to be her friend, even for a moment, it was so they could get a glimpse at her brother. Whilst he was heralded as a hero, Liesel was trapped under layers of pink and powder blue, forced to do all of the real work with their family. She was more a mother to her brother and sibling than their own mother was. Yet, as a people-pleaser by nature, she still sought the approval of her father, even if all she could get from the man was a solemn head nod every once in a while. It wasn't always so terrible, growing up. She had a great deal of fun caring for her younger siblings, getting to know them as they grew older and making little piece of embroidery for their clothes, handkerchiefs, and pillows to commemorate their proudest milestones. Of course, that would never be the case for her twin. While they had their friendly moments, she kept her distance as to not be swallowed up under his shadow. It gave her a great deal of free time to learn new embroidery patterns and even learn to study the stars, discovering the stories they tell and what they say about the future. It was a simple, almost-happy life, or at least that's what she told herself as she faded away into the background. Liesel did not shed a single tear when her father died. Well, maybe a few, but it was only for the lost chances she could have had to prove to him that she was the better choice for queen. She was smarter, kinder, and had a countenance that other nations could find more agreeable. But it didn't stand a chance against the golden boy. With betrothals already set for both her and her first younger brother, it seemed like there would be hell arriving at the doors of the German apartments once they arrived to India.

Chapter 1: Lal Qila

The apartments were abysmal. She was betrothed to someone she didn't much like at all. Was she being punished? Was this meant to be revenge for even suggesting to their father that she could wear the crown? Her patience wore thinner and thinner as the days went by. To her relief, the answers came sooner rather than later; Germany was broke and the only reason their nation stood a chance was because of Japan. Her brother was a joke of a king and it was only proven to her that day. Once a docile, sweet woman, her ambitions grew greater and greater to take the throne from him while he was still vulnerable. The Reckoning was less of a threat and more of an opportunity. The anger had boiled over so much to the point where she paid off what was left in her pockets to her captors to seize the German King in exchange for her and her siblings freedom. The plan was to pretend to negotiate for his release in exchange for abdicating the throne, but something unimaginable happened instead...

After The Reckoning... (tw; murder)

King Elias was dead. Her twin brother was dead and it was her fault. Liesel was beside herself, wailing and weeping for the grave mistake she had made. Thankfully, her shock and guilt was easily mistaken for an inconsolable, loving sister who had just lost her dearest brother. During the tribunal against the Hatzfeld royals, she could hardly get a word out through her tears. Though they were genuine, she had to admit she was quite grateful for them. No one suspected a thing. No one could have ever guessed that she cried day in and day out for months as she blamed herself for Elias's death. She wanted him dethroned, she wanted him to see her succeed past his mistakes. Being queen now wasn't quite the victory she had imagined it would be. Now, a year has passed since that horrifying day. Exonerated of all possible crime, Liesel is now Queen of Germany, by default, and she is determined to wipe out this stain from their family's history by restoring them to their former glory. Her siblings, of course, will need new betrothals that will give them happiness and money. Meanwhile, Liesel still remains betrothed to the same person she despised in Lal Qila... out of pure necessity for funds, of course. Perhaps, one day, she can bring herself to make the march down the aisle without retching at the thought of it. But, for now, she can set her sights on securing other alliances, ushering a new era of peace, and desperately trying to distract herself, and the rest of the world, from the lingering fact that her brother is dead... because of her.

TLDR; Elisabeth (or more commonly known as "Liesel") is like the invisible backbone of the family. Since she was old enough to take on responsibility, she's been the mother figure that her siblings needed in the absence of their real parents. She lived entirely under Elias's shadow, despite trying to people-please her way to the crown. It, obviously, didn't work. Instead, she got betrothed to someone she doesn't like and was shoved into a tiny crappy apartment in Lal Qila (because they were broke oof) and thought that Elias actually hated her. She got pissed and paid off her captors in The Reckoning to grab him so she could "negotiate his release" by abdicating the throne to her. It backfired when he turned up dead. She 100% blames herself and wept her way through the tribunal. Everyone pretty much thought she wasn't a threat and obviously cared about him because she's crying so much. It was all just guilt and shock, really. Now, with the crown on her head a year later, she's desperate to wipe this mistake from her ledger by trying to create peace. But this is a BIIIIG mess to clean up, phew.

Similar Characters: Elsa (Frozen), Rosalie Hale (Twilight), Terry Jeffords (Brooklyn Nine-Nine), Luisa Madrigal (Encanto), Wendy Darling (Peter Pan), Dottie (A League of Their Own), Odette (The Swan Princess)

[wild-karrde]

In Command - Part 2

Master List | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N: As always, thank you to the outstanding @teletraan-meets-jarvis for beta-reading this chapter for me!

Chapter Rating: T

Warnings: mentions of grief, mourning, death, canon-typical violence (sorry... the Order 66 flashback had to happen at some point)

Word Count: 4.7k words

Rex adjusted his stance again, his boots crunching the dust as he shifted his weight from his left foot to his right, trying to blend in with the shadows cast by the late afternoon sun. To a casual passerby, he seemed like any other nondescript person at the market, perhaps a father waiting to meet his family at a predetermined spot, maybe a cook in one of the local cantinas scouring for ingredients, maybe even a pickpocket scouting for a mark. Few gave him enough of a glance to ascertain anything memorable about him, and if he was honest, that’s what Rex preferred. The only person that had given him a second look today was a small Rodian girl as her mother had dragged her past. Rex knew the girl was too young to remember a war had been happening a year ago, and it was even less likely that she knew what a clone was since the war had largely left Lothal untouched. Nonetheless, she stared at him for a moment before waving shyly. Rex gave her a warm smile, tipping his hat to her as her mother dragged her onward, already focused on some stall at the other end of the row. Rex breathed a small sigh of relief as the little girl finally turned back forward to follow her mother, not paying him any additional mind. 

The former clone captain’s eyes scanned the market, looking for any opportunity he had to stand closer to the communications center that had been erected in the middle of the square. In the past, he had been able to confirm some of Senna’s findings by listening in to loose-lipped stormtroopers or commanders that were standing within its proximity. Today, however, luck hadn’t been on his side. It seemed as though all of the Imperials were slightly more on edge, more paranoid, and while he suspected it was due to the Empire Day posters plastered all over the city, he still didn’t like it. Them being nervous made Rex nervous. He rolled his head on his neck, trying to release some of the tension he felt. 

He didn’t want today to be a total failure, but so far, it felt as though he’d been utterly useless. He’d wandered to all of his usual haunts only to find that most of the officers he tailed or troopers he bought drinks for on their off days were busy, something else he attributed to the upcoming holiday to mark the anniversary of the Empire’s establishment. There was apparently going to be a large celebration to commemorate the day, and with all of the top brass arriving, the stormtroopers and officers alike were on their best behavior, eager to impress their superiors as they jostled for promotions. There was a feeling of anticipation and excitement in the air, but the last thing Rex felt like doing was celebrating. For him, it was to be the one year anniversary of him burying his brothers and going into hiding, one year since the entire galaxy came crashing down around his ears in the form of a destroyed Venator. The memories had been haunting him even before the posters went up. They were practically branded into his mind.

There wasn’t a day that passed where Rex didn’t think about what it had felt like when the inhibitor chip had activated, the loss of control as the order came through, triggering the chip that had been implanted in his brain when he was an infant. It was a ticking time bomb he never fully understood until that moment, but by then, it was too late. He’d never forget the fear he’d felt at the overwhelming urge he could not command. 

Good soldiers follow orders. Kill the traitors. 

For a moment, he’d thought maybe he could run, lock himself in an escape pod and jettison it before he hurt anyone, but as he looked up into the eyes of his brothers around him, into the familiar visors that now seemed cold and unfeeling, he knew that would not be enough. And then the door behind him had opened. 

In that moment, he’d prayed to whatever deity might be listening that it wouldn’t be Ahsoka standing behind him. Not the young Togruta that had grown up next to him. Not the Jedi he’d been so proud to serve alongside. Not the youngling he’d come to view as a sister. 

But it was. His heart sank even as the overwhelming rage pushed against the inside of his skull.

“Rex, it’s Anakin. I fear something terrible has happened.” There was confusion in her voice, alarm at the lack of understanding. He wanted to go to her, to reassure her that everything was alright and that they’d figure it out like they always did, but the voice in his head screamed louder, bashing against the inside of his mind like a caged predator.

KILL HER. KILL THE TRAITOR. FOR THE REPUBLIC.

His hands had trembled as he slowly turned to stare the young Togruta in the eye. His helmet fell from his hand, clattering loudly against the Venator’s deck. His body was not his own, but his mind was still fighting, and it was agony unlike anything he’d ever experienced, but still he fought for control. As his brothers turned and raised their blasters, his mind raced as to how he could save her.

“No, I’ll do it,” he snapped. He felt his hands drawing his blasters and he watched as they aimed at Ahsoka, her confusion turning to horror. He was trapped in his body, nearly helpless to stop what was happening, unable to wake from the nightmare. 

“Rex?”

With tears streaming from his eyes, he made his last stand against the chip.

KILL HER. DO IT. KILL THE TRAITOR. FOR THE REPUBLIC. GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS. KILL HER.

The words swelled to a scream in his mind, and it felt like he was drowning in quicksand, his flailing only dragging him deeper, further from his own intentions. His fear bled into a fury he could not understand, and his voice trembled as he spoke. 

“Find him. Find Fives. FIND HIM!” he had shouted before being pulled under. His fingers squeezed the triggers, and he had internally cried out in terror for Ahsoka.

Please let me have prepared her enough to survive this. Please let her kill me and escape. Please don’t let me be the one to take her life. 

He remembered feeling the sickeningly sweet relief of relinquishing control and the crack of his head hitting the holo table as Ahsoka tackled him backwards. The rage overtook him as he collapsed to the floor, his vision going blurry as blaster bolts erupted around him, the hum of Ahsoka’s lightsabers echoing in his ears. He shook his head, the throbbing pain in the back of his skull giving way to the chip’s control. Rex pushed himself to a standing position as his brothers gathered around Ahsoka, firing volley after volley. Their blue bolts reflected in muted flashes off of the painted helmets that they’d excitedly adorned with Ahsoka’s facial markings to celebrate her return. 

And now they were doing everything they could to kill her. 

Good soldiers follow orders. 

She had escaped, but it had been too late for him to regain control. The chip and the Empire had him.

FIND HER. KILL HER. WIPE THEM OUT.

He had stalked through the ship, giving orders to search every corridor and destroy every escape pod. All the while, it felt as though he was locked in his own body, screaming in anguish at what was happening around him. As he stormed through the ship, he thought of Anakin, of Obi-Wan, of all of the Jedi he had fought alongside, and every new face he pictured increased the inexplicable animosity within him. It terrified him, but the desire to surrender to it was overwhelming, and he no longer felt like it was a fight he could win. Rex felt himself slipping further and further away with every passing moment.

WIPE THEM OUT.

He had been so blinded by the turmoil within himself that he didn’t notice the astromech until he stumbled over it, and his anger bubbled with confusion as the droid sealed him in the hallway. “What are you crosswired?” he had shouted, and then she had appeared. 

Ahsoka’s expression on the holo was calmer than it had any right being, her words gentle and offering a forgiveness he couldn't comprehend. “This isn’t your fault.” The glowing image flickered as she offered him absolution, but the mere sight of her had triggered a hatred within him that he had never experienced. 

“Where is she?” he demanded, leveling his blaster at the droid, venom dripping from his every word.

“I’m right here.” He turned to see her, standing behind him, unarmed, and with a shock from the droid, his entire world went dark.

 —

“GG, THE DOOR!”

His eyes were closed, leaving him in darkness, and the sound of Ahsoka’s voice was muted, as if he were underwater listening to her shout above the surface. Rex felt as if he was dreaming, floating halfway between unconsciousness and a world he wasn’t quite ready to face again. Nevertheless, he willed his eyes to open and was surrounded by a soft blue light. Suddenly, everything came into focus and it was as if the room had a hole punched in it, sucking all of the air out. Rex’s mind cleared, and he rapidly blinked his eyes, taking in the scene before him, remembering where he was.

Ahsoka. The order. Danger. She’s in danger!

Instinctively grabbing for his blasters, he rocketed to a sitting position on the med pod table, gasping for air. He was himself again. Somehow, he had control.

Protect her. 

Ahsoka was leaning against the end of the med table deflecting blast after blast from the clone troopers attempting to breach the door. One of her lightsabers flew from her hand from a direct hit, but still she swung with her remaining weapon. 

Protect her. At any cost. 

Rex swallowed the lump in his throat and fired multiple blasts at the orange helmeted troopers, his brothers, knocking them away from the door long enough for it to slam shut.

Ahsoka paused for a second, her shoulders heaving as she attempted to catch her breath. She turned slowly, evaluating him, trying to discern if he was himself. 

“Rex, are you ok?” she had asked softly.

In that moment, Rex did something he’d never done before. He lied to Ahsoka.

“Yeah kid. Yeah, I’m ok.”

He had never been ok, not in that moment, and not any day since. The intrusion into his mind was something Rex would never forget. The awareness, the betrayal, the hatred, the anger, they all haunted him anytime he allowed his mind to wander, tendrils slipping from the shadows to remind him what he’d almost done. He had heard the Jedi speak of what it took to fall to the Dark Side, and after Order 66, he had always assumed that was as close as he would get to experiencing that.

He shuddered recalling how they had buried each of his brothers. He had managed to hold it together until they found Jesse’s body. Jesse had been one of the first men Rex had recruited for the 501st Clone Battalion. He was stubborn, impulsive, and a bit of a hothead, but above all, fiercely loyal to his brothers and quick on his feet both mentally and physically. It had taken him a while to make ARC, but that hadn’t seemed to bother him, and it didn’t make Rex any less proud when it finally happened. Jesse always preferred to do things at his own pace. The trooper’s trademark smirk was in place when Rex had arrived at the barracks to give him his promotion and new kit. 

“Didn’t think I’d get my act together to make ARC, did you, Rex?” he joked.

In a rare moment of indecorum, Rex had playfully shoved him. “There was never any doubt on my end, Jesse. Now go make sure this gear fits. Would hate for you to start off your ARC career tripping over your kama.”

Jesse winked at him cheekily. “Yes sir.” 

When they found him at the Venator crash that day, Ahsoka had carefully removed his helmet, and in that moment, Rex was struck by how peaceful his brother looked, even in death. It was as if he were napping like he had on so many of their flights down to a planet’s surface, and it was as if all it would take was a shake of his shoulder to wake him. Somehow, this was worse, and Rex swallowed the scream that was threatening to rip from his chest, balling his hands into fists as he tried to steady himself. He was grateful that Ahsoka had quickly covered his brother’s face, although if it was more for her benefit or his, he couldn’t be sure. 

Rex wasn’t religious, but he often prayed or hoped that in his final moments, maybe Jesse had not felt pain. If he had been aware of what was happening, that he was turning against his friends and was unable to stop it, perhaps death had come as a relief to him, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hurt the people he cared about. At least that was the thought Rex clung to.

It’s how I felt. I would have welcomed death to keep myself from hurting her. Or Anakin. Any of them. 

The former captain was ripped from his thoughts as his shoulder was bumped by plastoid. “Watch it,” a modulated voice snapped at him from beneath a stormtrooper helmet. Rex was relieved he didn’t recognize the voice. He knew the remaining clones had been largely decommissioned from the Imperial army, but some still chose to serve. He had yet to run into any of them, but he wasn’t sure how he’d react if he did. 

Muttering some form of apology, Rex moved away from the door he’d been standing near. He rubbed his eyes in frustration. 

Could really have used at least half a cup of palatable caf this morning. I’ve got to start waking up before her.

The sun was beginning to sink towards the horizon, signaling it was almost time for him to head back to the dwelling. Rex started making his way through the market, searching the stalls for sacks of sugar and pasta that he could bring home to Senna. 

Hopefully her day will have been at least a little more of a success. Mine seems to be a bust.

As he was scooping a handful of credits out of his pouch to pay the merchant for the massive bag of noodles that he was certain Senna would go through in less than a week, a large hologram sprang up near the communications tower, illuminating the small square. Rex finished paying and slowly meandered towards the crowd that was gathering in order to hear whatever announcement was coming.

The enlarged figure of an imperial officer glowed against the night sky. “Citizens of Lothal! It is with great pleasure that we announce the event to celebrate the first ever Empire Day to commemorate the anniversary of the end of the war and the establishment of our Galactic Empire!”

Rex felt the anger rise in his chest and swallowed it with effort as the crowd around him cheered. 

They don’t know. How could they? They only know what they’ve been told. That it was a glorious victory. That the Jedi were traitors. That this was the best possible outcome.

He was careful to continue staring at the hologram while lightly clapping so as not to betray his internal seething. 

The hologram continued speaking. “Events to celebrate will commence at the end of this week with a formal gathering at the town hall. All citizens are invited to attend to meet and honor your Imperial government officials and the brave soldiers that protect and serve you every day. As always, please bring your chain codes so that attendance may be tracked for future events! We look forward to seeing you at the celebration. Long live the Empire!”

Rex counted to ten before turning and slowly pushing his way back through the crowd. He didn’t want to appear too eager to get out of there even though he thought he might punch the first person to so much as brush him. 

You’re wound too tightly right now. You’ve got to get out of here. Don’t make a scene. Pull it together. 

As he escaped the crowd, he felt his pulse drumming in his ears. He attempted to channel some of the breathing techniques he’d seen Anakin and Ahsoka use during their meditations. He had never been able to bring himself to fully meditate, but he had been able to at least calm his nerves when he was anxious by borrowing some of what he’d witnessed over the years. His mind drifted to the commlink on his nightstand, but he shook his head violently, internally chastising himself. 

Stop. She won’t have called. You’ve got to be more patient or you’re going to drive yourself insane checking that thing every five minutes. 

He reached the outer wall of the dwelling compound just as the blood pounding in his ears began to subside. He released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, rolling his head on his neck and letting his shoulders relax. Looking up at the window in the second story, he saw the curtains had been pulled to hide the glow of the holo computers, but a thin sliver of light was still visible. He wondered if Senna would still be perched on her chair or if perhaps she’d finally stumbled into her bed.

She needs some sleep. Can’t keep burning the midnight oil. It’ll catch up with her eventually.

The concerned thought gave him pause, but only for a moment before he mentally shrugged it off. 

She’s my partner in all this. I need her at her best. That’s all. 

Setting the food items in the kitchen, he removed the hat and cloak, hanging them by the door. He paused for a moment, straining his ears, but could hear no movement. Quietly, he climbed the stairs, stopping first to poke his head in her bedroom. Her bed was unmade and empty. He sighed and moved down the hall to her “cave”.

Senna was slumped forward in her chair, arms crossed under her face in a makeshift pillow. Another (or perhaps the same) cup of caf had gone cold on her desk, and an empty bowl sat just within reach with some remnants of whatever she’d eaten stuck to the porcelain. Her back rose and fell slowly in the soft glow of the holocomputer’s screens, and he almost felt bad waking her. When they first started working together, he had quickly noted she rarely slept and when she did, she experienced nightmares that woke her screaming in terror. He had strained to listen many nights, wrestling with what he should do, whether to go to her or just leave her to work through her fears alone. Most nights when she woke from whatever haunted her, he could hear her murmur some repetitive phrase, and eventually, she would either presumably fall back to sleep or he would hear her quietly pad to her office. He had never mentioned anything to her, assuming that if she wanted to talk about it, she would.

He stood at the door for a moment pondering what the best approach would be, and her words from that morning came to mind. Rex smirked. 

Make some noise or something? Can do.

Carefully, he reached his boot towards what appeared to be a particularly precariously stacked pile of junk and toed it over. The hard disks, cabling, and whatever else she had hoarded into that stack toppled to the floor with a respectably loud crash.

Senna’s head shot up off the desk, and she stood up so fast her foot caught on a thick cable on the floor, sending her tumbling to the ground. Rex had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from grinning as she scrambled to her feet, wiping drool off her chin. Somehow the grease smear from this morning had multiplied into several streaks across her cheeks and arms, and he could definitely smell the sharp, burnt, tangy scent of some poor electronic that she had undoubtedly shorted while he was gone. She straightened, shooting daggers at him with her eyes.

“Hi,” she muttered.

He shrugged. “You said to make more noise.”

If looks could kill, Rex would have combusted on the spot. “I know what I said.”

He continued to ignore her glare, glancing around the room. “I see your day was productive.”

“Actually, it was.” She reached for her datapad, scrolling through files until she came to what she wanted. Turning the pad to face him, she extended an arm for him to take it.

Rex gingerly took a few steps into the room, feeling some contraption pressing into his ankle as he tried to find holes in the mess big enough to allow his boots to fit into them without crushing anything. Taking the datapad from her, he squinted at the screen, which seemed incredibly bright in the dark room. She had brought up a list of names, some of which he recognized from her reports. He looked up at her, and her eyes were sparkling with excitement, hoping he would put the pieces together on his own. Rex didn’t have the patience for guessing games, so he simply asked for an explanation. 

“What is this a list of?”

She deflated slightly, but pushed on with an explanation anyway. “That is a list of all of the Imperial cronies that will be attending the Empire Day celebration that was just announced. They’re planning on boozing and schmoozing with guests. Something about public outreach and getting to know the people.”

He shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was slightly. She always seemed to be one step ahead of him in terms of gathering information, and if he wasn’t so impressed, he’d be annoyed. At the moment, however, he was more annoyed with himself for underestimating her. 

Of course she saw the announcement. She’s constantly glued to the newsfeeds. 

“Good work,” he said awkwardly. He wasn’t sure why it felt so strange to acknowledge her accomplishments. As much as the way she did things bothered him, he couldn’t claim that she hadn’t produced results. Maybe he needed to not be so uptight, as she had put it. Maybe he just wanted her to think he was the one that had everything figured out, that he was competent and in command. Maybe he wanted to believe that he was after a year of him questioning everything about himself. 

And maybe he needed to let her empty file go. Her results had certainly spoken for themselves.

The compliment seemed to surprise her as much as it did him. He ignored her raised eyebrow, looking back down at the datapad and scrolling through the list some more, carefully reading each name and committing it to memory. The silence dragged on until she interjected firmly, “We should go.”

His head snapped up as he stared at her, his usual annoyance slipping back into place. “Absolutely not.”

“Rex – “

“That’s not my name right now.”

“Fine, LON. We need to go to this. They’re scanning chain codes.” Her voice was raised, her excitement replaced with exasperation. She ran her hands over her hair, smoothing down some of the flyaways that were standing on end, giving her the appearance of someone that had stuck their finger in a live power coupler. Exhaling sharply, she rubbed her hands over her face before stepping towards him, trying to calmly debate him. It was clearly a struggle to maintain her composure, but he did admire her effort. She wet her lips. “Do you honestly think they’re scanning those chain codes for future event planning? They’re not gauging attendance, they’re monitoring compliance. We have to go, particularly if we don’t want to stick out. I’m sure people that aren’t in attendance go on some list somewhere. Marked as ‘enemies of the Empire that hate parties’ or something.” She paused, meeting his eyes. “This isn’t me just coming up with any reason to get out of the house. I genuinely think this is the right play.” 

Rex watched her for a moment. She was hopeful, but he could also see she desperately wanted him to side with her. Despite his misgivings about her, he knew she was right, but it was still incredibly dangerous. He rubbed the back of his neck as he ticked through the pros and cons. While their fake identities held up to a good level of inspection, anything over and above the standard level of scrutiny would be risky. He hadn’t met any of the people on the list, but he knew him going was a gamble all the same, even if he looked different from most of the other clones that he had served with. His shock of blonde hair had made him distinct, but even with his individuality, he had never felt apart from his brothers. His brows knitted together as he thought, his mouth pulled into a thin, tight line.

When Rex looked up at Senna, he was surprised to see she wasn’t bouncing with excitement at the thought of going out. He saw concern in her face as well, but also a determination that he found admirable. 

She’s got me on this one. Doesn’t make me less nervous, but I don’t believe she’s overselling this. It’s important. 

He let out another sigh, tipping his head back and staring at the ceiling in surrender.

“Yes. You’re right. We do have to go.”

He felt another flutter of annoyance as she did a poor job of concealing her triumph. While she wasn’t bouncing on her toes or whooping loudly, she didn’t bother to stifle her smirk. “Alright then, it’s settled. I’ll have to drum up something nice to wear,” she joked. 

“And take a shower,” he replied.

“What, do I stink?”

“Have you seen your face? Looks like you slept in a tooka pen.”

“Well that’s just rude, Lon.” She put her hands on her hips, but he could tell she was enjoying the banter. If he was honest, he was too. 

“Yeah, well at least I’m not covered in grease,” he countered.

“Not yet you’re not,” she teased, and before he could respond, she stepped forward and wiped her hand across his face. Rex spluttered at the unexpected contact. He could smell the oil and engine grease on her palm and felt the grit on her hand gently scratch his cheek. 

Maybe that means she actually got the speeder working today. 

He shot her an unamused look as she pulled her hand away, wiping it on her trousers.

“There, we match now,” she giggled, patting him on the shoulder as she stepped past him into the hallway. “Night! Don’t forget to wash that off before you go to bed! Would hate to see that pristine pillow look anything less than military-grade.”

“G’night,” he muttered. For a moment, he was rooted to the spot, replaying the moment in his mind. It was an unusually jovial exchange between the two of them, but one that was perhaps long overdue. 

A little levity never hurt anyone. It would certainly be easier to work together if we actually got along. Maybe doing this mission together will help us figure each other out. 

Or she’ll get us both killed. 

Sighing, he cast one last look around her “cave”, wrinkling his nose at the mess before making his way down the stairs to his bedroom, wiping the grime from his face onto his shirt sleeve.

