#anyway i have my finger above dismiss and i keep reading and its like '-but reverse. imagine youre dead and-' AND I PRESSED DISMISSED.

[mbat]

oghhh i hate when i dismiss a post too soon noo

[casspurrjoybell-17]

HEART'S FATE - CHAPTER 56

*Warning Adult Content*

Snatched from the jaws of oblivion by a soft embrace, Skylar West drifts in a place of quiet stillness and peace.

He has little sense of time or of where he ends and where the sea begins.

He is the currents and the tides, the measureless deeps, the vast blue wilderness and the ruffled waves above.

An immensity fills him and Skylar inhabits his body as the ocean inhabits him, a universe in a drop of water and a drop of water in the sea.

At last, awareness returns and Skylar comes back to himself enough to register the sensation of water moving against his skin and of the gentle squeeze of the serpentine coils that cradle him.

Slowly, as if the knowledge is percolating through a filter or falling like gentle rain, he remembers who he is and understands it is the Nagi, Shanti, who holds him and that she has saved him from the deep.

Opening his eyes, he sees that they float freely in clear blue sun-lanced water surrounded by schools of little fish.

Usually, such fish would be frightened of something as large and predatory-looking as a giant snake but Shanti exudes an aura of peace and many creatures are drawn to her presence.

A giant ray glides overhead, momentarily casting them in shadow and a group of turtles circle them, watching with bright, curious eyes.

A tiger shark swims past in tranquility and a cloud of jellies dance beneath them in a gently pulsating ring.

'It is not I but you, to whom they are drawn,' Shanti says, reading Skylar's mind and speaking inside his head simultaneously. 'The sea calls to its own.'

Roused to full awareness by the sound of her voice, Skylar winces in pain.

His head throbs and as the sense of peace and stillness fades, fear and urgency return.

"Martin..." Skylar stirs weakly and coughs.

A thin trail of blood swirls in the water and sparkles dance before his eyes.

Shanti's hold on him tightens, keeping him in place.

'Be still a while yet, my friend,' she says, her enormous jewel-scaled head weaving back and forth hypnotically before my eyes. 'You sank to a great depth and I could not reach you before some damage had been done. A minute longer and I would have been too late. The sea will heal you but you must give it time.'

"I don't... have time," he gasps.

Pain lances his chest but his head feels clearer by the second and a little of his strength returns.

"Please. I have to get to Martin and find my mother's statue before it's too late."

Shanti blinks bright black eyes at him and bows her head.

Her coils loosen and Skylar floats free.

As he does, he sees that he has changed a little.

His tail fin is longer than he remembers, the scales a bright, iridescent blue and his hair is longer as well.

Webbing stretches between his fingers and scales like natural arm-guards cover his skin to the elbow.

Lifting his hands to the sides of his head, he feels that his ears have become pointed and fanlike, enhancing his ability to hear and overall his entire body feels larger and more powerful than before.

"What happened to me?"

'You embraced the sea,' Shanti says. 'You gave yourself up and she gave back to you the full potential of your power. It is the only reason, aside from myself, that you are alive.'

Skylar contemplates the implications of this for a moment.

His father wasn't able to leave the sea once he'd accepted the gift of his mer-form.

Whether or not he shall, remains to be seen.

What matters now is finding Martin and getting him to safety.

"I'm alive," Skylar says. "That's enough and I have you to thank for it. How did you know we needed your help anyway?"

'The wolf-boy. The one who walks in dreams. He said that he saw his father in distress, imprisoned in some dark place. Fortunately, his uncles knew better than to dismiss his words as the mere nightmare imaginings of a child and summoned me. I attempted to locate Martin first but he was unreachable within the protective barrier. Next, I tried to find you and emerged from my portal just in time to see you vanish below, swallowed by the eternal shadow of the deep.'

"Where are we now?" Skylar asks, attempting to get his bearings.

Nothing surrounds them but the blue of the open sea.

'A safe distance from Thassos,' Shanti says. 'I retreated here to give you time to heal.'

"Can you take us back?"

'Yes. Although I cannot accompany you within the barrier unless you wish for me to break it.'

Skylar considers her words.

"Send me to Martin," he says. "As close to him as you can get outside the palace. We'll go from there."

She nods her gigantic head and closes her eyes, then blinks them open again in a snaky expression of surprise.

'He is no longer within the barrier. He is outside of it.'

"That's impossible. That would mean he's..."

'In the open sea. We must hurry.'

She uncoils the length of her body and begins to swim in a slow circle just below Skylar, like a living ouroboros, her head overlapping her tail.

The center of the circle shimmers like a mirror reflecting the sunlight from above.

Then it turns smooth as glass and the portal opens.

'Go now,' Shanti says. 'I will be right behind you.'

Turning head over tail, Skylar swims straight down and through the circle.

He feels a change in pressure and water temperature but it is not so drastic as the first time he traveled via magic Nagi door and it isn't painful.

He blinks and find himself floating above the kelp forest beyond the palace walls, the expanse of algae waving like a plain of grass in the gentle currents.

Above him, the disk of the light shines like the moon and then shatters like a reflection on still water disturbed by a tossed stone as Shanti's serpentine head emerges from its center, followed by the length of her body.

She swims down and draws alongside Skylar, her head level with his.

"Where is he?" he asks, scanning the open expanse. "This can't be right."

'This is as close as...'

A horrific shriek interrupts her and Skylar spins and glimpses figures in the distance.

The sound of a Mer-folk war cry is as terrifying as it is unforgettable and he recognizes Anemone's voice.

Without hesitation, he whips his tail and accelerate towards the sound.

Several of the figures break off and flee before Anemone's cry, while two disappear into the kelp forest as if in pursuit of something Skylar can't see.

Of the figures that remain, Skylar recognizes one by her flaming red hair and one by her golden helm, his sisters, Anemone and Natalis.

They lock in battle but despite her fearsome voice, Anemone is no warrior and Natalis quickly gains the upper hand or more precisely, a chokehold.

As Anemone goes limp, Skylar releases his own Voice in a shout of fury that makes the sea ring and Natalis drops their sister and turns with a look of shock that would be comical in other circumstances.

She recovers herself with admiral swiftness, however and her look of shock is replaced by one of startling hate.

"It's the traitor," she screams, pointing at me and drawing the attention of her guards. "He's escaped somehow. Kill him."

Her quartet of guards turn on me but the looks of shock then terror on their faces can't be accounted for Skylar's own appearance, Shanti, he understands, has appeared at his back.

The guards scatter and flee.

Natalis alone holds her position, for which Skylar must give her respect.

She may have murdered their father, condemned their mother to a stony imprisonment and tried to kill him but she is nothing if not fearless.

"You have friends in high places, I see," she says, as Shanti slowly circles the two of them. "I have underestimated you, brother."

"Where is Martin?"

She smirks triumphantly.

"If you have to ask, then you already know. He is dead."

"No," Skylar shakes his head at her. "You're lying. You..." he breaks off as a light bursts from below them, the ground shattering and exploding upwards in a sphere as if a bomb had gone off underwater.

The sea trembles.

Shanti coils about Skylar protectively and even Natalis retreats.

Something rises from beneath, amid a cloud of shimmering bubbles, glorious and terrifying, beautiful and sublime.

The Queen of the Sea, awakened at last.

Her face is lovely, her hair interwoven with streaks of green, purple and blue and her form is beguiling perfection.

In her arms, she holds another, whose motionless body makes Skylar's heart stall with dread.

His mother and the man he loves more than his own life.

Skylar starts to swim towards her, Natalis lifts her spear, Shanti's coils constrict.

Then The Queen of the Sea looks up and fixes her son with a stare like green fire.

"STOP."

The word drops from her lips and time itself seems to freeze. 

[bougiebutchbitch]

hmm hmmmmm [minors dni]

Look.

It’s a fact of the world.

Every second Thursday, someone needs to saunter into the office of the super-cool, calm, composed Rokudaime Hokage (y’know, The Copy Ninja, that legendary shinobi who’s on par with the sannin, the trainer of the three superpowers of Konoha).

They need to dismiss the ANBU outside his door. They need to cast a seal of silence on the room. And they need to tell him to get on his knees so they can use his dirty little slut mouth.

Peel off that clingy black mask and fuck his throat till he chokes.

Wrap a hand around it, feel it bulge, tighten their grip just enough to cut off his air.

Watch his hand spring for his knife - then flex, relax. Let it go again.

(let it all go)

They need to call him names, mock him for being such a pathetic hungry cockwhore - honestly, what would the people of Konoha think, knowing their leader’s so eager to swallow me down...?

And Kakashi needs to act aloof as ever, like he’s above this. He scoffs as they pull from his bruised, wet lips, expression bored as ever.

Maa, he says, in a voice that’s only a little hoarse, where are you getting these lines? Have you been reading my books? 

But the telltale blush sneaks down his throat. His legs tremble as he lets his partner pull him to his feet and back him up until his ass hits the edge of his desk.

His desk. Shit, Shizune’s gonna kill him if he gets anything worse than coffee splashed on his filing. At least with Tsunade, she only had sake to worry about...

Kakashi grumbles words to this effect. Rolls his eyes as fingers unlatch the buckles on his armoured tunic (god, fucking insatiable, honestly...). He snaps at those same fingers when they grasp his face instead, turning it to the side, squeezing hard enough to hurt.

(Hard enough that under the mask, there’ll be bruises.)

But he never says no. And he certainly never says the word that both of them agreed on, the one that will make all of this stop.

He tilts his head back, sighs like this is all beneath him, and lets himself break.

Look, this role involves a lot of stress, okay? He never wanted it. He’s never had ambition, or a desire to lead. He wears the damn hat because somebody has to. He does the job because it needs doing, just like so many others (lightning arcs through a young girl’s body; a knife draws a red line across a man’s throat).

Still, there are some perks. So he lets himself admit, as his partner’s white, inhuman thumb slides down to cradle the apple of his throat, and his scarred lips graze the pulse under his ear. Sometimes, they almost make all of this worth it.

Obito agrees. This is a duty too - a vital part of keeping Konoha running. A country is only as strong as its kage, after all.

The difference is, unlike Bakashi, he’s more than happy with his job.

Anyway, this is why Obito should’ve lived, in this essay I will

[i-cant-sing]

You mentioned (for the platonic yandere todoroki family) theyre not above ..marking the reader what would happen if Rei gave a scar like shotos to them?

Yandere Rei hurting daughter reader

Its like u guys can read my mind💞💞💕

Part 2 is here!

Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

Todoroki clan:

Its my fault.

Somehow, all Todorokis were thinking the same thing.

Its my fault. Fuyumi thought, as she remembered the start of the day. I should've just stayed home with her. She looked down the empty hospital halls. We were having so much fun; the school didn't need me today. The kids could've been managed by a substitute.

She looked at Natsuo, who was talking to one of the doctors.

Its my fault. Natsuo thought, as he talks to the doctors about your condition. I should've just given into your puppy eyes and stayed for lunch. I shouldn't have left because I didn't want to face him. Enji was going to leave for work soon anyways.

The doctor finished briefing Natsuo on your condition. He turned back to look at his parents. Rei was sitting in Enji's lap, sobbing into his chest.

Its my fault. Enji thought. This could've been prevented. I could've saved her from this. Enji recalls the day. He should've listened to you when you mentioned Rei wasn't acting normal; how she stared at you with no emotion and how she was often lost in her thoughts. But he only patted your head and dismissed you as he said "you're being rude, princess. Your mother loves you very much."

Enji looked down the hall and wondered where Shotou had gone off to.

Its my fault. Shotou said to himself as he looked at his reflection i the bathroom mirror, water dripping down his face as his hands closed the faucet. He knew he shouldn't have left you alone with his mother. But someone was at the door and he wasn't going to risk you opening it and running out. He left the kitchen while you set the table and Rei cooked lunch. Shotou opened the door to find Dabi there; he liked to join you and Rei for lunch once a week. It suited him, since neither Enji nor his biological siblings were home at this time. Just Rei, him and you. It was nice talking to his mom again, but it was even better to mess with you. Like with the rest of the family, you had slowly started to grow on him too.

While Shotou was asking Dabi why he was there, a sudden scream ripped through the house. They both ran towards the source, the kitchen. And the scene that greeted them there was straight out of a horror movie.

There you stood screaming as Rei gripped your head with one hand while the other poured boiling hot oil on your eyes.

Dabi was the first one to move, quickly running towards his mother and pulling her away from you. He pried her hands off of you and the pot of oil, letting you both fall to the floor. Dabi wanted to throw fire at Shotou to break him from whatever trance he was trapped in, but the oil that was spilled all around would just end in burning the whole house down. So he yelled at him.

"Shotou!"his brother's voice pulled Shotou back to reality. He looked at Dabi's worried face before he snapped his head towards you. He dashed towards you and pulled you into his lap. You were still screaming, the hot oil that had filled your eyes and was now dripping your cheeks, for sure leaving second degree burns. He quickly activated both of his quirk so that he can shower your face with cold water, as best as he could, using his other hand to call for help.

Shotou looked at Dabi through the mirror, who was drying his hands off.

Its my fault. Dabi thought. I shouldn't have kept telling mom to keep a close eye on you. You were being too compliant with your situation, and it made Dabi feel like you were upto something; that you were planning to run away. When in reality, you were just trying to adjust to the new circumstances.

Dabi sighed, before leaving the bathroom with Shotou to check up on their mother.

"Its my fault."Rei said to Enji, who only pulled her further into his chest. "It is my fault, Enji. I- I don't know what happened. I was cooking shrimp for us and she was helping set the table. She looked out the window and smiled and said "its a nice day out, isn't it?" and then I blacked out and then- then all I remember was Touya holding me and yelling at Shotou. And Enji, I- I saw her. She was all red, Enji. Her skin was blistering up and- and oh my god the burning smell and her screams. Enji her screams-"she started sobbing into his chest as Enji ran his fingers through her hair. "Not here, Rei. Not right now." He told her. Although Enji had already paid off the everyone to keep their mouths shut, he still had to be cautious. The entire hospital floor was emptied for you; not a word of this needed to get to the press.

Dabi and Touya came back just as the doctor came out of your room. They all turned to him. "Is she going to be okay?"Fuyumi asked, voice quivering.

He started speaking,"The surgery went alright. We were able to treat most of her burns but the oil was very hot. It penetrated through most of her tissues and caused irreversible damage. Her eyes... we couldn't save them." At this, everyone's eyes widened. Rei started crying harder as her knees went weak, but Enji kept her from falling down. "The nerves are damaged and we can't replace them right now. Fortunately, due to having Miss (Y/n) brought in time, we were able to save the brain and its tissues from damage." He cleared his throat, before continuing. "She's unconscious right now, but you can go in." Natsuo went with the doctor to understand the treatment you would need, while the rest of the Todorokis went in.

The moment they entered the room, they all felt the same emotion. Guilt.

Shotou felt like his world was crashing down. How could he have let this happen? He was supposed to protect you. And now you've lost your sight.

Fuyumi couldn't even bare to look at you like this for more than a second, crying silently to herself as she had done all these years. You wouldn't have been in the kitchen if only she had stayed. She could've helped set the table with Rei, instead of you.

Enji felt like a criminal himself. He could've prevented this. He should've known something like this was bound to happen. He should've listened to you when you mentioned Rei's odd behaviour; he should've been the one to notice it in the first place. If he did, you wouldn't be in this state.

Dabi has seen much violence. He has seen- he has mutilated people. He's seen things far worse than this, things that would make people lose sleep. But somehow, seeing you like this, was far more gut churning than anything he'd ever witnessed.

Rei looked at your unconscious body, your eyes were bandaged and an IV was attached to your arm. The area near your eyes had slightly charred while the rest of your face was blistered and red and blanched; healing ointments were applied on it.

"I hurt her. I hurt our baby, Enji. I- I took away her eyes. I ruined her beautiful face. I did this, Enji. How- how could I do this?"Enji only held his crying wife, his eyes still focused on you and his heart heavy with guilt. "I'm a bad mother." Rei said in a quiet voice.

Everyone looked at her suddenly. "No, you're not." Dabi said, speaking for the first time since they came to the hospital. Fuyumi nodded, "no, you're not. You're a good mother. This- this was just an accident and- and its okay. She'll be okay." Without tearing his eyes off you, Shotou spoke as well. "Yes. This was just an unfortunate accident. You're a good mother. You've showered her, and us with love. You've taken care of her, you'll take care of her again. We'll help you as well. She'll be better in no time."

Rei smiled meekly at her kids. They're so kind. She looked at Enji, who was staring intensely at your unconscious body, worry evident in his eyes. Does he think I'm a bad mother? Rei wondered. As if he could hear her, Enji looked at Rei before smiling. "Its okay, honey. It was...just an accident. Its not your fault." He kissed her forehead before continuing, "like Shotou said, once she is discharged, we can all take care of her and she'll be better in no time. She'll need us now more than ever, don't you think so?" Rei smiled and nodded, placing her head on his chest again. "Yes. We'll be alright again."

Should I do a part 2 where they bring the reader back home?

[jaehyunfirstlove]

Inked - part 2

*Part 2 of this, I recommend reading it first before this one :)

Pairing: tattoo artist!jaehyun x f.reader

Genre: smut (18+ only)

Warnings: unprotected sex, rough sex, oral sex (f. receiving), dom/sub, praise kink, cum play, dirty talk, swearing

Word count: 1.9k

Taglist: @jaehyunnie77 @mrg-jjh @keeach @the-universe-in-you-jjh @nootnoot-yoonoh @winniet @jaejoongiewifey-blog @iknowyuno​ @bbyqngels​ (send me a message/ask if you want to be tagged in future fics)

A/N: because of this anon, I decided to revisit this :)

You’d walked by the tattoo shop several times already, too embarrassed to go in considering what happened the last time you were there. You tried not to recall the memory too much, because your panties would dampen every time you remembered how the tattoo artist had railed you in the chair. He wasn’t able to finish his work though, since you’d hurried out of there afterwards, mortified at your own behavior. Now you had an unfinished tattoo, and you figured enough time had passed that he should’ve forgotten about you, but still you couldn’t bring yourself to open the door and walk in. Feeling like a creep, you eventually left, resolved to try again another day.

---

“What’s up with your tattoo anyway? Is it supposed to look like that?”

You were at the beach with your friend, Yuna, and she was interrogating you about your unfinished tattoo.

“Oh, he didn’t get to finish it.” You said dismissively, hoping she would drop it.

“Why not?” she asked, wrinkling up her nose, “I hope you didn’t pay him for it then.”

You coughed. “Uh, I paid him alright.”

She looked at you, confused, then shook her head. “You’re too nice, you know. You shouldn’t pay people for unfinished work.”

You just nodded, thinking she was probably right, when a shadow suddenly blocked your sunlight. Shielding your eyes you looked up, right into the dark sunglasses of your tattoo artist.

“Hm, that art looks familiar,” he said, a smirk on his face as he pointed to your tattoo. Your jaw dropped open as he stood there above you, Yuna lowering her sunglasses so she could get a better look at him. He was holding a surfboard and he looked like he’d just come in from the water, his hair wet and dripping as he pushed it back from his face. His skin glistened from the sunlight hitting the water droplets on it, highlighting every curve and dip of muscle along his chest and stomach. You swallowed dryly.

“Oh, hi-” you stuttered.

“Jaehyun,” he offered, the smirk still on his face, “I hope you remember me.”

How could I forget, you thought, but just nodded, as you could feel Yuna’s eyes boring into you.

“Why don’t you come by the shop, we’ll finish what we started.” He said, taking off his sunglasses to wink at you, before he nodded politely to Yuna and walked away.

“Y/N, what the actual fuck,” Yuna marveled, as she watched him walk away, “you never told me your tattoo artist looked like that.”

---

You entered the shop hesitantly, rubbing your sweaty palms on the sides of your jeans. The sound of the bell tinkling as you opened the door made you jump, but as you entered the shop you were calmed again by the sounds of cascading water from the zen waterfall, and the soothing scent of lavender. Jaehyun once again appeared from behind the curtain, but made no move towards you. He just stood there, hip jutted out in a cocky stance, head tilted to the side as he regarded you with a look of pure mischief.

“Well, well. Look who it is.” The corner of his mouth turned up into a smirk, as he looked you up and down. You started to get even more nervous under his gaze, and you started to feel very hot with the way he was looking at you. “Lock the door.”

He said it almost lazily, motioning to the door behind you, but his tone was unmistakable. You did what he said, clicking the door locked and turning back around to face him. He still stood where he was, still watching you.

“Come here,” he said, and once again you obeyed, your feet almost moving of their own accord. Once you were in front of him you stopped, but apparently it wasn’t close enough for him, because he suddenly reached out, slipped his fingers through the belt loops of your jeans and pulled you towards him until you were practically pressed up against him. You inhaled sharply at his sudden action, your chest heaving, and he smiled widely at your reaction.

“Mm, always so responsive,” he breathed, eyes roaming over your body. “Let’s have a look at my work,” he unbuttoned your jeans, slipping them down just past your hips. You were breathing heavily in anticipation, arousal pooling in your core as you felt his fingers on your skin. He traced his finger along the lines of your tattoo, and you had to turn your head to the side as your breathing became more and more labored.

“Hm, this is where I was so rudely interrupted,” his finger stopped its circuit on your skin, and he smirked at you again. Leaning towards your ear, he whispered “do you want me to finish?”

The heat of his breath against your ear, the closeness of his body, and how he smelled so sexy you wanted to devour him, all had such a mindblowing effect on you that your knees went weak, and you fisted your hands into his shirt to support yourself. He just picked you up, laying you on a nearby couch and peeling the rest of your jeans and panties off.

“Should I prep you first? Make sure you don’t make a mess on my chair again?” he asked slyly, his hands on your knees as he waited for your response. You bit your lip and nodded, and given the go-ahead, he slid his palms down your thighs. You were breathing heavily but once he reached your core you held your breath, and as soon as his thumbs touched your wet folds to spread you apart you moaned loudly.

“So expressive,” he smiled, as he leaned in, watching your face the entire time. You were gripping the leather of the couch so tightly, watching him, and as his tongue met your pussy you cried out, an embarrassingly loud noise that made you slap your hand over your mouth. He chuckled at first, but as you continued to be vocal, grabbing at the couch cushions and writhing and bucking your hips, he intensified his pace and fervor, keeping your thighs apart with an iron grip.

