#anyway i feel strange. i sure hope its not food poisoning again !!!!!

[xxplastic-cubexx]

krakoa cherik constantly having sleepovers at each others houses

they never slept alone since day one ☝️ (until the divorce)

Im so sorry this was my immediate first thought

[declinlalune]

Like a Good Neighbor || Andy & Wynne

TIMING: a few weeks ago when andy was staying at emilio's and before ariadne was kidnapped. LOCATION: emilio’s apartment. PARTIES: @ohwynne & @declinlalune SUMMARY: wynne comes over to bring emilio food while andy is there. CONTENT WARNINGS: n/a

Andy already felt like she was overstaying her welcome. Emilio had told her she could stay as long as she needed to, but even one night felt too long. She knew how to earn her keep; had turned in cleaning services for nightly stays in motels when on the run with Alex. It was normal for her to exchange almost anything she was good at for something else, and so that’s what she did, even though she hadn’t been asked. She didn’t dare touch Emilio’s personal belongings, but anything that looked like it didn’t hold sentimental value was free game. 

She started from the living room to the kitchen, filling trash bags with garbage and dirty rags after wiping every surface clean. She hoped he would appreciate her efforts. Andy only stopped after hearing a knock on the door– the very one she had fixed last night. At least it seemed to hold its ground against whoevers knuckles were banging against the wood. She opened the door, surprised to see a familiar face. “Wynne, right?” 

—

The cooking had become almost compulsive at this point. Wynne would grow restless, bike to the store, get the ingredients they needed and put a large pot on the fire. There was a rhythm to it. A purpose, even, something that felt realer than the job they still did, day in and out. Besides, they continued to feel like they owed Emilio. They knew that some people had come to rely on their steady supply of food, even. So naturally they showed up again, with a freshly cooked pot of food. This time naively hoping that maybe they could sit with Emilio to eat some of it.

Which was why they knocked, rather than leaving a few containers out with a post-it note stuck to it. The footsteps sounded not quite like Emilio, but they didn’t overthink it until the door opened and someone who looked not at all like the slayer opened the door. Wynne blinked, then nodded. “Yes, that’s me. Andy, right?” They swayed back and forth. “I um, came by to drop off some food. I sometimes do that. Is Emilio home? If not, I can just … put it on his stove to cool off? That’s usually okay.” It wasn’t like the door was ever locked, anyway.

—

“Andy, yeah.” She smiled, gaze sliding from Wynne’s face to the tupperware in their hands. “Oh. Yeah, I think he mentioned something like that.” She looked over her shoulder, the smell of cleaning supplies evident, even by the door. There was a sheen of sweat across her forehead and the overalls she wore were a little rattier than usual with a bleach stain on the thigh from where she’d overcorrected a stain. “Hm? Emilio isn’t, but come on in.” She figured that Wynne was somebody who could be trusted, by both herself and Emilio considering he had told her about the food they’d make him. She hadn’t taken Emilio for the type to let just anyone cook for him, mostly out of suspicion that it’d be poisoned or something. 

Then again, looking at his diet didn’t really support her argument. Even she ate better than him, and Chef Boyardee was her favorite food. “I’m just cleaning while he’s out.” She wasn’t sure where he was, and she wasn’t going to ask. She knew he liked his privacy. She was overstaying her welcome, anyway. “How often do you bring him food?”

—

A strange smell came from the apartment. Not strange in and of itself, but because it was coming from Emilio’s place, which admittedly never seemed to smell this fresh. Wynne wondered if someone had been cleaning. If that person was Andy. “Okay, thank you!” They moved into the dingy apartment, which looked cleaner than they had ever seen it. “Are you … his cleaning lady?” That was something people did, right? Hire people to clean things? An outlandish concept to Wynne, who knew to clean up after themself even if it was hard during days like these, where they felt sad and lonely.

“Or just his friend?” That would be a little bit cool, they figured. Andy seemed nice, and Emilio was one of their most trusted people, so Wynne enjoyed the idea of them getting along. “The place did need some cleaning. And um, well pretty often. He has a lot of people who seem to eat his food. And I cook when I’m stressed.” They flushed a little at the revelation. “Or when I feel like it!”

—

“You don’t need to thank me.” You shouldn’t be thanking anyone, Andy wanted to add. Maybe she’d slip that in later. She knew that some people became defensive when it came to show of gratitude. “Am I…” Andy snorted. It was the first time she’d laughed since leaving the cabin, and it was sorely needed. “He wouldn’t be able to pay me enough to be, no.” That wasn’t necessarily true, she wasn’t greedy, but the last thing she wanted to be known as was Emilio’s cleaning lady. At least Wynne hadn’t mistaken her for his girlfriend. That would have been gross. 

“Just his friend, though, yeah.” She smiled at them before grabbing the broom she had bought Emilio, continuing to sweep up a small pile of dust into the dustpan. “I’ve noticed that, the no food thing.” He always had whiskey though, there was never a shortage of that. Not that she was judging. Andy looked up at Wynne as they mentioned cooking while stressed. “At least it’s productive?” She wasn’t sure what else to say, so she held the broom with both her hands, pressing the handle into her chest as she watched Wynne put the tupperware on the stove. “You haven’t run into any more birds, have you?” That’d been ages ago now, but still, Andy thought she should ask. 

—

Andy was right, of course: Wynne should not be thanking people and they told themself off for it mentally. “I still appreciate it.” That was better. The habit was so hard to break, still, despite all the things they’d learned over the past months. They let their eyes widen at Andy’s laughter and ended up chuckling too, even if it was a little hesitantly. “Then that’s very of nice of you, to do that.” Things done for friends should be done for free, even if they were as gritty as cleaning someone’s messy apartment. “It smells very nice here.” For once.

“He needs to eat more fruits and vegetables. But I guess I can’t tell an adult man what to do.” Even if they could try. Emilio had said that he appreciated them caring though, hadn’t he? And besides, who else were they going to give all their food to? Arden’s stomach was only so big. “It is productive, yes. And it makes things smell nice too. You’re welcome to have a bite of it if you want, just leave him some.” Wynne thought back to the bird and shook their head. “Some other weird creatures though. None of them really have been too big of a problem.” They thought of the agropelter, dead at their knife. They thought of the vampires, with their red eyes. They moved their hand up to cover their neck. “What about you?”

—

Andy smiled at Wynne, and this time it came easy– less forced, less fixated on the act of being normal, and just … existing. “I know, right? He really should be paying me.” She wouldn’t ever ask that of Emilio, especially not after everything he’d done, and was continuing to do for her. She hadn’t ever had an older sibling, but if her relationship with Emilio was any indication of what it was like, she had to admit, she missed out. Was this what it was like for Alex? Sure, Emilio wasn’t taking care of her, but he helped her when she needed it. She thought she could have had that with Kaden, but after he turned his back on her, she wasn’t so sure. Andy forced herself to exist in the present that was Emilio’s kitchen with Wynne across from her instead of the things she couldn’t change by picking up the glass of water she poured herself, taking a drink while trying to focus on the task at hand. “For once, right?” She set the glass down and looked around, noticing a difference already. 

“Oh, no, it’s okay.” She shook her head and looked towards the containers of food. Even if she was hungry, Wynne had made it with Emilio in mind. The last thing Andy wanted to do was start to take the things his neighbors were giving him, whether it was out of pity or care, she couldn’t tell. As Wynne explained they were running into other strange creatures, Andy clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and nodded, sweeping up a few more remnants of her cleaning spree to later throw out after the dustpan became full. “Me? Uh…” She shrugged, “this town is full of things, right? So I probably have, either without knowing or…” Andy rolled her shoulders back, “knowing, I guess.” The last monster she’d encountered hadn’t been a beast at all, but a human with skin like hers and a heart that beat to the same rhythm. What would Wynne think of her? She wasn’t sure if it mattered. Maybe whoever loved them would do the same. “But as far as birds go, I’ve been in the clear. More like… pigeons, I guess.” 

—

They chuckled. “Yeah, he should be. But then you would be his cleaning lady after all. I mean, no shame in that!” Wynne had done a bit of cleaning work, before they had settled here. Motels were willing to offer large discounts if they cleaned a fair amount of rooms. They would really prefer not to do that kind of work again, though, as they had seen things that would stick with them forever. People could be really gross. Even more gross than Emilio, who was just negligent and sloppy. They nodded. “For once. I guess we’ll see how long he keeps this up?” They hoped the look they gave Andy was one of we both know that might not be long. It was nice to be in on the joke, even if they weren’t always sure how to make these jokes. 

“It’s fine! It’s way too much for just one person, anyway. I also make some food for the other people that come here. Many people raid his fridge. Not a lot clean, though.” Nora didn’t seem the type, and they had heard rumors about Rhett eating soap, so he probably wasn’t aware of its cleaning purposes. “I guess it’s full of a lot of things. Yes. Do you know a lot about these things?” They figured that Andy would, considering how prepared she’d been to handle the not-bird. Wynne didn’t want to just start talking about vampires though, just in case. “Pigeons are fun, though. They’re a little rude sometimes, but it gives them character, right? Unlike seagulls, they’re just rude. And loud! But, well, I hope that the odd things haven’t bothered you too much.”

—

“No, no shame at all. I used to clean motels when I was a little bit younger.” She’d come across some good people then. The kind that kept her and Alex’s bellies full. The kind that put a roof over their head before they moved onto the next place. She didn’t necessarily miss cleaning shower drains and washing others’ bedding, but it was good work for when she had it, and most people didn’t ask questions. Andy grinned at Wynne, the knowing look in their eye something between two people who clearly cared about the same person, but the kind that didn’t mind poking a little fun at them anyway. 

Andy looked around Emilio’s apartment. It felt a little empty without him in it, but he was off doing who knew what with Perro at his side. It was probably for the best, anyway. Perro would’ve been a distraction. “That’s really nice of you, Wynne.” It wasn’t hard to come by kindness in Wicked’s Rest– she had encountered a lot of it, but it was hard to figure out whether or not it felt genuine. She felt that from Wynne. “Mm, figured somebody should start. The cleaning thing, I mean.” She picked up the dustpan and took it to the trash can, dumping the dust and loose bread ties into the bin. At Wynne’s question, she hummed. What was the point in keeping any of it secret if it could keep people safe? “I know enough. Where it counts. Don’t think it’s all bad, though.” Just in case Wynne was something she couldn’t sense, she wanted to make sure that Wynne knew she didn’t think of them as some kind of monster. “Hey, we’re the ones who left them to fend for themselves, right? Maybe we deserve it.” She leaned the broom against the wall and looked around. “Can’t say I’ve met a seagull I’m a fan of, though, so you might have me there.” She grinned at them. “I’m glad you’re staying out of trouble, though. Kind of hard to do around here, but…” Andy shrugged, letting her sentence fall off. 

—

“Oh, I did that too, for a while! I think I would prefer to clean this place over some of those rooms, right?” They grimaced a little. “He’s got shorter hair, and all.” It was a nice fact, to know that Andy had done similar work to them, that she had also done that thankless kind of labor that others sometimes looked down on. The same way they looked down on baristas. Wynne hated that about the outside world: at home, everyone had been valued, no matter what work they did. All of it was important for the continued success of the commune, and even if some people had a higher status, they all mattered.

They smiled a little at that assessment. Wynne wanted to be kind, someone that could offer people something real and palpable. They had abandoned their previous purpose and while this barely compared, it was at least something. “I guess,” they said, shrugging a little. “Maybe more will follow suit! It does look a lot nicer around here, so maybe they’ll be inspired!” They would prefer to keep cooking for him, though, as it was preferable over cleaning. They thought on what Andy said, and nodded, “I agree. I don’t think it’s all bad! Some of it is, though.” They were glad the other agreed with them on the topic of seagulls. They were very loud. “I mean, yeah, I mean, I’ve been trying.” Fingers traced their neck once more. “It doesn’t always work out. It’s not always safe here, huh? I guess it never is anywhere, maybe. But I’m still here, so it’s okay.” They were rambling. But was it getting into trouble when a clan of vampires kidnapped you? It didn’t feel like it, it felt more like being dragged into it. “Emilio’s good for that, too. That’s why I cook for him, I guess. He helps me with the trouble.”

—

“Oh, for sure. Could have it a lot worse, I guess.” Andy had gotten used to finding beard hairs around the house after Kaden moved in, so Emilio’s was nothing short of a minor nuisance. Then again, she was staying with him, so she couldn’t exactly complain about things, not if she wanted to keep using his couch. Which, if she were being honest, wouldn’t be for that much longer. She was getting antsy, and her jeep pulled up at a campsite seemed a little more glorious than taking up space in Emilio’s apartment, especially when he was always so busy. She felt guilty, even if she’d never admit that either. He’d done so much for her that she couldn’t stomach the thought of asking more from him. 

She couldn’t be sure of that, not really. Andy knew that Emilio probably didn’t enjoy living in filth, but he seemed to hate himself so much that it made him simply not care. She could understand that. It probably would have been her if she’d been the only one to get away that night on Alex’s 7th birthday. “Maybe. I hope so. Probably not, though. Can’t imagine the people kicking in his door will see a clean apartment and think not to fuck around and find out again.” Andy leaned against the counter, taking in the work she had completed in his apartment, satisfied with the shine on the countertops. “Some of it’s bad, yeah.” She wondered what Wynne had seen, or what they’d been through. It twisted her stomach to think about it; that everyone had some dark part of their past that they continued to run from. Or maybe Wynne had addressed it. Who was she to say? “Yeah. You’re still here.” Andy smiled, noticing the way that they brushed their neck with their fingers, but she made no move to address it. It was Wynne’s story after all, and Andy didn’t deserve to know it unless Wynne made it known, and she didn’t figure they were close enough for that. 

As Wynne continued, Andy nodded. So Emilio was looking out for Wynne, too. She thought about the story of his daughter and if he saw his own kid in Wynne. She wondered if Wynne knew about her, too, but she didn’t dare ask or give any inclination that she knew about Emilio’s past. “I’m glad he’s got you. You’re probably keeping him out of more trouble than he is with you, though.” That probably wasn’t true, but she knew what it felt like not to be able to eat sometimes, and if Wynne was making the food and dropping it by, that probably helped Emilio more than Wynne could ever imagine. “If he gets picky, I say you charge him.” 

—

“People at motels can be very inconsiderate. And this is, I guess, his own place, rather than a place he is vacationing at or something.” Though Wynne didn’t like mess, they figured it was an adult man’s good right to make as big or small a mess as he wanted. Even if the smell of trash still kind of hung in the air. (It was probably because of the couch.) “I don’t miss doing that work. My job now isn’t always perfect either but at least there’s no hair of strangers I have to deal with!” A low bar, they reflected a little sadly.

They frowned a little at the mention of people kicking down Emilio’s door. They knew the hunter had enemies, that he wasn’t someone who was widely liked — and not just because he kept insisting on being someone not worth trusting. And though they knew he could take care of himself, Wynne still didn’t like the thought of it. They shook their head, “I mean more the friendly people that come by and, you know, take things from his fridge and hang out here.” They wouldn’t suggest cleaning things to either Nora or Rhett, though. It would be uncool, and they were both very cool. 

Andy echoing their sentiment almost made them emotional. It still remained shocking, to know that people were glad to have them alive – even someone who was so close to a stranger. Everyone at home had been so ready to see them die that it was somewhat strange. “Oh, I don’t know. I make sure he gets some vitamins sometimes. He saves my life in return. It’s not really balanced but I think …” They shrugged and smiled a little. “That it is okay.” Sometimes he almost felt like what a parent was supposed to be, or at least a caring adult, one with a soft guiding hand and a duty of protection. That, too, was strange. “Ha, maybe I will do that!” They wouldn’t.

—

“Mm, you might be right.” She knew that Wynne was right, that she couldn’t judge Emilio for his lack of cleanliness. How were you supposed to care about yourself physically if you didn’t care about yourself at all? Andy probably would have fallen into that trap if not for Alex, but at the very least, she could help him here and now, even if he wouldn’t outright give her thanks. She didn’t care if he did or not. She was doing this because she wanted to repay him for the kindness he had extended to her, it wasn’t about who was the better friend. 

Wynne hadn’t meant those who wanted Emilio to pay for something he’d done. Of course not. They thought of him with kindness. She did too, of course, but it was a little harder when you knew what somebody was going through; the kind of past they came from. She wondered if Wynne knew any of that. “Oh, yeah, of course. That makes a lot more sense. Can’t be too sure, with him being a private investigator, you know?” Probably not necessary for backtracking, she realized. “Hopefully his friends aren’t breaking down his doors.” She hoped that one day she wouldn’t have to. 

“I don’t know, Wynne… I think vitamins are very important.” She grinned at them. She could tell that they cared for Emilio, and it was clear that by letting them even drop by with food, Emilio probably cared a great deal about them as well. Andy made a mental note to look out for them a little more than probably was necessary. “Where would he be without his iron?” It wasn’t like he was a warden, but Wynne wouldn’t get the joke, and she didn’t particularly feel like outing him as a hunter if Wynne didn’t already know that about him. It wasn’t lost on her how they had mentioned he saved them, and Andy sighed. “I think you could get some good money for whatever you're bringing over. It smells really good.” 

The world was so unfair, she thought. That some kid would have to be saved, some kid who was about Alex’s age. She couldn’t focus on what Wynne might have seen, or had been through for the sake of her sanity, So she focused on the here and now, that Wynne was okay, and Emilio was, too. For now, at least. “Once I’m back to work, I’ll drop you some baked goods as a thank you.” She grinned at them before moving to the kitchen to pick up a few more things. “You’re welcome to hang out if you want, I’m just gonna finish off these countertops.” 

[merakiui]

Half-Off Love

yandere!scaramouche x (gender neutral) reader art credit - kentasha1236 on twt cw: yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, gold-digging, implied yandere!childe note - thank you so much for 600 followers! o(≧∇≦o) I’ll work hard!

It’s strange. There’s no other adjective to describe the situation you’ve found yourself in. 

The ring slides itself onto your steady finger and it’s a miracle your discomfort doesn’t show. Your eyes struggle to meet his, but when they do you’re searching for a reason—for a meaning behind such a generous gift. You’ve witnessed this scene plenty of times before, having scoffed at the couples who decide to take their relationship to the next level. Whether it be in Mondstadt or Liyue, you’ve watched your fair share of angelic proposals. Although this is far from a proposal—at least, you hope it’s not a proposal. You’d feel powerless to decline if Scaramouche put you in such a position, and you’re almost certain he’s aware of this. 

But the main thing—you now realize—that’s holding him back is your status and his relationship with you. It’s nothing special, just mere physical attraction rather than the emotional hindrances that come with real, heart-racing love. There’s nothing wholesome in the way you regard one another; it’s just sex. 

“Do you like it? I made sure to find only the highest quality gemstone for you.”

And yet when he performs this caring charade, it doesn’t feel like loveless copulation. 

Ew, you think, plastering a smile to your face. Since when was Scaramouche so concerned with materialistic signs of affection? He’s far from loving; he’s just pent-up, frustrated from his rigorous job as a Harbinger and so he decides to use you as a means of coping. He almost sounds like Childe with his ineffective flirting methods. You’ve received your fair share of spoils from him as well, and you’ve done everything you could to cull that relationship before it grew out of hand. But now you’re stuck with the lesser side of the coin: another troublesome Fatui Harbinger. 

If you didn’t know any better, you might think to chase after Signora or Dottore next. Maybe you’ll aim for the Tsaritsa Herself if you’re especially daring. After all, your life has been nothing but deceit and faux pleasures; there’s little value to a liar’s life. If the Archons wish for your swift end, you’re positive it’ll be a result of your insatiable greed.

“It’s lovely. The color matches my eyes.”

It doesn’t, but you lie about it anyways. And he looks pleased to hear your approval. 

“Then perhaps I should get you a bracelet as well? Or would you prefer something with a little more use, such as a pocket watch?”

Why don’t you just lock me up with a collar instead? you think bitterly, already keen on pawning the ring off once the initial luster fades. Since you’re so eager to buy these things for me in hopes that I’ll return. It’s annoying.

“This is more than enough. I don’t want you to spend a fortune on me.” There’s a sweet lilt in your voice as your hand cups his cheek, and he leans into your warm touch, starved of the affection like a stray mutt. ”I only need you per our agreement. You do remember what that is, right?”

He’d be caught dead bending to the desires of someone so insignificant, but he just can’t stay away. Not when your every word is intoxicating poison he’ll readily ingest. 

“I’m aware." There’s a sigh in his tone as he pulls away, almost as if he wants to simply sit there and indulge in playful conversation. As if he actually wants to familiarize himself with the real you. But that emotion doesn’t last for long and an irritated expression crawls onto his handsome face as he silently recalls something. 

You’re slipping your silks off with grace, curiously tracking his movements. “You look upset. Was it because of what I said?”

“Of course not. You could never upset me.”

Until you get bored of me.

When you cast your robes aside, reaching for Scaramouche’s elaborate outfit, you murmur, “Let me guess. It was that traveler again, wasn’t it? I’m not sure why you’re so hung up on them.” A whimper leaks into your voice and you fix him with a pout. “I’m sad you’d think of others when I’m right here. Aren’t I the only one you need?”

It’s ironic how quickly that line hooks him, dragging him up from the murkiest depths of love that has skewed into obsession. When you tried it out on Childe, he wasn’t so easily swayed. You find their differences to be invigorating. If the arrangement with Childe was still ongoing, you might’ve considered a threesome, if only to wring more glittering treasures out of the both of them. Mora and jewelry galore, it all goes towards your stockpiled savings. And it’s times like these when you’re lucky to have avoided economic business with the Fatui. Being free of Fatui debt has its perks, a bright miracle in your dark relationships. That’s one less tether to Scaramouche and one less reason to cling to him after you’ve had enough. 

He smirks at your forced envy, easily pushing you backwards onto the plush mattress once he’s fully undressed. For a brief moment, he pictures your pliant body sprawled across an office desk while he pounds into you from behind, putting on a lewd show for his leering underlings. There’s something arousing about your secret relationship that has strange ideas formulating within his head. He entertains a simple scheme, one in which he’d shed light on your connection; however, the other side of him wants to keep your existence for himself, where no one will disturb the two of you in your pleasurable endeavors.

Perhaps you would truly belong to him if he were to expose you for the fraud you really are. Oh, the joy of trapping an unsuspecting rat in a corner, with no way out but into his open arms. You’ll hardly have any semblance of a choice, but he knows you’ll choose the option that guarantees another chance at life.

Scaramouche thinks about that as he revels in soft, tantalizing foreplay. He knows you aren’t as dedicated to this relationship as he is and he’s almost certain you’ve got others waiting for you in different parts of Teyvat. He’s just another plaything you’ve picked up for the fun of it. And in these moments where you surrender to his touch, your back arching with avaricious thoughts, you seem to forget about the power he truly wields. The thought that he could suffocate you in this very bed with his love alone should have you taking precautions to cover your vulnerability, but you only have your eyes set on one thing—not exactly minding the outcome so long as it’s monetarily favorable.

And if playing into your covetous hands ensures your weekly arrival, he’ll gladly empty his pockets of spare change.

You don’t like this new side of him. Lately he’s been treating this as if the two of you are lovers: slow, sensual thrusts accompanied with the sweetest of promises. You’ve never really minded the filth he’d moan in your ear and now you wish he’d resort to that instead. Loveless words spoken through the veil of lust—that’s what you want to hear.  

He envelops you like a smothering fog, fitting himself snugly inside of your tight hole in an embrace that’s oh so familiar. You aren’t used to such gentle treatment and as he kisses along your collarbone you feel yourself going under, having fallen victim to a Harbinger who is normally so cold-hearted. Perhaps he’s more sensitive than you originally thought. Months ago, you wouldn’t have imagined your relationship would grow into something so uncertain, where emotionless love becomes packaged and bogged down with so much feeling.

His lips ghost over yours and there’s a slight pause in his actions. You turn your head to the side, denying his choking affection before it can drag you further into a spiraling abyss of regret. Annoyance swells in his hazy gaze, but he uses your new position to his advantage.

“It’s cute,” he says in a hushed voice, breath tickling your ear, “how you seem to rid yourself of my gifts as soon as they fall into your hands. I wonder where they’ve gone. Into the harbor? Traded off for food and shelter? Do tell me.”

When his grip on your hip tightens to a threatening degree, you resign yourself, opting to hold your tongue as his pace remains brutally slow. Rather than speaking out of line, you raise your hand to his face, and he clasps your wrist in a forceful hold. 

The look in his eyes is far from loving—it’s that same obsessed expression Childe wore. And even if he still searches for you for reasons other than sex, you’re aware there’s no luck where Scaramouche is concerned. You can run from Childe because he’ll allow it—because he adores the chase—but Scaramouche hardly finds delight in a game of cat and mouse. You should’ve expected this. After all, he is just as conniving as the rest, always inventing new ways to track down and eradicate that peculiar traveler. Of course he would know about how you handle his presents when he isn’t looking because there’s no denying the stern gazes that would pierce through your backside whenever you went to the market.

"I’d never throw them out like that...” you mumble through another soft moan, hoping he’ll just pick up the pace and be done with you. “Your gifts are priceless.”

And yet the price for your own love is so hefty. If he weren’t Fatui, it might be enough to throw him into lifelong debt.

“Is that so? You seem to put a price on them whenever you visit the marketplace.” His fingers grip your chin, forcing you into an inescapable eye contact. “If you enjoy putting prices on items that you claim are priceless, you won’t mind if I collect a refund for your dishonesty.”

“A...refund?” 

Your lustful thoughts evaporate once you realize his pace has become horribly slow, his dick stilling and creating an itch of barely noticeable ecstasy. You wiggle your hips to increase the friction, wanting to get yourself off before his words can sour the mood. Though it’s already spoiled when you recognize the carnal victory shining in his twisted smirk. Your unfortunate fate was sealed the moment you welcomed his company with foolish openness, and you’ve been indebted ever since he decided to spoil you with lavish foods and accessories. 

For love that is far from cheap, interest must be paid and your very being makes for the perfect bargain.

It’s weird when he kisses you on your lips rather than on the parts of your body that are normally obscured with delicate cloth. And it’s even weirder when that metaphorical collar binds your throat in a vice. It’s more harrowing than any sort of debt you might’ve garnered and it’s just as inconvenient as his boyish adoration.

Scaramouche doesn’t have to purchase your flimsy, half-off love when it’s already prepackaged and ready for the taking. 

“You heard me. A refund is hardly enough punishment for a lying brat, but it will have to suffice for now.”

For now.

Spurred on by his own insinuating threats, he seeks to bruise your very insides with thrusts that are filled with physical vexation rather than the emotional ministrations from before. And since you’re so accustomed to him, your greedy hole eagerly welcomes him. 

[priortoallthoughts]

Don’t Mess With the Commander’s Caf

(or do, because it’s gotten you this far)

Rating: T

Word Count: 3.6k

Pairing: Commander Fox x afab!reader

Warnings: Mild swearing; gets a bit spicy at the end but nothing explicit.

Summary: What is supposed to be a night out at 79s turns into a night in the drunk tank, and the morning starts a startling new relationship with a certain Coruscant Guard Commander. All over a cup of caf.

// [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5]

Masterlist

A night out in Coruscant is never complete for you without going to the clone bar, 79s. You may pre-game somewhere else, but you always end up there, recognizable as one of their regulars. You love the atmosphere, honestly. It’s so jovial, just vode – and weren’t you surprised when you found out that clones spoke a different language with each other – coming to forget the war for a night. Living life as much as they could. You’ve picked up a few words of theirs purely because you hear them so often. Many a curse word too, which are your favorites.

And they were about to be put to good use.

You’re already buzzed and walking with a group of grey-clad troopers that had pulled you into their group when they saw you walking alone. You chat easily with them even though you never met them before. That’s the funny thing about being sociable when you’re sober – you’re even more chatty when you drink. And giggly apparently, considering you couldn’t stop laughing at the mission gone wonky they were telling you about.

When 79s came into view your smile widens. There really is nothing like the neon lights and bass you can already hear resonating from inside. Were there probably millions of places just like in on Coruscant already? Sure. But there isn’t anywhere aside from 79s you could find this kind of ambiance.

There is one downside that pisses you off like no other though.

There’s yelling coming from over by the speeder-way and when you look over, another civilian is getting in the face of a Coruscant guard member. The frown the graces your face feels wrong after laughing so much, but you can’t help it. You pause in your tracks. Usually when you see this kinda shit it deescalates fairly quickly, but this civilian is getting louder and more violent the more the (admittedly nervous acting) guard tried to calm him down.

“Hey.” A hand lands on your shoulder and you look up to see one of your group. “We can’t do anything. The punishment would be too harsh and that civvie chakaar won’t even get a slap on the wrist.”

Your frown turns into a snarl. “You can’t do anything.”

Fishing your flask out of your jacket pocket you take a swig before shoving it into the chest of the closest trooper. The steady click of your heels is the only thing you can hear over the growing volume of yelling.

“Hey! Shabuir in the stupid shirt!” Your own yell interrupts.

You have exactly one second to reconsider things before you think about all the vitriol this jackass is spewing at the guard for nothing. The sound of your fist hitting his face is the most satisfying thing you’ve heard tonight, along with the yelp he lets out when he hits the ground.

“What the kriff is your problem, bitch?!”

“You talking shit about this trooper is my problem!”

He turns towards the guard again and the trooper flinches. “I want her arrested for battery!”

You lean down to grab his collar and shake him out. “Oh, so now you want him to do his job? The one you were just belittling him for? Can’t have it both ways, chakaar!”

“Let go of me!”

You drop him so suddenly that his head cracks against the ground. He scrambles to his feet and points a finger at you. “You’ll regret this! They’re nothing but meat-droids!”

“Say that again, you little pissant. I dare you.” You go to take a step forward but he’s already running away. A hand on your shoulder again makes you look over to the one you defended.

“I’m sorry, ma’am.” And he does sound sorry. “I will have to take you in tonight. I… can’t ignore you attacking someone right in front of me.”

You smile at him. “No problem, trooper. Do your job; I don’t want you getting in trouble.” You offer your wrists to him and next thing you know they’re in a pair of binders behind your back and you’re being placed in the back of a speeder.

“A night in the drunk tank should sort you out.”

The smile you give him is blinding, because not only do you know that’s not the proper booking for what you just did, at least you look cute while you’re being taken away.

---

When you wake up in your cell (lucky you’re the only one there) you’re beyond tired and in desperate need of some caf. You can’t function without it in the morning.

There’s a guard member who lets you out not long after you get up. You follow him like a zombie. Presumably he’s leading you out of all the twisting hallways, but you stop short when your nose picks up the distinct smell of caf.

But not just any caf. You know the smell of Death Wish anywhere.

Your favorite.

You follow your nose to a mess hall – sparsely populated but still enough that everyone stops what they’re doing to look at you as you make your way to the caf machines in the back. You’re basically falling asleep as you walk so you don’t notice. Maybe you should care, considering you’re still wearing your clubbing outfit from last night, but no, you don’t actually care.

When you get there you see two different machines. One is labeled with some cheap, generic caf name and the other is simply “Fox’s Starfighter Fuel.”

You grab a flimsi cup and fill it with the second one. No cream. No sugar.

No life, only caf.

You finally notice how deathly quite it is as you take your first sip and turn around. There’s one trooper standing in front of you, helmet tucked under his arm, and the most severe look you’ve ever seen before gracing his features. You look him over with half-lidded eyes, noticing he’s dressed differently than the others, and casually take another sip of caf.

“You must be Fox.”

“Civilians aren’t allowed in this part of the building, who let you in here?”

Still waiting for the caf to kick in, you shrug. “Spent the night in the tank. No one stopped me when I walked in.”

Fox turns to glare at everyone sitting at the tables. They all look down at their food like they weren’t obviously watching and someone starts whistling.

“You need to leave,” he says when he turns back around.

“Can I finish my caf first?” You ask, taking more sips hoping to stall.

He glowers even more. “That’s not even your caf!”

“Shame.” You chug the rest of the still mostly full cup and coughs wrack your chest when you finish. “I think I just burned my esophagus,” you rasp.

“Get out.”

“That’s completely fair.”

You toss your cup in the trash on the way out. Turning the way you were going before you got distracted, you make your way to the exit; no need to bring the wrath of Fox down on you for sticking around. You feel like, once again, you get off light and dont’t want to press your luck. The smile that graces your face as you step outside is probably a strange thing for anyone else to see considering you’re walking out of jail, but you had a good night, and the morning is shaping up to follow suit.

---

The next day you walk into the caf shop you normally stop at on the way to work. The barista behind the counter waves as you walk up. “Your usual, hun?”