Tag List: @seriowan @partoftheeternalsoul @rosmariner @misogirl828 @ellichonkasaurusrex @zoeykallus @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @gjrain20-starwars @staycalmandhugaclone @redheadgirl @fordo-kixed-rex @ariadnes-red-thread @wizardofrozz @extrahotpixels @justanothersadperson93 @leftealeaf @obihiddlenox @meekaielmyerhs99 @kaminocasey @rain-on-kamino @ladykatakuri @sleepingsun501 @ladykagewaki

[philialdevotion]

phila was a strange sight. not for sore eyes, no, she did not strike him as one for sympathy. no matter their non-existent interaction, libra at the very least knew of her existence. those who praised the exalt, those who were willing to put their lives on the line in the name of her safety . . . yes, they were synonymous in that much.

but, she was dead, wasn't she? it was wrong to gawk, and so he refrains. the clergy enjoyed simplicity, lavish things were beneath their grasp -- exercising humility was a critical aspect of the faithful. and so he simply holds nothing more than a grouping of yellow tulips, strewn together by white ribbon. it was a gesture of goodwill and gratefulness, but a late tribute to her existence. there was no corpse to pay blessings, and so this would be it for now, presented to her living and breathing form.

though . . . now it was not a tribute to mourning, or the sake of reminiscing. phila's blood remained within her body, her bones were not pushed through flesh and muscle in a bloodied heap against the ground. this was simply . . . a gift. he had said his prayers for fell souls, but now one stood before him.

"my name is libra, nothing more than a ylissean clergyman devoted to her grace," is what he starts with, holding the flowers within his grasp. "please accept these flowers as a token of our gratefulness to your devotion to the exalt. it has been long since due, and yet, i have only since had the time to deliver them to you."

libra sets them down on the table before her, before taking a short few steps back. "might i ask that you accept me saying hello in cordelias stead?" though she hadn't asked, and maybe it was rude, he figured it would be pleasing for cordelia to hear . . . back home. "you and i are strangers, that i'm aware, but she speaks highly of you and her station to all that she knows. i am certain it would bring her happiness to see you well."

Between bouts of drilling safety procedures, and marking theory tests, Phila was finding that any disposable time to hand today was fodder for ever increasing predicaments.

Sat at her desk, her work accompanied by the shriek and babble of student’s enjoying the warmth of Spring, she relishes the feeling of exhaustation that renders her arms and legs utterly leaden. Even as she sinks into her chair a little, her eyes remain alert. Ready to be snatched up by something essential that demands her attention immediately. A stray pegasi somehow getting loose from the stables, a stray arrow hitting a student in the leg: things generally at the moment seemed to be going astray. Wandering here and there, and generally just wherever Phila least needed them. 

Whilst this would no doubt have been an endless source of frustration to a teacher who valued their own time more, Phila was very happy to submit to the rush of things to do. It made the hours pass easily, like a stream flowing through a brook, like water under a bridge. And she found it pleasant, floating along the silvery back of things that needed solving. 

She was all too eager then, to anticipate whatever problem the monk currently approaching was experiencing. An oxymoronic look of disbelief that seems to muffle the monk’s features, though, holds her back from immediately demanding he demand something of her. There’s a flicker to his green eyes, like sunlight illuminating foliage. It leave her feeling measured. As if he were a judge, ready and waiting to read the innermost sections of her heart.

This confusion is so brief that it could be attributed to the interplay of light and shadow, and Phila is happy to allow it to be so. She doesn’t want to understand why a holy man’s gaze seems to pierce straight through her, to remind her of things that she had tried to surrender to this day’s task juggling. 

The moment she hears Ylisse, however, she immediately raises her eyes, which had been examining a corner of her office in need of a sweep; meets his gaze which is soft, reminiscent of grass presed down by sleeping bodies on a summer’s day. A store of comfort, of respite. His features are delicate: framed by braided hair like gold foil around a portrait. Her eyes fill her thoughts, her hair imposes itself over all else. She hears devotion, and smiles. Her Grace, absent as she is, continues to guide her, bring her home. 

She takes the offered flowers, bulbs of bright yellow that gleam like flames against her dusky armour, and holds them close to her chest. Just over her heart. The natural resting place of things that are dear to her. If Phila is dead, and her body is little more than a tomb, let it be a place where such beautiful things can flourish. ‘Thank you. This is one of the kindest gifts I’ve recieved in a long time.’ Casting her eye around for some water, she fills a cup and carefully fans out their stems inside. The thought that this gift, this tie between them, forged of course, by the Exalt, could wither makes her sadder than she’d like to admit. ‘Though, please. There is no need to praise duty. I was merely aiding Her Grace’s vision.’ 

Cordelia’s name, once so integral a part of her life, always on the lips of her older knight-sisters, floats from Libra like a cloud. ‘Cordelia said that?’ She asks, a slightly teasing lilt to her voice. ‘She has clearly forgotten the drills I used to train her in.’ The levity dances for but a moment.

Memories of a young girl, frantic and sobbing out the loss of her sisters crinkle the edges. She had failed her, failed them all in so many ways.

But, Cordelia had lived. Survived to speak her name. That eased the weight over her chest a little. ‘I would love dearly to see her someday, to return to Ylisse… she always showed exceptional talent, incredible promise.’ 

She stands, offers her hand to the monk before her. ‘Thank you. For bringing me home, even for a moment.’ Phila’s smile rarely reaches her eyes nowadays, but in this moment she can feel the old lines, echoes of her grin, pressing themselves anew into the corners of her face. ‘You must allow me to repay these wonderful gifts. If there is anything I can do for you, I will be by your side immediately.’ 

[queenseneca]

Whoo! This took forever. But it was worth it.

1. Hai Quan, the eldest of the twins, always had image issues. She feels she looks not enough like her parents and far too much of a certain...stone monkey. For this reason, she tries to hide her face and eyes, though growing up her hair was only long enough to cover one. And though her siblings and parents tried to coax her, Hai only grew further distant and more mad at herself. She hated how she looked, she hated how her fur felt, and even in her human form it didn't feel right. She didn't feel as though she was good enough. Nothing felt good enough.

2. As she grew older, her appearance took a drastic turn. One day, her pupils had dilated into slivers, resembling snake eyes. This frightened her greatly. Hai worked even harder to hide herself to no avail as simple things like that are difficult to miss. Even moreso when she had no confidence in herself, rendering her shapeshifting abilities useless.

3. Her mental health continued to decline further and further until she swore there were ghosts following her every move. Telling her how worthless she was, how disgusting and horrifying she looked, and how nobody would ever love her. She'd heard of the ghosts from her father, Macaque, from his fight with Lady Bone Demon, but he'd said she was defeated. Who'd have known some of her would remain and be passed down to his children? Continuously, Hai Quan wakes up in the night, screaming about demons and nightmares. This has attributed to her lack of sleep and the dark circles under her eyes.

4. Hai Quan when she was a very tiny child in a sun dress made by her mother, Seneca.

As for the 4 pictures? Well...

Macaque watched as his daughter laid in her bed, faced away from everyone. His tail twitched and he contemplated in his head what to do. He looked at the posters and the books she had, a smile showing on his muzzle, one he couldn't hide. While he and Wukong still fought, since they recently found their lovers, things had quieted down and their fighting grew less and less frequent. He knew Seneca was happy for that. She didn't like to see him fight. The shadow let out a sigh and went in to sit on the edge of Hai Quan's bed. He looked at her for a moment.

"Y'know....the Lunar New Year is coming up. You said you wanted me to help with your makeup, right?"

Hai gave a huff and nuzzled more into her bed. It wasn't a yes, but it also wasn't a no. Simple silence between them that had become too familiar for either of their liking.

Macaque watched as her two tails curled around her body under the covers. One of his ears flicked. "Well.....maybe you could...give suggestions of what you want? Or...look in a book and show me? There is a lot of different styles of dress for us." Then under his breath, he whispered, "Far too many, if you ask me."

He saw one of his daughter's own ears perk up at this. She looked over at him, her red eyes seeming to glow maliciously. Though there was no hint of malice in her body. Even from birth.

Silence hung over the two for a while longer. A comfortable silence that soon became awkward. Hai wanted to speak but her voice refused to work. She kept trying but hadn't the confidence. This seemed to bother her greatly. The fur on her arms rose as she became more and more anxious. She felt a weight on her side and glanced, seeing her father's tail there, lightly curled over her body.

"I'll give you time to think it over, ok? Just let me know. I mean, I don't mind checking in on ya all the time, but I think your brother and sister are getting jealous."

The weight released and Macaque stood up, ready to leave, before he felt a tug on his paw. He looked down with his ears perked up with a bit of surprise. Curious he glanced over his shoulder to see Hai clinging on to him; both of her small paws holding his own. This simple sight made his heart want to melt. He smiled and nudged his head to Hai's vanity. She was hesitant to move at first but slowly got out of bed, and he helped her to sit on the stool.

Macaque had to squat on his knees to mess with her hair. She was relatively tall for her age, but nowhere near as tall as him, so he had some trouble reaching her at times. He combed through it a little with his fingers but found many tangles in it. He curiously sniffed her hair then blinked. His expression became worrisome.

"Hai, when was the last time you bathed...?"

He got no response. But she lowered her head to the floor, as if full of shame. This only worried him more. He patted her head and stood up.

"Stay right here, ok? I'll be right back."

Then he left and went to look around the house. He came upon Seneca and their other two children, Fu Zhen and Yawen Xue. Playing outside in the beautiful weather as autumn was quickly turning to winter and the air growing colder. Macaque gave a chuckle as he watched them for a moment. A deep, soothing rumble of a purr sounded from his chest, one that alerted his wife that he was there. She turned and gave him a smile and a wave.

"Hello my dear. Is there a problem?" As Fu and Yawen continued to play, the shadow went over to Seneca and kneeled down, whispering in her ear. She listened and gave a nod when he was finished, then kissed his cheek before standing up and going inside. Macaque decided to stay out with his other two children and played with them. He even summoned a few of his clones to make it more fun for them. Yawen tried to impress him with her fighting skills while Fu was more like his mother, trying to be friendly with them instead of causing a scene. Macaque couldn't be more proud of all his children. He was happy none of them were turning out to be like him, and it was relieving, in a way. That of all his worries, that was the one not to come true.

An hour or so later, Seneca went back out and kissed him, which earned a grossed out "Ewwwww." from both of their other children. The parents giggled before talking.

"Is she ok?" Macaque asked in a soft tone. Seneca gave a nod and smiled.

"I helped her to clean up. Goodness only knows what she might be going through. She would not speak about it to me. Hardly even looked at me....you do promise she will be ok, right?"

"Of course," He gave her a quick hug. "She will be ok. Don't worry."

She nodded and hugged him back before he left go and pulled away, standing up. He went inside while leaving his clones out, knowing they'd not do anything.

In Hai's room, he knocked first, then peeked in. He saw her curled up on her bed again. Her fur and hair was damp and she seemed to shiver from the cold. Macaque quickly left and got the hair dryer from the restroom, went back to her room, then plugged it in. He gave a light gesture for her to go over to the vanity again. She shook her head.

"Hai, I promise, it will help you to feel better. I'd never lie to you." He smiled warmly at his daughter. One of her tails flicked. She looked at him, then the floor, and slowly forced herself to get up off the bed and go to the vanity, where she sat down.

"Trust me, Hai. When we're done with this, you'll feel much better."

An hour passed...

She remained obsolete in her reactions to him. But as he did her makeup and fixed her hair, she felt slightly better, and soon closed her eyes to make the reveal that much better. She didn't want to spoil it for herself.

Another hour passed...

Her fur was silky smooth and soft, fluffy, and bright. Her hair was equally nice and luscious, being in a side braid on her shoulder and out of the way of her eyes. She was also made to have beautiful makeup that, once she looked at it, made her gasp and blush ever so slightly. She couldn't even believe it was her in the mirror.

"So," Macaque asked as he took the brushes and pencils from his mouth and winked down at Hai, "What do ya think? Perfect for the Lunar New Year?"

He got no response, at least verbally. She was so busy looking at herself. She glanced up at him after a while, still silent, in complete awe of how she appeared. Macaque gave a soft chuckle and squatted to her height. "What's the matter, Hai? Too starstruck at your father's use of makeup?"

He meant to make more jokes in an effort to hear her laugh, but he was cut off and pushed into silence himself as Hai leaped from the stool and nuzzled into his chest fur. He could feel her trembling and twitching. Though hesitant, he returned the hug, as tight as he could without causing any harm to the girl. He held her close to his body and let her know he was there for her. He wasn't leaving.

"You'll be ok, sweetheart. I'm here. We're all here for you. Even if you don't believe it."

(background art: Lego Monkie Kid promotional material

Sun Wukong fanart

[laughingsapphic-creates]

Just me again. Hope you guys wanted some ✨backstory✨

This came out waaay longer than I originally intended 😅

~~~~~

"Danyal?"

"Grandfather."

Danny looked down at the man, his face a mask of indifference. Ra's blinked in surprise, caught off guard just long enough for Danny to spare a glance for the woman at his side. He met his birth mother's gaze for only a moment, but read the fear and hope and wonder and confusion in her eyes. It only made him angrier, but he bit it back like an ice cube between his teeth, and shifted his gaze back to the man who summoned him.

Ra's had overcome his shock, and actually smiled - smiled, the slimeball - and reached out a pale hand towards him, a disgusting mimicry of the affection he'd denied Danny in life.

"Look at you! The power of you! Just magnificent," he smiled, as if proud. Proud.

"Oh, spare me, Demon Head," Danny snarled, the glowing lines of the Ghost King's summoning circle growing over with green-tinged ice as he shifted closer, the ecto-green glow from beneath him throwing dark, sharp shadows across his face. "You made it perfectly clear that you didn't care for any power I could offer you in life, and you of all people have no right to ask it of me in death," he hissed, relishing the surprise on Ra's face, though it was quickly replaced with an admonishing look.

"Now, Danyal, is that any way to speak to your grandfather?"

"You are no kin of mine! I washed my hands of you the day Damian killed me," he shouted. They didn't need to know that his brother had failed - he couldn't risk them discovering the family he had now, couldn't risk them threatening the tentative peace he'd only just established between his tiny town and the realms of the dead. If that meant Damian kept his standing with these two, so be it. Rubbing it in his face that a lab accident had succeeded where his brother had failed wasn't worth the havoc they would wreak on his life. Danny didn't allow himself to wonder if Damian would be punished for his failure.

"And look at how well you've done since! Master of Death, King of the Infinite Realms." An assassin offered Ra's a thick, old-looking book, presumably the one they had looked to for information on how to summon him, and Danny scoffed. "You wouldn't attribute any of your success to your training?"

"Hard to say. I only recently became King," he hummed, gritting his teeth. "Eight years is a long time, and my more recent training is quite different from your abuse." Danny saw Talia wince at the use of the word, and he wondered if anyone else had ever called it that out loud.

"Abuse? Danyal, you were trained by the best of the best to be a warrior and scholar-"

"You trained children to murder! You made Damian and I literally fight for every scrap of affection and praise! My twin, someone meant to be the closest person to me, murdered me in cold blood because I wasn't strong enough to be considered worthwhile. But you know what? Killing me got me out of this place and away from you monsters, so maybe I owe Damian a thank you after all!" 

As Danny raised his voice, the ring on his right hand began to glow with energy. He didn't spare more than a thought for the devastated horror in his mother's eyes - she had been complicit in everything, and favored Damian as much as Ra's had. Danny had been six when the doctor's Fenton had taken him in, and he had never once felt like he was loved less than Jazz in their house, even in his complicated early days as Phantom.

Danny sighed, and the glow around his hand faded as he leveled them both with a cold stare.

"Of course, I doubt my brother expected that I would achieve anything in death, nevermind become King of it."

Technically, he wasn't king yet - officially, yes, which is why the circle summoned him. But Dora was serving as his regent until his powers finished developing and he surrendered his mortal half, which he wasn't planning on doing for a while yet. But again, that felt like something safer to keep to himself. 

"Nonsense, Danyal. Damian saw your potential more than anyone! As soon as your times and scores started to close in, he took action. He saw you as a threat - have some pride!"

Danny blinked in surprise, pausing only a moment before filing that away for his next therapy appointment. Ancients knew he didn't have time to focus on it now.

"Enough catching up. You didn't summon your grandson for a friendly chat. You summoned the Ghost King. I doubt anything you have to say will make the trip with it, but I'll give you one shot, just for funsies."

It was about what he'd expected upon realizing who exactly was summoning him. Not really listening, Danny looked at the book Ra's now held. Hard to guess if it was exclusively information on the Realms, or if it was just How To Summon World-Ending Entities 101, but either way, he should really get it away from Ra's. The man had ruined Danny's formative years with a few words and looks. Who knew the damage he could do with whatever else was in that book.

It occurred to him that Ra's had gone silent, clearly awaiting an answer. Humming to himself as if considering, Danny thought back on his few diplomacy lessons with Dorathea. One lecture - on dealing with revived spirits - struck him, and Danny found himself smiling.

"Funny story, Demon. Did you know that dead souls remain the property of the Realms, even if they're resurrected on the mortal plane ?"

Danny smirked as Ra's composure fell, just for a moment. Just long enough for Danny to glimpse true fear behind his facade of control.

"Yeah, apparently dying once is really all it takes - method barely matters. Now, if someone gets dragged out of the afterlife and doesn't cause too much trouble, I generally don't mind the idea of letting them hang around the mortal realm until they die again. But you?" Danny tilted his head. "You've evaded death more than any pure human. It's quite a feat, I'll give you that. I was willing to leave you alone as long as you did me the same small kindness. After everything you - the two of you - did to me, it felt like the least you could do."

Danny wished they had looked more afraid, more sorry, more something. But they didn't, and he honestly didn't expect them to.

"So I'll give you a choice. One last kindness. Step into the circle peacefully, and I'll take you both to the Realms. Then we'll call it square."

"And if we don't?"

Danny looked at Talia, and thought of Maddie. Remembered the fear and hurt when she had shot at him for the first time after he came out of the portal. Remembered threats. Remembered the guilt-heavy devastation she wore upon realizing who exactly she had been threatening and shooting at. Remembered apologies and family therapy and months of carefully rebuilt trust.

Talia, he believed, had loved him, once upon a time. Never in his conscious memory, but she had. And even if she still believed she did, it wasn't the kind of love he could accept. It wasn't a mother's love.

"Then I'll drag you both kicking and screaming and make sure you suffer for every innocent life you've ever taken."

"I'm afraid that won't quite work for us, Daniel. Too many plans, you know, too many obligations."

"Then I'm afraid you'll have to cancel. I didn't defeat the last asshole to wear this crown and become King of the collective of afterlives just to cave to a stupid, stubborn old man and his fickle daughter."

"Perhaps you should challenge Damian again, for old time's sake. If the weight of the crown is too heavy for you, I'm sure he could lighten your load."

"Even if he stood a chance, a living person can't formally challenge me for the crown. Only someone death has touched can rule over the dead."

"Well, that's easily rectified."

Something in Danny clenched tight and before he could even think, he snarled, lunging at his grandfather.

As soon as he left the summoning circle, something sharp struck his arm, and two more somethings after that. Hand phased into his grandfather's chest, Danny turned to look at the darts, then at Talia.

Her face was the same perfect mask of indifference he'd worn when he was first summoned here. The dart gun in her hand looked like upgraded Fenton tech. The darts reminded him of the new project his parents had been working on. Just in case Pariah Dark ever escaped to make a nuisance of himself again.

Growling to himself, Danny moved as quickly as he could with three shots of tranquilizer pumping through him, grunting with effort as he hauled the writhing, broken soul of Ra's al Ghul from the borrowed body and hurled it into the summoning circle. Talia moved to stop him, and Danny kicked the book in as well, breaking the circle as he flashed her a too wide smile with too many teeth. The glow extinguished, and the spirit of his grandfather was banished to the infinite realms.

"Danyal, what have you done?!"

"T'k care'f th prhblm," he slurred, falling back to his knees, and grinning up at the woman who birthed him as he lost consciousness. "M'knight'll kip'm n.. 'ntertaindd...."

~~~~~~~~~~

Three days, Danny had hung on this wall, wrists bound over his head in cuffs that prevented him from returning to human form or using any of his powers. The rotten, corrupted ectoplasm from the pool in front of him stunk up the whole room, the fumes making him feel sick.

The ecto-tranquilizers wore off after two and a half days, according to Talia. She had come by twice already in the few hours Danny had been awake, trying to talk to him.

She had never been the kind to beat around the bush. Danny, according to her, was to return her father's soul to the body it had been inhabiting, and aid them in their plans to eradicate the majority of humanity. Blah blah Balance, blah blah Cleansing. Same words, different mouth.

Danny wanted to give any number of reactions; he wanted to laugh. To insult her with his usual clever sarcasm. To spit at her feet. Instead he kept quiet and still. Until he had a solid plan for escape, he couldn't risk making her angry enough to do anything else to him.

Other members of the League of Assassins had steered clear of this place so far. She was the only person he'd seen since waking up, and she'd come from the same door both times.

So when the opposite door opened, Danny caught himself hoping.

The masked figure that slipped inside was strangely familiar - the way popular actors from films you haven't seen are familiar. It took Danny a moment to recognize him, and he did his best not to relax too much at the realization.

"Nightwing, right?"

The hero tensed in place, clearly having thought the room was empty. Danny met his gaze through the whiteout lenses of a domino mask, let the man take in the sight of him - his form had started to flicker in and out of his control, fingertips growing long and clawed beneath his gloves, ghostly tail long and serpentine. He hoped he wasn't so inhuman that he scared the hero away altogether.

Luckily, Nightwing straightened up slowly, wary but nonthreatening.

"Yeah, that's me," he admitted, skirting around the edge of the pit to get closer. "We received intel a few days ago that Ra's got his hands on information to summon a powerful being with some rulership over death. Guessing that's you?"

"That's me," Danny parroted, managing to grin. Not too wide, no need to flash him the fangs, but enough to reassure, he hoped. "I'm the Ghost King, ruler of the Infinite Realms. But you can just call me Phantom. Less of a mouthful."

That actually got a chuckle out of the older hero, and Danny relaxed a bit.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, your majesty," Nightwing quipped in a way that reminded him so much of Tucker it made him ache. Stepping forward, he reached up for the cuffs. "Ra's stole a book from a member of the League in order to summon you. Any clue where I can find it?"

"I sent it to the Realms, along with the Demon Head. I'll get it back for you once you get me out of here," he promised, sighing in relief when his arms were finally let down. "Really glad I don't have blood. The pins and needles would be insane."

Nightwing stared at Danny for a moment, pausing in his attempt to disengage the lock on the cuffs to stare.

"You killed Ra's?"

"Ra's has been dead for centuries, whether he wanted to admit it or not. I just forced him to face facts."

A beat of silence passed between them, then Nightwing returned to the cuffs, disengaging the lock on the first.

"Not going to have to arrest me for it, are you?"

"No. No, sorry. You just… remind me of someone I know."

Danny hummed but didn't probe further. The second cuff clicked open and he let it dangle from the first. He wasn't sure if it was magic or more stolen tech, but he would have to figure it out later. 

"Let's bounce. Talia will be back to try and talk me around soon," Phantom warned, attempting to rise into the air. When the weightlessness didnt kick in, he looked down, eyes going wide as light encircled his body, returning him to human form. The aches and pains set in almost immediately, and he slumped against the wall. "Ohgodpinsandneedles-"

"Woah!" Nightwing reached out, pulling Danny back up to his feet a little and allowing him to lean on the older hero. Looking down at the cuffs, then at the Lazarus pit. Hard to say which was responsible, but he felt so weak, groaning softly as he was pulled up into strong arms. He felt them move, eyes cracking open to watch the rest of the lair pass, mostly in flashes. He was woken a bit more abruptly at a shriek of his name echoing down the corridors.

"Danyal?" The hero muttered in confusion, though he did not slow. Danny groaned.

"Don't call me that," he huffed, turning his head on the man's shoulder. He was pretty sure Nightwing used the same shampoo as his sister. "Only people that call me Danyal're selfish monsters who think 'family' means I owe them a life debt."

Danny could feel eyes on him, but no further questions came, and he sighed in relief, as they passed through the back entrance. Night had fallen, and Danny smiled up at the stars before slipping into unconsciousness.