“You taste so good, baby, so fucking sweet,” he murmured, lapping up your juices like you were the tastiest dessert he’d ever had. You paused to breathe, but not before he suddenly slid two fingers in between your folds, pumping them as he watched your face.

“I wanna see you come,” he said, because your head was lolling back as your orgasm started to build, “Look at me.”

The low, commanding tone of his voice and his sultry gaze when you locked eyes with him was enough to send you over the edge, a stuttered moan all you could manage as your pussy pulsed around his fingers. You were barely done when he slipped them out of you, pulling his own pants and boxers down and sitting on the couch beside you. He pulled you to straddle him, and once you were situated on his thighs he pumped his half-hard cock, his eyes never leaving your face.

“You’re sexy when you come,” he said, regarding you with a smirk and a tilt of the head. You felt your cheeks warm up but you didn’t know if it was because of his compliment or the fact you just had a mind-blowing orgasm.

“Th-thanks,” was all you could say, your voice already hoarse from how vocal you had been when he ate you out.

“You’re welcome,” he grinned, before he positioned the tip of his cock at your entrance. “Now, ride me.”

You bit your lip, clinging to his shoulders as you sunk down onto his cock. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head at the stretch, your head falling back as you took more and more of him in.

“That’s a good girl,” he said, holding your hips, “so fucking tight for me.”

When he was all the way inside you, you paused to breathe, resting your head on his shoulder. You had a good close-up view of the tattoo on his neck, and you remembered how you had wanted to mark him up. You kissed along the lines of his ink, then traced the design with your tongue, sucking here and there to see if the marks would show up. He groaned as you worked, his cock twitching inside you, and soon enough it encouraged you to move, grinding your hips against him.

“Fuck, baby, that feels good,” he moaned, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. You increased your pace, snapping your hips and varying the angle until you found the perfect one, and you cried out as his tip hit your sweet spot. He took your cue, thrusting upwards into you as you rode him, your combined action sending you hurtling towards your second orgasm of the day.

“I’m gonna come!” you warned, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face there.

“Give it to me, baby,” he growled, reaching between you and thumbing your clit vigorously. You came with a muffled scream, your face still buried in his neck, your entire body convulsing as your pussy throbbed. He kept going, controlling the pace now, his thrusts never faltering. He lifted your shirt over your head and unhooked your bra, pulling you back so he could look at you. With appreciative eyes he looked you over, smirking slightly even as he pumped into you.

“So fucking sexy,” he mused, eyes roaming over your curves. You bit your lip as he watched you, arousal once again building in your core. He saw it in your face, your mouth parting slightly and eyes widening, so he bucked harder and faster, watching your face the entire time.

“That’s it,” he said, reaching up to tweak your nipples, “give me another one.”

His eyes never left your face as you reached your climax, watching you with lust in his gaze. He didn’t give you a chance to recover, flipping you onto your back on the couch and throwing your legs over his shoulders.

“Fuck, baby, you drive me crazy,” he grunted, driving deeper into you, still watching your face with hooded eyes. “So fucking sexy, so good for me, aren’t you?”

You nodded, falling apart at his praise, and his cock hitting so deeply. “Oh my god, Jae, oh my god,” you panted, you didn’t think you had it in you anymore, but you felt yourself coming again, this one threatening to be a big one.

“That’s a good girl, I know you got another one for me,” he bent down and sucked a nipple into his mouth, all the while keeping his eyes on your face, not wanting to miss a single second of the look on your face as you came.

“Oh fuck! Jae!” you screamed as you came, your limbs shaking as your orgasm reverberated throughout your body. He grunted as he started to come inside you, before he pulled out and pumped the rest of his cum all over your pussy and stomach.

“Another mess,” he smirked at you, sitting back on his heels to admire his work. You just lay there, exhausted and unable to move, but he had to admit, the way you looked so fucked out was really attractive to him. Reaching over to a nearby shelf he pulled out a fresh towel and started to wipe you up.

“Let’s get you cleaned up and finish that tattoo.”

[chatonne-rousse]

Be Bold, Be Kind, Be Brave

This is one akuma whose intentions are good. After all, who couldn't use an extra dose of courage to overcome fear?

A superhero whose identity will be immediately revealed in the process, for one.

When an akuma causes several secrets to come to light all at once, our heroes will need to drum up some courage to face their fears - and each other.

But what's waiting after that looks like it might be a dream come true. It'll just take a bit of bravery and a lot of heart. Piece of cake.

***

Only eight days late and several dollars short, I’m wishing @jennagrinsoverml a happy belated birthday with this gift, written just for her.  ILY, my friend!  

Read it on Ao3 here.

***

Ladybug has to give Courageous some credit: she's a rarity, an akuma born of selfless means. A teenager who hadn't mustered the courage to stand up for a younger student being bullied at school, she'd been so ashamed, so angry with herself, that Hawkmoth had found an easy target to ply with honeyed words and promises.

Her power isn't even a terrible one. The beam of light she shoots from her right hand simply causes the person it strikes to relive the last encounter they had when their bravery failed them, this time with courage aplenty. It's admirable, really.

Admirable, but terrifying nonethless.

(The fear of Chat Noir finding out her identity is deep and dark and often floats to the surface of her nightmares with blue eyes and white hair and a drowned, ruined world. He cannot know. The cost is too high.)

"Whatever you do," she calls to her partner, frantic and scared, "don't let her hit you! Please, Chat!"

She hears the desperation in her own voice, and the look on his face conveys that he certainly does. He nods solemnly.

"I'll do my best, My Lady."

She nods back, and off they go into the fray.

For well over an hour, they fight Courageous through parks and plazas, sidewalks and thoroughfares. All around them, the people of Paris have squared their shoulders, lifted their chins, and braved conversations big and small with people only they could see.

Ladybug has to smile as she hears a young man confidently ask for a raise and watches his eyes light up at the response.

That smile fades when she remembers once again that the last time her courage had failed her was just as they were dismissed for lunch break, when she'd tried to invite Adrien to a movie that weekend. His eyes had been so kind as he'd waited for her to gather her words properly, and somehow that had just made it harder.

Then Lila had "accidentally" tripped and knocked into her, sending her to the floor. The memory of Adrien's hand reaching out to her to help her up, those same kind, patient eyes locked on hers, makes Ladybug's cheeks heat even now. But after she was upright again, after Lila had stalked off because no one seemed to care that she "probably would need surgery now because her arthritis would flare", Nino had reminded Adrien about the gig he was DJing on Friday and Alya had led her away to show her something on her phone.

Just like that, her opportunity was gone.

And that would be fine, honestly. Marinette was used to moments of stuttering and botched declarations when it came to Adrien.

But if she's hit by Courageous, Chat Noir - plus the citizens of Paris, Hawkmoth, everyone - will hear Ladybug try to ask Adrien Agreste on a date, and that will be a disaster of epic proportions.

"Ladybug, look out!"

Chat's body slams into hers, sending them rolling on the sidewalk just as a beam of magical light zips over their heads. In a flash, Chat Noir bundles her in his arms and vaults them to the rooftop above, making sure she's steady on her feet once they land.

"Thank you, Ki-" The words die in her throat when she sees over her partner's shoulder that Courageous has followed them.

Chat turns, his baton at the ready, while Ladybug reaches for her yo-yo, but neither is quick enough to stop the akuma's beam from finally finding one of its main targets.

"I'm sorry, Bug," he murmurs as his eyes glaze over.

Using her yo-yo as a spinning shield, Ladybug drags her partner behind the nearest chimney stack just as he begins to speak.

Panic sets in as her mind screams at her over the hum of her yo-yo, the akuma's laughter, her partner's voice.

I can't just leave him!

"Father, may I come in?"

Oh no, oh no, oh no. I can't hear this!

"Yes, Nathalie said she penciled me into your schedule for noon."

Nathalie?

Ladybug's gaze snaps to her partner, yo-yo still spinning to deflect beams of light. She's surprised to find Chat Noir's head bowed in deference, though his eyes shine with a confident gleam.

"I requested this appointment to ask you again if I could attend the event with my friends tomorrow evening. I've already completed my assignments for school and the homework from my Mandarin tutor."

Mandarin tutor? What?!

"Yes, Father, I'm aware that you don't care for Nino, but..."

The panicked scream in her mind gives up any attempt at coherence; by this point, it's no more than a muddled loop of Nathalie, Mandarin, Nino, Father.

Ladybug feints to the left to avoid being hit by the akuma as a mix of terror and adrenaline floods her system. She leaps forward, leaving Chat behind the chimney in the hope that she can engage the akuma just long enough to get her partner back and finally, finally finish this off.

She knows too much already. The cat has bolted straight out of the bag and is running loose on this rooftop beneath her feet, a distraction she can't handle right now.

On hero autopilot, she hurdles one beam after another, then tucks and rolls and pops up to roundhouse kick Courageous in the chest, sending her flying.

She hears the akuma's "oof" just as Chat Noir's jubilant voice rings out from behind the chimney.

"Thank you, Father! Thank you so much!"

She can hear his grin in those simple words, the sheer joy in being given permission to leave the house. Everyone in their class knows what a tight leash Gabriel Agreste keeps on his son. It breaks her heart every time she thinks of it. In fact, she's successfully fought for his release from that marble prison on more than one occasion! So yes, she'd already known with all the clues in place, but there was truly no mistaking it now: that was Adrien talking to his father.

Because Adrien is Chat Noir.

Her heart cracks. Oh, Chaton.

Suddenly, the akuma's progress in clambering to her feet is impeded by the whoosh and subsequent metallic thunk of Chat's overhand swing with his baton.

Relief floods her heart at the return of her partner. No matter who he is, Chat Noir is her other half, and Ladybug is never quite herself without him.

"Maybe we could use a little extra luck, My Lady!" Chat winks at her over his shoulder before facing the akuma again.

"Yes! Right! You bet!"

Get it together, Marinette, she thinks. Her face heats and she scampers away to the safety of the chimney stack where Chat was hidden to call for her lucky charm.

A red and black spotted can opener drops into her hands and she looks at it in confusion. "What am I supposed to do with this?" she grumbles, looking around frantically but seeing nothing to help her decipher how to use the lucky charm.

She takes a deep breath, peeks out from behind the bricks, and promptly takes a light beam to the face.

No, no, no, no!

It feels vaguely like having a water balloon popped on her head, a chill of sensation dripping down her spine and rippling through her nerves. It's a small mercy that being hit by an akuma rarely hurts physically. Her vision swims like a mirage in the desert, the familiar courtyard at school coalescing from vapor around her.

The last thing she sees is her partner's stricken face.

The last thing she hears is the akuma cackling.

"Heylo! Who! I mean," she takes a deep breath, a rush of confidence tingling along her nerves. "Hey, Adrien!" She smiles and gives him a little wave.

His grin takes her breath away. "Hi, Marinette! How are you?"

"I'm great!"

You can do it, you can do it!, her heart sings, and miraculously, her brain listens. Her smile turns coy. She taps her lip with her index finger. Her pulse pounds a bolstering tattoo in her ears. Go for it, girl!

"But I could be better."

Adrien's smile drops a fraction. "Are you okay? Is there something I can do?"

With another deep breath, she squares her shoulders and looks him in the eyes, her very cells imbued with a courage unparalleled even when she's wearing spots. She could do anything, anything, right now, but she has her mind set on accomplishing one thing and one thing only.

"You could join me for a movie on Saturday."

"I could...?" His brows furrow, but his grin grows slowly, bright but incredulous. "Are you asking me....?" He blinks, takes two shallow breaths. "Do you mean just the two of us?"

She nods decisively. "A date."

You did it. You did it! A veritable party erupts in the back of her mind, radiant relief spreading to her fingertips. It feels so good to finally break through her anxiety and fear and ask him that simple question that felt like an impossible task just a few hours ago.

Thankfully, he doesn't keep her waiting. The answer is in his eyes, anyway. "I would love to," he breathes, cheeks pink and smile dazzling.

"Really?" Marinette squeaks, and now it's his turn to nod.

"I'll be there even if I have to sneak out." Adrien reaches for her hand and gives it a little squeeze. "We'll talk about it later today, okay?"

She nods again, her chest so full of emotion she can barely breathe. Not only did she ask him, but he said yes!

Suddenly, blue sky fills her vision and she regains awareness to the sound of a scuffle on the other side of the chimney stack. Ladybug tentatively gets to her feet, reaching for her yo-yo and setting it spinning immediately. This time there's no peeking around the corner; she bursts from behind the bricks on the offensive, ready to finish the fight.

What she finds is Courageous struggling under Chat's baton, twisted up like a pretzel and unable to move for the steel-toed boot resting across her shoulders.

"Just in time, LB!" Chat crows triumphantly. He tosses her a bracelet emblazoned with the words Be Bold, Be Kind, Be Brave that currently pulses with Hawkmoth's dark energy.

In moments, the bracelet is broken, the akuma is freed and purified, and a confused teenager sits where Courageous was restrained a moment ago.

Chat docks his baton at his back and looks at his partner with the softest eyes she's ever seen, a tiny, equally soft smile playing at his lips.

Her heart sighs. Adrien. That's Adrien, and he knows.

The lucky charm sits heavy in her palm. Abject fear makes her hope against hope that she won't remember his identity when she casts her miraculous cure, just as her heart longs to hold on to the knowledge that her precious partner is the boy of her deepest desires, and maybe, maybe they really can have it all.

With a deep breath, she throws the unused can opener into the air, watching magical ladybugs and healing light burst forth and spread throughout the city. She waits, holding her breath, but when pink light swirls around them, the only affect it has is the healing of the twinge in her ankle from when she fell mid-fight.

She looks up, and her partner's eyes say it all.

He remembers, too.

Even as fear grips her heart, radiant joy shines from his face as his grin spreads. It scrunches his eyes behind the mask and pinkens his cheeks, delight seeming to glow from his pores. Ladybug has never seen her partner so happy. That elation is a balm to her soul, and she can't help but smile right along with him.

Ladybug turns to the akuma victim and holds out her hand, offering the bracelet back to her. "I really like that inscription" she says, pointing at the now-silver bracelet as the girl fixes it back on her wrist.

She smiles shyly at the two heroes. "I wish I had the courage to do more. I wish I was brave like you."

"We get scared sometimes, too. Everyone does," Ladybug starts, before her partner nudges her shoulder with his elbow.

"Speak for yourself, Bugaboo. This cat has no fear." Chat Noir throws her an exaggerated wink, and the girl laughs. "But real talk, anyone can be a hero in their own way. Little things, big stuff...you're stronger than you think, I promise. Cat's honor."

She nods. "Thank you for, you know, saving me and everything." Glancing at the street below, she gestures toward the edge of the roof. "Would it be too much trouble to get me back down there?"

"Not at all," Ladybug replies with a smile. Calling on her own courage, she looks at her partner and takes a deep breath. Here goes nothing, she thinks. "The usual spot in five? Or less, I guess, since it...doesn't matter now," she says with a shrug that she hopes looks nonchalant.

And there's that smile that shines like the summer sun. He gives her a jaunty salute. "I'll be there with bells on," he says, tapping the bell at his throat and making it jingle.

Ladybug just shakes her head and giggles.

A few minutes later, when she lands beside Chat Noir on their familiar rooftop, her earrings are beeping a frantic rhythm, signaling mere seconds before she detransforms. Instinct has her looking around the roof, ready to dart behind anything she can use to hide.

Before she can move, Chat steps toward her and quietly asks, "Marinette?"

Her transformation dissolves in a wave of pink light, and she hears him gasp as she catches Tikki gently in her palms. Marinette takes her time retrieving a macaron from her purse to feed her kwami, deliberately moving slowly in an attempt to get herself under control before she looks up at her partner. He knows, and he's thrilled, and that's amazing, but it feels like the entire world will change when their gazes finally meet, and she's just not ready yet.

"I, um...I didn't use my cataclysm, so I can stay transformed if you'd prefer, but..." he trails off.

There's something in his voice that finally makes her look at him. Just like when he talked to his father under the akuma's control, his head is bowed slightly, but instead of confidence, this time his eyes are bright with nervous hope.

Marinette understands both the nerves and the hope, and she'll joke with her partner until the end of time about who's in charge, but it feels wrong for either Chat or Adrien to look at her with uneasy deference.

And that's what she thinks of as courage wells in her chest. Her brave, steadfast partner, the other half of their unstoppable team, the boy with terrible timing who can still make her laugh, her best friend whom she loves so fiercely, should never feel he has to approach her in fear.

"Oh, Minou," she breathes. "Of course, go ahead. I...I already know."

He nods and stands a little straighter, and with a whisper and a flash of green, Chat's magical leather is replaced with denim and cotton poplin.

Predictably, her brain is short-circuiting, hollering in panic and terror, but even as her heart pounds wildly in her chest, it whispers quietly, gently, that this is her partner. Her silly kitty. Her dearest friend. He just happens to look like Adrien Agreste at the moment.

(Okay, this is going to take some getting used to.)

Tikki flies off to join Plagg nearby, while Marinette sits down on the roof with her knees pulled to her chest. She pats the space to her right and Adrien settles in cross-legged next to her.

He's the first to break the silence. "I'm sorry, Marinette. I shouldn't have gotten hit. I shouldn't have let you get hit. I know this wasn't what you wanted, and-"

"No, no, don't apologize," she interrupts, shaking her head. "It happens. It's...not the first time." Marinette sighs and closes her eyes, suddenly feeling a lot less courageous in the face of this world-bending change now that they're in their civilian clothes and it's Adrien apologizing to her. She presses her forehead to her knees and tries to imagine the boy beside her in magical leather and cat ears. It only helps a little, but it's enough. "We, um-" she pauses, licks her lips. "We have a lot to talk about. I just don't know if I'm ready for...all of it."

Adrien is silent for an uncomfortably long moment. "Yeah. We do." She hears him take a deep breath that shakes a bit on the exhale and turns her head a fraction to peek at him. His eyes are on the distant horizon. "I...think I understand some things now."

Abruptly, he turns toward her, a little smile tilting the corners of his mouth when he his eyes meet hers. Fear tells her to look away, but she tamps it down and holds his gaze. His smile widens.

"May I ask you something, Marinette?"

She nods.

"When you came up to me at lunch today, were you...planning to ask me on a date?"

Her pulse pounds in her ears. She could give in to fear, say no and brush it off like Chat had misheard her when she was under the akuma's spell. But suddenly her heartbeat seems to drum, "be bold, be kind, be brave," over and over again, and just as the smile begins to slip from his face, she finds the nerve to nod again.

Just like on the other rooftop a few minutes ago, his face lights up like the first rays of sun after a week of rain, shining splendid even in the early afternoon light.

"Am I--" he whispers, his breath hitching though his joy never dims, "Am I the boy?"

Be bold, be kind, be brave.

She calls on her Ladybug courage and nods once more.

His breath catches again and his eyes fill with tears that he brushes away quickly.

Clarity dawns all of a sudden, sweeping her fears to the corners of her mind to be dealt with later. She understood Chat Noir being happy to know his partner's identity, his excitement in finding out his Lady was his friend, too. But this is so much more. Beside her sits Adrien, wiping tears of joy from his eyes at the knowledge that Marinette is in love with him. This might just be a dream coming true on a random rooftop on a random Thursday afternoon.

"Chaton," she breathes, stretching her legs in front of her and placing a hand on his knee.

His hand covers hers, and she meets his gaze, words caught in her throat at the intensity in his eyes.

"I have a confession to make." He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand and takes a deep breath. "I think everyone in Paris knows that Chat Noir is in love with Ladybug. I...know you know." He shrugs as his smile turns a little helpless. "But no one knows that I might have a little tiny bit of a huge crush on Marinette Dupain-Cheng, too."

"Kid, don't lie to your girlfriend. You know very well that I knew, because I've been telling you forever!" Plagg calls from somewhere behind them. Tikki hushes him loudly.

"Okay, he's not wrong," Adrien says, huffing out a combination of a laugh and a sigh. I'm just very stupid, apparently."

"Hey, don't talk that way about my partner." Marinette bumps his shoulder with hers. "I have a teeny, tiny, huge crush on him, too, you know, and I don't appreciate your tone."

Adrien's surprised laugh rings out across the rooftop, filling her heart with so much love she can barely breathe with the force of it. She could listen to that laugh for the rest of her life. She hopes she'll have that chance.

He brushes tears from his eyes again as his laughter subsides, his grin still shining bright. "I'm so happy it's you, Marinette. Beyond happy." He turns her hand beneath his and threads his fingers through hers. "Honestly, there's no one else I would rather have as my partner."

"Me too, Minou," she murmurs, squeezing his hand lightly as incredulous joy sings through her veins.

Tikki's little voice pipes up nearby. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but it's almost time to go back to class."

Adrien lets go of her hand to fish for his phone and curses under his breath when he sees the time. "She's right, My Lady. Could we meet up this evening? I know we have, um...a lot of things to talk about."

Marinette nods. It feels like she's done a lot of that in the last few minutes.

When Adrien stands, he offers his hand to help her up. Just like in the courtyard at lunch, his eyes are patient and kind, but now they shine with something more. She lets him pull her to her feet, then wraps her arms around his waist in a tight hug.

His soft exhale at her ear as he melts against her makes her smile, scrunching up his white overshirt under her cheek. Her senses are filled with him, and she's surprised to realize that it's a feeling of comfort and safety instead of the usual panic.

Maybe loving Adrien and being loved in return will be easier than it seemed all this time. Her fears seem so silly when his arms are wrapped around her shoulders and his head rests on top of hers - a perfect fit.

Even the nightmarish terror of Chat Blanc is diminished. Adrien never told anyone her identity; he knew because he himself was Chat Noir, and there's no way in the world that Chat would hurt his Lady, nor would Adrien ever harm Marinette on purpose. She must have misunderstood. He must have misunderstood. He was an akuma, after all. She sighs into Adrien's shirt. She can never allow that terrible timeline to occur, but whatever happens after this, they'll face it together. Stronger. She'll make sure of it.

"Do you think my father will let me go to Nino's gig in real life?" he asks quietly.

The sad note in his voice breaks her heart. She squeezes him tighter.

"I don't know, Kitty. Do you think we'll be having a movie date on Saturday?"

He leans back abruptly, though his hands still grip her shoulders. "Of course! I'll be there if I have to sneak out!"

Marinette boops his nose, laughing when his eyes cross. "I think that's your answer for Friday night, too."

Suddenly she's in his arms again, this time lifted off the ground and spinning. She can't help but giggle.