“You know me,” you smile brightly, “but, uh, can you make it two?”

Her eyes widen. “I can’t imagine the morning you’re expecting to have!”

You laugh and wave her off. “Nothing bad. I owe someone a cup.”

“You mean someone else drinks this sludge?”

“Imagine my surprise. And it’s not that bad!”

She places two large flimsi cups in front of you. Your hands rub together nervously before you get your thoughts together. “Can I borrow your marker?”

She hands it to you with a raised eyebrow and you quickly scribble a few words on one of the cups. It isn’t a lot, and it completely gives away who you are without having to sign your name, so you hope it’s okay.

“Thanks, gotta run!” You scurry out of the door before the barista can ask anything about what you’re doing.

You aren’t even sure yourself if you were being completely honest. The Coruscant Guard building is a little out of your way from your route to work, but you leave early in the mornings anyway, so you can still make it in time even with the detour. You feel a bit nervous walking in this time. Where did all your confidence from yesterday go?

You flag down the first trooper you see that doesn’t look busy.

“Can you give this to Fox, please?” You hold out the cup for him to take.

He doesn’t.

He only stands there, and you imagine he’s making a face behind his helmet because he doesn’t say anything either.

After a few seconds of silence you lower the cup awkwardly. “Uhh, oh, sorry, am I allowed to bring caf?”

“Why are you bringing the Commander caf?” He finally asks.

You squeeze the cups so much the tops almost pops off. “Fox is a commander?”

“Commander Fox is head of the Coruscant Guard, ma’am.”

The top of your own cup does pop off this time, but nothing spills.

“The entire guard?” You squeak.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Heat is quick to crawl up your face. “Oh stars, I can’t believe I took his caf.” Your internal panic is quickly becoming external as you try not to drop either cup. You hid your face behind one in embarrassment.

“Wait.” The guard member tilts his head. “You’re the one they were talking about yesterday? The girl from the mess hall?”

There’s a few second where nothing but incomprehensible noises come out of your mouth, but you finally get out, “how many people know about that?!”

“It’s made its way around.”

“I’m gonna - kriff - go throw myself off the senate building I swear-“

You’re cut off by the sound of a chuckle and you snap your head up to see the guard member’s shoulders shaking. “So you’re not trying to poison the Commander, huh?”

“No!” You yelp, but quiet down after you see others turn to look at you. “I was just trying to repay the caf I drank! We like the same kind!”

“That’s disgusting.”

“Can you please just give this to him before I die of embarrassment? You’re killing me here!”

He laughs again and finally takes the cup from your shaking hands. “Who should I say it’s from?”

You slap a hand over your face to hide your grimace. “At this point I’d rather not tell you. I want to keep some of my dignity intact,” you mutter.

“Nobody’s dignity is intact here, ma’am.”

“Oh… joy.”

“You best be on your way then.”

He is giving you an out and you’re taking it in full.

“Have a good day,” you say as you turn, the only proof you’ve been there being one guard member and a note on a flimsi cup.

“Sorry for taking your caf yesterday.”

---

One week later you find yourself standing outside of the caf shop, once again with two cups in hand through no fault of your own. It makes you think that maybe another trip to the Coruscant Guard building wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Why waste a perfectly good drink after all?

You pause immediately when you step through the door, because the man you’re looking for is standing across the room talking to someone with a datapad in hand. The decision on whether to interrupt is made for you when the person he’s talking to looks over and spots you.

He waves and Fox finally looks over as well, tilting his head as he does so. You take a deep breath before walking over to them.

“Caf girl!”

You raised your eyebrow at the other trooper. “I really am known around here for that, aren’t I?” You say as you stop in front of them. You have a sneaking suspicion that he is the same one you talked to last week.

“Well you never gave me your name,” he shrugs.

Yeah, it’s him.

Your head snaps to Fox, however, when he addresses you.

“You know my name?”

“Your information was processed and put into the system when you spent the night in the tank.”

“Osik,” you mutter.

“Did you need something?” He asks.

You perk up some, and hold out the second drink in your hand. “Right, there was a mixup at the caf shop, and I got an extra drink. I thought you might like it.”

He takes it carefully, but your bare fingers still brush against his gloved ones. They tingle when you pull away, and while the heat on your palm from holding the hot cup fades, the heat in your fingertips does not. You have the sudden urge to find out what holding his hand feels like, but you push that thought down along with the blush you can feel rising. Now isn’t the time. You have to get to work. Maybe if you come by earlier next time….. would there be a next time?

“Thank you. I… appreciate the thought.” You think you hear him trip over his words, but there’s no way.

You smile brightly at him. “You’re welcome!” You check the time on your chrono. “Looks like I gotta bounce. Enjoy your caf, Commander!”

Your retreat is quick, but hells if you don’t add a little extra sway to your hips as you walk out the doors.

And scribbled on the cup now in Fox’s hand is:

“I know day old caf when I taste it. Fresh is better.”

---

You start to bring Fox caf every week.

“This has become part of my routine, so I hope you don’t mind.”

Every week turns into every few days.

“Your filing system is horrifying but at least your chair is comfy.”

Every few days turns into every day.

“Tell Thorn that if he sees me at 79s tonight, he can’t arrest me just so I’ll hang out with him.”

And leaving early just to see Fox is the best part of your day no matter what. You hope you’re not the only one who feels like this. That maybe as you walk to the Guard building in the morning, you’re not the only one smiling and counting down the minutes until you get to Fox’s office. He never turns you away, and he’s always there to take the extra caf from your hands if he can be. Sometimes you have to leave it on his desk if he’s not in, but you understand that his job isn’t easy by any stretch of the word.

He is in this morning, however, seeing as the door opens promptly at your knock. He sits behind his desk, a few data pads already stacked next to him and a frown marring his face. That won’t do.

“Credit for your thoughts?” You say as you set his caf down next to his helmet and lean against his desk.

Fox looks up and gives you a tired smile, unaware of how it makes your stomach flutter. “Shaping up to be a long day.”

“Giving yourself more grey hairs already?” You say, giving a pointed look to his already greying sides.

“Like I need any more,” he huffs.

“I dunno,” you reach up and run your fingers lightly through his short curls, “I think they make you look distinguished.”

He lets out a breath you didn’t know he had been holding. “At least one of us thinks so.”

“It’s okay, I can like it enough for the both of us.”

“Should I count myself lucky then?” He smirks, finally taking a sip of his caf and sighing contently into the cup.

You give him a cheeky grin. “You should.”

He looks at you then, not saying anything, and you can’t help the flush you feel crawling up your face. You swear, you had never blushed so much around anyone before you met him. You distract yourself by drinking your own caf, the liquid welcome to your suddenly dry mouth.

“I do.”

“What?” Your head snaps back up to him and he’s still looking at you, but not in a way you’ve seen before.

“I do count myself lucky.”

You look away shyly, a small smile forming at the corners of your mouth. Sure, you two have been lightly flirting with each other, or at at least you’re definitely flirting with him, but this is the most straight-forward thing he’s ever said to you.

“It’s a good thing I got myself arrested that night then, isn’t it?”

It’s uncharted territory, where this conversation is heading. The thought of what it could be sits low in your belly and causes you to let out a shakey breath.

“It’s quite the holovid to watch,” he says offhandedly.

You’re lucky you aren’t drinking your caf, otherwise you would have spit it everywhere. You turn your head so hard you think you give yourself whiplash, mouth agape, looking at him in wide-eyed mortification.

“There’s a holo of that?!” The pitch of your voice would be embarrassing if you weren’t in the middle of spontaneously combusting on the inside.

He nods empathetically, which is shit because you know for damn sure he’s not empathetic about it; he’s having too much fun with this. You know he is, with that stupid, heart-stopping smirk playing on his face.

“Our HUDs record each incident for our files to make sure everything matches up with the reports.”

“Nooooooooooooo,” you whine quietly into your hands that now cover your face. You hear him get up and move to stand in front of you, but you don’t react. Mainly because you have no idea what he’s doing, but also he’s so kriffing close you can barely handle it.

His pries your hands from your face and presses them to his desk, effectively caging you in. He’s even closer now, and you’re hyper aware of how hard your heart is pounding even though you stop breathing. It’s the last thing from threatening, but you’re still frozen.

He leans in so his mouth is right next to your ear. “You look good in that little red dress of yours,” he whispers, his voice octaves lower than before. “Especially when you’re beating the kark out of a civvie – standing up for my vod.” It sends a pleasurable shiver down your spine and straight to your ovaries.

You suck in a breath when he pulls away. This is much more than you could have expected. “You’re not giving me much incentive to not be arrested again,” you tilt your head, “now that I know you’d be watching.”

“Always watching you, cyare.”

You hum, pulling one hand away from his to run up his armor and trace lightly over his jaw. “Gonna have to try harder to get a pair of binders on me next time, then.”

“Would you run?”

“Only if you’re the one chasing me.”

You move your hand from his jaw to the back of his neck and scratch lightly, feeling more than seeing him shiver under your fingertips.

“I’d find you.”

“Oh, I’d be counting on it, Commander.”

It’s a mutual surge that leads you two to lean in, culminating in the most charged kiss you’ve ever received. You throw your other hand around his neck, holding him as close as you can, while his hands latch onto your hips, pulling you up and into his embrace. He leads you back until he’s sitting in his chair and the next thing you know you’re falling into his lap to straddle him. You break for air, and to process that yes, this is happening, before you’re kissing again. A little slower; a little deeper.

You moan quietly into his mouth, and his hands move to your ass so he can pull you even closer.

There’s a chime from your chrono and you pull away, panting.

Fox’s eyes are dark and hungry when he looks at you. “You have to go soon.”

You nod, not breaking eye contact, and not moving either.

He grins, and it looks absolutely predatory. He slides the top of your blouse down slowly, just enough for his mouth to latch on to you right above your collarbone. You let out another breathy moan, and his teeth graze your skin in response as he sucks harder. His tongue soothes the area over when he lets go, and he looks at the quickly darkening spot with what you can only assume is possessive pride.

“For you to remember,” he says huskily.

Knowing he’s just staked his claim on you stokes the fire inside you even more. You give him your own feral grin, and pull down the collar of his blacks as he stiffens. “Who am I to allow you to forget, then?”

You suck hard at the column of his throat, higher than he did on you, knowing it would still be covered. You taste the sweat that had been building up, and his skin which you can’t even describe except that it tastes like him.

He groans lowly into your ear and you shiver when you pull away. You drag your nail lightly over the dark bruise in satisfaction before pulling his collar back up.

You slide off his armored thighs slowly. He follows you to stand, and gives you one last, long, kiss.

“Until next time, cyare.”

When you leave his office, you wish you had written something more on his cup than a crudely drawn fox with a smiley face next to it. Tomorrow though, you wonder what you can get away with saying.

“Next time I’m wearing that little red dress, feel free to search me. Who knows what I could be hiding.”

[kankuroplease]

Can you tell us more about Katsura and her relationships with Shino? :)

Well this came out longer than expected BUT it is sectioned (not proof read, so oops). Hope you enjoy 🖤

About Katsura

For starters, she’s very aware that she’ll never be this great kunoichi. She’s not from a major clan that has special techniques, her chakra is barely above average, and her size is a disadvantage.

So to compensate for what she sees as short comings; She trains, studies, and tries to keep up with her teammates/not be a burden.

Will train with her sister even past her team training exercises.

Katsura is very logical about things. There’s always a logical explanation or way of handling things.

Loves writing and will carry a notebook to write in wherever she may go.

She also enjoys dressing up just because on her off days.

Doesn’t want anyone to look at her though. It’s annoying and uncomfortable to her when people she doesn’t know pay her too much attention.

She isn’t proud of it, but she has played dumb and showed some skin to get information on missions. It’s amazing how idiotic some people are over cleavage 💀

Very envious of civilians with soft hands and has definitely invested in creams to try and help with her callouses

She has been helping at her grandparents bakery from time to time for as long as she can remember.

Its one of the reason she bakes so much. She doesn’t want to get rusty~ the other is it seems to make her friends happy.

Never had a crush before Shino and just assumed she wasn’t capable of feeling like that. Genuinely curious how people can just develop crushes on people they don’t really know.

Gets really excited when one of the beetles she raises does well/finds a mate. Like she is so proud of her beetle-companion.

Also gets very upset if it gets flung off a branch by its competitor or mate. She will pout and try to soothe said beetle-companion.

Beyond ticklish. Tries to hide it but even the slightest playful touch of her neck will have her laughing and snorting.

Touch starved, honestly. Will never admit it but she loves hugs. They make her feel warm and fuzzy.

She doesn’t remember her mother at all because she was so young when she passed away, but she still will visit her grave to ask her to watch over her father. He’s getting old and he’s still a recluse.

Absolute morning person and likely to want to crash before 8 pm if she’s not on a mission

Poisonous~ no but fr, she’s crafted her own poison to coat her sword in

Her sword is her baby. Custom made just for her by her father. No one is allowed to handle it for the previous reason.

How It Started

When she met Shino, it was simply by chance. Her dad told she was small but strong like a beetle.

And unfortunately, the beetle he compared her too got away before she could observe it and collect information on it properly.

So she went searching for her escaped beetle and ran into Shino.

Who told her he had no seen that bug but told her where can probably find one.

She was highly insulted but her father raised her not to let her emotions take control of her actions

So she let it go (sort of) and followed his advice. Which did lead her to her first pet beetle

After that, she made a point of saying hi or waving to Shino whenever she’d see him around for helping her out.

And they built a friendship over the years and all was fine with the world. They’d go bug hunting and Shino became someone she really respected and enjoyed talking to.

She could listen to him talk about insects all day because he sort of lights up and his knowledge was pretty impressive

And his voice is nice too~

Also, she really liked his dad too. He was so kind and even accepted cookies she had baked for Shino before realizing he was on a mission.

She totally loves Shinos bugs (before she realized she loved Shino)! even asked their names. Not that she would remember all of them or even recognize one from the other, she was just very curious about these special little guys.

It took the coming of war for her to realize just how much Shino actually meant to her.

And she didn’t expect to survive the war either. So she put all her feelings in an origami beetle that she gave to Shino.

It wasn’t like anyone unfolds them anyways, so it’s safe.

But by some miracle, they both survive.

Now she’s blushing heavily whenever he’s around because ‘oh no’, yes she’s always been aware his conventionally good looking but this feeling keeps growing and now his looks are a burden on her heart and mind

She was honestly pretty embarrassed about that origami beetle he still has sitting a little too close to light for her comfort.

All it would take is for him to look at it in the light to see her confession and she’s not even supposed to be alive to face this possibility.

Tried asking her father what he liked about her mother and none of that matched her (soft figure and extroverted bubbly personality) and Aori gave her ‘the talk’ while completely red faced.

And once she told her teammates, they basically told her to stop being a chicken and just tell him how she feels.

now Katsura does find that just telling him would be the most logical thing to do… but it’s easier said than done.

What if he doesn’t feel the same? Can they still be friends?

Shino pricked up on her not so subtle changes in behavior and wasn’t sure what to make of it.

She’s standing closer, stealing glances when she thinks he’s not looking, jumping a bit when he’d call her name, blushing and losing train of thought whenever their hands accidentally brush, etc.

He’s almost certain he knows what all this means, but maybe it’s just wishful thinking?

Katsura has always smiled easily for him and never seemed to forget him no matter how long it took for them to see each other again.

Maybe it was the way she always was so proud to show him her latest beetle she nurtured from larval or how she seriously always told his beetles to take care of him for her before any missions no matter how small.

Perhaps it was the fact that she always told him she thought he was amazing

Maybe it was the way they both could comfortably enjoy each other’s company without words

Or maybe the way she fussed over the children’s novel she was writing.

The way she always made sure other acknowledged him in group settings by mentioning him or asking him questions.

Her snorting laugh that she’s so embarrassed about had grown on him too. Also made it easy to find her

But at some point he’d developed a crush of his own, so it would be great if she felt the same.

It’s not until Kiba discovers the origami beetle and ask who gave him the love letter

Shino’s like… love letter?

Kiba holding it up to the light so Shino can faintly see the writing in it.

Kiba guesses it’s probably from that mean little thing that always seems to be around Shino these days. In fact, he’s pretty sure it’s her because of the faint scent still on it.

Shino looks calm on the surface but inside, Shino.exe has stopped working. Some quite a few bugs are escaping and kiba is cackling because he f**kin’ KNEW IT!!

Now they’re both acting strangely with each other trying to figure out their timing but what better timing than during one of their forest walks?

Shino waits until they’re absolutely alone (None of his bugs spotted Katsura’s nosy teammates) and Katsura is distracted by if her beetle is ready to find a mate/leave home.

She’s humming to herself that this one doesn’t seem to want to leave when Shino murmurs he can’t blame the little guy. He wouldn’t want to leave her side either.

Queue Katsura turning red and telling him not to joke like that, because she might get the wrong idea.

He tilted his head before asking her why would joke about that? He likes her, and the rest was a blur as her heart was beating too loud to hear everything he said outside of the end of his confession.

Of course she said yes too loudly and then asked him to repeat what he said because she wants to know remember his words forever 🥰

Them as a couple

Once they become official, nothing much changes honestly

They still go on bug hunts and walks in the forest, but will to hold hands while doing these things now.

Shino isn’t into too much PDA of course, but he doesn’t mind her cuddling up to him in private. In fact he welcomes it.

Katsura is the first one to say ‘I love you’ and she’s not shy about saying it.

Will leave him notes to read each day if either one of them has a particularly long mission. (they are numbered and yes she expects him to wait and read them)

He’s also been the subject of several questionable dishes because baking is her thing, not cooking. She is very sorry, Shino.

They both decided she should to stick to cookbooks for awhile after the last random dish

Garden picnics are something they both enjoy whenever their schedules allow and Katsura actually knows how to prepare foods for such an occasion

Shino will have a few more butterflies than normal join them because he knows it will make her smile.

Took them awhile to share a passionate kiss because, they’re both patient types and were waiting on the other to take the lead

But once they did and she heard his beetles buzzing— and he sighed against her lips that was it, she practically jumped on top of him and then apologized profusely later

Shino knows she’s capable, but will still get things down from higher shelves for her.

Katsura loves tracing shapes in Shino’s palms and can/will fall asleep holding his hand. His hands are always so warm and calming to her

She knitted them matching sweaters for winter because she really liked the idea. They didn’t turn out perfect but Shino wore his anyways and made her whole day!

Shino was very supportive of Katsura retiring to take a bigger role at her grandparents bakery and pursue writing. It’s something she always enjoyed and he’s ngl, the thought of them having more time together made him happy.

Katsura was also very supportive of Shino becoming a sensei! What a cute job and she could get intel of what kids may be interested

Both of them would still rather eat at home but will go with their friends. Katsura is more likely to convince Shino it’s good to socialize every once in awhile… although if he wants her to be more selfish with him, she will gladly do so~

Overall just a really sweet couple that’s over the moon about each other 🖤

[ao3komorii]

Lost Love’s Ruination (Viego/Reader)

Done at last! Was desperate to get this one out before Isolde was released for obvious reasons, so glad I got it done xD Once again, I tried to make it that you don't need any lore knowledge to get what's going on, though I would recommend maybe watching Ruination (the league short). Also no apologies for all the Senna because I love herrrrr

As a warning, there is smut at the end. Hope you enjoy it :) ----

A woman’s body, her beauty spoiled in apparent death, was lowered into beautiful crystalline waters. You couldn’t see who was lowering her into the water, or who stood around viewing the scene. You never could.

As it always did, the water grew poisoned with death as the woman revived from the dead, her features twisted with anger and confusion. Like a caged animal that had been freed, she lashed out, ripping a great blade out of someone’s grasp, and before you could react, the blade was plunged into your chest.

With a gasp, you woke up, your body broken out in a cold sweat, like it always did when you had that particular dream. You had had that dream many times before, but it never got any less terrifying. Long ago, you had considered visiting a dream reader to decipher what the horrifying nightmare meant, but you were scared that you would be told you were cursed and gave up on ever knowing.

It was a relief that most days you didn’t have much time to worry about your nightmares. You had been working on a farm in rural Demacia ever since you had been taken in at age four. You had been told that you were the only survivor of a fire, but you had been so young that you had no memories of the fire, or of your parents.

The owner of the farm had given you a home, but he was far from being family. You were given enough food to survive, but no more, and it was always contingent on you working on the farm seven days a week. You were grateful to have a bed to sleep in at night, even as hard as it was, but couldn’t help but feel some envy watching the other girls in your town go about their lives without the responsibilities that you had.

You might as well get up, even with how early you had woken up. Today was sheep shearing day, the longest day of the year for you. The sheep liked you more than they liked the owner, so that meant that you were stuck shearing all the sheep by yourself while he went to the town bar all day.

Putting on your old and worn boots with a sigh, you wished you could find a way out of this life. But you had no skills besides farming, and no money. The only way a girl like you could get out of this life was to marry a likely-older man, and that was something you wanted to avoid at all costs. The owner’s brother had previously expressed an interest in you, but luckily for you the owner hated his brother, or you would have likely had to live on the streets to avoid that marriage made in hell.

The owner was out in the field feeding the sheep when you exited the farmhouse. He glanced up at you, but you knew better than to expect a good morning, instead heading towards the small shed to fetch your shears.

Only when you returned to the field did he finally speak up. “Have some buyers comin’ for the wool tomorrow, so make sure it’s done today.”

“Right,” you answered. He was always the gruff, no-nonsense type, so you knew by now that talking back would get you nowhere. You had learned that lesson soon after you had come to this place twenty years ago. He was your employer, not your father, and he made sure you never forgot that.

“Alright, I’m off then,” he said, giving the field of sheep one more look over before heading inside to change out of his overalls.

You finished setting your things up as the owner left for the bar. You watched as he headed down the road, knowing that he wouldn’t be back until late. You didn’t really mind when he was gone, even if that meant you had a larger workload; he never seemed to have any interest in you other than what you could do on the farm, so he wasn’t one for long conversation. Without him around, you were at least able to relax and work without feeling like you had someone breathing down your neck to finish faster.

Luckily, the sheep were more than willing to listen to your worries, even if they didn’t understand what you were saying.

“I just want to stop having that dream,” you said as you began shearing one of your favorite sheep, Tulip. The owner had no interest in naming his livestock, so the job was left to you. Names didn’t make a difference to the owner, but it made a big difference to you, even as sad as it was to have your only friends be farm animals.

“I just wish I could make them go away,” you told the uninterested sheep. “Things would be much easier if I could dream about grass like you probably do, Tulip.”

Tulip turned her head to face you and you sighed, petting her freshly-sheared back. You always felt silly talking to the sheep, but it wasn’t like you had any better options around here.

Every time you had dreamed of a more exciting life, you had backed down and given up on your plans. Beyond your lack of money or skills, you knew very little about the world outside your small farming town. You had only been outside the town once, many years ago when you went with the owner to help pick out some new livestock from a larger town.

As your life stood right now, you had very little idea of what your future would be like. Would you eventually get tired of this life and set out on your own, get married off, or stay here until you were old and gray? None of those options seemed particularly appealing to you, but for now, all you could do was sit here and talk to sheep about your nightmares, wishing you could have a chance to see more of the world than your small town.

It was already a pretty warm day, and handling heavy sheep’s wool wasn’t helping. You had sheared about half the sheep by midday, but your work had been slowing down, likely due to your poor night of sleep. You would have to pick up the pace considerably if you wanted to finish in time to get any sleep tonight.

You had been pushing through your increasing thirst for at least an hour in the name of finishing on time, but had finally given in and headed inside for some water. Your dry throat ached, but the water was still nice, as you knew the owner would be upset if you passed out from dehydration before you finished your day’s work.

As much as you didn’t want to go back out there, you knew you had to work to earn your keep. It was a little harder to stay focused on work when you were dirty, sweaty and covered in balls of wool, but you had to push through and just look forward to a nice bath after the day was done.

You paused to stretch as you stood before the front door, knowing it would be back to work as soon as you were back outside. Stretching only served to emphasize how sore you were feeling after several hours of tedious work, with many more still to go. That was the same reason why you hadn’t bothered to pick the excess wool off of your clothes; why bother when you would look like a patchy sheep by the end of the day anyways?

Saying goodbye to your brief moment of rest, you opened the door at last, reluctantly ready to get back to work. Looking out over the area, you were surprised to see the field in more chaos than you had left it.

Your stool had been knocked over, but that was easy enough to fix; your real problem came from the sheep. You had expected them to wander around the field while not under your supervision, but the scene before you was something you had never experienced before.

The sheep were all crowded along the fence that faced the way into town. Walking closer, you could see nothing along the road that led past other farms and into town, at least nothing that would catch the attention of the entire flock of sheep. The dirt road was clear, the only noise around drifting over from the other nearby farms, but that wasn’t unusual.

You walked closer to the sheep, still unsure of what their problem was. You had never seen them act like this before, not even when large carts would pass by them travelling on the road. Could they see something that you couldn’t? You had never heard of sheep having supernatural senses, but were having a difficult time coming up with any other explanation for their sudden strange behavior.

Approaching the sheep, you tried to gently pry one away from the fence, but it wouldn’t budge, digging its hooves into the ground with an indignant bleat. You tried the same tactic with several other sheep, but were met with the same stubborn refusal to move. Even Tulip rebuffed you, regardless of any pleading on your part. What was wrong with these sheep?

You covered your eyes with your hands, taking a deep breath to try and calm yourself down. You really didn’t need this right now. You had a job to do, and a limited amount of time to get the job done or the owner would surely be upset with you. You would have to do whatever it took to get the sheep to comply with you, even if the owner was unhappy with you using extra hay as a bribe.

Before you could return your focus to the sheep in front of you, you were interrupted by a loud bleating from all around you. Removing your hands from your eyes, you looked around you to the flock of loudly-bleating sheep, and then back to the still-empty area ahead of you, still utterly confused as to what was happening.

All of a sudden, the sheep were desperate to be anywhere but where they were as they all turned and fled away from the fence. Unfortunately, you were unable to move in time and were sent falling to the ground, which was not helping your already-sore back. Sitting up with a groan, you lamented how rough your day was going, at least until you looked out at the scene beyond the fence.

Where there had been nothing out of the ordinary before, now you could see something that was not there before. Far off in the horizon, so far that you had to squint to see it, was a patch of dark black-green in the sky.

Standing up, you leaned over the fence, trying to see what it was when suddenly the patch grew bigger, or as you realized with a gasp, it was getting closer. The horrible black-green sky got closer still, close enough for you to tell that it was not sky after all, but a thick, dark mist, and it seemed to be closing in on your small town.

And then your world was swallowed by black.

Senna sat in the small boat, watching as the black-green mist began to dissipate, knowing that its creator had vanished as well. She could feel nothing but guilt and dread; she had failed not only herself, but all of Runeterra. Now that the ruined king had the memories, he was one step closer to achieving his goal, and then his focus would turn to the world that he felt had let him down.

“We have to find the girl,” Senna said suddenly, watching as the last of the mist faded from the cliff they had just been on.

“The girl?” Lucian asked.

Senna turned to face her husband. How often she forgot that Lucian hadn’t seen what she had seen, didn’t know what she knew. But this was no time to get lost in the past, not when so much was at stake.

“His wife died a long time ago,” she began as Lucian took hold of the boat’s steering wheel. “I’ve held her memory within me since the mist came to my island when I was a child. Now that he has her memory, he will seek out her body to reunite the two.”

“He’s looking for a thousand-year-old corpse?” Lucian sounded dubious.

“No,” Senna sighed ruefully. “His wife was reborn, but she has no memories of her past life. He thinks that he can force her memory into her new body and return her to his side.”

Only when it got closer did you realize the true amount of trouble you were in. The dark mist began to swallow the land, the sky, covering everything in its path as it headed straight towards your farm.

As it got even closer, you began to see more detail in the ominous mist, taken aback when you noticed ethereal green streaks in the mist that crawled along the black mist as if they were alive. This was no ordinary storm, no, this mist looked downright sinister. You stared, frozen with terror, until the screams from one of the neighboring farms snapped you out of your petrified stupor.

You had to run. Now.

You backed up a few steps, knowing that you had to leave but afraid to take your eyes off of the rapidly-approaching deathly black mist. Turning around at last, you ran across the field and towards the woods beyond the back gate of the property, hoping to find some safety within the dense forest.

The sheep had already got there first and were trying to break down the back gate to escape. The field was large, as you also had many crops growing, sections of which had been trampled underfoot by the terrified animals as they fled.

You were halfway across the field when the sheep scattered, bleating loudly as they gave up on the back gate, running instead to cower in their pen. As they moved away from the gate, you noticed with horror that the black mist was now rolling out from the woods as well. Stopping in your tracks, you looked around you, only to see that the mist was coming at the farm from every direction. You were trapped, and the mist was only getting closer to engulfing you.

Desperately looking for any way out of your impending death, you caught sight of the farmhouse. If you couldn’t escape this mist, then maybe you could delay its effects by hiding in the cellar of the farmhouse long enough for help to arrive. It was the only option you could see other than waiting here to die, so you took it.

Your legs were burning from all the sprinting you had been doing in the last few minutes, but you couldn’t stop, not when it was the cellar or certain death. You were almost to the farmhouse, so close you could almost feel the temporary safety within your grasp, when the looming mist beat you there, swallowing the house into its depths just as you were about to reach the door.

Jerking back with a scream, you backed away from the writhing mist, not wanting it to touch your skin. By now, the mist had surrounded the farm, so close to you that you could no longer see the fences that surrounded the property.

You stood still, having nowhere to run as the mist surrounded you on all sides. Shaking with fear, you were surprised when the mist stopped advancing, leaving you in the middle of a circular patch of field.

You watched with wide eyes, waiting for the mist to swallow you, but it didn’t come any closer. You weren’t dead, but it wasn’t like this situation was much better. You couldn’t fight off a supernatural mist with sheep shears, and even if you could, they were on the ground somewhere in that mist.

The farmland was deathly silent; you could no longer hear the screams of your neighbors or the bleating of the sheep. Now that it was so close and with nowhere to go, you had nothing to do but stare at the mysterious fog that surrounded you.

It was dark, so dark that you couldn’t see through it, the sickly green streaks running around the edge of the mist like circling sharks. Following them with your eyes, you struggled to figure out what they were. You had a very limited worldview to draw on, the only comparison coming to mind being like a ghoul described to you in stories when you were a child.

You weren’t sure what was happening; the mist had swallowed everything else without mercy, so why were you a different case? You weren’t left waiting long, as the mist gave way to a tall figure who entered into the open section of field.

He was tall and ethereally pale, clothed all in black, which contrasted sharply with his short, wavy silver hair. Looking at his well-defined torso, you realized that he was too pale; his face and shirtless torso were gray-white, like all the life had been drained from him.

His outfit was simple, a black pair of pants and dark cropped jacket, obsidian armor covering his arms and legs. More than anything, your eyes were drawn to two unusual features; on his head was a sharp three-pointed crown the same color of the ghouls still circling you, and on his chest was a black triangle, so dark that it seemed like it was a bottomless hole.

His eyes glowed with a supernatural light, a shiver running down your spine as your eyes met his. Immediately, he began to stride towards you, sending you into a panic.

There was nowhere to go but into the mist, and that wasn’t an option, but that didn’t mean you wanted the ghostly man anywhere near you. You clutched your hands to your chest, backing up as far as you could without entering the mist, but the man would not be deterred.

His eyes never strayed from yours, his gaze so intense that you felt it hard to look away from. With nowhere to run, he was quickly upon you, but to your great surprise, he came to a stop before you.

He raised one gloved hand, and you flinched as he reached towards you, stunned when the hand came up to gently cup your cheek. Shaking with fear, you stared at him, scared to even breathe and attract his ire.

“My love,” came his voice, gravelly and in an accent that you did not recognize. “Finally you return to me.”

“Who are you?” you whispered, shivering from the cold of his armor-tipped fingers against your skin.

His head tilted slightly to the side, as if he was appraising you. You wanted to shrink away from his gaze, to remove his hand from your face, but you were terrified of upsetting him and risking yourself. As stagnant as your life was, it was your life, and you didn’t want to die here.

“You do not remember me,” he spoke softly, voice laced with disappointment. “A shame. But you will soon.”

You were scared to ask him what he meant, but felt relieved as he finally pulled his hand away from your cheek. Your relief was short-lived as his hand instead went to lay over the deep black triangle on his chest. Now that he was so close to you, the triangle truly did look like it was made of endless darkness. You could see no flesh in the black space; it looked like a keyhole to a dimension of utter black, the sight of it reminding you of the black mist that swirled around you.