He'd never really gotten to appreciate them out here before.

~~~~~

Tag list->

@plz-excuse-my-inner-gay @amanellow @alinmenttreasure @undead-essence @blep-23 @pickleking8

About Damian and Danny as twins or brothers

I want one were Danny is mad with Damian, because Damian in the league si very different that Damian in the batfamily

So perhaps Damian killed him or treat him badly and Danny is mad at him

Damian thought Danny was dead, and is trying to apologize for all of it but Danny is not wanting nothing to have a relationship with him.

And the rest of the batfamily is divided on supporting Damian or Danny

Oooooo. That got my little gears turning and before I knew it, I'd popped out this little number:

"Danyal."

"Save it," the boy retorted. "I'm not here to mess with you and your little pretend family. I wouldn't even be here at all if grandfather hadn't suddenly taken an interest in me. Once I heal, I'll deal with the League myself and be out of your hair."

Damian looked hurt at his statement. Hurt. How dare he? After everything he'd put Danny through when they were kids.

The anger boiling in his chest turned into more venom and he spat "Why are you so surprised? You didn't think this was gonna be some sort of tear felt reunion didja? In case you forgot-" Danny said lifting up his shirt- "The last time we saw each other, you stabbed me."

The jagged line next to his heart was plain for all to see. Danny caught the eldest of Damian's "brothers" gasping. The older man standing off to the side, his father, had a look of horror on his face. Good, let them know the type of demon his brother was.

"Remind me. What was it you told me as you slide your sword in my chest? Oh right. I was weak. The 'inferior' twin. Destined to die so I might as well get it over with."

There was a palpable silence in the room before Damian spoke. "Danyal I-"

"I must say," Danny interrupted. No way was he giving him a chance to speak. "It took a couple of years but you finally got your wish."

The boy's long lost twin was stricken with pain and confusion but he didn't care. Danny already had a family. A sister and two eccentric parents. That was all he needed. And judging by the people lining the entryway of the dining room where Danny had been bandaged, Damian had his own family too. Fine whatever. So Dami had grown up to learn of love and family. How touching. How infuriating. It didn't matter anymore. The hopes of the two ever being brothers were destroyed years ago, when his twin left him bleeding out on the training room floor.

[moved-to-void-kissed]

How about 💢 and 🤝 for your choice of KH? (If you remember anything any Werm lmao) (dragonsmooch)

“If I remember anything about Werm”. Drake, I’ve made a render with them in it thanks to you and also alluded to their lore in my writing. Werm is wonderful and will never be forgotten!!! Though please do correct me if I misremember something here ;w;

Thank you very much for sending this, dear dragon - since I absolutely want to talk about Werm, I will be using Xiara for both of these!

(question source: this post by hobgayblin)

send me a self-insert of mine and..

💢 – I’ll tell you about an enemy of hers - So, Xiara's position as a member of the Organisation (albeit more of a reserve, since she doesn't have a number or seat) means that she is technically opposed to Sora and the others, since she does seek to gain her own heart and understands that the completion of Kingdom Hearts should enable this.

Xiara is one of the members assigned to Castle Oblivion, so I'm thinking Sora might have one battle against her somewhere on the later floors, when he's more aggressive and initiates the fight without hearing her out first. This causes her to have to return to The World That Never Was, meaning she's the only one other than Axel to survive Castle Oblivion, and she encounters Sora again later during the events of KH2 for probably one or two more battles before he takes her down and she disappears forever, confusing him due to the fact she appears to know she will not recomplete.

🤝 + a name or description - I'll tell you how she’d interact with one of YOUR self-inserts from the same series =) - So, since Xiara acts as somewhat of a scientist within the Organisation through her work assisting Vexen with the Replica Project, I like to think that she is the one in charge of documenting Werm's behaviour and the results of "experiments involving them" to justify "keeping them around" in the castle (i.e. following them around with a notepad and writing down what happens when they eat stuff, for the most part. no mean science going on here. she's the subject of those experiments). Though her lack of memories compared to many of the other Nobodies means she cannot express emotions very well, Werm's increased sentience and ability to evolve over time compared to other Heartless is something that really interests her, and she can tell that their antics make Roxas and Xion in particular very happy, which brings her.. about the closest thing to happiness her own system can approximate.

I hope that those answers were okay!! Thank you very much again for sending this, dear dragon - I've really missed getting to talk about Werm with you, hehe ^-^

[angelamajiki]

PAIRINGS: Father! Yandere! Enji Todoroki x Daughter! Reader

CW: yandere, incest, soulmate AU, fluff, slight angst, nsfw, kissing, praise kink, virginity kink, size kink, bathroom sex

A BNHarem Collab!

AN: my longest piece to date! the prompt this month was sex work, so i decided to stretch the prompt and do sexual slavery. wanted to go for a softer version of daddy endeavor, so please enjoy <3

5.2k words

The mark on his wrist was one that was shared with yours. Enji had given up on finding his soulmate, deciding that his career and legacy were far more important than some silly marking on another’s body. Love was something he thought he could go without. But when he saw your bright eyes gaze up at him, your chubby hand wrapped around his index finger, his heart had fallen hard—such a sweet, gentle thing. No traces of fear, of disdain, of disgust for him as a human being. Just pure curiosity and unconditional love. His heart leaped for his little girl.

Enji was determined, then and there, that he would never fail you, not like he forgot the others.

Oh, what plans he had for you, his precious princess. He couldn’t wait to spoil you, to marry you and start a new family once you were old enough. Rei realized this as well. Her youngest daughter, her last hope at salvaging her broken family, was to be had by her husband. The thought frightened her, especially after seeing the adoring look in her husband's eyes when she saw him cradle you for the first time. It was so unlike the stoic nature he held for the other children when they were born, only caring to see that they were healthy before leaving off back to his agency, never giving them more than a fleeting touch. It was nothing like when he held you, snarling at any nurse who dared to take his soulmate from the grips of his arms.

Something that had Enji’s conviction more so than his career was something to be feared. Your mother swore to herself that she would not let her husband ruin you.

Once he fell asleep with you tucked in the crook of his arm, a social worker came and collected you to be sent to a foster home and be set up for adoption. It was better than falling into the hands of the monster of a husband.

After the death of Touya, the pair decided to have one more child in hopes of fixing their broken family, but Rei now knew it was for naught. Nothing could save them know, especially now that Enji had nearly burned the building down when he discovered that his little girl was gone, just hours after he had finally found you.

Rei alerted the commission as well for your protection, that utter bitch of a woman. They very well couldn't have the number two hero caught in an incestuous bond with his daughter, now could they. All information of your whereabouts was hidden from him, blacklisting him from working with any foster children, lest he loses his hero license. Enji may have lost you for the time being, but his patience grew as he did. They couldn't keep him from you forever. You'd be reunited one day; he knows it.

The first time he saw you again was when you were fifteen. It was your birthday and the day he had become the number one hero officially, plenty of reason to celebrate. Usually, he would have taken the time to sit near the rose bush he planted in your honor in his courtyard on your birthday, renewing his vows to find and love you to the best of his ability. Enji took great pride in keeping your memory alive with the bush for his beautiful little rose gone too soon from his grasp. But there you were, mere meters from him.

The foster home you stayed at took you out for dinner when he was meeting with Hawks after the billboard awards. Your eyes were unmistakable, a perfect cerulean just like his own. He was so close, yet so far. My, how you had grown since he saw you. Unlike him, you bore your mark proudly on your wrist, not ashamed to admit to the world who your soulmate was. Not like you actually knew who it was anyway.

Enji was prepared to leave Hawks at the table; a new flame lit under his ass, one far more exhilarating than the thought of being the number one hero. He was up and on his way to speak to you before Nomu attacked him. Damn villains, they'd pay for separating the two of you once again. But his conviction only grew stronger. It wasn’t hard to find you after that; he knew what city you were living in. Instincts lashed out at him, demanding that he go sweep you up and hide you away. No, no. That would make you frightened; he can't have that. He’ll watch from the sidelines, waiting until you were of age to make a move. He was curious to see just how life as a foster child was treating you.

Growing up in the foster system had been a nightmare from hell for you. A cursed child is what they saw you as when your skin sprouted flames every time it was touched by the human hand, burning everything and everyone who came in contact with it. From the moment your quirk manifested, you were an outcast, an untouchable, unlovable freak. Someone destined never to feel the touch of their new parents, their lover, their soulmate.

It wasn't long before you realized that you would remain in the foster system until you aged out. Who would adopt a child they couldn't hug when they cried, hold their hand when they crossed the street, snuggle up to when it was chilly outside? Any potential parent was taken aback by your quirk once you reached for the warm touch of mommy and daddy, only to singe their hand or burn a hole in their shirt.

You learned quickly that your touch was something to be feared, that you were something to be feared. You supposed that’s why you looked up to him so much. So much so that you thought about him late at night when the loneliness seemed to drown you in the sea of your insecurities.

Endeavor was the only one who could understand you, understand your quirk. If only your soulmate mark could match him, maybe you feel the warmth of another human being without hurting or mauling them with your power. Abrasive he may be with the media, but there something about him that was so comforting and endearing to you. In your eyes, he was simply misunderstood, a gentle giant amongst the mass personalities of the other pro heroes.

Watching his interviews brought you comfort when you were lonely, his merchandise made you swell with pride and confidence, and his posters on the wall reminded you that you were never alone. It was a silly crush, but it made you feel better about your miserable life.

You even got to see him on your birthday! Well, not exactly. You happened to be in the same restaurant when your foster parents took you out for your birthday. It was apparent that they just felt bad for you, having looked after you for 15 years only to still have custody of your sorry ass. You were almost certain that they were going to kick you to the curb the morning of your 18th birthday.

Too bad they never had the chance. That fate would have been much kinder than the reality you faced now.

Once the Paranormal Liberation Front had effectively ripped society up by the roots and let the tree of life rot for the world to see, your foster parents packed their shit and left the country while you were at school. You’d been alone in the world ever since and were snatched off the streets, ready to be sold into slavery by the villains of the world. Your quirk was the only thing keeping you from being bought like a bitch from the auction floor.

Enji, on the other hand, was more than eager to do just that. After his public smear campaign by his allegedly dead son, he was dead to the world, finally abandoning his family for good in hopes of finding his beloved daughter. His life was dedicated to searching for you, having managed to track you down through his vigilante work. He likes to lie to himself and say that he’s continuing to fight for the greater good, but Enji does it just to have the chance to see your sweet face again. There wasn’t much to go off of, but he’d rather see his fiery end than to give up. That's how he found you at the auction.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

Another auction night was approaching, which meant another night of humiliation and being displayed like a slab of meat for a crowd of degenerate wolves. Your quirk was the only thing keeping you from being sold; no one wants a fucktoy they can’t touch. It reduced you to physical labor for your captors, but you were better fed because of it. That didn’t mean they still didn’t try to sell you.

After being stripped down into nothing but a collar, leash, and a muzzle, you were brought to the stage and shoved in front of the ravenous, roaring crowd. You could feel their stares seep into your bones, the grime from the floor on your bare feet only adding to the overwhelming sensation of disgust you couldn’t even begin to describe.

The crowd’s excitement was raucous, jeers and shouts echoing off the halls of the underground auditorium. Masks covered their faces for the sake of privacy lest a vigilante break-in and hunt them all down. Even in the lawlessness of the world, heroes were still crawling everywhere to trail after even the slightest scent of villainy. Doesn't mean they’ll win, but hey, the death of a hero is just the same as the auction was to them.

“Up next, a darling girl with a fiery quirk!”

That was your cue. A handler had a fierce grip on your leash, giving it a few tugs for good measure as the crowd laughed at your stumbling. The auctioneer began to list your qualities and physical attributes, including your quirk.

“And she’s a virgin!”

Added for good measure, the crowd fell silent after listening to the abilities of your quirk. You couldn't hate it anymore; it's what was keeping you from being someone’s onahole until the day you kicked the bucket.

“Can I get $10,000?”

Ah the starting bid. The silence was relieving. Just a few more moments and you'd be off that damn stage.

“No? Going once, going twice, going-”

“One million.”

A booming voice came from the back row, the depths of the shadows to further hide the masked man who just bought your life. Why did it sound so familiar?

“Outstanding! One million dollars for the young lady!”

“Going once.”

It couldn't be.

“Going twice.”

This can't be happening.

“Sold for one million!”

No!

You were supposed to be unwanted, just like you have been your entire life! Yet some mysteriously familiar man outbid the entire auction for little ol’ you.

“Off the stage, bitch.”

The handler snarled, yanking you off the stage and causing you the fall and bruise yourself in the process.

“Watch it!” He spat, picking you up by the roots of your hair. “The merchandise needs to be handled carefully before reaching the customer. Let's hope he doesn't mind some bumps and bruises. For your sake.”

“That won't be necessary; I'll be taking her as is. Immediately, if you will.”

The mysterious man stood had already made his way backstage and behind you, standing formidably over your stark form. Your hair was released, dropping you back to the floor.

“Excellent, sir! I’m more than happy to get this welp off my hands.”

A brief exchange was made while you recovered on the floor, shaking in fear as the situation weighed heavily on your already broken self. The handler took the money and returned to the back room, leaving the two of you alone together.

The stranger crouched down to you and extended a hand to brush the stray hair out of your face, touch remaining tender and gentle when you flinched harshly.

“My poor girl, what has the world done to you?”

His coat enveloped your body as he scooped you up in his arms. The scent of him comforted you more than you would have liked to admit. Teakwood and coffee grounds filled your senses as he held you flush against his chest, leaving the auction house with a renewed sense of vigor.

You were placed in the backseat of a car before he dressed you in simple pajamas.

“Rest. You deserve it.”

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

At some point in the car ride, you let yourself fall asleep only to wake up in a cozy king-size bed wrapped up in a soft blanket next to a warm fireplace. The false sense of comfort lulled you for a few moments before your situation hit you like a ton of bricks. The anxiety you'd had known your whole life had finally kicked back into gear, forcing you out of bed and into the rest of the house.

It was daybreak, the sunlight slowly trickling in through heavily curtained windows as you walked through the halls and into the kitchen. The man was standing over the stove, sans mask, dressed in a wife-beater and his pajama bottoms. It couldn't be-

“Come in; breakfast will be on the table in a moment.”

Now you were certain.

“Who are you?” Your voice barely above a whisper. “Why did you buy me at the auction?”

A deep, rumbling chuckle flowed from the man.

“I think you know the answer to that, little one.”

His focus was retained on the meal in front of him. “I’ll explain myself over breakfast. Now sit.”

You couldn't help but feel compelled to obey him. While sitting, you took the time to honestly look him over for the first time in your life. Never did you think you would be so close to your childhood crush in such a domestic setting.

He had noticeably greyed but still possessed a majority of his red hair. Muscles were still taught and budging, but he had grown a little bit of a belly. Endeavor was as handsome as ever, aged like a fine wine that you couldn't wait to sip on.

The food was placed in front of you as he took the test next to you.

“Eat and have some water. Then we’ll talk.”

Once again, you obeyed him without question and refrained from eating like a rabid animal. It wasn't even a question, so much so that it is evident that you hadn't had a decent meal in a long time. You were still muscular from the labor you did for your handlers, though.

And Enji liked that about you. How resilient you were, he loved that you inherited his strength but still possessed Rei’s gentle nature. Not that he wanted to credit that woman for anything, but he couldn't deny the obvious. You were his strong, beautiful little girl who had to endure so much because his bitch of a wife decided to separate you from him.

But he was here now, ready to give all his love and protection to his only love. It took everything in his power not to swoop you up from your seat and hold you in his arms until his last breath.

Enji watched you eat, pride swelling in his chest at the thought that you liked his cooking. He couldn't help but wonder what your favorite meals were as well. There's certainly all the time in the world to get to know his little girl now that he had you. And he was never going to let you go.

Your breakfast was devoured quickly, both out of desperation for a real meal and answers to your questions.

“Why did you buy me from the auction?”

It was a complicated question, but you wanted a simple answer.

“I’m your soulmate.” His wrist was on display as he reached across the table to hold your hand.

For the first time in your life, you felt safe. Your one, shining hope was meant to yours and he wanted to be yours. You didn't even question how he knew at all.

His touch was warm and slightly rough, but it was welcome all the same. Even though your skin was lit aflame at his flesh against your, he paid it no mind. He was built to take your quirk, to take you.

“Endeavor…”

“Please, call me Enji.” His thumb rubbed over the palm of your hand. “I’m sure you feel better after having something to eat.”

“Why don't you go take a bath? It’ll help you relax, I can take care of your dishes.”

It was strange how insistent he was on taking care of you, but you can't say you don't enjoy the attention. He seemed to care for you in a way that went beyond caring for a partner, or in your case, a soulmate. But who were you to judge? It wasn't like you had a lot of experiences to use as a comparison.

Making your way back to the bedroom, you took the time to study the house you were in. A traditional, well-kept home, it practically looked like it was untouched. And maybe it was; buildings and homes fully intact were hard to come by these days, let alone ones that were clean and warm.

Enji seemed to lull you into an instinctual sense of safety, even though he bought you out of slavery. Just because he was your soulmate didn't mean that he had good intentions for you, but somehow, his presence alone filled a void in your heart that you had forgotten was even there.

Once you made it to the bathroom connected to the master bedroom, you drew yourself a bath just like Enji had instructed you to do. It wasn't the wisest decision to let your guard down like this, but the man already had plenty of opportunities to fuck you up by this point.

The water was warm and inviting when you sank yourself into it; you couldn't remember the last time you had warm water to clean yourself with. It made you feel light and hazy, slipping into a headspace you had long forgotten—a place of safety and comfort.

Three raps on the door pulled you from your haze as Enji entered the bathroom with fresh towels. Despite the fact that he had already seen you naked, the intimacy of the situation only left you feeling more vulnerable than ever.

“Let me help you.”

He kneeled next to you outside of the tub and pulled a lavender chamomile shampoo from the tub’s shelf. There was room to protest, but you couldn't find yourself willing to do so.

Water was poured over your head before he started a lather in your hair, gently scrubbing your scalp for a while. Even this simple touch made you shudder, it was a long time since you last felt the warmth of someone’s touch. And everything about this man was warm, for you at least. His words, his touch, his heart.

Conditioner was added to your hair as well before he moved onto washing your body. The scrub was gentle across your skin, his hand following after it to help keep the suds from rising too much. Strong hands massaged your back and your neck, both of which needed the much-deserved relief.

“So tense.” He murmured, mostly to himself.

There was a comfortable silence shared between the two of you as he massaged out all the knots and kinks that had built up over the years with your handlers. His touch should have made you flinch but you found yourself pressing into it. A small moan escaped your lips as he worked through a particularly tender spot on your neck.

“Are you enjoying this?”

His lips ghosted your ear as warm breath tickled your cheek and neck.

Your face flushed with a fiery warmth from a combination of the steam, your embarrassment, and the man whispering sweet nothings in your ear as his hands worked at your tired skin.

“Let me help you relax, sweet thing.”

Enji picked you up momentarily to slot himself behind you in the tub. Placed on his lap, you gasped when you could feel his erection hard against your back. Fear started to trickle into your veins as you squirmed slightly, attempting to get out of his grasp.

“Shhh, it's alright, you're okay.” His hand made its way to your throat and rested there gently, stroking over your artery with his thumb. “I’m not going to hurt you, sweetheart. Let me show you how much I've missed you.”

His touch made you feel alive, feel wanted for the first time in your life. You couldn't help but whine when his other hand made its way down your body, gently groping your breast as his lips were pressed to your ear.

“Do you trust me to take care of you?”

His fingers toyed with your nipples, obviously skilled.

“Do you trust me to make the sweetest love to you?”

Another whine caught in your throat as his hand went further, cupping your sex in his much larger hand. He kneaded gently, pressing a soft kiss to your temple when you writhed in his grip.

“Please! Enji-”

Shushing you gently, Enji’s thumb made its way to your clit to stroke in small circles.

“How does that feel, sweetheart?”

You were used to touching yourself, but oh God it never felt like this.

“Good!” You managed to choke out in a wanton moan. “So good! Enji, please, I need-”

A warm pair of lips sealed over yours, silencing you once again. Enji knew how wrong this was, to take advantage of you like this without revealing the truth. But he wanted at least to just once to have you in his arms willingly and eagerly. He wanted to kiss you breathless, listen to your cries and feel your nails dig into his skin as he gave you all of himself without a fight from you. He can worry about revealing himself to you later.

The rough pads of his large fingers started to apply pressure to your clit as his middle finger slipped into your tight hole under the water.

“Don't worry, little one. I'll give you what you need.”

Soft kisses were trailed along your cheek and hand that was on his that was still holding your throat tenderly. Finger pumping in and out of you, Enji whispered sweet praises to you as he felt your hole clench around him.

“Doing so well for me, sweetheart.”

Your breathy moans and whines only served to harden his cock. He felt like a teenager all over again, closing to cumming just from the sound of your voice.

Another finger slipped into your tight core, careful not to overwhelm you too fast. It was obvious you'd hadn't been touched before, not even by yourself. You felt full but greedy for more of his touch.

“Deeper, Enji! Please, can you?”

You were babbling at this point, writhing in his lap as he fingered you nice and slow with thick digits. Enji hummed as he pressed further into, curling his fingers into your G-spot.

Your cry was loud as he began to abuse your most sensitive spot, fully squirming in his arms as tears of pleasure breached your eyes. The sensation was too overpowering for you, making you thrash and arch in his arms.

“Shh, you're okay, sweetheart. You're okay; I'm right here.”

His fingers continued to stroke in a curled fashion, thumb still circling over your twitching clit. Enji kissed you again, deeper and more fierce as he began to fuck you earnestly with his fingers.

“Cum for me, darling.”

Squealing, you gripped his forearm and cried helplessly into his mouth. The build was slow and intense, allowing your orgasm to wash over you in waves of pleasure rather than a blinding, quick light.

“E-Enji!” You wailed. “Enji!”

You shook in his arms, holding onto the larger man for dear life as you experienced your first orgasm. It seemed like Enji knew your body better than you did.

No words were exchanged between the pair of you, but you could feel the tension of your desired hanging thick in the air. This man was going to take your virginity, here and now.

Enji removed his hand from your throat and between your legs in order to maneuver you to sit facing forward in his lap.

“Are you ready for me?”

His honesty made you flush even more. Biting your lip nervously, you hesitated to answer. Were you ready? It wasn’t like you had much of choice; the man could very well take you by force if he so chose to. But you felt safe in his arms, safe with him.

“Let me help you, my love.”

Warm, large hands gripped your backside as he held you steady above his cock. Your hand reached down to line yourself up with his throbbing sex, lowering yourself down on it slowly.

It burned in the best way, stretching you out fully as you pressed your forehead against his chin.

“Good girl, taking my cock so well, darling.”

A pitiful whine left your throat at the praise, hands gripping the forearms that held you in place.

“Can...Can you hold me?” You whimpered. “Please?”

Enji’s arms enveloped you and pulled you flush against his, tucking your head into the crook of his neck as you continued to lower yourself onto his cock. Your breath tickled his ears, making him groan lowly once he bottomed out inside of you.

“Such a sweet girl you are, taking all of me on your first try.”

Another whine responded for you as you ground your hips down on his.

“E-Enji.” You whimpered his name over and over again like a prayer. “Enji!”

“Be still, little one.” Hands back on your hips, holding you in place near the tip of his girthy length. “Let me take care of you.”

Hips in place, the man began to thrust up into you slowly, holding you tight as he stood up from the water. You only gripped and nuzzled yourself into him further, letting out sweet whines and whimpers into his ear while he thrust into you.

Your back was placed against the cool tile of the wall when he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze. Even in this position, he was still at least another head taller than you.

“Look at me when I make love to you.”

Through wet eyelashes, you gazed up at his eyes and let your mouth hang open as he rolled his hips into yours. His eyes shut briefly when he moaned, hissing at the feeling of your wet cunt hugging his cock so well.

“You were made to take my cock, little one.”

Arms reached up to wrap around his neck as he thrust into you, taking his time to make his strokes slow and deep. His hips were flush against yours when you asked him, “Kiss me, please? I want all of you Enji.”

Your bold proclamation stunned him for a moment before yielding, placing a deep kiss and a hot tongue against your lips.

His thrusts became faster as he kissed you with more passion and vitality. For an old man, he certainly had his stamina up to par. Your fingers thread through his red and grey tresses, tugging him closer to you gently as you moaned shamelessly into his mouth.

The pleasure in your core was more intense, fiercer this time around as his thrusts became hard and fast. The sounds of both of your moans and skin slapping against skin echoed off the tiled bathroom walls as the both of you felt your orgasms coming.

“Enji, fuck!” You whined, beginning to squirt on his fast-paced cock. “I-I’m cumming; I’m cumming!”

“Cum for me, princess.”

With a choked sob, you creamed yourself all over his cock, which continued to pound into your hole before he groaned your name and came deep inside you.

Nothing but the sounds of the water sloshing and your labored breathing could be heard as you both came down from your highs.

After a moment of rest, Enji pulled out and wrapped you in a towel before laying you gently on the bed. A towel was wrapped around his own waist as he looked at you fondly, brushing stray hairs out of your eye sight as he sat next to you on the bed.

“I must ask, how did you end up at the auction site?”

What a loaded question, but the intimacy you two shared allowed for it.

“I was kidnapped off the streets after my parents abandoned me when the prison break happened.”

He sighed gruffly and took your hand in his.

“What utter fools, tossing aside a beautiful rose such as yourself.”

His thumb traced over your soulmate mark. You still had yet to know how he knew before ever meeting you.

“It's alright; I never considered them my family. I just wish I could have met mine, but at least I met my soulmate.”

A crinkled smile adorned his face.

“You've done more than meet them.”

What could that have meant?

“I’m your father and your soulmate, little one.”

A rock hit the pit of your stomach as you retracted your hand from his.

“That isn't a funny joke, I'm serious.”