"I knew I was in love with a genius!" he cries, jubilant. He sets her down and plants a kiss in the middle of her forehead before calling for Plagg to transform him.

When he turns his masked face back to her, it's like the world is different. She can easily see the brilliant green of Adrien's eyes in Chat's glowing sclerae. The blending of two of her favorite people into one extraordinary boy who - oh my goodness - just said he loves her gives her a shot of courage even before she suits up again.

"You missed, beau gosse."

His eyes widen comically. "I....what?"

Marinette smiles and calls for her transformation, then taps her lips with her gloved fingers. "You kissed me, but you missed."

The sly gleam in his eyes makes her breathing speed up.

"First of all, I would ask before I did that," Chat says, sticking out his thumb before raising his clawed index finger. "Second, I thought I'd save our first kiss for Saturday. Seems like a great way to end our first date, doesn't it?"

Our first date. A tingle runs down her spine. She likes the sound of that.

"I guess I can wait." Her smile turns cheeky. "But it'll be our third--"

"Ah, ah, ah," Chat cuts her off with a grin. He extends his thumb again. "First of all, I don't remember either of those."

Ladybug rolls her eyes, still smiling.

"And second," he says, his voice pitching lower and making her heart skip a beat, "it will be Marinette and Adrien's first kiss."

Oh, this boy, she thinks as her heart soars.

She bites her lip to keep from giggling. "I suppose you're right, even though we both know we're the same people."

Chat gives her a deadpan look. "Just let me have this, Bug."

She bursts into laughter and reaches for her yo-yo, delighting in watching a grin light her partner's face.

"I really am looking forward to Saturday," he says, unhooking his baton from his back. He reaches for her hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. "We'll talk about it later today, okay?"

She nods and watches him vault off toward home.

The wind against her face is exhilarating as she swings back to the bakery. It's amazing how one revelation seems to have changed everything. Even the zip of her yo-yo through the air sounds different to her ears now that she knows, now that he knows.

Marinette detransforms as she touches down on the terrace and sinks into her pink-striped chair while Tikki phases through the hatch into her room in search of food. A quick check of her phone tells her that she has ten minutes before she has to go back to school.

School. One more thing that's going to be different.

Before nerves can creep in, she thinks of Chat Noir and his beaming joy at learning the identity of his beloved partner. That was Adrien. She thinks of the comfort of being wrapped in Adrien's arms, his scent, his warmth. That was Chat Noir.

And when she sits down in class behind him in a few short minutes, that boy with the soft smile and shining eyes will look like Adrien, but now he's so much more.

Marinette stands up from her chair with a lighter heart than she can remember having in a long, long time. She's suddenly looking forward to the second half of the day, even more excited for Nino's event tomorrow night, and positively thrilled that she has a date with Adrien - who is Chat Noir! - on Saturday.

There's so much to experience, so many memories to be made. It feels a bit like a dream. It feels more than a bit scary. But it's going to be great.

It's just going to take a little courage.

She's got this.

[elizabethemerald]

Fall Anniversary at the Soltryce Academy

Caleb walked into his classroom at the Soltryce Academy with the immediate instinct that something was wrong. He had been teaching Transmutation theory and application in this same class room for the past twenty years, so anything that seemed different set off alarms in his head. 

He mentally checked the wards on the class room and found them intact. There were a few students in their seats, a few more filtering into the lecture hall, by the second. None of them seemed alarmed. Whatever was different today did not appear to be an immediate threat. 

Still just to be safe he subtly cast Detect Magic as he set his bag down and took off his coat. Immediately a few points were highlighted in his mind. Of course his own magical items, the amber around his neck and the amulet beside it, the ring on his finger, the chalk he had enchanted to help him lecture. Nothing off there. 

There were a few points of magic around the rest of the room, each quickly analyzed and dismissed. Transmutation magic on a small pile of coins near the wall, a low level student’s practice project. Abjuration magic in the wards along the walls. Divination magic in a button, another spying device Astrid had tried to sneak into his class room to keep him from teaching against the school’s policies. 

It was the illusion spells that caught his attention. A few of the students were covered in the same, linked illusion. Their appearance normal enough to blend in, but also entirely too normal for a real student. And there, a student he didn’t recognize even with his keen mind, covered in an illusion spell. Several other magical objects of varying power, hidden under the spell. The Vestige appeared to be within its pocket dimension, so at least they hadn’t brought a weapon onto campus. 

After setting down his things and greeting his class he squeezed past a few of the students to grab Astrid’s enchanted button. He quickly dispelled it and slipped it into an envelope to return to her later. As he returned to the front he gave the cat sitting on his desk a brief scratch. 

“Hello Jester.” He said. Of course he didn’t need Detect Magic telling him of the cat’s aura of Transmutation to know his friend. She was bright blue after all and staring at him far more smugly than even a magic fey cat would. 

“Now class, I know we were discussing transmutation principles as applied to effecting the elements around you, but I am afraid that lesson will have to be postponed. It would seem that it is the anniversary of the Mighty Nein getting together and they have decided to invite themselves to my class.”

There was a muttering around the class room as the students looked at each other, before one of them near the front stood up, the illusion dropping off her form as she did so. 

“I told you he wouldn’t fall for it!” Veth said in her high voice, She looked mostly unchanged from when they first brought her back to her proper body. A few more laugh lines, but nothing more to show the passing two decades. “Lebby, is an amazing wizard, he wouldn’t fall for something simple like that. You students better appreciate the skill of your teacher.”

Caleb smiled fondly as Veth walked up to the front to give him a hug. Interspersed through the seats a few more illusion spells dropped. A half elven man walked up from the front row and kissed him on the cheek. Essek’s own illusion lasting even as he dismissed the Seeming on Kingsley and Yasha. 

“How did they rope you into this?” Caleb whispered to Essek. 

“Oh you know I can’t resist a practical joke.” Essek maintained his deadpan delivery for only a few seconds before a small smile graced his lips. Caleb knew quite well that Essek looked as ageless as ever, under his illusion. His elven blood would keep him looking much the same for the next few centuries. Caleb returned the kiss, to the muttering of his students. They weren’t ever a 100% sure who Caleb’s rotating cast of elven boyfriends were, and Caleb was more than happy to keep them in the dark. 

“Well you can’t fault us for trying!” Kingsley said. They were wearing a scandalously low cut shirt, a pair of plain black pants, and a pair of thigh high boots. His purple hair was fading to a less vibrant shade just a bit near his ears and he had a larger collection of scars, as one would expect from years of piracy and being a bloodhunter. They were also wearing their sword much to Caleb’s disapproval, which was apparently not magical. 

“You can’t expect me to hide this glorious look without magic though can you?” He said, sliding his hands down to his hips then back up his torso. Then he grabbed Caleb’s chin and kissed him full on the mouth, with tongue for several seconds, while his students lost their collective minds. Caleb smiled against Kingsley’s lips right before the tiefling stepped back. He was sure the rumor mill of the school would go wild about that for a few weeks. He wished he could see the look on Master Beck’s face when the news came across her desk. “Here’s to another twenty years, magic man.”

Yasha and Caduceus walked up next, each giving Caleb a tight hug. These two showed their age the least of the non elven members of the Nine. Cad could have been just stepping out of the temple doors in the Blooming Grove, saying that he had only three cups, if it weren’t for the increased presence of lichens and mosses of all kinds on his clothes and armor. Caleb was fairly certain there was an actual bird’s nest in his pink hair. Yasha of course looked as badass and muscular as she had when they first found her. Her hair was completely white, done up in an ornate braid. Home life seemed to suit her well, she looked genuinely happy and relaxed like she certainly hadn’t when they had first gotten together. 

Fjord’s spell dropped as well. The half orc’s hair had large stripes of gray in it, he had crows feet at the corners of his eyes, and his salt and pepper beard had significantly more salt to it now. He still looked good, life at sea, despite its hardships, keeping him fit. He laughed at something over Caleb’s shoulder as he approached and he found himself lifted bodily into the air by a pair of muscular blue arms. 

Jester having dropped her polymorph spun him around briefly in the hug before setting him back on his feet. She would never fail to look divine. Her horns now curling in on themselves, almost like her mother’s had when they first met her. Her hair is pulled back into a pony tail, poofing out behind her head from the salt air. Her sailing days were certainly not hurting her in anyway. Her smile was still just as wide, her eyes just as sharp, and her arms just as strong, if not more so. 

“Happy anniversary Caleb! Twenty years ago you were a stinky wizard. Now you are here teaching!” Jester’s happiness in her voice carried to every corner of the lecture hall. 

“What happened to our plan of drinks in Nicodranas this evening?”

“I just couldn’t wait Cay-leb.” She pouted. “Fjord and I got into port early, and I was so bored.”

Caleb smiled at her, then looked around at the rest of the Nein, pretending to count. 

“We appear to be one short. Where is my sister? Couldn’t drag her away from the Cobalt training pit? Or did she get lost in a book like some kind of nerd?” Caleb said with a smirk.

“Mother fucker!” 

He looked up towards the voice above him, just in time to watch Beauregard drop from the ceiling, to land on his desk with a perfect three point landing. She hopped off the desk and punched his arm, before also grabbing him in a tight hug. 

“I am not a nerd, Widogast!” She snapped, a wide grin on her face. 

“Beauregard, please do not land on my desk. It was a gift and I don’t think it could bare too many impacts like that.” He stopped to look up at the vaulted ceilings of the class room. “Also, how did you get up there?”

If she had been invisible she would have tripped the wards on the class room. And if she had gone in the brief break between classes one of the early students would have noticed her and caused a stir. 

Beau took her turn to smirk. 

“I have been waiting up there for four hours so we could surprise you. It’s surprisingly comfortable. I could have gone another couple of hours without breaking a sweat.” She paused to flex, causing several students, and Yasha to blush at her muscles. 

Beauregard’s monk training meant that she looked like she hadn’t aged a day since Aeor. And she could still easily out fight everyone else in the room if she wanted to. She was also the one member of the Nein that Caleb saw the most frequently. Their work to root out corruption among the Cerberus Assembly, and other bodies of power in the Empire often kept them up together late into the night, until Yasha would intervene and throw her wife over her shoulder to carry her to bed. 

“Can I finish the lesson, or should we depart immediately?” Caleb asked, already guessing the answer. 

“Cayyyllleeeb.” Jester groaned, pulling at her face. “I’m sooooo bored. I want to drink and party already!”

Caleb turned back to his class of students. He was sure most of them had heard rumors about Professor Widogast and the wild adventures he got up to with the Mighty Nein back when they first got together. He wasn’t sure how much they actually believed, but he was sure that even the most widely blown out of proportion tale didn’t even begin to cover the truth of what they had done together. 

“In honor of the anniversary of this group of arschlochs finding each other, consider this to be a free day. Keep up on your readings, and if you have any questions I will be at my regular office hours tomorrow morning.” 

The students immediately started buzzing as they stood and packed. No doubt during tomorrow’s class he would have to field a whole host of questions about the Nein, and that was just the way he liked it. The day after the anniversary was the one day he would talk about what his family had done. As the class filtered out, with many a lingering glance thrown at the colorful group at the front, Caleb turned to Essek, setting the envelope with Astrid’s button in it on the table top to deal with later. 

“Would you like to teleport us to the beach, or shall I?”

Essek put up both hands. 

“I already used my spell slots getting us all back together again. You can bring us to the coast.” Essek said, his smile a mix between smug and fond. 

Caleb rolled his eyes before pulling him into a soft kiss. Then he turned to address the rest of the Nein. The family he had made for himself. 

“Are we ready?” After a series of nods, he pulled an ancient clay turtle from his pocket and gave it a squeeze. “Then let’s go!”

And they were off, to a night of drinks and celebration and stories told, and memories shared. And of course many toasts, “To another twenty years.”

[bitchassbucky]

Ｂｏｔｈｅｒ

📎Word Count: 2.2k

📎Warning/s: smut! minors DNI. mean!fuckboy!bucky x f!reader. unprotected sex. little to no foreplay, because, well, he just wants to get his dick wet. denied orgasm :( no aftercare too lol he’s an asshole in this one. messy facial! some heckin’ words.

📎A/N: jesus fuckiNG CHRIST okay this is one of my longer fics, i’m trying to get back into writing long fics again so, bear with me. fuckboy!bucky playlist to accompany you while reading this <3 

📎reblogs, likes, and comments are all welcomed! shower me with validation pls

📎Masterlist || Ask || AFTERDARK

The bass line and the drumbeat made your heart pump in sync. The room reeked of cheap drinks and expensive perfume—sweaty patrons swirling, mingling around, keeping their drinks cold, their hearts warm.

Chatter peaked when the band finished the song, a round of applause rising the frontman’s ego. The spotlight shone brightly on him, the stage lights hitting his back, lighting up his silhouette with pinks and purples.

He beams with adrenaline. All perfect smiles.

Slinging his stickered guitar to the side, he speaks into the mic, “thank you all for coming. We’ve been The Commandos. Goodnight!” The frontman flashes his million-dollar, megawatt smile and bows, earning another applause from the audience.

The rest of the band slinked out the back, bowing, giving out air-kisses and waves. Another band piles onto the stage, waving hello to the gathering crowd.

You sigh, the bottom of your shoes sticking to the dirty floor of the bar. The overhead lights of the bar a bright yellow contrast to the stage’s red hue. The beer in your hand condensing, the tips of your fingers damp in the process. The warmth of the place piling on your impatience.

Pushing yourself off the bar, you make your way to the back, one thing echoing in your mind. Familiar faces crowd your vision, sending a polite smile their way.

A door stands in front of you, the wood stained with stickers and posters and autographs. You knock twice before turning the knob.

“Where’s Bucky?” You say, leaning against the door frame. The door slowly swings open.

A blonde man, what’s-his-face, looks at you and puts down a pair of drumsticks, “‘Dunno what to tell ya, but he’s not here.”

Your roll your eyes, sending him a mirthless smile, “yeah, obviously. I was hoping if you could tell him to meet me tonight.”

Steve—you suddenly remembered his name—eyed you head to foot, a smirk plastered on his face, “Sounds important. Why don’t you hang out with us while waiting for him?”

A chuckle escapes your lips, “no, thanks. I’ll meet him outside.”

Steve makes a face, quirking a light brow to the rest of the group. All of them sharing the same look, “alright. Suit yourself.”

The clock ticks just ten minutes after 11, your patience growing thin as a needle. A gaggle of drunk patrons stumbles out the door when you spot him—leather jacket, distressed, ripped pants.

“Where’s my ring?” Without missing a beat.

Bucky’s lips quirk into a smirk, “whoa, baby, we fucked once,” he made you come thrice, “and you’re asking for a ring already?”

A shiver runs up your spine, whether it’s from disgust or something else, it wasn’t clear, “you know what I meant. I left my ring on your nightstand.”

“Deliberately, or…”

Your hands curl up in frustration, your left shin itching, “c’mon. Do you have it or not?” 

His intentionally undone boots scuffed against the floor as he stalks closer to you, his perfume invading your olfactory senses. Oh, he smells good. 

“D’you wanna find out?” His voice dropping a couple of octaves, whispering into the shell of your ear. His thick arms caging you against the bar and the wall. Fuck, he smells really good.

A feeble attempt to make room goes unnoticed, your breath hitching in your throat, “If you don’t have it on you, I’d gladly receive it through the mail.”

Bucky licks his tinged lips, a vein in his temple ticking—the lighting reflecting in his blue eyes, “why would I mail it to you when you can pick it up from my place?”

A rational voice in your head echoes, fighting with your impulse. The closeness of both of your bodies radiating warmth and electricity.

“Fine.” You relented, impulsivity is what got you there in the first place.

The drive to the place shouldn’t take too long, the little shit deliberately took the long way to his place. 

While you sit on the passenger side of his car, he keeps sending you amused glances. As if he couldn’t believe you’d willingly go with him tonight. Well, technically, it really wasn’t part of your plan.

“You wanna get burgers first?” He offers, lowering the music coming from the car’s stereo.

“I wanna get my ring back, Bucky.” You say, reminding him—and yourself—of what your agenda for tonight is.

He dismisses you, as per usual. And pulls over a drive-through of a local burger place, ordering himself a meal.

Instead of getting back out on the highway, he parks the car, rolls down the window, and eats.

“Jesus- fuck, Bucky!” You exclaimed in frustration, “look, if you want to waste my time, then-”

“Then, what?”

“Then go fuck yourself.” You left in a huff, swinging your legs and slamming the car door shut. Hoping that he’d go deaf in one ear.

Making sure that you’re well visible and in a brightly-lit place, you pull out your phone to book an Uber. Only to find Bucky making his way to you for the second time tonight.

“Hey!” Didn’t even used your name to call you, great work!

“I do have it, it’s really back in my place. By the lamp on the bedside table.” The truth lingers out on the night air, waiting for you to acknowledge it.

You meet Bucky’s statement with a wary squint, he meets your rightful doubt with a smile.

“No more stopovers.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Bucky’s place is a liminal space for you. 

The familiar shadows and corners welcome you, the surfaces on where your bare skin sat hissed at you. You stood by the doorway, not wanting to prolong the journey.

“Hey, c’mon, it’s just me. Sit down.” Exactly, it is him.

You shake your head, leaning by the wall like a stranger, “I’m good. You’re not gonna take long anyway.”

But instead of retrieving your jewelry, his form retreats to the kitchen. A few seconds pass and you hear the crack and hiss of a beer bottle being opened.

“Y’know, I think I’ll just get it myself.” You toe off your shoes, placing them by the door. Your jacket still hanging off your shoulders.

You passed by Bucky, walking towards a love seat, two beers on one hand, “hurry up, then. Got a drink for ya.”

Hazy images play by memory the last time you were here, his damn cologne seeping into your nostrils.

Your head hanging by the edge of the bed as he laps your cunt like a man starved.

The headboard supporting your balance as you bounce up and down his thick cock.

Carpeting that gave your knees burn as he fucked you from behind.

Like an etch-a-sketch, you shake your head to get rid of the scenes that made themselves known.

A shining glint from the bedside table catches your eye, you swipe the ring and stashed it down your jacket pocket.

Coming out of the room with your ring, your slight smile falters as you saw Bucky lounging shirtless. As rightfully so, this is his home anyway.

You steeled yourself despite the heat that’s making its way up to your neck, “uh, I already got it. Thanks, Bucky.”

He shoots you a look—a lingering one. Like a predator about to pounce on prey. His stare chasing the goosebumps under your clothes.

“You sure you wanna go? It’s–” he glances at his phone for the time, “–past midnight.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can.” The setup.

“How about I take care of you for a change?” The trap.

And then just as sudden as your arrival, you find yourself pressed up against the wall. The agenda of the night has already been forgotten.

Bucky’s mouth finds its temporary home on your jaw, moving down your neck. His large hands already clawing their way under your shirt, the suddenness of the moment stirring the heat in your belly.

Rushed hands and panted breaths meet feverish lips.

The moment his tongue slipped into your mouth was the moment where you lost all inhibitions. Your hands fly to his nape, tugging his hair, effectively making him moan into your mouth.

“You know me so well.” He purrs against your lips. Hitching your legs up his hips as he presses you harder against the drywall.

“Lots of people know you so well.” You bite back, knowing for a fact that he sees others behind your back.

“True,” he’s murmuring against your pulse point and you sigh, “you’re my favorite though.”

Your jacket clutters against the floor of his bedroom, along with his pants and your shirt. A yellow stream of light emits from the living room.

Bucky tosses you on the bed, sending the pillows crashing on the floor. Though the room is darkened with curtains, your eyes adjust enough to see him as he pulls your ankles towards him.

His abs are chiseled like a Greek god, his skin tanned, decorated with tattoos. His left nipple adorns a stainless steel piercing. Like the last time, he grabs your hand, trailing it along his torso, letting you feel his deep v-lines.

A lewd moan escapes your lips as you cup his hardening cock through his boxers. Thick and heavy, a perfect fit.

“You like it?” Bucky taunts, jutting his hips against your hand. You squeeze him lightly, earning you a deep groan from the man above you.

His hand suddenly tightens around your throat, pulling your head towards him, “I asked you a question.”

Giving him a small nod and a meek yeah seemed to have sufficed until he flips you on your stomach and forces your face down the bed.

Your skirt joins the growing pile of clothes on the floor. Your panties do too.

“You’re so wet for me, aren’t ya?” Bucky taunts, one thick finger swiping the wetness between your folds. Spreading it around as preparation. A muffled confirmation made him chuckle as he pinches your clit with intention.

Taking his leaking cock out of his boxers, he swipes the bead of precum from his angry-red tip. He takes his sweet, sweet time before even thinking about pushing into your pussy.

Bucky drags the head of his cock up and down your fold, earning a needy moan from you—coating his entire length with your wetness.

After seemingly an eternity on your side, the sheets already imprinted their impression on the side of your cheek. Bucky finally, fucking finally, pushes into you. A short, white-hot burn shoots through your nerves, making you whimper.

His hand stays on the back of your neck, pushing you further down the bed as he moves. Your pussy lips gripping his dick like a vice, “so fucking tight. God.”

Bucky’s chest swelled up with pride as he notices your fingers digging into his sheets, “no one can fuck you this good.”

The bed squeaks with both of your weight shifting as he reaches around you, his fingers working around your bud. The pressure of his upper body makes you gasp with every thrust of his hips.

He continues to work you—his fingers circling tightly on your throbbing clit, his cock nudging the soft, spongy spot in you. Your toes curl with red heat as your orgasm begins to burn up your legs.

“I’m gonna-- ‘m so close,” your pleas fell on deaf ears as Bucky chases his own high. His balls slapping against your skin, his hips stuttering as his cock pulsates inside your velvet walls.

He curses, grabbing your shoulder and flipping you upside, kneeling before you. His hand pumping his dick continuously as it twitches—the veins even more prominent.

“Open your mouth, I’m gonna cum in it.” Bucky orders and you obey. Your fingers finding their way to your abandoned bundle of nerves—your climax threatening to fade away.

Thick ropes of cum shoot over your mouth, painting your lips and chin white as he misses.

“God, fuck, look at your mess.” Bucky sighs, he’s already tucked back into his boxers and handing you a shirt—presumably to clean yourself up.

“You got your ring? Anything else?” The annoyance in his tone is evident. The clock ticks half past midnight.

You dangle your purse in front of him as a gesture, the wind picks up and your shoes are loose on your feet.

“Alright, well, you could wait for your ride here, I guess.” Bucky dropped the act the moment he got his dick in you.