There was also the fact that he had spoken to you like he knew you. You had never seen this man before, that you knew for sure. The only part of your life that was hazy was your life before the fire that had claimed your home and parents, but you couldn’t imagine meeting this ghoulish man back then and not remembering him.

You inhaled sharply when out of his chest materialized an orb of wiry light. The strands of light that made up the orb buzzed with energy, and seemed to act as a sort of cage for a small white light in the center that looked like a flickering flame. You knew that it was not natural; but no matter how long you stared at it, you would not be able to place its origins.

The orb was so bright, and felt very out of place in the void of darkness that you were currently trapped in as its light helped to illuminate the face of the stranger before you.

Even with how deathly pale he was, his face was still handsome, jawline sharp and free of even stubble. No matter how much you stared at his face, you couldn’t tell how old he was; he looked around your age, but also had the aura of someone or something much, much older. He looked down at the thrumming orb with a strange fondness in his eyes before he turned his attention back to you.

“I have missed you so dearly, Isolde,” he said as he began to bring the orb towards you.

“No, please!” you cried out in response.

You weren’t sure what that orb was; all you knew was that you didn’t want it touching you. He didn’t seem to hear your desperate pleas as the orb got closer and closer to your chest. You had nowhere to run, and nobody to save you from this ghostly lunatic.

The orb was almost at your chest, a tear dripping down your cheek as you stared down at it, and then everything was light.

You closed your eyes against the bright light, but were surprised to feel no pain. Hearing a male grunt, you opened your eyes as the light beyond your eyelids faded as quickly as it had come.

Looking around you, you saw the stranger across the field, the orb on the grass nearby. Immediately, you noticed that the area was better lit, looking over to see a large split in the dark mist that led across the field to a figure holding a large metallic device.

“Hurry!” Came the call from the figure, too far away for you to see them in much detail.

A snarl from behind you had you looking back to see the strange man getting up, the sight spurning you into action. You made a mad dash for the gap in the mist, ignoring the stranger’s angered calls for you to stop. You didn’t recognize the figure in the distance, but you would take any help you could get as you sprinted towards them.

As you got closer, you noticed that the figure you were running towards was a woman. She was dressed in black and white, gold-accented dreadlocks hanging out of one side of her white hood. You couldn’t place the large metal device that she held; you had never seen anything like it before.

“You will not interfere!”

You glanced behind you, seeing the stranger following behind you, now holding a sword that was longer than he was tall, aglow with supernatural energy. The sight of him, of the fury in his eyes tripped you up, sending you tumbling to the ground.

You scrambled to your feet, but the delay was enough that he was rapidly catching up to you. The look in his eyes froze you in your tracks, only able to manage small steps backward until your arm was suddenly grabbed from behind.

You yelped as you were picked up and then quickly deposited back on the ground a short distance away from where you had been. Looking over, you saw a man in white standing protectively in front of you, twin pistols raised and pointed at the silver-haired man with the sword.

He quickly turned his head back to face you. “Go.” When you hadn’t moved after a few seconds, he barked the order again, his deep voice loud and commanding.

You nodded rapidly before turning to run, hoping that the man would be okay. You knew that you wouldn’t feel confident facing that ghoulish man down, but the man that had come to your rescue seemed to exude a quiet confidence, so you had to trust that he would be okay as you desperately sprinted towards the woman and her strange weapon-like device.

As soon as you were in her reach, she pulled you behind her. You saw the man who had saved you facing off with the sword-wielding stranger, rapidly firing bolts of light at him while narrowly dodging blows from the giant sword.

“Is he okay?” you asked, consumed with worry.

The woman nodded. “He can handle himself. We need to get you out of here while Viego is distracted.”

“Viego?” you echoed, turning your gaze from the fight in front of you to meet her startlingly green eyes.

“I’ll explain everything when we’re away from this place,” she answered, resting her large weapon against her shoulder. “We need to go.”

You were reluctant to leave the man fighting alone, but you had no power to help him. You couldn’t insist on staying here when it would doom all three of you.

As you and the woman ran towards the road, your thoughts turned to the owner, your neighbors… your whole town. Hopping over the fence, you found yourself facing down a wasteland.

The nearby farms looked like they had been hit by a tornado, fences broken and chunks of wood gouged out of houses. You couldn’t see anyone around but you and the woman at your side. Just an hour ago, those farms had been full of life, and now, nothing.

You were led around a bend in the road, where a metal cart waited with two large creatures hitched to it. One of the creatures turned its head to look at you and you stared back, trying to figure out what exactly it was.

“Greathorns,” the woman answered your unspoken question. “They’re very reliable.”

You nodded your head slowly; you felt like you had heard the owner mention greathorns before, but you knew that you had never seen one in person. They were bigger than any horse you had seen, with beige beardlike tufts of hair under their chins and large jagged horns that almost looked like a dragon’s wing sprouting from their heads.

The woman looked like she was about to say something, but she was interrupted by a horrible guttural screech from the direction you had just fled from. You met eyes with the woman, feeling unnerved when you noticed the worry in her expression.

Your momentary panic was shattered as a figure zipped around the corner. You were relieved to see that it was the man in the white jacket, though his clothing looked considerably more scuffed up than it had a few minutes ago.

“Is he–” the woman started to say.

“He’s down for now, but we have to go,” the man answered, running over to join you at the cart.

They both sprang into action, the woman placing her weapon into the cart before jumping in herself and helping you in while the man took his place at the reins, spurning the greathorns into movement.

You turned back to try and see what had become of the farm you had called home for most of your life. The dark mist still lingered over the farm, but it was getting thinner by the second. You didn’t see the strange man, the owner, or even the sheep. It was almost unbelievable how quickly your entire way of life had been decimated; as you watched the ruined farm get farther and farther away, you wondered if you would ever return.

You hadn’t realized that you had dozed off until you were being gently nudged awake. You weren’t surprised you had fallen asleep after the day you had, combined with the long cart ride.

You opened your eyes to see the woman who had rescued you, who offered a kind smile your way when she noticed that you were awake. “We’re here.”

“Here…?” you replied sleepily, before your attention was drawn to the scene around you.

You felt like you were in a world straight out of a fairy tale. Tall buildings made of polished white stone surrounded you, much more extravagant than anything you had ever seen before. The roads were paved, people in fancy dress and armor milling about. You were in awe of the fashion, suddenly feeling like a country bumpkin in your wool-covered overalls.

“Welcome to Demacia City,” the man said, steering the cart to a waiting stable.

You got off of the cart with shaky feet, feeling overwhelmed by the reality of the big city you had always dreamed of visiting. Looking out at the beautiful architecture of the city, you only wished you could have come here under better circumstances. The beautiful city instantly dulled in your eyes when you thought back to the state of your hometown, desolated by the dark mist.

“I thought it would be better to let you sleep,” the woman’s voice broke through the fog in your brain and you turned to look at her. “Now that we have a moment to breathe, I thought we should introduce ourselves. My name is Senna, and this is my husband Lucian.”

Lucian nodded to you when he was introduced, and you shyly gave your name back. Once the introductions had been made, you followed Senna through the streets after she had insisted that it would be safer to explain everything once you had arrived at a more secure location.

The more secure location ended up being a large building at the edge of town, the inside of the building a large circular chamber. You could see a few doors on the other side of the chamber, but didn’t get to see where they led as Senna stood in the center of the room, the light from a glass panel far above her bathing her form in a gentle glow. Lucian stood close to his wife, and you came to a stop a few feet away, nervous for what you were about to hear.

“Alright, so the start of this all goes back over a thousand years ago,” Senna started, the sheer amount of time involved stunning you. “That man… Viego… he was a king back then.”

“He was the king of Demacia?” you blurted out. It was hard to imagine someone so ghoulish and cruel being the king of Demacia, even a thousand years ago.

“Not here,” Lucian denied with a shake of his head. “A long-dead empire on a continent east of here.”

Another continent? You had never even heard of another continent; the farthest your geographical knowledge went were the other kingdoms that bordered Demacia. But if he was from another continent…

“…then how did he get here?” you voiced your sudden thought, watching as Senna’s expression hardened, as if your words hurt her to think about.

After a pause, she answered. “Viego was a poor king who instead focussed all of his attention on a peasant girl he had made his wife, Isolde.”

An unsettling feeling made its way into your stomach as Senna spoke her name, but you kept your feelings in, not wanting to interrupt her story.

“With his attention on Isolde, Viego did not govern. Wanting to be rid of their useless king, assassins came to take Viego’s life, but their aim was misplaced. Their poison dagger sliced the arm of the queen, who fell deathly ill from the toxin.”

As her story went on, the bad feeling got worse and worse. It was not at all helped by the knowledge of your mystery scar, the one on your arm that you had no memory of ever getting in the first place. Still, you kept quiet and listened.

“To cure his wife, Viego brought her to the Blessed Isles, but she didn’t survive the journey and was brought as a corpse,” Senna explained. “The elders refused him entry, as the blessed waters could not bring back the dead, but Viego forced his way through.”

You were beginning to have a hard time breathing, terror seeping into your skin as you thought about that dream, the same dream you had been having most of your life. You felt compelled to listen to rest of Senna’s story, even if you suspected that you knew how it would end.

“Isolde was angry and confused after being ripped from death. She stabbed Viego with his own sword, the touch of the ancient sword to the blessed waters turning the whole island into unlife. Viego’s death is what created the Shadow Isles.”

The Shadow Isles? You had thought they were just a myth. Everyone in your town had heard of the terrifying land that was said to be cursed with unlife, its residents thralls to the terrible curse. It had been said that anyone who ventured to the Shadow Isles would lose themselves to death and madness, but you had only heard the place mentioned by parents trying to discourage their children from behaving badly, telling them that the monsters from the from the isles would come and get them if they didn’t behave themselves.

You knew what was coming, but you couldn’t bear to say it out loud, feeling like the words were too horrifying for you to speak. Thankfully, Senna decided at last to get to the heart of the matter.

“Viego took Isolde’s memory from me, and now he intends to reunite her memory with her body,” Senna said, her eyes tinged with regret. “And that is why he’s after you.”

“So then that orb…” your voice trailed off as you thought about the ball of light that had nearly been forced upon you.

“Isolde’s memory from when she was alive,” Lucian confirmed. “Senna has had it with her for a long time.”

“And you think that I’m…” You couldn’t bring yourself to say it.

“Yes,” Senna confirmed gently. “You are the reincarnation of Isolde. Viego would not have come after you if you weren’t.”

“But I’m not… I’m just a farmhand…”

You knew that she was right. There was no other explanation, but you still didn’t want to believe it. You were a farm worker, not a long-dead queen. Yesterday you had been pulling carrots out of the ground, and today you were on the run from a demented king who believed he could use your body to bring back his dead wife. You didn’t have an exciting life, but it was yours, and you didn’t want to lose it to fulfil Viego’s twisted obsession.

Senna and Lucian had stayed silent, giving you a moment to try and calm yourself down, which you appreciated. You would probably cry about it tonight, but for now you would stay as strong as you could. You were used to talking about your feelings with the animals on the farm, but felt uncomfortable with being overly emotional in front of other people, considering the main person you talked to was the owner, and he was not one for heartfelt conversations.

“We won’t let him have you,” Senna promised.

“And besides, after what I did to him, he’ll need a few days to recover his strength,” Lucian added.

“Thank you both,” you said, bowing your head low. “If it wasn’t for you, I don’t even want to think about where I’d be.”

“Raise your head,” Senna said gently. You looked up to see her with a smile on her face, which made you feel a bit better. “Don’t go thanking us yet. Not until we send Viego back into the darkness for good.”

“Can we really stop him?” you asked.

“We’ll sure try,” she replied as you silently wished you had the confidence that she did. “But first, we have something else to do.”

You bit your lip, unsure of what she meant. What could be more important than dealing with the looming threat of Viego’s return?

“You’ve never left that town, have you?” Senna asked with a raised eyebrow, and you nodded. “How would you like to see the city?”

“But don’t we have to–”

“I’ll handle the work for now,” Lucian cut in. “We haven’t been back here in some time and Senna might aim her gun my way if she doesn’t get some downtime.”

“Me?” Senna replied with mock incredulity. “You were the one going on about missing Demacian sugar rolls.”

Lucian didn’t look bothered by his wife’s sass, staring at her with a pout until she relented with a smile and a shake of her head. “…we’ll get you some when we’re out.”

“Thank you kindly,” Lucian replied fondly.

After giving Lucian a quick kiss goodbye, Senna turned back to you, gesturing towards the door. “Ready to get a look at what the city is really like?”

You had thought the streets of Demacia City were big, but found yourself thoroughly blown away by the sheer size of the grand plaza in the center of the city. It was mostly empty now, but according to Senna, the entire space was packed with people when they held special events. It was hard to believe that you were standing in a place where wars had been declared and kings had been crowned.

The marketplace was less spacious, but no less overwhelming. Merchants of all types lined the streets, selling wares you could only dream of before today.

It was in the market that you got to try one of the sugar rolls that Lucian was so fond of, the crystalized sugar melting on your tongue. With so many new sights and smells, you were having a hard time deciding where to look, at least until you laid eyes on a colorful stand selling various types of clothing items.

Walking a bit closer while Senna perused some metalwork from a nearby shop, you found your attention drawn to a dress hanging on one of the racks in front of the seller. It was short, probably knee-length at best, and the same light blue as the sky. The dress was simple, with long sleeves and an a-line skirt, but it was the finer details that had caught your eye; sewn into the hem of the skirt and collar of the dress were little white birds in flight across the fabric.

You had never seen such intricate design work; in your town, people wore practical clothing for working; there was no need for a nice dress when you were just going to get mud all over it anyways. The more you saw of this place, the more you began to feel dissatisfied with how you had been living up until now. But then again, you may not live at all beyond the next few days, not if the ruined king got ahold of you. What a mess you had made of your own life, and Senna and Lucian’s as well.

“You know you’re not a burden, right?” Senna’s voice right behind you snapped you right out of your thoughts and you turned to look at her, her green eyes piercing right through you.

“I, uh…” You weren’t sure how to answer her as you processed her words. It was hard to think of yourself as anything but a burden; your existence itself had caused your town to be invaded by a long-dead king from the Shadow Isles, and now Senna and Lucian had to protect you or face the destruction of the entirety of Runeterra. You were an incredible burden.

“No, none of that,” Senna said, shaking her head with a smile, before her voice turned serious. “You’re a person with feelings and desires. You don’t deserve to be used in Viego’s plot to bring back his queen. You are worthy of being helped, so don’t you dare think otherwise.”

You were stunned speechless. You wanted to refute her words, but the look in her eyes was telling you that doing so would be a bad idea. Instead, you nodded reluctantly, and her stern face finally relaxed back into a smile.

“Good, then we’re going to practice being confident,” she said. “If we don’t work on your confidence, then you’ll never be able to stop fearing those who reside in the dark.”

She was right. You knew she was. “…okay.”

“See that dress over there?” Senna asked, jerking her chin towards the blue dress with the white bird trim. “You like it, right?”

You stiffened. You thought that she had been perusing the metal works being sold, but clearly she had been paying more attention to you than you had given her credit for.

“…it’s nice,” you admitted at last. “I’ve never owned a dress before. The owner of the farm said they would just get ripped and dirty.”

“I think we should get it then,” Senna replied, voice quieting so the seller couldn’t hear her next words. “Sometimes we all need a reminder that we’re not trapped in the dark. This dress can serve as your reminder that you’re brighter than the darkness that chases you.”

You were reluctant to accept the dress, but Senna paid the seller before you could properly object. Handing the dress to you, she looked pleased as she watched you marvel over the soft fabric and beautiful design. Looking back up at her, you were about to thank her, but stopped when she held up a hand.

“If you want to thank me, you can help me set the wards around the house. Besides, we’ll both get an earful if Lucian has to wait any longer for his sugar rolls.”

You thanked her anyways as you both turned to head out of the market, arms full of dress and sugar rolls.

The next morning found you outside with Senna, helping her set up complicated devices around the outside of the building while Lucian worked to set some of the same devices on the roof. You watched carefully as Senna demonstrated how each ward had to be placed in order to work properly, not wanting to mess up when you set up the next one yourself.

“Will these keep him out?” you asked as you bent down to place a ward against the wall.

“A little to the left,” Senna corrected, and you moved the heavy metal device to the left until she nodded with satisfaction. “Nothing can keep Viego out, but these should weaken his strength enough to give us a chance.”

You winced; you had anticipated her answer, knowing how powerful Viego had seemed from your short interaction with him. Hoping to defeat him seemed like a futile effort, but you wanted to believe it was possible. You knew so little about the world outside of your farming town, so at this point, anything seemed like it could be possible. You had no choice but to hope anyways because if you failed, you would be lost forever, at least if Viego had his way.

Your life had become infinitely more precious now that it had come under threat; you wanted to help Senna and Lucian, the people who valued you for being you, not a dead king who looked at you and only saw his departed wife.

“The roof’s all set!” Lucian called out from above you.

“Good!” Senna called back as she heaved another ward into her arms. “Then you can test the wards when I finish setting this one up.”

“On my way, dear,” came Lucian’s lighthearted reply.

The rest of the afternoon was spent finalizing the ward setup. You had never seen them before, and were surprised to see them light up as Lucian ran by them, leaving him looking exhausted by the contact. You had been even more shocked when Senna had told you that the wards had been set to their lowest setting for the test. If Lucian had been that tired on the lowest setting, then maybe you could have hope that the highest setting would have a significant effect on Viego.

“But are we sure he’ll set them off?” you asked Senna as she turned the wards back off.

“I’m sure,” she replied confidently. “Anywhere you are, he’ll go, except now we can use that to our advantage.”

The only problem being that you didn’t know exactly when he would come. Lucian’s guess of a few days was just that; a guess. He had explained that the day they had saved you was only their second time fighting Viego, the first time being when Viego had stolen Isolde’s memories from Senna. But it had been a few days without any sign of the dead king or his black mist, so you figured that Lucian’s estimate had been accurate.

By the fifth day with no sign of Viego, you began to prepare for the worst. He could come for you any day, at any time, so you were confined to the home with either Lucian or Senna with you at all times. You were disappointed that you could no longer explore the city, but you couldn’t make yourself an easy target for Viego to snatch from the streets.

There were some back rooms with beds to sleep in, but you spent most of your time in the circular chamber that made up most of the building, talking with Senna and Lucian or helping them with tasks. The time going by was wearing on you all as you wondered when Viego would come. By the seventh day, you were unable to relax, constantly worried that every noise you heard denoted the return of the ruined king.

It was late into night of the seventh day, but none of you could sleep, all finding yourselves in the chamber room. You were sitting against the wall, watching Senna as she cleaned one of Lucian’s guns, her own large gun resting on the floor next to her. Lucian had been pacing for a while, and you could tell it was beginning to wear on Senna’s nerves.

“Lucian, if you need to–”

Senna’s quip was cut off by a loud chime sounding from outside. The wards.

Immediately, Senna was on her feet, tossing the gun she had been working on to Lucian before picking her own gun up as they both turned to face the hallway, which was the only way in and out of the building.

“Hide yourself!” Senna called hurriedly to you before turning back to face the hall, Lucian at her side with his guns trained on the hallway.

You quickly heeded her words; you couldn’t see any sign of the dark mist yet, but you knew it would only be a matter of time. You dashed over to an ordinary-looking panel on the wall that you would have found otherwise unnoteworthy, if it hadn’t been for Senna showing you how it worked a few days ago.

Pulling the panel to the side, the secret door slid open to reveal a small nook, just big enough for a person to stand inside. You looked back to Senna to see her staring at you, giving you a quick nod when you looked worriedly back at her. Not wanting to trouble them by ruining the plans, you got into the nook, closing the door carefully behind you.

You were largely in darkness, the only source of light being the small eye-level slit that gave you a one-way view into the chamber. You were glad there was a wall directly at your back, because the lack of space was the only thing keeping you standing right now in the face of the onset of terror you were feeling.

Viego didn’t leave you waiting long; Senna and Lucian jumped back as mist flooded the chamber, retreating to the center of the room.

“There!” Lucian called as a figure suddenly appeared through the mist.

Viego moved quickly to the side, dodging a bolt of light from Senna’s gun. He emerged fully from the mist, eyes scanning the area, assumedly looking for you. You knew that he couldn’t possibly see you, but it didn’t stop you from shrinking back.

“Where is she?!” Viego demanded, the anger in his voice sending a cold shiver down your back.

“Nowhere you need to worry about,” Lucian answered.

“I can feel her,” Viego snarled back, his mystical sword appearing in his grasp. “Where is she?!”

“I think you have bigger concerns right now,” Senna replied smoothly, and then she and Lucian jumped into action.

Lucian quickly moved to one side of the ruined king, firing bolts of light at him before backing out of Viego’s range. Meanwhile, Senna sent several strong blasts of light from her own gun Viego’s way, the two working together to try and take the king down.

Viego let out a frustrated growl as the bolts hit him, but didn’t appear to be injured like you certainly would be if you had been on the receiving end of the might of Senna and Lucian’s weapons.

Now that you thought about it, he didn’t seem any less powerful for someone who had triggered a series of wards that had winded Lucian on their lowest setting. Your theory was confirmed when he didn’t seem affected by anything Lucian or Senna threw his way. You would be frustrated, but neither one of them wavered, sending shot after shot at the ruined king.

“Enough!” Viego shouted, waves of mist pushing Senna and Lucian back. “You will surrender her to me or you will drown in my mist!”

As Senna and Lucian recovered their footing, the mist grew denser as it swirled around the room. You gasped as demonic green figures made of mist rose from the haze of black, and at the same time that Viego vanished into mist, they charged.

Lucian was firing bolts of light at the mist creatures left and right, but they were endless; as one was struck down, another one rose from the mist to take its place. As Lucian tried to fend off the creatures, Senna was forced to fight off Viego himself as he appeared before her, attempting to strike at her with his sword. It was a strange image, the two and their oversized weapons locked in combat, each trying to overpower the other.

The fight was quickly going bad for your friends; Viego was holding back nothing, his creatures aiding him by swiping at Senna, backing her into a corner as Lucian tried desperately to fight his way closer to her as she continued to shoot the creatures that tried to grab at her.

“You shouldn’t have the strength–” Senna growled as she fired at Viego.

“Your feeble wards cannot harm me,” Viego jeered as he swung his sword towards her. “Nothing will keep me from my queen.”

Viego stabbed his sword forward, but Senna was able to swerve out of the way, causing his sword to imbed into the wall opposite from where you were hiding. Viego then was forced to pull the tip of his sword from the wall, and Senna used that time to send a wide blast of light Lucian’s way, destroying the creatures that had surrounded him. Shooting Senna a grateful smile, Lucian began to fire at more creatures around the room, but his efforts still didn’t seem to be making a dent in the influx of creatures that filled the room.

Senna and Lucian’s luck ran out as Viego’s impatience reached a boiling point. With an angered grunt, he swung his sword at Senna, missing her body but striking her gun. The impact set Senna’s balance off, sending her falling to the ground, her gun spinning out of her grasp and onto the ground a few feet away from her. She made a desperate grab for her weapon, but was again stopped by a warning strike from Viego’s sword narrowly missing her arm.

Senna’s moment of weakness was quickly capitalized on by the mist wraiths as she was immediately swarmed, her body held down by many ghoulish creatures while Viego stood over her.

“Senna!”

Lucian’s desperate shout pierced the air as he charged forward, but was unable to get to Senna, his way blocked by the mist creatures. He shot bolt after bolt, but the demons pressed onwards, only growing in number. Soon he too was overwhelmed, pushed against the wall by the wraiths, his twin guns knocked to the floor. You watched with horror as they both struggled under the grasp of the wraiths, but were unable to break themselves free. The hope in your heart that this fight would be the end of Viego was snuffed out entirely as you watched Viego stand over Senna.

“Your life matters little to me, but I will offer one final choice. Give her to me or die,” Viego threatened, his voice cold with fury.

Senna glared up at him, struggling against the wraiths’ hold even as Viego loomed over her. “You will destroy this world.”

“I will destroy you,” Viego corrected. “And all of those who stand in the way of my love. I hope your impudence was worth your life.”

Viego raised his sword to strike Senna down, and you knew that you would only have seconds to act.

Senna and Lucian were willing to give their lives to protect you, but you couldn’t let that happen. You were not worth the lives of two strong, kind people; people who had rescued you and treated you with more care than the owner ever had, despite only knowing you for a week. One thought rang out loud and clear in your head as you watched Viego prepare to take Senna’s life; I can’t let her die.

You would only have a moment to save her life, so you didn’t waste a second, noisily shoving the secret door open.

“Stop!”

The attention of the three people in the room was drawn to you as you stepped forward, dark mist swirling around up to your knees. Viego’s eyes widened upon seeing you, but behind him, Senna was shaking her head, her eyes begging you to run. But you couldn’t run, not if you wanted to save her and Lucian.

“Please stop,” you implored the ruined king, forcing your legs forward even if the thought of moving closer to him terrified you. You had to do this for Senna and Lucian. You couldn’t allow your fear of what would happen to you to still your steps.

Viego’s sword dissolved into mist as he turned to face you, but the wraiths did not loosen their grip on your friends.

“My love,” Viego called as he began to approach you. “I knew I felt your soul call to mine.”

Ignoring his flowery words, you stopped a few feet from him, scared you would lose your nerve if you got any closer. “I’ll go with you, just please… please let them live.”

You stared into his otherworldly green eyes, trying to stay firm despite a desperate cry of your name from Senna. This was the only way, you reassured yourself. This was the only way to save their lives, even if it meant losing your own. You thought of the time in the marketplace with Senna, of listening to Lucian’s bad jokes, allowing the memories to keep your soul warm against the onslaught of dread you were facing down.

“You’ll come back to me?” Viego’s voice was kinder, softer than you had ever heard it sound as he continued to approach you.

“If you let them live,” you repeated. You could not see your friends beyond Viego’s broad form, but your voice still cracked with a sob as you addressed them. “Senna, Lucian… I’m sorry. And thank you for helping me.”

Viego raised a hand to wipe your tears away, ignoring the protests of Senna and Lucian behind him. “I knew I would find you again, my love.”

You knew it was coming, but you still let out a whimper as he once again materialized the buzzing orb of memories from the dark triangle on his chest, but unlike last time, there was no escape for you now.

“Together at last…” Viego whispered as he pressed the orb to your chest.

The orb felt cold, and then warm, too warm, as it pressed into your skin, absorbing into your body. You collapsed into Viego’s arms with a silent gasp of pain, the last thing you heard before passing out being Senna screaming your name.

There was a beautiful girl, her fingers delicately working a threaded needle through soft fabric that lay in her lap. You had never met her, but you knew who she was; after all, you had seen her corpse in your dreams. It was undoubtedly Isolde… you, from your past life.

You were surprised to find that you were watching the scene as yourself, not through her eyes. The realization brought you some measure of relief; maybe you were not lost entirely to her memory, at least not yet.

The scene around Isolde was blurry, but her figure was clear as day as you watched her gently sew along the fabric, and then it all blurred again. When the scene reformed itself, you watched a man approach her, young and handsome, his brown hair falling in waves to his chin. He was easily recognizable, but a far cry from the figure of unlife that he had become. Viego.

You couldn’t hear their voices, or the scene around them, but you watched as Viego bent down on one knee before Isolde and felt the shock and happiness that Isolde felt, and then the world around you warped once more.

Now you were in a magnificent castle, Viego and Isolde dressed in beautiful wedding clothes, figures leaning towards each other as they kissed. You could not see the faces of the crowd that watched, nor hear the vows exchanged; all you could feel was Isolde’s joy, which left you feeling warm, as if it was you there on your wedding day. It made sense; since it was you, the past you.

You felt the next scene before you saw it; a slow sadness appearing in your chest that left you feeling confused. Then the figures appeared; it was Viego and Isolde in a huge room together, his arms around her. Viego looked happier than you had ever seen him in unlife, but your eyes were drawn to Isolde. On her face was a small smile, but you knew she was sad, you could feel the quiet sadness radiating from her. But what did she have to be sad about? You followed her gaze, looking out a window to see a garden outside, birds flying around and flowers swaying gently with the breeze, but before you could get a closer look, you were gone again.

Now you saw Isolde standing behind Viego, her smile dimmer than before. Viego was wordlessly shouting at a faceless girl in servant’s clothes, a messy assortment of wildflowers crushed under Viego’s feet. Isolde was clutching at her skirt, and you felt a sense of powerlessness from her, along with that same sadness that held tight to her chest.

And then the scenes began to go by faster. Viego, blocking the way to the garden, sending Isolde back to their shared room. Viego, refusing entrance to the castle to an older woman who had the same eyes as Isolde while she watched the scene from a window high above in the castle. Viego pulling Isolde back to him when she tried to leave the room.

As the scenes flashed by, you could feel Isolde’s sadness grow. Time went on, and Isolde stopped smiling; you were watching her soul wither away a little more each time Viego cut another person out of her life. She was not allowed to see anybody but him, not allowed to leave his side even for a second… she was not a person anymore, but a doll to be moved at Viego’s whim.

She felt powerless, trapped by the man she had once loved. Your chest hurt, feeling like you were slowly being suffocated by the loneliness she felt; she was caged, shackled by his love, knowing there would be no escape.

But Viego still looked the same, no matter how many scenes passed by you. It was like he didn’t notice her pain, or maybe he didn’t care; didn’t care for anything but himself. You wanted to make it all stop; Isolde’s deep pain had nearly brought you to your knees, tears rolling down your cheeks as you desperately wished Viego would see her pain, but he never did. He always smiled that contented smile, never noticing that Isolde’s own didn’t reach her eyes.

The days finally slowed down and you were left standing in a large chamber room. The scene was tense; men in black swarmed the chamber, purple-tipped daggers poised to take the life of the king. Viego’s soldiers fought back valiantly, but one enemy broke through their ranks, dagger aimed at Viego’s heart, but their aim was put off course by a clever swipe from a spear. The poisoned dagger missed its target, but sliced Isolde instead, cutting through the sleeve of her dress and into the flesh of her arm.

Isolde knew as soon as the poison pierced her flesh that she would die. But while you expected to feel fear, worry, panic… all you felt was calm. The poison would slowly take her life, but that was what Viego had been doing over years with his possessive grip. At least at the end of this, she would be free in death, free of the iron grip Viego had on her in life. But alas, even death would not free her from his grasp.

The scene shifted one final time, and you knew what was coming. Viego held Isolde’s body, cold and dead, in his arms. The scene should have been upsetting, but the feelings that rushed through you were anything but. Isolde was dead, but her spirit was free at last, no longer a prisoner to Viego’s will.

But Viego would not allow her to be apart from him, even in death. So she rose, her anger finally unable to be contained, and stabbed him with his own sword. You watched the scene with no pity for the mortally-wounded Viego; Isolde had killed him, but she had been dead for many years before she had been poisoned. His love for her was more poisonous than any toxic dagger; he had been killing her slowly from the moment they had met, and only in death did she find the courage to return the favor.

Isolde had wanted a loving husband, but had ended up with a loving monster. This was nothing like the tale of true love Viego had spun, but he was the only one delusional enough to not see his marriage as what it was.

The scene faded to black at last, leaving you hurting body and soul, Isolde’s pain and sadness making your body feel numb from the inside out. You felt her emotions as if they were your own, and you supposed that they had been yours, a very long time ago.

The memories faded, and were quickly replaced by a soreness all over, like you had fallen from a decent height. Opening your eyes with a pained moan, you realized that you had beaten the odds; you had confronted Isolde’s memories, but you had not lost yourself to them. You were still you.

But with that good news came a lot of bad. You woke up in a bed, in a room that you had never seen before. The room was ornate, but looked dilapidated due to time. The gold posts of the canopy bed you laid in were speckled with dust, the blanket you laid under severely wrinkled.

Sitting up, you were relieved to see that you were still in the blue dress you had been wearing back in that chamber when you had given yourself up to Viego to save Senna and Lucian. You had passed out before you could ensure Viego kept his word, the memories too much for you to handle. For now, you chose to believe that they were alive, because knowing that you had done everything you could and they had still perished would crush what was left of your spirit.

You doubted you were still in Demacia, and one look outside the half-scratched window was enough to confirm that fact. The outside of the castle was even more depressing than the inside; the outside walls were cracked, the stones covered in black vegetation that you would have thought was ivy if it weren’t the color of tar. Angel statues on raised platforms stood tall in the outside courtyard, looking extremely out of place amidst the sinister green mist that seemed to hover over the whole area.

The supernatural layer of mist confirmed it; you had been taken to the Shadow Isles. The realization made your chances of escape nearly nonexistent. The Shadow Isles were filled with undead creatures hungry for the souls of the living, if the stories you had heard about this place were to be believed. And looking over the land that seemed to radiate unlife, you were certainly inclined to believe them.

