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mooishbeam · 1 year

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『♡』 General’s Day Off

♡ featuring: jing yuan x f!reader

♡ summary: the general has been stressed as of late. a day of relaxation is what he needs. wc: 2.8k+

♡ cw/tw: non-sexual nudity, fluff!

notes: whew I've been waiting to do some jing yuan fluff for a while my lil smoochie. the next one is gonna be so long oof but I can't wait. art by ArtRobiins on twitter :) <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

The dozing general hadn’t had a moment of peace since Phantylia’s invasion. The Xianzhou Luofu was still recovering from betrayal, and its people were on edge ever since. Jing Yuan wouldn’t admit his weaknesses, but the welfare of his people weighed on his consciousness greatly. It bled through his ghostly skin and sinking eyebags stretching at the tired corners. The threat of another disruption loomed, and so he obsessively prepared for the untold attack. He busied himself with preventative measures, documents upon documents stacked on his desk. Yanqing had never seen him behave so adamantly, so sure of some eventual calamity. Though his demeanor reflected that of a lazy, carefree man, his heavy heart and soul bore the curse of immense grief. He needed to portray a headstrong and unwavering strength, otherwise the reality of his situation would be too apparent to the Luofu. His close friends were lost to the unpredictable winding ties of fate; he couldn’t stand to mourn another. Especially with you around.

If you and Yanqing weren’t by his side, he would be undoubtedly consumed by sorrow. Your warm smile on the mild sunrise planted a blossoming light in that dimming core. Patience was a virtue when it came to his stubbornness; you could tell he was unwell, but whenever you voiced your concerns, he aimed to ease your worries with fleeting promises of rest. He would sooner die than see tears in your eyes at his affliction. Bailu was overseeing his recovery, until he proclaimed a sudden influx of health, and steadied his posture as if it was as spry as before. Yanqing attempted to keep him in her care, but he was forced to watch Jing Yuan push himself beyond inherent limitations.

Mornings on the Luofu are always quiet. It gets hectic during the afternoon, so you take the opportunity to do some calming activities. Jing Yuan was already gone before you woke; he hadn’t been getting much sleep lately. You stir the dark bitter substance in your cup and stare out at the endless blue, pondering how you fell in love with such an obdurate man. That is, before you glimpse his half naked body dreaming, shadowed by the snowy curls spilling down his back in your memory. You can’t help but smile.

You receive a knock at the door, and rush to answer it. These days, news about Jing Yuan and another injury shaded your mind. You open the door, and it’s Yanqing, at attention as if he’s facing the general.

“Good morning, ma’am, I have something to report” he says, straight and dutiful. You giggle at his professionalism, and a tinge of pink grazes his ears. “It is a good morning. You know you don’t have to be so formal with me, Yanqing.” He drops the soldier-like pose and sighs with a slouch. “I know, ma’am. But I really need to talk to you.” You invite him to come inside, and you both sit at the dining table quietly. You notice him shifting uncomfortably in the chair, a far stare in his contemplation.

“Did you eat? I can make something.” He cuts back to reality from the broken silence. “Ah! No thank you, I ate already” he stammers. You offer your most welcoming smile. “What would you like to discuss, Yanqing?”

“It’s...about General Jing. I’m really worried about him. He spends a lot of time working now. I’ve tried to get him to relax once and a while but he’s always up and out the door. I can’t get in contact with him for hours. And he’s so tired! Sometimes when I look over his shoulder, the things he’s writing are nonsense!” You allow him to continue, it seems that Yanqing became more relieved with honesty for each grievance he admitted to. “He struggles to hide it, but I see him grab his side in pain whenever he stands...I don’t know what to do. So, I wanted to tell you.” Your head is propped by your hand, taking in all the information you suspected was occurring. Perhaps you should’ve strapped him to a hospital bed for eternity. You click your tongue in annoyance, Jing Yuan is truly a gorgeous handful.

“I knew it.”

“Oh, you did?”

“A sneaky suspicion, I guess.”

“I can’t get through to him.” You let out a dejected chuckle. “Me neither. He’s really the worst, stressing us out like this.” Yanqing subconsciously nods his head, fumbling with his thumbs. “I never thought you’d help me go against the general” you tease.

“N-no! I’m just trying to help him recover, is all!” he splutters, waving his hands over his face. “I’m kidding. I know you care about him. I do, too. I love him more than anything in this universe.”

Your mind replays every kind gesture; the fresh bouquet of flowers he got you every few days, sharing unending stories that kept you awake at night while you both gazed at the stars, his tendency to be horrible at games that weren’t chess, and the warm hug enveloping you just as you dozed off in his arms. You endured to be strong for him up until this point, but bittersweet longing pierces your thoughts. The truth spills down your cheeks.

“Oh no, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault. If you’re willing to help, could you do me a favor?” you whisper, wiping the persistent staining tears. Yanqing stands at attention as if he’s accepted a life-or-death mission. “Of course.”

“Please make sure his schedule is clear tomorrow.”

You aren’t sure if your plan will convince him to stay home, but he doesn’t have much of a choice. Unfortunately, he didn’t come home as you expected. You slept intermittently. By the time you woke, the sun was just rising, casting a rose-colored gradient across the sky. Still nowhere to be found.

Click. The door creaks open. Jing Yuan stealthily moves his hand behind it and tiptoes past the welcome mat. The screech makes him pause briefly, before sliding against the wall to get past the snitching door. Right as he closes it, he whips around, only to see your figure swaddled in a quilt waiting for him on the couch. Too tired to react, he flashes a weak smirk, and sets his scroll on the table. His shirt is wrinkled and turned a dirty beige, most likely from fighting, with the collar undone. Truthfully, he was elated to see you after hardly being home for weeks. You made the blood and bruising worth it—it ensured your life and protection.

“Oh? What’s this?” You make grabbing motions with both hands, reaching out to him from your spot. “You ordered a general?” he jests. You unfold the plush quilt and beckon him to your embrace. “Mhm. Come here, honey.” Be it lack of sleep or resolve, your body looks too comfortable in this moment, and he falls to temptation. Kicking off his boots, he quickly strides towards you and dives in your arms. He’s extremely heavy, nearly twice your size and probably the fluffiest weighted blanket you’ve ever felt. He melts in your hold. The buckles from his waist prickle your soft flesh, but the vibration of his breath soothing in your ear makes you forget. You rub the firm muscle of his back with one hand, it’s taut and anxious. You untie the red bow and tangle your other hand through the puffs of marshmallows between your fingers.

“Your delivery is here” he mumbles.

“Finally, I’ve been waiting for it for sooo long.”

“My apologies. I got caught up at work.”

“I’m sure.” You pull his hair back to gaze at his jagged features, those dark ringed orbs filled with amber. “Do you want me to have a heart attack wondering when you’ll come home?”

“If that were to happen, I’d jump in the coffin right after you, my dear.” You pinch his nose, and he laughs. “However, I must return soon.” His voice sounds flat, defeated. You go back to stroking his hair. “No. You have the day off.”

“Really? And who arranged that?”

“Yanqing. He told me about your...reluctance to relax.” Jing Yuan half rolls his eyes, but never moves to leave your warmth. “That boy, he’s nervous over nothing.” You poke his side to test the pain and watch him instantly wince. He sighs deeply at your irritated expression.

“(Y/N), I can’t just stop over a feeble injury.”

“You took a spear in the chest, and nearly died. I wouldn't call that a feeble injury.”

“The Luofu needs me.”

“I need you.” He surveys your upset expression. Did he ever stop to consider your feelings, how despondent he’d made you from reckless habits? He deemed himself fortunate that you chose to stay. He gently pecks your temple.

“You’re right. I won’t go anywhere.” Your face lights up, and you wrap your legs around him tighter. “Good, you’ll enjoy yourself. I have something planned.”

You start preparing your plan, arranging the master bathroom to a calming variety of aromatic trimmings and sheer drapes hanging just above the tub. Jing Yuan didn’t know what constitutes a spa day, and so you briefly described it as a “day of relaxation”. You didn’t want to ruin the whole surprise. When you get back to the living room, you have a pen and paper with scribbles on it.

“Mr. Yuan?” you say, pretending that his name is somewhere on the unwritten list. He grins and plays along. “Are you here for the spa package?”

“Yes, I am. I didn’t know the receptionist was so breathtaking” he teases. He always knew how to fluster you. You do some fake calculations and nod to yourself, ignoring the hands wandering on your body. “For everything your total comes out to…3 kisses.”

Jing Yuan cradles your face with calloused hands. “Hmm, that's quite expensive, but I think I can manage.” Pressing a soft kiss to your awaiting lips that lasts too long between breaths. It feels desperate, like you’ll float away if he lets you go. You part for air and place your finger over his mouth. “Payment accepted. Right this way.” He kisses your finger, and you guide him to the bathroom. You nudge him inside, and immediately the aroma of vanilla and perfumed petals escapes from the steaming shower. It was spotless and arranged similar to an exotic getaway. “Please undress and get comfortable. I’ll join you inside shortly.” He nods and starts undressing. You gather everything you need and head inside.

He’s sitting on a stool under the rainfall showerhead, scrubbing down his body. The water bounces off his admittedly neglected hair, and he turns so that the heat doesn’t creep into his wound. You hadn’t realized showering was painful for him. You follow him into the shower. “May I?” you ask, motioning for the semi wet loofa in his hand.