“So am I.” His hand was quick to snatch your back. “What could I possibly gain from lying to you?”

“P-Prove it.”

“Our soulmate marks, I saw yours the moment you were born in the Hosu hospital before my wife separated us all those years ago. I can recite your birthday if you'd like me to, for good measure.”

Fuck, he really wasn't lying. A lump formed in your throat as tears sprung in your eyes.

“Why would you do this to me?” You whispered, barely even able to hear yourself.

“Because I love you. I love you so much, sweetheart. Ever since I saw you for the first time in the hospital, my entire life has changed because of you. All I ever wanted was you.”

Enji was quick to shush your cries, using his free hand to wipe your tears away.

“Will you forgive me for being selfish?”

The disgust and horror filled everyone of your senses, especially when you came to a realization that he was everything you've ever wanted.

What came out of your mouth next stunned the both of you.

“You can apologize by begging on your knees and cleaning me up with your tongue, Daddy.”

TAGLIST: @tomurasprincess @bonesoftheimpala @sightoru @cxnicalsweetheart

[thefairnot-somaiden]

Back where you’re mine

Pairing: Blackwall x Fem!Lavellan

Warnings: smut, vaginal sex, hair pulling, spanking, dom!Blackwall

(Basically a reader-insert since the Inquisitor isn’t given a name nor specific physical attributes)

Shining chandeliers, long tables stacked with the finest of foods, laughter hidden behind golden masks- Blackwall was out of place. Or maybe he was exactly at home, back in Orlais, surrounded by the nobles for which he had done the unspeakable in exchange for a sack of coin. The years had surely changed his appearance, but the curious eyes of the Winter palace's guests banned him to the shadows. He could not get recognized, could not be caught, not on such a big night. Everything was in place to stop the assassination of the empress, to stop the future seen by the Inquisitor. If they succeeded, the inquisition would no doubt be raised up in many's eyes, and rewards would come with it.

Blackwall watched from a distance as the Inquisitor slid past the Hall of Heroes, racing back to Leliana to no doubt deliver some scandalous secrets. His lover had been busy this evening, attempting to make the best impression she could while taking care of task after task. He had a hard time imagining anyone not taking a liking to her, she was always beautiful, but tonight she was a sight to behold. The dress that Josephine had arranged for her fit perfectly, the corset hugging her upper body while the bottom flared out in a sea of red fabric. The jeweled brooch that pinned up her hair matched the scarlet of her dress, the jewelry around her neck dipping just low enough to draw attention towards her cleavage. This was all done with intent, of course. As an elf, the Inquisitor already bore the scorn of many without them ever even having met her, so she needed all the charm she could muster to persuade the nobles towards her. From the heated gazes he had caught glimpses of when she had turned away for a moment, he would say it was working.

Blackwall was sipping at his drink, hiding in the shadow of some statue. He could feel the scowl on his face and imagined the Inquisitor running her fingers over it like she often did. "If you're not careful, it will get stuck like that," she would say. Foolish girl, it would've gotten stuck long ago then, for one of the only times he dropped it was with her.

"Fitting right in, are you?"

He looked over as Sera tittered towards him, plate stacked with food in hand. "Figure he's not the chatty sort." For a moment, he wondered what she meant but then noticed her glancing up at the statue behind him.

"Ha ha," he sounded sarcastic. "I imagine I'm fitting in about as well as you are."

She laughed, uncaringly leaning her back against the statue. "Like I want to fit in with these noble arses. I leave it to Inky to dazzle them with her fine tits."

The wine in Blackwall's mouth turned sour at that. The thought of all these people, openly ogling what was his, made his hand ball into a fist by his side.

"Ohh," Sera mused, "So that's why you're hiding away in here? Feeling too sorry for yourself?"

His jaw tightened, biting back a response. What could he say? That she was wrong? He was hiding for far worse reasons after all. She drifted into view, standing in front of him as she shoved a pastry into her mouth. "Listen, yeah," she started, barely legible with her mouth stuffed, "if you want her alone, just tell her you found some of those Caprice coins or something, she'll follow you anywhere."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "I'm unsure whether you should be giving this advice as her friend."

She laughed and licked off the remaining crumbs from her fingers. "Oh please, she'd have you dead on the floor within a second if you tried anything she didn't want." Her face turned serious now, one finger pointed at him, almost touching his chin. "Seriously though, try and I'll cut off your balls."

Point taken.

Sera's advice was growing more tempting with every look at the Inquisitor. She had crossed him while looking for the council of Heralds and had taken a brief pause, saying she missed him. When her hand landed on his crossed arms, warm eyes looking up with him as a smirk played at her lips, he felt himself stiffen in his pants like some Chantry boy. The effect she had on him was frankly embarrassing, and he could barely muster a response when she had asked him if he'd safe a dance for her. She'd looked disappointed when he said he didn't dance but had smiled at him before leaving regardless.

She was so close by, he could muster to go unnoticed for a bit, couldn't he? With a deep sigh, he gave in and made towards her.

The Inquisitor had curiously followed him just like Sera had predicted, keeping close behind him without drawing too much attention. When they were alone, she squeezed herself against his arm. "Some excitement after all, huh?"

That sparkle in her eyes at the promise of a challenge always put a grin on his face, the little minx. He guided her into the closed-off corridors a bit further before turning towards her. "I have to admit Inquisitor, I have no clue whether there are truly coins to be found here."

She quirked an eyebrow at that before a look of realization crossed her face. A mischievous grin followed, and Blackwall could guess where her mind had gone. "Constable Blackwall, I had expected better of you," she purred, a hand pressed to his chest.

"That is a flaw on your part, my lady," he swallowed as he looked down at the expanse of her breasts revealed by her dress. Maker, she must be the most tempting woman he had ever seen.

Her giggle drew his eyes back to her face, and she was not at all offended by his blatant staring. "I wonder what you did call me over for then?"

The way she feigned innocence was amusing, her face betraying that she knew all too well. Within a few paces, he had her backed up against a wall, her hand clinging onto his tunic as her lips parted in anticipation.

"I had to see what all these nobles were fuzzing over," he said, lips getting closer to hers till he felt her breath fan over his. "From up close."

Blackwall's hand went behind her neck, drawing her in and closing the distance between them. The kiss was instantly heated, their parted lips leaving no time for delicacy. Knowing that she had desired him just as fiercely only fanned the fire inside of him, and he pulled up her dress and hiked up one of her legs, ready to take her.

"Blackwall," the Inquisitor whimpered against his lips. "We can't." Her words made him set her leg back down gently, and she straightened out her dress with shaky hands. "I promised the duke another dance, it will be noticed if I'm away for long."

The disdain at that thought must've been written on his face because she pulled him in for a fast kiss. "I'll make it up to you, promise."

He grumbled an agreement against her lips, straightening out his own clothes, and adjusting his pants. When he looked back up at her, she was holding up a coin between two fingers, a wide grin on her face. "Guess I got my coin after all."

His hands instantly went to his pouch with coins, finding the strings slightly loosened. Before he could make a comment, she had already runoff, and for some odd reason, he missed her even more.

“Josephine will kill me if something happens to this dress,” the Inquisitor mumbled, back pressed against the railing of her balcony.

When Blackwall had requested her to put it on the night they arrived back in Skyhold, she had instantly known what his intentions were. In the Winter Palace, there had been no time to truly indulge, but they were alone now. The vision of her in that dress had plagued him the whole way home, and now he had her in front of him, no one here to disturb, he could not resist letting his calloused hands wander over her body.

Her hair was pinned up just like that night at the palace, lips a darker shade thanks to the harsh kisses he had already pressed against them. “Let’s ensure she doesn’t find out then.”

Sweet whimpers fell from her lips as he cupped her breasts, squeezing and enjoying her flesh through the thin fabric of her dress. No armor, no breast bindings. A growl build up in his throat and he didn’t attempt to hide it.

“You should wear dresses more often, my lady,” he commented, making her chuckle.

“If you find me the time to wear them, I will.”

One of his hands moved from her breasts to the small of her back, pulling her closer to him. “Perhaps when this is all over.”

Even in the dim light of the candles and fireplace that shone in from her quarters, he could make out the softening in her expression. That thought pleased her, that they would still be together. It made him both happy and ache with guilt, but he pushed that down. His lovely Inquisitor was dressed up in front of him like he was some noble suitor, not the traitor he truly was, and he has yet to repay her for it.

Hand on her back staying put, Blackwall guided her back inside. Wordlessly, she broke contact and moved over to the wall next to her bed, leaning against it with a coy smile. Her back was slightly arched, drawing his eyes to her chest yet again.

“I believe we didn’t get the chance to finish last time, Ser Blackwall,” she said and lifted up the skirts of her dress just slightly.

He came to her like a dog to its master, hands instantly finding her hips. The plan had been to take it slow, but how could he possibly refuse this?

Her leg nudged against his as she raised it a bit herself. “Gods, I wanted you to take me so badly that night.”

A groan left his lips and he pressed them to her neck, sucking and biting along the length of it. “Yet you left me for that damned Duke.”

She gasped and writhed against him as he teased her neck, swallowing hard before finding her voice. “Jealous, are we?” A wicked idea crossed her mind. “Do you think he wanted to bed me as well?”

Blackwall pulled away from her neck, eyes narrowing on hers. A pleasant shiver ran down her spine as he looked down at her. “What does it matter?”

“Just curious,” she answered, trying her best not to sound too amused.

With a casual display of his strength, he moved under her skirts and picked her up, sliding her up the wall and forcing his hips between her legs. She mewled at the feeling of his bulge pressing against her heat and shifted against it unconsciously.

“You only need to wonder about me,” he growled, hand moving into her hair and jerking her head back.

Her neck was fully exposed to him and he took advantage of it, placing far harsher bites than he had before. A whispered “yes” escaped her lips, hands gripping onto his shoulders for support.

“Perhaps I should leave a mark or two,” he breathed out against her neck. “Let everyone see how holy their Herald truly is.”

Gods, she loved when he talked like this. That possessive tone of his sending heat straight to her core. “Blackwall…”

His breath fanned over her ear as he moved higher up, making her whimper. The subtle twitch of her ears didn’t escape his notice. “Look at you, so excited to get fucked. I’ve seen whores more subtle about it than you.”

The Inquisitor ground herself against him, legs desperately urging him closer. “Please.”

He smirked at her confirmation of his words. Many would think him crazy for talking to a woman as powerful as her in this manner, but he knew what she enjoyed.

As her core pressed against him, he realized a vital detail had escaped his attention. He could feel now that she was bare under her dress.

"You knew this would happen." His voice sounded strained, betraying his own lack of control.

A smirk pulled at the Inquisitor's lips. "Of course I did, you aren't exactly subtle either."

One of her hands moved to the back of his head and she shot him one more heated gaze before pulling him into a kiss. Her tongue moved against his, and he could feel the vibrations of her moans as he ground his hips into hers. He let go of her hair, preferring for both of his hands to be firmly on her ass. There was no doubt that the front of his trousers was getting stained by her juices, and his pride swelled knowing how sensitive he made his lover.

They stayed like this for a while, grinding and tasting each other, muffling each other's groans. Blackwall could imagine that they were back at the Winter palace, in that secluded corridor, and his cock twitched at the fantasy of someone catching them like that. Maker, if it hadn't been for his damned secret, he might've actually risked it.

As his mind wandered, his kiss became softer, grip on her behind loosening slightly. This caught her attention, and she broke the kiss, questioning eyes trying to search his. She called out to him as his eyes were closed, and for a second, it sounded to him like she had said his name, his real name, and he looked at her in shock.

Worry warped her features. "Is something wrong?"

As close as they were, he could feel her heart hammering in her chest, and he realized she might think he's rejecting her.

"No," he quickly denied. "I was just thinking of how lucky I am to have you, that I don't deserve this."

Her smiled returned at that, and she swatted playfully at the back of his head. "You are lucky that I don't kick you out of my quarters for not being inside me yet."

"My apologies, my lady," he chuckled. "I'll get right on that."

When he moved a hand between their bodies to move down his trousers, she watched him carefully, biting at her lip. She truly was impatient, eager to recreate how he would've taken her when he lured her away that night.

"Show me that I made the right choice," she said, attempting to bring back the fire from before.

His trousers were down now, and she swallowed a moan as his cock graced past her clit. "Right choice?"

She pressed a deceivingly sweet kiss to his cheek. "That I chose right to take you home, instead of a nobleman."

She caught glimpse of his gaze darkening before he moved fast, both hands back on her ass, holding her in place firmly. She barely got the chance to breathe before he entered her in one hard thrust, rewarding him with a choked cry. Blackwall's girth was something servants would excitedly whisper about if they had the chance, and even after all their nights together, the Inquisitor still felt her body struggling to adjust.

He felt the way her walls gripped him tightly, but he didn't give them time to relax. She had clearly wanted this to be done a certain way, and who was he to deny his lady?

It was hard to keep the extensive fabric of her skirts bundled up as he thrust into her, not allowing him to set the punishing pace he intended. "Hold them up."

It took her a moment to realize what he meant, but then she obediently picked up her skirts, holding the fabric in her trembling hands.

"Higher," he commanded. "I want to be able to see myself slide into that tight cunt."

She couldn't suppress a moan at his words, lifting the fabric higher till he twitched inside her at the sight revealed to him. He could feel how she gripped him, but to see it was a whole other pleasure. He reveled in the way her body spread open for him as he resumed his thrusting, his cock glistening with her wetness each time he pulled back.

"This is why you chose me," he grunted as he pounded into her. "No pristine noble would allow you to dirty his clothes like this. No holier-than-thou man would take you like this."

The blissed-out look on her face and the rhythmic clenching of her heat around him told him he was hitting right where she liked it, and he made sure to hold the angle. "You need me because I'm enough of a bastard to fuck you as you need."

"Blackwall!" she cried out, and he rewarded her with a sharp slap to her ass.

"That's it, let everyone hear who you belong to." He felt spurred on by his own words, landing one slap after another on her soft flesh.

Heat radiated from the spot where he hit her repeatedly, the Inquisitor a whimpering mess against him. It stung but felt so good at the same time, mixing deliciously with the pleasure of him sliding against her walls. After the tenth slap, he rubbed her ass reverently, subduing the pain with his gentle kneading. It was such a stark contrast with his sharp thrusts, making it hard to focus on either, but she felt herself drawing closer to her end regardless. She tried to seek out his lips for a kiss, but he denied her, wanting to hear every sound that left her mouth.

The way she cried out his name was like a song to him, his eyes switching from focussing on her face, to her bouncing breasts, to where she took him inside her. He fucked her with abandon, uncaring for what the future might hold. Here, she was his, and he would enjoy her fully.

"Inside," she gasped, drawing his gaze to her parted lips. "I want you to finish inside me."

He groaned her name loudly at the request, signaling that they should not, but she only angled her hips into his thrusts. "Please."

That damned word. He cursed under his breath, the steel grip he had on her behind sure to leave some marks. He should control himself, pull himself off of her, but as he watched her, it was impossible to do so. The pure pleasure written on her face made him want to fulfill the request all the more.

"My lady," he choked out in another attempt, but she shushed him with a loud moan.

Her cunt was clenching around him, and the way her body so lightly shook told him she was close. Against better judgment, Blackwall moved a hand between their bodies, seeking out her swollen clit. A few strokes were all it took for her to come apart in his arms, a pleasured scream echoing through her chambers. Feeling her come undone destroyed the last of his restraint, and he groaned her name as he spilled inside her.

Their harsh breathing was the only sound filling the room as they stayed like that, his cock still buried deep inside her. Their foreheads touched, and he pressed a gentle kiss to hers when she giggled breathlessly. "That was amazing."

He couldn't agree more, finding it hard to pull away from her. But he saw that she looked tired, the traveling from Halamshiral to Skyhold having taken its toll, and he slid out of her with a grunt. She gasped when she felt his seed spilling out of her, staining her thighs.

"The dress!" she shrieked and he swiftly put her down. It was amusing to him that that was the first worry to cross her mind.

When he turned her unstable form around, he felt the breath hitching in her throat. "Just trying to help you, my lady," he clarified, but couldn't resist teasingly whispering it into her ear.

He really did intend to get the Inquisitor out of her dress. Ambassador Montilyet was not someone you wanted to piss off, and he imagined she would not take kindly to the dress getting sullied by his cum.

His fingers worked carefully at the back of the corset top, far more gracefully than she had managed to herself. It felt nice, his fingers brushing past her naked back every so often. He was good at this. That last thought stuck with her, and she frowned slightly. He was quite good at this, wasn't he? Where a Warden would cross dresses as such, she could not imagine.

[startanewdream]

The road home

Summary: Lily watches Harry and Ginny finding their way back to each other following the end of the war.

Note: For @madhulika18, who asked for more Hinny moments as seen by James and Lily. I could never decide if this is really part of Eyes Glistening (because Harry and Ginny have drama really, and I don't like them having drama), but it works either way, so I hope you enjoy these moments (also, I have a soft spot for Lily and Harry talking, so...)

_______

It’s all about the words that aren’t being said.

Once, a long time ago, Lily lived that with James. But it was different and, though, of course, it didn’t seem like that at the time, it was easier too. Her problems were unknowing her feelings, not understanding why she enjoyed his company and why she craved his smile, his light. She had fancied him for a long time before she understood what it was what she really felt for him — and until then it was only her heart beating faster when they would touch each other without meaning too (a brush of hands, sitting together closer than necessary), enjoying the perfume he’d left on his trace, finding excuses to be with him.

But after she had understood what she felt for him, somehow it had been easy. Awkward, sure, that first date when she was feeling stupid near him — until she remembered this was James, and being with him was good and blissful and then kissing him had felt as natural as breathing —, but there was never a question about how they felt about each other, never doubts that they would be together.

They had fought over many things, until they perfected the art of compromising, of understanding each other’s view, but there was never a breakup, never something that really kept them apart.

They are lucky on this, she knows.

Especially when she sees the look on Harry’s face, the way his eyes can’t help but follow Ginny as she walks around between the tables of the Great Hall, stopping to share words with her friends.

They haven’t talked yet. Lily knows this because Harry was gone with Ron and Hermione after the battle and then he slept for a full day. When he woke up, he called his parents and they talked then — the most difficult conversation Lily had ever had in her life and the one she knew she needed most. She and James. They needed to understand what had happened, why it had cost Harry’s life and what it had meant, but nothing had really prepared her to know her son had died.

Only the thought of it sends shivers through her body.

Harry is fine now, having come down to the Great Hall to lunch; there are fewer people at Hogwarts two days after the Battle, so they manage to find a place for them to sit quietly. It’s almost peaceful.

Except Harry is clearly not at peace.

‘Go talk to her,’ she whispers to him, and Harry turns to her with those eyes that are full of ghosts lately — he has seen and lived and died too much.

‘She doesn’t want me,’ he answers, breathing heavily as if the words are physically hurting him.

‘How do you know?’ James asks, exchanging a confused look with Lily.

‘Because she hasn’t come to talk to me.’

Lily thinks Harry didn’t go to her either, so maybe this is just a case of miscommunication. But she doesn’t say anything, because she believes things have to happen at the right time. And she has been watching Ginny too; every time Harry looks the other way, she glances in his direction, an expression on her face that Lily cannot understand exactly.

It seems to be ablaze.

_______

Later, Lily will define it as a dance where the dancers aren’t supposed to touch each other but still they synchronize their steps perfectly.

It’s unnerving, really, and she doesn’t know how they are really managing it, but if there is a quality she could attribute to both Harry and Ginny is stubbornness.

They can’t ignore each other, not really, not with how much they encounter each other — funerals and homages and dinners over the Burrow and rebuilding Hogwarts —, so instead they adopt a sort of relationship that’s just a shadow of how much they got along together.

Lily saw them before they even dated or had acknowledged their feelings for each other, and Harry and Ginny had shined together with chemistry as if they were two ingredients in a potion that demanded to be together. It was only friendship but there was sparkle and understanding and compassion and brightness. Lily remembers thinking that even if they didn’t develop romantic feelings for each other, they were truly soulmates.

And this is just one of the reasons why their current formal courtesy with each other bothers her so much. If they wanted to be only friends, there wasn’t much she could do. But they are not even friends lately, just two people who had gone through so much and hadn’t been able to share anything with each other despite wanting very much.

That’s the other thing that annoys her. They want more. Both of them.

She knows Harry, of course — he shares the same expressions and he wears his feelings on the same sleeve Lily does, so it’s easy —, and Lily likes to think she knows Ginny too, for the times they met, for all they’ve talked and for the fact that Ginny is usually blatant on her feelings when they are at the edge.

Usually. This time, it seems their stubbornness is getting the better of both of them.

They are alone most of the days of May. Hermione has gone to Australia to find her parents and Ron went with her, and Lily thinks this would be perfect for them to get together again – to have time to talk and to truly live their relationship without the threat of a storm above their heads.

But they don’t go to each other. They stay apart, even though Lily sees the cracks in their stubbornness when Harry breaks a glass after hearing Ginny talking about exchanging letters with an ex-boyfriend, and when Ginny suddenly leaves the room after Harry mentions Kingsley’s proposal to start the Aurors course.

James sees it too. He is always frowning when they are in the same room, and Lily knows no one rooted more for that relationship than James. So she is not surprised that he approaches her one morning when they are cleaning the mess the Death Eaters made in her office.

‘Do you remember when you forbade me from intervening in Harry’s love life?’ he asks in a nonchalant voice, cleaning a stain that looks a lot like blood on the carpet.

Lily nods with her head.

‘Maybe it’s time to change that rule?’ James asks then, now sounding hopeful.

Lily throws him the briefest of the looks, without turning away her attention from the cauldrons she is supposed to check if anything is worth saving.

‘Harry would hate it if we did anything.’

‘Harry would hate it if he knew we were doing anything.’

‘And James Potter can be discreet? How many detentions did you get just because you couldn’t help but flaunt your work?’

He raises his eyebrows challengingly.

‘That Slug Club dinner on my birthday. I was so discreet no one ever found out what we were doing.’

Lily blushes. He was absurdly quiet that night, indeed, despite her attempts otherwise.

‘Fine, you’ve got a point. Go on, but I’m warning you, if Ginny realizes what you are trying to do, she will hex you and I won’t stop.’

‘As long as she hexes me on their wedding day, I won’t complain,’ James says unabashedly, and Lily has to grin.

She is not feeling much confident — James’ love plans took him three years to her agree to date him, after all, and even then she had fallen in love with him when he had given up on any plan at all —, but she can’t deny James is creative and it’s better trying anything than watching Harry sigh all over the place, heartbroken and unhappy.

During the year they were out, their house has been searched over and over; their furniture is broken and there are spots of red ink — or blood — in every room, with curses or slurs written on every wall. They could just easily destroy the house and build a new one, but it feels good to clean the place; it feels like a new beginning.

Maybe this is what James is hoping to give Harry and Ginny because he asks for her help in rebuilding their house. Ginny accepts surprisingly quickly, probably guessing that Harry will still be occupied with the work at Hogwarts.

‘Thanks for the help,’ Lily says after she and Ginny manage to clean the debris away from the stairs, so now the first floor is available for them to start cleaning up the rooms.

‘No problem, it’s good to be out of the house,’ Ginny notes, drying the sweat on her face. ‘Sometimes it feels… too claustrophobic there.’

Lily raises her eyebrows, indicating around the hall, where the number of things still to be organized makes the corridor seem a lot smaller than it is. Ginny gives a small chuckle.

‘It’s just — Mom is trying to compensate, I think. Ron is not here and I am the youngest and she needs to take care of something, after — after everything that happened. So, yeah, I need some time to myself.’

‘Are you sure there is nothing else you would like to do?’ Lily asks, concerned now. Ginny just shrugs.

‘Since I can’t fly, this seems like the best available option,’ she says. ‘And it feels good to be doing something — and there is so much to do here. The Death Eaters made a mess.’

‘That could be said for everywhere.’

‘And everyone,’ Ginny adds softly, and she returns to the cabinet she is trying to fix without saying anything further, but Lily doesn’t think she needs to. She saw Neville’s bruises, she saw Luna’s scars and she has a pretty good idea of how it was at Hogwarts under Voldemort’s regime.

But Ginny keeps her marks quietly, and Lily knows there is only one person she will be able to talk to.

The next day, James comes home earlier from Hogwarts with Harry. There is an awkward moment when Harry and Ginny meet in the kitchen and James mentions that now the main work over Hogwarts is done, Harry volunteered to help get his home back again.

‘Any problem?’ James asks genially, making both Harry and Ginny jump.

‘No,’ they say at the same time, and it doesn’t convince anyone.

Lily never noticed how big their house was until she realizes Harry and Ginny still manage to avoid each other except during mealtimes, so she decides they can get past subtlety. She and James start to ask them for help for the same rooms until they eventually are paired in the same tasks.

She doesn’t hear them talking, but it seems to work, albeit at the slowest pace ever.

‘You won’t believe who asked Sirius for an interview,’ James says one night after they settled for the day and they are having dinner before Ginny returns to her house. ‘Rita Skeeter.’

‘What scoop does she want now?’ Harry asks, rolling his eyes. ‘I am still awaiting her biography about me.’

‘What will be called?’, Ginny asks, and Harry turns to her with his eyes already shining with the joke.

‘Easy. Harry Potter, chosen or undesirable one?’

She laughs – it’s a short tentative laugh, but it’s there, and Harry smiles too. James exchanges a look with Lily, but she shakes her head warningly to him.

‘What Skeeter wanted with Sirius?’ she asks, putting the conversation back into place. It was just a shared joke. There is still a long road ahead.

‘Oh, gossip on you and me, actually, which unfortunately is something Sirius thinks it’s too funny to pass – and also he has a soft spot for Skeeter.’

Harry chokes on his drink.

‘Soft spot?’

‘Oh, please, don’t tell me –‘ Ginny raises her eyebrows, exchanging a bewildered look with Harry. ‘Sirius and Rita Skeeter?’

James chuckles.

‘No, he just likes her because of the animagus stuff. He says he can’t fault her for being one.’

‘Oh, much better,’ Ginny sighs. Then she bits her lip before looking back at Harry. ‘Can you imagine them together? Rita Skeeter as your godmother?’

‘I would have to quit Sirius from his job as godfather,’ Harry says, pretending to gag. ‘He would clearly be underqualified.’

There is another small giggle and that’s it for the night.

They are talking again at least, even if it is still not like it used to be. There are no whispered words during their time together during the day and they don’t seem to be secretly snogging. But they talk sometimes, and once or twice Lily hears a laugh when she passes the room they are in.