Footsteps from outside the room broke your focus away from the view outside. Looking quickly around the room, you did not see anywhere to hide. With no other option, you began to back up to the far wall, staring at the large ornamental door as terror burned in your chest.

The door creaked open slowly, revealing the figure of the man you least wanted to see right now. While your mood dimmed upon seeing him, a smile lit up his face when he caught sight of you.

Viego wasted no time striding over to you while you stayed still, back against the wall both physically and metaphorically. Strangely, as he approached you, your fear began to morph into disgust. This man would not let you go, no matter how many lives you lived or places you went. As he took you into his arms, one word repeated in your head like the beat of a drum. Selfish.

He had stolen Isolde’s happiness, locked her away like a bird in a cage, and now he was doing the same to you. Letting out an internal sigh, you wished that you could go back to your boring farm days, which felt like they had been years ago, not weeks. But Viego did not give up his possessions easily, and that’s what you were now. A doll for a selfish king to keep by his side forever.

You hadn’t realized you were crying again until Viego had pulled back, his fingers sweeping across your cheeks to catch the tears.

“You’re safe, my queen,” he whispered, his words doing nothing to comfort you. And besides, you were clearly not safe if the biggest threat to your safety was standing before you, oblivious to all he had done.

You didn’t know what to do now; he wasn’t going to let you go, but you would rather die than live the rest of your life trapped in this place, pretending you were still the dead king’s dead wife.

“I have waited so long for you to return to me again,” he said, his jade green eyes staring into yours, ignoring your plight, just as he always did with Isolde.

You were tired, you were sad, and you were angry. But Viego only saw his own reflection in your eyes. He only saw what he wanted to see; you wondered if he even saw your features when he looked at you, or just superimposed Isolde’s features over yours in his mind’s eye.

It was a strange feeling; you wanted to be anywhere but here, but at the same time, you wanted the man before you to at least see you as you were now, to know your name even if he addressed you by another. Your mind was a mess, your heart even more so, but you would find no comfort in Viego’s arms, nor in his words.

“Isolde–”

“Don’t call me that!” you shouted, ripping yourself from his arms as you could no longer calm your rising anger. “And don’t call me your wife either! You have never cared about me, not back then and not now. You have never cared about anyone but yourself, Viego! You should have let Isolde stay dead!”

Viego looked shocked and hurt by your words, his silver eyebrows raised high on his forehead. You were expecting him to yell back, to tell you to know your place, but he just stood there, and then like the mist, he vanished.

His form turned to mist, and as you watched him flee, you couldn’t help a desire to have the final word.

“My name is–”

He was gone before you could say your name, but you shouted it anyways. Even if he didn’t use your name, it felt good to say it, even just to remind yourself that you were not the person you had been in your past life. Whatever happened, you would not allow this place to steal your identity from you.

You waited in silence, but Viego did not return. After some time, you reluctantly sat back down on the bed, your feet tired of standing, but Viego still did not come back to the room.

You were unsure what to make of what had happened. The Viego you had seen flee the room contradicted everything you knew about him. Could your words really have reached him? It was the only conclusion you could come to, but it sounded so unbelievable; an all-powerful dead king fleeing a room after being called selfish by a small town farm girl.

The encounter had been short, but you found yourself already tired. With no sign of Viego returning, and not much else to do, you slipped back under the ruffled covers, laying your head on the same pillow you had woken up on.

Maybe it was owing to your trip through Isolde’s memories that you were so tired now. Closing your eyes, you were relieved that you were still you, though you were still having a hard time reconciling how to see yourself with your time as Isolde. You had been her a long time ago, but she still felt like a different person, like a character in a story. You looked different, and lived different lives, but you were still weighed down by the possessiveness of the same man.

You had been surprised to see Viego look so hurt, but you refused to feel bad about what you had said. It seemed like everyone around him, including Isolde, had been too afraid to confront the king on his faults, at least that was what you assumed. You didn’t know where you got the courage yourself; maybe it was Isolde’s sorrow and frustration finally boiling over from a lifetime of being controlled that emboldened your tongue.

Either way, what you had said could not be taken back, so there was no point in ruminating over the situation, not when you were already having a hard time focussing on anything with how exhausted you were. There would be time to lament your situation when you woke up, you decided, consciousness drifting off at last.

You were surprised to feel so well-rested, but your mood was brought back down when you opened your eyes to the same dusty room you had fallen asleep in. It was just as empty as it was before, save for your body under the covers.

With how dedicated he had been to capturing you, Viego’s sudden absence was surprising. You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but everything in the room looked the same as it had before you had gone to sleep, so you had to assume that he had not returned while you were sleeping. It was probably for the best; you wouldn’t know what to say to him even if he was here.

Upon waking up, you were confronted with a new problem; your empty stomach. Come to think of it, when was the last time that you had ate something? You still had no idea how long you had been unconscious after Viego forced Isolde’s memories into you, but you had a vague recollection of eating some steamed buns Lucian had brought back from the market a few hours before Viego had attacked. But clearly that had been a while ago, if the gnawing emptiness in your stomach was any indication.

You were reluctant to leave the room and risk running into Viego, fearful of his anger after what you had said to him, but your stomach was so empty it hurt. Maybe you would get lucky and find a fruit laying around and scramble back to your room before you were caught. With that hope in mind, you walked quietly over to the door, prepared to do what you had to in order to survive for the rest of the day.

Unfortunately for you, the rest of the castle was just as dusty and dilapidated as your room had been. It was clear that this place was very old; anyone who had lived here in life was long dead by now. Eventually, you located the closest thing to a kitchen you thought you would find in this place, but instead of food, you found dust, cobwebs and the occasional brittle rat skeleton, which crumbled to dust under your touch.

There was no food here, that much was obvious, which led you to a new dilemma. You couldn’t ask Viego for food; for one, he terrified you, and there was also the fact that you had no idea where he even was. The castle was too large for you to check every room for him with any great speed, and so far you had not heard or seen any evidence of anyone else in this place but yourself.

So what were you supposed to do now? The thought of walking out into the Shadow Isles terrified you to your core, but what alternative did you have? Stay here and starve to death, a prisoner to a man who seemed like he had no further use for you if you weren’t the same person you were when you were Isolde?

It seemed that Viego avoiding you was a blessing in more ways than one, because now he wasn’t here to stop you from leaving the castle. It was easy enough for you to find the front door, following the patchy red carpet until it led down a long staircase that took you to another ornate door. Whoever’s castle this had been must have either been royalty or obscenely wealthy to live in a place this grand. The entryway alone was almost the size of the entire farmhouse back in your hometown. As grand as it was, you hoped that you would never see this awful, lonely place again once you exited the door.

The door was a lot heavier than it looked, but you managed to pry it open, the chill of the outside air telling you immediately that you were about to do something very dangerous. But it was this or starve, you reminded yourself as you took the first step outside, and it was better that you tried to find your way off of this island before you were too weak from lack of food and water.

Sinister green mist clung to the land, thick enough to obscure the far away, but just thin enough for you to see twenty or so feet around yourself. You remembered hearing as a child that the mist of the Shadow Isles was made up of the souls of the damned that had once lived here, but seeing it now, you hoped that it wasn’t true.

The stone angel statues were even more unsettling up close, standing on either side of the pathway like guards, their stone eyes seemingly staring down at you as you passed. Every step you took, you were scared the cracked ground would give out under you, but it held fast. It was a miracle that this awful place didn’t just crumble and sink into the cursed waters that surrounded it.

You quickened your steps, eager to be rid of this place as soon as possible. That, and the faster you were out of here the better a chance you had of getting off this island before Viego noticed you were gone.

The angel-statue-lined pathway opened up to a network of crumbled stone walls of all different heights that looked way more worse for wear than the castle behind you. It looked like this might have been a city over a thousand years ago, before the isles had fallen into this eternal darkness. But now you were the only person here, likely the only living person on this whole cursed island, at least until you got yourself back to civilization.

You picked up your pace even more as you entered a forested area, though the forest itself consisted solely of long-dead trees, their branches black and thin. What you hoped was wind howled, shaking the spindly branches, leaving you to duck and weave through them, their thorns scraping against your clothes and skin. You kept moving onward, pressing on despite the pain from the new cuts on your body, unwilling to turn back now that you had come this far.

You pushed through a difficult thicket of branches, panting from the effort as you looked down at your dress. The once-beautiful blue fabric now bore many tears, stained by your blood where the branches had cut you. You couldn’t imagine your face and hair looked any better, but you could worry about that later.

Taking in your own sorry state, you failed to take in the threat that was quickly closing in on you. You looked up from your dress, expecting to see more branches in your way, but jolted back with a gasp when you noticed the large figure standing fifteen feet or so in front of you.

The figure before you was giant, easily the width of several men, its gray flesh packed with bulk and muscle. It was bald, and wore no shirt, wearing only spiked shoulder armor on its upper half, while its lower half was covered by a large loincloth and equally-spiky leg armor.

It must have been human at some point, but it was far from that now. Its eyes were the same spectral green as the mist that hung over the island, that same green dripping out of his mouth in a drool-like fog. Its skin was tough-looking, like it was halfway between skin and rock, two large chipped horns made from craggy stone jutting out from the sides of its head. It had a manacle on each wrist; broken chains hanging from both of them. That gave you one more terrifying insight; while it was alive, it had clearly been some kind of criminal. And now it was here in front of you, unchained, its focus solely on you.

You turned to run, but the creature was faster. Its gaping maw opened wide with a horrible roar, and you were forced to grab onto a branch to try and resist the sudden pressure you felt pulling you back towards it. Looking back, you saw even the spectral mist being sucked into its sharp-toothed mouth, but you knew that you were its target, not breaking its focus as it stared you down with empty, dead eyes.

You couldn’t escape, you couldn’t even move an inch farther away from the monster’s supernatural pull. You tried to reach for a farther away branch to pull yourself to, but were forced to bring your hand back to the branch you held onto as holding on with only one hand made it much harder to keep yourself from being dragged further back.

Your fingers were hurting, the pressure pulling on you becoming more and more intense, and evidently the creature was done waiting. Not letting up on its pull, it began to move closer, and the pull got even stronger. Shaking from the effort of keeping your hold on the branch, you had no way of escaping it.

Was starving to death really a worse option than this? You had been so stupid, thinking that you had any chance of escaping this island; now this creature would ensure that you would never leave.

With a pained cry, your grip gave out at last, the branch slipping from your fingers as you fell to the ground. You tried desperately to grab at the cracked earth, but your hands could not find purchase in the ground no matter what you did as you were pulled closer and closer to the creature’s open jaw.

The closer you got to it, the weaker you felt, as if the monster was draining your very soul from your body. As the thought came to you, you realized that it was very likely to be the truth; the Shadow Isles were a place of eternal torment, it would not be out of place for this island to be filed with soul-sucking monstrosities.

You were almost within the creature’s grasp now, no more than five feet away from its razor-sharp teeth and black clawed nails. You were feeling more and more drained as it pulled you closer, your vision getting fuzzy as you tried to focus on anything other than your impending death, but it just wasn’t happening. It wasn’t like you had been expecting to see your life flash by your eyes like you had heard happened to people when they were about to die, but right now you would welcome any sight other than the one you had right now of the creature pulling you in, his eyes aglow with sinister satisfaction.

Just as a clawed hand reached down to take hold of your leg, it was sliced clean off at the elbow, stone skin clattering to the ground next to you. The creature let out a pained howl, which turned out to be the last sound it would ever make as it was then cleaved in half by a sword longer than you were tall, one you had thought you had left behind in that castle along with its wielder.

Freed from the monster’s pull, you scrambled away from its dismembered parts, wanting to be as far away from the horrible creature as possible. Shaking from your ordeal, you stared at Viego’s back, then at his face as he turned your way, letting his sword turn into mist as he caught sight of your quivering form.

You went still, afraid of the king’s wrath at your escape from his castle, but were surprised when he rushed over to you, pulling you to your feet and wrapping his arms around you.

“I thought… I thought I would lose you again,” he spoke into your hair, his words full of sorrow and pain as he held you to him.

You weren’t sure what to make of his behavior; it almost sounded to you like he was crying as he spoke, but you were reluctant to pull back and check. Instead, you reached up with sore arms and wrapped them around his waist, closing your eyes and leaning your head against his chest. A day ago you could never have imagined embracing this man, but he had saved your life, and right now you just wanted to feel safe, even if that safety came in Viego’s arms.

“Why did you save me?” you sniffled, voice muffled by his jacket, but loud enough for him to hear in the now deathly quiet forest.

Viego pulled back from the embrace with a sad exhale, his red-rimmed eyes telling you that he had indeed been crying as you had thought. Resting his forehead against your own, he stared into your eyes, brushing some stray hairs away from your face.

“I saved you because I love you,” he answered, voice quiet and hoarse. “Now tell me… why did you leave?”

“I…” You pondered how to answer his question, but decided there would be no point in lying to him, not when he hadn’t made any moves to harm you despite having good reason to be upset with you. “I was scared… and hungry.”

“…hungry?” he echoed, looking perplexed for a short moment before his green eyes went wide.

“Please forgive me, my love,” he spoke, sounding genuinely panicked. “It has been so long, I had forgotten–”

You couldn’t help yourself. “…you forgot that people need to eat food?”

“I haven’t… not since I became…” He was lost in his own world for a moment, before something seemed to come to him. “You’re…”

Without another word, he raised an arm, summoning one of his mist ghouls, who took off ahead of you, passing harmlessly through the mess of thorned branches along the forest path. You weren’t sure where it was going, but if it wasn’t after you, you found yourself lacking the strength to care about the ghoul’s mission.

Feeling drained, you leaned more of your weight into Viego, having a hard time keeping yourself upright. Viego’s eyebrows furrowed in worry as he looked down at you, but your eyelids were already drooping. You felt strong arms lift your body up as your eyes closed, head resting against cold skin. You could only hope that the creature hadn’t drained the life entirely out of you, but for now you had no consciousness left to worry about anything as you drifted off again for the third time since Viego had taken you.

“I pushed her to this…”

Waking up, your stomach was no less empty, but your head felt clearer. You had never considered yourself a lucky person, but you weren’t sure how else you could still be alive after all you had been through recently.

Your eyes didn’t want to open, not yet, but you were immediately aware of a feeling on your head. It took you a few groggy seconds to realize that it was a hand, slowly petting your hair. You had never had anyone stroke your hair before, but found it comforting; maybe your parents had done this before the fire, but the owner had never coddled you like this, even as a child. Absently, you mused that it had been a long time since you had anyone in your life that cared for you, when you were used to an existence of being merely tolerated.

Opening your eyes, you finally remembered where you were as you looked up at the man whose lap your head rested in. Viego’s hand stilled when he noticed that you were awake, but resumed petting your hair when you leaned your head into his now-gloveless hand, seeking out his comforting touch. Neither of you spoke, and you closed your eyes again, deciding to accept the comfort this moment offered you.

“…I was scared,” Viego said at last, and you opened your eyes again to look at him. “I felt that you had gone, and then I felt your terror… I thought that I had lost you again.”

You weren’t sure what to say, but it worked in your favor as Viego was not finished. “I have done awful things, committed atrocities, all to return you to my side. But I never realized that I was only thinking of myself. Your pain… it is all my fault.”

You felt overcome with the need to deny his assertion as you stared at his sad eyes, but you couldn’t. It was true. He had done terrible things and caused you pain not only in this life, but in your life as Isolde.

“I do not deserve your forgiveness,” he said, sounding like the words were hard for him to say. “But I will do anything to earn it. I…”

His voice trailed off as he removed his hand from your hair. You looked away from him and towards the same door you had exited when you had thought you had been leaving this room behind for good, as you considered his words. With those words, the power dynamic was shifting between you for the first time; he was willing to do whatever you asked of him in order for you to forgive him. And while you weren’t sure what it would mean for you to forgive him, you couldn’t allow this chance to pass you by.

“I want you to call me by my name now, not Isolde,” you said, sitting up and staring into his eyes, trying to silently communicate to him how serious you were with your stare. “And I would like some food and water.”

“Your… name,” he spoke softly, looking down at the bed sheets.

You repeated your name, and he still didn’t look up, but you weren’t quite done. If he was offering anything, you were going to see how far you could push your luck.

“…and I want to go back to Demacia.” You saw the alarm in his face and quickly made to soften the blow. “I want to tell Senna and Lucian that I’m okay. You can come with me if you want.”

“…if that is what you want,” he said eventually.

You could tell that he likely felt rejected by the stiffness of his shoulders and his refusal to look at you, but you would not back down, not when you had gotten him to agree to take you back to Demacia. You weren’t sure how Senna and Lucian would react to seeing you show up with Viego at your heels, but you knew that it was likely the only reason you had gotten him to agree to your request.

Your eyes had been wandering the room again when a soft call of your name had you turning back to face Viego, surprised that he had actually called you by your name. He was looking at you at last, but looked uncomfortable, like a fish thrown onto land.

Reaching down beside the bed, he picked up a simple stone bowl, handing it over to you. Inside, you found some circular objects that looked like oranges that were well past their prime, the orange of their rind mixed with patches of gray.

“Are those… tangor?” you asked. Demacian tangor were a mix of orange and tangerine grown all over Demacia. They were a little sour for your liking, so you hadn’t had one since you were a child.

“I had my servants fetch them. They are the only thing that grows here that will not poison you,” Viego replied.

His voice had hitched at the word poison, but you didn’t mention it, not wanting to draw attention to it. That was how Isolde had died, from a poisoned dagger. Even though you were with him now, it wasn’t like your presence erased the wounds of his past. You were just grateful that he had stopped being so domineering, at least for the moment. You weren’t sure what this was, or what you wanted this to be, but you knew that you were stuck with him at least for the foreseeable future.

Viego left the room to prepare for your journey back to Demacia, leaving you to eat in peace. The tangor were even more sour than you remembered them being, but you happily ate them, relieved to have some food at last.

With Viego gone, you allowed yourself to relax, free of his stare and his unstated expectations. He didn’t have to say it for you to know that he still wanted you to be his wife, or lover, or however it was he saw you in his mind. You hated yourself for even considering being with him in any capacity after the things he had done, but at the same time, you found yourself reluctant to fully close the door on the idea.

He had shown to you that he could do good things, even if they had only been for your benefit. You didn’t have to agree to anything right now, you reminded yourself, at least not while he wasn’t pressing the topic. But as of right now, you wanted to see if you could help Viego, even if you weren’t sure exactly how.

You stared at the bowl of tangor rinds, wishing an answer to your problems would come to you, but you knew that it wouldn’t be that easy. At least you would get to see Senna and Lucian soon; you wanted to make sure they were both okay, and you knew they were probably worried about you.

Placing the bowl back on the floor, you decided to take a look into the large closet in the corner of the room. Your own outfit was a mess; barely hanging together in places after running through the thorned branches. As much as you loved this dress, it was not in any shape to be worn. Hopefully the closet would have something passable to wear in it.

There were quite a few old-fashioned dresses, but they were too gaudy and frilly for your tastes. Sifting through the clearly upper-class clothing, you eventually came upon a dark green hooded cloak that looked out of place with all of the fancy dresses. Pulling it out, you realized that it would probably make a good disguise for Viego; Senna would likely shoot him on sight before you could explain, and you didn’t want Viego to have any reason to try and harm your friends.

Setting the cloak on the bed, you leafed through the rest of the closet, finally settling on the simplest dress you could find, a non-corseted, non-frilly purple dress with long sleeves and a scoop neckline with a hem that went to your ankles. The dress was a bit long for your liking, but it wasn’t covered in frills up to your neck, so it would have to do.

You changed into the purple dress, laying your old one on the bed, and had been running your fingers over a tear in the skirt when Viego re-entered the room. Sighing, you turned away from the dress, mentally apologizing to Senna for ruining the beautiful dress.

You waved Viego over, and he approached immediately, face stony and uncertain. Picking up the cape, you just hoped he would agree to put it on.

“So you won’t stand out in Demacia,” you said, holding the cloak out to him.

“If this is what you desire,” he answered. Though he didn’t seem to understand your concerns, he dutifully wrapped the cloak around his shoulders.

Reaching up, you fastened the clasps at the front of the cloak, trying not to feel shy being so close to his intense stare that you was pointed right at your face. You couldn’t avoid his eyes as you pulled the hood over his silver hair, careful not to let the fabric get caught on the metal bands that tied off sections of his hair into low ponytails. With the cloak fully closed, the black triangle on his chest was also no longer visible, which would definitely invite suspicion if left uncovered.

“Promise me you won’t hurt my friends,” you said, needing to hear him say it.

His glare was deadly. “If they harm you…”

“They won’t,” you replied quickly. “Haven’t you had friends before?”

That was evidently the wrong question to ask, because Viego looked like you had hit him in another sore spot, like back when you had yelled at him. Come to think of it, you didn’t remember really seeing him with anybody else when you had watched Isolde’s memories. No wonder his world had collapsed when Isolde… when your past self had died; she was his world, as sad and lonely as that was.

“How are we getting to Demacia?” you asked, figuring you should be merciful and change the subject, feeling bad as you looked up at Viego’s awkward stare.

“The mist,” he answered, and you turned your eyes to his chest where you knew the triangle of black lay hidden under the cloak you had forced him into. “It will carry us over the waters.”

You weren’t thrilled with the prospect of being surrounded by the black mist again, but the unknown waters that surrounded the Shadow Isles were even more daunting; at least you were confident that the mist would not harm you now.

You followed Viego to the cracked window, standing behind him as he opened it, revealing a clearer view of the dark, desolate isle. You were too far inland to be able to see the ocean, your view out of the window largely consisting of millennium-old rubble and patches of dark forest that must have been where you had run into that creature. You stared outside the window, wondering why he had led you here, at least until you noticed the mist that had begun to seep through Viego’s cloak.

“We’re not going to… jump?” The thought horrified you. There was no way you would survive a fall from this high up, mist or no mist.

“I will carry you in my arms,” Viego corrected you. “And then we will travel in the mist.”

You shivered as you considered his plan. “…you won’t drop me?”

You were half-joking, but Viego didn’t seem to pick up on that, one hand cupping your cheek as he stared down at you, voice deathly serious. “I will not allow any harm to come to you. Not again.”

You were once again taken aback by the intensity in his green eyes, even under the shadow of his cloak’s hood. You were still getting used to his devotion to you; it was a weird feeling having someone care about you after so many years of being without anyone who even cared enough to ask you about how your day had gone.

You weren’t sure what the owner’s fate had been, but you were confident that if he had seen you with Viego that day at the farm, he would’ve turned tail and ran, unlike Senna and Lucian, who came to your aid even when you had been a stranger to them. Maybe you should stop thinking of the farm as your home; because if you really thought about it, the only thing that tied you to the farm in the first place was your own fear of not being able to make it if you left.

You allowed Viego to take you into his arms as the mist surrounded you, pressing your face into his shoulder in order to avoid seeing just how far below you the ground was. You felt Viego move, likely exiting the window, and braced yourself for the drop that didn’t end up coming.

You could feel that you were moving, like you were in the arms of someone who was walking on solid earth, even if you knew you were walking through the sky and not the ground. You weren’t sure if the mist blocked your view of the ground entirely or not, but you were too scared to look.

“You were never this afraid of heights back then,” came Viego’s teasing voice from above you.

You doubted that Isolde had ever seen heights like this from the sky, but you welcomed his attempt at conversation, desperately needing a distraction from your growing curiosity to look away from Viego’s shoulder.

“How are you not scared?” you mumbled into his shoulder.

Viego let out a soft, sad laugh. “After what I have seen, what I have lost… there are more horrifying things in this world than heights.”

That was true; he had over a thousand years of life experience on you. Even if you had lived back then, your only memories from that time were ones you had seen flash by you when you had been exposed to Isolde’s memories. You couldn’t pretend you had experienced the hardships that he had; you had died, and he had been left behind, stuck as an undying mist wraith.

“…I’m sorry I yelled at you,” you said quietly as you listened to the sound of the wind whipping by.

“They were words I should have heard long ago,” he replied. He was silent for a long time, so long that you thought he was done talking, but then he spoke up again. “I led your life to ruin back then, and I was about to do it again.”

You let out a soft exhale against the soft material of the cloak. You couldn’t deny his words, you knew you couldn’t, but you also didn’t want to give up on him entirely. Right now, here in his arms, it really felt like all you had in this world was each other. You knew that you also had Senna and Lucian, but you didn’t have the history with them that you had with Viego. That, and while you considered them your friends, they would always be each other’s most important person; you didn’t want to admit it out loud, but you really wanted what they had, to be the most important person in the world to someone.

You both seemed content to let the conversation drop as you adjusted your face against Viego’s shoulder, the ends of his silver hair brushing against your forehead. Opening your eyes at last, you stared at his hair as it swayed with the wind. If you hadn’t seen it yourself, you would have found it hard to believe that his hair used to be a rich brown, a far cry from the silver it was now. But he wasn’t the same person he was then, both physically and mentally.

You couldn’t deny that you found him attractive; his eyes were deep-set, his jawline sharp and lips soft-looking. You immediately regretted observing his face when he looked down at you just as you were staring at his lips. You hurriedly looked away, not wanting to be caught staring. Viego did not say anything, but you could feel his eyes on you, even after you closed your own eyes again, leaning your face fully back into his cloak.

The trip to Demacia felt very long, and you had been drifting in and out of sleep, with little else to do, when you felt Viego’s feet touch down onto the ground. Opening your eyes at long last, you watched as the mist that surrounded you faded away, returning to Viego’s chest and revealing the area around you.

You were standing on a cliff, the beautiful blue waters of Demacia at your back. Demacia City stood before you in all its pearly glory, looking exactly the same as it had the last time you had been here.

It looked to be mid-afternoon, the sun shining high in the sky. It was nice to see light again instead of the dreary permanent dark of the isles.

While this was not your first time here now, you still had a difficult time figuring out the way to Lucian and Senna’s place from your current location. You looked over the paths that led into town, trying to figure out if any of them seemed familiar, finally settling on a small stone path that led along the coast. You remembered that their house had been close to the coast, so you hoped that you would eventually find it if you kept on the path.

You turned back to Viego, making sure his hood was down over his head before you two set off on the path. The last thing you needed was for anyone to notice Viego before you got to your destination; you were just lucky he had let you put the cloak on him or else you’d be much more worried about your chances of going unnoticed.

Viego walked at your side, sticking fairly close to you, eyes casually but tactically scanning the area as if searching for threats. There were some people milling about the area, but not many, and none that looked like a threat to you, not unless Viego threatened them first.

“Your… friends,” Viego spoke up, sounding as if the word itself was foreign to him. “Are you certain they will not welcome me with weapons drawn?”

You frowned. “I hope not.”

“They would not be the first,” he sneered bitterly.

“Viego.” You grabbed onto his arm and he looked down at you, staring first at your hand on his arm and then up to your face. “I will make sure they won’t attack you, but you have to be nice as well. No mist, and no giant sword.”

You felt like you were lecturing a child, but hoped Viego wouldn’t feel like you were treating him like one. You swallowed nervously as you stared at him, pleading with your eyes for him to agree to play nice with Lucian and Senna.

His eyes seemed to soften as he stared at you. “I can deny you nothing.”

“Thank you,” you replied happily, letting out a small noise of recognition as you spotted the building that you were looking for in the distance.

Leading Viego over, you signalled for him to wait behind you. He half-obeyed, but stood much closer than you had meant. You let it go, knowing you weren’t likely going to be able to convince him to leave your side, instead knocking on the door.

The wards that you and Senna had set up still lay scattered around the outside of the building, the lack of glow about them telling you that they weren’t activated. You knocked again after no response, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as you waited. Just as you were about to knock a third time, you heard movement from inside at last, stepping back slightly as you waited for the door to open. You felt Viego tense up behind you, but had to focus on the door in front of you as it opened to reveal a frantic Lucian.

He called your name with relief in his voice until he noticed the figure behind you, his features turning grave instantly.

You raised your hands up in front of you, desperate to stop the incoming fight. “Lucian, wait! He’s not here to hurt anyone!”

Lucian looked very skeptical, but paused his hands reaching down to his guns. “Y’know, I can probably activate those wards from here.”

“It’s fine,” you replied, relieved by the joking tone in his voice. “Can we come in?”

Lucian sighed, stepping away from the door to allow you both to enter. “Senna’s not gonna be happy when she gets back.”

“She’s not here?” you clarified.

“Nah,” he answered. “She went out earlier to get some supplies for, uh, findin’ you…”

“…oh,” you replied guiltily.

Lucian led you down the hall and into the large chamber that you had been in when Viego had ultimately captured you. But now there was no mist filling the room, and no weapons drawn, at least not for now.

Lucian stood awkwardly in front of you, picking at invisible lint on his jacket while you looked between him and Viego, who had taken off his hood when you had entered the room.

Nobody was saying anything until Lucian finally broke the oppressive silence. “So how have you been?”

“Good,” you said, desperate to latch onto Lucian’s attempt at conversation.

“Dead,” Viego answered at the same time.

You and Lucian stared at each other for a short moment before you were interrupted by the sound of the door opening down the hallway. Lucian sprang into action immediately, quickly dashing into the hall, likely to warn Senna about what she was walking into.

Once Lucian’s figure was out of sight, you turned to Viego, knowing you had to keep him calm.

“Please don’t hurt her, Viego,” you pleased. “She doesn’t–”

You were cut off by a loud exclamation from the hallway.

“He’s where?! Lucian, get out of my way!” came Senna’s enraged voice from the hall.

You heard rapid footfalls coming your way, Viego stepping in front of you before you could think to stop him as Senna entered the room.

“You–”

You began to panic when you saw dark mist trickling from the front of Viego’s cloak as Senna stormed towards the two of you.

“I won’t let her harm you,” Viego hissed quietly.

“She won’t hurt me,” you insisted quickly, grabbing onto his arm.

You stepped in front of Viego as Senna came over to you and quickly had your wrist snatched by Senna, who pulled you behind her.

Viego stepped forward, but Senna wasn’t having it, pinning him with a fierce glare. “You can stay there, ruined king. You’re lucky you’re still breathing in my home after what you’ve done.”

Viego didn’t look happy at her words, but kept his eyes on yours as you desperately shook your head at him, pleading silently for him to back down. You stared into his green eyes, hoping he would listen to you, and slowly, he backed down, fists unclenching but face still tense. You let out a quiet exhale, relieved that he had listened to you, although a glance at Senna told you that she was no less angry.

Lucian slowly stepped forward with an overly friendly smile on his face. “How about we have a conversation while the ladies talk?”

Viego stared at Lucian, face blank, but Senna didn’t hesitate, pulling you with her to the other side of the chamber and out of earshot of the boys. Once she had felt you were far enough away from them, she stopped, letting go of your wrist and pulling you into a short hug.

“You had us so worried,” she scolded, pulling back from the hug.

“I’m sorry,” you said, guilt pooling in your stomach.

Senna sent you a hard look. “Why would you do something so dangerous?”

You bit your lip as you thought back to that moment. “It was the only thing I could think to do. I couldn’t let you and Lucian get hurt.”

Senna let out an amused breath, shaking her head. “I can’t say I didn’t appreciate what you did, but it was stupid.”

“I know,” you agreed. “I thought I was going to die.”

“But you didn’t,” Senna countered. “Though I can’t say I understand why. What did you do to tame him like this?”

“I, uh…” It felt weird to say out loud, but you had no other explanation that made any sense. “I called him selfish.”

Senna stared at you for a second, and just as you were starting to think that she didn’t believe you, she surprised you by bursting out in laughter. She took at least a minute to calm down, and you just stared at her in confusion, not sure what you had said that was funny.

“Well that’s been a long time coming,” she said at last, before noticing you staring at her in shock and shrugging. “Never thought I would see the day.”

“I may have been a bit mean,” you admitted, voice dropping to a whisper. “I told him he should have let Isolde stay dead.”

Senna’s eyebrows raised in surprise before she let out another small huff of laughter, glancing briefly over at Viego. “Can’t say he didn’t deserve it. Probably deserved worse.”

“It was just… after seeing how he treated Isolde for so long… I couldn’t stop myself,” you said.

Senna nodded. “I’ve thought the same things myself, but the difference is Viego actually seems to listen to you.”

“Yeah, it’s weird,” you replied, sneaking a quick glance at Viego, only to find him already looking your way. You looked back to Senna, feeling awkward locking eyes with Viego like this in front of Senna. “I was so mad at him, but now I’m just confused about what I want.”