“Be my guest.” His knees support his elbows, and you kneel behind him to massage mild soap into the sudsing loofa. His scars are much more apparent now, healed but carved roughly on the war-torn muscle. You delicately lather the product across and down his mole dotted back, gingerly kisses littering his shoulder blades. You spread the soap to his sternum and stomach, and you feel his tense form caving to your touch. Jing couldn’t recall receiving affection of this caliber, and so it was nice to be pampered, to feel you closer than he’d ever imagined. It was as if you two were the only people existing in this moment, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

After he’s properly washed, you expose his skin to the dew and allow it to run down his back, making sure to block the scar from further distress. You stand and grab the shampoo bottle, squirting an ample glob in your palm. You plop it onto his scalp, and begin working it through his thick mane. Your nails massaging and manipulating the sensitive skin makes him nearly drool. It’s as though you’re shaping his brain, and hums of approval rumble up your hands. He leans back on your stomach and enjoys your digits frothing substance. You almost see a ghostly tail wagging violently at each caress. When you pull his bangs back to wipe his hairline, you gaze at his face, a content smile prodding the crinkling corners of his mouth. “Are you falling asleep?” you whisper, washing away the soap from his forehead and roots. He groans in response and snuggles his head under your breasts. The sounds of serene rain beading the floor echoes in the humid foggy space, and the sweet scent of citrus conditioner crowds your nose. You squeeze out the remaining water. His eyes ajar from infinite slumber once your hands leave his cleansed scalp. You turn off the shower and escort him to the tub. An iridescent blue sparkling liquid stills in the marble stone, complete with botanical flora bobbing aimlessly.

“There’s more? You’re spoiling me.” He soaks in the room temperature tub, unwinding above bath salt gradually dissolving. You undoubtedly added a concerning amount of eucalyptus and lavender to the water, hoping it would miraculously restore him instantly. Positioning the stool behind him, you pull his hair back with a headband and start to mix a face mask in a small wooden bowl. His head lays in your lap, watching you diligently combine cream with medicinal powders and clay. You brush the blend over his face and neck, cool to the touch.

“Feels nice.” he breathes. “Doesn’t it? It’s made with-” you go on a passionate tangent about the ingredients included, he simply stares at you, the twinkle in your eyes while you trace his cheekbones. What did I do to deserve someone so kind and selfless, constantly seeking out my well-being and nurture-

“Are you even listening?” you accuse. He snaps out of the trance, and nods unconvincingly.

“I was.”

“What did I say then?”

“Mm, something something, your beautiful eyes and lips, I want to kiss them.” he drawls. You grunt disapprovingly, and place thin slices of cucumbers over his eyes. “No looking until it's over.” He pouts like an unruly child. You snicker and scoop a chunky clump of brown sugar scrub between your palms, rubbing together to coax warmth. Kneading the grains along his robust biceps and torso in wide circles, you’re sure you heard snoring at some point. Your hands unrolled a dull ache, and you wanted to stop, but his chest heaving deeply in relaxation pushed you to continue. You ladle water over the sugar and face mask, rubbing it dispersed. With a pristine face, you pat serum and moisturizer into the skin and admire the glowing haleness slowly returning. He sits up, freeing his eyes and gazes at you.

“How do you feel?”

“I always feel good whenever you’re around, my love” he flirts. You huff and drain the water. “You should dry off. I’m gonna give you a massage.” He steps out the tub to dry but attempts to follow you out of the room. You turn and he’s right behind you, his massive presence covering your silhouette. “Jing, I’m getting stuff ready. Can you wait here?” He says nothing and embraces your nude figure, nuzzled in your hair. You grab his arms, prying room to look up at his hiding face. You’re shocked to see tears brimming in his eyes threatening to overturn. You wipe them as they fall; somehow, he’s still grinning. He couldn’t register why he was crying yet. “Are you okay-”

“I missed you greatly.” he murmurs. You kiss his nose and pillow his shaking arms and legs. Dispelling the fears and insecurities that strangle him to a gasp. It’s easier to breathe. "I missed you, too.” He picks you up bridal style, and you yelp.

“Wait, but the massage” you contest. He walks to the bedroom, swaying you without a care in sight. “That won’t be necessary. I just want to hold you.” He lays you on your back and climbs over you. Despite all the space on your king sized bed, he intertwines your bareness with the velvety sheets, and locks you in his arms. His cuddles are cushiony and pure, cocooned like a life-sized teddy bear. You had numerous things planned today—you'd make him dinner, cater to him, watch a movie—now that you’re snuggled cozily, you couldn’t envision leaving this bed. “I didn’t get-” you yawn lengthily “-everything done.”

“You've done more than enough. It’s time I take care of you.” He kisses your forehead, and your eyelids feel dense as they ultimately come to a close. He wished your eyes would remain open, he wanted to stare into them for as long as possible. “Truly, thank you, (Y/N). I needed this.”

He listens to your soft breathing, your heartbeat pounding methodically against his. “I love you. So much” you say in trailing hushed tones before drifting to a distant dream. Maybe you’d dream about him, somewhere on a different planet with your children, spending forever together. For now, things are just as they were before.

“I love you more.”

#honkai star rail #hsr #hsr jing yuan #jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you #jing yuan x y/n #hsr x reader #hsr x you

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wandasreallover · 11 days

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Threads of Resilience

Wandanat x reader

Warnings: i dont believe there is any?

The world was a tempest of chaos and uncertainty, a battlefield that stretched far beyond the physical realm. For many, every day was a struggle against the shadows of the unknown. But for you, there was a flicker of warmth amidst the coldness—the two women who had fought alongside you through countless trials: Wanda Maximoff and Natasha Romanoff.

You didn’t know when you had fallen for them, or even how it had happened. Perhaps it was the way Wanda shifted the winds with her mind, weaving reality into existence with a mere thought. Or maybe it was Natasha’s fierce loyalty, her unwavering resolve that drew you in, like a moth to the flame. Whatever the reason, love had nestled itself in your heart, its roots digging deep, intertwined with comfort and solace.

Yet, today felt different. The weight of the world pressed down upon you like an unrelenting force as you sat on the edge of the couch in your shared living quarters at the Avengers compound. You could hear the faint hum of power sources and the flurry of activity beyond the walls. Outside, the world was still trying to recover from the battle that had left scars on both earth and soul, but within you, a deeper battle raged.

"Hey, you okay?" Natasha's voice broke through the fog of your thoughts, her eyes searching yours with a fierce concern that made your heart skip. Dressed in her usual black attire, with her hair cascading in soft waves, she looked every bit the formidable warrior, yet here she was, softening into a supportive presence.

You forced a smile but the weight behind it faltered. "Just tired," you murmured, hoping it would end there.

Natasha’s hand reached out, gently squeezing yours. “Tired of fighting. Tired of all of it,” she said, her voice a soothing balm that soothed the cracks in your heart. “You don’t always have to be strong, you know? We’re all fighting our battles.”

Before you could respond, a burst of energy flared up, and Wanda appeared, her crimson attire blending seamlessly with the energy around her, wild strands of magic weaving through the air. “I could feel you, my love.” She approached with a mixture of concern and determination. “What’s bothering you?”

Her presence was like a candle flickering in the dark, illuminating the shadows you had been trying to hide from your soulmates. But you weren’t ready to bare your burdens yet. You shook your head softly. “It’s nothing, really. Just… thinking.”

“Thinking too much,” Natasha interjected, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “Come here.”

You let them pull you into their embrace, the warmth of their bodies wrapping around you like a shield. Wanda’s soft voice hummed a comforting tune while Natasha rested her chin atop your head, her grip grounding you.

In that moment, the barriers began to dissolve. “I just feel… lost,” you finally confessed, words tumbling out like marbles that scattered through the air. “After everything, I don’t know where I belong anymore.”

Wanda’s fingers paused in their gentle weaving of magic as she listened intently. “You belong with us, here. But you need to feel that, feel it in your soul,” she said, her tone sincere.

Natasha gently tilted your chin up, her green gaze piercing into yours. “You’re not alone. You never have been and never will be as long as we’re together. We’ll face this together, no matter what.”

“But what if I can’t find my way? What if I’m just a burden?” Your voice faltered as tears threatened to spill, the weight of your insecurities crashing over you.

“Listen,” Wanda said, a glimmer of determination sparking in her expression. She moved closer, creating a small bubble of intimacy. “Every battle we have fought has its own scars, but they don’t define us. They remind us of what we’ve overcome. You are stronger than you know.”

Natasha nodded, brushing a few stray hairs from your face. “And burdens? We all carry them. But we also help each other carry those burdens. You’re never a burden to us.” Her voice turned softer, more intimate. “You are our light, our joy. You breathe life into this place.”

That was the moment when it clicked in your heart—their love was a force of nature, unyielding and bright. You grasped tightly to Wanda’s sleeve and Natasha’s hand, feeling the solidarity of their presence. Their faith in you fortified your spirit, helping the brittle edges of your heart mend.

“No more hiding,” you declared, feeling a surge of strength in your voice. “I want to let go of this doubt. I want to start fresh. But I’ll need you both.”

Natasha’s smile radiated warmth. “We’re with you, always,” she vowed, pulling you tighter into their embrace as Wanda hummed a melody that spoke of peace and healing.

“Let’s have a night to ourselves,” Wanda suggested, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “No missions, no threats—just us. We can bake, watch movies, anything you like.”

You laughed softly at the sudden shift in mood, the idea of retreating into your own little bubble of comfort both enticing and empowering. “That sounds perfect.”

As the night unfolded, laughter echoed through the compound. There were flour fights in the kitchen, playful jabs regarding baking skills, and a cacophony of terrible singing during movie time. In moments of chaos and joy, your heart felt lighter, free from the burdens that had weighed it down.