But it’s only two weeks later that something seems to happen.

Lily is in her room, finishing to set up the bed so she and James will finally be able to sleep there, when the voices catch her up on her window.

‘You are bleeding.’

‘It’s just a cut, Harry, no big deal.’

‘It was a splinter, there can still be something there.’

‘I told you, I took everything off. I will just press it, it will stop bleeding in a minute.’

‘I can help you, I – I know a lot of healing spells.’

There is a pause.

‘Me too, but I also know that the bleeding will stop. It’s not deep.’

‘How do you –‘

‘Same way you know, Harry.’ There is a note of tension in Ginny’s voice. ‘I had to learn.’

‘Ginny –‘

‘What? Do you think you were the only one who had a hard time?’

And she storms inside, giving him no time to answer.

Harry is subdued that night, even more reserved than natural, and when she passes his room late at night, she sees the light is on. For a second Lily wonders if she should call James, but then she sighs and knocks on his door.

‘Harry?’

In answer, the door opens quietly. Lily enters his room to see Harry fully clothed on his bed; he is holding something and, with a start, she realizes it’s the Marauder’s Map. That’s a weird thing for Harry to be consulting in the middle of the night.

‘Can’t sleep?’ she asks, sitting on the edge of his bed and running her hand through his hair comfortingly. He shrugs. ‘Anything to do with that fight with Ginny?’

He raises his eyebrows.

‘Hearing behind doors, Mum?’

‘No need, you were talking under my window.’

‘Next fight I will make sure we are far,’ he says with a grimace.

‘There will be a next fight?’

‘I don’t know,’ he admits, and this prospect doesn’t seem to make him better. ‘If I asked you something, would you be honest with me?’

‘Wasn’t I always, Harry?’

He smiles for a second before his expression is grave and uncertain.

‘Do you think I am self-centred?’

Lily blinks.

‘No one would accuse you of being selfish, Harry, I mean –’

She doesn’t know where to begin, considering all the sacrifices she had seen Harry make over the years — he gave his life —, but Harry shakes his head.

‘Not selfish, I mean – the summer after my fourth year, when Voldemort was back, I said plenty of things –’

‘You were under a lot of stress, no one –’

‘I know, but I was complaining about how everything happened to me and now I am thinking that maybe, somehow, I never stopped to think that things happen to other people too.’

Lily squeezes his hand.

‘It is not a suffering competition, Harry.’

‘I don’t know if I see it that way. I mean, when I saw Neville for the first time, with all his bruises and looking so hurt, I still wished it could be me, staying at Hogwarts and fighting because it seemed easier and it never occurred to me that she could – they could – have had a difficult time too. It still seemed… just school.’

He pauses to pick up the Marauder’s Map, opening it even if there is no map showing there.

‘I used to take the Map last year to watch over her,’ he whispers, his face flushing. ‘And I saw her dot and I never thought that she could be in trouble. I knew they were rebelling, but… it didn’t feel like it was something real.’

‘Well, that’s why you should talk to each other. None of you will understand if you keep avoiding each other.’

‘She is mad at me.’

‘Of course she is. You are avoiding her.’

He doesn’t answer.

‘You need to talk, Harry. Go there. Try it.’

He blinks, a hint of a smile on his lips.

‘Are you suggesting that I go visit my ex-girlfriend in the middle of the night?’

‘I’m pretty sure you will just talk if she doesn’t hex you first,’ Lily says brightly. Then she smiles softly. ‘You could wait until tomorrow, Harry, but I have the feeling you both have been waiting too long. And this isn’t any of your styles. You are both people of action.’

Harry grins now, standing up.

‘I will go then. Thanks for the tip, Mum.’

Lily accepts the soft kiss he gives her on the cheek.

‘Just be safe, Harry.’

_______

Harry seems to be in a better mood the next morning, despite the fact that he slept a few hours that night — Lily knows he returned by five, just as the sun was rising.

But she doesn’t say anything, just smiling to herself when Harry’s face lights up when the fireplace erupts into emerald flames and Ginny appears, dusting her clothes. They exchange a look that it’s still not there yet, but it’s soft and promising. James looks in her direction, surprised, and she promises to explain later.

It’s not Summer yet, but the days of May and then June get warmer and then Harry and Ginny are spending more time outside, though there isn’t much to fix there.

At least, not material things.

James keeps an eye on them — he wouldn’t resist not doing so —, telling her that most of the time they just seem to be taking long strolls and talking.

One day they return from their walk holding hands, and Lily has to lock James inside the room so he doesn’t say anything. Harry and Ginny are still not there.

The road home takes time.

On the second weekend of June they have the hottest day yet and they take some time off; James transfigures a pool in the backyard that neither Harry nor Ginny seems to enjoy other than to sit at the edge of the pool and take off their shoes to wet their feet. Instead of helping to ease any tension, the pool seems to create some weight over them, making them more silent than usual, so James suggests they go flying instead.

‘My Firebolt is gone,’ Harry remembers, wincing, and Lily knows it’s not the broomstick he is really missing right now. Harry lost a friend that day.

‘Mine was burnt by the Carrows last year,’ Ginny adds, her voice casual as if it’s nothing important.

They don’t end up doing anything after that.

In the afternoon, James gets a call from Sirius and Lily decides to just stay home, finishing the Wolfsbane Potions she will need to deliver to Remus by the end of the week. She is quietly lost in her favourite potion world when she hears the voices, and it’s just because they are whispering, rather than talking normally, that it draws her attention.

‘Are you sure?’ Ginny is asking, her voice unusually hesitant.

‘Only if you are,’ he whispers, sounding just as unstable.

Lily approaches the window and withdraws the curtains as little as she needs. Harry and Ginny are still by the pool, standing facing each other, and without looking away from Harry, she takes off her shirt, to reveal her bikini under it.

Harry gasps, but Lily knows that what is taking his breath away are the marks on Ginny’s torso — faint scars of cuts and small yellowed bruises that remained from the battle, over a month ago.

Ginny bits her lip, her arms trembling as if she wants to cover herself. Harry finally takes a step in her direction, looking her in the eyes now.

'Thank you for showing me,’ he whispers and then he sighs. 'My turn'.

His hands are shaking as he goes to unbutton his shirt, until Ginny raises her hands.

'May I?'

Harry nods slowly.

Ginny keeps her head high, not looking away from Harry's eyes, until she finishes opening all the buttons from his shirt and taking it off.

Then her eyes fall to his chest and Ginny freezes.

Lily knows what she is seeing, even though Lily can't see it from her angle: Harry's new lightning scar, across his chest, over his heart, where the Killing Curse hit him for the second time in his life.

'Harry,’ Ginny sighs, pain evident in her voice. She raises her hand, looking at him, questioning him silently. Harry nods once more.

Then Ginny takes a step closer to him, touching his chest, and Lily knows that she must be feeling his heart over it.

She lets the curtain fall and returns to her potion.

She is not surprised when they return home holding hands and she only tells James later (so he doesn't say anything during dinner because she knows her husband) that Ginny kissed Harry softly on the lips when she thought no one was seeing them.

[ghostbustermelanieking]

i'd like to hear some headcanons for your "georgie can see dead people" au! :0

oh thank you so much!! this is probably going to be a little messy, since i haven't actually started the fic, but!! here is something!! :) (also i am so sorry for all the sixth sense references. the actual fic will undoubtedly be worse.)

1. So the basic premise of this AU is that the end result of Georgie's encounter with the End is that, instead of losing her ability to feel fear, she gains the ability to see the dead. Everything goes the same otherwise: the protest, Alex, the dead woman, Georgie waking up days later at home, the months of strangeness and unfeeling. The difference is that when Georgie wakes up, she can see the dead woman, too. Never too close—only in corners, behind doors, in the window. And never always, but only in the moments that feel crucial. The moments where she's searching for something of herself. Her mother hugs her and she sees the dead woman over her mother's shoulder. 

Georgie sees Alex, too, sometimes. Closer and more head on; she is always looking back. But she never speaks, and neither does the dead woman from the room. It isn't until she begins to see other ghosts that she realizes they can talk, if they want to. If they choose. 

(Six months later is when Georgie figures out how to lock the dead woman out. She stops seeing Alex shortly after, except on occasion. Sometimes she'll see a flash of those familiar eyes in the mirror, over her shoulder, and they always seem to be apologetic. But Alex still never says anything. Georgie gets good at pretending that this doesn't hurt nearly as much as losing her.)

2. Jon is the first one that Georgie almost tells. Almost. They're honest with each other in a way that Georgie usually isn't, when they first meet, and she almost thinks he'd believe her. They talk about ghost stories all the time. 

She mostly thinks about it when she sees Jon's ghosts. It isn't often but she sees them. He'll talk about what little he remembers of his parents, or pull out some old, faded pictures, and she'll see the faces reflected in the kitchen, the bathroom mirror, Jon's bedroom. He never talks about the apparition of a strange teenager that appears, once, when they both wake up sweaty from frantic nightmares and he refuses to explain, and Georgie doesn't press. He doesn't tell her about Mr. Spider and she doesn't tell him about the ghosts. Much as they love each other, they do still have secrets. 

Georgie goes to his grandmother's funeral years later, even though they're barely talking at this point, and almost tells him then. Seeing him stand mostly alone at the grave, looking monumentally alone, and then a flicker of his grandmother behind him—she almost does. But still she doesn't. She's never told anyone before, and she and Jon aren't really in touch, so she just hugs him and tells him she's so sorry, and doesn't meet the eyes of the woman watching behind the fresh grave. 

3. Melanie is another person Georgie almost tells. They still meet through their connections—Ghost Hunt UK, What the Ghost, and Georgie's power is (probably unsurprisingly) very useful for the paranormal podcast business. (All her episodes aren't pulled from real life, from her own experiences—that would be irresponsible, and there's more clout in retelling familiar stories. But sometimes when Georgie runs out of episode ideas, she'll visit a spooky place, write down what she sees, do a deep dive on the history, and fill in the gaps by attributing her sightings to "unnamed" witnesses.) She's met a lot of people in the ghost hunting business, but Melanie stands out, because they hit it off so immediately. Start hanging out outside of work drinks, at parties or pubs or research stints. Melanie starts inviting Georgie to consult on the show, or to collaborate, and Georgie uses what she sees to point Melanie and her team towards real sightings. Why not? Might as well have the horrible power be useful for something. Haley Joel Osment solved his problem by helping people, and this isn't the same at all (and that's a movie, anyways), but it is something. 

So she and Melanie become fast friends, faster than Georgie is used to, and Georgie genuinely thinks about telling her. She trusts her, and she doesn't think Melanie would laugh, or call her a liar. (Melanie's got stories about not being believed, too; it's common in the paranormal business.) She thinks Melanie might be the right person, maybe. Just maybe. 

(She doesn't end up doing it. She's still a coward when it comes to that. But it isn't because she isn't tempted.)

(The idea to tell Melanie comes before she starts seeing Melanie's father. But that fact doesn't help her decision, either. In quiet moments with Melanie, Georgie starts seeing the man in Melanie's framed photos in the shadows, looking at Melanie with sad eyes, calling her little moth. But Melanie can still barely talk about her dad, and the accident, and it feels even more wrong after he starts showing up, to tell her. Georgie worries Melanie might think she's making fun, or making something up to make her feel better, and she doesn't see this going well.

Instead she says, sometimes, I know your dad loved you a lot. Melanie says, Yeah, I know, too. Georgie says, And I bet he misses you, even though it isn't a bet; she knows. But she can't tell Melanie, and that's as far as it can go.) 

4. The most significant time Georgie wants to tell Melanie, but doesn't, is the one she'll end up regretting the most in the end. When Melanie gets out of the hospital, first, and then when she comes back from India; when Georgie is basically the only friend Melanie has left from her old life, and therefore is probably the person Melanie goes to the most. The person Melanie confides in. 

So Georgie is there to see it all. She'll be sitting across from Melanie in a pub, or beside her on the couch; she'll brush Melanie's hand with hers, or their knees will knock together, and Georgie will see flashes of blood, violence. Hear screaming. She'll see haunted faces out of the corner of her eyes: soldiers, doctors. Muzzles of guns. Once, a stained hand gripping Melanie around the leg. 

She'll regret it, later, but Georgie doesn't say anything; she doesn't know what to say. She's never seen anything like this, even with over a decade of seeing ghosts. How is she supposed to explain it? She doesn't really know what it means. Melanie talks about war ghosts, and Georgie listens, and she rationalizes that Melanie will have to be okay. (She was okay, when it was her, and if—if this is something serious, something worse, than… then Georgie will be there. Melanie will have someone who understands.) 

5. One night in February of 2018, Jon shows up back in Georgie's life, looking shell-shocked on her doorstep. He stands in the hall looking mildly terrified, when Georgie opens the door, and behind him stands a dead woman, looking desperate and furious all at once. 

"Georgie," Jon says weakly. "I-I know it's been a while, but…" 

"Jon! Christ, what happened to you? Are you all right?" Georgie says, trying to take in Jon and the dead woman all at once. (She is new—Jon must have had someone else close to him die.) She focuses on Jon, puts a hand on his shoulder. "Are you hurt?"

"I… I'm fine." Jon's hands twist in front of him. "I… didn't know where else to go."

Georgie swallows hard and says, "Are you in trouble?" The dead woman is looking right at her. Georgie keeps looking at Jon. 

"I… yes." Jon chews on his lower lip. "If… I know it's a lot to ask, b-but I… could I… possibly stay here for a little while?"

Georgie swallows hard. She has a dozen questions—what's happened, why he needs somewhere to stay, why he looks like this—he looks like he's been through emotional turmoil, through hell—and worse, why a dead woman has followed him here. But she doesn't know how to ask these questions. And she can't just turn him away. Jon helped her heal during one of the worst periods of her life, even if he doesn't know it. And she can do the same. 

"Yeah," Georgie says, and leans forward to pull Jon into a hug—tentative at first, and then stronger, when Jon latches on like he needs it. "Y-yeah, Jon, of course."

Jon rambles out a frantic thank you, layered in with apologies and copious promises to pay rent, but it becomes harder to listen. Right over Jon's shoulder, the dead woman is staring right at her, her mouth hanging open. She's got long hair and glasses, and she looks exhausted, and it isn't immediately obvious how she has died, which is unusual. And she's looking right at Georgie. She says, suddenly, "Can you—can you see me?"

It isn't the first time a ghost has spoken to her, but it's a rare enough occasion to be shocking. Her throat is thick with surprise, and she can't say anything in front of Jon, so she just sort of imperceptibly nods. Holds the dead woman's gaze for a moment. 

"Fuck," says the dead woman. "Thank—thank god, thank Christ, I…" She pauses and looks at Jon, then back at Georgie, still numbly hugging Jon there in the hall. "My name is Sasha," she says, and Georgie thinks of the scene in The Sixth Sense where the sick little girl under the blanket asks for help. "Can you… can you help me?"

(send me an au and i'll give you 5+ headcanons)

[la-fille-en-aiguilles]

Señorita

Billy Russo x Female Reader

Warnings: S.M.U.T., language.

Synopsis: You finally get out of the city to spend a week in a beachside paradise - you’re entitled to a little getaway, you think, with your birthday coming up. When a handsome stranger hits on you at the bar, along with your birthday, some other things might come as well.   A/N: This was random? Came out of nowhere. Enjoy & let me know what you think x

Gif not mine

Timid waves crushed softly against the shoreline, white sand turning concrete gray at their touch. The warm breeze carried around a song you thought you recognised, but couldn’t remember from where. The beach-side bar basked in a gentle blush glow, so typical for the evenings here at Mallorca… You’d only arrived a couple of days ago, but already you couldn’t picture yourself anywhere else - just sitting here, at the bar by the turquoise sea, sipping on your Pina Colada in the shadow of the palm-branched roof. The wind brushed through your salt-stained hair from the entire day spent rolling around on the beach; mindful sun caressing your thighs, peaking from behind the slit in your deep emerald dress.

Tonight was relatively calm, you thought, twirling the straw in your cocktail absentmindedly. Ever since the English rugby team packed up their balls and other attributes and set out to sea, the place became peaceful.

You were glad. The entire point of this trip was to get out of the busy city for a while, enjoy the calm. If you wanted a testosterone-filled party for your birthday, you would have stayed in New York - Karen would throw a rave that would make Coachella look like a kindergarten gathering.

But that is exactly what drove you out of America and into this seaside paradise. If there was one thing you had trouble doing, it was working a crowd of people you barely saw in your everyday life, who only came for booze and dancing. Karen said she understood, and that the party would have been a small yet tasteful affair… you still fled.

Here’s to hoping that Karen wasn’t pissed at you for bailing, you silently prayed, throwing the straw on the bar and taking a gulp directly from the glass. Judging from the text Karen sent you earlier today, saying something about getting together for a celebratory meal when you got back to the city, you figured she wasn’t mad. She did say something about introducing her to a friend of Frank’s again, and having thrown the Karen plan for the party out of the window, you had to budge.

It’d been so long it had become a running joke between you two - Karen wanting to introduce you to that “handsome hunk”, with whom Frank had served. She was especially lyrical about his manners, his big heart and his beautiful smile.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think Karen was head over heels for the guy.

Every time Karen made plans for a Sunday brunch or Saturday night drinks at Castle’s place with the sole purpose of introducing you to the Hunk, you always found an excuse to ditch. Sometimes it was an urgency at work, sometimes it was about something funny you ate the night before… You must have been dodging these “introductory date” attempts for at least five months now - and it all looked like after this get-away vacation, you’d have to face the music.

Well, it was worth it. A week of doing nothing, reading sappy novels and drinking high-end cocktails, that was what you craved for, and if you had to pretend to be interested in some nonsense a guy was trying to charm you with for a couple of hours, it was a small price to pay. With that thought, you finished off your Pina Colada and motioned for the sunburnt brown bartender to get you another one.

“Hola señorita.”

The voice was unexpected. Low, with an agreeable trace of huskiness and with a hint of power.

“Disculpe, ¿este asiento está ocupado?”

Slightly frowning, you turned your head to the right.  

Ever since the English rugby team settled in one of the villas, the women in the hotel found themselves outnumbered. It just so happened - what a coincidence - that you turned out to be their neighbour, your villa closest to theirs. Everytime you’d walk out of your temporary home to hit the bar or the beach, you’d spot at least three young men hanging outside of their quarters, their faces illuminating the minute they saw you. You’d give them a cursory smile back - you weren’t that cruel - but everytime one of them tried to approach you, you shot him down - often with a look, rarely with a verbal warning. Ever since they left, you was relishing the feeling of tranquillity - until he decided to burst your happy little bubble.

The first thing you noticed about him is that he wasn’t Spanish, despite the lack of accent. He had beautiful dark, almost black eyes, the colour of a freshly brewed espresso, that myriad of black and chocolate tones swirling in a whirlpool of tender curiosity. They held your depreciating stare well. The sun obviously loved him - those razor-sharp cheekbones glowed bronze as he tilted his head to the side a little bit. The wind caressed his dark hair, playing with the longer strands at the top.

Something about him was so familiar. Maybe you’d seen him on the beach before? You did stay at the same hotel after all…

Not in a slightest bit confused at your lack of answer, the man smiled.

His smile held a sort of a gentle surprise in it, like a summer day in a middle of October.

It was absolutely breathtaking.

“Je suis désolée,” you finally uttered, forcing your eyes to focus on his eyes again instead of his lips. “Je ne parle pas espagnol”.

His smile grew wider, much to your surprise. Instead of getting red in the face, stammering out some random apology as you expected him to, he nodded and motioned to the chair next to you with one hand, sliding the other one across the surface of the bar.

Despite your better judgement and against your utter dislike of aimless flirting, you found herself shrugging as you accepted her second drink from the bartender.

“A whiskey on the rocks, please.”

Ah-ha. He’s from New York.

You sipped on your cocktail directly from the glass, ignoring the brand-new straw the bartender supplied you with in order to hide your smirk. As the man held two aristocratic, impossibly long fingers in the air, making his order, you took the time to study him.

He was tall, much taller than you. The plain white t-shirt that he wore betrayed the solid stomach muscles hidden under the cotton - the short sleeves strained as he gripped the back of the chair and slowly lowered himself onto it.

“Thank you,” he finally said to the bartender with a nod, gripping his glass with those downright pornographic fingers. Slightly pursuing his lips, the man turned his full attention back to you. When you arched an eyebrow at his antics, he flashed you a mischievous yet understanding look. “Ça tombe bien. Je me sens plus à l’aise en parlant français”.

That cheeky bastard.

Your first reaction was that of a sincere surprise. You were pretty sure that for a second there, your eyebrows almost reached your hairline. Upon catching the satisfied glint in these already all too familiar eyes, you wanted to feel irritated at the nerve of him, at the fact that he just happened to beat you at your own game. But you didn’t.

Biting hard on your bottom lip in order not to laugh, you took your glass and sipped, hard.

“While I’d love to know how many more languages the lady speaks, I would much rather learn her name”, he dropped nonchalantly, whirling his whiskey gently, the ice cubes cluttering against the glass.

The first comeback that crossed your mind was so filthy you couldn’t possibly go with it. The second one, however, was efficient and succinct.

“Diana, here’s a lady’s name.”

With a low chuckle, he let his head drop down for a moment. When he raised his eyes to face you again, your chest felt a little too tight and a little too fragile under his poignant stare - that of amusement, want and a clean cut awe.

His eyes had told you that this was more than a drifting attraction, that he was interested in so much more than your name…

You saw it, and for some nonsensical reason, chose to believe it.

“I don’t care about names,” there was such a determination to your voice that it surprised you. It didn’t startle him, though - he caught your every word as his eyes travelled from your fluttering eyelashes to the soft curve of your lips. “When there are so many more interesting things to talk about. Don’t you agree?”

As you turned away from him and took another sip of your drink, you heard him chuckle yet again, and saw him press a hesitant finger against his lips.

This was obviously new to him. This small treacherous gesture led you to believe that maybe he wasn’t one to pick women at bars, that, just like you, he felt that thrill of surrendering to the strange sort of attraction encircling you both.

“In fact, enough talking. Let’s focus on doing.”

What was it so special about him that made you decide? It’s not like there’s been no men before him, very much willing to break through your iron-clad facade, wanting you to take a leap of faith. Some of them had the potential to make you feel good, you were aware of that. Still, you didn’t want them.

What made him so different? A certain familiarity of his voice, his features, maybe? Or maybe you should just slow down, cut down on the alcohol, drink a glass of water and go back to your villa, alone.

The way his eyes skimmed your naked shoulders, a barely there sigh leaving his half-open lips sealed the deal.

You didn’t want to slow down.

Not with him.

“Here’s to doing then”, his Adam apple bobbed as he gulped down, his eyes darkening. He raised his glass towards you - a figurative shake of hands on the deal they just made.

“Here’s to doing”, you agreed, clinking your glass to his.

His villa was located at the outskirts of the hotel beach, backed by the rocks. It was a ten-minute walk from the bar, feet in the warm sand, the star-sprangled night sky over your heads.

Despite the silence surrounding you, save for the occasional gust of breeze carrying on the sound of music from the bar you just left, you didn’t feel awkward. A soft smile ghosted over your lips as you felt his careful touch at the small of your back - those fingers sliding down to the base of your spine, feather-like. He strode forward, adapting his pace so you could keep up - you weren’t even sure he was aware of that, the change in him so spontaneous, as if it were a force of habit. Like this wasn’t the first time you walked side by side.

You would blame it on the booze, but you drank a total of two cocktails.

He only had one whiskey before they took off.

The villa he chose to stay in was slightly more spacious than yours, and provided a lot more privacy - this told you a lot about the man you were about to sleep with. He was most certainly well off, for starters. He also came here to get his share of peace and quiet, much like yourself.

Guiding you through the doors, he turned the lights on behind you, his other hand never leaving your back.

The best way to describe the interior would be neat or crisp, with a large, perfectly made bed in the center of the space, surrounded by a bar, a hanging chair, a shuttered armoire, and a desk, that could be used both as a kitchen table and a bureau. It smelled faintly of vanilla and musk, with a sea-salt aftertaste.

“Make yourself at home”, he murmured into your ear, still standing behind you, his hand gripping your hip hard for a fleeting second. When the realization of his touch had settled in, and you were finally able to react, he was already at the bar, serving himself a whiskey.

“Would you like something to drink?”

He busied himself with the bottle for a moment; then he produced another glass from behind the bar, waiting on your answer. When you didn’t speak, he turned to face you again.

You did as you were told - kicking off your shoes, you stepped onto the soft wool rug. With your back to him, you slowly made your way to his bed. One you reached it, you couldn’t resist trailing your fingertips along its surface - the sheets were creamy and silk, smooth to the touch.

You stopped short of the head of the bed, throwing a look over your shoulder. He caught your gaze, frozen in place, wetting his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue.  

“Why don’t you choose for me?” you offered, slowly lowering yourself on the bed, crossing your legs. “What do you usually serve them?”

The way his eyes narrowed at you ever so slightly almost made you smile. It looked like you’d struck a nerve.

Good.

“I wouldn’t know how to answer that question”, he said, his voice levelled, his stare unblinking. “I’ve never had an urge like that before”.

Well, fuck.

How many more times this man was going to run counter to your expectations?

And on top of everything, damn, he was good. A quick-thinker or a natural good-talker? Would you remain clear-headed for long enough to find out?

“What else would you like to know?” his voice grew huskier as he pushed the glass away from himself. He left it at the bar as he started your way, his pupils blown to hell.

“That all I’ve been thinking about ever since I saw you at the bar is how soft your breasts would feel pressed against my chest? That I’ve been hard ever since you opened that sassy mouth of yours? Or that I would have jerked off to the memory of you for weeks if you hadn’t come here with me?”

God.

The tightness that had long since made home in your chest moved lower, lower, lower, until it sank into the pit of your stomach. At his words, involuntary, your thighs clenched together, restless energy buzzing in between your legs, your toes curling.

“Stand up”.

When your eyes focused back on your surroundings, you saw him standing a couple of steps away, his strong jaw clenching as he gazed at you, his arms folded on his chest. Breath catching in your throat, you pushed off the bed. Feeling dizzy all of the sudden, you squeezed your eyes shut.

“Don’t close your eyes. Look at me, beautiful.”

Again, you did as you were told - you met his gaze head-on, and almost instantly regretted it. He was staring down at you with those black bottomless eyes, raw emotion flowing through him, filling the air around them, charging it to the brim. His hands fell down his sides now - so tense, the veins budged on his forearms.

It’s like he was pacing himself, keeping himself from touching you.

“Take off your dress,” he requested after a moment, watching you like a hawk.

Slowly, squeezing your thighs harder, harder still, you brought your hands to the spaghetti straps on your shoulders, before pushing them off completely.

The dress landed in a heap on the floor, leaving you in nothing but lacy panties - almost utterly naked under his stare.

You heard the softest groan escape his mouth as his hand snaked across his thighs and up to that bulge in his pants. When he squeezed his hand around it, his abdominal muscles flexing as he exhaled, you felt the moisture spread down your inner thighs.