Senna didn’t reply, merely raising an eyebrow as a prompt for you to explain. You swallowed nervously, resisting the urge to look back at Viego as you explained your thoughts. You told Senna about Viego fleeing the room, about escaping the castle and running into the soul-sucking monster, and then Viego coming to your rescue.

“At first, I just thought he was scary, but after that… I don’t know. After going most of my life without anybody who cared about me, I…”

“…you want to give him a chance?” Senna finished for you, her voice frustratingly neutral, not giving you any insights on how she was feeling, but it wasn’t as if she was off the mark. You didn’t want to lie to her, so you nodded, unable to help but feel like you were letting her down.

Senna sighed a slow sigh, but didn’t look angry. “So have you told him?”

“Told him?” you echoed.

Senna rolled her eyes at you. “Told him that you want to be with him?”

You averted your eyes, staring at the stone floor. “…no.”

“He won’t know unless you tell him. Men aren’t always great with that kind of stuff,” Senna joked. “I had to spell it out for Lucian, and he’s one of the smart ones.”

“Right,” you agreed. She was right; you couldn’t just hope that Viego would somehow understand what you were thinking, though the thought of opening yourself up to him like that made you nervous.

“We have a smaller place just outside the city for when we need to lay low,” Senna said, fishing a key out of her pocket and handing it to you. “It should have enough supplies to sustain you while you figure things out with him.”

“Thank you,” you replied, stunned by her generosity.

“Come back and see us when you’ve got things sorted,” she replied with a smile. “And make him earn your forgiveness. If he does anything, just let me know and I’ll make him regret it.”

“I will,” you promised with a smile. You really didn’t deserve a friend as good as Senna.

Senna seemed happy with your response. “Then let’s go and save Lucian. He never was great at making small talk.”

You both turned your attention back to the two men across the room and their conversation.

“…so the mist, does it come from inside you or something?”

“The mist flows from my black heart,” Viego answered in a monotone.

“Oh, uh–”

Lucian was saved by Senna’s approach. “Alright boys, we’re done.”

You stifled a laugh at Lucian’s obvious relief at being rescued from his attempted conversation with Viego. Viego, on the other hand, seemed to forget Lucian existed the moment you came close, which was both flattering and embarrassing.

“How about you come with me to return the armor I bought and we pick up some sugar rolls on the way back?” Senna proposed to Lucian.

“Huh? But–” Lucian looked tempted by the offer, but looked back at you with a concerned frown.

“They’re fine,” Senna insisted. “They have somewhere to be anyways. I’ll explain it to you on the way.”

Lucian finally relented, allowing Senna to drag him towards the front door. But before they got too far, Senna turned her head back to you.

“Keep down the road for about an hour. It’s the one with a sun on the front door.”

You nodded and Senna wished you luck before pulling a still-confused Lucian with her out the front door. You really owed her; you would have to try and make it up to her and Lucian after you sorted things out with Viego.

Once they had left, you turned your attention back to Viego, knowing you had to have this conversation with him whether you wanted to or not.

“I was talking to Senna about what I want… with you,” you said, cursing yourself internally for how shaky your voice sounded.

Viego looked like he had been forced to swallow a Shadow Isles tangor, his posture rigid. “Now that I see how happy you are here with those two… I know that you were never truly happy being at my side.”

You were shocked speechless, the words you wanted to say fleeing your mind, your lack of a reply prompting Viego to continue.

“The Shadow Isles is a place for monsters like me. I won’t make you return there with me,” he said, sending you a sad smile before his body began to turn to mist, starting with his legs.

“No!” you cried out, grabbing his arm. You hadn’t expected him to let you go, but you found yourself not wanting him to leave you, even though that was all you had wanted only a week ago.

The moment you touched him, he turned fully solid again, looking down at you with furrowed silver eyebrows, uncertainty plain on his face.

“Don’t leave,” your voice came out quiet and weak, but you kept your hold on his sleeve. “Please don’t leave.”

You were trying not to cry, and it must have been obvious, as Viego quickly brought you into an embrace. Being alone with him again, you finally felt like you could say what you wanted to say, even if you were partially fueled by desperation to make him stay.

“I want you to stay in Demacia with me,” you said, pulling back to look at him, placing a hand on his cheek like he had done to you so many times. Viego seemed mesmerized by the contact, leaning into your palm as he stared at you with hopeful eyes.

“I will go wherever you are,” he replied softly.

“But,” you said, steeling your nerve. “I want you to see me as me, not the me I was when I was Isolde.”

You felt relieved that you had finally gotten out what you wanted to say, but were nervous at how he would take it.

“You are much stronger now than you ever were a thousand years ago,” he replied. “No matter what form you take, you are still my only love.”

You couldn’t help yourself. “Even if I was reborn as a sheep?”

“I would become a sheep myself if I had to,” he responded, and you giggled at both the seriousness in his voice and the mental image of Viego as a sheep.

Staring up at Viego, who seemed puzzled by your laughter, you were struck by just how much your opinion of him had changed since you had watched Isolde’s thousand-year-old memories. It was hard to believe that you could feel like this about someone who had brought you such sadness in the past, but as you stared at Viego’s handsome face, all you could think about was how much you wanted to kiss him.

But Senna had given you the key for a reason, and you didn’t want to trouble them by still being here when they returned, so you decided to be brave like Senna, taking one of Viego’s hands in yours and pulling him towards the front door. Viego’s hand was cold in yours, but his fingers held tight to yours. You found yourself wondering what kind of look Viego had on his face, but you were too nervous to look back at him until you got outside, taking the walk down the hallway to gather up all of your courage before turning back to him.

“Senna gave me–”

You were cut off by a gentle tug on your hand by Viego, pulling you back to him. Faster than you could comprehend, his other arm wrapped around your back, pulling you against him as he leaned down to kiss you.

You were shocked, Viego’s arm behind you being the only thing keeping you upright as his lips pressed against your own. You closed your eyes, hoping your inexperience wasn’t too obvious as you tentatively tried to kiss back, wishing your face would stop burning so hot; there was no way he wouldn’t notice the heat in your face, not with how cold he always was. Just as you were getting worried that you were too stiff, Viego pulled away, touching his forehead to yours.

He looked too pleased with himself, his jade eyes glowing with the same mischievous aura as the smirk he now wore on his lips. “You were saying something, my love?”

You sputtered, face red, trying to catch your thoughts. You hadn’t been expecting the kiss, and had also never kissed anyone before, so your brain was struggling to work again as you stared at Viego’s sly grin.

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath and forced yourself to focus. Right, the key.

“Senna gave me the key to a place of theirs we can stay in,” you explained. “It’s about an hour’s walk out of the city.”

Viego raised an eyebrow. “It would take much less time to travel there with the mist.”

“No!” you exclaimed hurriedly, noting the few people who were still out since it was only early evening. Your face only flushed more as you realized he had kissed you in front of other people, even if it was only a few. Noticing two women staring at you and Viego, you quickly pulled his hood back down over his head from where it had fallen askew, taking his hand again and pulling him with you in the direction Senna had indicated.

“People are already staring… if you use the mist, they might call the Demacian guard!” you explained as you pulled him with you down the road.

“They can try,” Viego scoffed. “No power in this world will take you from me again.”

You sped up your pace, desperately hoping the two women hadn’t heard Viego’s not-so-veiled threats against the Demacian guard as you pulled him along with you. While you didn’t doubt that Viego was likely strong enough to take on the whole of the Demacian military, it was a confrontation that you desperately wanted to avoid.

For his part, Viego didn’t seem bothered by your increased pace down the path; rather, he seemed to be in too much of a good mood for someone who had just threatened to take on a kingdom’s entire military force. Part of you wondered if he was just talking like that to keep you holding his hand to pull him along, but the notion was too embarrassing to possibly be true, so you dismissed it from your mind, choosing instead to focus on the scenery around you as you walked.

The path out of town was not too different from the roads you had walked back in your hometown. Once you were out of Demacia City, the path of finely-cobbled stone became a simple dirt path lined occasionally with simple houses on either side. The people who lived just outside the city didn’t seem to conform to the fanciful beauty standards of the city, instead dressing more like the people you had known back in the Demacian farmlands. Seeing the more ordinary people go about their lives brought you comfort; as nice as Demacia City was, you had a hard time feeling like you really belonged among its finery.

“I have never seen how the peasants live,” Viego commented from your side, the lightness in his voice making you feel like he didn’t quite get that most people took the word peasant as an insult. “They look happy.”

“I’m a peasant too,” you mused. “I lived on that farm most of my life.”

Rather than looking displeased, as you secretly feared he might, Viego let out a quiet hum. “I cannot help but wonder, if we were both peasants back in Camavor… could we have lived happier lives?”

“Viego…” You looked over at him to see him gazing sadly your way, and for a second you could have sworn you saw the Viego of his youth when you looked at him, tan skin and rich brown hair instead of the pale, silver-haired man you had come to know in this lifetime.

“I led us to ruin, and I almost lost your beautiful smile for good,” he added with downcast eyes. “I will not allow myself to be so foolish again.”

While you were trying to think of a response to his words, your eyes caught sight of a small house in the distance, a golden yellow sun painted on its front door. The house itself was fairly isolated; the last house you had passed had been a while back, and you couldn’t see any other houses in the distance ahead.

It was a relief; while you were still feeling awkward around Viego after that kiss, you knew it was better for everyone for Viego to not be around anyone but you for now. You pulled out the key Senna had given you, overly conscious of Viego at your back, fumbling a few times before getting the key slotted in correctly and unlocking the door.

Stepping inside, you were surprised to see how well-furnished the place was, despite it just being an out of town hideout for Senna and Lucian. The home consisted of a combined kitchen and entryway area with a simple bathroom down the short hallway. Opening the last door, you found a small bedroom containing no more than a bed and a small chest of drawers.

As you were looking over the room, you were surprised by Viego’s arms circling your waist, his chin resting against the side of your head.

“I have missed this dearly,” Viego’s low voice in your ear sent a noticeable shiver down your spine, which he definitely noticed. “It has been over a thousand years since I have felt your body against mine.”

His tone was sultry, and accompanied by a gentle nip at your ear, your cheeks were feeling incredibly warm. You had to assume that you had been with Viego like this, back a thousand years ago. But you hadn’t seen any of Isolde’s more suggestive memories, so you had no idea of what to expect from Viego. That, and you were as inexperienced as they came; it wasn’t like there were many boys around your age in your small town for you to do anything with. You were nervous, but glad it was Viego, and not someone like the owner’s brother who always hit on you whenever he visited the farm.

Viego withdrew from you, a metallic clang sounding out in the small room as he released the clasp on his cloak, allowing it to slide off his shoulders and hit the floor. Chancing a look back over your shoulder, you made eye contact with a once-again shirtless Viego, the black triangle on his chest bared once again.

Approaching you again, he took hold of your wrist, bringing your palm to lay against the spectral-green lined dark triangle in the center of his chest. You inhaled sharply, surprised when your hand was not swallowed by mist or sucked into the black void, but instead pressed against the triangle of black as if it were normal skin.

“The mark you gave me,” Viego said, voice surprisingly soft for someone talking about the wound that had ended their mortal life. “The mist is a part of me, so it will never harm you.”

“It feels warm,” you murmured. How could it feel so warm when the rest of his body was so cold?

“Only ever to you,” he replied, leaning down to kiss you again.

It was a short kiss, Viego giving you several short pecks as he slowly backed you up to the bed. He pulled away as the back of your knees hit the bed, and you opened your eyes as you caught your breath, only to see Viego with a wicked smirk on his face. Before you could question him, you were sent backwards onto the bed with a yelp as a rush of mist from Viego’s chest blew over you.

You found yourself on your back, the sheets a lot softer under you than you had expected. Realizing that the mist had left you feeling a lot colder than you had expected as well, you let out an embarrassed squeak when you discovered that the mist had somehow done away with your clothing, leaving you completely naked against the sheets.

The mist faded as quickly as it had appeared, revealing Viego at the foot of the bed in nothing but his tight black pants, which were noticeably tighter at the front. His gaze was smouldering as he took in your now-fully-revealed form, and while you were overtaken with the desire to shy away, but you were not given a chance as Viego quickly joined you on the bed.

He gently cupped your breasts in his hands, thumbs rubbing against your nipples, the cold of his fingers only heightening the jolt of pleasure that heated your face. Viego stared down at you, looking awestruck, strands of his silver hair falling over one of his eyes. He was so handsome that it was hard for you to believe this was real as you looked up at him, fighting the urge to run your hands through his hair as you let out a soft moan.

“You make it hard to focus when you sound like that,” Viego admitted as he leaned down. “It has been too long since I have heard your sweet voice moan.”

Crawling over you, Viego tilted your chin up with a hand on your cheek, allowing him to lock your lips together again. Unlike the previous kisses, this kiss was heated and intense, your tongue meeting his as his other hand laid next to your head, supporting his body closely above yours.

His body caging yours in should have felt cold with how frigid his skin was in unlife, but all you could feel was warmth as Viego kissed you like his life depended on it. Deciding to act on your earlier thoughts, you slid your hands into Viego’s soft hair, your nails running along his scalp. Viego groaned into your mouth, hips rutting into yours, letting you feel just how hard he was under his leather pants.

Viego’s hand strayed lower, your back bowing slightly off the bed when he began to move his thumb over your clit. He continued the passionate kiss as he kept up with the movements on your clit, the sensations making it hard for you to concentrate on the kiss. Finally, the pleasure got so intense that you jerked back against the pillow with a breathy moan, your face flushed with heat.

Viego pulled back from you entirely, spreading your legs and grasping your thighs, pulling your legs over his shoulders. Startled, you realized what he intended to do, staring at him with wide eyes.

“You don’t have to…” you trailed off, fingers grasping the sheets at your side as you stared at him.

Viego’s mouth turned up in a sly grin, looking up at you with his mouth inches away from your naked pussy. “There is nothing I want more in this world right now than to hear you cry out for me, my love.”

Before you could reply, Viego surged forward, tongue licking against your clit while his fingers pressed inside you. He seemed energized by the noises you made, fingers moving faster against you as you closed your eyes, moaning his name as his tongue brushed against you at a spot that had you seeing stars beyond your eyelids.

He was relentless, determined to get you to reach your peak, not slowing down until you cried out his name, nails raking against the sheets as you came.

Viego withdrew, looking very proud of himself as he stared down at your wrecked form. You laid flat against the bed, panting as you tried to catch your breath. As you took in Viego’s disheveled hair and satisfied smile, you let out a soft exhale, still not fully understanding how he was able to make you feel so comfortable with him after all that you had been through. Or maybe it had been because of everything you had been through together, the thousand years you had been apart and the short time you had been together again.

He didn’t make any moves to remove his pants, despite the fact that they looked painfully tight by this point. You stared at him from under your lashes, not knowing what to say as you slowly came down form the high of pleasure he had given you.

“Your form has never been more beautiful,” Viego said, leaning down to kiss you. “Now if only your lips were as honest as your eyes.”

“What?”

“Your eyes are telling me what you want me to do to you,” he murmured into your ear, voice low and sultry. “And I cannot find it in me to deny my queen what she desires.”

Viego sat up as mist flew from his chest, sweeping over his lower half and turning his pants to mist before dissipating entirely, leaving him just as naked as you. His cock was just as pale as the rest of his body, but clearly was still functioning just fine; in fact, you were slightly worried about the sheer size of him.

Viego took his place between your legs, his cock so close to where you wanted it. He took himself in hand, slowly lining himself up with you, looking down at you appraisingly before his cock was sinking into you.

You let out a soft sigh as you felt the stretch of his cock, surprised that it was nowhere near as painful as you had imagined. Once he was fully inside you, he leaned down, caging you in with his arms as he began to roll his hips into yours.

Sliding a hand into his hair, Viego happily allowed you to pull his lips back to yours, groaning into your mouth when you clenched around him after his cock hit a particularly sensitive spot inside you. While you had struggled to focus amidst the pleasure you were feeling, Viego had no such problem, easily able to kiss you breathless while maintaining a slow and gentle pace with his hips.

But as you continued to move against each other, slow and gentle began to be too little for you. You pulled back from Viego’s lips with a whine, looking at him with pleasure-hazed vision as he continued to move against you.

“Viego… faster, please,” you whined, watching him swallow as you spoke.

With a deep groan, Viego picked up his pace, each thrust of his cock hitting exactly where you needed it. Viego seemed to be as lost in the feeling as you were, eventually trading speed for increased intensity as you clung to his biceps.

Viego came first, slowing with a groan, but kissed you hard, rubbing at your clit until you joined him over the edge, feeling your energy drain from you as Viego pulled out of you before pulling your body to his, wrapping his arm around you.

“My heart, my body… they have only ever belonged to you,” Viego spoke, his words sending fondness blossoming in your chest.

Closing your eyes, you leaned against his chest, feeling happy but drained, at least until the reality of where you were came rushing back to you. You were in Senna’s house… in Senna’s bed. What had you been thinking?!

Noticing your panic, Viego lifted your chin, tilting your face up towards him with an eyebrow raised, quizzically speaking your name.

“Senna’s going to kill me,” you groaned in embarrassment.

“What?” Viego hissed, voice flat and dangerous, some mist tricking from his chest.

“No!” you exclaimed, placing your hands over his chest in a futile effort to keep the dark mist in. In your embarrassment, you had forgotten about Viego’s tendency to react against any threats directed towards you. “I just meant she would be upset with me for…. getting intimate… in her bed.”

Your words didn’t particularly seem to ease the severity of Viego’s misinterpretation of your words, but that would have to something to work on over time. With how harsh his life had been for so long, you shouldn’t have been surprised that hyperbole was largely lost on him. For now, all you could think of to do was distract him, quickly pulling his lips down to yours to hope you could make him forget about his current dangerous intentions, at least for the moment.

[starlightsearches]

Can we get 3 with hux from the flower AU prompts?

Hello friend! Thanks for the prompt, I hope you like it!! 🌹🌸💐🌼🌺🌷🌻

Requests are open ✨

Florist! Armitage Hux x Model! Reader (f)

Warnings: Not really, a little yearning, some slutty narration, it's kind of silly and maybe ooc, but I think that's it.

I've been feeling pretty shitty about myself and my writing over the past few days, and I figured the best way to break myself out of that funk was to write something, even if it was stupid. Sometimes when your brain is telling you that you can't do something, you gotta do it anyway. Let me know what you think, besties!

3. Flowers are often used for photo shoots and Person A gets hired to arrange the flowers for one, but they can’t help getting nervous around the model, Person B from the Flower Shop AU Prompts

Armitage is out of his element.

He's plenty comfortable working with his assistant in the back of the shop, or helping customers as they dither over the size of the arrangements and the available flowers at the counter. But this is madness.

The backstage of the set is absolutely teeming with people, and every single one of them runs past without a glance in his direction, shouting into headsets or flipping through stacks of pages attached to clipboards.

He ventures further, past a few darkened hallways until he finds an occupied room. There's a vanity mirror against the far wall, and a woman sitting in front of it, resting her head on one hand, the other holding a book.

"Excuse me," Armitage knocks gently against the door frame before stepping inside.

You set the book down, greeting him with a smile.

"Hello, are you here for makeup?"

For a moment, Armitage is speechless.

He hadn't noticed your strange apparel when he first caught sight of you, but now he can't seem to look away from the dress you're wearing, a less-than-faithful recreation recreation of a Victorian gown that hangs low on your shoulders and tight around breasts, leaving very little to the imagination.

Is he hallucinating? He's never believed in ghosts before but you do seem like a rather lovely, and strangely familiar, apparition.

Your brows furrow in confusion before you glance down at yourself, eyes going wide like you've forgotten what you were wearing.

"Oh," you exclaim, throwing your head back with a laugh, "it's a period piece were doing today."

"I'm sorry?"

"You laugh again, finding his idiocy endearing instead of annoying, "you're not the makeup artist, are you?"

"The florist."

"I see. We're doing a shoot today, a romance novel cover. Do you read romance novels?"

So that's where he recognized you from. He's seen your face before, many times over. How to Wed a Rascal, Devil's Daughter, Three's a Crowd, and his favorite: Kingdom of Thirst.

He's spent too much of his time—bleary eyed, reading into the late hours of the night—imagining your face, your eyes, the sound of your moans as he devoured book after book, story after story.

But he's not about to tell you that.

"Uh, no, not really," he lies, and you shrug off the answer, turning the seat so that you can face him.

"I've only read a few, and they're alright. The jobs pay well, at least, and they're more fun than most shoots."

He nods, leaning against the door frame in an attempt to appear casual, hoping you'll say more. He likes hearing you talk.

You don't look like yourself in pictures. It's not just the makeup and the editing, although he's sure that has something to do with it. You're much more earnest in person, and surprisingly easy to be around. It's magnetic, your personality, to the point he can’t take his eyes off you. It must be what makes you so great at your job.

"You were looking for a place to put your flowers, right? I can help with that," you say, standing from the chair and moving into the hallway, calling into the empty space, "Hey Stacy!"

The sound of harried footsteps echoes down the corridor, and soon you're greeted by a serious looking woman, dressed in all black with her hair swept up into a ponytail.

"What do you need, babes?" she asks without looking up from her cell phone, "Jack said he'd be here half an hour ago but traffic's got him running late, of course. Shouldn't matter since we're ahead of schedule so far and going for a pretty minimal look this time but I told him to haul ass anyways, traffic laws be damned. Who is this?"

Every word pours out of her mouth without a breath in between, and it's not until she looks up, meeting his eyes that he realizes she's talking about him.

"This is . . ." you turn to look at him expectantly, raising your brows.

"Armitage," he provides, and you nod.

"Right, Armitage," you smile, turning back to Stacy, "and he's got the flower delivery for the shoot today waiting in his car."

Stacy nods, mumbling into her headset. "That's great. I'll have Phil unload them."

Armitage nods, wondering if he should offer to stay and arrange them. It's not something he'd typically do . . . but he's not exactly in a hurry to leave.

Another set of footsteps meets the three of you from the end of the hallway, this time provided by another harried-looking woman, almost in a sprint.

"Bad news, Stacy," she pants when she arrives, out of breath, "Ronan's called in sick. He's got food poisoning."

Stacy groans, and you roll your eyes. "Typical. Did you call somebody else?"

"They're all busy: Theo and Jacob are out of town shooting swim, and Will's best man at a wedding."

"We'll have to call off the shoot, then, won't we?"

You shake your head, defeated. Armitage can't help but feel for you; it's obvious how much work goes into these productions, so much time wasted. Not to mention the six dozen flowers currently dying in the back of his van.

"Not so fast," Stacy holds her hand up, silencing the group. Her eyes land on him, and she chews on the inside of her cheek, thinking.

"It's Armitage, right?" she asks, tapping her finger against her lips, "have you ever . . . modeled before?"

He feels his face grow hot, heart racing, "What? No. Absolutely not."

The other woman catches on, sizing him up herself. "Wait a second, you're right Stacy. He's totally got the look. Those god damn cheekbones could slice through steel. He’s about the same size as Will, too, so costuming wouldn't be a problem. How tall are you? Six foot? Six foot two?"

"No," he steps back, "I won't do it."

You put your hand on his shoulder, begging him with your eyes.

"Please, Armitage. It would really help."

He twists his face into a frown, already feeling his resolve crumbling under your eager gaze.

"Well . . . alright."

The three of you erupt in to cheers. He's absolutely going to regret this.

An hour later—hair done, costumed, and feeling ridiculous—Armitage walks out onto the set.

God, no.

It's a surprisingly faithful recreation—he assumes—sumptuously decorated and absolutely bursting with flowers. That's not the problem.

It's a bedroom, most of the space taken up by a large, dark four-poster, rose petals strewn across its surface. He knows what that means.

Bile rises in his throat, a wave of nausea rolling his stomach. He couldn't do this. There was a reason he read so many romance novels: he liked to imagine he could be someone different, someone charming, passionate, wicked.

Being that person is not in his nature.

Vivian, the costumer, approaches him from behind, startling him.

"You ready?" she asks, gesturing him towards the stage, but he hesitates.

"There's no need to be nervous, hon. Your partner for today? She's a god damn angel, the best of the best. You'll be in good hands . . . or I guess she'll be in your hands."

She laughs at her own joke and pats him gently, wandering away.

He's going to throw up. Or pass out. Or drop dead. He can't handle this.

Then he sees you, gliding in through the doorway. You're sparkling with your makeup and hair done to perfection, your eyes warm and bright, and you're smiling at him. Just for him.

Somebody ushers him towards the set, and you join him, arranging yourself on the bed.

"Nervous?" you ask him, laying down on your elbows, a little too at ease. He doesn't have to answer, he knows you can see it on his face.

You hold out your hand to him, and he takes it, adjusting to the feel of your skin against his. "You don't need to be, it's easy."

You pull without warning, and he falls forward, knees hitting the mattress. His other hand land besides your head, close enough to your face that he could reach out and stroke it, if he wanted to.

"Ready up there?" the photographer yells from across the room, and you give him the thumbs up before slipping in to your proper pose. You place his hand at your waist, tilting up his chin.

"Now furrow your brow a little," you whisper, "and part your lips."

He does as he's told, and soon enough the camera flash sparks in his periphery.

It's not as horrible as he thought it would be, although you are doing most of the work. You shift periodically, sometimes staring deep into his eyes, or looking down demurely with your hand just barely grazing your forehead.

"Alright, that's great, that's perfect," the photographer monologues, never taking his eye from the viewfinder, "why don't we get a couple with your lips at her neck?'

He trembles, his breathing shallow, but you look up at him with the slightest nod, arching your back just a little farther, leaving your skin exposed and inviting.

He bends closer, examining the graceful lines of your body. If this were real, where would he kiss you? If he had you to himself—without all these people watching—in his own bed, no pretense, no costumes . . .

He brushes his lips tenderly against the junction between your neck and your shoulder, and he swears that he can hear you sigh in response, your spine curving against his fingers, your chest pressed tighter against his own.

"That's perfect," the photographer shouts, but Armitage isn't listening, entirely preoccupied with the feeling of your pulse against his mouth, his lips traveling up over your jaw, stopping just below your ear.

You turn to face him, slowly, until nose brushes his, staring into his eyes. If he tilted his chin just half an inch, he'd be kissing you.

"That's great, everybody! I think we're done for today."

The set erupts with applause at the photographer's words, but you still don't pull away from him, smiling gently, whispering against his lips.

"Like I said, you're a natural."

His face grows flush, and he shifts back onto his feet, clearing his throat with a cough.

You stand beside him, brushing your hands nervously over the bodice of your gown.

"Thanks again for doing this, we all really appreciate it."

"Of course, it was . . . fun."

"No really, it was a huge favor. I'd like to do something for you, in return—we could get dinner, maybe? My treat."

You place your hand on his arm again, stroking your thumb down over his elbow. Despite how much he's touched you over the last hour, this contact feels different. Because you're not playing a part this time. Because it's him you're reaching for.

"We can change first, of course," you say, the words rushed as you read his dewy-eyed imaginings for hesitation.

He smiles, placing his hand over yours in reassurance, "I'd like that."

Hux Tag List: @theredwolfisalesbian, @thembohux, @writingletterstothefire, @catboykenobii, @missmadwoman, @evarinaandlat, @sitherin-mxschief, @imafatassmess, @toasterking, @rosevon7975, @pradahux, @armitages-galaxy, @dark-lord-of-the-simps, @daughterofaries, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @aramanna, @theold-ultraviolence, @mrs-ghuleh, @lemongingerart, @isthisheaven5, @trash-queen-af, @generalthirst, @tobealostwanderer, @huxxoxo, @theoriginalannoyingbird, @liceforlunch, @g3n3ralhux

Join my tag list here!

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

What’s Mine Is Yours (To Leave or Take)

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier

Warning(s): a/b/o, intersex omegas, accidental pregnancy, mpreg (see ao3 for full list of tags)

Rating: explicit

Chapter: 5

•  prev | next •  

  WMIY Masterpost

Fic Summary: Geralt has knows since the trials that, unlike other omegas, he will never become pregnant, never raise pups and live a normal life. But after a close call finds him and Jaskier in bed together, he discovers he was wrong about that assumption.

[read it on ao3]

That morning, Geralt has found what could have been a hideout and he'd had hopes of exploring it now that he's sure it's a werewolf. He downs Cat before leaving his room, though he barely makes it down the corridor before rushing to the window to throw up out of it. Which is ... worrisome, to say the least. Geralt hasn't eaten anything and the only thing he's ingested all day was the cat, but he's never had such a bad reaction to one of his potions. He brewed these ones in batches at Kaer Morhen, and the last time Geralt had taken one, it had had no effect other than the intended.

He's still heaving when his stomach starts to cramp and for one horrifying moment, Geralt thinks his heat has come early. The cramps have been bad enough in the past to make him sick, but not like this. Geralt hurriedly counts the days back to just a week before the fiend hunt and no, it's not possible. Even alphas in rut haven't set him off early in years, so it must be something else.

When he's feeling less like he's about to lose his stomach again, Geralt pushes himself up and steadies himself for a moment before starting back toward the cellar. Though he tries to put the strange illness out of his mind, Geralt finds himself continually thinking back on everything he's eaten or drank since he got here. It's possible a strong poison could make him sick, but he hasn't taken food from anyone that seemed off and he would taste the poison anyway. It does bother him to remember the uncomfortable feeling from yesterday afternoon.

The illness, Geralt can't quite place, but he gets an answer to his more pressing question when he asks the cellar guard about who has access to the cellar.

"Only the king's chef," the guard explains, "and the royal vintner."

"Chef's dead," Geralt mumbles, forcing back another wave of nausea. "What about the vintner, do they come down here often?"

"I'd say so. Every meal they come down to choose a wine to accompany it. Why?"

"Don't suppose they were here last month during the attacks?"

"Well, no, now you mention it. I didn't see them at all- wait, you're not trying to say they did it, are you?"

"Not intentionally," the guard frowns and Geralt explains, "they wouldn't know themself if it was them, probably are just as afraid of the attacks as you. Where can I find them now?"

"They live in town, just past the market. Little house with a flower wreath on the door."

"Right, thank you."

Geralt finds the house without trouble, and the wreath on the door is made of wolfsbane - a protection from werewolves. You really don't know you're cursed, he thinks, peering through the window. He hides out for a while, watching the vintner inside moving around, going about their daily life. They show no indication of guilt, but it's the best lead he has and the full moon is tonight so he has to try something.

Returning to the castle, Geralt prepares the tonic he'll need if he wants to break the curse. He's only successfully done it once, but he knows the words by heart - just in case - and Geralt’s sure that as long as he has the right person, this will work. Once it's finished and he's armoured up and ready to go, Geralt slips back to town, keeping to back alleys where he can stay out of sight. He follows the vintner all the way to the vineyard and back to the castle and once they head down to the cellar, Geralt waits.

First, he barricades the door so if anything goes wrong, the werewolf would have to fight its way out and hopefully be trapped there until they change back. Then, Geralt leaves strict instructions with the herbalist should he not make it out, so the curse can be reversed even without him. Finally, all that’s left is to wait.

He doesn't have to wait long.

Geralt hunches up in the corner, focusing on his plan to block out the scent of damp in the cellar. Shortly after nightfall, he's pulled from his thoughts by a bloodcurdling scream and he knows it's time to act. He moves out of the shadows, watching as the vintner transforms, screaming and clawing at their skin and Geralt feels sorry for them. It's hard enough being considered a monster, but at least he doesn't tear his way out of his own skin once a month. Geralt sets the tonic down and approaches slowly, preparing to cast yrden as soon as possible to trap the beast, but he's suddenly caught off guard by the stench of wolf and barely stops himself from heaving as the creature turns its gaze on him.

It moves too quickly and Geralt doesn't have time to counter before it swipes at him. He rolls out of the way, but it’s already too late. Geralt doesn’t feel the pain at first, but when he looks up, his arm is bleeding, slashes between his gauntlets and jacket. The sight of his own blood makes him lightheaded and he has to look away to keep the nausea down again. What the fuck is going on with him?

Neither of them gets another hit in, but finally, Geralt manages to cast yrden and trap the wolf. He ties them up with rope he prepared in advance and with a quick sign makes the beast drink down the tonic. Outside, Geralt can hear nothing but the sounds of nocturnal animals and he knows the rest of the city must have tucked into bed long ago. He mumbles the words of the spell and collapses against a barrel in the corner of the room.

"Sorry," he mutters, "guess this isn't going to be a pleasant night for either of us."

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

Hello, I loved your fics on Vivienne. So I want to request a Vivienne fic where MC is pregnant, and she with the Poppy is having dinner in a restaurant. But, she got served with spoiled food, so she got food poisoning. Make it a bit angsty and end it in fluff as possible. Thank you!!