“Yeah, he’s just around the corner. Thanks for the, uh, ring.”

He hums, looking at his phone. His thumbs dancing over the keyboard, “Try not to bother my friends again when you wanna reach me.”

You weren’t sure if you wanted to laugh or to smack the phone out of his hands, “yeah. Tried calling you but I’m pretty sure you blocked my number.”

A curt laugh echoes out from him, “‘m sorry. Out of habit. You know how it is.”

“Right.” And an awkward beat falls over the both of you.

A black car pulls up by the street and you silently thank the stars. By the time you turn around to at least do the right thing and bid Bucky goodnight, you find yourself facing a closed door.

[secondhand-trash]

All Hands On Deck

Kinktober 2020 — public sex

A/N: Heart of the Ocean was the favourite fic I’ve ever written and I’m so glad that I get an excuse to revisit him for kinktober uwu

Pairing: pirate!Dabi x reader

Description: You seek reassurance from your love when you woke up from a dream where he wasn’t here anymore.

Warning: public sex, fingering, vaginal penetration, creampie, slight degradation, Dabi is Touya

Word count: 3030

this is a continuation to Heart of the Ocean, but you can read this on its own too;)even though I recommend reading that one for maximum enjoyment;)

-

It was always the sound of waves that calm you down when you wake up in cold sweat.

You blinked, trying to force out the feeling that was looming in your head and making it hard to breathe. Your chest heaved as you slowly steady your breaths, letting out a heavy sigh when you looked around to see that you were in the cabin you had fallen asleep in instead of the dreadful place you saw in your dreams.

You were back there again, at that pier during those god awful years when the love of your life was gone missing. You kept telling people that he was alive, that you needed to go find him but they just kept shutting you down. The panic when they dismissed you by saying that you were not thinking clearly after your fever was far too real that you could feel the suffocation in your chest. The ache at the back of your throat making your words came out as nothing but sobs as you tried to open your mouth to prove yourself but failed.

There was a moment when you thought that it was all real. and your reunion with him was just your subconscious protecting your shattered heart from the reality with a beautiful fragment of your dreams.

The ceiling you stared mindlessly at swayed softly, the gentle creaking of the wooden floor coaxing you down as silent tears ran down your face. 

Thank god, you were still here.

The light was filtering in through the small window at the far corner of the cabin and you rubbed your eyes to accumulate to the illumination. You had no idea what time it was, you didn’t really need to know when you were not asked to follow any routines anyway. 

You protested the way he coddled you at first, claiming that you wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing that everyone else would start working at the crack of dawn, but was unable to win over the absolute authority he had on this ship. You got along with his crew just fine, but none of them would dare to defy the captain’s order no matter how hard you try to convince them.

The pirate Dabi held treasures more valuable than most people could ever begin to measure, but the only possession he had that truly mattered was you, and god have mercy on the fool who makes a scratch on you.

“The only work you need to do,” he kissed the center of your palm when you brought it up to him on one of the nights when you first boarded the ship while he was sliding his hand up your chemise, "is to be here, in my bed, by the time the sun sinks. Don’t worry your pretty little head over all the other unimportant things.”

“But Touya...” you whined, pushing yourself off the bed so that you could press up against him. He groaned he felt the softness of your breasts and the way his old name rolled off your tongue so naturally. The fearsome pirate had set his mind to leave his old self behind years ago, but had allowed you to reminiscence on the simpler times when you were under the intimacy of being alone.

You always managed to crack the front he put up for years with just a flutter of your lashes, but he was determined that he wouldn’t let you have your way this time no matter how sweet your voice was as you panted by his ear.

He had always been somewhat protective of you, but it had only gotten worse after he experienced those years that probably tormented him as much as or even more than it did to you. It pained you every time when you imagined what he had gone through away on the high seas as the lone survivor on the ship he sailed out on and you poured all the tenderness in your heart into each of your lingering touches against his torched skin. The consequence of that was he now knew how easy it would be for him to lose you again and he wasn’t about to let that happen.

He promised that he would treat you like a princess and he had all the intentions to keep the promise.

“No ‘but’s,” he cut you off short by pulling you onto his lap, his hands digging into the side of your hips as he rode up your chemise. You tried to protest but the speech you had prepared in your head was replaced by a lewd whine when he thrust up to grind his clothed erection against your bare cunt. 

If there was anything you could say about Dabi, was that the years of surviving in a world where the strong devour the weak made him a much more domineering man than Touya ever was.

You never brought it up again, knowing that he could be very stubborn when he made a decision. It was nice to be taken care of sometimes and you slowly settled into your role on the ship as the captain’s girl. You had managed to find ways you could help around the ship too, and getting your hands dirty helped made everything feel a bit real.

But occasionally, when you woke up shaking like you had this morning, there was still only one thing you could think of that could shake the fright in your mind away.

You picked up the woolen shawl that was draped over the nearest chair mindlessly last night and wrapped it around your body, covering up the low-cut collar of your linen shift. The floor was cold as you crawled down the mattress with your toe touching the wooden boards first, sending shivers down your spine as you searched for your felt slippers that were shoved to the side. You could hear the sound of people shouting above your head and you slipped out of the cabin door, knowing exactly where your love would be.

It was probably early in the morning, you had noticed that there was still a hint of the pink and orange burn left by the sun at the edge of the skyline. You greeted the men of the crew with a murmured good morning as you walked along the side of the ship, the smell of salt in the breeze evoking your senses as you paced towards the helm area at the very front.

You slowed on your feet as you got closer and closer to the figure standing in front of the wheel, letting out a soft breath as you stared.

The helm was supposed to be handle by a man specific for that position, but it didn’t stop Dabi from getting down to the deck in the early morning to take control. His back looked broader when decked in his long coat and the silver accents of his sleeves glimmered under the morning sun. A long, curved blade was strapped onto the side of his waist, tapping lightly against his thigh as his hands held onto the handle of the helm.

What a man, and he was yours.

“Love,” he muttered when he felt your hand on his arm, glancing at you as you leaned your face on his shoulder, “why are you up?”

You sighed at the warmth that was lingering on his coat, rubbing your face against the leather. “Got waken up by a bad dream.”

He stiffened under you. He knew what it was about. Of course he did, whenever you two woke up with a shudder, it was always over the same thing. 

The worst nightmare for you both was to wake up to find the other person gone again.

“Come here,” he held your hand gently, tugging your arm so that you were standing in front of him with you between the helm and his chest, “didn’t you say you want to learn how to work the wheel? Since you’re here already, might as well teach you a trick or two.”

He swelled at the light chuckle you let out when he threaded his fingers through yours, holding the wooden wheel over your smaller hands. He crouched down so that he could lean his jaw on the nape of your neck, His arms caging you in as he stared at the sea the ship was sailing ahead.

“It feels more like you’re just finding an excuse to feel me up.”

“Such big claims, you know I don’t need an excuse for that,” his breath fanned at the little patch of skin that was exposed with your shawl sliding down your arm and you felt goosebumps when the rough texture of his scarred lips brushed past your neck. His hand gave you a warning squeeze when he felt you tilting your head back, “now eyes on the sea, princess.”

You whimpered when he untangled his fingers from your hand and slid up your arms, the graze of his hand had shivers tingling down your skin. He darted his tongue out to lick at the delicate skin where your neck connected to your shoulder. A soft hiss slipped past your lips when he bit down, just hard enough to leave a mark, before sucking and licking at the sore spot alternatingly. Your shawl had fallen to the ground, pooling at your feet as your hand gripped tightly at the helm and trying hard to make sure it was stable instead of giving in to the weakening of your knees.

His arms now snaked around the side of your ribcage, taking advantage of how little obstacles there were with your open arms. He licked a long strip up along the pulse on your neck, stopping just below your ear as his hand pulled down the collar of your shift. Your breath hitched at the cold wind that brushed past your bare chest, your nipples standing up for attention under the sudden chill.

“Better focus on the helm, so no one will know what we are up to,” he nibbled at your earlobe. He pushed your tits up with his palms, giving them a squeeze before rolling the two perky buds between his fingers.

You could still hear the talking down on the deck. If any of them bother to look up and took in the way he held you there, there was no way they wouldn’t notice that your knees were bucking together while he continued to bite down on your neck. Each pinch and pull at your chest had you all the more aware of the wetness that was starting to seep out of you. You tried to rub your thighs together to ease the burn but he was one step ahead of you, shoving his knee between your legs to force them apart.

A silent whine fell short on his ears when he smoothed his palm down from your chest, bunching up the pale linen of your frock in hand and yanked it up to your waist. You lost balance when the calloused pad of his finger brushed past your clit, frantically latching back onto the helm when the ship had a sudden shift from its track.

You grimaced when you heard the confused murmurs of the crew, people looking around from the shake of the ship. Dabi let out a wolfish chuckle, parting your folds to collect the juices leaking out of you before bringing it to rub against your sensitive bud.

“Is everything alright, captain?”

“No worries, everything is dandy,” he replied with a yell, not turning around to face the men as he peered down to watch your cunt sucking his fingers in, “everyone resume your positions.”

Your lips hurt from how hard you were biting down, desperate to keep your voice down as he slowly pumped his digits within your velvet walls.

“That was close,” he grumbled in your ear, licking his lips as the bob of your throat when he scissored his fingers, “you’re getting careless..."

He let out a mocked gasp and you squeaked when he glided his fingers in and out of you at an increasingly fast pace, “Or did you do it on purpose? Do you want my entire crew to know you’re getting fucked on deck?” he cackled when you whimpered, unable to say anything in fear of other sounds slipping out too, “Do you want people to watch you cum on my fingers?”

Your cunt clamped down on his long digits at the sneer and nothing could stop you from whining out loud at the sudden emptiness when he pulled out. He pushed your upper body forward with a forceful shove until you were laying on the helm. He gripped onto the side of your hips, leaning back slightly to take a good look at your clenching hole that was now on display. 

“Suck,” you took his fingers that were dripping with the clear essence of your arousal into your mouth obediently, the saltiness expanding in your mouth as you tasted yourself on him. The sound of his belt buckle rattling had you arching your back and he snickered at your eager form as he pulled his cock out of his pants.

“Ass up.”

You complied, a soft moan rolling off your tongue as he pulled his fingers out of your mouth with a pop. He kneaded your cheeks roughly as he lined himself up at your entrance, rubbing the leaking tip along your pussy to spread the wetness around.

You latched onto the helm for dear life when he hilted in you with one push, your lips parted but no sounds came out as he slowly dragged his cock along your walls until his tip was barely inside of you.

“Fuck yourself on my cock.”

Your slick gushed out from his earlier teasing, but your face still burned at the thought of humping him right on the open deck with everyone just a platform below.

A soft tuck at your scalp had you clenching around nothing but his tip dipped in. “Or would you prefer to let the entire ship behind me see my hips thrusting up against your slutty cunt?” he asked, surging his hips forward just a little and smirking at the sigh you let out, “because I’m not letting you get down here without cum dripping down your legs.”

He let out a shaky breath when you slowly pushed your hips back, the plush flesh of your mounds pressed up against his pelvis as your hands clawed at the wooden wheel you were holding onto. Your walls pulsed to accommodate the stretch, and you started rolling your hips when the itch in your core was too much to bear even with the concern of ears all around you in mind.

You were cautious of the squelching when you slammed yourself down on his length at first, but bit by bit you lose your restraints to the tides that were starting to rise up in the pit of your stomach. Dabi gave you an approving squeeze on the side of your waist as you started throwing it back faster and faster, pants falling off your lips as his cock rubbing against your walls set your body on fire.

“I always know you are no princess behind closed doors but it seems like you have no issue acting like a whore in public too,” you mewled when he unexpectant thrust up, shocks of numbing pleasure jolted down to the tip of your toes when his cock slammed right against the spongey spot deep inside of you. 

His fingers dug into your sides as he took over, viciously slamming you down on his length as your body trembled on top of the helm. He pushed your shift further up to get a clearer sight of his cock disappearing inside of you with each thrust, your essence coating his shaft and running down your thighs. You buried your face onto the helm when you cum, muffling the moans you could no longer hold in as your cunt clenched around him. The burn spread all across your body and you were practically holding yourself up with the support of the steering wheel he was fucking you on and his arms propping you up.

“Not that I mind,” he let out a choked laugh, the staples on his face feeling like they were about to pop off with how wide his grin was at the sight of your shaking figure. He threw his head back slightly when the muscle in his stomach tightened up, “not when you are my whore...”

Dabi held you still, burying his cock deep inside you as he came with a shudder. His lips parted, a low moan coming out as a purr as ropes of his release filled you up. You whined at the warmth, scratching down on the helm as he pulled out. The sudden emptiness had you clenching around nothing and he leaned back to watch his cum seep out of your abused cunt.

You instinctively pressed your thighs together to put a stop to the sticky substance from trailing down the root of your legs and he chuckled, throwing his arm around you before pressing your back against his chest and pulling your collar back up.

“Feels real enough for you?” he whispered, his thumb rubbing at your collarbone.

You nodded, turning your head back when he tilted your chin to place a soft peck on your lips.

“Good,” Dabi let you go from his grip, giving your ass a light smack and earning a glare from you, “now I want you back on the bed and get some rest. I’ll come down once I have time.”

“Aye, aye captain...” he huffed at your playful tone, watching as you saunter away after picking your shawl up and wrapping it very tightly around your chest.

He spotted the faint marks that peaked out from it on your neck and hummed to himself in satisfaction. He turned his eyes back to the sea for once, sighing as the blue waters expanded out to the sky with no end.

Today seemed like it would be a good day.

[tetsustation]

[that’s where your wrong]

:: kuroo tetsurou x gn!reader

:: comfort + 1.0k 

life is a fickle thing. a lot of it is meticulous, tolling. some days feel like weeks, others pass like a chopped collection minutes—either way, it sucks. frankly, you never cracked down on what you were here for, or what you should be doing.

the feat is heavy to hold in your hands, brought you to your knees in an attempt to shoulder the weight. often times, it’s easier to brush away the traces of existentially in favor of taking things one step at a time.

however, that’s easier said than done. especially when the steps are increasing tenfold by the day. still, when your boyfriend texts you out of the blue on a rather warm afternoon, asking if you wanted to get out for a bit, your fingers couldn’t type out a ‘yes’ fast enough. the world could wait for a while. 

“what are you thinkin’ about?” 

from beside you, kuroo flicks his glance sideways for no more than a few seconds, shifting the gear as the light turns green. you adjust to the pressure of halted inertia before processing what he said. a lot, is what you wanted to respond with, but that response didn’t sit right on your tongue. 

“its kinda hot, no?” is what you settled on. 

kuroo snickers, its airy in his nose—you note that his allergies have cleared up. the fact that he can breathe smoothly without the oppression of pollen brings you close to a smile. the blinker clicks and he turns down another road, carrying your drive with no destination.

“you can crack a window,” he notes, “child locks are off.” 

now it was your turn to laugh a bit, a full fledged grin finding its way onto your face. “lucky me,” you mutter as you roll down the window. 

throwing an arm up on distressed leather, you let your hand stick out and bounce along with the wind that rushes by. the weight of your palm seems to carry itself as you pass street signs, pedestrians, and stores you’ve familiarized yourself with over the course of just a few years. 

“cherry blossoms are out.” is all you can bring yourself to say, as the two of you pass a rather large tree—pink hues dancing around the branches like trained ballerinas. it almost makes you wish you stuck with ballet all those years ago, with any luck you’d be able to look just as pretty one day. 

due to his height, kuroo has to duck a bit from his seat to look above him, through the windshield. his mouth is slightly agape as he glances at the sight you’re awing at—all the while, trying to keep the car steady.

“that they are.” he grins, before focusing back on the road.

it’s silent again, of course the radio is traversing up and down the three rows, but other than that it’s static. the people outside provide an ambiance, and internally, you thank them. you didn’t really feel like holding up conversation anyways, not that kuroo would let you if he had any grasp at all on your current mood. 

after a few more minutes of captivation towards the open window, you glance across the middle console. while driving, kuroo looks candidly relaxed, the effect of innovation and effortless travel settling nicely on his reclined shoulders. at least one of you feels calm.

he notices you staring, and your quick to turn away. he nods off at a passing car, “talk to me, kitten.”

snorting at the borderline condescension, you cross your arms, “is it that obvious?” 

he shrugs, and your face goes warm. unfortunately, he read you like a children’s book, with letters set at a font size of twenty-five. its embarrassing, yet the weight of the world is only getting heavier, and you can tell he’s prepping some pennies in exchange for your thoughts. 

“i think time’s got it out for me.” you laugh it off, but instead his face contorts at your hesitancy—there’s a little bit of fear laced into your joke. when he once again pulls up to a red light, he takes his hand off the wheel. it laces with your own, and you stare at the interlock instead of him.

"i have no clue what i’m doing,” you think aloud.

a beat, and you look up to find him ogling you like a complex stoich problem. only when the car behind him beeps lightly does he jump back, glaring through the mirror. 

“you’re not the only one,” he says after a while. 

it almost seems dismissive, but you know it isn’t. kuroo touches your heart with empathy, you know that much by now. you know what he’s trying to say, but its not all that helpful. perhaps if you reason with him,

“it just seems like a lot of work for nothing.” and your hands fall into your lap, defeated and deflating.

“i think,” he starts ambivalently, “you should do what makes you happy.”

so maybe an eighteen year old boy isn’t all that helpful in a quarter-life crisis. still, you give him the benefit of the doubt and try to smile. he wants what’s best for you, that gesture alone is enough. presumably, he’s done—ready to let you revel in the silence for a bit longer, but he’s not. 

“no one’s expecting you to be the best, it’s overrated anyways.” the last part makes your shoulder hop in entertainment, there’s a genuine upturn of your lips. 

“right,” and you mean it, because he is right. mediocrity might not be too bad if it feels like this. if you have to sacrifice a score or two to feel the warm air on your face, and a firm hand in yours every once in a while—maybe it’s worth it.

things should always be this simple, and they can be—you just forget sometimes. 

✿ TETSUSTATION — 2021 ; do not repost, translate, share without permission, or recycle my writing & layouts. this blog does not hesitate to hardblock in that instance!

[wendimydarling]

Cover the Mirrors

Summary: Amber is earning a masters degree in mythology and folklore; when a handsome stranger sweeps her off her feet, she’s left wondering how, and struggles to keep up with his lifestyle.

Pairing: Vampire!August Walker x OFC (first person reader)

Word Count: 6826

Warnings: Alright, we ready to get into the menu of delights we will be reading today? Okay but seriously, if you are triggered by anything on this list, it is your responsibility to not read this work of fiction. The warnings are as follows: manipulation, subtle exhibitionism, fingering, penetrative sex, mention of oral (male receiving), biting, clawing, choking, blood, male violence, gore, non-con, rape, spitting, fear play, primal play, breeding, mention of death, torture, and potentially cannibalism, if you squint.

A/N: Okay so this story is based off of this thread where @killjoy-assbutt-1112​ gave me a fic title, but I added another twist to it that I’d been brewing for months; I was excited about it but now I’m not. Whatever, I’ll give it to you anyway. Sources for my vampire lore came from here and here. Cover art was made by me; August was drawn by the amazingly talented @cheyentjj​ and has been used with her permission. Thank you so much to everyone who brainstormed with me, and a special thanks to @agniavateira​ for betaing! 

“If you look at the Slavic region, vampire folklore runs rampant. One especially interesting specimen is the Pijavica. The Pijavica (translated “leech”, or “drinker”) was a rare species of vampire— traditionally male, and a powerfully strong, cold-blooded killer. The potential for conception is most commonly believed to be through the incest of the deceased with his mother during his life, though some believe that one can be created through the exceptionally malicious and evil acts of the deceased before his death. 

The birth of a Pijavica is attributed to many different causes, including suffering an “unnatural” or untimely death such as suicide, excommunication, improper burial rituals, or even simple causes such as an animal jumping or bird flying over either the corpse or the empty grave, being conceived on certain days, or being born with a caul, teeth, or tail.” 

I paused my typing, fingers leaving the keyboard in order to brush loose strands of hair from my face. Around me, the baristas of my favorite coffee shop were buzzing like worker bees in an old hive; they were gearing up for the lunch rush, and I realized I’d been here four hours already. 

This place had long been my go-to study zone. It was small; there was just enough hustle and bustle to keep me from descending too deep into the abyss of studying and yet, it had the respect of the patrons that a library does. The owner, Fred, made sure that conversations were kept in hushed tones, courteous to those of us who needed to work in noise instead of quiet. 

“If ya wanna be loud, go sit at a Starbucks!” He’d huff at those who didn’t heed his warning.

My eyes took in the familiar surroundings as I stretched. An oversized wood-burning fireplace filled the wall next to the vintage cash register; it was sandwiched between two built-in bookcases housing stories of all kinds that were meant to be read and enjoyed. The old stone clackling ran all the way up the wall, and a custom mantle made from an old oak tree that had fallen in Fred’s backyard sat delicately above the firebox. Yes, this shop was magical. It held a special place in my heart, and I’d visited so often that old Fred had deemed the table I sat at as “my table”. It was always kept reserved for me. 

I reached for my coffee without looking; my brain needed more caffeine. I’d spent months on this master thesis, and yet for some reason, the notion of vampires was such a struggle. I didn’t understand the fear of those who lived back then. The origins of bloodsuckers were chaotic, the “treatments” laughable and still, people were willing to kill their own offspring over such nonsensical superstitions. Cold drops of stale roast hit my lips in a harsh reminder that I’d finished my previous dose. I sighed heavily and dropped the cup to the wooden surface of my table. Eyes closed, I laced my fingers around my neck and drew my elbows together to stretch my spine. Coffee. I need more coffee.

“Having trouble?”

A man’s baritone, smooth as whiskey interrupted my thoughts. My body jolted at his leisurely tone, and I nearly tumbled off the chair as my eyes snapped open to view the intruder. Sitting across from me was anything but a man; I was in the presence of divine artistry, two breathtaking orbs of gray-washed sky centered below auburn curls that adorned his perfectly symmetrical face. A sharp nose pointed to his strong jaw, while an amused smirk tugged at the corner of lips that I’m certain could send even a nun to her bedroom for self-maintenance. He wore a crisp, pinstripe suit, the buttons of his dress shirt undone sinfully low, revealing a smattering of additional curls. 

My oversized turtleneck sweater and leggings suddenly felt subpar.

“The name’s Walker,” he mused further, gesturing a large hand toward the empty paper tumbler that was now lying on its side. “What were you drinking?”