With your heart pounding in your throat, you made a step towards him with your hand stretched out. Almost immediately you heard a low strangled noise, and saw the nah shining bright in his dark eyes.

“Not yet, beautiful,” he growled, taking his t-shirt off in one elegant motion. He then undid the belt on his pants, his eyes savouring every inch of your naked skin. “Play with your tits for me. With both hands.”

Your own touch burned as you carefully squeezed your nipples with your fingers. Throwing your head back, you moaned loud, unwillingly pushing your hips forward.

“That’s it, beautiful, just like that.”

His words seemed to lift some sort of barrier, as you started to tug and pull harder at the nipples, alternating the movements with firm grasps around the swell of your breasts.

You were going to come.

You were going to come and he hadn’t even touched you yet.

“Now slide one of those hands down those panties. Rub that pretty pussy. Tell me how wet you are”.

You made peace with the fact that he was a talker - but now he had surely sat out to break her. His voice washed all over your body, sending goosebumps down your spine as you slid one of your hands under the underwear.

“I’m so fucking wet”, you gasped, staring at him. “Fucking dripping”.

His moan made your thighs tremble, your fingers slowly circling around your clit. Before you let your eyes roll to the back of your head, you saw him with one of his hands hidden in his pants, slowly jerking himself off, with slow, aborted motions.

“That’s it, caress that pussy for me. But go slow - tease it”.

You nearly growled at that. You knew you were close - there was a bundle of sensation, like a ball of electricity, building inside of you - two quick flicks of your index finger, and you’d be done for.  

“Jesus, please”, you stuttered out before you could realize you were actually begging. “I’m so fucking close, please…”

You rubbed slowly over the nerves, your fingers wet and slippery. Panting, you realized his name would have come in handy just now - if he had some sort of a praise kink, you could maybe easily get the release you yearned for.

“You are so beautiful, fucking yourself like that. Wish those were my hands. Or my mouth”.

Something flared at the very end of your clit, softly spreading all over her pussy. You moaned loud and unapologetic, your fingers moving faster as you tried to chase that sensation. You needed to grasp it, to ride it out, you fucking needed it!…

“Put a finger inside, beautiful”.

You didn’t need to be told twice. Pumping fast and hard, you could feel your knees bending, your flesh begging for release.

“Come for me. Now.”

As if by command, the orgasm finally hit you - everywhere at once. It made your entire body shake as you screamed out, pussy clenching around your fingers. You barely registered you were falling down on your knees, when strong hands caught you at your hipbones, pushing you upright.

He was on you before you could come down from your high. His mouth hot and bruising against yours, you moaned, instinctively jumping onto him and wrapping your legs around his feverish body.

His scent assaulted you - a clean, musky scent made your inside muscles clench, so you wiggled against him, wanting more.

He was so painfully hard against your core, you whimpered, pushing your hips against his, needing more friction, like an addict craving for a dose.

Sensing your need, feeling you, he grabbed your ass with his large hands and stepped onto the bed, setting you down on that same wooden headboard of the bed you’d almost stroke with your fingers.

Pushing your legs apart, he settled in between them. Before you knew it, his tongue lapped at your wetness, sliding up the length of your slit. Whimpering and moaning, you arched your back, burying your fingers in his hair, tugging hard. That made him growl, adding a slight vibration as he sucked on the bundle of nerves. He slammed his fingers - those fucking fingers - into you, and it took exactly two pumps for your second orgasm to roll over you. With your eyes squeezed shut, you moaned into the ceiling with everything you had.

Helping you slide down onto the bed with his hands guiding your hips, he gave you a piercing stare. The one that made you whimper, even though your eye-side was still fuzzy at the edges.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, before he distanced himself from you - to take off his pants.

“I’m going to fuck you now - I’ll be gentle next time, right now… Right now I just need to bury myself in that pretty pussy of yours”.

“Fuck”, you moaned, propping yourself on the elbows, closing your eyes as you threw your head back. You didn’t know if you could handle more, but Jesus, did you want it. His cock stretching you wide.

You would not have been able to tell where he took a condom from - you didn’t even have time to contemplate on it. All you registered was a slight discomfort in between your legs before his huge cock pushed inside of you, inch by glorious inch. The stretch was almost too much, and you coughed out half a breath, half a moan as you tried to adjust to his size. Whatever sound you were about to let out next, as he slid out of you and pushed back in, to the hilt this time, it got lost in between your lips, as he captured your mouth in a bruising kiss.

Your nails scratched on his ripped back as he fucked into you shallowly, your teeth biting into the skin on his neck. As if not getting enough of you, he grabbed one of your thighs, flexing it, so he could thrust deeper.

The change of the angle had you swearing under your breath, and his mouth was there to silence you again, his teeth biting down on your bottom lip.

The third orgasm snuck up on you out of nowhere - there was no gradual built, no buzzing feeling in your lower stomach - it crashed on you like a bucket full of ice, having you arching your back, clenching around his cock so fiercely, it snatched an orgasm out of him, as well.

“Fuuuuuck”, he breathed out, his hips slamming sloppily into yours. “So fucking good, fucking…”

Before he could continue, you rolled forward and put your mouth on him, swallowing his words. With his palm cupping your cheek, he deepened the kiss as his cock drained itself into the latex.

The kiss grew soft, your noses touching ever so slightly as you both slowed down, a mess of tangled limbs. Smearing his wet mouth against your nipples, he pushed up from you, sliding his cock out.

“I’d take that drink now if you don’t mind”, you told him, a lazy smile illuminating your features.

A low chuckle he let out echoed in your lower stomach.

“Sure, beautiful. How does a whiskey sound?” he offered, standing up in all his naked glory.

You hummed in approval as you leaned higher against the headboard. Biting your lip, you checked out his ass unashamedly, as he made his way to the bar, throwing the used condom into the garbage bin.

“I know there are some things that we’ve agreed on, but I’d much appreciate calling you by your name instead of beautiful when going down on you next time. What do you say?”

You heard whiskey splash against the walls of your soon-to-be glass. Your inner muscles clenched at the sight of him, naked, serving you a drink.

“It’s Y/N”, you said with a small smile.

“Billy”, he responded, making his way to you. As you reached out to take your glass of whiskey from him, he pulled his hands backwards, using your position to land his lips on yours in a stinging kiss instead. You responded hungrily, grabbing his head with both of your hands.

The night was still young, after all.

“Okay, so would you rather spent your life partying with rich assholes you barely know, still seeing your family and friends, or get stuck on a desert island with no opportunity to see anyone at all?”

You turned your head ever so slightly, feeling his muscles clench as Billy huffed out a breath.

You both laid naked on his bed, him propped against the headboard, you - with your head settled comfortably on his stomach. A half empty bottle of whiskey was getting warm against your bare thigh, both of your glasses laying empty next to it.

You had lost count of the times you came with his name a word of ecstasy on your lips. You were surely going to sport some hickeys on your neck tomorrow, but you didn’t care.

You had never felt so at ease with a man before. Granted, no man had ever managed to make you come three times in a row, but that wasn’t the point. Billy made you question your “no dating” rule, and not just because he fucked like his life depended on it. He just got you - whether it was your discomfort in big crowds, fear of subway, weird addiction to macarons or love-hate relationship with Paris. You just clicked - it was hard to believe you met mere hours ago.

Or maybe the fact that you only just met was the reason why you clicked. It certainly wouldn’t be the same in the long run. The rose-goggles period only lasted so long. When routine kicked in, it tended to crash everything in its wake.

“That’s a tough one”, he said, biting on the inside of his cheeks. “If I could invite people on my desert island, I’d definitely go with the second option.”

“Well, you can’t”, you smirked at him, and then stared back into the ceiling. “It’s either being constantly surrounded, or seeing no one at all”.

He hummed, considering the options.

“I can’t imagine being alone 24/7, even though you might have guessed already, I love being alone sometimes”, his fingers slowly caressed the soft skin under your breasts, as he voiced his thoughts out loud. “It’s funny how your mind works though”, you could hear a smile in his tone now. “With you, it’s either all or nothing.”

You thought for a moment, interlacing your fingers with his. Then you shrugged:

“Sometimes, I just want to get away, you know? See no one, speak to no one… I sometimes push people away, thinking it would do me good. But it doesn’t always have that desirable effect.”

When you stole a glance at Billy again, you saw him nod.

“I know what you mean”, he spoke quietly. “And I’m glad you didn’t push me away tonight”.

“Oh, I tried,” you assured him with a smirk. “You’re hard to shake off”, you let go of his fingers and pushed yourself up on your hands, so that your eyes were on the same level.

Billy chuckled, his lips stretching in that warm and wonderful smile.

“Keep looking at me like that, and I’ll be hard. Again. Point blank.”

You laughed quietly, dropping your gaze, your eyes traveling down his stomach and to that massive cock between his legs.

He was getting hard again alright.  

“What time is it?” you suddenly remembered, snapping your gaze around, searching for a clock.

“Quarter to four, why would you ask?” he told you, after checking his wristwatch.

You closed her eyes.

“It’s my birthday”, you said before you blinked at him in surprise.

In between all that dirty sex and orgasms, you lost track of time and completely forgot. Were you coming when the clock struck midnight? The thought made you giggle.

“Really?” Billy stared at you in disbelief before his dark cocoa eyes softened, and his voice dropped an octave. “Come here”.

Warmth spread all over your body at his words, your core the center of the growing tingling sensation. Billy used his hot hands to pull you closer, help you settle in his lap, your legs on each side of his hips. With his left hand he reached for the bedside table, pulling out yet another condom out.

“Would you like to put it on?” He whispered against the skin behind your ear, making your pussy tense. Not trusting your voice, you nodded, taking the foil packet from his hand. Tearing it up with your teeth, you slid the latex onto his throbbing cock, pumping him a couple of times for a good mesure. The noises Billy made were downright pornographic. You licked your lips.

With both of your hands on his naked shoulders, you slowly lowered yourself all the way down onto him, the sensation making you both moan this time.

“Just like that, beautiful”, he whispered softly in your ear, thrusting up into you.

You rode him slowly, arching your back, leveraging yourself on his shoulders. The position was so damn intense, and not only because that way Billy could thrust deeper, up to his balls. There was a strange sort of intimacy as he gripped your hips, helping you bounce slowly on his rock-hard cock - his cocoa eyes held a sort of intensity as he fucked into you. It made your heart ache.

“I fucking can’t get enough of you”, he confessed hoarsely. “Of that tight, wet, perfect pussy. Of your beautiful, smart mouth. All of you. Every fucking inch of you.”

His revelation combined with his soft, yet methodic thrusts was what toppled you over the edge. You came hard, your body protesting against all those orgasms Billy’s cock had already wrestled out of it. Speaking of him, he wasn’t too far behind either, gripping your hips and holding you down as he came.

His lips seemed to hold some kind of a promise as he kissed you gently.

“Happy Birthday, beautiful”, he whispered against your lips, his hot and ragged breath fanning over your skin.

You managed a tired smile, surging up to kiss him again, relishing the feeling of him inside of you still….

Surprisingly, New York welcomed you back with cloudless sky. It was still as busy as you remembered it, but something had changed. People seemed friendlier, streets - sunnier, summer - hotter. You caught yourself enjoying the city again now that you had come back well-rested from your week-long vacation.

Well-rested might have been a wrong word for it. More like satisfied. And taken care of.

After that night, you spent the two remaining days of her getaway at Billy’s villa - no strings attached. You two barely left the place. Never had you enjoyed a man’s company this much. You cooked together, swam together, made love together… Until it was over and done, and you had to go back to the real life again, tiptoeing on your way out so he wouldn’t wake up.

You stopped cold for a moment, a plat of appetisers freezing in your hands.

Did you just think made love? Well that was a slip of epic proportions…

“Daydreaming about your boy-toy again?” Karen teased her with a smirk, walking into the kitchen. “He must have been quite something”.

Oh that, he was. You couldn’t help but sigh as you put the plate on the table.

How many people Karen was expecting for the dinner exactly? It looked like Frank and her had cooked enough for the entire goddamn naval infantry.

“It’s been a week,” you said, shaking your head as if trying to make the thoughts about him fall out. “I guess I need some time to turn that page”.

“Who said that page needs turning?” Karen reasoned, putting two bottles of champagne on the table. “Didn’t you say he was from New York? You could keep on seeing each other?”

You didn’t even take a moment to think it over.

“Nah,” you shook your head, tugging at your silk top. “We didn’t talk much about our respective jobs, but he made it obvious he travels a lot, so…”

Catching Karen’s sceptic stare, you threw both of your hands into the air, waving them.

“I’ll see him when I’ll see him, and if I don’t…” you shrugged. “Guess it wasn’t meant to be then”.

You turned to face Karen again only to find out that her expression hadn’t changed.

“Uh huh,” the noise she made was her other way of saying bullshit. “Well, you do what you gotta do, but please play nice with Russo. I swear he is a perfect guy for you”.

You let out a chuckle.

“You know, I heard it so many times I’m actually starting to believe it”, you said.

As if on cue, you heard men’s voices in the corridor.

“So how was your getaway, then?” Frank asked casually, stepping first into the kitchen. “Wow, that looks amazing, ladies,” he commented on the table, winking at Karen.

Page blushed in response, making you roll your eyes.

You was about to make a side comment to your best friend, when your mind suddenly went blank upon hearing the stranger’s voice.

“It was great, perfect actually…”

A designer-shoes-clad foot appeared in the room.

“I just feel like I left a part of me there, I’m going to need some time to rea…”

…djust, your mind supplied as you stared at Billy, her Billy, standing across the room from you - fully dressed this time.

“Oh my God,” you barely whispered, your eyes big in your face, your chest feeling like it was going to collapse on itself.

Billy’s lips slowly parted in the widest smile you’d ever seen - he just stood there, like a man on whom the greatest happiness had been bestowed, and it rendered him speechless.

Karen looked at them both in confusion, until…

Until realisation dawned on her, and she chortled, squeezing her eyes shut and covering her mouth.

“What’s… What’s going on?” Frank frowned, looking back and forth between Billy and you. “You guys know each other?”

“Hell yeah,” Billy finally spoke, his eyes never quitting yours as he closed the distance between you in four decisive strides.

Before you could even speak, he gripped your cheeks and dropped his lips on yours, as hot and burning as the sun back in Mallorca.

You moaned like you didn’t have a care in the world, pushing onto your toes, throwing your arms around his shoulders.

“I missed you, beautiful”, Billy uttered between the kisses, his forehead pressed to yours. “You ain’t getting away so easily this time”.

You let out a soft laugh, inhaling his scent, and moved to kiss his lips again. 

[love-peterparker]

In Extremis || Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: After the reveal of Spider-Man’s secret identity and the release of Quentin Beck’s murder video, there isn’t a lot going right for Peter Parker. But he has you. 

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, protests and rallies, mentions of murder, a gun that is never shot, and some hair description for Y/N for plot purposes (but it should still be generic enough).  

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: I’m first a Captain America and Agent Carter fan, and I wanted to recreate what makes their relationship so special, but with Peter and Y/N… ‘cuz I also love Peter Parker. I really loved writing this, and I hope you enjoy it.

Also, thanks to @marvelouspeterparker, @sinisterspidey (she actually has a blurb called I’ll Follow You and it builds off of Spider-Man’s identity reveal) and @stuckonspidey for answering my anon asks for general writing tips and Peter’s character. And @spideyspeaches with her kind words after reading one of the final drafts of this fic. Lastly, a special thanks to @peterbenjiparker encouraging me with this fic and for making me so emotional with her series Invisible String (Read this!... but only if your heart can take it) that I needed to write something. This story has nothing to do with it, but it does make some small generic references to her fic, and I would like to think that Y/N and Peter are soulmates in this story.

***

This takes place in a universe where a FFH-esque identity reveal happens when Y/N and Peter are young adults.

***

This fucking city didn’t deserve him.

Peter rarely admits it, but you say it all the time. When you hit a dead end in the Avenger’s database. When checking for your gun before leaving another safehouse. When reaching for him in the dark of night.

This fucking city didn’t deserve him.

It had been over a year since Peter’s identity as Spider-Man was revealed and the dubious video of Quentin Beck’s murder was released. But it felt like a lifetime.

These two Peter problems were like ivy. They rooted, twisted, and spread. Winding into chokeholds around their victims.

But heroes knew how to play with fire.

Peter’s identity was dealt with in a straightforward fashion. Plenty villains who would do anything to exact revenge on Spider-Man, but they would have to find Peter Parker and identify his loved ones first. And for someone like Peter? Well, it was going to take some time.

To you, Peter was lifegiving. A shining ray of golden hope. You fell to sleep and rose to press kisses into his face. To cherish and hold. To share tears. But to the world, or even New York City? He was a nobody, one who couldn’t even hold a steady job.

You all worked fast while the wicked played catch-up. The Avengers searched and wiped all, but ultimately little personal information Peter had on the internet, as well anything that might connect him to your shared inner circle. Everyone was given an Avenger’s signal watch. And both you and May opted to move as a precaution. May to Brooklyn. You to Avenger’s Tower.

The case of Quentin Beck’s murder was a much more grinding process. Through polished superhero reputations, the lawyers secured an Avenger’s Tower house arrest during court proceedings. An overwhelming amount of evidence in Peter’s favor was gathered. Press conferences were held. Speeches were given. And when it all seemed like it was too much for too long, you and Peter would lie in bed, arms and legs entangled, whispering that everything would turn out all right. Good will win. You just had to keep going.

It was taxing, but not impossible. And just when you all thought you were pulling at the end of the thread with the jury in your favor, the ground beneath you crumbles into nothingness. You spiral and crash into a labyrinth, lush and high-walled. Maybe this was the way out- oh wait, you’ve been here- or have you? You all turn and turn only to face a new dead end. A new set of incriminating videos were released. Spider-Man’s videos took the spotlight, but videos of Wanda and Bucky were also revealed. The streets of New York bustled in whispers.

Can we really trust these heroes? What if these videos are the truth?

And what happens when these powerful people think they are right when they are wrong?

When public protests against Earth’s heroes sprouted and jury members started to disappear, it was clear that the whoever or whatever was behind this had greater motives and powerful allies. It was time to buy time.

Everyone had tried to convince Peter to go into hiding somewhere else. Anywhere else. He had enough super-friends where anywhere was possible. Lay low while everyone else above ground scrambled to unweave this massive web of lies. But Peter was infuriatingly adamant that New York, regardless of her wavering loyalties, was his to protect.

So two months ago, he started bouncing around New York City, investigating when he could, and making polarizing headlines with every swing he took.

You tried to continue as if Peter was still by your side. After being terminated from your junior journalist job for “suspect ties to Spider-Man,” Spider-Man became your mission. You originally attended press conferences and rallies as moral support, but after Peter’s first awkward mumbles of a speech, it was painfully clear that he needed a new voice. The public herself needed a normal person who interacted with superheroes. Who better than Spider-Man’s girlfriend? But after the last kidnapping attempt and the Avengers’ numbers shrinking, it was clear that this wouldn’t last. The world now knew who you were too.

The thick ivy had caught up, and you were on fire.

But to hell with it because there was no universe where you would be leaving this nightmare without him. So the next time you looked in the mirror, you donned short red hair and heavy eyeliner.  

Days were spent questioning possible witnesses. Nights were spent in the light of a computer. And when you could barely drag yourself to continue, moments were spent staring at your beautiful boy’s picture. He needed you.  

You had only heard from him twice since he went into hiding, though there were a few times answered unknown number calls would lead to abstract rustling and distinct web shooter noises. To those, you always whispered “I love you,” before hanging up.

That was until last night, when you noticed small slip of paper in the crack of the window of the safehouse you had been staying at. Only a time and an address were written, in messy, but undeniably Parker script.

You spent the next day visiting arbitrary places in the Bronx, trying to determine if anyone was following you and collecting items in an unsuspecting backpack.

It was a balancing act between comfort and practicalities. An extra stealth suit. A waterproof jacket you both shared. Protein bars. Extra web fluid and a first-aid kit. A hefty wad of cash, just in case. And in the smallest pocket, things to help him in the darkest days to come. Letters from you, May, Ned, and your other friends. A few packs of gummy bears. And a picture of you and him, laughing in Central Park on one of your many dates. Sunlight casting halos on your heads. Bright. Carefree. Brimming with love.

Your heart cried and cried and cried, begging for those days.

But they were gone. And as much as you didn’t want to admit it, so were the people in that picture.

You travelled to the building location and made your way to the rooftop. Rows and rows of white sheets were hung, all whipping in the wind to dry.

A small smile graced your lips. You had to hand it to him. He was smart.

You folded yourself into one of the corners of the rooftop, gun in hand and waited. Eerie silence slowly lulling you to…

You woke up to the soft footsteps, sleepy eyes registering a shadowy figure behind one of the bedsheets.

“Hans?” you whispered, pointing your gun with a finger on the trigger.

“Leia,” the figured replied, equally hushed. The shadow lifted the curtain. It took a second to register, but it was really him. You raced towards each other, quick hold each other, beaming. Today, you existed in the same place at the same time.

“That was so stupid. I can’t believe you got me to do that,” you laughed, pressing your face into him, holding him tightly as if he could disappear at any moment.

“Oh, come on, you loved it!” he quipped. You hummed in appreciation.

“True, but I love you more.” His eyes brightened at your confession, pink dusting his cheeks.

“I know.” You shook your head, smiling at his response before turning your head and taking in who he had become. Gone were the luxurious curls, replaced with a buzzcut. A pair of fake glasses perched on his nose in further attempts to conceal his identity. Hallowed eyes. His skin tinted gray from the stress. You ran your fingers through the fuzz on his head, massaging his scalp. A sigh escaped his lips, eyes fluttering shut, with hands reaching to caress yours.

“You cut your hair.”

“You did too.” His fingers danced in the ends of your own tresses. A sad smile furnished your face.

“It had to be done,” you replied, before pressing your lips to his cheek and gently removing yourself from his embrace to get your laptop. “We need to get started. We’ve found a lot since you left.”

With his head on your shoulder, fingers laced with yours, and your laptop on your lap, you recounted the on-going investigation to him. The deep web that just kept going and going. Your theories and suspects. And when that was done, you kept talking. How Aunt May and his friends were fine but missing him. How the remaining Avengers were fairing. Peter was oddly quiet, sharing only a few thoughts here and there, but you attributed it to his weariness.

As the sun continued to dip, the silences between sentences stretched, but you mustered more words. As if your sentences were the delicate string that grounded him to you.

“Y/N,” he interrupted. You looked at him and hummed in reply. He began playing with your fingers, eyes never meeting your own. “I love you more than I ever I thought I could, and I’m really thankful for everything you’ve done. And you’ve done so much. Like, I don’t know if I would have even made it this far without you, but here you are, and well, you can’t keep doing this.” You cocked your head, before shaking your head, hair rustling.

“What? Peter, we are getting somewhere! I just need to visit the-“ He lets go of your hand, fingers clenching into trembling fists.

“No, no more visits. No more investigating. This can’t be your life. When this started, we thought there was a way out. But it’s been over a year. Clearly whoever or whatever is doing this won’t stop until we’re all gone. This may never stop. I can’t have you throwing away your life for me. Hell, I don’t even know when I’ll see you aga-“

“Peter,” you cut him off, your voice pitched lower in concern, “Where is this coming from? We’re gonna make it. It is just a matter of-”

“I can’t give you what you deserve! I’m Spider-Man, so we don’t get to have a house and two kids! We get this-, this fucking disaster! I live like this because I have to. I don’t get a choice. And you shouldn’t be stupid enough where you are doing the same thing!”  

Your mouth fell open, ready to spit back poison when he looked at you. It was in his eyes. Behind the falling tears and redness was the glint of insecurity that Peter had always carried. This was the child whose parents died. The teenager who didn’t stop his Uncle Ben from getting killed. Who held Tony Stark in his last moments. The man who was on the run.  

The hero who would never stop giving to a world who would never stop taking.

Your thoughts frenzied. If you held on to him too tightly, he would resist. The more he would thrash, determined to save you while slowly sacrificing himself until there was nothing left. Your brain was frozen, so your heart gave you the words-

“Marry me.”  

Peter’s eyes widen before retracting into a tight furrow, scrunching his nose.

“What?! No! Did you not hear anything I just said-“

“I’m not leaving you. I will never leave you. The one thing you never get to doubt in the world is us. So, I’m gonna ask you again; will you,” you took his hand, went to one knee, and let your voice soften as you held his gaze, “Peter Parker, marry me?”  

You both bathed in silence. His chocolate doe eyes boring straight into yours, searching for truth. The thought that maybe you had gone about this the wrong way started to crawl into your mind, but then a smile slowly creeped onto his face, bright red with blush. More salt-water pooled in his eyes. He pulled you into a near lung-constricting embrace, smothering wet kisses into every inch of your face. Mine. Mine. Mine. You could practically hear his thoughts as you basked in each kiss. I missed you. I love you. And oh my god, you’re here to stay.

“What did I ever-, I have no idea know what I ever did to ever deserve you.” A smirked formed on your lips.

“Is that a yes?” The gold stars in his eyes shined at your playfulness. There was the man you always loved.

“Yes, yes, oh god yes. I do, Mrs. Parker,” he said pulling you in for a passionate kiss. And you both stayed there, melting into the ground beneath you. Breathing each other in as moments passed. Tender “I love you’s” flowing generously from both of your lips. As if the world had vanished and all that existed was you and him, and him and you, and this understanding that this, this was a love until death do you part.

Peter was the one to break the string of kisses, leaving you to chase his lips before touching his forehead with your own. His breath hot on your face. “I- , if you go to my lab there is a secret compartment. In my desk. The code is your birthday. I was going to ask you myself, but then, well… this.” You chuckled as he stumbled on his words.

“I’ll get it as soon as I can.” You both leaned in to close the gap again when a cacophony of sirens and lights echoed in the streets below.

Frustration filled Peter’s eyes as he sat up. “Shit. I-, I gotta go. Are you gonna be okay?” You let out a shallow breath, but quickly forced a smile.

“Go get’em.” And with the whip of his webs, he was gone.

You sat there for a moment, taking in the new quiet. Your fingers graced your lips, still warm with the memory of his. A lightness had settled in your chest, and with every breathe you could feel it pulse stronger.

Because no matter what it took, no matter how long the wait, there was two things for certain.

He was going to protect the city. And you were going to save your husband.

[haztory]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬

--nanami kento x gn!reader; hurt, comfort, minor character death, established relationship, death from a disease

--summary: Death is part of the process, Nanami Kento learns early on. He's no stranger to it nor the quiet that follows it. But when it plagues you like this, he finds himself at a loss.

a/n: I don’t know where this came from. it just happened. have I mentioned I'm a huge nanami simp as well? something about capable men just gets to me hehe. anyways, enjoy!