“So, whatcha say, MC? You’ve been craving shrimp anyway, so this is as good of a chance as any!” Jett stares at you expectantly, chocolate eyes practically sparkling.

“Yeah MC, you didn’t go to Dinner Club yesterday, so you absolutely need to come today!” Zoe follows, and her smile is as sweet as a midnight drink.

You roll your eyes, laughing.

“Eager, huh?”

“Not our fault Vivienne’s been hogging you all week,” Leon says, dimly amused.

“Okay, okay, fine. I’ll go today.”

The cheer than erupts draws in Vivienne, Remy, and eventually Nikolai, all three of them curious. After a brief explanation — and Vivienne’s feline satisfaction at monopolizing your attention — the Poppy agrees to go a restaurant Zoe had found recently.

All in all, the restaurant has a calm ambience, filled with little decorations here and there: a fish tank by the corner, a myriad of colors you had stared at in awe for a good minute; several paintings adorning the walls, charming and simple; the light warm and relaxing.

The food? The food ended up being a different story all together, though you discover that later.

Both Remy and you had started feeling weird as soon as you got back to the Poppy’s hideout. Remy had shrugged it off as exhaustion, and you had done the same at first, waddling towards the bedroom, ready to nap for a while.

Vivienne had gone with you, not willing to admit it to the others but eager for a cuddle. She had noticed how clammy your skin felt, how strangely warm it was — even under the covers. Her first instinct had been to hover a hand over your bump, as if wanting to check on the baby first, but then she had moved to whisper your name against your skin, gently shaking you awake.

It had taken a worryingly amount of time for the world to focus once you opened your eyes, and the first thing you had noticed was the startling pain in the back of your mind, that seemed to multiply once you had acknowledged it until your head was throbbing.

“I think I have a headache,” you mumble, miserable, and Vivienne’s body slumped against yours in a second of pure relief.

“For a second I feared…” She trails off. You can feel her shaking her head, as if trying to shrug off some wayward thought. “Never mind. Is there anything specific you’d like for dinner? I’ll bring you an aspirin while I’m at it.”

“Oh, I—I’m not really hungry.”

“No?” Vivienne’s voice is filled with disbelief. “Not even a craving? Nothing?”

You laugh, teasing at first. “You make it sound like I’m always hangry. No, I’m fine for now.”

You can tell her worry returns in the tell-tale way she falls silent; in the way she tenses again, fingers curling around your shoulder, squeezing briefly. “You’ve been hangry all month.”

“Pff, not all month, just—”

It’s a dull sensation, still faraway, but your stomach feels off. You can feel the contents swirling angrily, like a wave about to crash. The image stays with you for a second, and you frown, because what is this sensation, why are you thinking about water, hadn’t the morning sickness stopped already? Why…

“Oh. Oh my god.”

“What?” Vivienne whispers, panic rising in both of your chests like a rocket.

“I—the food—something must have been spoiled, I—I think I’ll—the nausea is not strong yet, we should go to a…”

She is already moving before you can finish, moving to the door like a madwoman to yell out the news, before returning to you and helping you up. Her hand presses reassuringly at your lower back, her expression frozen by worry and fear.

Jett announces Remy is also feeling nauseated, and the Poppy splits like they had planned it beforehand, like they weren’t just improvising. Leon drives Vivienne, Remy and you to the nearest hospital, while Nikolai and Jett go back to the restaurant to go full Karen against them. Zoe stays behind to make sure all records from the hospital are wiped afterwards.

The car makes the nausea worse. Remy slumps against his seat and groans, while you close your eyes and focus on taking deep breaths, occasionally rubbing your temple and wishing for the headache to disappear. Vivienne alternates between checking on you and Remy, though he insists that she only watches you and the baby.

And the baby, God, the baby. You rest a hand on your bump and hope against hope that the baby doesn’t kick, that they will be okay. There are a few moments where you feel your stomach is about to empty its contents, the desperation you feel churning inside you like an icy blade and making everything worse.

Vivienne puts her hand over yours. You don’t need to open your eyes to see hers deep with worry, shining like a shattered jewel.

Two blocks away. One.

It only ends up being okay because Vivienne had noticed as quickly as she did. If you had waited until you got more symptoms… well. That’s a thought you’d rather put away.

As expected, Vivienne is ready for anything you ask, be it more water or more cuddles. She’s patient and attentive, her relief palpable in the way she sighs against your bump and gives it a loving, feather-soft kiss.

[whosjunglejim4322]

Cobra Hybrid! Yukhei/ fighter AU

Warnings: pussy eating, breeding kink, competitive fighting, bl**d, mentions of open wounds, eagle hybrid Xiaojun, scorpion hybrid Hendery, minor mentions of getting high, angst, mentions of near death experiences, fluff bc Xuxi loves u an unhealthy amount

The sky outside of your bedrooms hopper window is scattered with rich hues of deep violet and burgundy, a sight that is too captivating to not sit and admire for at least a moment while your food cools off on your beside table.

You've always been particular about the temperature, needing it hot enough to burn your palms but not the surface of your tongue.

You smile warmly to yourself as you think of Yukhei, the way he can practically scarf anything down no matter the heat. You've had to physically stop him from inhaling piping hot ramen quite a few times, though he never listens. "Its okay, promise!I like when it's hot!"

Stubborn boy.

The colors above seem to dissipate by the second into shades that better suit the nighttime hour, not even a quarter of the sun peeking from below the horizon as the city below continues to buzz with work commutes, or perhaps lovers that are eager to be in the same space their partners occupy.

You sigh ruefully, knowing that it's just your suboncious missing a certain doe eyed, raven haired boy.

It hasn't even been two days since you last saw eachother, the navy blue sweatshirt that he wore over still hanging off the corner of your dresser, the scent of patchouli and cedarwood clinging to the fabric.

Your fingers reach out to undo the latch that keeps your window closed, the cool, dusk air gentle against your cheeks.

You know you shouldn't worry about him, he's with Hendery and Xiaojun and the others and they're all celebrating YangYang's birthday in his uncles house near Shenzhen.

At least that's what his last message said, and truly, you're not one to be overly nosey or obsessive. But the thought of Yukhei, your Yukhei, back in that poisonous red ring with barbarous eyes latched onto his body, eager for his blood to spill across the white floor-

You feel your throat tighten at the thought, eyes closing as you inhale through your nose, the air not as thick with smog this time of year and allowing for at least somewhat of a peace of mind. 

You find the juxtaposition to the outside world, and the world that lies below the boutiques and indie music shops and niche cafes, to be sardonically humorous.

It makes sense, strangely, that the evil and greed that people possess would no doubt be thrumming with a life of its own in the hybrid world, even more so than that of the human world, sometimes.

And for hybrids like Yukhei, the ones with a little more strength, a little more aggression once the animal that coexists with their dna is provoked, for a king cobra; merchants practically frothed at the mouth when your boyfriend put himself up for rivalry.

It was the last thing he ever wanted to do, and not just because the clubs usually smelled of dry blood and spit among other noxious substances, or because of the fact that his body felt as if it had been hit by a train every morning when he awoke.

It's because of how you sobbed when you found out. Your eyes and nose raw with the fury in which you had rubbed them, your body shaking. It hurt more than anything, more than a fierce kick to the jaw or a pair of canines ripping into the flesh of his shoulder.

It was agoninzing, almost more so than the fact that he had to do it in order to pay off some stupid, futile debt that he owed.

It was a nefarious fox hybrid who helped him out of an almost brawl at a club downtown during the time he worked there, fixing drinks sometimes, or lending a hand in securing the canvas and apron that was needed for the fighting ring.

It was easy work for him, and he needed the money if he wanted to get through school by even a little, but the people who occupy spaces like that, they weren't too keen on a snake hybrid being allowed in during daytime hours; helping or not.

It was just a bigheaded bull, a new bartender who caught a glimpse of the few iridescent scales that gleamed acrosss the expanse of his shoulder blade, and before he could even smell the unprompted vexation wafting off of the hulking man- he was thrown across the room.

He was nearly impaled on the bar top, nearly. Though the fox jumped in almost too eagerly after the bull busted your boyfriend's top lip open, introducing himself as the owner and kicking the aggressor off of Yukhei after professing his status.

As far as the story goes, the owner was still quite upset at the fact that two bottles of expensive liquor had been busted and wasted in the whole debacle, news to Yukhei since he had been, well, fearing for the safety of his face due to the close proximity of six inch horns.

So, it was lose a decent job and have no other options left as such a reclusive breed, or use his strengths to his advantage.

You shudder everytime you think of the ladder. Nothing prepared you for hearing that from Xiaojun's mouth, for seeing him look so weak, so close to the brink of deterioration. He looked broken.

Your noodles are cold now, and you curse yourself for allowing your thoughts to wander off to a place so unnecessary to revisit.

You're too tired to heat them back up, moving from your window sill to your quaint, welcoming bed. You peel the thick comforter back and nestle yourself into the warmth, grabbing your old (but still functioning) laptop in hopes of finding something new to watch on netflix. You have too much of a habitual personality to start a new t.v. show, but a movie might suffice.

It's hard to focus your attention elsewhere, to not to think of him. He's the type of person that you can't ever get used to seeing upclose, so effortlessly beautiful it's almost painful, an ache in the pit of your chest.

Maybe that's silly to say, but it's not jusy because you're sickeningly in love with him. It's this force that he carries with him, like he's made of pure, raw sunlight.

You close your eyes for a moment, picturing the way his plush lips feel against yours when he smiles into a kiss, noses touching and giggles resonating in his throat as you play with the wild strands of his perpetually fluffy hair.

You think of all the things that make him inherently him. His hands, the way they always seem to be steady and gentle, elegant, despite their size. Even when he caresses your cheek with the back of his knuckles, it's featherlight.

It's in his nature to be so agile, so stealthy in his movements. You sometimes forget he's a snake hybrid at all, his outside appearance similar to a lion shifter, or a wolf.

It's probably the most unobvious thing about him, unless he were to take his clothes off and reveal the miscellaneous littering of scales across his broad back and shoulders.

They're similar to his eyes in the way that they're usually onyx until they glimmer under light, ranging from shades of dazzling silver to veridian. You think of the way he hums in satisfaction everytime you run your fingertips along the surface, eyes captivated with wonder.

You jolt in surprise as your phone rings obnoxiously loud, your eyebrows furrowed in annoyance at the prospect of your pleasant thoughts being so rudely interrupted. Your indignation vanishes when you see the caller ID.

Hendery 🦂 is calling...

"Hello?" Your voice is neutral for the most part, the rational side of your mind trying not to panick so suddenly.

That doesn't last long once you hear the troubled pang in the hybrids voice, the hairs on the back of your neck standing straight up.

"Hey, uh- I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry to have to- look Yukhei is hurt-" You're sure all the blood in your body has suddenly been drained, stomach twisting as the words fly from Hendery's mouth. "We can't go to the hospital, Yangyang isn't with us and-"

This can't be happening. Not again. Who lied? Did they all lie?

"Is it the same club?" The stillness in your voice is unsettling, though you're pretty sure you might be going into shock at this point. You can't feel your limbs properly.

"Yes." He replies bleakly, and your fingers tremble as they end the call.

It's like you knew, you always know. There's something about being with Yukhei that has given you a sort of second sense, it's like knowing when a step is missing and you're about to trip.

You know you're going well over the speed limit, skin pulled fiercly over your knuckles with the force in which you're gripping the steering wheel. You're only aware you're crying when streaks of warmth cascade down your cheeks and soak into Yukhei's sweatshirt that you threw on before leaving.

You never wanted to be back here, navigating the slim dark streets to find that familiar, seemingly abandoned building with a simple red logo spray painted on the side. It can only be understood by hybrids, humans not able to translate.

The building is tucked so far back behind the city, it makes for an incredibly unpleasant journey, along with an already unpleasant destination. It's a dark corner in a place full of light. It's the door to a shadow world, to the creatures that find comfort in malice and anguish.

You're surprised you've arrived so fast, not even aware of the strange, curious glances you've been getting by passerbys. No doubt wondering what a little human girl is doing in one of the most dangerous, underground parts of the city.

But they can't touch you, not legally anyways. It's forbidden for hybrids to harm humans, and none of them would dare risk exposing their little side show for a taste of a mundane.

It's Xiaojun you spot first, his conspicuous head of nearly white hair sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the darkness of the alleyway. It's only as you approach that you can see he's slumped under the weight of Yukhei, who's figure is akin to a wilting flower.

You feel your stomach lurch, though adrenaline is what drives you to throw yourself out of the car like a madman, leaving the door open and all to run to his side. You share a brief glance with a wide eyed Hendery, gesturing towards the car as your knees scrape fiercly against the pavement.

You almost don't want to look at him completely, gaze set on Xiaojun as you round to the other side and slip yourself underneath Yukhei's heavy arm. You can't, however, ignore the blood that sticks to your skin, nor the scent of it clinging to him. He murmurs your name with a strained cry, your knees wobbling.

It's a complete blur, happening in what you guess is only about two to three minutes. Yukhei slurs his words as you and the blonde haired hybrid hoist him up with all your strength, agonized groans bellowing from his throat while you move him to the back seat.

You help to manuever his long legs into the car, every bruised, wounded, and bloody part of him visible now underneath the light above your heads. It's even worse than before. How can it be worse?

You throw yourself in beside him, Xiaojun slamming the door shut before he sprints to the passengers seat, Hendery hitting the throttle as soon as everyone is secure inside the vehicle.

You turn to your boyfriend, your love. You have to resist the urge to reach out and touch him, terrified to accidentally skim past a laceration. You whisper his name into the darkness, hoping that he'll answer and that he won't disappear before your very eyes.

Getting him inside of their apartment complex isn't easy. And not just because it takes two of you to carry him, his body too weak to do much of anything; it's mostly because carrying a half dead looking hybrid to an elevator isn't really the most optimal option.

Luckily Hendery knows how to pick the lock to the fire escape hatch in the back of the complex, allowing the four of you to somewhat subliminally carry him up two flights of stairs before finally arriving at apartment 236.

Not the essiest thing you've ever done. But none of that matters, nothing matters right now except for him.

"Couch!" Xiaojun yells, Hendery two steps ahead of him, pushing the old coffee table in the center of the livingroom to the far right corner.

Yukhei stammers before you both set him onto the piece of furniture as gently as you can, a choked whimper being the only sound he can make. It's even worse in this light, all the shared meals and nights binge watching movies suddenly lightyears away. Now this room is tainted with the sight of him falling apart.

"What do we do? Oh god, what do we do?" You speak through a broken sob, on your knees next to your boyfriends limp figure, his long limbs hanging off the side of the couch while his head struggles to stay upright.

You don't even realize Hendery has ran off until he is jogging back with a first aid kit that probably won't do any good, not in this situation. He reads the uncertainty and disbelief in your expression, quickly rebuttling.

"Venom, we need his venom," He and Xiaojun share a look that you don't quite understand, but you're too overwhemled to question it right now. "We just need to clean him up first, as best as we can."

He hands you a warm, damp washcloth and you are quick to bring it to Yukhei's face, the only place that isn't too damaged to touch and somewhat tamper with. His swollen eyes struggle to stay open, but once your hand caresses his sweltering cheek, he uses all of the strength he has to mutter your name.

"I'm so- sorry, you don't...you don't under..understand."

You place a gentle finger to his busted lips, pulling back immediately as his eyebrows furrow and he winces, not yet aware of the two others pouring some sort of unfamiliar disinfectant onto the open wounds.

"Shh, not right now. We gotta get you fixed up, okay? It's gonna be alright."

The words are probably more comforting to yourself, though nothing is comfortable at a time like this. Everything is happening so fast, Hendery gently pushing you to the side and whispering something to Yukhei that is inaudible to your human ears.

He nods weakly, and you can't hide your horror nor contain the frightening gasp that escapes your throat when Xiaojun approaches and bares his claws, shoving them into your boyfriends side.

You're frozen in place, time stopping for a an infinite moment as you sit and watch what's unfolding. Hendery muffles Yukhei's agonized shout initially, removing his hand when he realizes that the cobras fangs have been ejected.

He holds a vile up to his mouth, puncturing the top open with the sharp edge of his tooth, allowing the sticky clear venom to drip down into the glass container. You've never seen Yukhei's fangs before, mostly because snake hybrids and cobras alike aren't one to use them unless absolutely necessary.

Life or death.

It happens quick, Xiaojun with a needle inbetween his deft fingers, likely from the inconspicuous looking first aid kit, pulling the venom through the syringe before handing it to Hendery to inject into your boyfriends carotid artery.

His body stiffens as if he's gone into shock, veins protruding from his skin and pulsing like his heart beat has gone past the safe amount of BPM.

And then, he's still, so still it feels like you're getting a glimpse of what it's like to lose him, and you still can't find the strength of the willpower to move.

"He'll be okay, I promise,"

Hendery is by your side in an instant, panting as perspiration drips from his forehead. "He just needs to rest, he's the only type of hybrid who can use his own venom as a healing agent."

It feels like you've stepped into a different dimension, like somehow now is the time that your brain finally begins to over process the fact that none of these boys are human and that monsters really do exist.

They're not the monsters. You're not bothered by their otherworldy state of being in the slightest, but there's something in the way that they speak that makes it seem as though you're missing a vital detail, like a page ripped straight from the spine of a book. A page that could very well determine the entire stories fate.

"Where's Yangyang? And the birthday?" Your voice is barely above a whisper, incredulity in your tone.

He and the blonde haired eagle look guilty beyond belief, hesitancy in their eyes. The anger that boils inside of you, starting from your toes and rising to your ears, pushes you to stand to your feet and move past them to where Yukhei lies.

Theur admittance to whatever the fuck is going on, can come later. You don't trust yourself right now anyways, too angry, too overcome with grief to yell or shout or throw things in the way you wish to.

You sit by his side, and reach out to brush his tousled hair out from in front of his scraped forehead, examining the violet and burgundy hues that blooms from underneath his honey colored skin.

"I love you, I'll always be here."

You whisper, lying your head against the cushion next to his, exhaustion suddenly clouding your brain and allowing you to forget, just for a second, that you almost lost him.

The sunlight burns red from behind your eyelids, last nights events not yet in the forefront of your brain until you hear the low timbre of voices from the other room, haunting images forcing you awake.

You sit up too fast, head pounding from the restless sleep you've endured. You realize you're in someones bed when you kick off a familiar pair of black sheets from your feet, the setting around you like a second home. Yukhei's room. Someone must have carried you here during the night.

You're quicker and more eager than you've ever been in the morning, feet carrying you towsrds the half open door as you practically sprint into the livingroom, expecting to see him lying there as immobile as he was last night; preparing yourself for the worst.

But you don't see anyone on the couch, in fact. It takes you a moment to register that everyone is in the kitchen, huddled around the island. You're too beside yourself to realize that the broad, tan back that's facing you belongs to him, until he turns around.

You don't get a good look at his face, already smashing yourself against his chest with a force that doesn't even budge him. You gasp suddenly, recoiling in fear as you step away, terrified that you've hurt him.

His long arms are still open expectantly, doe eyes glossy as he stares back at you in confusion, your expression as shocked as it is dubious. He's healed. Well, not completely. Your fingers trace over the scabs that have formed where gashes and lacerations once were just hours before.

He pulls you to him again by your elbows, and you look up at him through wet lashes to see that the bruises are no longer a severe shade of purple and blue, only slightly yellow.

It doesn't take many more glances before you're forcing yourself up onto your tippytoes, grasping his cheeks in your palms and pressing your mouth against his.

His arms enclasp you fiercly, nearly making it hard to breathe but you don't care, not at all. Not when he's whole and alive and smells like himself again, not when he's kissing you like it's been years since you've last seen eachother.

When you part you realize that Yangyang and Kun are here, and the confusion that you harbored last night for their actions and secret glances, has you reluctantly pulling away from the embrace of your lover.

You see it now, the fear and worry that colors his expression. All of their expressions. Your eyes are suddenly fierce, fists clenching by your sides as your nails form crescents into the flesh of your palms.

"Someone better tell me what the everliving fuck is going on and why this happened again," You've never been so furious, have never lashed out as anyone as angrily as you are right now.

"A birthday party? Really? That's the excuse you came up with?!" Yukhei hangs his head in shame, knowing that it's in all of their best interest to let you finish. It's only fair.

"And you all knew, every single one of you let him walk into that ring again, every single one of you were okay with letting him die!" Your voice rises an octave, fresh tears now springing from your tired eyes.

"And I know there's something more, you're all shit liars. I just don't know what's going on and I dont know why, I just need to know why?" You sound defeated this time, covering your face in your hands as the cobra cradles your head against his chest.

You're too weak to pull away, too run dry to sob any longer.

Kun is the first to speak.

"His venom, it's-" You can only guess that someone glares at him, Hendery murmuring to his elder to let Yukhei tell you himself.

You finally glance up, meeting the teary eyed gaze of the man you love, who looks as terrified as he does stricken with unidentifiable emotions. He's silent as he deliberates with himself mentally, looking over his shoulder and nodding to the group in a silent understanding, before gently guiding you towards his room.

Venom, money, high.

These words echo in your brain as you sit across from Yukhei on his bed, his eyes too scared to meet yours as he finally finishes his explanation.

It's the whole hearted truth, as painful as it is to admit to the one person in this world who he so desperately wants to protect. But it had to be done, for your sake and for his.

"So the drinks you were making, they were filled with your venom...and people drank it willingly?"

You're still struggling to understand, no anger or shame laced in your voice as he expected, though it still doesn't lighten the indescribable weight that sits on his chest. He swallows.

"It's like...it's like a high for some people, or like being drunk but to an extreme, euphoric level," He anxiously picks at the skin beside his nail beds.

"The fox knew he could profit off of it, but it's still taboo. He was my employer and could easily pass me off as a crooked cobra hybrid who was sneaking my venom into drinks for secret cash. So he told me if I wanted to stop, for good, I had the chance to get my get out of jail free card during the upcoming fight,"

Your heart feels as if it might rip through your shirt, the pain and obvious regret in his voice tangible. It all makes since bow, though, in hindsight. Though you still don't understand why the others were so involved.

As if he read your mind, he continues.

"And Hendery, Xiaojun...they were just protecting me. They'd wait and make sure that I left the club everynight unharmed, and they knew the cost of confronting the fox. Hendery's venom as a scorpion is lethal, so he couldn't get involved for obvious reasons. They weren't happy or okay with any of it, I just didn't have a choice."

You suddenly feel like the guilty one now, chest heavy as the pieces of the gigantic, horrifying, and confusing puzzle finally come together.

It's alot to take it, more than you were prepared for. And your anger isn't directed at them anymore, in fact wvery ounce of fire that had been raging inside of you burns at the idea of that stupid fucking fox doing all of this for cash.

Sensing that he's still worried you're upset, you reach out to grab his fidgeting hands, his chin lifting only slightly as to peer at you through his dark lashes.

When you crawl over to him and on his lap, he looks dumbfounded. Even more so as you kiss him gently, softer than a rose petal as your thumb caresses the apple of his cheek.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that, I'm so so sorry." Tears slip past your waterline before you can contain them and he kisses them away just as quickly, voice incredulous.

"Baby no, don't apologize, ever," He lifts your face to his, eyes wide and full of reverie. "I'm okay, I'm okay because you were there and I promise with my entire heart and soul to never get wrapped up in that shit ever again, ever."

You kiss him again, the taste of tears not bothering either of you. You just need to feel him, to remind yourself that he's not going anywhere. You can't shake the thought of how he looked last night.

"I almost lost you, Yukhei you...I thought I'd wake up and you'd be gone and I'd never get to kiss you again or hear your laugh," He's crying now, too, silently as he closes his eyes and you bury your face against his neck. His hands cradle you as if he has the entire world in his grasp.

"Shh I'm here, m'not going anywhere baby. I'll stay forever with you."

And he means it to his very core, feels it in his bones, solidifed as you kiss him again and again like he suplies the air in your lungs. You're both so in love with every fiber of your being, so enraptured in the feeling of one another.

When you push at his chest to silently ask him to lie down, he's quick to assert who's taking care of who, eagerly gripping your soft waist and letting your back fall against his mattress.

"My sweet angel," You arch into his touch as his plush mouth nibbles the soft skin underneath your jaw, traveling across the expanse of your throat and to the sides of your neck. "Let me make you feel good, been so patient with me."

It dawns om him that you're wearing his hoodie and he swears his heart throbs in his chest, quick fingers pulling the garment over your head and tossing it to the side with your shirt underneath, before continuing his descent.

He's shamless in the way he cups your breasts in his wide palms, gazing up at you through slitted eyes as his pink tongue flicks over one of the hardening buds. You reach out to touch any part of him you can, whining as he repeats the action on the opposite breast.

He wanders even further down, across every inch of your tummy, humming all the while in satisfaction at how sweet you smell between your legs, at how needily you whine for him.

He's all too excited now, pulling the shorts from your body with a force that should've ripped them in half, kissing your inner thighs sweetly but not as earnestly as he'd like. He's just too focused on the enticing sight of your glistening sex, mouth practically watering.

He doesn't wait for you to prepare yourself, digging in immediately. Your hands fly to his hair, fingers tangling themselves in the strands as his mouth encloses around your throbbing clit, suckling before he licks a broad stripe over your folds.

"Yu-yukhei...oh!" Your thighs threaten to close around his head but he holds them open with an inescapable grip, endulging himself wholeheartedly as he slurps and licks at every drop of juice that flows from you.

It's a maddening sort of pleasure, your toes curling and belly tightening. His nose is pressed against your pubic mound as he keeps his mouth over your center, wriggling his head back and forth as his tongue flicks over your clit at an inhuman pace.

"Ah, I can't- oh fuck." You're blabbering incoherently, though it only drives him further. He relishes in the way you're writhing underneath him, the way you're so wet just for him and him only.

"Want you to cum on my tongue, can you do that for me?"

All you can do is cry out in response, bucking your hips against his mouth as he prods at your entrance with the tip of his tongue. You're so close it's humiliating, but he's elated, already sensing your orgasm in the way your walls throb and pulse with every lick to your bud.

The sounds are so nasty, so lewd in the way your wetness combined with his saliva is so audible in the small room.

You cum without a warning, not being able to speak or do much of anything except jerk and twitch as he keeps his mouth on you, unrelenting in his determination to taste your release.

You whimper.

"Fuck me, please Xuxi p-please."

You beg softly, with half lidded eyes and he reluctantly lifts himself from your center with dark yet gentle eyes, mouth saturated in your juices. He can't resist you.

He kisses you like this, and you don't complain one bit. Not when he's got his pants down faster than you can blink, gripping his thick shaft and rubbing the ruby hued tip of his cock against your sensitive clit.

"Want me to fill you up, huh? Want me to make you mine forever and ever."

You're unable to verbally respond when he pushes himself in, not even an ounce of friction due to a mixture of your cum and his spit coating your walls as well as the inside of your thighs. He buries himself to the hilt, your hands on his broad back.

His pace is determined but not frantic, body held up by his forearms so he can continue to kiss you while his dick spears into you. Your lips are one of his favorite parts about you, so soft, the perfect size to slot right against his.

"Yes Xuxi, want you to give me all your cum, pretty p-please."

He supresses a hiss, burying his face in the crook of your neck as you wrap your thighs around his middle, heels pressing into his lower back.

"Mm, gonna give you my babies," He doesn't miss the way your walls flutter around him, as he pulls himself almost all the way out before sheathing himself inside of you once more. "Want you to be leaking with my cum for a w-whole week."

You whimper, and it drives him mad. His hips are agile and precise as he fucks into you now, controlled and skilled. He knows exactly where your sweet spot is, exactly what has you clinging onto him for dear life.

"You're s-so big, missed your dick, missed you."

He's the one whining now, scattering wet kisses under your jaw, nibbling your earlobe. It's like no other sensation, being together like this. You can't tell where he ends and you begin, all you can do is feel.

"You like my big dick, hmm? Want me to stuff that pretty pussy full." His words are filthy, but his candence is sweet like honey, earnest in the way his voice trembles. He's just as high on pleasure as you are.

"Please, please, yes."

His thrusts become harsher in the way he fucks back into you, reaching past your cervix. Your fingers bury themselves into the dark strands of his hair as quiet whimpers bubble from your throat, senses overwhelmed with Yukhei Yukhei Yukhei.

It doesn't help that he's so vocal in your ear, the deep timber of his groans sending chills down your spine and causing your belly to fill with heat, spreading throughout your limbs like wildfire.

It's not just fucking, this feels like what making love really is. It's a reunion in more ways than one, a solidification of your bond. You wish it could last forever, the scent of his skin, the softness of it. You can feel every muscle in his body strained with the strength he uses to please you, to reach depths that have your toes curling.

When you turn your head to kiss the skin just below his ear, his hips falter.

"Oooooh, shit baby m'gonna cum, fuck."

You pull his face from your shoulder to smash his lips against yours, cradling his face as he cups the back of your neck. His tongue slips inside your mouth, and you purposely squeeze your walls around his length.

He mewls, cursing under his breath. "Cum for me, please Yukhei," He's looking right into your eyes, lips kiss bitten, skin flushed. "Make sure you give me every last drop."

He's done for, hair sticking to his forehead, a broken groan straining to leave his throat as he pushes himself as deep as possible, both of you watching each others expression in the process.

"I love you I love you I love you." He chants, while spurts of his cum paint your walls white. You unravel when you look down between your bodies for a fleeting moment, catching a glimpse of the amount he's released as he disappears inside of you over and over again.

He kisses your face as you struggle to grasp onto him, the pleasure too much to handle, physically and emotionally. It has tears springing from your eyes, nails digging into his biceps as he continues to fuck you through it.

"I love you too, I love you so much." You finally reply, finding the strength to speak no matter how slurred and sleepy it might sound.

He smiles warmly with irrevocable adoration, eyes crinkling at the corners. He strokes your cheek with the soft pad of his thumb, leaning down to peck your nose, and then your forehead, and then your eyelids.

"You have my entire heart," He professes. "I'll always be here."

"Guess I saw that cumming."

Xiajun glares at Hendery.

[masterwords]

I have a request. Maybe Hotch suffering anaphylaxis or food poisoning after a fourth of July picknick with the team and Morgan taking care of him.

Hey! I've written a lot of anaphylaxis and throwing up stories recently, so I decided to go in a little different direction with this one while still trying to honor the original request. Just to keep it a little fresh. It is pretty fluffy though, focusing more on Morgan taking care than the sick. I hope you like it! <3 If you feel slighted I'd be glad to write some real suffering.

Warnings: food poisoning, food, sickness (nothing too graphic though, strange I know)

Words: ~1800

**

“You really don't have to come,” Derek announced, not for the first time that afternoon. He was busy pulling on his swim trunks when Aaron walked out of the bathroom all messy hair and tired eyes, trying to make himself look like he belonged among the living. “You haven't slept in two days.”

“I'll be okay,” Aaron replied. Derek wouldn't argue again. He'd made his point and it was, not surprisingly, being ignored. “Jack wants to go.” That was just going to have to be good enough to get him through. He'd pulled himself together on less plenty of times.

The day before, he'd been in the bathroom throwing up. All day and all night, he hadn't even bothered to try and sleep in his bed it was so bad, just moved between the bathtub and the toilet. The worst Derek had ever seen, he was sure of it. Linda Blair, eat your heart out. Derek had stayed with him at first, he tried to hang, sitting there beside him trying to be of some comfort but he reached a certain point where he was no good anymore, he was falling asleep sitting up. Aaron insisted he go to bed, get some sleep, there was no reason both of them should be miserable at Dave's barbecue.

Derek didn't sleep anyway. After hours of listening to the way Aaron tried to go undetected, the way he kept the fan on to muffle the sounds of his sickness he got up to use the bathroom. The door was locked from the inside, frustrating, but Derek had known it before he tried the handle. He had to use the bathroom in the hallway to pee and was glad Jack was such a heavy sleeper. There was a key in the kitchen cabinet, right above the sink, just in case but he wasn't going to use it this time. Not so long as he could still hear Aaron in there. There were any number of tricks Aaron kept up his sleeve for these occasions, ways to mute himself, shrink until he disappeared – locked doors, ceiling fans, running water. By the time the shower was going, Derek had fallen asleep accepting that there wasn't anything he could do. It would just have to run its course.

Being in love with Aaron Hotchner was messy. Not for the faint of heart. Sometimes it felt like being the center of the universe and other times it was being alone, living with a ghost. The good times were so good, and the bad times were impossible and lonely. If he believed he was a burden, he would vanish, it was just that simple. Like a dying animal hiding beneath a porch, Aaron would hole himself up and expect you to pretend he never existed in the first place. Turn your feelings off, erase your memory. With outstretched arms Morgan would wait, assure him he wasn't a burden, that he wanted to care for him but his arms would remain empty.