“I--I um,” I fumbled with my words, embarrassed by my sudden inability to form a proper sentence. “I had a flat white? With two extra shots of espresso.”

The man named Walker had the cup in his hand and was out of his chair before I could blink; he was already ordering another coffee by the time I managed to process his intentions. I watched him hand the barista a bill I couldn’t see, but by the shocked expression on her face at the man’s declination of the change, it must have been a sizable amount. He sat down at the table again and stared at my chest unabashedly, making it clear he wasn’t just looking but imagining as well.

I should have been offended or felt objectified, but instead I felt drawn into his gaze.

“Having trouble?” He asked again, gesturing this time at my laptop.

“How long were you sitting there?” I blurted out, still too flummoxed to answer his question. Walker laughed and I swear, time stood still. Never in my life had I heard something so beautiful.

“Long enough.”

His reply was short and cryptic, a dismissal of my burgeoning curiosity. The barista chose that moment to bring two orders of coffee to the table, offering both of them to Walker by mistake. I took in her awestruck countenance, and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that if my face matched hers I’d sink to the floor and die of shame. That notion shook me from my stupor and I was finally able to address his question.

“It’s my master thesis,” I explained, taking a sip of the scalding liquid he handed me. “I’m a History major, with an emphasis in mythology and folklore.”

I took another sip and tapped my phone, large numbers greeting me on the screen. Numbers that told me I was extremely late.

“Oh my god I have to go, I’m so sorry!” I apologized, scrambling to pack my things. In my haste I knocked my drink off the table. Resignation sunk in deep, submission to the knowledge of further humiliation at the impending spill. None came however, as Walker caught the drink in his hand before it crashed to the dark tiles.

“Thank you,” I murmured, gawking at him in bewilderment. Who was this man?

“It’s my pleasure,” he said, standing to help me collect the remainder of my books. “I’m interested in your thesis, could we perhaps discuss it over dinner? I don’t want to keep you from your next engagement.”

“I—” I stared at him, his face open and inviting. I’d been asked out before, but never this abruptly, and never by someone who looked and behaved like him. It sounded like an adventure…or a good story to tell on girls’ night at least.

“You know what, sure. Why not?”

I scribbled my number onto a napkin and slid it his way, grabbing the rest of my gear and heading toward the door. As I pushed against the hard metal, Walker’s large fingers caught my wrist, wrapping around it like ivy wraps around a lamppost. They were cool to the touch and yet somehow, my entire body immediately felt heated.

“We forgot first names,” he chuckled, “I’m August.”

I grinned sheepishly, pulling my arm from his surprisingly firm grip. The clank of the metal door handle resonated with the introduction I threw over my shoulder as I left the warmth of the shop and the handsome man behind.

“Amber.”

It took August a full week to call me. I felt like a fool; Did I leave on a poor note? Had I offended him somehow? Did he simply decide to change his fucking mind? I was kicking myself for saying yes; how could I have agreed to go on a date with a complete stranger? Now that I was no longer in his flustering presence, I began to see reason again. I knew nothing more than this man’s name, and the fact that he was more than likely rich. He could be a cold-blooded killer for all I knew, and I had every intention of telling him off.

I was in my apartment when he called. Still stuck on my thesis, I was currently unable to determine how best to explain the theory behind the sexual appeal of vampires. In my frustration, I hung upside down over the side of my bed, reading a book that discussed the many different works of literature revolving around vampirical romanticism and hoping the blood rushing to my brain would help me ascertain how to go about my explanation. The book was written by two authors who essentially argue the whole time, one of them convinced that the human fascination with vampires stems from the cannibalistic nature of bloodsucking or that it alluded to other bodily fluids such as semen, whereas the other stood firm in his belief that it held a much simpler cause; it was nothing more than the presence of oral fixation and sadism that caused the fantasy to plant its seed.

My phone vibrated but I ignored it, too engrossed in my book to be bothered with answering. I was so close… the answer was right there, it just continued to escape me. It wasn’t until my phone vibrated a second time to notify me of a voicemail that I put the pages down and picked up the electronic device.

The moment I heard August excusing his delay in calling to a work emergency, I immediately sat up and hit redial. There was something in his voice that made my heart quicken and my pulse race; it made the hair on my arms stand on end. I regretted sitting up so fast as it rang, the blood surrounding my brain draining quickly into the rest of my body. August answered on the second ring.

“Hi, Amber.”

“I—hi.”

I rolled my eyes then flinched in pain, congratulating myself sarcastically on how pathetic that response sounded with a slap of my palm to my forehead.

“Please, allow me to apologize again for waiting so long to call,” August insisted, seemingly unphased by my lack of vocabulary. “I still intend to take you to dinner, that is if you haven’t written me off completely.”

“No it’s fine, I totally get it,” I assured him. I had completely forgotten my earlier annoyance. He had explained it after all, and it could happen to anyone.

“Perfect. I’ll send a car tonight then, at seven. Wear something revealing please, I wasn’t able to see that pretty little neck of yours last time.”

My insides shook with an unexpected pang of shocked arousal at August’s request. The sexual confidence saturating his tone had me instantly reduced to nothing more than a deep desire for him to drag me to my knees by my hair. Why I wasn’t offended by the dominantly abrupt way this man spoke to me, I’ll never know. I put on the best flirty air I could manage in my stupor.

“I think I can manage that. Might have to charge you though.”

August laughed for the second time since I’d known him and I smiled, proud that I’d caused such a melodious sound to grace this earth.

“I like your spirit; you’re gonna be fun. I’ll see you tonight.”

“I—okay bye,” I managed to say before he hung up. I stared at my phone stupidly, as though I thought he was going to call again. Instead, the large clock face glared up at me like it always does, an ever present reminder that I live on a different plane of time than the rest of the world. I fell back on the bed, thinking about the man named August.

He likes my spirit? I hadn’t really shown him much, I’d been unable to do anything but stammer and trip over my words like a schoolgirl would when confronted by the cutest jock at school. What could he possibly see in me? The woman I truly was, the one I knew was underneath the bumbling idiot finally answered me. You’ve got three hours, Amber. Show him what you’re made of.

Resolve set in, and I bounced off the bed and walked toward my closet. For whatever reason, he’d chosen me, so I was going to let my confidence in that thought override all the self-doubt that was threatening to surface. I pulled my favorite dress from the hanger and set out to work. He wanted revealing? Then revealing is what he’d get, but I was going to do it my way.

The car was punctual, though I was less so. I scrambled to put diamond studs in my ears while being driven to some unknown location, my nerves making my hands shake. Once again, the notion that I could be driving to my death crept up my spine, but I brushed it off. Rich men send cars, it’s what they do. And I am an intelligent woman, I wouldn’t let myself be put in that situation.

Would I?

Touching the final stroke of Red Wine lipstick on my lips, I pulled my loose curls over my shoulder to expose my neck and put my things in my vintage black clutch, staring out the window at the ancient building that housed the most expensive club in town. I was suddenly grateful I’d chosen such a fancy dress. I fidgeted with the soft hem of the sleeve at my wrist, drawing it back and forth between my fingers while I waited for the driver to come to a stop.

I saw August there waiting, looking sharp as ever in another expensive three-piece suit, buttons undone just as low as the first time. This time however, I felt much better matched to his attire, and my confidence rose right next to my excitement. August came down the steps to open the door and I took his hand, hiking the burgundy velvet up to my thigh so that I could exit the car smoothly. The heavy fabric dropped to the ground the moment I freed it from my grasp, allowing August to study how I’d chosen to honor his request.

August drank in my covered form, taking in the way my dress hugged my curves and accentuated what it needed to. His eyes darkened as they lingered on the single large triangular section of bare skin that started at my shoulders and came to a point between my breasts, and I watched his tongue dart out of his mouth softly. He looked downright hungry. August stepped closer, fingertips grazing the flesh on my collarbone before he fastened his grip onto my nape and inhaled the hair at my temple deeply, pressing his lips to my ear.

“You are simply mouthwatering,” he growled, low and possessive. His hand released my neck and slid down to the small of my back, sending a shiver down my spine. My insides quivered at his touch, fragrant drops of dew pooling rapidly in the flimsy lace that guarded my mound from potential intruders.

“You wanted to see my ‘pretty little neck’,” I teased his earlier arrogance, lifting my skirt to traverse the steps leading inside, “I thought I’d frame her for you, give her the spotlight.”

August cocked an eyebrow at me in amusement, sensing my challenge. His fingers dug into my hip a little harder than necessary as he guided me through the establishment with nothing more than a nod to the hostesses. Apparent jealousy marred the face of one, and I thought I saw a hint of worry on the other. We were gone before the emotion could register in my mind.

I was escorted to a private booth in the upstairs of the establishment. While the first floor was crowded and full of people, the second floor was empty; August had requested it for our use alone. I could hear the hum of nightlife below, the haunting, non-lyrical melody of a soft alto wafting over the balcony as we walked past, the whispered promise of an enchanting night. A few tables and chairs were strategically placed on the floor, hugged by back-to-back rounded booths on either wall. Light ethereal curtains hung on either side of them, offering privacy from the guests who would typically sit in the next box over. August led me to the corner booth nearest the balcony so that we could look upon the stage if we chose.

“Our table, milady,” he joked, leaving a wet kiss on the back of my hand. Though the charade was seemingly in jest, it could not have been farther from it. His piercing eyes never left mine and I gasped at the feel of his brazen tongue on my skin. The suggestion of what he could do with it hung thick in his gaze, lacing the air with the succulent first tendrils of decadent tension. Playing along, I took a sharp breath and curtsied. I stayed low as August stood to show him the appeal of my figure at this angle, tilting just my head to look up at him. He stood there, head held high like a king, and the smile I received at my display was downright sinful.

“What a treat you are,” he murmured, cupping my chin briefly. My breasts swelled as I stood, consenting August the claim to chivalry by way of settling me into the alcove. He swept my hair over my shoulder again, trailing a single finger down my neck in admiration before taking his own seat. My insides were nothing but a pile of kindling, and every touch he gave was a spark that threatened to ignite the dry leaves into a burning flame of need.

The courses came and went just like those moments, every phrase emphasized with physical intimacy of some kind, whether it be just a gossamer brush of his fingers on my ear or an intentional grasping of my hand. He went as far as to boldly stroke the back of his knuckle along my cleavage, making me dizzy with desire. Each touch was avaricious—like he owned me—and I had zero qualms about letting him.

We ate our fill, but August made no move to leave the comfort of our small corner. With the noise of people below dulled by the far reaches of our seclusion, it was easy to converse. I told him more about my master thesis and the Pijavica, how they could read minds and enjoyed the power of persuasion, how they were impervious to all but decapitation, and how only their offspring could kill them. He listened intently, sharing tales of his own career. It was how I discovered that he was a doctor.

“I don’t practice anymore though, I prefer to study and learn. Specifically, I’m attracted to tears.”

“Tears?” That struck me as odd; it wasn’t often you came across someone who had such a unique field of study. “Why tears?”

August swirled the whiskey in his glass and downed it abruptly. He subtly indicated to our attendant for another before continuing his explanation.

“I’ve always had a fascination for the small things, things that people don’t seem to think matter; the mind-body connection, you know? For example,” he brushed a thumb over my cheekbone, “Did you know that the cellular structure of tears looks different based on the type of tear?”

August cupped my neck with both of his hands, tilting my head this way and that, his calm features set in measured focus as he spoke.

“Basal, reflexive, emotional... they all look different.”

I closed my eyes, letting him caress my skin. August’s touch was intoxicating, addicting. Even his scent was an aphrodisiac to my senses. I couldn’t get enough of it, lured ever closer to his sturdy frame, letting him manipulate my body how he saw fit. He nuzzled my hair, his soft spoken words dripping with lust into my ear.

“In fact,” he went on, “Even among those categories they differ, dependent on the stimuli.”

I could feel his breath on my neck, his lips surrounding the pulsepoint in my veins as he spoke, my jaw his destination. A hand snuck under my skirt, skimming along my trembling skin toward the seeping treasure that awaited him at the end of his journey. I spread my legs willingly, inviting him into my deepest of secrets. August hummed as he went on, sending spirals of tingling vibrations through my chest.

“The sting of onions, the sadness of grief… the satisfaction of overwhelming pleasure.”

“August…” I breathed, but my voice was severed as August simultaneously laid claim to my mouth and my womb. Thick fingers penetrated me in the same moment as his probing tongue, and it was in that moment I knew I was lost; August Walker could pull everything from me and I wouldn’t care; I’d want it, need it. He had spent all night teasing me, testing me, manipulating me and filling me with nothing but a desire for more, leaving me empty and wanting. He had succeeded, I now craved him above all else in this world.

August lifted my skirts, hoisting me with little effort to straddle his lap and I cried out in shock. The sound of my sudden impalement on the thick steel of his manhood was camouflaged by the crowd of people below; no one heard the echo of carnal awakening that sang through the air. When had he undressed? I bit my lip as he sank deeper into my core until the salty bitterness of copper and iron stung my chin. August’s eyes fell to the red droplet, darkening until the only color left in his pale irises was the very absence of light. With a hideous growl he ravaged my mouth, tasting every inch of my bruised lips with the hunger of an animal that’s been caged for far too long.

Thrill and terror tangled themselves in my mind, weaving an intricate web of wanton desire inside of me as August took me right there in the booth. Time itself seemed to halt, the room disappeared. Were we still in the club? Was it still the dead of night? Did I still require oxygen to breathe? Or was my life source now August’s touch, the light in my very soul dependent upon his kiss?

I didn’t notice when we left, nor when we arrived at a house that overlooked the city. I didn’t notice the lock on the basement door, or the fresh garden in the yard. I didn’t notice the continual rising and setting of the sun. I didn’t notice when I grew hungry, nor when I grew tired. I didn’t notice, not anything but passion, need, and desperation.

I didn’t notice.

Sleep drained from my limbs slowly. I awoke to black silk caressing my skin, dim sunlight shining through the wall, diffused by a covering of clouds that hung in the sky. It confused me that it was coming through the entire wall, until I realized that said wall was simply one large window, and the room I found myself in was built into the rock of an obsidian cliff overlooking the city. The room was minimally decorated in dark tones that coordinated with the nature outside, save for a striking, golden painting of a woman crying on the far wall. I clearly wasn’t home, and last night’s events slowly returned to the forefront of my mind.

August.

August was, without a doubt, the most attentive lover I’d ever had. Memories of his lips, his scent, his god-like physique that was surely carved from marble entertained my thoughts, returning my mind to the pleasure I’d never experienced in my life. Chills ran up and down my skin, alighting in wonder as my hand drifted to my sex. My fingers found my petals, swollen from overuse, aching in the dull agony of satisfaction. I stroked them gently, soothing the pleasant tenderness, moaning softly as the blood rushed to swell my clit once more, my other hand slipping beneath the silk to join in the heavenly edging torment.

A sharp, sudden sting at the brush of my inner thigh caused me to cry out, my hands snatching away from their play. I sat up, peering beneath the sheets to discover a semi-circle of divots cut into my leg. Is that a… a bite mark? I pulled at the skin and felt the dried blood crack, a small pinprick of new red seeping through the scab. I lunged from the bed to stand in front of the full-length mirror in the corner and look for other signs or markings, but what I found made me gasp.

Bruises peppered my neck, chest, hips and thighs. A few other crescents were scattered amongst them, standing out against the dark patches that shaded my skin. I took a physical inventory then, feeling the soreness in my jaw from being stretched by his cock, the ache of my neck from having my hair pulled, the shaky feeling of muscular fatigue in my legs from being tensed by orgasm after orgasm. I thought I detected a slight sheen on my skin, but I couldn’t tell if that was from the tremulous bliss of a satisfying fuck, or if it was the sweat and oil caused by said satisfying fuck. Either way, I looked happy and content. I grabbed August’s dress shirt from the floor and threw it on as I left the room to explore.

The bedroom led to a hallway, the wall to my left still nothing but expansive glass that showed off the impressive view. On the other side were large, black and white abstract prints, hung evenly spaced against dark panels. To the left of each was a shadow box with an ornate glass vial inside; each bottle was thin, no longer than my palm and differing in design from the others. Tiny, intricate patterns were painted on the outsides in white, blue, and gold, and gold stoppers sealed each one. When I entered the main room, I discovered a curio cabinet that housed at least a hundred of them, and I leaned in to look at how varied each one was.

“Victorian tear catchers,” August’s voice was suddenly behind me and I whirled sharply, startled. He chuckled at my alarm and I laughed with him, enjoying that glorious sound.

“They’re beautiful,” I murmured, turning back to look at the delicate glass. August pulled me against his naked chest, nosing my hair and kissing my neck.

“Yes you are,” he whispered, earning an eye roll from me. August chuckled and opened the cabinet.

“Would you like one?”

“Really?”

I looked at him, stunned. He simply nodded his head in the direction of the vials and I examined them, selecting one that had a white pattern on it that looked like lace.

“Mmm, a good choice. Perhaps I can collect tears of ecstasy for you,” August whispered. The thrill of what he was implying awakened my senses, and I let him lead us slowly back toward the bedroom. I felt like teasing him, so I delayed a bit by asking about the art on the wall.

“What are those?” I pointed to the first print, a cross-hatching pattern that looked like it was made of sewing pins.

“Those are tears of grief,” he stated, stopping in front of each as he walked me gradually down the hall.

“A yawn,” he said of the next, a white background with dark, fern-looking splatters. August traced his mouth along my jaw, his hand dipping beneath the button of his shirt to play with the sensitive nipples he had rediscovered. I keened as he continued shifting us toward the kitchen, struggling to keep my composure. The next print was a much darker gray, and it looked like it was covered in snowflakes.

“Any guesses?” August asked, mouthing my earlobe in tandem with the flick of his thumbs over my hardened nubs. I whimpered, my knees weak in his lustful embrace.

“Uhm… cold air?” I rasped as he sucked on my neck. August chuckled through his nose, the vibrations of his voice rippling through my chest to connect with his teasing fingers.

“Onions.”

“Yeah okay.”

I tilted my head so that I could kiss him, but suddenly the thought of onions turned my stomach. I lurched, pulling away and gagging slightly. Instead of concern, August smiled knowingly, seemingly unbothered by my retching.

“I see morning sickness has set in. It’s a little early and I had hoped you’d be able to avoid it, but alas, that’s not the case.”

My head swam suddenly, confusion mutilating all thought. I backed away from him.

“Morning what? What are you talking about?”

August took a step toward me, placing a hand on my belly and lacing his fingers in the hair at my nape.

“Women always taste better after they’ve conceived. And I can keep them longer; they make much more blood when they’re host to a fetus.”

I pushed against him, turning away and vainly attempting to process his words. Pregnant? Taste better? Blood? My eyes focused on a card I hadn’t noticed earlier in the shadow box, a single word printed on it.

Bridgette

“Isn’t it ironic,” August mused, tracing my collarbone with a thick finger, “That five weeks ago, you had a chance encounter with the very thing you’ve been studying for months, and now you carry his child.”

The room spun. I couldn’t think; my brain refused to process the nonsense he spoke.

“Five—five weeks?! No that’s not possible, our date was last night!”

“It’s more than possible, sweet morsel. Think about it.”

Bile rose thick and acrid in my throat then, threatening to spill. Memories and time started filtering into my mind, replacing the fog with everything I’d lost. The last puzzle piece clicked into place, confusion all but disappeared and I was left with nothing but the cold, terrifying truth. Pijavica. Vampire. Monster.

I’d fallen into the clutches of a monster.

I did the only thing I could think of; I slapped him as hard as I could and took off through the house, ignoring the sharp pain of a chunk of hair remaining in his hand. My heart pounded in my chest, desperate to be free of this sudden nightmare. I slammed into the front door and grabbed the handle, a strangled sob catching in my throat when it wouldn’t open.

I rattled the door knob, panic consuming every fiber of my being. Suddenly, it wasn’t just my life I was fighting for; apparently there was a life inside of me that needed protecting. The child of a Pijavica that was depending on me to escape, so that he could come back and kill his father. I have to get out. I gave up on the door in anger, spinning around and looking for another way.

“Do you know why I chose you?”

I heard August’s voice again, but he was nowhere to be seen. His voice came louder, penetrating my mind. I have to keep moving.

“It was because of your name; they match your eyes.”

I whimpered at his words, sneaking my head around a corner to survey the living space for some form of an exit.

“Amber has a historical application, you see,” he went on, louder. I dashed over the floor, desperate to be gone from him. Door after door remained locked, and my terror grew with each attempt. Every now and then I could hear August, whether it be a rustle of fabric or the knock of his foot on the wooden floor. The scholar in me knew that it was on purpose, that he was luring his prey, giving chase to his food, and yet my rational mind refused to take charge. I was being led by my flight response, and his jarring monologue wasn’t helping.

“Throughout history, whenever a goddess cried it was typically tears of amber, save for the goddess Freya, who cried gold. You met her in the bedroom.”

His laughter echoed through the dark walls of his lair, and chilled me to my core. It was no longer a beautiful sound, but grating and horrible. I was nothing but a petty human to play with, some toy that he could eat when he tired of me. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I came to the last door. Dear God, please let this one open. To my utter relief, the door swung wide and I was met with stairs. Stairs went down, and we were on a cliff. Down was good. Down meant freedom.

I clambered down the steps and flung open the door at the bottom, stumbling into the room and falling to the floor in horror and fear. There in front of me, was nothing but mirrors. A maze of mirrors, each one showing me my trembling features, mocking me, letting me know just how fucked I was. I turned back, intending to go back up the stairs and try another way, but August’s silhouette stood at the top, preventing me from going back into the house. I heard a scream and realized it was my own.

Scrambling off the floor, I took off into the maze, blinded by my tears.

“Each of those girls made it this far you know,” August taunted. I heard the slam of the door and nearly choked as I ran. “You’ll die in this room, just like they did.”

His nonchalance, his continual unconcern about chasing me, his arrogance that he would no doubt catch me made me so angry. I raced from path to path, growing ever more frantic every time I reached a dead end. I didn’t even know if this room had an exit, I just knew I had to keep moving. I tripped over something as I rounded a corner, screaming when I saw what it was.

“I see you found Bridgette,” August chuckled, and I looked up from the skeleton to see his hideous face marred with a sinful sneer. I gasped and took off again, turning this way and that. Hitting another dead end, I doubled back and ran smack into August’s broad torso. He caught me and held me close as I screamed, ripping his shirt from my body. He spun me around, pinning my wrists between my back and his belly, trailing his fingers languidly over my naked frame in an inspection of his handiwork. My jaw was gripped in an iron vice and August forced my gaze to the mirror.