Later, as the three of you nestled together on the couch, the tender warmth of their presence enveloping you, you realized that your world, once blurred by uncertainty, was now filled with colors you never knew existed. The shadows may remain, but with Wanda and Natasha by your side, you were ready to face them head-on.

As you drifted off to sleep, lulled by the soft sounds of their breathing intertwined with the joy of companionship, you embraced the truth—that in love and comfort, you had found your way home.

#elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #🦈ie<3 #for 🦈 anon who requested this

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jahnavisurenda-21 · 6 months

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Hazbin Hotel||Alastor X Reader||When You Are Under the Weather||Sickness Comfort

It's a pure torture to be unable to do your usual chores or take care of yourself the tiredness is overwhelming. So, take it Easy. Though, I know the illness would recover if Alastor was there in your room.

You didn't ever feel the need to be worried about your body needing extra sleep, because the tiredness was overwhelming, or your body failed to perform the chores it usually did.

The Early October season, your father would run to the supermarket, to pick out medicine, and get fresh herbs to feed you green tea every evening, or if it got too bad you would drink them two times a day.

It was like he expected you to catch the virus. Well, that much hasn't changed, how nostalgic. But you really wished after in hell, your body would develop the immunity after being in a place that is clearly not for comfort.

You had gotten really lucky on that note also, really grateful for that. Alastor, ever the charmer.

He took really good care of you, it would sometimes strike worry that he is a sinner demon those red eyes, his sclera, irises are a proof of how many souls work under him.

But you had never found such a safe place than in his arms, although he isn't always for physical assurance.

"No, I'm not going anywhere today My dear, my schedule is all cleared up, maybe later in the evening to treat the sinners to a broadcast, but other than that I'm all yours." Alastor, changed the cloth on your forehead, "It's such a lovely thing the age-old napkin dipped in cold water to ease the heat!" He commented,

"Alastor?"

"Yes, my dear?"

"I'm a little hungry..."

"Say no more My dear, although you did worry me when you refused to eat my well-cooked dish this morning."

You heaved a sigh of relief, he was astonishingly patient, it made your heart feel like a swarm of butterflies danced there, it also made your stomach sink a little when you felt like you were bothering him too much."

"My dear, sit up now." He instructed,

You pushed yourself, still feeling your head pound bullets, you received the cream soup with a grateful smile which made Alastor push your hair behind your ear,

"I'm really sorry for bother--"

"Nonsense my dear, it doesn't feel too good seeing you in such a weak state." He honestly replied.

The day passed, by watching some movies despite, Alastor's Proclaims of not wanting to indulge, "In Noisy picture box activities." He did, for you, I told you he was a total sweetheart.

He prepared a bath for you, and changed the sheets so you could sleep better.

The entire gesture made your eyes well up in tears, only for Alastor to shush, and as the last step brought you a little closer to him, yes, you were ridiculously short.

"No one had ever taken care of me, like this... except at.. m-my home... It's so... I miss this, so much" You sobbed,

"Come now my dear, I'll take care of you as long as you need. I'll cancel my broadcast if that's what you need."

"But I want another audio."

"Shall it be a little different?" Alastor asked, brushing your hair, to distract you for a while.

"Different?"

"Since, you like my voice which is very flattering I think you can add this to your again very flattering collection."

The movie finished at 1am, before you fell asleep, and a few minutes later Alastor just lightly opened the door to check on you, filled your water bottle before closing the door.

#lovestories #romance #beauty #alastor fanfiction #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #alastor x you #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel fandom #hazbin hotel fanart #radio demon #alastor #cursed cat alastor

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boldlyvoid · 7 months

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A Court of Seeds and Sight

Elain x Azriel

Summary: After 6 months apart, Elain sees the way Lucien looks at her new, healthy, body and it reminds her of her mother. The look of disappointment. The look of never being good enough. A reminder that she's spent most of her life letting others make choices for her. she decided in that moment that she's hand enough. While standing up for herself, Lucien suggests they dissolve the bond, letting her go free.

What happens when she's staying at The House of Wind to recover and the male she's dreamed of, the male she's wanted to pick for herself for over 2 years now, is there with medicine and goods to help her feel better?

Warnings: light fatphobia, severing a bond, made-up lore (i had fun making it up) hurt/comfort, the house of wind is my favourite character in this, First kiss, first times, oral sex (fem receiving), multiple orgasms, new bonds snapping into place, lovemaking, rough sex

Word count: 10.6k

She knew he was there the moment he walked into the house.

There was a little tug on the bond, the first she’d felt in 6 months now. Where Lucien lived in the human realm, as well as his visits to the spring court, both places brought him out of the bounds of their bond. She went most of the year without feeling him, having heard from him through her sister and her mate, but Elain hasn’t felt him.

And what a blessing that had been.

She has been working in gardens all over the city, bringing florals to the night court in a way that keeps their traditions in mind. She’s made hanging flower baskets for lamp posts, displays for windows as well as potted trees and bushes on the street. Bat Orchids, black Dahlia, Persian lily, and Dark Dimension. Black and blue and purple roses. Hollyhock and Hellebore. All darker flowers, but the feeling is still the same. She wanted to bring life and beauty to the city that changed everything for her.

When she’s not in the garden covered in dirt… she’s in the kitchen covered in flour. Both activities include help from her favourite fae.

Azriel, ever the traveller, albeit for work, was always bringing her back either a packet of exotic seeds or a new recipe from a cafe or hotel he visited. She’s planted everything, either in her greenhouse outback or in little pots scattered around the house. She wanted them to last, and the best way to do that was to keep them in their desired environments. Food-wise, he mostly brings home recipes for pastries and baked goods. Only a few times has there been a savoury dish, which she made for the whole family for dinner, upon Az’s request.

The tug on the bond pulls her away from her baking, she’s working on lemon pastries. A fluffy, puffed pastry with lemon filling and a delicious icing drizzle on top. She makes them in a variety of flavours, this one happens to be Azriel’s favourite.

“Can you watch these for me? Take them out if I’m not back when the timer goes,” she asks Cerridwen and Nuala. They both nod, knowing where she’s going, as they also feel everything going on in the house, stronger than she ever could.

She makes her way towards the main entrance, wiping her hands off on her apron, she’s only going to greet him because it’s right. It’s a nice thing to do. She doesn’t like him more than an acquaintance, he’s her sister's work partner… he’s important to their court but not to her heart. And she feels awful about that. But she’s heard the stories, she knows that not all bonds are happy. Most of the people she’s met have horror stories about how much their parents hated each other, but the bond needed them together to procreate. Because the cauldron knows what offspring will change the world. Like Rhys himself, his parents were not meant to be, but the world needed him.

She could put up with Lucien, she could tolerate him. She just couldn’t imagine sharing a bed or making children with him. He may be her “soul-mate” but he is not her type. He was not the male she would willingly choose if she had the choice.

“Lucien,” she smiles at him.

He looks her up and down, taking a step back to do so. But it’s not in the usual way he looks at her. He’s taking in how much she’s changed in the half a year he hasn’t seen her.

She’s put on some weight. For the first time in her life, she has had the luxury to do so. Eating well, lounging in the sun, reading in her room and cuddling with her nephew. She’s not working out like her sisters, she doesn’t have a job that requires her to be able to kick ass in a moment's notice. She’s done what she’s always wanted to do; put a little meat on her bones. And she loved it.

“What?” She asks, slightly offended.

“Nothing… I’m just surprised,” he explains, unable to stop staring. “You’ve… changed.”

And it’s not the good kind of staring. His eyes are sharing with her more than she would ever hear leave his mouth. This isn’t the fae he’s been imagining in his daydreams these last few months. His look is one of disappointment, wondering why the Cauldron would match him with someone he’s also not attracted to.

“Need I remind you that I own my body, it’s not for you to ogle or have an opinion about,” she spits, feeling the fire in her blood, having never related to her older sister until this very moment. “I never wanted this stupid bond, I don’t need your opinion of me. I’m happy, I’m healthy and I’m blessed to be able to reach this size, so if you don’t like it… you can fuck right off.”

She honestly can’t believe those words just left her mouth. But she stands a little taller, glad that it did.

He can’t believe it either, “the apple doesn’t fall far in your family, does it? I never even said anything and yet you were ready to pounce on me like a wild animal. Like that human side of you is still perfectly intact.”

“I understand we have to keep things cordial for the court, however, if I never had to see you again it would be a day too late,” she continued without a second thought. “My sister and the high lord need you and your alliance, I understand that perfectly, but I am not a pawn. I am not here to keep the peace. I trust you’re a good man, that you can keep up the alliance even if things between us aren’t good.”

“Then let’s get this retched bond removed then, shall we? The last thing I want is to be shackled to someone who could never even give me the courtesy of pretending to love me,” he spits right back.

“We can do that?” She asks, shocked she never knew it was an option.

“We need a priestess and a few days rest, but it can happen,” he explains. “Do you have a preferred priestess or shall we just walk into the nearest temple and see who’s available?”

“I’d prefer Merrill a the House of Wind.”

Knowing she’s a strict witch of a fae, from Nesta’s stories, there was no one else she wanted to sever this, no one else she wanted to deal with Lucien than her.

—

Rhysand and Feyre winnowed them in, having spoken to both of them about the risks of separating the bond as well as what this would mean for the court. Lucien agreed to stay emissary, his only request was that he stay in another house, paid for by Rhysand when visiting and that they meet there or at the house of Wind for meetings, so he didn’t have to see Elain again. They understood perfectly.