The moment his arms were full, he knew the worst of it had passed. He held Aaron close to him, felt his muscles tremble beneath his grasp. The way tired didn't seem to cover even his normal days, this was a level he was unfamiliar with. Uncharted territory and yet the feeling of Aaron wrapped in his embrace felt like hope – he was there, right there, and he was not pushing Derek away.

“Fireworks,” Aaron whispered into Derek's neck. “Jack wants to see the fireworks.”

It was unlikely that he was going to make it to the fireworks. They both knew it, but he was going to try. Dave's house was busy, filled with the team and their families and loved ones, the air conditioner was on high, the drinks were flowing and the pool was open and inviting. Aaron tried. He wore a black t-shirt and black swim trunks, as if he planned to get into the water. Jack had insisted, just in case. Always practical, prepared for anything.

“Ey, Rossi! I didn't know you were friends with Gomez Addams!” Emily shouted, raising her beer high in a sort of cheers that Aaron didn't find amusing at all. Derek, however, gave up one of the best belly laughs he'd produced in weeks. She sauntered up slow, more than a few beers in and looked him up and down. “You look like roadkill.”

“I feel like it,” he muttered, declining the offer of a beer from JJ beside him. Emily's face fell dramatically and she looked at Derek who just shrugged in a way that said he'd tell her all about it later. The sun beat down on them and Aaron watched Jack drop all of his things near a table, kick out of his sandals and fly into the pool without a second thought. Henry was already spinning around in the deep end like a tornado, creating a whirlpool of epic proportions and Jack sputtered in the wake happily. Derek placed his hand gently at the small of Aaron's back and lead him toward some chairs that weren't taken yet. There was a bottle of sparkling water and a smile offered to him as Derek crouched in his line of sight, just making sure he was okay before he moved on and mingled.

“You good?”

“I'm good,” Aaron replied dryly. His stomach hurt enough that stretching out was painful, but once his muscles settled it took him almost no time at all to fall asleep in the direct sunlight. The way the warmth encircled him, made it hard to breathe with it's thick, humid blanket covering him. The sweat that beaded up on his forehead and trickled down, catching in the silvery hair at his temples, it all provided him the perfect conditions to sleep for the first time in days.

Everyone ate while Aaron slept, and though multiple people offered to make him a plate, Derek told them not to wake him. He wouldn't want to eat anyway, he said, over and over as he told and retold the epic tale of their last few days. In the pool he could hear Jack telling Will and Henry about his dad puking and Derek told his story with equal enthusiasm. He spared no detail. Aaron wasn't awake to protest, and after the days they'd had, Derek felt he was owed this much.

The sleep was deep but didn't last. Penelope was worried, covering him in cool wet towels, shocking him awake. She'd sprayed him down with Jack's sunscreen first, terrified he was going to get a sunburn. She'd gotten to him before Derek could stop her, and even after he noticed he just let it play out. Aaron grumbled and tried to pull himself back into the dream he'd been having but it was no use, his legs were cold and wet now and it felt too good to ignore. There was a sunburn in his future, at least for his shins and he got up and wandered toward the pool, seating himself in the corner at the shallow end away from the splashing children being tossed through the air by Derek and Will. He slipped his feet in, let them dangle for a moment to get used to the icy chill before letting go of the tension and kicking them back and forth beneath the minty green water.

“You don't look so hot,” Dave said, groaning as he sat beside Aaron. He handed Aaron a bottle of sparkling mineral water, knowing exactly what his drink of choice would be.

“Food poisoning,” Aaron replied, shrugging as he hazarded his first icy sip, testing out the way his stomach would react before taking more.

“The Lunchables you ate on the jet?”

“That's my best guess.”

“Just your luck, huh? Morgan and Emily ate four of those wrinkly old gas station hot dogs without a problem, Reid had that crusty corndog, you grab a package of pre-packaged kid food and get sick.”

Aaron hummed and nodded, having no desire to relive the memory of the slimy turkey and sweaty cheese on crackers. It hadn't tasted off, but he knew it when he finished them that something was wrong and was just grateful to make it home before it hit. Jack was worried at first, and then he'd started to record the sounds through the door so at least there was that. He'd made his son happy. Sean had always found his suffering to be amusing, too. Most of it, anyway.

He found his way into the water soon after. Not awake or well enough to swim, he just lounged by the wall and enjoyed the reprieve from the heat, still in his t-shirt now sopping wet and clinging to him. Derek made his way over, showered him with chlorine kisses and shook the water droplets off of his body like a dog all over Aaron who scrunched his nose and closed his eyes against the assault.

Jack thought it was hilarious. Henry begged Derek to do it again. Will made a show of protesting but it was weak at best, he wanted the show to continue as much as the boys did.

So, Derek dove beneath the water and leapt out, shaking himself off again.

And again. And again, until Aaron was soaked and smiling and threatening Derek's life. He wasn't feeling particularly energetic but he was just playful enough to splay his palms against the surface of the water and slap a stiff wall directly at Derek, slicing over him as he attempted to dive out of the way.

“Truce!” Derek called, wiping water from his eyes. Will and the boys laughed close by before resuming their own games at the other end of the pool. Derek swam to where Aaron stood and circled his waist beneath the water, pulling him into deeper water until they were just barely touching, chins dipping just below the surface.

"You were right," Derek said, pressing a soft kiss against Aaron's cold, wet lips. They were turning just the palest shades of pinks and blues. "You must be feeling better."

"Oh, no, I feel like I was scraped off of the bottom of a dumpster but I am having fun."

As the sun began to set, everyone vacated the pool and found places to set up on Dave's lawn, ready for the private firework show he'd set up with a friend who happened to be licensed for that sort of thing. No one bothered to question Dave's connections, they just accepted that he knew everyone – if you needed a guy, Dave had a guy. Or he could find one with relative ease.

Derek set up a lawn chair beside Jack, and though they drug a chair out for Aaron as well, he found himself more comfortable sitting with his wet clothes in the cool, freshly clipped grass. He slipped between Derek's legs, resting his cheek against Derek's knee while he shivered in his towel. Sitting where he was, he had a view of everything but Derek formed a protective barrier, helping him slip away and hide, keeping to himself. Smiling, he watched Jack and Henry toss the football with Will while the fireworks were set up and fought the overwhelming urge to fall asleep where he sat. Once or twice his eyes drifted shut, muscles relaxing into the soft grass beneath him as they waited patiently for the show.

The boom of the fireworks overhead, the shower of bright lights and dazzling spray of sparkles kept him awake. Around him was the sound of his team oohing and aahing happily, Dave and his friend loading up more explosives onto the makeshift stage they'd put together and across town they could hear the faint sounds of more explosions in the night sky. A crowd from Dave's neighborhood gathered at the outskirts of his lawn, eager to witness their own private show. Derek tangled his fingers mindlessly through Aaron's damp hair, pulling it into peaks and twists and though he knew he should have been sleeping the rest of his sickness off and he'd probably pay for it later, he was glad he'd come.

Not just for Jack.

[cyhyr]

KakaIru Maze 2021: Decoding Ancient Lost Languages

Fandom: Naruto

Rating: T

WC: ~4540

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Additional Tags: Mysterious Injuries, Old Gods, Sacrifice, Poisoning, Curses, Hospitalization, Hopeful Ending, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Procedures, Hair Loss

A/N: *~*Throws Confetti*~* I. DON'T. KNOW. WHAT. I'M. DOING.

I did the barest amount of research for this fic. *~*More Confetti*~*

Read on The Archive

~

Normally, Iruka would balk at the idea that he should be carried through the front gates after a mission, no matter how gruelling. He has an image to uphold, and what if one of his students were to see him broken and weak after one of his missions? He’d either never hear the end of their worry or, worse, lose their respect as a strong shinobi capable of teaching them.

So no, this situation is far from normal.

He holds on tight around Kotetsu’s shoulders and buries his face in his teammate’s hair. His back is on fire, carved wounds shifting and worsening with each step. Some kind of curse-seal, or a time-released jutsu; whatever happened, Izumo couldn’t use the mystical palm jutsu to heal it, not without causing further excruciating pain and making the wounds ooze and seem to cut themselves deeper into Iruka’s back.

They had cut their losses and abandoned the mission. Iruka’s fūinjutsu was vital to its success anyway, and he was—is—in constant agony.

Thankfully, they enter the village just after nightfall. Iruka can feel a bit relieved over that—most of his current students are home and inside at this time, so the chances of being seen by any of them are slim. He bites his lip to stifle a cry as Kotetsu pushes off a rooftop a bit harder than usual and it shifts him too much.

They’re halfway to the hospital when the ANBU team flank him and Kotetsu, escorting them the rest of the way. One of them, Cat, runs close enough to talk.

“Report.”

Iruka can’t. Kotetsu responds, “An injury that responds poorly to normal medical field ninjutsu.”

“Is he awake?”

Iruka nods, knowing Cat will see.

“Iruka-sensei, can you speak?”

He shakes his head.

Kotetsu says, “He’s been in too much pain to do much more than nod or shake his head.”

“Rokudaime-sama wants you and your other teammate to report directly to him once Iruka-sensei is admitted to the hospital.”

Kotetsu fumbles another step. Iruka grits his teeth and groans, holding back a scream. “Sorry, Ru,” he mumbles. To Cat he says, “Of course, ANBU-san. Izumo’s checking us in at the gate. I’ll collect him and report, once I drop Iruka off.”

Iruka doesn’t remember being admitted. He does remember Sakura’s startled cry as he’s placed face-down on a gurney and his wounds are finally able to be seen in harsh fluorescent lighting for the first time. Gods, he’s tired of being face-down in hospital beds.

Will something, anything, have the wherewithal to fucking strike him in the chest for once, please?

He passes out.

~

A hand is holding his own gently as he wakes, extremely disoriented and floaty on painkillers. He blinks his eyes open and turns his gaze to the man beside him. Iruka smiles faintly. “K’shi,” he slurs. Oh, they have him on the good drugs.

“You are never leaving the village again,” Kakashi whispers harshly. He bows his head and kisses Iruka’s hand in his own and continues, “Hokage’s orders.”

“I‘ll go rogue,” Iruka mutters, closing his eyes. “What’s in my IV?”

“From what Sakura tells me? Everything.”

“That explains.” Iruka stops, trying to think of the rest of his sentence, but a fresh flood of painkillers just flowed into his arm and he hums instead.

“I heard from Kotetsu and Izumo what happened,” Kakashi continues. “Are you able yet to talk about it as well?”

“Nope.” Iruka nuzzles into his pillow. He’s feeling really floaty and he’d like to go back to sleep.

Kakashi chuckles. Iruka receives a kiss to his hair and a tighter grip on his hand. “Sleep, then, my love. I’ll see if Sakura can get you on something less strong, enough that we can talk soon.”

“‘Kay. Love you.”

He falls back asleep.

~

When he wakes the second time, there’s a different kind of energy in the room—a different sort of love in the air, and Iruka knows it sounds crazy but he can just tell, even with his eyes still closed, when he’s around Kakashi or if he’s around Naruto.

Now, it’s Naruto.

Also, he can feel the carving in his back, so whatever they’d had him on before they’d lowered the dosage or put him on something else entirely.

“Hey, Naruto,” Iruka says, opening his eyes.

In the chair beside his head, the blond bundle sits, knee twitching. With his bandaged arm crossed over his other and his head bowed in thought, he almost looks like the adult he’s so close to being, instead of the teenager he still is. They argue good-naturedly about it all the time; Naruto insists that he’s an adult, but at eighteen, he’s still technically a teenager and Iruka reminds him of it as much as he can.

“Iru-nii! How are you feeling?”

“Like someone took a carving knife to my back,” Iruka scoffs. “Also, strangely drained.”

Naruto nods. “Sakura-chan said that the new pain medicine has the side-effect of making it feel like you’re chakra-exhausted. But,” he frowns, “she also said that the dose should be strong enough that you wouldn’t be in too much pain when you wake up.”

“It’s bearable, Naruto. You…” He sighs, “You didn’t see me when I came in, did you?”

He shakes his head. “I was out with Kiba and Shikamaru. Kakashi-sensei told me about you this morning, when we got back. You’ve been drifting in and out for, like, three days!”

Iruka buries his face in his pillow and groans. There goes his hope that the carvings won’t scar.

“He says he’ll be by later,” Naruto adds. He shivers comically. “I still don’t see why you’d pick him of all people, Iru-nii.”

Iruka smiles. “You have a different experience with him as his student.” The smile fades and he asks, “Has there been any progress made on fixing my back?”

Naruto sobers. “See, that’s the thing. Every time Sakura tries to get close with some kind of medical ninjutsu—or even with normal healing balms and stitches—the cuts react violently. Like there’s some bad chakra embedded inside them.”

“Has anyone had a Hyūga come and look at it?” Iruka muses. “If there’s chakra in the cuts, then a Hyūga would see it with the Byakugan.”

Naruto jumps up. “You’re a genius! I’ll go and check with Sakura-chan!”

Iruka watches him leave and sighs fondly. Kakashi did well with him, he thinks, and then closes his eyes and drifts.

~

At least he’s able to move around on his own now. Iruka washes his hands in the bathroom and then braces his palms on the sink. It’s been almost a week, and no one is any closer to figuring out how to fix his back.

Having a Hyūga look at the wounds didn’t help. It nearly blinded Hinata. Iruka still feels horribly guilty about it, but she can still see and activate her Byakugan, so he’s been told multiple times to let it go.

What she had seen made everyone uneasy though. A slimy discharge of chakra oozing from the wounds, bright and powerful enough that Hinata had to close her eyes against it.

Sakura has a small team of medi-nins on his case, researching at all hours. Two days, and they still haven’t found anything.

Iruka’s frustrated.

Kakashi visits every night and Naruto most mornings. It’s nice, but he’d rather be back in class with his kids.

He had to get a blood transfusion last night. His back hasn’t stopped bleeding, and the blood loss finally caught up to him.

Iruka turns his back to the mirror, takes off his shirt gingerly, and looks over his shoulder at the carvings. He frowns—it looks odd. This is the first time he’s gotten to see the wounds, and he can’t imagine no one's noticed…

He leaves the bathroom and hunts around in the stack of drawers by his bed. “Ha!” He finds a pad of paper and a pencil, and heads back into the bathroom.

It’s difficult, transcribing the still bleeding wounds onto paper through a mirror while looking over his shoulder. It’s even harder once the dose of painkillers he’s on fully metabolizes and he’s not yet done. Twisting his upper back, stretching and sitting on the edge of the sink so he can see his lower back—it aches.

A voice comes from the other side of the door, along with a soft knock. “Iruka-sensei? Is everything alright?”

Sakura.

He places the pad and pencil on the counter and slides the door open. “Sakura, has no one realized that the wounds are words?” he asks.

She looks startled. “Huh?”

“Could you please clean them for me again, and check that I’ve transcribed it correctly?” Iruka reaches back inside the bathroom and gives the pad of paper to Sakura. “I’m sure Rokudaime-sama will be interested in this.”

Sakura finally catches up. “Yes! Um, let me get you another dose of painkillers, and a flush kit. If you could sit back down, Sensei? I’ll be right back!”

Iruka just about collapses onto the mattress, leaning his elbows on his knees. Finally, some answers are on the horizon.

~

“It’s no language the cipher corps recognize, nor is it a code in our archives.” Kakashi has his arms crossed and a shoulder leaning against the window. “But they do agree with your assessment—it’s definitely a message of some kind.”

Iruka sighs, picking at the hospital food. “Validation is nice, but I was hoping for an end to this pain.”

“I know, love. Me too.”

“When can we expect word back from Sasuke?”

“If it is Otsutsuki, Sasuke should arrive as soon as possible, per my order. If not, he likely will only return a messenger hawk with the information.” Kakashi leaves the window and comes to sit on the mattress beside Iruka. “We’re going to figure this out.”

Iruka hums and leans against his partner, resting his head against Kakashi’s collarbone. It’s not comfortable, but it is comforting. “I miss sleeping with you,” he whispers.

Kakashi kisses the top of his head. “I miss you too, love. The house is too quiet without you.”

~

Iruka stares at the encoded characters transcribed from his back. He’s… discomfited. He’s been staring at the words for almost a half-hour, trying to make sense of it.

It doesn’t change.

Iruka knows this language.

Not… not well enough to read it outright, but enough that with the characters cleaned up and a fresh copy in his hands, one that was written down while the scribe (himself) wasn’t in immense pain, he recognizes it.

“Iru-nii!” Naruto steps in for his morning visit. “How’d you sleep?”

“As best as can be expected,” Iruka mutters. “Naruto, can you do me a favor?”

“Hmm? Sure!”

Thank the gods he still has his moments of dull-headedness. “In the office at home, I have a scroll with the Uzumaki clan seal on it. It’s the only one, middle shelf. I need you to get that scroll for me please.”

“Nii-chan, why do you have an Uzumaki scroll?”

Iruka sighs. “Go get the scroll, and I’ll explain when you get back, okay?”

Naruto leaves through the open window, his footing unsteady. But he leaves and that means that Iruka can breathe and take the time to think of a way to tell him, when he gets back, about how he found out that they are actually distantly related.

Actually, no—how is he supposed to—shit. Iruka drags a hand down his face.

Hey Naruto, oh this old scroll? Found it in the archives after Tsunade-sama left office! It was in a box marked with my parents’ names on it. Yeah, turns out that my father was a refugee from Uzushio, just like your mother! Oh, and funnily enough, Umino is also a branch family of the Uzumaki!

That’s… not going to go over well, is it.

~

Break a thing for fragments. Break the fragments for dust. Break the dust, and break what remains. Here is fire.

To forge a sword, to fight, to curse your enemies on the eve of battle. This is the story of blood and its exits.

A word that sanctifies the change that comes when the seared skin peels. Words spoken in ritual to inspire an unmerciful Change. To speak them aloud is to hear the sword hiss.

All these things share certain patterns.

“Mercy,” saith the Altar, “is found only in shadow.”

“Mercy,” saith the Altar, “is found only in shadow.”

“Mercy,” saith the Altar, “is found only in shadow.”

…

Iruka wakes gasping, not realizing that he’d fallen asleep. He pats his lap for the scroll Naruto had brought him, and startles as he realizes that it’s not there. It—It had been there just, just a little while ago, hadn’t it???

“Mercy is found only in shadow,” he mutters to himself, looking around his room. “Mercy is found… There!” The scroll, the one with the Uzumaki clan seal, is rolled up and tucked neatly away on a table on the far end of the room. Iruka gathers his strength and swings his legs over the side of the bed.

He tries to stand.

And fails.

He catches himself on hands and knees, and then feels his elbows weaken and give way. His cheek hits the tile and he hisses. He tries to push up again, but can’t…

Can’t…

…

The Altar holds a spark.

Freol is the mouth, the door, the flame, the altar, and the reward.

Knife and sword shed blood for Freol; what is spilled is hers. Fires burn for Freol; what is consumed is hers.

~

“Iruka! Iruka, please, wake up!”

“The breath of Freol brings change and endings,” Iruka slurs, barely awake and compelled. He can’t stop, can’t stop, can’t speak anything other than this ancient language. “‘Mercy,’ saith the Altar, ‘is found only in shadow.’ Let those who gather near Freol be blessed and cursed. Mercy is found only in shadow. Mercy—”

“Naruto, tell me Sasuke has gotten back to us.”

“He hasn’t! And-and Kurama has no idea what Iru-nii’s saying, either!”

Kakashi shakes him, taps his cheek. “Iruka, come back, please.”

Iruka tries to say I’m sorry Kakashi but what passes his lips is a murmured, “‘Mercy,’ saith the Altar, ‘is found only in shadow.’”

~

Sakura stands in front of him solemnly. “We gave him a high enough dose of tranquilizer that he shouldn’t even dream, Kakashi-sensei. My team—”

Kakashi holds up a hand to stop her from speaking. He knows he doesn’t look good, knows he hasn’t been home in over forty-eight hours, but he can’t… he can’t stop. Iruka… “What about the scroll that was in his room?”

“Naruto said Iruka-sensei had him collect it from his home office,” Sakura says. “But no one can read it. We have been able to determine that it’s in the same language as the carvings he transcribed from his back, though.”

Kakashi looks up. “The cavern he and his team had been in—where were they?”

Sakura turns to the map hanging up in his office, and points, “East of here, near a village on the coast. Naruto mentioned—”

“The scroll is from Uzushio,” Kakashi muses, “and it has an Uzumaki clan seal on it. I’ll bet we’ll find more information about all this in the ruins of Uzushio.”

Sakura nods. “But Kakashi-sensei, you can’t—”

“I know.” He sighs. “Take Naruto and go. Find out what’s causing this. Find out how to fix it.”

She nods again and turns to leave.

“Sakura,” he calls out, softer. She stops, but doesn’t turn back to face him. That’s good; he might not be able to say this to her face. “This part comes not from your Hokage, but from me, personally. Please. He’s… Iruka’s everything. Please, find something.”

She gives him a thumbs-up over her shoulder, and says, “We won’t let you down, sensei.”

~

Kakashi watches from the windows as the nurses check Iruka’s vitals and change out his fluids. She bows to him when she’s done and then turns to leave; Kakashi holds up a palm and says, “Wait.”

“Hokage-sama?”

“How… How is he?”

She smiles softly, gently. “We’re taking good care of him, sir.”

“That’s all Sakura told you to tell me, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Hokage-sama.”

He sighs. “Thank you. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Her smile turns just the tiniest bit mischievous. “A higher budget for the hospital in the next fiscal quarter wouldn’t be remiss, Hokage-sama.”

He waves her away, “I’ll see what I can do,” he says with as much humor as he can muster. She leaves, and he goes to sit in his chair by Iruka’s side.

They had to intubate him today. Kakashi couldn’t get away from the desk long enough to be here for him; not that it mattered, because they were keeping him sedated even before shoving a tube down his throat. But it matters to Kakashi because he can’t…

He can’t do anything.

He’s stuck here, managing the village, while his students are out looking for answers to whatever mysterious illness his partner has fallen to. And all he’s good for is holding Iruka’s hand, and maybe going and lobbying for an increase in the hospital budget.

His hair is limp and matted from long weeks in the hospital. Kakashi runs his fingers through the ends of brunet strands and hopes that, when Iruka wakes up, he’ll let Kakashi wash his hair.

“Please get better,” Kakashi murmurs into the clasp of their hands. “I need you. Please.”

~

“Sakura-chan.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m getting real sick of goddesses thinking they can ruin everything, y’know?”

“Yeah.”

Mercy is found only in shadow.

~

“He needs another blood transfusion.”

“Take mine,” Kakashi offers. “We have the same blood type.”

“Hokage-sama—”

“Just take the damn blood,” Kakashi snaps. “Whatever he needs, please, just. Just do it. Take it.”

The nurses bow. “Yes, sir.”

Footsteps in the hall, rapidly approaching, signal Kakashi to a messenger. He stands up and crosses to the door just as Shikamaru slides it open, panting from his run.

Shikamaru turns to the nurses and says, “He needs a bone marrow transplant.”

The nurse looks at him, startled, and says, “Whyever for?”

“Naruto sent ahead a messenger.” Shikamaru glances at Kakashi and finally catches his breath. “The one word Iruka-sensei had said, Freol? It’s the name of an ancient deity of the Land of Whirlpools, one whose purview is to change its followers. One of the ways it does this, as Sakura describes it, is through a kind of radiation poisoning.”

“But that doesn’t explain the,” Kakashi gestures vaguely, and then ends helplessly, “speaking in tongues.”

“The message said they’ll explain that part when they get home,” Shikamaru says. “Naruto and Sakura are on their way back, arrival is estimated at thirty-one hours.” He turns to the nurse. “Can we perform a transplant?”

She hums thoughtfully. “Normally, I’d say yes. But Iruka-sensei doesn’t have any close blood relatives, and if his own marrow is compromised as you say we can’t assume an autologous transplant will be effective.”

Kakashi’s heart stops. “But—”

“But,” the nurse continues, “we can start him on a treatment regimen which will increase his white blood cell count. We’ll start checking in with frequent blood tests. We can also start on a broad-spectrum heavy metals sequestration; we’ll cover Iodine, thallium, caesium, plutonium, and curium. They’re the most common.”

Kakashi motions to her, and says to Shikamaru, “She’s my favorite.”

“You shouldn’t have favorites, Kakashi-sama.”

He groans. The nurse smiles and says, “I’ll go order those tests and treatments,” and then ducks around Shikamaru and leaves.

~

Kakashi holds the scroll open on his desk, reading the translation Sakura and Naruto brought back. It’s a puzzle in its own right, but coupled with the Uzumaki scroll Iruka had kept in their office, Kakashi finds himself even more thoroughly confused.

“I understand how you came to the conclusion of radiation,” he says. “But I don’t understand how this is supposed to explain why Iruka began speaking the language. Because that is what happened, isn’t it?”

“That’s where a little bit of Iruka-sensei knowledge comes in handy,” Naruto says. He steps forward and points to a line near the bottom. “‘Many others can open the way. Few can place a seal where there was none before.’ And then I remembered this one, off-hand comment Iruka-sensei had made when we were kids. That the people from Uzushio were really good with fūinjutsu.”

“And that has to do with Iruka?”

“Kakashi-sensei,” Naruto groans, like he’s the genius and Kakashi is being deliberately stupid. “Umino is an Uzushio family! ‘Few can place a seal where there was none before’! I’ve seen him do that, just, poof, barrier seals.”

“Naruto, I know he’s from Uzushio. What does that have to do with his condition?”

“Freol,” Sakura says. “When he and the other chūnin got close to that cave. She recognized him as one of hers and marked him.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because the same thing happened to Naruto when we got close.”

Kakashi stands up, vaults over the desk and puts his hands on Naruto’s shoulders. “You’re alright?”

“Kurama beat her up and kept me safe,” Naruto nodded. “But I could hear her. She said something like, ‘the flames will consume, or change, or seal at my whim.’ She was angry.”

Kakashi sighs and drops his hands. “And even Kurama doesn’t recognize this goddess?”

“Actually, once they came into contact, he did recognize her,” Naruto says. “Freol was a protector of the Land of Whirlpools, he says, a creator of soldiers superior to ninja.”

“Superior?”

Sakura interjects, motioning back to the scrolls on his desk. “Right here, see. ‘Hers is the flame which hides in the flesh and the soul and twists both into something new.’ But also, this line, ‘What is left behind is Changed, and may Change others in turn.’”

“Kurama was able to tell us about Uzushio as it once was, back in the warring states,” Naruto continues. “That there would be those who would willingly sacrifice themselves to Freol, for the chance to Change into something more. Something different.”

“A superior soldier,” Kakashi muses. “And this Change. This is what’s happening to Iruka.”

Both of them nodded. “That’s what we think.”

“How do we stop it?”

“That’s the thing,” Sakura’s face falls. “I don’t think there’s a way to stop the process once it starts. Freol marks those she wishes to undergo the Change, and then… Well, all of the writings we managed to find say that the sacrifices either come out stronger, or their families seal their bodies into stasis, or—”

She stops, choking on tears she fights back with every bit of training she’d gone through.

“Or they die,” Kakashi finishes in a soft, defeated voice.

All three of them stand silent in the office for a long time.

~

Kakashi finds himself sleeping in Iruka’s hospital room most nights. The treatment is hell on his partner’s body—the windows are covered with heavy curtains now, to keep out the sunlight which could very easily burn his skin on the medication; hair which was once limp and matted is now starting to fall out every time Kakashi pulls a brush through it; his lips are chapped and broken around the tube, his skin dry and thin everywhere else. The nurses had to change his IV from his arm to the back of his hand today, because the veins in his arm are becoming too thin to support the needle.

He’s dying.

Iruka’s dying, and all Kakashi can do is hold his hand and watch.

And, gods, the last thing they said to each other… Iruka was speaking a different language and Kakashi was begging him to wake up.

Will he really have to watch Iruka die, knowing that he’ll never get to hear I love you from those lips again?

Kakashi buries his face in his arms, carefully arranged over Iruka’s thigh. He used to have such thick, muscular thighs; it’s barely skin and bone now.

Alone, with only his dying partner to hear—or not—Kakashi lets himself cry.

~

“I’m going to try something.”

“Naruto, please—”

“No. Kakashi-sensei, Iru-nii is strong. And Freol won’t pursue him if he goes through the Change, right?”

“There’s no guarantee of that.”

“He’ll be stronger, just like the other sacrifices who survived. Kakashi-sensei, all Iru-nii needs to do is survive.”

“The Change—”

“We’ll deal with it when we’re on the other side of this!”

Naruto places his hands on Iruka, and the Nine-Tail’s Cloak bubbles up around him.

The monitors, registering Iruka’s nervous system, don’t react. He’s in no further pain.

Kakashi feels the tiniest bit lighter. “I hope this works, Naruto.”

“It was Kurama’s idea,” the teen grins. “He remembered that normal healing jutsu wasn’t working before; but he was able to beat back Freol himself when she came after me. So letting Iru-nii use Kurama’s chakra as a kind of life support—it should keep Freol from making this worse at least, right? While he gets better?”

It doesn’t make sense. It shouldn’t work.

But it does.

~

Almost a week later, the nurses are removing the tubes from his throat, and Kakashi is pacing the room waiting for the tranquilizers to wear off. Iruka should wake up any minute now. Naruto’s plan worked. Iruka made it through, and his most recent blood test showed no abnormalities due to radiation. They stopped the heavy metal sequestration yesterday, but the white blood cell proteins will continue for a few days still, to help prevent further infection.

They still don’t know what kind of change Iruka’s undergone. At least, other than the physical.

His hair is gone. Sakura has assured Kakashi that it will grow back. It’s so odd, though, seeing his partner without hair. They’ve put a cap on his head to keep him warm—his body temperature has been fluctuating oddly the last day and a half, and in particular today he’s running cold.

Also, his scent has changed. He hasn’t told anyone about it yet, but Iruka smells different. Less like old parchment and a swift river, and more like… like a waterfall and the deep, loamy scent of rich, black earth. It’s not a bad change. But it’s significant. He’s already taken an overnight to summon the pack and have his ninken memorize Iruka’s new scent, just in case it’s permanent.

“K’shi?”

He’s across the room in a flash, holding Iruka’s limp hand and holding back tears.

“I thought—”

“My K’shi,” Iruka slurs, turning his head to face him and closing his eyes, a soft smile on his lips.

The tears fall anyway. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

Iruka hums. “L’ve you.”

He’s still on a considerable amount of pain medication, Kakashi realizes. He laughs wetly, leans forward and kisses Iruka’s forehead. “I love you, too. Rest, dear.”

“M’kay.”

And just like that, he is breathing slow and steady, his eyes close gently, and he is sleeping peacefully for the first time in months. Kakashi falls back into his chair with a huff and tips his head to the ceiling, still holding Iruka’s hand, and also, finally, finding an easy sleep.