“Do you see what I see?” he mocked. I could only stare in horror, for nothing but my own terrified expression stared back at me.

August had no reflection.

“Out of all the patterns in the world, do you know which tears are my favorite?” August continued to torment. He inhaled my hair deeply, snaking his tongue along the length of my cheek, tasting the stains my tears had left in their wake.

“Fear.”

I heard August growl as I fought against him, his iron grasp caging me against his cool skin, more of the cursed moisture pooling in my eyes. Glassy drops fell, retracing a new path toward my chin but August just kissed them away, shoving me to the floor when my knees buckled of their own accord. He let go of my hands to fidget with his slacks, pulling me back toward him every time I tried to crawl away as a parent would to a petulant child. On the third attempt he snapped my knee, a scream tearing from my throat in my woeful submission to his desire.

Finally free of his clothes, August lifted my hips, lining his rigid cock up against my sweat-soaked folds. He dove into my treasure without care, forcing his way into the depths of my belly, stretching and tearing my walls until he was fully sheathed. Strong arms wrapped around me again, and I felt two sharp points prick the junction of my neck and shoulder. I cried out and thrashed in fierce protest, knowing that small pinch was just a warning of oncoming pain.

August’s teeth punctured my skin easily, shredding muscle and sinew until they hit bone. I howled in pain as I watched blood drip from the wound, a familiar crescent shape joining its brothers on my body. Searing heat shot through my neck with his first draw of thick plasma; the violent removal of blood causing an intense burn that I felt all the way down to my injured leg. August released my neck and I clapped a hand over the fresh wound.

I looked over my shoulder at him; his head was tilted down, mouth still full of my blood; the lack of a reflection behind him unsettling to my senses. August opened his wicked maw slowly, dark scarlet trickling from his lips onto the junction where my hips met his, run through by his sword. He looked up at me with a nasty grin, bloodstained fangs curdling my stomach. I closed my eyes and turned away as he swiped a hand through the mess. His fingers penetrated my core alongside his cock, deaf to my sobbing objections.

“You’d better open your eyes, pet… This needy little cunt is dripping, I’d hate for you to miss it.”

August emphasized his sick joke by grasping my hair, shoving my head to the floor, forcing me to look once more into the polished glass. My desperate wails for mercy were all that kept me grounded as I watched him thrust, my battered hole be stretched beyond capacity. Nothing but empty space plundered my core, crimson air bruising the very place within me that only just last night had been treated with such tenderness and care. Not last night. His slick fingers found my mouth and violated it effortlessly; no amount of pressure I could apply would break through his tough skin.

“God, you look so beautiful.”

August pulled me up and took to my neck with fervor, latching onto the broken sliver of skin like a leech. The more he drank, the weaker I became, until there was no resistance left within me. I could see the color drain from my bloody face, I could see black slowly creep into my vision, but I was powerless to stop it. August was in charge, he held my entire existence in his hands, and he intended to extinguish it. I closed my eyes again, accepting my fate.

I was going to die.

One of my favorite places to visit is a small outdoor cafe, very near the coffee shop where I met Amber. Mmmm. Amber. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of that tantalizing woman.

She lasted so much longer than all the others, you know. I was able to feed off of her nearly three full months as she hung there in my basement, until the last drop of her tantalizing nectar was finally extracted. She smelled of carraway and saffron, tasted of sweet mulled wine, and with the rich, heady, piquancy of her fertile womb seasoning each sinew, every inch of her opulent flesh begged to be consumed. I must admit, I should have dispatched of her sooner, but fascination overtook my curious mind as her own was consumed by insanity.

First it was freedom she asked for, and then death. Sometimes she would beg to speak to her mother one last time. But by the end, she only asked for one thing.

“Please,” she would whisper, “Please… Cover the mirrors. Just cover the mirrors.”

She asked so nicely, but how on earth could I hide such beauty? Her tears were just as rare, you see. They hold a beauty unmatched by any of the others that hang on my walls. I’ve never seen such a fear pattern like hers; it is more exquisite than the dawn of a misty spring day in the countryside, more beautiful than a woman at the height of euphoria. And they way they sparkled against her skin, lustrous tracks that wound down her temples and through her hair, glinting in the mirrors with each slow rotation of her inverted body... well, it was as if I was living among the stars. Adding her ashes to my garden was such a shame.

I sat at that little cafe, eyes closed, viewing the world through my enhanced scent. Each drop of bitter coffee, the pollen of a nearby bee, the oil in the bike chains of two clumsy humans as they rolled past; each note and fragrance alerting me to its owner. A familiar scent reached my nose and I turned my head sharply, focusing on it.

Carraway… Saffron.

I smiled softly, opening my eyes to greet the woman that now sat at my table. The honey irises that had intrigued me all those months ago met mine and I chuckled low.

“Amber.”

Read on AO3.

[starcrossedkaiju]

Kingslayer AU: Chapter Eight

I don’t know what to say other than I like this one. Rendog enjoyers come get your free angst!

Scott filled the pages of his sketchbook gradually at first. He sat at his window and drew what he saw, focusing on putting shapes on the paper. Many times he was unhappy with the finished product, almost ripping out and throwing away his limited space.

He had to learn to be okay with it. The next time it would be a bit better, and a bit better, until the tree he’d been slaving over didn’t look half bad.

Soon his interests turned to drawing his friends. Their faces would pop up on his pages, drowned in eraser smudges at first. Then it became easy. Like second nature, he could memorize Grian’s knowing grin, Jimmy’s downturned eyes, Martyn’s slightly crooked nose.

He drew the way he saw Ren’s piercing yellow eyes that night, the way they were shadowed by his brow.

It felt better. To have a place where his memories could stay exactly the way he saw them. Scott even pinned some up on the wall of his room.

Soon his supply of paper started dwindling, Martyn told him if he needed more drawing paper to come back and ask him for some. So he did, after Jimmy went to bed and the world was quiet under the snow.

Scott made a trip to the Renchanting base, entering through the tunnel hidden under the mountain. It took him right to the storage area. Which was dark and deserted. Only a clock ticked on the wall, everyone else must have been in the sleeping quarters or back at their bases to fend off the Phantoms.

He took a torch from the “stuff chest” and started making rounds, looking at each storage container. Food, Armor, ores, wood, stone, and redstone. Until there was a wall of chests with people’s names on them.

Everyone in the Red Army had a chest, from left to right there was Ren, Martyn, Etho, Skiz, Impulse, Tango, Joel, and then Scott.

The last chest on the right side, Scott’s name was carved on top. It hadn’t been there before. He placed his hand on the lock, wondering if he should even bother opening it. Someone had cared enough to dedicate a space for him to put things. Under the roof of Dogwarts no less.

His torch flickered and Scott decided he’d spent too long lurking around, so he flipped the lock up and quietly opened the chest. Slowly so it wouldn’t creek.

Inside there was a single stack of drawing paper. Hand-sewn like the one Martyn had given him.

Scott placed the torch down and retrieved the paper. He knew it must have been Martyn. A smile found its way onto his face, and he let it stay there. This time, when nobody was looking.

Blowing out the torch and closing the chest, Scott gathered the sketchbook and decided to just leave through the front. It was almost midnight anyways.

Up the stairs and to the double doors of the enchanting room. The book on the table rose from its position and opened towards him as he walked past. Scott still had his hand on the doorknob when he opened it and stepped out into the frigid night.

Of course he didn’t expect to see anything, so when he did see something he froze in place.

In the spot that Martyn would typically occupy, on the very top of the walls sat Ren. His grey cape was bundled around himself to keep out the cold and his pointed ears were pressed low on his head. He was facing away from Scott.

Huddled on the perch, Ren’s shoulders were shaking. Silently, he cried.

Scott stood in the doorway motionless. He couldn’t believe the scene in front of him. Ren wasn’t one to cry. He was calculating and smart, rarely loosing his temper to even the worst of setbacks. A humorous man in charge of an Army of vagabonds, he never cried. He never expressed so much as a single weakness, he couldn’t afford that.

So it really shouldn’t have been a surprise, not really, that the Red King would save his sorrow for when nobody should be looking. Under the loneliest arm of the Milky Way, coldly gazing down on him. The weight of every star in the sky on his shoulders.

It made him look small.

Scott backed away from the door and ran back to the tunnel he came from, the kind of running you do when you are convinced your worst nightmare is snapping at your heels; and maybe for Scott it was.

He sprinted home without looking back. Trying to shove the image of Ren out the back of his mind.

That night he crept quietly back into bed, doing his best not to disturb Jimmy. Who stirred momentarily before simply turning over.

Scott stared at the arm of the Milky Way through the window until he fell into a dreamless sleep.

Days pressed by, Scott slithered too and from the walls of Dogwarts under the noses of his allies and between Spy Ring meetings. The first page of his new sketchbook lay empty, because whenever his pencil hovered above that damn page all he could see was a man huddled up under a galaxy of stars that would never return his wishes.

So when he was called out on night watch to the Renchanting base, Scott snuck out with his empty sketchbook held close to his chest. He arrived to a sleeping base, aware that his shift would be over in an hour and he would get to go home when the next guard showed up.

He yawned and stared out the window, at the stars above the wall. A pencil came to his hand and he started drawing what he saw. The shape of the wall against the glowing sky. He drew it, but it wasn’t right. The image in his mind came back to the front.

A weeping man holding a million stars on his shaking shoulders, the end of his frayed cape flaring out when the breeze kicked up. Tiny compared to the infinite sky. Scott’s fingers and palm turned black with graphite as he crafted the cosmos onto that paper.

His scribbling and smudging consumed all his thoughts as he focused on making the scene perfect, the pencil dulled and threatened to snap under the pressure.

“Major,” a stern voice came from right behind him.

Scott seized up in his chair, a feeling of terror so pure exploded in his chest that his vision left him for a few seconds. He gasped and turned around with his jaw on the floor.

Behind him was Ren. Clad in his winter jacket, a hand on the back of Scott’s chair. He stared directly into the other’s eyes from behind the dark lenses of his aviators. All the color had gone from his face.

Hoping the Red King hadn’t seen what he was drawing, Scott moved his hand to close the book.

It was too late. Ren had been watching him draw for long enough to know.

“You saw me?” Ren asked, but it was phrased more like a fact. It was.

Scott’s hesitation was enough of an answer. He stared up into Ren’s glasses, reminded of a familiar time. This time was different though, and this time Scott wished he could see behind the lenses.

He nodded and tore his eyes away, it felt intrusive to be staring.

“Ren,” Scott said to the floor, but was dismissed.

“No. Just go home. Now,” the other man ordered with a wavering voice.

Scott didn’t nod, he didn’t look at Ren. He gathered the sketchbook and slammed it shut within five seconds.

He didn’t say goodbye as he fled the walls. Scott ran from Ren, and this time he felt bad about it.

Scott didn’t return to Dogwarts for a week after that. Nobody called him to the night shift, nobody asked him to run any supplies. Maybe he was grateful for that, in the sense that he wouldn’t have to look Ren in the eyes again.

Until one night he couldn’t sleep. The clouds cast a dark blanket over the sky. Scott huffed and crawled out of bed, not bothering to change out of his pajamas. He pulled his boots on and took his coat off the hanger.

A walk is what he told himself he was going on, but really he knew where he was going. He didn’t know why, but for some reason Scott had a feeling he wasn’t the only one that couldn’t sleep.

This time instead of entering Dogwarts through the underground he rounded the front, cresting the hill right in front of Big B’s house. Scott scanned the top of the wall and saw what he was looking for. He shoved his hands in his pockets and entered Dogwarts through the front door.

Scott climbed the ladder and balanced himself as he walked over to Ren, who was sitting with his legs dangling over the side of the wall. His jacket was pulled tightly around him. Scott didn’t greet him when he sat down, Ren had seen him coming a mile away.

Ren didn’t look at him, he breathed in heavily, then sighed out a burst of vapor into the cold air.

“You couldn’t sleep?” Scott started the conversation this time.

“Wouldn’t matter if I could. I’m on night watch,” Ren said after a beat of silence.

Scott nodded, turning his head to the dark sky, “it’d be nicer with some stars, hm?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Ren trailed off. He stared at his shoes.

“Okay I’m sorry, I’ll just-“ Scott made to get up and leave but Ren interrupted him.

“No, wait, you can stay,” Ren pulled on the sleeve of Scott’s elbow.

Scott nodded and pulled his knees closer to his chest. A pocket of clouds had moved, creating a window that let the moon gaze upon the Earth.

“Do you stargaze a lot?” Ren asked, this time he looked at Scott.

He wasn’t wearing his sunglasses.

“I try,” Scott replied, “there’s this huge book I found uh, In a village library a while ago. It has everything you can possibly see from down here in it,” he mused.

“Have you ever read one?” Scott asked.

“Uh, an astronomy book?” Ren’s eyes flicked to the left in thought, “I mean I’ve seen them. I haven’t read them. You like astronomy?” he asked.

Scott nodded, then pointed north, into the cloud cover, “you can’t see it now, but Ursa Major would be right over there,” he said.

Ren looked over like he was trying to imagine it, “you like Ursa Major?”

“Easiest to remember,” Scott said plainly.

“I’ll bet. S’ like a namesake,” Ren rested his chin on his palm, “I wish I had a constellation with my name,” his ear twitched on his head.

Scott’s metaphorical ears perked up, “Oh well, there’s one kind of like that,” he said. Ren’s actual ears perked up.

“It’s called Canis Major. It means Great Dog, or Big Dog,” Scott pointed south, “it will always be easy to see on a clear day. One of its stars is called Sirius,” he explained.

Ren nodded, “I’m familiar. Brightest in the sky, right?”

“Yeah. That’s right,” Scott replied.

“Canis Major huh?” Ren repeated. Scott nodded.

“Canis Major, and,” he looked over at Scott, “Scott Major,” Ren nudged the other on the shoulder.

“Right,” Scott said, and suddenly the sky didn’t feel so heavy anymore.

Not when you have a friend to share it with.

[bringingglory]

@eerna oh my god acshdgagaahhdvsahsv I never expected you to see my post, so I won't lie, I feel like super embarrassed acsgsga

anyway! not gonna lie, this wip has been sitting in my drafts for months now because I wanted to see if I could plan stuff but then I got stuck because Details are hard to figure out BUT I did write out a few scenes, so I'll put them below the cut because they're kind of long. the first one is the "opening" of the fic and the second one is a sort of reimagining of the Silent Princess memory. i have a few other scenes sort of scribbled out, but these are the most "polished" of the stuff i've written alsdkfjasdfk

the opening lol

Link wakes to a faint buzzing in his ear that sends little darts of pain shooting through his skull. He waits for it to end, and when it doesn’t he groans and rolls over, smacking the space around him to find whatever was making that noise and make it shut up. He can’t fathom why his brain is rolling through his skull like that and why there’s an intense pressure behind his eyes, but when he rolls onto his side, he has to press a hand to his abdomen to settle whatever was sloshing around inside his stomach.

Ah. He’s hungover.

Link peels open his eyes and the light sends a fresh wave of pain ricocheting through his skull. He blinks once, twice, and then forces his eyes open to find a phone the size vibrating against the ground a few inches away from his hand.

Link groans and pushes himself up to a sitting position before grabbing the phone and dismissing the alarm. When the phone falls silent in his hands, he finally looks around and tries to assess the situation.

He’s sitting in a bathtub, the porcelain slightly damp from what he hopes is just water. His shirt smells vaguely of cheap vodka and he still can barely look at the sunlight streaming through the window without wincing.

A moment later, he realizes the phone in his hands isn’t his.

Link holds the phone up to his face and rubs the grogginess from his eyes. He swipes up on the screen, surprised that it isn’t protected by a password.

The phone is open on note in the notes app, and it reads:

link, if you’re reading this right now, im so sorry for leaving you in the tub like that!!! my dad’s supposed to come home from the office today and the document case i was telling you about is missing and he cant know i lost it. i know we just started getting along, and im so sorry to ask you this, but could you find the document case? impa’s in my contacts and she can help you. also you have permission to dig through my phone, just dont judge me if i have anything embarrassing on there. can you find the file by midnight? his flight leaves at 3 and i can stall him until then.

it’s 6:11 right now so i have to run before he gets back, but please hurry! i’ll be waiting for you

-zelda

Link blinks and turns the phone off.

Last night? What happened last night? Why can’t he remember anything?

Well, if his raging headache tells him anything, it’s that he had probably blacked out last night.

Link isn’t usually a drinker or a partier. He isn’t really one to go to big social events. So he’s really confused as to why he woke up passed out in a tub with zero memories.

And also, why Zelda left her phone with him.

a version of the Silent Princess memory but they're at a party and its modern

Zelda laughs. “I think I got a little too sober from the Yiga incident to enjoy the party now.”

Link isn’t sure if he’s supposed to laugh with her, but nods anyway. “Do you want to get some air?”

Zelda gives him an odd look, then sighs. “Yeah. Yes. That would be a good idea.”

Surprisingly, she grabs his forearm and leads him through all the bodies pressed against each other. He can feel the heat of her hand wrapping entirely around his arm like a hot glove, even above the heat of the late summer air and the heat from other people in close proximity.

Somehow, they make it to the other side of the house. Zelda pushes the back door open and pulls him past the other stragglers outside before they find a nice tree with a patch of grass that seems generally clear of alcohol and vomit.

Zelda releases his arm as soon as she finds the tree and she sits down, dropping her head against the trunk.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

Zelda waves her hand vaguely.

Link pauses. “Do you need water?”

“If you get me any more water, I’m probably gonna piss myself,” says Zelda. “Sit down.”

He sits down.

The crickets hum vaguely around them, mingling with the distant buzzing and thumping bass of the music from the party. But without people pressing in from all sides and an open field in front of them, it finally feels like he can take a full breath.

The silence settles over them like a blanket. It feels comfortable to him, but he isn’t sure if it’s supposed to be.

“Oh, Link, look.”

Link cranes his head to see Zelda twist around and point out a blue flower glowing vaguely in the dark. It was beautiful with blue petals so light they looked almost white, and a sky blue bleeding out from the center before fading out.

He wants to give her a questioning look, but she’s transfixed on the flower. He can see the smallest of smiles creeping up onto the corners of her mouth.

“It’s a Silent Princess,” she says. “It was my mom’s favorite flower.”

He can tell something important is happening, so he keeps his mouth shut.

“She said that we can’t grow them domestically yet, despite our best efforts.” Zelda breaks into a full smile and it’s radiant. “The Princess can only thrive out here. In the wild.”

They both turn to look back at the house as another loud WHOOP cuts through the air, followed by the sound of a can being crushed against a head.

“Nature is beautiful,” says Link.

Zelda swats him and he has to bite back a laugh.

She turns and runs a gentle finger along one of the petals before sighing and leaning back against the tree.

“Thank you,” she says suddenly. “For being there with the Yiga. And for being there the whole party.” He can hear her swallow. “I’m sorry for being a bitch.”

“You weren’t being a bitch,” says Link.

“I was, though.” Zelda inhales beside him. “I mean, just because I’m under a lot of stress from my dad doesn’t mean I’m allowed to take it out on other people. I was acting like a kid.”

“To be fair, your dad sounds like an asshole sometimes.”

Zelda snorts. “Yeah. He can be.” He turns his head to see her lean forward to fiddle with the grass. “But he’s got a lot on his plate. And it probably doesn’t help that his daughter doesn’t want anything to do with his ‘legacy.’”

“Just because your dad’s under a lot of pressure doesn’t mean he’s allowed to be an asshole,” Link points out.

Zelda finally looks up at him and offers him a small grin. “Fair enough.”

“And besides, you’re your own person. You don’t need to follow in his footsteps.”

“That’s what I said,” huffs Zelda. “But of course it’s, ‘blah blah you have a responsibility. I didn’t raise you like this so you could waste your time researching pointless things.’” She sighs. “It’s fine. It’s whatever. I came to this stupid party to blow off steam, I guess. But Goddess, I did not eat enough today to drink that many cans of shitty beer.”

Link sits upright, alert. “Do you need to get food or—”

“No, no, that’s fine.” And that smile returns and Link wonders what else he can say to make it stay. “You’re sweet. But I’ve probably gotten drunk enough tonight.” Her eyes slide up to him and the mischief in them stops his heart for a moment. “You still have to try the Hot Frog.”

Link blinked. “...what is that?”

--

the endings are abrupt on both of them just bc i wasn't entirely sure how to end them akldjfasd. also the "Hot Frog" is gonna be some kind of mixed drink that gets link really drunk -- me trying to allude more to the original memory from the game haha

anyway, thank you so much for the ask! and thank u for coming up with the shitpost because it made me laugh the first time i read it hasdklfj hopefully i'll continue this one day and do ur shitpost au justice!

[outro-tearist]

paws of paradise - chapter 3 {bangtan ot7 x reader}

hi!!!!!!!! it's been a little longer than i thought to update this, but here it is! it's also summer so updates hopefully will be more frequent as i dont have school to worry about!

as per usual, i'd appreciate comments, thoughts, suggests, anons, anything! have a great day!

~silver🤍🌙

chap 1 chap 2 chap 3

------------------------------------------------

Thinking.

That was what (Y/N) was doing, and had been doing for the past- How long had it been? The coldness that crept up onto Jimin had only happened yesterday, but the guilt overwhelmed her the more that she had thought about it. It felt like the incident had happened days ago when all she could think about was the crestfallen look Jimin had given her before he raced out of her shop.

It wasn’t his fault that he looked at Taehyung like he hung the stars in the sky. He was a gorgeous man, not to mention the genuine kindness he had shown any person he came across. It was hard to admit, but she had been very obviously jealous. Not only did that embarrass her, but it also made her feel worse for thinking those awful things about a dog owner just wanting to get his precious baby’s hair cut.

She decided to close the shop for today, officially saying she “needed more supplies”, but privately she knew she would not be able to focus.

Oh my god, Yoongi definitely saw her acting like a fool too! The blood that had flooded her cheeks seemed to swirl restlessly even more, just begging to be noticed and called out. He luckily hadn’t mentioned anything, probably to spare the shame she would feel in the moment.

Poor Jimin… He hadn’t done anything.... (Y/N) was being selfish and she recognized it as soon as they made eye contact. His appearance had startled her.