“We’ll be back in an hour,” Feyre explained, a hand on Elain’s arm, wishing her luck. She simply gave her sister a smile in return, showing she was ready, albeit a little nervous.

The happy couple flew off after that, leaving the others to start their quiet walk to the temple inside the mountain.

Merrill meets them at the door, pissed off as usual. She blinks at them, arms crossed, “I have cleared the temple for the next hour while we do this, no matter how much it stings or the emotions you are feeling, the male must be gone when the hour is up. This is a safe space for the priestesses who live here, I am not ruining it for them. No matter who you are.”

“I understand,” Lucien agrees, no real fight left in him.

Inside the temple, they walk past rows and rows of pews towards the front, where a rock is draped with a light blue silk runner and topped with two cups of tea and a book.

“Do you know the risks?” Merrill asks.

They both nod, having learned from Rhys that severing a bond wasn’t a difficult act, it was the after-effects that were the most challenging. They could feel sick, possibly emptying the contents of their stomach and unable to consume more. The headache from losing the bond can be anywhere from an annoyance to mind numbly painful and there is a chance they could slip into a year-long melancholia. Sleep helped, but not by much as the cauldron often retaliated with terrible dreams that would keep them up.

They were both willing to do whatever it took to get rid of this thing.

“Are you absolutely, 100% sure, you want to dissolve the bond?” Merrill asks, staring them down. The stone above her hood shone in the faelight. Glaring at her. This was real, this was serious, and there was no going back.

Elain nods, “Yes, I’m sure.”

“I just want her to be happy,” Lucien shares, solemn and defeated.

“Alright,” Merrill just pushes through. “Join hands. I’m going to say a couple of prayers, then you’re going to drink the tea and you’ll feel it happen. It can be painful, like holding a metal wire as it snaps, it can whip you as it ricochets.”

That made her swallow sharply, she wasn’t sure she was ready to hurt again, but if it meant freedom— then the hurt would be worth it.

Taking Lucien's hand in her own, it feels weird to touch him for the first time since they were bonded by the cauldron. It starts the moment they grip each other's hands, she has no idea what Merrill is saying, it’s in the old language. It sounds beautiful, but she has no idea what it means. She can feel it, there’s a hum that rushes through her and

She’d never experienced an earthquake before, and yet the way her body shook during the prayer had her concerned that it was not just her rumbling. It feels as though the whole world is reacting to the bond being severed. She tries her hardest to keep a brave face, standing on wobbly legs is difficult, however, the shaking stops as soon as the prayer is complete.

Merrill hands them each a cup of tea, allowing them to stop holding hands for a moment. Pulling away doesn’t feel as intense as she expected it to. If him simply leaving a room used to make her heart ache, physically separating should’ve felt more intense. The prayer essentially numbed the feelings. The tea would snap the bond. The priestess continues her chants while they drink, all but chugging the warm liquid down. It tastes very earthy, almost as if she was drinking bark and dirt… she never even asked what it was before they did this.

They both look disgusted as they bring the cups down, staring into each other's eyes, unable to hear the other's thoughts but it was evident. That tea was gross.

They wait for Merrill to finish her prayer and then it happens.

The snap isn’t as intense as she expected. It feels like walking through the woods and tripping over a root. It pulls from the earth and breaks against the ankle, leaving a welt, but nothing more. No sprain, no twist, just a slight ache. She’s able to walk away from it.

She looks at Lucien once more and there’s nothing there. Her heart doesn’t flutter, her mind doesn’t race… she simply looks at him the way she would look at a stranger on the streets. He’s just there.

“How do you feel?” Merrill asks.

“Fine,” Elain answers while Lucien bows his head.

“Terrible,” he whispers. He reached up to hold his temples, “what was that?”

“Olive tree bark tea,” she explains. “Olive trees are a distant cousin to ash trees. it’s not as potent or deadly, it gets the job done.”

“Can I leave now?” Lucien asks, turning away from them the moment Merrill starts to hum in agreement.

She doesn’t hurt at all. Her heart is fine, her head is silent… she’s just empty.

“Thank you, Merrill,” she gives the priestess a small smile. “I appreciate you taking time out of your day for this. Is there anything I can do to repay you?”

“I’ve heard rumours that your family recovered the harp. In my previous research, I was developing a theory that there are multiple universes stacked on top of one another, upwards of 26 universes, actually. I heard the harp has 26 strings. I would like to study it. Can you put in a good word with the High Lord and Lady for me?”

She nods, “I’ll see what I can do. That sounds very interesting, I’m sure they’d want to know more about these other universes as well.”

“Be well, I’m doing the dusk service tonight if you need anything, you’re welcome to join us,” Merrill shares a rare smile and then she leaves, heading off into the back rooms of the temple.

Elain starts the trek back to the balcony, where she’s meant to meet Feyre for her ride back to the river house. Lucien is staying at the townhouse, he’ll be leaving with Rhys first. She’s given him more than enough time to leave by now. But she doesn’t want to. Leave that is.

She sighs, resting a hand against the wall, “Would you be alright if I stayed here for the time being?” She asks the house.

In response, the lights flicker down the hallway, telling her to follow. She follows their lead, all the way to the bedroom she used to occupy when she first arrived in Velaris. Only it’s different, it’s brighter. There are plants and flowers on the tables, hanging from the veiling and vines wrapped around the 4 poles of her bed. Speaking of, the sheets are a beautiful pink, soft silk and topped with the fluffiest pillows. There’s a book on the bed, beside a tray of chocolates and a bottle of her favourite wine.

“Oh, I love you,” she swoons, holding her hand over her heart. “This is the most beautiful spot to recover. You are so wonderful to us.”

The house simply sent a warm breeze her way, wrapping around her face and shoulders as if to hug her.

Within seconds, she can hear footsteps approaching her room and she knows it’s her younger sister by the way she floats down the hall. She stops at the open door and smiles, “You’re staying here, correct?”

She nods, “how’d you—

“You dislike nothing more than feeling like a burden, here you can recover alone with the help of the house,” Feyre smiles, knowing her too well. “I packed you a few outfits, mostly sleepwear because I don’t expect you to leave the bed for a while. I will be here in 3 days, waiting in the entryway around mid-day, if you’re there I’ll bring you home. If not, I’ll give you another 3 days. Send word if you need me.”

“Thank you,” she reaches out to take the suitcase but the house handles it for her. Taking it with its magic, the house puts everything away and sets out a fresh set of sleepwear on the bed as the bath starts to run in the other room.

“You’re in very good hands,” Feyre approves. “I love you, and I’m proud of you, I hope you know that.”

“I know,” she smiles back. “I’ll see you soon.”

Once Feyre is gone, she closes her bedroom door and heads right to the bathroom. Her book, chocolate and wine are now on a little side table near the bath. The bath smells of roses and jasmine, the bubbles float over the room as they escape the tub, the lights are dimmed, and everything is perfect.

She strips, gets into the bath and just sighs. “I expected to feel awful,” she shares. “I just feel free.”

Her glass is filled with wine then as if the house is telling her to just lay back and enjoy the freedom. So she listens, she takes the wine in one hand, the book in her other, her eyes raking over the summary.

It’s a romance, one she knows that either the house loves or Nesta does, either way, it’ll be raunchy and delicious. The main character is a florist, she has just escaped a terrible relationship with a man who didn’t appreciate her. Thinking she’ll be alone for the rest of her life, something unexpected blooms with the man who delivers her orders once a week. She hums, it sounds quite interesting, so she flips to the first page, takes a sip of her wine and settles into freedom.

—

Before she knew it, the bubbles and wine were gone, and the bath water was still warm thanks to the house, as she reached the middle of her book. Hours pass, her body is pruned from the water and limp from how relaxed she’s become. She sighs, “Can I have a bookmark?” She asks The House.

On the table by her empty wine glass, a clear, acrylic rectangle with dried flowers trapped inside appears. Around the flowers are gold flakes, her name is engraved into it with gold. It’s beautiful. “Thank you.”

She gets out of the tub, and dries off with a beautifully fluffy towel only to walk naked back into her room to don her silky underclothes and slip into bed. “May I please have some soup… something creamy and hearty?”

Then, a beautiful creamy soup appears on a tray on her bed. She stirs her spoon around, noticing the bits of broccoli, shredded carrot and cheese and cubed chunks of potatoes. All her favourites. And then she notices the bowl, it’s a crusty sphere of bread hollowed out to hold the soup. “Thank you, this is exactly what I wanted.”

She devours the soup, peels apart the bread bowl and savours the remnants of the creamy soup on the crunchy bread. It’s life-changing, she feels full and warm, happier than she has felt in a while. A little drunk from that whole bottle of wine, however, the bread offsets it. The tray disappears once she is done, and her book reappears on the bed. Candles are lit around the room, the curtains are still open to let in the last of the daylight while the faelight over her bed brightens just enough for her to read.

She’s another 3 chapters in when there is a knock at the door.

“Come in?” She says, unsure who would be home. Nesta and Cassian are in Illyria training younglings for the next week.

The door opens slowly and quietly, the shadows bellow at his feet and she knows instantly. Her best friend has come to check on her.

“Az,” she smiles. “I didn’t know you were back tonight?”

He smiles right back at her, “I went to the river house, I left the new seeds I found in the greenhouse. Nuala told me where you were…”

“I’m okay,” she assures. “It didn’t hurt. Did you know they used olive tree bark in a tea to do it? Apparently, it's in the ash family, it’s not enough to maim but it did the trick.”

“I did not,” he looks instantly worried. “I did, however, bring you something…”

“Come in,” she beckons him in closer. Closing her book and resting it on the bed, she pulls her sheets up over her chest to keep her modesty and watches as he sits on the edge near the end, resting against the post.