i listened to ‘clouds’ by luke faulkner while writing this

(w.c. 2302)

Death is part of the process, Nanami Kento learns early on.

It’s not one he has to particularly enjoy, but it would be advantageous in the resting of his conscious to make peace with it. Rather than let death ruin the few hours of sleep he can manage a night, it’s significantly easier to never let it weigh too heavily on his mind, never let its stay linger for more than necessary in the space of his thoughts. His occupation demands a certain air of nonchalance from him, requires the detached, almost stoic acknowledgment of the situation. Eventually, familiarity will settle in the depth of his recollection and death becomes something one needn’t blink twice towards. 

It’s not an aspect of the job he likes, per se, but it’s significantly better than the alternative. This seemingly apathetic conception of human life is unfortunately an evil requirement. Instead of festering over the lives he didn’t save, he can focus on the ones he has yet to protect. His slate may be tainted with copious amounts of red— inky, dark, bleeding red; the kind that looks black as it accumulates— but in true Kento fashion, he’ll wipe it clean. Gently, with a clean rag and with slow, circular motions, he’ll wash away the evidence of his failures with as much respect as he can, regardless of how exhausted he may be and how much easier it would be to just run his body, suit, and knife through the stream of water.

The victims may no longer be of this earth, but their last physical embodiment lay wickedly upon his person, his weapon, and his soul. Where he couldn’t save them, the least he can do is lay their last parts to rest with as much kindness as one can muster: with a slow wipe and a silent prayer. 

Death is part of the process, but, if one allows it, it can also be the fuel towards excellence. A drive that settles in after the brief misfortune, kickstarting the desire for improvement; A need to do and be better. To work harder and save more people. But that’s all it must be. No residual guilt, no lasting regret, only fuel. That’s what Nanami Kento learns early on.

What he learns rather recently, though, is that death is much different when it’s inevitable. 

When there is no amount of slashing, no amount of fighting, no amount of improved skills that can prevent it. Even worse, when you know it’s coming and preparation can do very little in settling the grief. 

Death is part of the process, but how can one rationalize it when it doesn’t come from the immediate life or death situation he so often faces? When it doesn’t come from the hands of maniacal cursed spirits or the wickedness of greedy men, but instead, from the unforgiving nature of nature itself? How does one reconcile the inevitability of death when it happens to someone so young?

Cancer. 

She was only eleven.

Death is part of the process, Kento used to think, but as he stands amongst the sea of black on this fitting day of grey, he can’t help but notice how incredibly unfair this all is. Her mother stands a few feet away, silent as they scatter her ashes by the river she used to play in as a child. She stands flanked on either side by loved ones, and yet, the abysmal look on her face betrays any ideal that she may be comforted by the closeness of others; Hardly even cognizant of the fact that they’re there. He’s seen that look before, once on himself.  

It’s the face of vicissitude, the kind that casts someone past the rocks of sadness and out onto the sea of loneliness and despair. A place that no one can follow.

Spouses are called some variation of widow, children are called orphans. What does one call a parent who’s lost their child? No doubt the lack of a label only helps to contribute to the loneliness of it all. Suspended in pain without even the decency of a customary societal title attached to one’s name. Left with nothing but the echoing emptiness of a broken heart.

Grief personified. A hollow shell of a being. Just another person who lost someone they loved. Nothing more, nothing less.

Kento is used to death, but this? This has heartache weighing heavier on his shoulders than he’s used to, forcing his impeccably straight posture forward with a sag of tragedy. The silence of the fellow attendees forces him to maintain some morsel of composure, in fear of disturbing the serene devastation of it all that’s composed so fragilely. So delicate that even a sigh will break the glass of still anguish. As her ashes are scattered to the river and the priest begins the common prayer, the image of her weak smile in her last moments plays vividly behind Kento’s tinted glasses. He can hardly swallow the lump that tightens his throat.

He can hardly imagine how her mother feels. Can hardly imagine how you feel. She was your niece after all.

His eyes trail towards your figure. Standing to the right of your sister, dressed in the customary black, and hand held tightly in hers in solidarity of the magnitude of the loss. Kento didn’t mind standing towards the back, away from the bubble of intimacy that surrounded the two of you. It would’ve felt like an invasion of the sanctity of family to stand anywhere near. A foreigner, he’s always attributed himself to be whenever accompanied with your family— not out of their refusal to accommodate him, but rather his own voluntary maintenance of separation from their sphere of loving connection that was more or less absent from his own life— and any meager effort to share sentiments of sorrow would feel, more or less, inauthentic. At least at this moment.

So he waits, towards the back of the gathering. A far enough distance to ascertain his separation from the immediate family, but close enough to where, should you require him at any point, you need only turn around to seek him out. And he will come to you, as fast as his legs may go, regardless of the people that may be in the way. For his hand has been twitching this entire time with the need to physically comfort you and his eyes continuously dart back to your figure in watchful consideration.

The priest ends his prayer and the last of the ashes are sent off and silence once more encompasses the gathering. The aching kind, the one that wants to be disturbed so badly, but remains untouchable. The kind of agonizing mute that has surrounded his life since you received the fateful phone call a few days before.

Kento is no stranger to quiet. It’s his preferred method of life, not the kind of person to find delight in unnecessary, boastful noise, nor the kind to entertain it often. But this is the kind of quiet he finds greats distaste in. Especially since it’s deprived him of his favorite kind of din— yours.

The life that is so intricately intertwined with yours has held virtually no recognizable clamor in four days. No low chatter from the television, no raucous laughter induced from one of your social media apps, no prolonged discussion of each other’s days or interesting points of conversation. Only silence has filled every gap and crevice as you two packed bags and made arrangements to head to your hometown in preparation for the funeral. Lamenting silence filled the space as you sat side by side on the train towards your destination. Mournful silence encompassing the home of your sister upon your mutual entry into the area. Silence so thick yet so delicate, so long and so void that any attempt to dismantle it feels boilingly uncomfortable.

He doesn’t like the wall it has unintentionally placed between you two, wanting nothing more than to tear it down with his bare hands and have you back within the safety of his arms. But he knows better. 

Death is part of the process, and he must let grief run its course. He’ll just remain in the shadows as a beam of support, intent to provide the space and time you need, but always keeping a trained eye on you.

That’s what love is, he supposes. It’s an odd thing to think, especially as solemness surrounds him as it does now. The drag of sadness competing with the surge of love that overwhelms his veins. It’s burning, and intense, and while his is mostly in consideration of you (as most things in his life nowadays are), it’s peculiarly indicative of the moment. Poetic, almost. 

Bleeding affection borders this ceremony of gathered friends and family in a proper send-off, love encapsulated in the silent tears trailing down faces and memorialized in the air of stagnance. Pouring in every direction as they all gaze sadly at the traveling ashes of the young girl down the steady waters of the river.

It’s grief, yes, but also love, for what is grief but love with nowhere to go?

The ride home is like all the other days, incredibly hushed. Inaudible. He can barely hear your breaths. He wonders, and not for the first time, if when he dies, this is how you will grieve. In this tragic quiet, moving with such stillness that was he not watching, he wouldn’t know you moved at all. A vacant soul wandering just to survive. Jujutsu sorcerers unfairly make their peace with dying early on in their tenure, and maybe he’s committed you to a life of tragedy by involving himself so intimately with you. 

When he dies, and he will— this life that he has chosen spares him no luxuries, not even false beliefs— he will condemn you to a brutal reality that he could have spared you from were he not so selfish. He hates seeing you like this. Hates it with every fiber of his being.

Death is a part of the process. He understands that. He just wishes it wasn’t so collateral. A prolonged state of your affliction that resulted from his hand would surely be a more painful fate than any gruesome death.

Your parent’s home is warm, in sharp contrast to the events of the day. And while they stayed with your sister, Kento insisted you return to your place of stay to wash and change if only to give you a moment alone; So he can check on you in the sanctity of privacy, grant you a brief respite from the unrelenting tide of sorrow, cherish you in these sparing instances that he can never take for granted. 

You bathe alone, he gives you that. He makes tea the way your mother taught him how, even though you quite like the way he makes it and has it set on the table upon your return. Dressed in comfier attire and seated blankly at the table, he settles in beside you. His shoulder touching yours hoping to convey in this minute action that he’s here. 

He doesn’t need the words to say it. Just his presence. 

His hand too, as you settle your own silently in the space of his large one, gripping tightly onto the rough skin. He rubs his thumb along the back of your hand, bringing it to his lips as he placed two long kisses on its surface. You’ve made eye contact all day but this is the first time you’ve really looked at each other. 

Where he can see the pain swimming in the pools of your irises behind the film of unshed tears and you can see the unrestrained sympathy and worry in his. 

“She was eleven,” you whisper, unable to speak any louder.

He doesn’t say anything. There’s not much he can say, only press his lips harder to the back of your hand.

It’s the only moment you’ve had alone together since arriving, and while he was so desperate before to hear something, anything come from your mouth, he finds that the inactivity the fills space once more is rather appropriate. One that he doesn’t want to disturb. Not when there isn’t anything he can say that can heal this wound, nothing he can do except love and care for you when you’re too weak to do it yourself. 

He places a hand behind your head, tilting you forward as he places his lips upon your forehead and smoothing the stray hairs that have displaced themselves from your formal hairdo. Fingers travel down the back of your neck and rub gentle circles on your shoulder, healing any aches with his touch. 

“Drink,” he murmurs against your temple, and you do. A sign of progress that he relishes in. He’s more than eager to see the slow trek back to a state of normalcy, but he knows it’ll be different from here on out. There’s a hole in your heart and it will take a while to heal. 

But he’ll be there. For as long as he can, whenever he can. Because that’s what love is.

Death is part of the process, but he finds it’s infinitely more manageable with you. He knows you feel the same way when at the end of the day as you lay side by side in the guest room of your parents’ home, you take comfort in the safety of his arms and finally, fill the air with something other than the prolonged silence and let him comfort you. 

Death is part of the process, and he knows the inevitability of his own part in it. But in this moment with you, he’ll let himself indulge selfishly in your noise. It’s his favorite sound, after all. 

end notes: come shoot me a message! i love hearing from yall. 

[dariaslore]

Birds

Set during the Coven's days. Griffin finds out about Valtor's demon form and things may be darker than they seem. Will she go away? Warnings: angst, dark stuff, some contents may be triggering.

She couldn't sleep.

He had told her he would be away all night, when dark magic was stronger and could be practiced at the highest levels. It was one of the many training sessions with his mothers, her presence wasn't allowed this time, the meeting was strictly reserved to the wizard and the three witches. At first they didn't take place frequently, but since a few months, now that the Company of Light was proving to be more of a threat, she had found herself spending more nights alone than usual, holed up in the mansion's library, waiting for his return. He came back extremely tired, without even the strenght to speak, his only desire was to lose himself in the night, hugging her like a safe port.

That night, too much time had gone by. It was three in the morning and he still wasn't by her side. Anxiety was devouring her, tossing and turning in bed, then she would get up and walk back and forth the room, trying to kill time. She would grab a book just to throw it away a minute later. Half a cigarette smoked, the rest was garbage, now she would light up a new one. She couldn't find peace, she knew the three witches and every scar on Valtor's body as well. They always wanted more and more and were never satisfied, he was up for anything just to gain a bit of their approval. And this was lethal.

She left the room they shared and, as her feet were pounding on the floor faster and faster, looked for the room where training usually took place. And there he was.

Gasping, hands shaking and her gaze caught by fear.

She opened the door. The pungent smell of iron flooded her nostrils. She decided to follow its scent. She felt her airway closing and blurring sight, icy needles paralyzed her heart. Her vocal cords refused to vibrate the unspeakable horror in front of her eyes. A connection had been cut off, her pulsating golden irises were screaming and the sound was dying inside of them.

She saw him tossed into the darkest corner of the room, like a used and forgotten toy.

Bowed head, his face hidden by his blond hair in an act of shameless shame. He was shaking, had goosebumps, and she could see his ribs move through the swollen white skin as he breathed. He had never looked so thin and frail, his figure so thin compared to the red scales that swallowed him bite after bite. They started sporadic from his chest and then slowly thicken on his arms and hands deformed into long claws. They painted the portrait of a beast and found maximum expression in the two huge red wings wrapped in a shield, protecting him from the cold of the outside world in an embrace. It looked like the monster was trying to save its own prey. It emphasized the misery, the greatness and strength of the red hunter and the labored breathing of its pale victim. Naked and with his back torn.

Blood overflowed copiously, snaked elegantly dragging its red vital flow downstream, it marked the grooves of his ribs and suddenly fell silent, insinuating itself between the inanimate tiles of the mosaic on the floor. His milky skin was imprisoned in a network of faults of flesh torn apart by the fiercest of beasts. It was scarred, its edges matched perfectly with the width of the claws of his hands, she could feel their power sink into his taut muscle fibers, stretch them to the ends like springs, and tear them away as waste material, a further obstacle to the main organ that he was burning to find. So he dug again, and again, in an unbridled greed for a proof of his humanity. The pain wasn't enough, he wouldn't stop until his claws gripped his beating heart. He had to tear the flesh, the dress of his existence that now felt too tight with the darkness that threatened to overflow and pick him up again in its coils.

"Go away..." he murmured.

Valtor had perceived her presence ever since she had stepped in, fear washing through her veins. She was the last person in the universe who could see him reduced to that. He trusted her, she had been the first person to dig under his surface of powerful narcissist wizard, making him discover a different person. Before her were all the things that weren't and would never be. He was never going to sleep with anyone, he did with her, he had never had a real friend, his mothers had taught him to calculate everything based on utility and how anyone was just a pawn on a chessboard. He had aquaintances, many flirts with countless women and men, and he was never the one in love. And neither were they. For each of his lovers he already knew, the moment when he left their bed, that all that would remain was one more meaningless hot night, an exercise of the word love. They all carried out in the same way, with an absence of words, and he was conscious of being but an object of lust due to his body and his power. And then, she came into his life, the only woman immune to his fiery charme and who even seemed to hate him. He had never spent an entire night on a sofa eating junk food and talking of the most diverse topics, he did with her. He had never received a hug, she hugged him, after a mission with a positive resolution. He never cared for the feelings of others, now he couldn't stand sadness to veil her eyes. She had occupied his heart and not only he loved her madly, she was also his best and only friend. He trusted her, but he didn't trust himself and the monstruosity living inside of him.

"Valtor..."

She couldn't believe it was him. She spelled his name with dragging slowness, almost reluctant to attribute the name of the man she loved to that foul creature. It was him, it had taken two words, a plead to walk out the door and go away.

"Griffin, please, go away, now."

"You're hurt" she said when the only thing her spinning mind could still focus on were his wounds.

"Go away!"

"I wanna help you."

A loud roar cut through the air, and she found herself on the ground, overcome by the power of his claws. It burned and shone bright red on her thigh between the silk of her nightgown, it wasn't too deep, a shallow cut. He had hurt her on purpose for the first time.

Another scream and another sob. Valtor was looking at his hands with wide eyes. He was forced to protect her in the only way his other self knew: violence.

"Are you happy now I've hurt you? Help me? Who do you want to help, a beast? I'm a freak. Look at me Griffin, look!" he cried amid sobs that threatened to suffocate him, too large and noisy that struck his lungs like prisoners in a desperate flight to freedom. A distorted chant broke his larynx, his swan song.

Lying on the floor with an itching cut and blurred thinking, she saw right through Valtor.

She had already heard of those feathered winged creatures earthlings believed in. She realized he was an angel. A fallen one.

He wasn't born for all of this. He was a creature of pure light bound to an eternal exile in darkness, and although the flame that burned within him tended to return to its original light source, it was held back by the iron fist of darkness. She was a creature of the dark too, a witch, but she had decided to be one, he was tainted and that made him the greatest shadow of all. The monster that enveloped him, moving the threads of his very existence, fed every day on the fiery light of his soul, now reduced to a mere flame. His monstrousness came from this destructive coexistence between light and dark, in which only one of the two would have definitively won. The flame burned, it couldn't keep silent and was responsible for his injured back. Darkness was close to him, so he had scratched it off, like a stain on a piece of precious silverware, he wanted to perform a desperate act of purification through his blood to finally wash himself away from the darkness and to get back to the pure light being he had always been meant to be. At least once.

It was written in his eyes which were shyly looking at her through his hair's wheat strands, although he tried to hide them under layers of ice and indifference. His pupils were imprisoned in a web of red capillaries, but they still managed to keep their last drop of pure humanity. It wasn't the same look he gave her every night as he adored her body, neither that of the sarcastic and ironic wizard, it was the one of every time his mothers would have criticized him, of when he tried in every way possibile to impress her, just to snatch her a compliment or a smile. In those moments he tore his heart out of his chest and fed it to his tormentor, craving for trivial affections.

She got up from the floor confident and proud, knowing what to do.

"Go away!" he yelled.

Griffin approached him ignoring all his moans and wrapped his face in her warm hands and traced every feature with her fingers. She felt the difference of texture between his skin and the red scales staining it. She stroked his nose, forehead and lips. She raised the corners of his lips, uncovering white fangs. She smiled and kissed him. Just a smack.

He was blown away, stuck in an idyll that tasted of her. Adrenaline was rushing, he had made it.

She grabbed his hand and looked him straight in the eye, the gold of her irises had never been so metallic. Maybe tired of lies, the purple-haired witch was so determined and a slave to curiosity that she delved into the darkest of truths, even one that would harm her. It wasn't over, she knew it. He was trying to play it cool, but with his eyes in a runaway dance and his smile crooked to the left, he had the classic facial expression of a child who had succeeded in getting away with something.

"Is that all? Is there anything else I should know?" she asked firmly.

That question was a cold shower. He shook his head. He was lying, there was so much more she should have known, the whole side of himself he never had control over. What she was seeing now was just a glimpse of the monster he saw every morning in the mirror, when all humanity crumbled to pieces and his eyes lost their pupils. But he still didn't want that kiss between them to be the last. She would have loved him until there was but a drop of man in him, but after that?

"You're lying Valtor. Show me, don't hold it back"

"Please, I can't!"

She would have run away. He was trying to become human again and she was asking him to show her the monster.

"Just do it!" she ordered, clenched fists and fixed pupils.

"Why are you doing this Griffin?"

She didn't answer him. She was emanating ice from all over her body, posture was stiff, back straight and lips tightened. She wouldn't give up until she got what she wanted.

He started changing, his body turning into the twisted fantasy of three long gone witches, and soon all human features were erased from his face. Stripped of his blond hair, abandoned to the ugliness of his inner skeleton. Now he was way bigger than her, the monster's palm almost the size of her entire face. All his senses were on the alert, looking for the easiest way to kill, the purpose for which it had been built. What she was in front of was a machine ready to kill, plus her neck was so thin.

She didn't even flinch. She did exactly what she had done beforehand. She watched the monster's facial expressions changing, how his blue stoney eyes were boring into her body, finding the most effective way to kill her. And then as if she had read his mind, placed that exact same palm she had held before around her fragile neck, playing the beast's game.

"It would be so easy, wouldn't it?

Damn, it would. The demon could feel her neck cracking under its strength and the air leaving her lungs in her last attempt to breathe.

"Squeeze, what are you waiting for?" she said giggling, but an invisible force was holding the creature back, incapable of applying any pressure. It screamed with rage, not realizing what was going on and why the smile on her face was getting progressively bigger and brighter. She enjoyed the fear flushing down her veins, it was too much to handle and that was making her steady. With her mind blank, she leaned over and with its hand still over her neck, kissed the creature on its mouth.

Leathery red scales began to retreat like clouds after a storm, finally letting his white skin breathe. The demon, his wings were gone.

Valtor broke down in her arms. He was too tired to express the growing happiness inside. He couldn't believe it, something like this had never happened before, getting rid of the other Valtor so quickly was an intangible dream. Everytime his mothers made him assume that form, he would spend hours of excruciating pain, waiting for the beast's claws to disappear. He holed up in the darkness, allowing himself to be consumed bite by bite, seeking in his mind an end to his labyrinth of torment. She had been the first one to get him out of there, a gleam of light at the end of the tunnel. He hoped it could've lasted forever.

He plunged into her eyes like a lost puppy, letting her capture his soul in her thick lashes.

"Don't I scare you? How can you kiss that beast? You must kill the monster Griffin, I'm begging you! Free me, save me, I can't bear it anymore! "

The more he tried to chase it away, the more he felt it crawl through his veins like a poisonous liquid. It was choking him from the inside, he could feel it making its way through his mind, it was making fun of his neurons in a black pool. He felt his head throbbing, unable to contain all that anger and hatred. He screamed in pain in a soundless space, one day he would tear his skull to pieces

"Where are you ?!" he said screaming at the top of his lungs. He couldn't see straight anymore, his whole body shaking with anxiety, blood rushing through his veins and his heart loudly pounding in his chest.

"Hush, I'm right here. I'm holding you, see?"

"D-don't leave ..." he begged her and rested his head on her chest.

"I'm not going anywhere. I'm with you, look at me." She cupped his chin in her hand, so he could meet her gaze again.

"Come on, we must get to our room, your wounds are bleeding."

"Your thigh..." he glanced at her leg with his face twisted in horror. Guilt building up.

"It's just a scratch. A pinch of magic and it will go away. It doesn't even burn anymore!" Griffin tried to reassure him.

She concentrated and teleported them to their room in a quick snap of fingers.

"Can you stand up?" she asked him.

"I- I ..."

"Don't worry, I'll hold you. You can do it."

She put an arm around his shoulder and tried to hold him by the waist, taller and heavier than her, backing him was hard: she had to.

Valtor stood up. Pangs of pain. He was weak, his knees buckling, joints croaking, it was as if his bones were breaking from the inside out on by one. He groaned in protest.

"I know, hold on, it's just one more step."

He freed himself of her grip and met the soft mattress of the bed they shared.

Griffin helped him sit up, covered his lower body with blankets, then she placed her hands on his back, focused and chanted a spell. Wet: blood between her fingers. The magic tickled the torn cells giving them a smoother edge.

"I'll be right back." she said. Then she rushed to the bathroom and, in the wooden cabinet, she found a cotton cloth, some ointments, flasks and some bandages. His wounds were too extensive and deep, she had managed to stop the bleeding and somehow reduce their size, now she had to worry about disinfecting.

"This will hurt just a bit."

"Get your hands off of me, now!"

He spun around, his voice high and firm, swollen veins and a sunken neck. It was a defensive act, it seemed to her the desperate move of an hunted animal fleeing its tormentors, veins darting with fear and aggressive bearing, pretending to be the one who holds power. But she wasn't his mothers, she couldn't get upset, he wasn't lucid and this complete reversal of attitude was proof of that. He no longer held the reins of his thoughts, he was finally letting them gallop on their own, fragments of past and present intertwined together. He proceeded by associations of ideas in an increasingly blurred time boundary: the disinfectant burned like Tharma's lightnings on his legs.

"Calm down. I'm not here to hurt you." she said. She had all her senses alert, he approached her by burying his nose in the hollow of her neck, he smelled her skin, traces in the air, caught violet and amber.

"It's me. Look, it's just disinfectant." she reassured him by pointing to the bottle on the bedside table.

Valtor retrated, recognizing it was the woman he loved and not one of his mothers in front of him. His heartbeat became slow, shoulders down, now he almost seemed like a lifeless doll in front of her. He let her keep on her work without any complaints. She finished dressing, then she bandaged his wounds in deafening silence, she could only hear his breathing.

"Stay there." she whispered softly heading towards the little wooden cupboard in the room.

It had been her idea, she felt like a stranger in that house and the thought of going down four floors each time to get to the kitchen, risking meeting her witches, made her shiver. Of course, she was much freer than any member of the Coven, somehow the Ancestors respected her, listened to her plans and strategies carefully, never a word of mockery, all she had received in years of service was advice, few compliments and an expression she could not discern. They were alert, analyzing her, looking for flaws and weaknesses, Liliss stammered something out under her breath, the others two nodded. She felt watched, stalked, obsessed with the thought that sooner or later they would've chained her too in their perverse game. For this reason she avoided all actions, tried to keep relationships with the three as detached as possible, remaining a puzzle in front of the witch of illusions was her goal.

She opened the cupboard and placed the material on the table. She put some water in the electric kettle, opened the inlaid wooden casket and began to choose the most suitable herbs, lightly caressed each one, letting the fragrances dance in her lungs.

It reminded her of her dad, as she watched him as a child as he made her a cup of tea whenever she was down in the dumps. He caressed the herbs in his study with delicacy, immersing himself in the pungent smells, then he would call her beside him in that olfactory research, telling her the benefits of each plant and how to make the most of them, and it was the sharp rosemary for healing, mint for stress, balsamic anise. In that little corner of nature, with the well-known brilliant notes of the cedar peel and the skilled hands of her father who mashed the leaves, her mind relaxed.

She waited for the herbs to finish their brewing time, then she poured the tea into a white porcelain cup adding a teaspoon of honey.

"I made you some tea. It'll help you feel better. Open your mouth, please."

She softly blew on the cup, cooling it off just a bit, and brought it to his mouth. Valtor followed her command, the smell was heady, notes of lavender, hawthorn and red tea sang as the hot liquid ran down his throat.

When he had finished to drink, she put the empty cup away and wiped his lips with her thumb. She kissed him on the forehead and let him lay down, tucking the sheets.

"Griffin ..." Valtor suddenly mumbled.

"Tell me."

"I- I ..."

"It's okay, you can tell me whatever you want."

"Why are you not angry? I- I ... hid you a part of me."