“Jimin! Hey..” (Y/N) started nervously as she saw the man enter through the back door like he usually did. He seemed shocked that he had been found so quickly, but awkwardly smiled back at his coworker.

“Oh. Yeah, hey.” Jimin said shortly. His curt tone had honestly hurt (Y/N) a little bit, but she took in a small breath and persevered.

‘It’s your fault he’s being distant,’ a horrible voice whispered in the back of her head. ‘He deserves more than you, someone better… someone more like Taehyung.’ It whispered again.

“I am so sorry about yesterday… I didn’t mean to dismiss you like that, I just- well, I got some bad news?” her last sentence sounded more like a question than an excuse, but Jimin had obviously softened after hearing her jittery voice.

“(Y/N), it’s not a problem. It did hurt my feelings, but I’m glad you’re telling me this now. I wish you would’ve told me earlier, but I won’t force you to tell me anything you don’t want to,” his smooth voice had felt like honey to her ears, slowly melting all her fears and anxieties that she had about not being forgiven.

Unfortunately, they quickly appeared again when rethinking her shitty excuse.

How was she supposed to explain that the “bad news” she had received was watching the man in front of her look so happy with someone else? It was an awful excuse and Jimin might be worried about her. (Y/N) would have to tell Jimin more about it later, she figured. All she had cared about at this point was just to get on speaking terms with her crush-- no. Her coworker.

“Thank you so much. Seriously. I don’t know what I would do without you, Jiminie.” (Y/N) tried to express her sincerity, but she was never the best with words anyways. It was all that she could muster up even with her head clogged with the image of Taehyung and Jimin practically glowing as they stared at each other.

Still, Jimin could seemingly read into her soul, knowing that she was as genuine as she could be through her words. She could not take her eyes off his kind eyes and perfectly shaped eyebrows and structured face and plump lips and...

“You know I’d do anything to help you, honey. All you need to do is to say the words.”

Pulse quickening and face warming, (Y/N) knocked herself out of her trance once the word “honey” had left Jimin’s lips. Maybe this little work crush was turning out to be a little bigger than she thought…

She giggled like an airhead in response, and if Jimin had seen the bright flush that had spread across her face and neck, he didn’t show any signs other than a slight smirk.

“This is kinda sudden, but um… Can I hug you?” (Y/N) shyly asked. If Jimin’s excited face said anything, the warm hug that had enveloped her completely confirmed everything she thought she saw.

He gently cradled her head in one hand as his other arm pulled her into his surprisingly built chest from the shoulders. He smelled of vanilla and another gentle sweet scent that (Y/N) couldn't put her finger on. It didn’t matter now. What did matter, though, was the feeling of Jimin’s head digging into the top of her head and how he deeply inhaled. Letting out a content hum, (Y/N) wrapped both her arms around his waist and snuggled into the crook of his neck.

“Out of curiosity… where did you have to go yesterday?” (Y/N) asked into Jimin’s neck. He shivered for a split second, before responding:

“Oh, Taehyung asked me if I wanted to spend the day together. That’s why I popped in yesterday, he told me we could meet up in the shop then grab some food or someth- is everything okay?” Jimin’s perplexed and concerned voice inquired above her.

As soon as he said Taehyung, (Y/N) froze up. He skipped work, where he would be with her and the cute dogs and be getting paid, just to see Taehyung.

‘It doesn’t mean that much,’ she tries to reassure herself. ‘He’s just wanting to see possibly the most gorgeous man you have ever seen in your life. It means nothing.’

‘Liar. He doesn’t want to hang out with you.’ The mean voice in her head spat back.

“(Y/N)?” Jimin tried to pull away and bent down to see her face. “Was it something I said?”

“NO! I mean, no. I’m just. Glad you got to get out for the day. How was it?” (Y/N) forced herself to smile and look back into Jimin’s furrowed eyebrows.

“I guess it was good, but I was still pretty worried about you. Are you sure you’re okay…?” Jimin tried again, but (Y/N) shook her head defiantly.

“Yes, I’m sure I’m good right now. Give me the juicy deets about you and Tae yesterday!” (Y/N) once again forced herself into the supportive best friend role. Jimin deserves a great person to be with him, and if that person is Kim Taehyung before it’s her, she will help her coworker in any way she could.

(Why did it hurt so much when she referred to Jimin as her coworker?)

A blush formed its way across his cheeks as he thought about the patience his TaeTae showed him after he was swamped with thoughts of (Y/N) and if she was ok.

“It was really nice… he’s a great guy and I really like being with him. He just- he gets me in ways I feel like nobody else does, y’know?” Jimin softly admits as he finds a seat next to one of the grooming stations.

(Y/N) feels faint. She basically crumbles onto the ground right in front of Jimin. She looks up at him expectantly, waiting for more information that would completely destroy her heart.

‘That was you. You were the person who got me as nobody else has.’ She thought somberly, wishing she could voice out her feelings to Jimin. ‘Was I not enough?’

“He’s so patient and understanding and… I could talk about him all day,” Jimin sighs dreamily as he rests his beautiful cheek into his palm, “It might be a little soon, but I think he might be my soulmate.”

(Y/N) physically recoiled. This was the slap in her face that she had been expecting, but him voicing his feelings was like a horrible moment of finality. She tried to play her flinch off as getting dog hair off her clothes, and Jimin hadn’t even thought twice about it.

Fuck. That cut way too deep, way more than she had prepared for. She keeps her head low so Jimin can’t try to make any eye contact.

“I’m really happy for you Jiminie.” (Y/N) says dully, but with some sincerity. “You seem to be so much happier when he’s around. You deserve this.”

Jimin’s adorable teeth flashed at her as a full smile graced his already perfect face. “You really think so? Wait, is it that obvious?!”

“You look at each other like you’re meant to be. You two must be soulmates!” (Y/N) grits out despite the tears wanting to well. “You have to tell him and let me know what happens!!”

“I’m gonna call him and see if he wants to hang out again tonight! You’re the best, honey, I love you!” he shouts as he runs out of the back.

She can’t even manage a response as she walks to the back door, shuts it, and locks it.

(Y/N) can’t see straight. She can’t think straight either, as she whips out her cell phone and dials the first contact she sees on her phone. She hadn’t even meant to call anyone, truly, but it was too late to stop her sluggish mind from pressing onto a name.

“Hello?” Min Yoongi answers the phone. A response doesn’t come, except for a loud sniffle and another sob. “(Y/N)-ssi? What’s wrong?”

The dog groomer barely knows this man, how he even got into her contacts was beyond her, but all she wanted was somebody next to her.

“Can you- can- come here please? The shop?” (Y/N) barely got the words out of her sore throat but Yoongi seems to understand them.

“I- Ok, I’ll be there in about 10 minutes. Do you want to stay on the line with me?” he asks the sobbing girl gently. His soft voice was soothing and nice, but it didn’t matter much.

She couldn’t respond. Her head was filled with three words. Three words that meant so much that hurt so much just because of the context.

I love you.

Taunting and repeating in her head for seemingly hours, until the front door jingled. She saw Yoongi burst into the store quickly and that was the last thing she saw before she closed her puffy and swollen eyes.

[littlefreya]

The Way to Hell - Part 13

Summary: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escaped Ethan Hunt with his face intact and just won himself the title of being the most dangerous man on earth. Brooding as he is, August is unwilling to back down on his murderous agenda he plots to continue where he was stopped.

Series Completed: Previous Chapter | | Chapters Masterlist | Next Chapter

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild) 🖤

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Mentions of sexual encounters, child neglect, betrayal, hinted physical abuse,  foul language and lots of angst.   

A/N: I thought chapter 13 will be the last one, but I didn’t want to rush the ending or have a chapter too long. So for those of you still waiting, hang in tight! Many thanks to @agniavateira​ who’s my muse and my editor, to @raspberrydreamclouds​ for this amazing cover and to those who’s been asking me about the chapter, means a lot to me. I am going into my usual Way to Hell posting panic attack. So bye for now.

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Please comment, review and reblog.  💖

Title: Paradise lost

There cannot be peace before first a great suffering.  There cannot be love without first a great tragedy.

~*~

Opaline droplets of sweat form on his forehead. In his ears, a constant buzzing rings wretchedly as if an angry hornet is caged inside his skull. What was long buried abruptly awakens, stabbing at the back of his head. Red flashes sear through his eyes while images of Ingvild dissolving to ashes play in his mind, her bloodsoaked feathers crumbling to the ground.

“Why did you go?” August mutters under his breath, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He crumples the little yellow note with sheer frustration before throwing it on the bed. 

‘I told her not to go, I commanded her!’

The air in the room grows thick like the pit of a stygian forest. Tentacle-like branches appear behind his eyes creeping closer, clutching his limbs. Even though lost and abandoned in the thicket of his mind, her angelic scent still lingers on his skin, impossible to wash off. Sniffing at his biceps, he inhales the mixture of their union on his flesh;  what begins as euphoric mirth quickly meets the sharp edge of rage and hatred.

She’s gone and it gnaws at the dark matter of his brain. 

He hates it. 

Hates her for being absent.

Frowning deeply, August reaches a rigid hand for his clothes, forcing himself to get dressed. The very first memory of her hinges on his mind: An icy woman with silver-moon eyes who refused his pursuit. 

‘Did you think the two of you are going to ride toward the sunset together? That’s not you.’

Letting out heavy gasps, he shakes his head. “She’ll be fine,” he whispers dismissively, pulling on his trousers and hastily buckling his belt. 

The new world order awaits, so close he can feel the fresh sun sitting on his open palm. It is his vision, his legacy: bigger than whatever it is Ingvild and him have together. 

There was no her in his plan, to begin with. 

The Devil never had a queen. 

‘You know what they’ll do to her…’

Another ray of daytime terror cuts through his thoughts: her wings plucked from her back, threads of flesh tearing from her naked body. Her screams die in silence.  

“She chose to leave, I asked her not to!” August yells into the empty room, frowning at no one but himself as he grabs the used shirt which hangs from the tall mirror. Turning to his reflection, he tenses at the sight of his body. Crimson valleys lead down his back, courtesy of her claws branding deep into soft tissue and toned muscles.

‘Do you know what is the probability of finding someone like her? A woman who wants to see the world burn with you? Who believes in your cause of building a new one?’

August swallows hard and combs his fingers through his hair with haste, attempting to act normal through the intensifying drumming in his ears. Being completely methodical, he pulls his long trench coat over his shoulders and collects his belongings into his black duffle bag on the bed. With a heavy painful breath, he forces his thoughts away, zipping the bag with urgency and reciting in his mind everything necessary for his trip. Time is scarce, the end and the new beginning are nigh; the smart thing to do is to forget her, erase her existence from the chambers of his heart. 

He doesn’t have one anyway. 

His hand secures the gun in its holster and harsh fingers lace around the black straps of his bag as he stretches himself straight, ready to leave this bedroom. That’s when his eyes fall again to the crumpled yellow note. 

‘You’ll never see her in Kashmir, you’ll never see her again.’ 

~*~

‘Amazing,’ the silver-haired wolf muses while scratching his bristly jaw. For 13 years the evil spawn’s eyes remained exactly as they were the day he picked her from the orphanage. Grey crystal orbs so naive, clueless, and oh so hungry for validation. A child desperate to prove herself worthy to someone, anyone. 

It was her single flaw and his greatest advantage.

Even now in the bloom of adulthood, the pale, scrawny thing standing before him is nothing but a lost little girl who wants someone to hold her bony hand. 

‘How can someone be so smart yet at the same time so blind?’

The cheap motel room smells like mildew and rotten wood. Speckles of dust float between the handler and his prodigy, cascading over his glance that seems rather alien and naked as glass. It pierces through her muscles - this sudden sense of peculiarity and estrangement.     

She chews the inside of her cheeks and sways slightly on her spot, arms hanging loose at her side. Ingvild lifts her chin to look at Liam, her eyes round with what can only be guilt. It makes her look like a child who broke an antique vase. 

“Thank you for answering my call,” she begins, wrapping her fist around a disposable phone before throwing it on the tidy bed.

Liam scoffs and shakes his head, ridicule spreading on his face. “You’ve gotten yourself into trouble over a boy, child?” He stares up and down the young woman, noticing the obvious change in her posture.

‘So, she truly is a woman now; how did I not see this one coming with her constant chatter about how handsome he is when I handed her the dossier?’

“Please don’t tell me you need money to get an abortion.” 

Ingvild frowns with disgust and shakes her head right away. “Never. No, it’s not what I’m here for.”

Displeased as always, Liam emits his usual grunt. He slowly shakes his head at his asset while running his fingers through his lanky grey hair. This is not how he imagined this mission to end. Her lack of emotions was a key element; Ingvild could have had a few good years running several missions for him, but what tipped the scale was for her to run into the wrong psychopath.

“Then tell me Ingvild, why should I listen to a failed assassin such as yourself? You’ve been weird about this mission since day one. Acting discreet, irresponsible, and reckless,” the old man’s Adam's apple bobs up and down in his throat as he speaks. Taking a small stride, he moves closer to get a better look of her diamond irises. So sharp and so strange, they’ve always irked him. As a child she downright looked like something out of a horror movie. 

“You’ve had 445 successful missions, not even 30 years old. Yet here you are a failure, and for what? For a boy?”

Shame traps her tongue and her glance drops to the floor. Failure stings like a rod of hot iron piercing her beating heart. Yet her mind races to the night at the pit where August finally claimed her, the memory of his lips sets glowing embers through her veins. On her skin remains the evidence of his embrace. Microscopic cells, tinted by his DNA. 

She doesn’t want this feeling to go away. 

Liam clears his throat, tearing her away from memories that turn from tar to honey the longer she dwells on them.

“You know why your mother gave you away, Ingi?” Liam asks, giving her a ghastly sardonic smile while cocking one eyebrow.

‘Liam never smiles.’ 

A small frown sets creases above her freckled nose. “I asked you many times before and you always said you don’t know.”

The Dane scoffs at her, his smile widening, exposing cigarette-and-coffee-stained teeth. The rot around his gums makes her curl her nose slightly and flinch as he leans closer. 

“You were a rape baby.”

The words send a pang through her muscles, like stepping on glass. She shakes her head with protest and steps back, yet Liam nods knowingly, standing in front of her.

“You’re lying.”

His small hazel eyes burn holes through her skull, his smile sinister and impish. “Your father was a savage, a rapist. He left your poor mother half-dead and impregnated in the forest you love so much. Who knows, maybe that’s why you kept going there as a child, reconnecting with your true nature.” 

Refusing to listen, she shies from his piercing glare. Liam reaches a coarse hand to cup her jaw, forcing her face back to his. “Your mother hated you. Your very existence reminds her of the most terrible thing that ever happened to her.”

For a child with such a limited emotional range, Liam finds that the muscles of her face are capable of stretching thoughtfully with spite. Pent up hatred creases her brow, her silver eyes turning to hot, molten gold. She bites on her tongue, keeping a vow of silence but he can read her face just the way an assassin would. 

“Nothing but a mistake, disowned by your own mother. So why would this man, this... mass murdering psychopath love you?” Liam shifts her head from side to side, inspecting the healing cuts and bruises that decorates her pale skin. “He saw an opportunity and seized it, used you…”

He pauses, moving away from a stare colder than icy lake water, “just like they will.”

Ingvild parts her lips with wonder, glaring at the person she knew all her life with disbelief. In the glossy reflection of Liam’s honey-brown eyes, she sees several black, long rifles pointed at her head.

Liam curls his thin lips with an utter lack of remorse and shrugs indifferently.

“She’s yours.”

*~*~

If colours had sound then the pale blinding white would be a continuous high-frequency hum. The tunes and shades of death. Like angry flies feasting on a corpse. 

‘Is this Valhalla?’

A small groan escapes her mouth, her eyes hurting from the sickly radiance of the narrow fluorescent lamps hanging from the ceiling. Her wrists feel numb as they’re pulled behind her back in restraints. 

“No,” she opens her mouth to speak, her throat burning, her voice a hoarse whisper. “Definitely not Valhalla...” 

‘You need to be a hero to enter Valhalla, stupid girl.’

Stupid didn’t even begin to describe it. August would never let her hear the end of it.

Loud, angry steps tap on the white marble floor, growing louder as the person approaching enters the room. Ingvild blinks, peering at the silhouette when a smile of comfort paints her drowsy face. Like a god, her lover strides toward her with his usual confidence. His ocean-blue eyes beam at her sight, his palm spread open to embrace his tiny Valkyrie. She chuckles at the mischievous, charming grin on his face as it reminds her the day they first met. 

Oh, she wishes to nibble his stupid chin right now and brush her fingers along his thick moustache.

But as she blinks again, large brown almond-shaped eyes replace the ocean-blue. A panther of a woman stands before her: confident, strong, and impossibly beautiful. Her dark, succulent lips are pressed together and concern shines through as she observes the small woman who has her arms cuffed behind her back and her feet shackled to the metal legs of the chair. 

With her head still heavy, the assassin turns her face from side to side. She quickly observes the armed guards at the entrance, the tall, greying agent standing nonchalantly against the wall awaiting orders, and lastly the sickly-looking, lean man who is positioned at the fore of a metal desk with his fingers laced together. Anticipation is written all over his line-riddled face. 

“Erica Sloane,” Ingvild calls knowingly, the ghost of a wicked smile dancing on her chapped lips as she turns her head to face the CIA director. Dressed in a black power suit and crimson pumps, the director is drenched with big dick energy.

“August told me so much about you, but he didn’t mention how fuckable you are.” Ingvild drawls, fluttering her lashes as she scans her from head to toe. 

Tilting her head, Erica grabs a white plastic chair and places it in front of Ingvild. She then takes a seat, crossing her long smooth legs together. Kindness and motherly concern pours from her dark eyes, expressions Ingvild never received from anyone in her life.

“Poor child, I imagine August Walker filled your head with many stories.”

“No…” Ingvild swallows, trying to dampen her sore throat. Noticing her struggle, Erica snaps her fingers and the greying agent rushes to bring her a plastic cup of water like a loyal dog. Focusing on the translucent beads around the cup, Ingvild flicks her tongue over her lips. “August was too busy filling other parts of me.”

The intrepid woman begins to laugh at her own joke, her voice dragging groggily while Erica rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

“I imagine so.” She answers and then carefully tilts the cup to Ingvild’s lips, offering the drink to the girl who sips with desperation as if she walked the desert. “August was my best agent,” she explains, watching the stream of water that rolls down Ingvild’s chin as she gulps with an incredible thirst, “a really proficient assassin, ranked high in every mission I sent him to. My golden boy. Even though that shit-eating attitude of him was something else...”

Withdrawing the cup, she looks into Ingvild’s cold silvery stare. “Those snarky, arrogant remarks and him going through the whole department like a fox in a hen coop I could overlook. But that fucker had us all fooled, Ingvild, as he fooled you.”

Ingvild flutters her dark lashes and tips her chin up. Her defined cheekbones sharpen even more as a snake-like arrogance poisons her face. “August told me what you did,” she utters sincerely, while Erica commands the agent to refill the plastic cup. Loathing melts her beautiful sullen glaciers as she focuses on Erica. 

The CIA director narrows her eyes at her in return, and curls her lips downward as disdain fills her mouth. “I am not the one who made Walker murder Agent Hartmann, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“You deceived him,” Ingvild retorts calmly and sucks in her bottom lip, collecting the remaining droplets of water onto her tongue. “That’s what you and your little agencies do to people like us. Set up traps for predators and pretend to act surprised as they eat the bait.”

Holding the cup, Erica stares at the young woman thoughtfully, the burning hatred in her eyes reminding her so much of Agent Walker: An entitled spoiled brat, thinking he can wind the world to the direction only he sought to be right. 

“You can’t blame a predator for following its nature, and you can’t expect him to behave otherwise.” 

“Is that how you see yourself?” Erica asks, moving the cup away, though she can see the thirst on Ingvild’s gaping bottom lip. “August poisoned your mind but I assure you, you are not the monster he is. You never had the choice that he did.”

Erica’s voice suddenly becomes soft, and her big brown eyes become round with care that only a parent can express. But the only form of parent Ingvild ever had was Liam, and he was never much of a father, was he? It took less than a few hours for him to give her away. 

She wonders how long it took for her real mother.

Her gaze drops, peering at Erica’s shiny crimson shoes as they counter the lifelessness of the floor like blood in the snow. Memories whisk her away again, a man in pursuit of a woman deep in an icy forest. She should have died that night and yet here she is, shackled to a chair. The voice of the man who saved her echoes through her head with a fair warning: ‘Liam never gave a flying fuck about you.’

Sharp as a needle, it pricks her heart.

“I know what Icarus did. Moulding you into the perfect assassin, depriving you of the childhood and the life you deserved.” Erica’s voice cuts into her trail of thoughts, making her raise her gaze back to the beautiful woman. “Now, I don’t know what twisted fantasies August may have offered but I can assure you, they are empty just like him. You read his file, you know what he’s capable of. Looking at your scars and bruises I assume he hurts you for his own sick pleasure, taking advantage of a woman who only wants to be loved.”

‘She doesn’t know him like I do, the way he drank my lips and called me his angel, the way his fingertips beat the warm blood in my arteries.’ Ingvild shuts her eyes, soaking in the remnants of his touch as it still ghosts across her body.

Erica’s kind, tepid hand wraps around the young woman’s jaw, lifting her pale face with the cautiousness of a human tending a wild creature. Grey and dark-brown collide at the seams as they share a silent stare.    

“If you’ll give us his location, we can arrange for your freedom and protection.”  

Ingvild breaks away from Erica’s grip, pushing herself back in the chair as much as she can. The screech of metal against marble makes the guards cringe. Slow and cold, a sardonic chuckle begins to burst from Ingvild’s lungs. The laughter echoes off the walls while she shakes her head with disbelief. 

“Do I look like a dumb bitch to you? Even if this was true, do you think I’m willing to be a slave to another government? Kept ignorant and tabbed? I’d rather rot in this cell while my beautiful monster dismantles your old world order.”

Drops of water splash at her face as Erica squashes the plastic cup in front of her, sulking with fury. Her eyebrows knit together and she purses her lips as if this young woman is something sour on her tongue. 

Evidently, Liam was right; the girl is far too gone, living in the little fantasy world August built for her. 

“If you think he ever cared about you for a split second, then you are a dumb bitch. No matter how this plays out, you and August are never going to end up happily ever after.” Erica spits, holding her finger at Ingvild’s childlike frown. “He’s never going to come for you. You were nothing but a toy, a plaything for him to pass the time.”