“I went to see Madja,” he explains, pulling a few things out of the inside pockets of his jacket. “This is the same headache powder you gifted me, well, a new one, but the same kind. And these are ginger candies, they’ll help with any nausea you may feel. Have you eaten?”

She nods, “The House made me some lovely soup.”

“Good,” he nods, looking down at the bottles in his hands with a smile. “I’m going to be sleeping here tonight, you know where my room is?”

“Just above mine,” she points upstairs.

“Exactly… ask the house to make my lights flicker 3 times and I’ll know you need me, you don’t need to leave the bed if you don’t wish to,” he explains. “I’ll leave these here. You should get some rest.”

“Thank you, Azriel, I really appreciate you.”

His smile is remarkable, “this is what friends are for.”

His shadows leave the room first, leaving him to place the bottles on her night table and saunter off after them. As soon as the door is closed again, she waits to hear him retreat upstairs but it’s impossible. He’s so quiet, he stalks around like a cat on the prowl no matter where he is. So after enough time has passed, when she knows she’s alone again, she sighs. “He’s so… wonderful.”

The house blows a wind that shuffles the pages of her book to what she expects is a random page, only it’s not. The love interest brings the main character flowers she doesn’t sell in her shop, something exotic and new just for her to behold. For no reason other than he wishes to see her smile. And suddenly she gets it, why the house picked this book for her out of the entire library both private and the extensive one below them.

“There is such a remarkable light cast upon him,” she swoons. “It’s no wonder he’s followed by shadows.”

A second book appears on her bed.

‘Bonds, Mates and Why The Cauldron Fates Them.’

She’s quick to pick it up, flipping towards the first page, she starts to read as fast as she can absorb the knowledge. She should’ve looked for a book like this long ago, should’ve asked questions about bonds and how they come to be and how they dissolve. She always just assumed it would be there until one of them died… she never wished that upon him, never once. She just assumed that was how it would end.

Turns out, the cauldron makes such bonds either because it knows the union will be fruitful, that the children they’d bring to this world will be of great power or importance. Children like Rhysand, he was born to be a leader while his parents could barely stand each other. Meanwhile, Cassian’s father stepped out on his bond mate, doing the foulest thing a male could do to a woman and creating one of the most important warriors to grace the world in the last 5 centuries.

The bonds aren’t set in stone, while they can be wonderful and loving and everything two faes could ever dream of… they could also be awful. Like Lucien’s own mother and father. Beron is an awful man, controlling and mean, it’s unknown if he’s abusive but from the stories told. The atrocities that he’s committed, it’s not a far stretch to consider that he hurts her. The Lady of the Autumn court is strong, she’s stayed put and dealt with what the cauldron forced upon her— even in those 10 years she was with the Lord from the Day court. She stayed, she raised her children and she’ll be free when Beron dies.

Maybe that’s why Lucien let her go. Why he would suggest dissolving the bond rather than dealing with it for the rest of time? Sure, he was already close to 500 years old, he could live to be 500 more and he was not going to shackle her to himself the way his father did to his mother. She needed to find a way to thank him. Maybe in a century when they got over this, she’d send him a fruit basket. Or a new fur throw.

The more she read, the more she understood.

It’s not unheard of for someone to have 2 bonds in their lifetime.

After the death of the first mate, a second bond can snap into place. It’s happened to young widows and widowers alike, bringing them a second chance at happiness for the rest of their time here. Other situations in which a bonded couple gets bonded to a 3rd fae are more unlikely, but it still happens. Polyamorous bonds are rare to come by, seen only once or twice in a millennia, they can include upwards of 5 fae, at least in recorded history. She couldn’t even imagine how that would work.

There was still hope for both herself and Lucien. He could get another bond, he could find his true soulmate out there… or he could just love someone and be loved the way he deserves to be loved without a bond. It’s not the end all be all. Maybe he’s meant to be with Vessa? Or Vessa and Jurian… they all live together most of the year, and he loves them quite a lot. Anything could happen now that he’s also free.

Bonds snapping into place at first sight is common, that’s what happened with herself and Lucien. Others exist your entire life and you don’t know until the snap reverberates through you, like what happened with Feyre and Rhysand. He knew it longer, he could always feel her out there, it wasn’t until she started to fall in love with him that she began to understand what it was. That the bond was meant to be there. They were meant to be.

Nesta and Cassian had a similar situation, the bond lingered from their first meeting and became stronger on the battlefield when she called after him. Grew more powerful after that first kiss when he thought he was dying… it wasn’t until she accepted it, until she announced with her whole being that she loved him, that it snapped into place for good.

Azriel’s never had a bond. He loved Morrigan for centuries to no avail. He slept with countless fae… he’s gotten close to Elain herself, so close she thought he would kiss her. So close she could smell how much he wanted her. Only for something, or someone, to scare him off.

Rhysand didn’t often go into her mind, it was typically Feyre who did. Often to share gossip or wish her goodnight from the other side of the river house. But Rhys was in Azriel and Cassian’s mind often. Barking orders, sharing jokes and simply catching up. He loved his brothers, but he loved his court more. She suspects that’s why he was so… so official while speaking to her and Lucien this afternoon. He was willing to do anything to keep Lucien in their good graces, to keep him as emissary.

What wouldn’t he do?

She puts the book down, breathing heavily as it all hits her. He only called their almost kiss a ‘mistake’ that day because Rhysand was in his mind, telling him to back off, so that he didn’t have to pick between Shadowsinger and Emissary when the fight for her hand officially broke out. Because he would always pick his brother, he just didn’t want to have to.

“How long after breaking a bond can another emerge?” She asks, watching as the house flips the pages of the book to the near end. The light shines on a specific paragraph more than the others and she knows she has her answer.

Within moments of a mate's death, a new bond could snap into place. It’s happened in recorded history a handful of times, usually during war. A male would pass and his female, working in the infirmary, bonds to a wounded soldier. A female passes from sickness and her mate, standing beside her lifelong friend at the funeral, bonds to the only person who loved her as much as he did. Sometimes the second bond is stronger than the first, sometimes it’s the more important bond. The first mate was to teach a lesson, the second was for a lifetime of happiness.

She feels her heart in her throat, her breathing still heavy, her thoughts racing to all the possibilities. Was this why she was so drawn to Azriel? Why she never bonded with anyone in all his years? Why it didn’t hurt when the tether snapped on her end, unlike Lucien's instant pain?

Before she can even register it, she’s up and moving, out of the room and down the hall. Up the stairs and around the corner. The house makes the lights flicker, drawing Azriel out of his room in an instant, and having them meet in the hallway.

She keeps walking until they’re millimetres apart. She places her hand on his chest and looks up into his dark and stormy eyes. “Tell me the truth.”

“About?”

“Why was it a mistake?”

“You know,” he breathes. “The seer always knows.”

She just smirks, “I will not talk down about your high lord… but sometimes he’s a royal pain in my ass.”

He just smirks, “he spent centuries perfecting that quality.”

She lets out another sigh, being this close to him just feels so right. Like there’s a magnet pulling her towards him. “Please tell me you feel it too? I don’t want to skirt around it for months like my sisters did.”

“I’ve felt it for almost 3 long years now,” he whispers, his voice so low it reverberates through her, going right to her core.

“Tell me about it?” She requests, “I want to know your mind, I want to know how you think. Walk me through it.”

He picks her up then, making her squeal slightly, “I will tell you in the comfort of your bed, where you should be.”

Around the corner, down the stairs, through her hallway and into her bedroom. The books have been removed from the sheets, and more candles have been lit while the lights have been dimmed down low. He places her on her bed, waiting for her to pick a side before getting in himself, “where should I start?”

“What you felt when we first met?”

“I thought you were so strikingly beautiful when I entered your house the first time,” he explains. “Like Cassian, I already knew I would do anything for Feyre’s family, but the way I would kill for you… that scared me. I hadn’t felt so strongly about a female in— maybe ever? I loved Morrigan, I thought she was beautiful. She is beautiful. But you, you changed everything about how I feel. I was noticing the beauty in everything after you, I was stopping to sniff flowers and following scents on the street just to bring you a baked good just so I could see the joy on your face. There is nothing I love more than seeing joy on your face.”

She blushes hard, “I feel the same about you. Making the recipes you bring me, showing you how the seeds have bloomed into flowers, those are the best moments of my life.”

“Even in the worst moments of my life, all I could think of was you,” he whispers again, almost afraid to admit that. “When you were taken, everyone warned me I might not make it back. They thought it was a suicide mission… I knew I would get you back, if not for me then for your sisters.”

“I have never experienced Rage like I did during the war,” she shares. “Kicking that beast off you, feeling your blood on me, it scared me. what I could do if you died.”

“I think I’m pretty indestructible now,” he teases. “I’m not going anywhere on you.”

“Until you have another accident in the middle of nowhere,” she pushes back. “I’m never going to ask you to not be the spymaster, but I will ask that you always, always make it home to me.”

“Home?” He asks as if he wants to know where that is.

“we could get a little tent and live in the woods for the rest of our lives and it would still be a home because you’re there beside me,” she assures him. “But I was thinking… I love the river house. I love my friends and the kitchen and my garden. I’d like to be there every day, no matter where we end up living together.”

“I can ask Rhys if I can build a home on the property, a little 2-story house, just big enough for us, so you can walk over there every day,” he offers. “I have more than enough funds to build a castle, too, if that’s what you prefer.”

She just smiles, “We can live in the townhouse, or maybe even the house of mist until it’s ready… I have a feeling if the bond snaps into place, we’re going to be just as bad, if not worse than the others.”