She had no right to be angry. She couldn't be when those pure eyes were fixed on hers in search of certainties. He was looking for answers and confirmation in her words, when she at first still could not realize what she had just seen. Such nonsense could not be described and questioning was useless. What could be rational about the cuts he carried behind his back or the red scales that covered him? Nothing.

What was rational about the man usually full of himself who was now trembling with fear in front of her?

"Why should I-"

"You must be."

Rather, he wanted her to be. He wanted her to scream, spit every insult, every slimy truth, so that he could sink into the depths of his self-contempt. Yet, she was calm and taking care of him. He didn't deserve it and couldn't stand her stare full of love that should've been directed towards someone way better than him. He was a hero for trying to save her from the horror that bore his name and a coward for wanting her still by his side. She hadn't run away from fear and it pulled her even closer to his heart. It was killing him.

"I know, I should've told you." he continued. "My mothers created it, something I have no control over. They wanted to try a new spell today and things spiraled out of control and- "

"And you hurt your back." she said.

And it hadn't been even the first time.

He was 7 years old, missing incisors and messy blonde curls, when he used to curl up in a corner and gaze out at the sky and the garden below from the large living room windows. He envied the swallows, they were weak, tiny fragile bones destined for a meal to a larger predator, ephemeral existences with a noose around their necks given by the true and only mother nature, yet they sang, they whirled in the sky unaware of any danger in an eternal spring. It was the same with flowers, they would be waiting a whole year to show off their magnetic colors and then bound to perish in a sweet smell that penetrated his nostrils. They all died in a quick smile, almost a game of darts, they threw themselves at maximum power towards the target of no return, as if they didn't care about the ending, it was just a necessary condition for their fleeting beauty. They slowly went towards death not feeling its weight for their entire existence, nothing more than a momentum. Blink of an eye, his irises were now laying on the various paintings hanging around the room: Liliss had an obsession for art and each painting had to represent a specif mood of hers. There were battle scenes, clanging of swords, diaphanous women with bare breasts standing face to face with a young men gambling in the dim black of oil painting. Stormy seas, forests and then aimless flowers and seagulls. Why were they still? What had stolen their right to chase each other across the sky? Someone had decided to enchant them in a precise instant, in a fixed scene against their will, while their fellows whirled free. He felt sympathy for the water lilies forced not to close and for the always red apple stuck in the basket, perhaps because he himself was a still life, the flying, the wanting, the perishing were out of his will, the one of a lacquered image. It was crystal clear in the definition itself, still life, how could a being stained by nothing have vital momentum since its very conception wanted it still? He was still life. In a frame, sick with rot and alive in the stroke of the eternal puppet position imposed by his mothers. Rot bit into his bones, poisoned his nerves and threw them into a muddy puddle where the reflection did not match his will.

His child self decided he would free every little bird from the canvas and destroy all those paintings, he hated still lives, so he bit his lip as hard as he could until the taste of iron flooded his mouth. He moved on to something else, now the game was scratching his skin to color it pink, holding his breath with the utmost force. He learned to control his flames, wanted to test its power and chose his arms as a target. He was a teenager and as he shortened his hair with scissors, he thought what it must be like to stand in their place and be cut off. And he felt it on his skin. It wasn't like anyone would've noticed, the wounds merged with those inflicted by the Ancestors, leaving cords of raised skin. He was their toy, therefore he demanded to be broken and he would help them by making their job easier. Wasn't it what a good son must do?

"At least my blood is red, isn't it?" he said as he interrupted his flow of thoughts. Lips twisted into a sinister smile and wide eyes.

"Of course it is red, but what do you mean?" she replied bewildered.

"It's good news. I'm a beast, it could've been black or blue as well, but it is red just like yours."

His calm tone spelling poisonous words hit her like a shard leaving her heart shattered.

"You're no beast." she said.

"And what would I be if not a creature? These feelings, this warmth towards you, how do I know they're mine? How do I know they're not controlling me and you're just an illusion of Liliss? Are you real Griffin? Can you answer? "

His pupils dilated, he spoke to her in a swirling crescendo, his voice rose, it cracked, its rhythm accelerated hysterically, breathing short and broken, his fingertips digging deep into her arms' skin.

"You can't love me! You just saw it!" he spat out.

She stared in horror at the atrocity of those words. Reality was mangling her eardrums as a cat scratching on a chalkboard.

"Griffin, these eyes, this hair, are just a wrapper, a beautiful case for the most hideous of gifts. If I hadn't looked like this, would you have even looked at me? Would you have ever spoken to me or would you have run away?" he asked. He asked her what she would've done, when he was the one who wanted to escape the mirror every morning. He saw the monster chuckling there behind him, next to his immaculate reflection, laughing, enjoying the blond's stupidity for wanting to conceal his true essence, as if a line of defined eyeliner and eyebrows would've done the trick.

"You're still making questions." she whispered in wonder.

"I must know!" he screamed. "I need to know if you're willing to love a monster, because ... that's what I am."

Griffin cupped his cheeks, her hands so gentle and soothing, and she smiled, the most beautiful he had ever witnessed, a glimpse of light in the pit of darkness his life was.

"You're still questioning, Valtor. You're the answer. You want me to tell you that you are good, that you are a man, to confirm something that runs in your blood, and you still do not know what it is. The answer is your own self, in your doubts. You are worried, you are taking care of something and in this action there is humanity. I cannot give you the answers you are looking for, but I can say that I feel them here. "

She placed her hand on his heart.

"When the spark in you has gone out and your vocal cords no longer vibrate, with no doubt, you'll be a monster. Without even realizing it, you'll spread terror and death, emotions will be unknown to you. But you have those and they're beautiful. You're human, Valtor, this is why you hate the beast, hence you fight. But this back means giving up, these tears on your face, well, they're a victory. I hate the monster, as much as you do, but it's not the one with red scales and big wings. Your own monster is living inside your mind, it feeds off your insecurities and how I'd like to kill it off if I only could! Free you and look at the man, I can say it outloud I- I... L-lo-ve."

Her voice cracked, the word love hard as tears tried to find their way. She held them back and took his hand between hers, in what looked so much like a promise.

"Valtor, I'll never love the beast. I love you."

"What if I were to become one? Would you give up on me? Would you ever leave me in the dark, alone? You'll never leave, will you? Will you always be by my side? Don't lie, please."

The witch hugged him eagerly as her heart broke under the weight of the demons in his mind. The adult with the oversized ego had collapsed into a child to be protected.

She lay down beside him and slowly started stroking his hair, lulling him to sleep. Another sob.

"She left me Griffin, she left me alone in the darkness with that monster. I'm scared."

"Who left you?" she asked softly.

"Believe me, I was good, I had never done anything wrong. I was small, useless, and it was too strong, I couldn't beat it. I was afraid of the dark, and she wasn't there to protect me. So dark ..." he spoke feebly, he turned his head.

Eye frames the void, remembers a room with a forthcoming beast, roaring flames, pain. The vague phrasing, frightened of giving voice to his nightmares, chased his weaknesses with choked breath, tried to catch them one by one, but they were dripping off his lips.

"Who are you talking about?" Griffin asked shaking his hand, giving him all the courage to speak up his mothers never tried to give him.

"Mom." Valtor stammered, gasping. Without even the pronoun my, he was almost referring to entities out of time and space whose name trembled leaving his mouth. She knew he didn't have a mother, the blond man in her arms was a creation of the Ancestors, yet he was longing for a family, bonds made of genes and flesh.

"Mom left me and the darkness came for me. It was so cold, I couldn't move." Darts of frozen darkness, enveloped in himself like a shivering maggot. The creator speaks, the son obeys. The creator breaks his will, sets the rules, commands. Violence, punishment, obedience, blood and broken bones. The cold becomes stronger, snow cuts his face, the son gets tired, he begins to ask questions, he strives to know the purpose of everything. "Your purpose is us Valtor, without us you are nothing" Belladonna ruled.

No words, another cry that desperately asked to be given voice. He was hungry for love.

"I don't want to be a creation. I can't be their son, Griffin. I feel it, I sense it, even they are not that powerful to create life out of nothing. It's burning inside of me, I don't belong to this planet, Whisperia's not my home, but somehow I ended up here with them, the mighty son of the Three Witches. Maybe I wasn't a good child, was I? I wonder if she remembers me. I don't remember her, one moment she was there to hold me, the next she was gone. I can still imagine her touch and scent on my skin, I bet she smelled of roses, because I love roses, don't I? I ask myself where is she now, what is she doing and if she is proud me or if she ever loved me. But she's not here. Belladonna, Liliss, Tharma never left me, though. I know, they're definitely not the mothers of the year, but they never left me. I'm a weapon, I told you, the most powerful of them all, they can't lose me. They hate the man I am, but they appreciate the beast and therefore I'm sure they would never leave me.That's why deep down I think they may care about me, I got what they need. I love them."

He smiled as he tossed his head back among the silk cushions, knowing how much a fool he was making of himself. She was still there, strong and still as always.Trembling lips, every cell of her body was fibrillating, they wanted to detach from it and rush on him like thousands of shooting stars, build him a shelter, save him from his mothers and love him, giving him a bit of that care he had always been denied. She knew her love wasn't enough.

Meanwhile Valtor wondered how much easier it would've been to turn off the light and let himself be swallowed up in an endless dream. Darkness would become his new home, and without even the small glow of its flames, it wouldn't be dark anymore, just nothing. No sound, no fight. Maybe she could've been the one able of dragging him out the pit he had digged himself. He raised his head and tried to meet her gaze for the last time, his lids starting to feel heavy.

"Griffin I don't know how much longer I will be able to keep the monster away. That's why I need to know that no matter what you'll stay by my side. Will you? "

"I.."

Interrupted sentence.

He had already fallen asleep without even waiting for the answer to how much he wanted it to be positive. It was easier to unstich himself from reality and follow the threads towards the dreamlike enchantment, in which the canvas tapestry with their smiling faces imprinted would never unravel.

She sighed. It was her turn to cry now.

She didn't know. That was the answer that was so difficult for her and it was breaking her heart. All the words of courage and comfort that had come easily from her before were now dead in her throat, none of them were for her. She had seen his blood slipping right through her skin, she had touched what was the most intimate about him that somehow managed to appear so right as it sneaked into her bony hands. The red of his blood fingerprinted his pain, left her the keeper of what was dearest to him. As the sea after an undertow regurgitates its treasures on the beach, the darkness in him had left away the most precious of his secrets: she had felt his humanity, now it was up to her to decide whether to wash it away or dry it and no soap would have ever canceled it. She could not wash her hands, she looked at them in the twilight of the night, turned them again and again, searched for escape routes between the lines of her palms, but the more she squinted her eyes in search of a pattern, the further she was pushed away. He was now in her hands.

She threw herself into the silk of the bed and looked at him: eyes closed and his lashes tickled his cheeks slightly. How could a monster be so human? And she, how could she be so hypocritical, unable to give an answer and yet she was hugging him? And fuck, how much the cut on her leg hurt.

Perhaps their relationship was a ship on fire on the high seas. Water and fire, a beautiful tragedy to be consummated in sync until one annihilates the other. Water never dies, it changes shape. The heat of the fire would've forced it into crystalline darts that would hurt the sky like swallows at dawn.

She was a bird. A real one.

Birds fly away.

[hearts-hunger]

dralshy’a ka’ra (brighter stars): chapter one || din djarin x reader

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

Series Summary: In the lake country of Naboo, you and Din romance each other under summer’s brighter stars. || Part Two of Jate’kara (Lucky Stars)

Chapter Summary: After docking the Crest at the harbor, you and Din while away the afternoon exploring the city hand in hand.

Pairings: Din Djarin x Wife!Reader

Genre: Fluff, smut (eventually) | Word Count: 3.1k | Warnings: None!

A/N: So, I loved writing Mr. and Mrs. Djarin so much that I decided to give them a vacation after all the stress of Ciryc Ca’tra. Basically, it’s Din being the sweetest husband ever. It’s technically a sequel, but I’m fairly certain it can be read as a standalone series. Let me know what you think, and I hope you like it! ♡

“Isn’t the sunshine wonderful, Din?”

You tipped your face up towards the bright, cloudless Naboo sky, feeling the sun on your cheeks like a kiss from a dearly-missed friend.

You heard a soft laugh come through Din’s vocoder. “Yes, it’s wonderful.”

You looked over at him and gave him a bright, sun-squinty smile. “You’re not even in it.”

He was leaned up against the side of the Crest in its shadow, as relaxed as someone in full armor could be, his arms crossed over his chest as the sunshine glinting off the bay cast shimmering reflections on his beskar. You knew he was monitoring your surroundings with care - even in the port of Naboo, where you’d never known there to be any trouble, your husband was nothing if not observant.

“I will be,” he said patiently. “But there’s no use in me sweating through my armor before we’ve even docked the ship.”

You were waiting on the harbormaster to come by and check that everything was in place with where you’d landed the Crest, and even though you knew Din had done everything by the book, he still preferred to have a conversation with the person in charge wherever he left her. You came over to him, stepping into the shade from the Crest, and rested your arms over his.

“Hi,” you said with a smile, looking up at his helm.

He chuckled. “Hi, yourself.” He leaned in to gently tap his helmet against your forehead. “Are you happy to be back?”

“Yes,” you said, earnest and sincere. You’d only come back to your home planet once since you’d been married, and that was to let your family meet your new baby. That time, you had only stayed for a few hours - Din had worried about coming at all, as the authorities on Naboo surely knew the price on his head and didn’t care that the kidnapping was, in reality, the rescue of a youngling from a murderous Imperial warlord. But he knew how much it meant to you that your family be able to see and hold your new baby, and had whisked you and your foundling into your small village in the countryside under cover of night. The expression on your mother’s face when she held your baby for the first time was something you would always treasure, and you would never be able to truly thank Din for letting you have that, even as dangerous as it had been for him to arrange.

This time, you were here without the baby; you’d taken him to Sorgan, to stay with Omera and Winta for a few days, and you knew he was having the time of his life playing with the other children in the village for hours on end. Din had made good on his promise to take you on a trip after the frozen planet - somewhere warm, where you could rest and enjoy being with each other without a care in the galaxy. You also knew he was paying good money to keep your ship off the radar; an old ship like yours was bound to draw attention, and it was only with a generous amount of credits that it would be able to go by the New Republic regulations without getting flagged.

“Thank you for bringing me,” you said.

He nodded. “You’re welcome.” It was just like Din to treat grand love gestures as everyday kindnesses to you. You would have attributed it to the Mandalorian way of life, where selflessness was expected in every aspect of one’s relationships, but you knew the way he treated you with such gentleness and kindness without ever being asked or expecting anything in return was just in your husband’s nature.

“Are we going back to Trask after this?” you asked. You didn’t want to spend your holiday worrying about what you’d do after it was over, but you knew it had to be on your husband’s mind.

He studied you for a moment. 

“I think so,” he finally said. You’d stopped there long enough to bring the frog lady to her husband and get the Crest halfway flyable again, and then taken it to Peli for more extensive repairs. It was almost as good as new, and it had taken you to Sorgan and then here to Naboo with little trouble.

“I still need to find the other Mandalorians,” Din continued. “I thought of letting you stay with your mother while I did, but...” He shook his head. “I don’t want to be apart from you like that. I can’t keep you safe if I’m not with you.”

You knew he was thinking of your baby as well as you, and you gave his hand a comforting squeeze.

“We’ll come with you to Trask,” you said. “I understand you not wanting to leave us for that long. But for now, the baby will be fine with Omera for a few days. You don’t have to worry about him.”

He sighed. “I know,” he said. “It’s just... it was harder to leave him than I thought it would be.” He seemed to think he’d said something wrong, and quickly tried to mend it.

“Not that I don’t want to be here with you,” he said. “I do. It’s nice to have a break and just be with you, cyare.”

You smiled. “I know what you meant,” you assured him. “It’s hard for me to leave him too, but he’ll be fine with Omera.”

You reached up and draped your arms around his neck; his hands moved to your waist and the small of your back, holding you close to him.

“And we get a few days all to ourselves,” you said. “With no broken ship and no horrible spiders and no frosty beskar.”

He gave a wry hum of agreement. “Basic requirements for any vacation, I think.”

You laughed. “I think so too, but with our luck, we should take what we can get.”

You could have stayed in his arms like that for hours, but you felt him straighten and pull away from you a little; you turned your head to follow his gaze and saw the harbormaster coming over to the Crest. You stepped back into the sunshine, content to let Din handle the logistics of docking the ship while you basked in the warmth.

“All set,” Din said after a few minutes, putting a hand on your back to gently get your attention. You opened your eyes and almost had to close them again at the bright shine of his beskar in the sunlight.

“Great,” you said. “Is that a defense tactic for you Mandalorians? Blind your opponent with your shiny armor?”

He laughed. “Knowing us, probably.” 

You wound your arm around his and hung off him like a new bride, leaning your head against his bicep as you walked down the port street together. You drew attention - Din’s armor would always attract curious gazes wherever he went - but the people of Naboo were not aggressive or overly suspicious. Travelers of all kinds came to enjoy the sights of the beautiful city and the countryside, and as long as they didn’t cause trouble, the locals were happy to let them be.

“Do the people around here dress this fancy all the time?” Din asked.

You considered the locals that walked the streets, noticing their long, flowing dresses and ornately stitched suits that you’d grown up wearing and seeing everywhere in your childhood. You were so used to it that it hadn’t even occurred to you that it would seem out of the ordinary - you and Din were the ones who seemed out of place, with his armor and your plain shirt and trousers.

“Yes, but it’s not considered fancy,” you explained. “Even those who do manual labor still have some sort of detailed stitching or bright colors on their clothes.”

Din looked over at you, seeming to take in your outfit. “Do you miss it?”

You shrugged. “Maybe. Sometimes.” It had been a bit of an adjustment when you first married, but it just wasn’t practical to wear anything that ornate when you were the wife of a bounty hunter. It attracted too much attention and made for a clumsy getaway, if you ever needed to make one. It didn't bother you now, and you were happy to dress in a way more suited to your lifestyle, but you imagined it would be a fun change of pace to wear a pretty dress every now and then.

He put his free hand over yours where it rested on his arm, gentlemanly and comforting. “I’m sorry I can’t give you... nice things. The things you were used to when you lived here.”

“Oh, Din,” you said, looking up at him. “You don’t need to apologize. I love our life, and I don’t regret anything that had to change to let me be with you. I’d give up every nice thing in the galaxy to be with you if I had to.”

His laugh was a little regretful. “Haven’t you, for the most part?”

“No,” you said honestly, hoping he would understand how much you meant it. “I mean, yes, it’s very different from how I lived here, but I don’t care about all that stuff, Din. There’s nothing I’d want more than you and our son - nothing else would make me happy.”

His gaze was steady, and you wished you could see his expression.

“I love you,” he said finally.

You smiled. “I love you too,” you said, leaning your head against his arm once more. “And besides, your son would pull every last thread of beading off of anything I decided to wear that was fancier than this.”

He laughed, and you were pleased to hear that it was more relaxed. “You’re probably right about that, cyare.”

You walked arm in arm through the streets of the city, taking in the sights and sounds of the beautiful streets of Theed. Even when you lived on Naboo, you hadn’t ventured to the capitol much - your family lived in the hill country, and you only came into Theed for special occasions. In your travels with Din, you rarely visited such a bustling city center; most of his work was conducted on the scrappier, less hospitable planets. 

You dragged Din to a halt in front of a market stall with all sorts of candies and sweets, spotting something you hadn’t had since childhood and now simply couldn't go another minute without.

“What is it?” he asked. He didn’t much care for sweets, but obliged your proclivity for them all the same.

“Plasma cloud,” you said, pointing out the pink swirls of egg whites and sugar. “My father used to bring them home to us when he came to the city on business.”

Din reached in a pocket on his belt and handed you a few credits, and you grinned at him with childish excitement.

“Thank you,” you said, giving him a quick kiss on the side of his helmet before you went up to the stall owner for your treat. You came back with a bag of them in hand and one already popped in your mouth and handed Din his change.

“I’ll save a couple for you for later,” you said around another bite. They were better than you had remembered them, and reminded you of long summer days spent playing and waiting for your father to return home from the city.

“I know you don’t like candy,” you said, winding your arm around his again. “But you have to try a bite, at least.”

He chuckled. “I’ll try them for you, cyare. Are they good?”

You nodded. It was all good - the sunshine, your sugar-sticky fingers, Din beside you for a leisurely stroll through the city. You couldn’t remember the last time you and your husband did anything with leisure besides collapse in your bunk at night, and you determined you’d make a better effort to make happy afternoons like this one a priority for both of you.

“So, lover mine, where are you taking me?” you asked, happy to let him lead the way. He hadn’t given you any details about where you were staying while you were here, and you’d assumed you were going to stay with your parents, but it would have been impractical to dock in Theed and travel all the way to the hill country. You guessed he could have wanted to stay in the city, but that didn’t seem like him, and you looked up at his helm while you waited for his reply.

He looked down at you. “It’s a surprise.”

You grinned. “Okay. Is it somewhere in the city?”

“No,” he admitted. “We can stay for a while longer, but we should be heading out of the city before the sun starts to set. If I was drawing attention earlier, I'll be the most popular guy on Naboo come nightfall.”

You hummed in agreement. “It’s because of your winsome personality.”

He laughed. “Yes, that must be it. Mandalorians are notorious charmers everywhere they go.”

“Well, mine is,” you said. You traced the Mudhorn signet on his pauldron, the one that matched the pendant you wore around your neck. “I hope our kids grow up to be like you, Din.”

He looked over at you, perhaps as surprised as you were by the unexpectedly serious and heartfelt sentiment. You blushed, but you didn’t quite know why until you realized that you’d said kids, plural, and it had slipped out before you thought of the implications.

He seemed a little lost for words for a moment. 

“Thank you, cyar’ika,” he said, and you knew how much he meant it. “That’s... very kind of you to say.”

As always, his humility endeared him to you. You touched your fingers to your lips and then to the bottom of his visor.

He was quiet, and you knew him well enough to know that his cheeks were pink under the helm. Then, most likely with a gentle smile, he lightly nudged his shoulder against yours.

“I hope our kids grow up like me too,” he teased. “I’m what the Mandalorians call a ‘ramikadyc mando’.”

You smiled. “Oh? And what does that mean?”

He shrugged, easing his discomfort with the self-aggrandizing nature of the joke as he explained it to you.

“It’s used to describe someone who takes on the best of Mandalorian training and lives it to the fullest. Endurance, determination. Confidence, but justified by their skill. I’ve had the pleasure of knowing several Mandalorians who deserve the title.”

You wanted to say that he deserved the title too, but you knew he’d be embarrassed by it and wave you off. You settled for pressing closer to him, and he pressed closer to you in return.

You whiled away the afternoon in the city, window shopping and admiring the beautiful architecture as the sun sank lower in the sky. Music drifted from the concert hall, dreamy and elegant as it mixed with birdsong and people’s friendly conversations. You stopped to admire a great swath of flowering vines that had covered the side of a weathered stone building, the deep wine color of the blooms catching the fading sun.

“Millaflowers,” you said, recognizing them from a dress your mother had when you were very small, hundreds of the little blossoms carefully stitched into the fabric. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

Din very carefully plucked one and tucked it behind your ear. “Even more beautiful on you, cyare.”

Your cheeks warmed as you reached up to touch his hand, surprised and delighted by the tender gesture.

“I love you,” you said.

He gave a soft laugh, affectionate and warm. “I love you too, ner sarad.”

You twined your fingers with his. “‘My flower’, right?” you translated.

He hummed in agreement. “It isn’t used that often, but I think it’s nice. I once heard an older Mandalorian say it to his wife, and I thought to myself that I’d like to call someone that one day.”

“Did you really?” you asked, endeared at the thought. “Oh, Din. You’re secretly a romantic, aren’t you?”

“Only for you,” he said sweetly. You leaned close and he obliged you with a gentle tap of his helm against your head.

“Let me take you to bed,” he said softly.

You blushed; better than anything, your husband knew how to make you feel desirable, and you were pleased with the affection and want in his voice.

You put your arms around his neck. “Okay,” you said, your voice a little wobbly and lovesick. He put his hands to your waist and drew you to him, and you suddenly wished there wasn’t so much beskar between you.

He held you for a moment longer before he released you to take your hand, leading you back through the winding streets until you came to the lakeside on the opposite side of the city from the bay. The warm lights of the city reflected over the water, and lights flickered from houses nestled into the mountains that wound around the body of water that seemed to go on forever.

“That’s where we’re headed,” Din said, pointing out a small cluster of lights just visible around the curve of one of the mountains. “Near enough to the city, but no neighbors.”

You gave him a wry grin. “Any particular reason that might be important?”

You would have bet good money he smirked under his helmet. “Yeah. I’m not very neighborly.”

You gave his shoulder a playful shove, and his laugh was bright and warm even though his modulator.

“We’re taking the ferry there,” he said. “It should be here soon.”

For the sake of Din’s dignity, you didn’t start jumping up and down with delight, but you wanted to. 

“Are we really riding the ferry?” you asked.

“...yes?”

You grinned. “I’ve never been on it before,” you said. “Mother’s deathly afraid of boats, and we didn’t go into the city with dad. I’ve always wanted to, ever since I was a little girl.”

He chuckled. “Well, I’m honored to be the one taking you on your first ferry ride, cyare. I’d have planned our trip a little differently if I knew you were that easy to please.”

You knew he was kidding, and you wondered what else he’d planned. Everything so far had been lovely; you didn’t need anything more.

“What else do you have planned, Djarin?” you asked, teasingly suspicious.

He cocked his head at you. “Haven’t you ever heard that patience is a virtue?”

You laughed. “Sure, but we both know I’m as impatient as they get.” 

He gave an affectionate hum of agreement. “Yes, cyare. I know.”

He put his arm over your shoulder and drew you close, his posture relaxed and open. You leaned against him as you waited for the ferry, watching the gentle waves on the water with more peace and contentment than you’d had in a long time.

Read chapter two!

pedro pascal character taglist: @punkgeekchic​​​​​​​​, @tv-saved-the-teenage-girl​​​​​​​​, @stardust-galaxies​​​​​​​​, @theorganasolo​​​​​​​​​ ♡

series taglist: @kyjoraven​​​​​​​​, @sarahjkl82-blog​​​​​​​​, @remmysbounty​​​​​​​​, @bitchin-beskar​​​​​​​​ ♡

(since this is a continuation of Ciryc Ca’tra, I kept the same taglist - I hope that’s ok 👉👈)

let me know if you’d like to be added to either taglist! ♡