[indianamoonshine]

two to tango | javier x reader

*please note that i have no idea who created this gif. please let me know who did so i can give them credit.

summary: you’re pregnant and javier is the father. unfortunately, the two of you also haven’t spoken to one another in over a month. he’s starting to notice how easily startled you’ve become and how pissed you’ve been getting around the office. maybe it’s time to finally tell him.

contains: pregnancy. fluff. mentions of open relationships and an age-gap. (reader is well over eighteen.) your relationship is a bit wack but the two of you mean well.

author’s note: i’m barely getting by in quarantine, so here’s a really crappy one-shot. my first javier fic!

you felt him watching you.

the way you stumbled more frequently but was more apt to catch yourself less you actually did. the way your hands shook as you wrote down information called in through a hiss of static and how the noise pissed you off more than usual. it was the way you made sure not to walk too close to his desk, how your hands passed him folders marked with “confidential” as though he were infected with something.

javier was fuckin’ clueless though.

how he didn’t see earlier was beyond you. it’d been a month and a half since the last time you’d slept together. it’d been a month since the argument between the two of you ended things abruptly. javier and his informants and you and your jealously.

not to say you were wrong to be jealous. because you weren’t. you weren’t wrong to be angry when javier had to bail on you to collect some intel by whatever means necessary. and, granted, you had given him permission to do whatever it was to take out that escobar fuck. but certainly he had to have seen through that “cool girl” demeanor.

maybe it was because you were younger than him. javier didn’t play games - it wasn’t his niche. and usually it wasn’t yours; that is, of course, until the game reared its ugly face. you called him out on his bullshit only to cast the line; to get a rise out of him just to see how much he really cared. and when he didn’t take the bait (or didn’t understand what the fuck you were trying to get at) you grew restless at his lack of passion. this is the game that fucks up many relationships and it certainly fucked up yours.

but not until javier fucked you. a lot. every night really because the two of you lived down the hall from one another. then when your jealously and his nonchalance finally came to a head, the game stood on its platform and bit into its shiny gold medal. one comment led to another and soon enough you found yourself slamming the door in his face, unable to breath, and giving him the cold shoulder for thirty whole days.

but that thirty whole days was up a week ago.

it’s almost quitting time. well, for you anyway. you had a set schedule. you didn’t go out on the field or get your fingers dirty like steve or javier did. no. you sat in a square protected by bulletproof glass, phone to your chin, and breaking pencils by the dozens while you doodled mindlessly. the clock on the far wall ticks lazily, your kneecaps bobbing anxiously with the beat. you want so desperately to go home, to get out of this sauna of an embassy and drink...shit. well, to drink water, you suppose.

you let out a slight groan.

there’s a knock on your cubicle which rattles the glass a little. it’s always startled you, but considering the circumstances the sound the glass makes is enough to make you jump in your seat just slightly.

you place a hand on your chest, eyes tearing away from the clock, and find javier with his hands on his hips. he watches you with frown on his face, though the mustache hides most of it.

ah, fuck. it wasn’t supposed to happen this way. you were supposed to approach him. he wasn’t supposed to feel obligated to ask why you were more fidgety or anxious than usual; why you were now staring him down with a grimace on your face, eyes dropped with fatigue, and heart skipping a little.

well, shit. maybe javier peña was more observant of your behavior than you thought.

he says your name softly and raps his finger on the window again so you’d open it. you find yourself doing just that but not without sighing in defeat. the whiff of his cologne immediately intrudes your space, making your head dizzy with...all sorts of feelings, really. javier didn’t wear that much cologne. must be another lovely effect of pregnancy, you suppose.

he leans forward to say, “we need to talk.”

he’s being tactical - clever - in the way he speaks in such a hushed tone, eyes scanning the room to watch people leave their desks. it’s five now. lights are being flickered off, goodbyes being said. javier raises a hand at a few cadets who wish him a good night.

and then finally the room is empty. steve’s not even here - he’s on the field today - boots on the ground and whatnot. but javier was here.

and he was staring right at you.

his voice rumbles loudly from his mouth. “what’s going on with you?”

god dammit. you clench around nothing, palms sweating, and wishing he’d just fucking leave. especially with the way he smells. especially with the way his voice is heady with testosterone and authority.

“nothing,” you lie. it’s a bad show of dishonesty. you’ve never been that great at fibbing anyway, but this has to be one of the least convincing displays you’ve ever attempted.

javier isn’t persuaded by the way you choke on your own words. and with all the sweat gathering against your chest, who would be?

“i’m worried about you,” he murmurs. “you’ve been acting...strange.”

he seems genuinely concerned which both pisses you off and excites you at the same time. on one hand, he’d been watching you. making sure you were okay. healthy. safe. on the other hand, he had the audacity to fret himself over your demeanor when he’d been ignoring you.

in his defense, you’d been the one to kick him out.

you swallow a lump in your throat. acid, mostly, and then pride. “okay,” you finally squeak. “let’s talk.”

javier watches you cautiously, taking stock of your color and expressive eyes which probably looked a bit dilated at the moment. finally he says, “fine. over drinks?”

drinks. shit.

--

“your place or mine?” he’d asked after.

you told him ‘mine’ in a pathetic manner as he drove you. this area of medellín didn’t have a lot to offer as far as views go, but there was enough to keep your mind occupied as you passed. food carts that wafted delicious smells. children playing games. lovers quarreling. and then finally you arrive at the apartment complex where everything felt a little more beige and lonely - where culture was almost sucked from the grasp of the american embassy.

but javier was here now, and as much as you wanted to hit yourself for thinking so, the night felt a bit brighter when he opened the door for you. you thank him as the two of you enter the building and then wait in silence as you fumble with your keys.

javier takes a deep breath and makes himself at home. he’s been here hundreds of times. he even has his own sock drawer; one you hadn’t cleaned out yet (you told yourself you were too busy but you know...). he shucks off his boots and places them in the corner because he knows that’s where you like them, and when he sheds his jacket he lays it on the back of the couch just like you do.

you beeline for the fridge, desperate to busy your hands. there’s not much in here drink-wise save for some water bottles and some of his leftover beer. there is a bottle of red wine, chilled and tempting, but you ignore it with a frown and fetch javier’s choice of poison.

he sits on the couch, elbows at his knees, and staring blankly at the floor beneath him. when you enter the room he blinks up at you and accepts your offering with a small “thank you”.

“water, huh?” he notices as you uncap the bottle, brow furrowing a little. he knew how much you loved wine after a long day, and he definitely knew there was some in that fridge.

you nod a little too quickly for your liking. “yeah,” you say, taking a swig. “is that alright with you?”

javier grins at your snark. maybe it was bubbling up old feelings in him. you try to pretend like that doesn’t make you...well, feel something other than frustration. you wanted to be mad at him. you did.

there’s a silence between the two of you. it’s heavy. stifling. not awkward, but tense. tense enough that javier starts first with a great sigh.

“i miss you,” he says abruptly. he’s fingering with the lip of his bottle - can barely look you in the eyes when he says it...as though he’s ashamed of it or something.

“i know i shouldn’t because...” he sets the beer on your coffee table and folds his hands together. “because i was the one that fucked it up.”

you want to correct him but he’s not entirely wrong. while you played a hand in this as well, it takes two to tango and it certainly did take two to tango in this situation.

“i...” you start, but fall short. you weren’t keen on admitting you were wrong. you hated admitting you were wrong. always have. “i’m to blame too. i lied to you.”

javier perks a brow, lips pursing for a moment before asking, “lied?”

you shrug and nod at once, a little skeptical of your show of honesty. you hope it didn’t look too forced or shallow. pathetic. typical of you to overthink things...to make it about you.

“i wasn’t okay with you sleeping with other women,” you admit. and it feels so fucking good to say it aloud to the one person who matters.

javier sets his jaw and nods at his feet. “i shouldn’t have done it.”

that part was true.

“still, i should’ve told you straight out. i just felt like you didn’t...” you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose, a wave of nausea washing over you rather suddenly. “i just felt like you didn’t care enough about me to stop. and i was being a child for pushing you to admit it. or trying to push you to admit it. i don’t know...”

you shake your head, stunned by your own stupidity. when saying it out loud to an actual person and not your shampoo bottles it doesn’t make any sense. how manipulative can someone be?

“i should’ve just been honest with you and i’m sorry i wasn’t...” is all you can say. that was the simplicity of it.

javier shifts beside you on the couch. you don’t look up at him - you’re way too ashamed. he sets a hand on your thigh and you can’t help but shudder vibrantly at his touch.

“i knew you weren’t okay with the...” he considers his next words carefully. “informants. and, to be honest, i wanted you to break first.”

you glance up at him through your lashes. “why?”

he chuckles softly all of a sudden. “you know i’m not an open book. but you...” he pauses and takes your hand that’s limp in your lap. “you’re more stubborn than i am.”

he presses a delicate kiss to it, mustache tickling the tender flesh. “please come back to me.”

he...wants you back.

tears swell in your eyes before you can even acknowledge their existence. they’d come on so suddenly - without warning.

damn these hormones.

you use your free hand to wipe a lone tear away, noting how a wrinkle of concern puckers his brow when you do.

“i have to tell you something first.”

he scoots closer, eyes narrowed, but mouth soft in dismay. he massages the space between your forefinger and thumb which, strangely enough, alleviates some of the leftover nausea in your gut.

might as well spit it out.

“i’m pregnant, javi.”

you’ve imagined this scenario hundreds - and i mean hundreds- of times since seeing those pink lines on that piece of plastic. you imagine he’d shut down, sort of like a fax machine when it overheats, and walk out the door. maybe he’d throw his hands above his head, pace around the room, and spout off ways of how it couldn’t be possible despite the fact that you rarely used protection.

how it happened, you couldn’t be sure. the technicalities of it, at least. you’d been on birth control but maybe you’d missed a dose. maybe you were just really fuckin’ fertile and javier was really fuckin’ fecund. but either way it happened and there was nothing to do but say it did - indeed - happen.

and just as you think he’s had a stroke...that you should either call for an ambulance or at the very least steve, javier cracks...a grin.

not a joke. he doesn’t crack a joke. he cracks a smile. it starts off subtle until it doesn’t; until his teeth and all are showing. he laughs, but in good humor too. not snickering - but laughing.

you can’t help but jolt back from his touch with dubious reserve. “are you...laughing?”

javier’s smile falls into a pleasant smirk and then he’s holding your face between two calloused palms. palms that are familiar and warm, that have touched every inch and frailty of your body. the ones that helped make life within you.

and before he even says it, you know it’s okay. that it’s all gonna be okay.

“is that why you’ve been so goddamned jumpy lately?” he beams, thumb rubbing a small and gentle circle against your cheek.

you stare at him incredulously before you begin to giggle well. it was only a matter of time, especially by the look of sheer delight in his eyes. you were stunned by his bliss of it all.

you nod in his embrace. “yeah,” you admit meekly. but you’re smiling now too.

javier presses his forehead against yours, breathing in your scent with a great inhale. “i knew there was something going on.” he brings his nose to the crook of your neck and takes in another deep breath. “you smell different.”

you roll your eyes in jest. “bullshit.”

“i’m serious,” he says, perfect nose gliding along your skin. “i’m positive that’s a thing.”

your hands grip his cheeks, stubble itching your skin when you do. he looks luminous- maybe even more than you.

“so...” you caress the top of his eyebrow, thumb brushing over it ever so slightly. he always loved it when you did that. “are we okay with this?”

javier leans into you, eyes trained on your lips. “of course we’re okay with it,” he confirms softly. “we’re more than okay with it.”

[unadulteratedbeardpeanut]

Bucky Drabble #3

Bucky x Pregnant!Reader (female)

A/N: Still haven’t got any further on my Uni essay, but I wrote this! This drabble came to me in the early hours of the morning and I ran with it. I honestly think this is the most I’ve written creatively at one sitting in my entire life (go me).

Warnings: Angst, Bucky is the Winter Soldier, so anything associated with that, but not super descriptive, sorta fluff? All the things associated with my writing, so poor writing, mediocre grammar, not beta read, not edited (I might fix that in future idk), Author herself is worth warning you about.

Word Count: 1394 (wow I surpassed 500 words; I even broke 1K!)

---------------------------

It was still dark outside when you opened your eyes, the moonlight sneaking through the gap in the curtains. The urge to go to the bathroom to relieve your bladder was the catalyst for waking you from your slumber. Your left-hand slides across the sheets, reaching out for your husband in comfort, only to meet his empty and cold side of the bed.

‘Where is he?’ you thought. He wasn’t on a mission; he would have told you if he was leaving for one.

You push yourself up by your arms and shuffle towards the edge of the bed, feet meeting the cold floor before gliding into your fluffy slippers. You walk towards the ensuite bathroom to relieve your bladder, rubbing your bump along the way.

‘you sure like to play with mummy’s bladder little one. Let’s go find where your daddy has wandered off to once we’re done, hmm?’.

You were finished in the bathroom quickly, keen to find out where your husband had gone. You first checked his study that was a few doors down from your shared bedroom. Bucky hated doing paperwork and often shoved it to the back burner until he was forced to do it- so it was possible he had some that needed completed by the morning. That idea was soon shot down when you entered his study for it only to be just as empty as the rest of the upper floor of your house. Breathing a sigh through your nose as you turn around and make for the ground floor, opting to check the living room to see if he is watching TV- again not an unusual thing for Bucky to do during the middle of the night when sleep evades him. Unfortunately, he was not to be found in the lounge either, the couch not even having any signs of being disturbed.

There was only one other place in the house that he could be and that was the kitchen, ‘maybe he was peckish and decided to make himself as sandwich… and decided to stay there…’. Yeah, you weren’t even convincing yourself with that one. 

The kitchen was just as dark as the rest of the house when you entered, no signs of life to be found. Now that you were here you were just as well to make yourself something though, maybe said sandwich that Bucky ended up not making for himself. You flicked the light switch, the sudden brightness blinding you momentarily and causing you to close your eyes on reflex. Only when you open them you are met with the beautiful blue eyes of your husband, your Bucky. Except he is looking at you with a blank expression. No recognition passed through is blue orbs as he looks at you.

‘’Bu-Bucky? What are you doing down here? Why were you sitting here in the dark?’’

He makes no to move to answer your question; just continues to stare at you with his empty eyes. You walk closer to him, slowly and in trepidation.

‘’Bucky? Sweetheart, are you alright?’’

‘Again nothing. It’s as if the lights are on but no one is home. It as if- oh. Oh no. Oh no no no, not this.’

You stop dead in your tracks, an arms width away from your husband- the love of your life, the father of your unborn child. You close your eyes and take a deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth, hands covering your bump both protectively and for comfort. You open your eyes again, feeling somewhat calm but equally dreading the next words to leave your mouth.

‘’Soldat?’’

His reply is instant. ‘’Ready to comply.’’

A quiet sob leaves your mouth at his words, grief overwhelming you. It felt as if your heart was following the same fate as the Titanic- sinking into a deep abyss of darkness; never to see the light of day again.  

You are lost for a few minutes in your grief, leaving yourself completely defenceless in his presence. However, the Winter Soldier makes no move. He just continues to sit there. Waiting. Waiting for his orders; for his next mission.  

Determination soon fills you, coupled with your unwavering love and desperation to get your Bucky back.

‘’Soldat, your orders are to go into the living room and sit on the sofa- the big one in the middle of the room- oh and please turn on the lamp just next to it too? I will join you shortly and give you your next orders.’’ Each word feels like acid as they leave your mouth, praying for Bucky’s forgiveness for doing this to him. The Soldier simply nods and- as silent as a panther stalking its prey- leaves the room, following his orders. You breathe a sigh of relief, rubbing your bump absentmindedly. You move forward to the counter and pull out all the necessary ingredients to make two sandwiches -Bucky’s favourite- and turn the kettle on. Hot chocolate and a sandwich, comforting food to try and help him remember himself. You would have liked to make proper hot chocolate- with warm milk rather than water- but you already have a long night ahead of you.

Putting everything on a tray (a baking tray that you have repurposed for the moment) once made, you turn and leave the kitchen, noticing the dim light leaving the living room as you walk.

He is sitting stiffly on the couch when you enter the room, his face and eyes staring directly forward and awaiting your next instructions.

Walking further into the room, you gently place the tray of goodies onto the coffee table before walking away towards the welsh dresser at the back of the room. You pull out a series of large folders and some journals, piling them on top of one another in your arms before shuffling your feet across the floor- struggling to keep a grasp of the deceivingly heavy pile. You place them onto the coffee table with much less grace than you did the tray, but the Soldier didn’t so much as spare you a glance during your fumbled movements.

‘Direct eye-contact and showing curiosity or interest in anything that wasn’t his orders got him in trouble before’. You remembered his words sadly. He didn’t like sharing what he had gone through with Hydra to anybody, but least of all you. He didn’t want to taint you with those ugly stories, instead sharing hundreds of others of him and Steve from when they were growing up and from his time as an Avenger- before he met you anyway. Stories that are now the key to bringing him back to you.

‘’Soldat, eat with me. And drink if you’re thirsty too.’’ You say gently, hoping that he will accept your orders despite holding no authority in your voice. He glances at you briefly before locking his eyes to the food on the tray, the movement so quick that you almost didn’t see it. He seems to look at the food warily, as if trying to figure out if it was poisonous. You lean forward and take one of the sandwiches, biting into it quickly in an attempt to show that it was safe to eat. He mimics your actions shortly after, not wanting to face his handler’s wrath for not complying with their strange orders.

A minute passes in silence between the two of you, as you try to figure out if this will work and how you’re going to bring him back if it doesn’t.

‘’Soldat, I’d like you to review some files with me. Please?’’

He seems to relax somewhat, your order being one that is more reminiscent of his past handler’s. You open the first folder, a vast array of black and white photos of a dark-haired boy with light eyes- the exact colour lost by the monochrome image.

‘’Soldat, this is a collection of photos. It is of the Barnes Family, specifically of James Buchanan Barnes.’’

The Soldier peruses the photos with confusion, his brow furrowed. This continues for hours, the night lost to photo albums and leatherbound journals, all detailing the long life of James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes. At the break of dawn, you hear the words the liberate you heart, cleansing all grief and cutting away the weights that held it down.

‘’Thank you for bringing me home, Doll.’’

[witcher-and-his-bard]

What’s Mine Is Yours (To Leave or Take)

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier

Warning(s): a/b/o, intersex omegas, accidental pregnancy, mpreg (see ao3 for full list of tags)

Rating: explicit

Chapter: 5

•  prev | next •  WMIY Masterpost

Fic Summary: Geralt has knows since the trials that, unlike other omegas, he will never become pregnant, never raise pups and live a normal life. But after a close call finds him and Jaskier in bed together, he discovers he was wrong about that assumption.

[read it on ao3]

That morning, Geralt has found what could have been a hideout and he'd had hopes of exploring it now that he's sure it's a werewolf. He downs Cat before leaving his room, though he barely makes it down the corridor before rushing to the window to throw up out of it. Which is ... worrisome, to say the least. Geralt hasn't eaten anything and the only thing he's ingested all day was the cat, but he's never had such a bad reaction to one of his potions. He brewed these ones in batches at Kaer Morhen, and the last time Geralt had taken one, it had had no effect other than the intended.

He's still heaving when his stomach starts to cramp and for one horrifying moment, Geralt thinks his heat has come early. The cramps have been bad enough in the past to make him sick, but not like this. Geralt hurriedly counts the days back to just a week before the fiend hunt and no, it's not possible. Even alphas in rut haven't set him off early in years, so it must be something else.

When he's feeling less like he's about to lose his stomach again, Geralt pushes himself up and steadies himself for a moment before starting back toward the cellar. Though he tries to put the strange illness out of his mind, Geralt finds himself continually thinking back on everything he's eaten or drank since he got here. It's possible a strong poison could make him sick, but he hasn't taken food from anyone that seemed off and he would taste the poison anyway. It does bother him to remember the uncomfortable feeling from yesterday afternoon.

The illness, Geralt can't quite place, but he gets an answer to his more pressing question when he asks the cellar guard about who has access to the cellar.

"Only the king's chef," the guard explains, "and the royal vintner."

"Chef's dead," Geralt mumbles, forcing back another wave of nausea. "What about the vintner, do they come down here often?"

"I'd say so. Every meal they come down to choose a wine to accompany it. Why?"

"Don't suppose they were here last month during the attacks?"

"Well, no, now you mention it. I didn't see them at all- wait, you're not trying to say they did it, are you?"

"Not intentionally," the guard frowns and Geralt explains, "they wouldn't know themself if it was them, probably are just as afraid of the attacks as you. Where can I find them now?"

"They live in town, just past the market. Little house with a flower wreath on the door."

"Right, thank you."

Geralt finds the house without trouble, and the wreath on the door is made of wolfsbane - a protection from werewolves. You really don't know you're cursed, he thinks, peering through the window. He hides out for a while, watching the vintner inside moving around, going about their daily life. They show no indication of guilt, but it's the best lead he has and the full moon is tonight so he has to try something.

Returning to the castle, Geralt prepares the tonic he'll need if he wants to break the curse. He's only successfully done it once, but he knows the words by heart - just in case - and Geralt’s sure that as long as he has the right person, this will work. Once it's finished and he's armoured up and ready to go, Geralt slips back to town, keeping to back alleys where he can stay out of sight. He follows the vintner all the way to the vineyard and back to the castle and once they head down to the cellar, Geralt waits.

First, he barricades the door so if anything goes wrong, the werewolf would have to fight its way out and hopefully be trapped there until they change back. Then, Geralt leaves strict instructions with the herbalist should he not make it out, so the curse can be reversed even without him. Finally, all that’s left is to wait.

He doesn't have to wait long.

Geralt hunches up in the corner, focusing on his plan to block out the scent of damp in the cellar. Shortly after nightfall, he's pulled from his thoughts by a bloodcurdling scream and he knows it's time to act. He moves out of the shadows, watching as the vintner transforms, screaming and clawing at their skin and Geralt feels sorry for them. It's hard enough being considered a monster, but at least he doesn't tear his way out of his own skin once a month. Geralt sets the tonic down and approaches slowly, preparing to cast yrden as soon as possible to trap the beast, but he's suddenly caught off guard by the stench of wolf and barely stops himself from heaving as the creature turns its gaze on him.

It moves too quickly and Geralt doesn't have time to counter before it swipes at him. He rolls out of the way, but it’s already too late. Geralt doesn’t feel the pain at first, but when he looks up, his arm is bleeding, slashes between his gauntlets and jacket. The sight of his own blood makes him lightheaded and he has to look away to keep the nausea down again. What the fuck is going on with him?

Neither of them gets another hit in, but finally, Geralt manages to cast yrden and trap the wolf. He ties them up with rope he prepared in advance and with a quick sign makes the beast drink down the tonic. Outside, Geralt can hear nothing but the sounds of nocturnal animals and he knows the rest of the city must have tucked into bed long ago. He mumbles the words of the spell and collapses against a barrel in the corner of the room.

"Sorry," he mutters, "guess this isn't going to be a pleasant night for either of us."

[dennou-translations]

Violet Evergarden Ever After: Prologue

Please feel free to message me about possible corrections. If you can, consider supporting the creators by purchasing the official releases here. For those who want to support me, I accept donations!

← Gaiden || Index || Next →

Should you feel even just slightly lonely after this story is over, by all means, go see the anime’s Violet. Even if the storyline is different, your Auto-Memories Doll will be there. —Akatsuki Kana

Tears spilled down the eyes of a beast. Shedding large teardrops, it wept.

Why was he saying such things now, at this moment? The beast was incapable of understanding. It could not fathom the meaning of those words or his reasons to be uttering them.

A slow-acting poison. The beast had been given it little by little every day, and the effects of said poison circulating its whole body were currently showing. The beast’s crying was proof of that. Never had it known such painful tears.

He whispered repeatedly. It was an attempt to tell the beast words that it had not heard before. This conveyed that they were extremely important, but the beast could not accept them. It did not want to comprehend them now. They were most certainly against the very meaning of the beast’s existence. Should it accept them, the beast would no longer exist for the sake of emerald eyes.

——I hate not being able to protect you. My only wish is to keep you safe. It’s all I can reciprocate. Don’t be saying these things now; I want you to give me orders.

And so, the beast howled while wailing. It howled at its one and only Lord. The most hardly replaceable thing in the world for the beast.

   Roses and the Auto-Memories Doll: Prologue

   Blue eyes opened.

The beautiful, golden-manned beast had just awoken. Showered in morning light, it sat up without hesitation. Moving its small body, it smoothly came down from the top of a tree and set its legs on the ground. Swallowing the morning dew that had accumulated on its teeth, it picked fruits from the tree to eat. It ate one and, after staring fixatedly at the other for a second, the beast held onto it and started walking.

It was morning. A comfortable morning.

In the environment where the beast lived, there was neither right nor wrong. It might eventually die if it stayed there. It might live on forever as long as it was there.

The beast, which could easily sense and deal with invaders, felt neither desperation at the fact that morning had come to it, nor hope toward the day called today. It did not know such things. As it had never been taught about them, it was not capable of embracing them.

In certain aspects, the beast was overly superior, and in others, it fell so far behind that it was unbearable to look at. It had tremendously menacing fangs and was beautiful to an uncanny extent. It was that kind of beast. It was still that kind of beast.

Silence.

The beast strained its ears. It could hear the sounds of ocean waves from the coast. And also the voice of a man who appeared to be cursing. It then headed toward the sea.

The sky still bore colors that were a mixture of daybreak and nightly shades. The temperatures were warm and perfectly suitable for putting oneself in motion. Spotting the back of the man, who was sitting on the beach, the beast approached him slow and quietly.

Had he been trying to catch fish? Victim to his irritation, a broken, long tree branch was being flung away. A single small fish lay on a leaf as proof of his efforts.

Something heartbreaking must have happened for the man to be in such a situation. He did not seem to have the strength for cooking or eating the fish. With the man in front of it, the beast offered him the fruit.

He was the man who the beast had cognized as its “master” the other day.

Adults were necessary for the beast. Adults who could designate it instructions of some sort. The beast was able to live on its own, yet it needed adults to give it directions. It would be a problem if he died.

After leaving the fruit there, the beast distanced itself a little and sat on the sand. It was waiting for orders. While it did so, something hit its head.

“You monster.”

It was a fruit. He had apparently thrown away the fruit that the beast had gone through the trouble of giving to him. Even though he was hungry.

The man glanced its way. His green irises and raven hair glistened amidst the break of dawn. He was a beautiful man.

“I want to kill you,” the man whispered with a tone that would make one think this was his true intention.

It was a cruel statement, but the beast displayed no reaction. The white noise of the ocean waves drifted between the two of them. As the beast could not talk, the place was quiet when the man did not speak.

An island of one man and one beast. There used to be a mountain of corpses as well, but they had long been buried.

“But if I were asked whether you’re wrong or not, I don’t know,” the man, who would later be identified as Dietfried Bougainvillea, simply talked to it with an exhausted face. “If I were in your shoes and felt danger from those men... from that man who came towards you all of a sudden, then I would’ve probably done that.”

The beast merely turned its ears to the voice of the man. Not that it could understand anything. It was a wild beast and the man was a person. They were unable to establish communication. However, whenever it was spoken to by the person, the beast would look back at him with its unclouded eyes.

“That and whether or not I can forgive you are two different things. I can’t. In the end, I do want to kill you.”

Having met in the worst possible way, they had not initiated anything yet, but an encounter was a beginning in itself.

“Still, I have some room for pity too... Just what are you? Were you abandoned? Why’re you by yourself in a place like this...?”

As an announcement for a chemical reaction of sorts that was about to occur.

“No, you killed my men. I actually don’t have room for pity... Anyway, just stay quiet and listen.”

This was the start of a grandiose fate.

“I’m thinking with myself about what to do with you. I can’t stand you. I despise you.”

That meeting had served as its cornerstone.

“For now, I need you so that I can survive. You know this territory and can ensure food supplies as my tool to prepare for an escape... to go from this remote island back to Leidenschaftlich. And I really do feel a burning anger for what happened before, so want to punish you. But I have a strong sense of duty, so if we manage to leave this place without problems and if I get a chance to see my little brother’s face at least one more time, he might take interest in you if you do something. I won’t. I myself won’t. I’m complicated. A complicated man. You can’t handle me and I can’t handle you either. If I continue using you, I’ll get fed-up for sure and would indeed feel like killing you, but actually doing that would probably be impossible. You’re tough. I’d lose. No matter how I look at it, I can’t kill you. I don’t know why, but you need me, right? You’re trying to keep me alive and you kill things for my sake. Seems like you can be useful. After all, we’re in the middle of a war. It’d be fitting of someone like you to be used, used, used, used, used, used and used down to every last bit, till you become a worn-out mop cloth. That’s right, it definitely fits you...”

The man continuously spit out outrageous statements for a long while. The beast picked up the fruit that had been thrown away again and left it in front of him.

“Try to save me, monster.” The man bit the fruit, and with an annoyed face, he threw it at the beast.

This time, the beast dodged it. The fruit formed an arched trajectory line, overlapping with the sunrise lights. It was radiant enough for the beast to feel like its retinas would char, and so it closed its eyes as if bringing down a curtain.

   Blue eyes opened.

The beast was inside a large sack. It did not know for how much time it had been there. Long had passed since the last time it had been taken to the toilet and told to finish its business. Its throat was dry and it was tired from recurrent battles. While in the bag, it had repeatedly closed and opened its eyelids, falling into a doze, and now it had opened them again.

It could discern the voice of its master. As well as the stench of some burned food that he and the people who followed him were daring to put into their mouths. The beast did not like the odor. It dulled its sense of smell.

When would the master use it? There was no meaning to the beast aside from being put to use. The beast wanted to be used. It had no other way to prove itself.

There were surely people who found it strange. Why was this doll-like beast, who did not show any emotion, so keenly obsessed with being a tool? That was very simple. So simple it was ridiculous, so commendable it was ludicrous.

The beast wanted to be with humans.

It could live by itself. The beast had enough strength for that. It was fine even without anyone around. Yet, it wanted to be with people. It hated being on its own. That much was obvious. Nobody wanted to be in solitude. In true, complete loneliness. That was the desire of people whose mental state had grown tired of interacting with people, but no one who was actually alone wished for it. The beast wanted to be with someone, but could think of a means to do so other than offering itself for use. Which was why the beast was doing so.

It had lost the memory of its parents’ faces, its recollections from before a certain time, everything – yet it knew all but the surge born from servitude and violence. This was the only thing engraved into the modus operandi of the beast’s short life history. It could also be said that it “wound up” being engraved there. If it had been taught any other method, it would likely not have turned out the way it was.

The beast did not yet know what it was about to meet.

“I haven’t named it. We’d been calling it ‘you’.”

As the sack was opened, the outside lights, which were coming in contact with the beast for the first time in a while, shone on its eyes. The beast closed its eyelids once.

And then, it wished to be given an order.

   Blue eyes opened.

It was completely dark. Their field of vision was pitch-black, the air cold. However, the body of the beast was swelteringly hot. A slushy heat enclosed its whole body, giving it the sensation of turning into a huge lump of lead.

“Violet.”

Suddenly, light shone amidst the darkness.

That was because the person who had spoken to it had lit a lamp, but also because said person seemed to be shining, as he was the beast’s one and only light. His large hand touched the beast’s forehead, and then caressed it as if to unknot its sweat-drenched hair. A sizzling sound could be heard oozing from the beast’s chest.

“Major...”

The beast had been granted a name, known protection and learned how to speak.

“The fever... hasn’t gone down, huh. Can you drink water?”

Which gave rise to an attachment.

“My apologies.”

The beast had absorbed many new things from its new lord, and they built the beast’s values.

“There’s nothing to apologize for. You gave too much in the last battle... It was my mistake.”

Without its lord, even breathing would be difficult for the beast now.

“I am a tool, after all.”

It wanted to live for him.

“I believe you should use, use, use and use every last bit of me, until I break.”

And to die for him.

“Therefore, repairing me is unnecessary.”

Such tempestuous dependence was gnawing at its body.

“You’re human. We need rest if we’re down with a fever, and some also need to be nursed. That’s always been the way I’ve supervised you, ever since we’ve met. So of course I have to look after you.”

Everything was the lord’s fault. He had recognized this golden-manned, blue-eyed beast as a “girl” first of all.

“Do you not have any requests? Something I can do in this state.”

The object of his safeguarding, the wild beast he had to oversee, his weapon. While keeping these categories separated, the lord made use of the beast.

“For you to get well, Violet.”

And out of all things, he grew to love it.

   Blue eyes opened.

Tears overflowed from the eyes of the beast. Its visibility was distorted. It closed and opened its eyelids, attempting to expel the salty sea that it was birthing, to no avail.

“Violet, stop.”

The beast wept. Shedding large teardrops, it wailed. Even though it had never cried before, it was doing so.

“...e you.”

Its lord had been severely injured. It had failed to protect him. It had executed its orders, but because of that, it had been unable to protect him.

For the beast, the lord was more important than this mission.

“...ove you.”

As it cherished its lord, it had wanted to succeed in the mission. Since its life belonged to its lord, it had made the mission into a priority. But this rendered it meaningless.

“I love you! I don’t want to let you die! Violet! Please live!!”

There was no meaning in it. No meaning at all. There was no significance in the beast’s life either.

“I love you.”

Besides, why? Why was he saying that? Why was he saying such a thing, now, at this moment?

“I love you, Violet.”

The beast attempted to digest the words its lord had just whispered. It did not comprehend them.

“Violet...”

The beast did not understand. It could not fathom the meaning of those words or his reasons to be uttering them.

“Are you listening, Violet?”

——Are they not, most likely, something special? Those are most likely not words that I should be told. They are most likely not something that you should say to me. If you must say them, then why?

“I like you.”

——Why did you use me? Why won’t you let me save you?

“I love you.”

——Why, why, why, why, why, why, why?

“I love you, Violet.”

It did not understand. It did not understand anything. Not its lord, this world or the words confessed to it.

And so, the beast howled while wailing. It howled at its one and only Lord. The most hardly replaceable thing in the world for the beast.

“What is ‘love’?”

Ironically enough, it was then that the beast accepted love for the first time and became a person.