He laughs, that beautiful hearty laugh she doesn’t get to hear often. Not unless they’re alone or everyone is drunk… before he can reply she sighs, “I love you. I really do.”

A blush creeps up his face, “I love you. More than I can explain, I love you in ways I never thought possible for me.”

“It’s possible and it’s happening,” she whispers, moving in closer to him. She cups his cheek, staring into his eyes. “I’m just so glad it’s me.”

“Me too,” he whispers back, a thickness in his throat that lets her know there are more emotions buried behind his stern exterior. “Can I ask… can I ask what happened that made today of all days, the day that you decided to leave him?”

“He looked at me… and I saw that same look my mother used to have. You see, I never had the privilege of being my own person, growing up. I had to stay skinny, I had my eyebrows plucked and my hair had to be long and I wasn’t allowed in the garden because pretty girls don’t get dirty. When she died, I had 3 years of peace. I didn’t go to as many balls, I wasn’t interacting with the princes and dukes she wanted to marry me off to. It was just me. And I put on weight. Just a little, enough to not see my ribs and round out my face. But it was a weight that I chose to gain. It kept me warm, I liked filling out my dresses. And then we lost all our money and I went back to starving.”

She watches his face as he catches on, he looks her over, “You’re so healthy now, you’ve just made yourself even more beautiful, somehow. As if that was even possible?”

She gives him a little smile. “I know, and not in a conceited way. This is how I prefer to look. I like having strong arms from carrying around bags of soil and heavy cement planter boxes. I like having thick thighs and a tummy and I like that my cheekbones aren’t as striking anymore. I love looking in the mirror and seeing myself now. Because I got to make the choice to look like this. I get to wake up every day and make choices for myself.”

“And the bond, it wasn’t your choice.”

She shakes her head, “it reminded me of my mother. She always wanted me to marry well. And what’s better than a male who’s the heir to not one throne, but 2?”

He sighs, “I wanted to tell you there were more choices out there. That you didn’t have to suffer through it.”

“I have words for Rhys when I get back,” she assures him. “He watched not only his mother but Morrigan, get pawned off to men who didn’t love them. He’s seen the hurt first hand and yet he wanted me to stay with him, to endure a loveless life, simply so He could have a better connection with the human queen. I don’t know if he didn’t realize it, or he's so used to thinking of the greater good that my happiness wasn’t on his radar, but it hurt. It hurt to see both my sisters so happy in bonds they chose, with males who love them, while I didn’t.”

“I snapped at him that night, after our almost kiss. I never thought it was fair that there are 3 of you and 3 of us and yet only two from each family got to be happy.”

“I’ve felt that too,” she admits. “I never wanted to try and make it work with Lucien. I was just going to be cordial with him until the time came when I had to have his babies or… and I never wished for this, but I knew he’d pass away at some point and I’d be free to love someone for real.”

Before Az can even validate her feelings, she continues. “And then he showed up today, I felt his presence and I went out to greet him and he looked me up and down the same way my mother would. I could read it in his face that I was no longer the female he dreamed about, I wasn’t the same fae he envisioned all these months he was away. And something snapped in me. That fire that lives in both my sisters just spewed out and I lost it on him.”

Az smiles, “yeah? I heard the house almost shook.”

She shakes her head with a smile, loving when he teases her. “In that moment, I only thought about myself. For the first time in my life, no one was standing in front of me to protect me or talk for me or anything. For the first time in my life, the words I needed came to me and I said them. I didn’t want him. I had never wanted him. I was put into this body against my will, I was bonded to him against my will and I was suffering for it… and I thought about all those seeds you brought me. How they were never meant to be here, most of them have never been in the night court, even clipped in a bouquet. But I managed to grow them, give them life, feed them, protect them and help them flourish. I wanted to flourish, too. So the second he said we should get the bond dissolved, I jumped on it. I had no idea it was a possibility, either it was kept a secret from me or it just hasn’t been done in so long that no one thought to mention it— either way, I wanted it. We did it. And now, I’m free.”

“And you always will be free,” Az assures. “Even if we don’t bond, even if this pull that we feel for each other is just love… I shouldn’t say just. Love is so powerful on its own. There are millions of couples in this land who love each other without a bond. I want to love you for the rest of my life, in whatever capacity you want from me.”

“I would enjoy being Mrs. Shadowsinger,” she teases, making him laugh as he pulls her in close. She tucks her face into his neck and breathes him in, “If we don’t have a bond, I still would like to have a huge, disgustingly expensive wedding. I want everyone in the world to know I picked you. That it was my choice to pick you, it was my choice to let my heart keep loving you the way it desired to.”

He soothes his hands down her back, kissing the top of her head. “It feels like a dream… hearing you say all these things.”

She pinches him, making him roar as he slightly shoves her away. Elain giggles, so abundantly happy it’s pouring out of her. “See, you’re awake.”

“And you’re a menace,” he retorts.

She pushes him so he’s flat on his back and straddles his hips, looking down at him, “I have dreamed about teasing you like this for years now. Making you blush, reminding you how loved you are, making you feel so happy that your shadows turn pink.”

He laughs, “We could try.”

“I want to kiss every part of you. I want to know every scar and freckle and tattoo. I want to know your body as well as I know my own… but we can’t tonight.”

He understands, “Are you feeling okay? Headache or nausea? Are you tired?”

She shakes her head, “I haven’t taken the contraceptive tea since I was a human… since I gave my maidenhood to my previous betrothed.”

He takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly, “And you haven’t bled since becoming fae?”

She shakes her head, “I never really had them as a human either. Madja said that was likely because I was so underweight, now that I’m healthy, it should happen in a few months.”

He nods, “so tomorrow, or the next day, when you’re feeling up to it, we’ll go to the apothecary and get what you need.”

“Aren't they open all night?” She teases, making him smirk. “I’m kidding, we can go tomorrow.”

Just then, a steaming cup of tea pops up on her night table. “Oh, mother?” Elain stares at it and then back at him. “Is that—“A warm breeze brushes past her, a silent yes from the house. “Is it from Nesta’s collection?” Another breeze. “How fast does it take effect?”

A book drops on the bed, turned to a page that starts with the world ‘instantaneously.’

“She is amazing,” Azriel compliments.

“My sister?”

“No– well yeah, but,” he laughs. “I mean The House.”

“How do you know they’re a she?”

“The way they take care of us, the motherly touch, the love… no male soul could compare.”

The house takes the book back, leaving a chocolate that Elain knows to be his favourite in its wake.

“Do you have a name?” Elain asks, now sitting against the headboard with the tea in her hands, “I always want to thank you, but I don’t know your name.”

Another book appears on the bed, the title of the book is ‘Nameless.’ It’s a book about creatures who’ve lived on this earth so long that memory fails to recall their names.

“So take some time, look through all the books in this house and pick a name that suits you. You have the choice now,” Elain explains. “Pick a name and we’ll make sure everyone refers to you as such.”

More candles are lit around her room, and rose petals are on her bed and around it. The curtains are drawn, the fire roars in the corner fireplace… and they’re suddenly alone.

Elain chugs her tea, drinking down every single last drop, he sighs once it’s gone and passes the cup to Az to place back on the night table. “I’m nervous.”

“Me too,” he agrees. “But… I’m more nervous for a bond than the lack of one.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know how to ask for a week off,” he teases.

“Well… we could just stay here, have the house lock the doors knowing Rhys can’t winnow in, we just don’t have to leave for a week.”

His eyes get darker as he crawls over her, resting between her legs, holding himself up with those deliciously strong arms of his, he looks like a feral animal about to pounce. “I like the way you think.”

“Go easy on me?” She whispers, visibly nervous now. “I’m practically a virgin again, it’s been so long.”

“Don’t worry,” he assures, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek and then her nose. Her eyes close and he takes a moment to kiss both eyelids. “I’m going to treat you so well, my love.”

She blushes, “are you going to kiss me for real, or what?”

He balances on one arm, cupping her face gently, he watches her close her eyes as he brushes his nose against hers. She feels as if time stops, she’s frozen in anticipation for what feels like forever until his lips are on her.

It’s then that the magnetic pull becomes something more. Stars explode behind her eyes, she wraps her arms around him so tight, pulling him flush against her body as if she can’t get him close enough. Their souls become one, she is his and he is hers.

He wraps his arm under her, pulling her in just as close. Her legs wrap around his hips, pressing his groin flush against her heat. His lips part, introducing her to his tongue, she hums into his mouth, not yet confident enough to moan… his hand slips down from her cheek, over her breast, noticing the hardened peaks of her nipples. He palms them, trying to entice more noise out of her.

She’s heard from her sisters just how sensitive the Illyrian wings are, so she reaches up, running her fingers over the silky membrane as seductively as possible, making him shiver… he grinds against her, hard in his sleep pants. That’s what makes her moan against him. Knowing she’s contributing to his pleasure, that he wants her just as bad as she wants him.

She brushes over his wing again just as he pinches her nipple between two fingers, moaning in tandem this time. He kisses the side of her mouth, along her jaw and down her neck, leaving her to pant as she stares at the ceiling. This is real. This is happening. She has Azriel in her bed, soon to be inside her, too. Her whole body heats up at the thought, wetness pools between her legs and within moments, Azriel’s kisses become nips and sucks, his tongue and teeth on her neck, leaving marks as he feels down her sides towards her hips and pulls her up against his hardened cock once more. He grinds against her, slow yet forceful, showing her exactly what is to come.