Ingvild scoffs and rolls her eyes, refusing to let these words cut into the beating muscle in her chest. 

`Stick and stones may break my bones...’

Solid, slender fingers wrap around her jaw, squeezing around her cheeks like a big spider. She is met with Erica’s long lashes, while those deep brown eyes slice into her soul. 

“You might think you know him, but I’ve worked with August long enough to know that he never loved anything other than his precious ego. So I would consider this as your final chance little girl, because if you don’t talk right now - this nice fellow here...” Erica pauses and gestures her head to the scrawny man who begins to hum a blissful tune while cracking his knuckles. Twisted excitement shines through his beady eyes as he glances at the set of sharp surgical tools lying on the desk.

“He’s going to make you sing like the precious bird you are.”

Fear shies from Ingvild’s stoic, icy face. The well-lubricated gears in the labyrinth of her head begin to work, observing the possible escape options and scanning every cavity, crease, and man in Erica’s lovely torture chamber.  

The door suddenly bursts open. A man in his mid thirties with bright red hair and a freckle-covered face rushes in, huffing heavily. His pink skin glistens with sweat, the strands of his fiery hair sticking on his large forehead while his hand holds onto his chest with distress. 

“Sloane, there is something you need to see…” he opens his mouth breathlessly.

“Not now!” Sloane snaps at him, looking at Ingvild with contempt. There is nothing she wishes more than to avoid torturing a young woman, especially someone as misguided as this poor porcelain doll. All she needs is to make her see the truth, that August never cared for her, that she was just another pawn in his grand scheme. 

“Director, I am sorry, but you really need to come and see this.” 

Agitated, Erica snaps in her chair to look at him. “What is it, Agent Louis?”

“It’s John Lark’s manifesto, ma’am…” he sighs, shoulders slumping, “it’s… it’s everywhere.”

A shivering hiss escapes her mouth. The shiver that graces the rail of her spine is like a shower of icy water, making her slowly rise from her chair. August’s harmful “poetry” is released into the air like toxic gas, contaminating every fragile little mind in an already unstable world.  

“Do you like my little surprise?” Ingvild asks, making the baffled woman turn to gaze at her. There’s a malicious little smile dancing across her eyes, her brows lifting with an arrogance that strongly resembles Agent Walker. 

Swallowing hard, the CIA woman takes a step back, tugging her jacket straight and looking at the torturer who lifts a small hammer between his pliable fingers. 

“Break her, until she talks.” 

The harsh tapping of her heels dies down and her silhouette becomes smaller until it disappears behind the shutting door. 

“Pretty girl...” The man’s voice is brittle and thin as he is, every word ending with a slight snake-like hiss. He moves to scrutinise her from head to toe, flicking his tongue over his bottom lip with a prying nature. 

“You know August used to mock me…”

“I can see why,” she spits out, looking back at him with both fearlessness and utter disrespect. She killed men bigger than him, hell, August’s kneaded her to submission and his torture was nothing but sweet. 

She can take him on, she can take all of them on.

The lean man beams at her, holding up the small shiny hammer and running his finger over the rim pervertedly. The dead skin around his nails rouses disgust in her gut, yet she rolls her eyes and fakes a yawn.

He chuckles at her theatrics and kneels in front of her with one unstable hand pressing onto her thigh. His revolting fingers scratch gently at her denim, making her shiver. If August knew another man was laying his finger on her… 

But August is not here.

“Well… shall we begin, little bird?”

***

‘When this world ends and the new one begins, what will be of your little Valkyrie? Merely bones and rotting flesh laid in an unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere and mourned by no one. Won’t you be jealous of the insects feasting on her narcotic tissue?’

Cold air seeps through his nose as sharp bullets of hail hit the ground with the fury of angry gods, shattering onto the ruins of an old bridge with a loud, clattering noise. Sheltered from the rage of the heavens, August stands beneath the wreckage, facing the men who came to make the final exchange. 

Blue and green ferns have grown over the decaying surroundings, climbing over rusted metal. Nature reclaiming its place over man’s occupied space. Justice and beauty in decadence and rot. 

‘Memento mori.’

“The plutonium,”  August demands, his thick brows shadowing his eyes in a battle to remain composed. Those same parasitic visions of sheer terror burden him like a daytime nightmare: pale as porcelain, she sinks to the bottom of a lake thick with blood. His hand reaches out for her, fingers trying to grasp whatever he can but she slips away. 

‘How far do you think Erica will go this time?’ 

A rogue droplet of sweat glides languidly down his temple, crossing over a bulging tendon. Unfortunately quite apparent to the three men who scrutinise him with wonder: two well-paid bodyguards and a slimy-looking slug, wearing a dark business suit that does nothing but emphasize his fragile masculinity. 

“The money first!��� The businessman whines, attempting to make a tough face.

‘A cock and two balls.’ August jests and does his best to remain indifferent while anxiety threatens to claw its ugly talons in his throat. The seller’s receding hairline is thick with dandruff, his dull green eyes attempt to mimic confidence, as a beta male would do when facing a pure alpha, trying to compensate for lost dignity.  

‘I don’t have time for this,’ August huffs, his chest puffing and the immense shoulders stretching even wider, exhuming his natural overpowering dominance. His patience runs brittle as a dry twig. A restless throb thunders between his ears like a scab, latched inside his brain. 

The slug pries his mouth open to speak, yet his voice becomes dull as if the world just went underwater.

‘Do you think she’ll go as far as to let her men touch her? You know, not just the usual torture they put interrogated suspects through, but the type of touch only you are allowed to.’

‘She doesn’t have the balls, she won’t do that to another woman.’ 

‘Won’t she? It’s personal this time. Erica knows what you are capable of. And your Ingvild, she’s an apostle too now, an enemy of the world…’

Fever burns at his sweaty forehead and his lungs gradually collapse. Visions he can’t even bring himself to imagine attempt force their way into his mind. The yapping of the man who stands in front of him goes on and on; while August can feel himself speak in response, the words spouting from his lips are on autopilot. 

All he can think of is her, stripped naked, torn to shreds by dark shadows.   

‘She holds back a lot, but when she slips, aren’t her screams so beautiful? Her pleasant little voice, stretching so melodically, like skin over bone, thin and light.’

“Shut up!”

All eyes lift to August in silent bewilderment. His fists tighten, nails digging into his coarse palms as the will to rip someone to shreds beats through his blood. These men will be no more than a casualty. 

“Do you know who I am?” He asks in a deep, menacing tone, his hand but a second from reaching his holster. By measured calculation, he already anticipates how quickly he would shoot them one by one without so much of a scratch on his cheek.

“I’m John, fucking, Lark. My apostles are awaiting orders this very instance,” he reaches for his phone, ignoring the flinch in their posture as he draws it from his pocket and shakes it in his hand on display, “and you want to stand here in this shit weather and measure dicks? Spoiler alert,” he takes a stride in front of the little man, careless of his bodyguards who reach for their weapons, “mine is far bigger.”   

The seller peers at him silently, noticing the icy crust of rage in August’s glare. His pale eyes cut like diamonds while the shadow of his brooding figure falls upon the small man’s face. 

“You will get your money once I get to see the plutonium and confirm it’s authenticity,” August calls out assertively, each word distinguished, each syllable emphasised and sharp as a blade. Death is no longer an enemy to August Walker but an old friend, and those trolls under the bridge are a mere joke to the inferno he’s been basking at his entire life.

‘Limb by limb, feather by feather, while you waste your time...’

‘She wanted me here, she wanted me to secure the plutonium. If I don’t do this, it will all be for nothing.’

‘So now you are doing this for her?’

Not saying another word, the seller nods and snaps his fingers. Agitation is evident on his face yet the violence emanating from August forces him to bite down his pride. One of his henchmen approaches with a suitcase and opens it up to show August the orbs.

Thunder rips through the sky and the hail turns into a symphony of wrath. Icicles break across the construction site above, splashing water everywhere around them. Staring at the platinum spheres, August sees his own reflection dulled by the dirty silver curve. 

A dormant thing. But when set into motion, ever so deadly. 

He presses the beryllium rod to test the authenticity of the material and a sigh of relief pipes itself through his nose at the sound of the radioactive note on his testing device. Celebration blooms in his weary heart but the festivity is deemed achingly empty and dies out right away. 

‘Stop thinking about her, she’s gone. Focus on the cause, you’re almost there, just keep pushing through the doors.’ 

~*~

The blizzard melted into shy rain. The soft little drops dampen his hair, perming his large curls with the assistance of the cool winter breeze. Standing with the suitcase on the side of the rural road, August awaits his ride taking him to the helipad to proceed to Kashmir. It has been so long since he last met his true colleagues, since his departure from Lane in Norway. Avoiding any risks, contact was kept only necessary for the last stages of their tasks.

Doom’s day.

Securing the plutonium should have brought him relief, yet his chest continues to sink into his spine as if it’s being filled with coals. August Walker threaded through life alone, yet this sudden solitude is suddenly harrowing, making him feel like a gutted fish. Looking to his empty side he the ghost of her appears, giving him a bratty smirk. 

“Go away,” he chides, refusing to think of her. Of that stupid mouth talking back, tormenting him with sweet saccharine and cinnamon-like kisses. In his reminiscences, the softness of her lips still hinges. Tenderness meeting the bristle of his neck as she lay gentle wet markings up his coarse jaw. 

His fingers press to his mouth trying to harness the memory. 

A large car drives into the side of the road, speeding up and braking right next to his legs, missing August’s foot by an inch. Frowning at the careless driver, he grunts and brushes his hair before opening the passenger door.

“Took you awhile,” he grunts as he slips into the seat and peers at the driver. A bulky man in his early 40s with dark short cropped curls and thin lips. He shoots August a glance and turns back to the steering wheel.  

“Not my bad, you made a fucking mess, Lark.” The man answers and begins driving right away, careless of the fact that August didn’t put his seatbelt on and that he is holding radioactive material. 

Throwing the seatbelt over himself and fastening it, August growls and carefully secures the case on the side of the driver seat, his index finger remaining on the brim. He gently caresses the hard black leather. “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

The driver peers at him oddly before looking down the road, driving fast and passing a large log truck. “Releasing the manifesto. MI6 and the CIA are all over the place,” he says and turns the radio on, letting August hear the news on his own. “I get why you did it now, it’s brilliant to cause another distraction but you’ve made shit a bit harder with those cunts running around. They tracked it back from London and have been surveying the entire area.”

“I didn’t release the... “ 

August stills, his muscles shriveling up as realisation quickly hits him. 

‘Oh angel, what have you done?’

Drawing out his mobile phone, August immediately begins to search the newsite, his eyes an ocean of panic, fluttering back and forth. It’s everywhere, news about an anarchist manifesto, spreading like a virus through every social media outlet, leaked by codename “Jane Lark”. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, reading his own written word as he goes through an article posted on the BBC’s newsite. But she changed the last verse, added a little piece of her own:  

“Valkyries mounted onto beasts,  We will ride eternal to the sun. The blazes will sear us but we will not back down,  United by our cause of just war, Unflinching we will scour the earth, Until humanity comes together in tranquil and harmony.”

‘She loves you, you see? The way she lets you bleed her, use her, spill all your pain inside her. The way she held onto you just a night ago, your name falling from her lips, her body pressing into yours to take all of you. She’s the only one. The only woman who did and ever will. 

And you left her to die.’

________________________________

Disclaimer: I don’t own Mission Impossible and August Walker

[bl00dgutsgl0ry]

prompt 16 from the angst list w/ childe (“you’ve changed”) but is it possible to have a happy ending 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

Pairing - Childe/Tartaglia/Ajax x Reader

Warnings - None I don’t think?

Word Count - 2.5k

Other Comments - I’ve tried to write this like five times now oh my god, also yes I know the header looks dumb I slept on it and now I hate it but I didn’t wanna make you wait any long I’m so sorry! ANYWAY I love this prompt and I love writing angst with all my heart hehe. ENJOY! No I did not proof read this I am currently late for work LOL

       Life used to be so simple when you were younger. You had a lovely close knit family, you went to a great school, you had great friends. All around you were a happy little kid. The best thing you will ever remember from your childhood was your best friend Ajax. Everything was so simple.

 Ajax was the poster child of a “perfect kid”. He was well liked by his teachers and peers, he had superb grades, he was becoming a young prodigy in his combat class, and above all, he was your all time best friend. You two were inseparable ever since you had met when your parents had all gotten to know each other once at an event. 

      No one ever really saw one of you without the other, and if they ever did come across such a sight, it would never last long. You two also almost went through the entirety of school being in the same class, and if you weren’t, Ajax would always find a way to catch you right as you were being dismissed. You two had the most innocent yet cliché childhood friendship, as you two played with each other or hung out day after day. 

      “One day (y/n) I’m going to marry you! I promise!” Ajax enveloped you in a hug as the two of you giggled.

      This lasted for quite some time, that was until Ajax had turned eighteen. His combat skills had skyrocketed since his adolescent classes and competitive matches. Combat came like second nature to him, and that didn’t go by unnoticed. Very quickly Ajax got an offer for a job, one that he would never tell you details about. You remember the shock that enveloped you when Ajax excitedly spouted the good news to you.

      You didn’t know whether to be happy or sad. You wanted to be happy for your childhood friend because this was an amazing offer for him, and an incredible opportunity to keep growing. But on the other hand you wanted to be sad because you knew you would see him less and less as time went on, not only that but you were still just so uncertain about this job. Ajax never withheld information about what was going on in his life until now; what if he got himself into something awful? Nonetheless you quickly plastered a shocked and excited expression on your face, as you rambled different forms of congrats and praise for being so good. Before Ajax left to go back to his home you gave him the tightest hugged and made him promise to stay close. Ajax was floored that you valued your friendship with him so much you would make him promise something he would never give up. 

      Time had passed and you noticed yourselves slowly drifting apart. It went from calling each other less, to only texting, then to texting less until you guys barely talked. You understood Ajax was busy, but it still stung seeing you what you thought would’ve been your life long friend slowly forget about you. That was until you had received something in the mail with a very familiar name on it. Ajax.

      A small black box containing what looked to be a hand made scrappily hammered ring along with a letter at the bottom landed on your desk in your bedroom, assuming one of your parents must’ve dropped it off in there. All doubts about Ajax in your mind had been eased as you delicately slid the heavy polished ring on your finger. After you did you giggled in excitement as a delicate pink blush found its way to the tops of your cheeks and ears. You had almost forgotten about the note neatly folded, awaiting to be opened and it’s contents to be discovered.

       You gently unfolded the letter, almost scared that you’d rip it. Inside was the most beautifully written borderline love letter you had ever read, it was almost like romantic poetry, and at the very end was a sentence you wanted to burn into your memory ‘remember that promise?’. Your mind was immediately flooded with all the fond memories you had with Ajax, blushing more and more as you uncovered them. By the end of your daydream session butterflies were fluttering around excitedly in your stomach. You didn’t want to be friends with Ajax anymore. You wanted to love him.

      It had been years since you last heard from him. Not a day has gone by that you haven’t worn the ring Ajax had given you so long ago. You moved away from Snezhnaya after you turned eighteen, now residing in Mondstadt whilst you were going to college; you planned to move back after getting your degree but you made some great friends and the carefree culture of the windy city really called to you. Though after one of your parents' health took a turn for the worst you had made quick plans to go visit with your family.

      It had felt like ages since you last stepped foot out into the familiar icy air, looking around to see the sheets of snow and ice covering the ground. Luckily the streets were plowed, which allowed you to maneuver through the city. Your visit has been great since setting foot in your childhood home. You were happy to be home for the time being, happy to relive the nostalgic moments of your younger days. Everything had changed so much since then. You had barely even thought about Snezhnaya or even Ajax for that matter despite wearing his ring every day, wanting to start fresh when you left for college.

       You suddenly realized you had let your head drop accidentally dozing off, jerking yourself out of melancholy memories. You decided it was probably jet lag, but it was far too early to go to sleep so coffee sounded like a good solution. You remembered an old coffee shop you used to study at whilst you were in high school, that was conveniently within walking distance to your house. With a quick five minute walk to the outdoor shops that littered the local streets you lived by, you located the coffee shop taking a minute to stare at the outside. It hadn’t changed at all.

      Smiling to yourself you walked in and politely ordered a coffee before sitting down at a high table by the window. The stand for the table had a heater built in, keeping you warm as you looked out the thin glass shielding you from the icy winds. You took in the old streets, smiling as you once again lost yourself in the nostalgia of everything. You hadn’t noticed a strikingly tall ginger walk into the shop, and you also hadn’t noticed the considerably loud gasp and call of your name. You only noticed the man's presence when he tapped on your table, causing you to jolt and promptly turn in his directly. It took you a minute to realize who you were staring at. 

      “(Y/n)? What the hell are you doing here?” Ajax. There he stood, at the side of you bent over at the hips slightly so he wasn’t completely towering over you. Ajax didn’t want to see you here. He didn’t want to see you at all. You were still fresh in his mind just like you were the last day he had seen you. He missed you. His eyes fell to your hand where he saw the ring he had made and sent to you still on your finger after all these years.

      Your face was almost unrecognizable after all the time that passed, you had grown so much since then. Something unsettled Ajax about your demeanor, you were like an open book to him when you guys were younger as you wore your heart on your sleeve. Looking at you now though, there was no glimpse at the emotions you were feeling in this moment. Were you happy to see him again, since you wore his ring? Were you upset with him breaking his promise? Ajax couldn’t tell as you stared blankly at him for what seemed like ages, giving it enough time to make the air solidify and turn stale and uncomfortable. You finally shook yourself out of this trance you were in, as you suddenly stood up.

      “Wha- Hey, wait a minute (y/n)! What are you doing here?” You didn’t acknowledge Ajax’s voice, subliminally yearning to fall into his strong arms. You were upset. How dare he ask you what you’re doing here. You weren’t the one who had completely abandoned everyone in your life for some sketchy job. You grabbed your coffee before swiftly beginning to exit. Something in Ajax was different. He didn’t really take kindly to you ignoring him, as you felt a vice like grip grab onto your wrist, causing you to flinch and whip around to angrily rip your arm out of his grasp.

      “Don’t touch me Ajax! How dare you have the audacity to ask me what I’m doing here! This was my home! I didn’t abandon everyone I knew and loved on some sketchy ass whim!” Ajax stared at you. Were you joking?! Some ‘sketchy ass whim’?! You supported him when he first told you!

      “What the hell is wrong with you (y/n)?!” Your eyes narrowed as you grit your teeth, you grip on your coffee tightening. Without even thinking you threw it in his face.

      “What’s wrong with me?! You’re so fucked up Ajax! We were best friends and then you completely vanish from reality! You promised me we would stay close!” Now it was time for Ajax to grit his teeth. So you were upset with him about that.

      “(Y/n) that was years ago!! We grew up! That was just a stupid childish promise!” As soon as those words left Ajax’s mouth, he went silent as his eyes widened in horror at his on voice. The entire coffee shop was silent as they all watched your argument break out. Ajax didn’t mean to say that, he knew he had fucked up his promise with you and he hated himself for it; he just didn’t know how to explain what he was doing without scaring you off or pushing you away. Turns out he was already doing that by vanishing. He wanted you to forget about him, he knew that when he took the job to join the Fatui and serve the Tsaritsa he would never be able to give you what you deserved. A normal and happy relationship. Ajax was pulled out of his thoughts when he heard a sniff and realized you were beginning to cry.

      “Ah… So that’s what it was. Just a way to get me to get off your back. I suppose the ring served the same purpose? Whatever Ajax, you’ve changed and I don’t ever wanna see you again.” You quickly ripped the ring off before throwing it in the trash as you stormed out, trying not to audibly cry, as you had already embarrassed yourself enough in that shop. Ajax stood statuesque still. Holy shit he had made everything so much worse. He sighed before snapping out of his position to grab some napkins, to hopefully dry himself off before venturing back outside. He had to fix this.

      It had been a couple days since your argument with Ajax and you were in shambles. This could not have come at a worse time. You were just happy that this Gods awful trip was coming to an end soon. You sighed as you flipped onto your back in your childhood bedroom, trying to reminisce on the old memories you had here, but all of them had gotten tainted by Ajax. He had ruined everything for you. You regretted everything with him, with getting so close to him. Tears had started to well up in your eyes but you quickly blinked them away before they had gotten the chance to fall. You hadn’t noticed before, but there was this weird tapping sound coming from your window; which caused you to anxiously investigate. You pulled your curtains back to be greeted with Ajax, who looked at you sheepishly. You blankly stared at him for a moment before closing the curtains and going back to lay on your bed, trying your hardest to ignore Ajax’s protests and calls of your name. After a while everything had gone silent, until your door opened and Ajax emerged one again.

      “Uh… I’m sorry about coming into your room uninvited but one of your parents called me inside and said I could just come in. In hindsight I probably should’ve knocked before coming in and-”

      “What the hell do you want Ajax.” You cut off the young man's babbling without looking at him, you were on your side laying down on your bed with your back facing him.

      “I wanted to make everything up to you. I want to explain everything and I want to tell you about my job finally.” Ajax was hopeful that you would allow him the opportunity to explain himself.

      “No. Now get out of my house.” Ajax’s heart sunk. No… No no no you had to let him explain himself, he needed to explain. He needed you.

      “Please (y/n) I know you don’t owe me anything, not even your time, but please I owe you this.” You sighed, before slowly sitting up and facing him finally. You stared at him for a moment before speaking.

      “Fine. But you have two minutes, so you better speak quickly.” Ajax’s heart fluttered. He spent those two minutes exactly, explaining everything that happened. You were silent for the most part, staring at your hand and you fiddled with your fingers. Ajax waited anxiously for your response. When you didn’t give him anything he took this as a sign to move onto faze two of his apology. For the last couple of days he had been running all over Snezhnaya spending preposterous amounts of mora. He had presented you with flowers and food; but above all he presented you with a ring.

      “That is one promise that I am going to keep true. Please (y/n) forgive me and make me the happiest man in the world and marry me.” You stared at him with large eyes and Ajax took a hold of one of your hands and gently slid the beautiful ring onto your ring finger. Tears once again began to well up in your eyes, and suddenly your arms were wrapped around his torso as you cried into his chest. You missed this. He still felt the same way he did when you hugged him last, he even smelled the same. 

      “Is that… A yes?” You nodded furiously, face still buried deep in his chest. You were willing to forgive him, but above all, you were willing to love him again.