“Az,” she whines, face pink as her sheets, she can’t believe how needy she feels and so fast. “Please? Touch me, please? I need you. I need to feel you. It’s been too long.”

He smiles against her, fiddling with the hem of her sleep shirt, “can I take this off you?”

“Gods, yes!”

He sits up on his knees, pulling her forward, he slips the top off of her and tosses it to the floor. She lays back down and she watches his eyes rake over her makeup upper half, “sweet mother…”

“Your turn,” she breathes. He looks at her confused so she sits back up, gripping his shirt in her hands. “I want to see you.”

He simply grips the front of it and pulls it, tearing it off his back, she hears the sound of the seams ripping and the cotton tearing before the fabric is chucked on the floor beside her shirt. She presses her hand to his bare chest instead, the tips of her slightly chilled fingers running over his heated abs, down towards the tuft of hair leading down and disappearing under his pants. “All of you,” she adds.

“You first,” he interjects, getting her to lay back once more, she lifts her hips as he starts to tug at her bottoms, freeing her from the fabric.

He’s quick to kiss her stomach, spreading her legs before she can make him take his own pants off to make things even. He kisses her all the way down, over her mound towards her hip and then the crease where her leg meets lip. Breathing her in, his eyes roll back in his skull, “fuck,” he groans. “Can I? Please?”

She nods as if her head is on a spring, dying to experience this. She’s read about it, dreamed about it… she all but pushes her hips against his face as he drags his tongue along her sex. She moans, back arching off the mattress, she grips her breast and allows him to continue however he sees fit.

He kisses her most sensitive spot, sucking on it gently before lapping up her wetness, sticking his tongue deep inside of her to gather it all up. His nose bumps her clit as his shadows come up to play with her. Black swirling smoke circles around her breasts like mini tornadoes, playing with the hardened peaks of her nipples, she drops her hands to her sides, gripping the sheets for dear life as she feels him everywhere.

In the 2 years she’s been left with just her own hand and imagination, it’s never been this easy for her to feel her climax approaching. It usually took a while, multiple imaginations, moving positions, adding more fingers… but Az, tongue deep inside of her for this short amount of time, has caught her stomach aflame. The heat spreads through her whole body, the blood in her veins feeling like molten iron on a mission. She reaches out for his hair, holding on tight as her climax rips through her. She’d never been so loud in her life, letting go, feeling it all so intensely, she didn’t even care to try and be embarrassed, not when she looked down between her legs to see that beautiful smirk on his face, the shadows clearing out once again.

“Holy fuck?” She says between gasps for air, feeling as though she just ran up all 10,000 steps to this house.

He just laughs, deep and lustful, “I didn’t know that word was in your vocabulary.”

“It’s reserved for moments like this,” she teases right back. “When I’ve been thoroughly fucked by the best lover in the world.”

“Don’t let your sisters hear that, I can’t imagine the fight that would break out trying to compare us all,” he teases, returning to his knees. His cock hard as a rock in his pants, he starts to push the fabric down, freeing the monster.

“Please, don’t mention my sisters when you’re that hard,” she groans. “Gods… I’m going to be impaled on that thing.”

He laughs again, maneuvering out of his pants, they end up on the floor with everything else. He gets as close to her as possible, grips his cock and rests it over her, allowing her to see just how deep he would be able to get. A shiver runs down her spine, “You really do have the biggest wingspan…”

“Hey, don’t talk about my brothers when my cock is on you,” he says through a smile, clearly just saying it to even the score.

She just shakes her head, laying back, still worn out from that first orgasm, “Mother almighty, please make it fit.”

“It’ll fit, especially now that you’re nice and relaxed. That’s the key part, you stretch better if you’re relaxed,” he explains, pulling back. “It might be easier if you’re on top, too.”

“and that doesn’t hurt your wings at all, laying on your back?” She worries, sitting up as well.

He shakes his head, “No, they’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” she smiles, reaching up to take his face in her hands, she pulls him in for another kiss. Missing the way his lips feel against her own, tasting herself, she knows it from her own curiosity, she hums into his mouth.

Her hands slide down his chest, over the trail of hair leading to his cock. She grips it at the base, letting him bite her lip in surprise before she starts to stroke him. She pulls away enough to look into his eyes, “what’s more sensitive?” She runs her thumb over the head, gathering the precum that’s been leaking since she had her legs wrapped around him. “This or your wings?”

“I don’t know,” he breathes out, deep and dark, his eyes going basically all black, blown out with lust for her. “The only being who’s ever touched my wings is the healer…”

“Well then, I have some experiments to do later,” she assures, letting go of his cock before taking him too far. “Lay back for me?”

He nods, listening to his lady.

Resting his head against the pillows, his cock laying back against his stomach… those big majestic wings spread and the tips hanging over the edges of her bed. She marvels over him. Taking in the sight, she sighs, “You’re more beautiful than I ever dreamed.”

He blushes slightly, “I’m glad you think so.”

“By the time I’m done with you,” she says, hiking a leg over him, resting her heat over his cock. “You’re going to believe me when I say you’re beautiful. Handsome,” she leans over him, cupping his face before pushing his hair back, “everything I’ve ever wanted and needed wrapped up in one. You are going to feel so loved.”

“I believe you,” he whispers back, unable to find his full voice in his surprise.

She hovers slightly, gripping his cock once more, “ready?”

He nods, “are you?”

She just smirks as she angles him towards her entrance and begins to sit down. The stretch is glorious, she takes him inch by inch, forgetting how to breathe the deeper he goes, she rests both her hands on his abs and stares at him, mouth agape. She lets out an exasperated breath, “holy gods…”

“Take as much time as you need to adjust,” he assures her it's okay, biting his lip. She can tell he wants to thrust, he wants to take advantage of the tight, wet heat wrapped around him currently.

She waits half a minute, the longest half-minute of his life, and then starts to pull back. His hands find her hips, helping her as she pulls off his cock an inch, barely, and grinds back down. Finding her own rhythm, he simply guides her hips alongside her own movements, “That’s it, sweet fuck, you feel so good.”

“You’re one to talk,” she grips her breast again, head tipping back as she rides him, “this is glorious… but I need more.”

“Tell me,” he growls. “Tell me what you need and I’ll be it for you. Forever.”

“I need–” she stops to bite back a slight moan, still riding him to the best of her ability. “I want you to fuck me, I can’t— I want to lay back and let you have your way with me.”

“Okay,” he agrees, sitting up slowly, he wraps his arms around her and maneuvers himself onto his knees without ever pulling out of her. Her arms were quick to wrap around his shoulders, holding on tight as he moved them. He rests her back, her head at the foot of the bed, still wrapped around her, he looks into her eyes, “How hard?”

Her hands trail down his shoulders, admiring his tattoos. She looks down at his chest, down to where they’re connected, and then back up to his eyes, “slow at first… I want to savour this. Making love to the man of my dreams for the first time. Our first time.”

He pulls out ever so slowly, more than she was able to on top of him. She feels him leave, the emptiness left in his wake… and then he pushes back in. Starts to explode behind her closed eyes, her head once again thrown back. She grips his arms tighter as he does it again and again, hitting a spot inside of her that she never knew existed. He’s so deep, filling her perfectly, she can’t believe any of this is real.

“Az,” she gasps his name as he picks up the pace, leaning in, he tucks his head into the crook of her neck and covers her in kisses, sucking gently, afraid to leave any marks, even though she heals fast and has 3 days of uninterrupted peace lined up.

She doesn’t hold anything back, moaning as loud as she wants, running her nails over his shoulders and back hard enough to draw blood. It feels too good to care, she’ll put some cream on him later… but for right now, she lives in this euphoria and doesn’t give a fuck about anything else. It’s just her and Az and two impending orgasms that might bring the mountain down.

There’s a hammering in her chest, a pang that contracts and expands with each thrust. It doesn’t feel like her heart, it’s not her lungs, either. Sure, she’s breathing heavily the faster he goes, but this is entirely different. This is… this is 10 million times more intense than when he tumbled from the cauldron and looked at Lucien the first time. This is a bond that she knew was there, buried deep inside of her, waiting to be awoken when the time was right.

She’s so close, she’s right there, but she needs more. She wants to reach between them and rub herself but she also wants to keep holding him this close, “Az, can— holy fuck, can you,” she starts to ask him for help, too overthrown by passion. “Shadows, down there,” she simplifies it.

He nods against her. “Yeah,” he breathes, hot and heavy under her ear.

She doesn’t see them, but there’s a presence between them, the same twisting, tingling feeling dances around her clit as it had her nipples. Ghosting over her, adding just enough pressure to push her to where she wants to be, she pulls his face out of her neck and slams her lips against his. Breathing him in, becoming one.

While her bond with Lucien was described as a metal wire, cold and formed against her will… the feeling of this new bond coming into existence is so much brighter. Lighter, full of life, love and happiness. It drapes over them like ivy and wisteria taking over a house, blooming eternal purple, white and pink blossoms all around them. Growing wilder as the years go on. She was covered in him, he was covered in her. This was how it was always meant to be.

He pulls back just enough to rest their foreheads together, breathing against one another now, he holds her tighter, “Mine.”

“Yours,” she agrees. Letting another few thrusts pass before she adds, “And you’re mine.”

“Yours,” he whispers. “Forever.”

“Forever,” she repeats as the feeling returns.

Heat builds and builds, swirling in her gut, mimicking the shadows she’s engulfed in. Wrapping her arms around him tighter, she brushes over his wing, making him whine. She does it again, pushing him to the edge alongside her. He’ll catch them both when they fall. Her stomach drops, her eyes squeeze shut, her body goes limp as pleasure pulses through her with a high-pitched, repeated moan as she rides it out.

And he’s gone then too, filling her up, she feels his cock twitch with each rope of release, only elongating her own orgasm. It’s everything she’s ever wanted, him, all of him, inside of her, making her his for life, and hopefully in whatever comes after.

He slumps against her, she can take his weight just fine, it actually feels wonderful. Crushed by his safety, his big delicious body pressed to her own. Wrapped around each other so tight they’re like a ribbon tied in a knot. Breathing heavily as they come down, that pang in her chest still strumming away.

He kisses her cheek, over to her ear, along her jaw and down her neck, she wonders if he’s feeling it too. “Az?” Hesitation in her voice.

“I know,” he whispers. “It happened for me too.”

She holds him even tighter somehow, tears slipping past her eyes as she lets out a sob. Happier than she could ever imagine being. He struggles to push out of her grip, holding himself up to look at her with genuine fear in his eyes, she just shakes her head, “I’m fine, I’m… I’m so happy.”

Tears blur his own vision, she watches one of them slip out, roll down his cheek and land on her chin. She just cups his face, brushing off the wetness. “You’re everything to me, everything and then some. You’re my favourite friend, my lover, my confidant. My test dummy, my best reviewer, supplier of my seeds—

“In more ways than one now,” he jokes, having to make it funny before he really sobbed.

She laughs too, “You make the world so much brighter for me.”

“Really?”

She nods, “you are the sunshine to my flower, you make me flourish and grow and love being alive… your light is so bright, of course, you have a shadow.”

By the look on his face, he never ever thought of it like that. “Thank you,” he lowers his head, brushing their noses together, “I love you.”

“I love you.”

The kiss they share is… everything. Full of love and respect and wanting. Lust and need and friendship and yearning. Every emotion at once, so strong, it knocks the wind out of both of them, causing them to pull away enough to breathe, mouth to mouth. Sharing their souls, trading them back and forth, learning them more intimately than ever before.

“Mine,” he whispers again.

“Mine,” she reminds him, owning him just as much as he owns her.

A second wave washes over them, another round of need. He’s not as gentle this time and she’s perfectly okay with it. Flipping onto her stomach, he absolutely rails her, fingers digging into her hips while she screams into the mattress.

He’s definitely going to need that week off.

—

When things settle a bit, when there’s nothing left to come out of him and she’s barely able to stop her legs from shaking, the house drops two of their favourite danishes on the bed. Allowing them to make it real, to accept the bond before anyone in their lives can make an opinion of it.

He takes one, she takes the other, and like a couple on their wedding day, they bring it to each other's lips, arms crossed, and they feed one another. The beating in her chest steadies out, becoming one with her heartbeat as she swallows the pastry down. Her heart and his beat the same, sharing a rhythm, bonded to each other, forever.

She just smiles at him, “It’s real now.”

“It always has been,” he assures. “I knew from the moment I met you that this was going to be the outcome, and I would’ve waited 500 more years for it to happen.”

“Well, now we get those 500 years to be happily in love,” she adds, face dropping a bit, “Forever will never be long enough.”

“No it won’t,” he agrees, putting the pastry down and cupping her face again. “Let's make it count.”

She nods, “you know… I still want a big wedding.”

He laughs, “I do too. I want everyone and their mother to know you chose me.”

“And I would choose you again, over and over, in every universe. Always.”

He steals another kiss, having to do something to stop himself from crying. It’s a dream come true for both of them.

“Of course, the seer’s dream would come true,” he whispers against her. “I’m just blessed to have been the dream.”

“Hopefully we can make them all come true,” she teases, smirk on her face. “I’ve had some… rather colourful dreams about you.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm, we’ll have to explore them all this week.”

“I’ll fly down and tell him I’m not available this week, the second the sun comes up,” he assures.

“Take me with you, I want to see the look on his face when he realizes what happened,” cheeky as ever. “Maybe we should all take a week off, see who comes back the most relaxed.”

He laughs again, “well one couple has a kid, the other is with the Illyrians, I think we’ll win.”

“And thank the mother for that,” she leans in for another kiss, unsure how she could even sustain another round but her lust for him overpowers logic.

This was going to be a long week.

A/N: the house picked the name Anvita: who bridges the gap, who connects home and heart.

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 10 months

Text

Arthur Does a Therapie - a Malevolent fic

The Keeper's theory is a painful one.

The Keeper's theory is correct.

The only question now is how Arthur chooses to handle this truth.

Part of the Surrogate series. Written with @sepiabandensis

AO3

-------

CHAPTER ONE

John began pleading before Arthur finished his morning wash.

Arthur, I do not want to go see the Keeper today, he said, voice low and fear-tight. I don’t want to deal with an Outer God. They’re dangerous.

“They are,” Arthur said. “I know they are. Kayne… fuck. I know. All right? But she’s not like them. John, I wouldn’t just put you in danger. I wouldn’t do that.” He pulled on the clothing he’d been given; it felt soft, looser than his usual what-the-fuck uniforms. Hastur wanted to be sure she could unwrap and reach whatever part of him she wished without fuss, apparently.

Well, that thought came out oddly. Arthur’s lips quirked. He blamed the stupid dream. That damned moment in The Woods. John’s tentacles creeping so lightly up his legs—

He shook his head, knocking it out, leaving it behind.

But I’m not like how I was before, John whined. I’m much more… I don’t remember, Arthur. She could take advantage of my memory loss. Do you even have proof she can help?

“She kept you alive.” Arthur’s voice roughened, like he had unpleasant fabric stuffed in there somehow. “Whatever else she is, she did that, and I owe her everything.” He adjusted the comfortable boots. “Do I have to wear the damn cape?”

Hastur had wanted some flair. He claimed it was for warmth.

John huffed. You don’t have to wear any of it. I don’t like this outfit. I can’t see your body. How am I even supposed to talk to an Outer God? They don’t talk. They like to hear screams.

“She doesn’t. I’m telling you, John, she just feels like a person. She’s gentle. She saved your life, and I trust her because of that.” He didn’t mention saving his. “Well. If I don’t wear the cape, he’ll fuss. Besides, John, she’s already seen you and met you. I mean… as you are. We recovered there for days before coming home.” His hands stilled on the cape’s fastening. Home. Carcosa was home. He didn’t want it to be, but it was.

Silently, he cursed the part of his heart that still wanted to go back to Earth, and hoped none of that showed on his face.

It probably did, anyway.

He could feel John settling into a sulk, like a cat hunched in the corner of a room and hissing at anything that came near, but before he could dwell on it further, Hastur arrived.

“My own,” the King in Yellow said, not even complimenting the cape. “Are you ready?”

My own. Arthur still didn’t know how he felt about… that. The title was right. Correct. He felt it, literally in his soul.

He still wasn’t sure what it meant or should mean, so he defaulted to his favorite coping method: he refused to think about it further. “Yes. So’s John.”

Don’t you speak for me!

“Fine. He’s not ready, then.”

Go to hell!

Hastur chuckled, sounding all the more cruel for John’s resistance. “Unfortunate. You had your day to rally yourself, John; I granted it, as I was asked. Now it is time for us to go.”

Fuck you, too, John muttered, but without spice.

John needed help.

Arthur was doing this for him. That meant no holds barred, leaping in, full-bore. “Let’s go.” He knew where Hastur’s outstretched tentacle was, and that also was a sensation he wasn’t sure how to feel about.

For John.

Arthur stepped willingly into that grip. As Hastur lifted him and the crackle of magic seared the air, Arthur tried to settle in, but he couldn’t help drawing the (stupid dream) comparison.

John’s tentacles had been so much more delicate.

Ugh. He wasn’t keen on meeting the Keeper with that dream fresh in his head, but he had to for John.

For John.

The Scriptorium was active on the other side, the scratching pens and flipping pages mingling with the scents of ink and books.

Hastur exhaled, a large sound, a strangely burdens-down sound, and Arthur didn’t know how to feel about that, either.

Arthur, John breathed, clearly in awe. It’s… huge. This library. There are bookcases that look tall as some of the spires of Carcosa.

“You’ve told me it’s incredible. That it even puts Hastur’s library to shame,” said Arthur.

“It does,” said Hastur without bristling.

John faltered for a second, but Arthur could feel his eyes darting back and forth, could feel John clutching at his hand. There’s power here, Arthur. Real, serious power. But there are humans here, too. A lot of them, and some other denizens of the Dreamlands. They’re wearing robes, and look comfortable, and they’re working. It’s like they barely even notice we’re here.

“I was told she has a lot of researchers,” Arthur said quietly. “They seem… good? Booksy. Happy.”

There’s maybe two dozen human researchers, John said, low and awed. Outer Gods don’t deal with humans much, unless to eat them.

“Yeah,” said a dry voice from the ground, “Keeps isn’t exactly your bog-standard Outer God. I guess I’d know, by this point.”

“The Keeper’s chosen,” Hastur said quietly. “Greetings, Archivist Tabby.”

“Nope,” the girl said. “Still just Tabby. How you feeling, Arthur?”

“Hi, Tabby.” Arthur’s smile was tired, but real; she’d witnessed him at his worst, expelling poison in the most disgusting ways, and never made him feel badly for it. He wouldn’t forget that. “Better, thanks. How’s the baking?”

“Good. This week it’s banana bread. It turned out way better than that bread I made when you were here last time.” Her voice sounded pleased. “Partially because it’s breadlike, as opposed to a cracker. And there’s chocolate chips in it, which slaps.”

“Slaps?” said Arthur.

“Rocks? It's very good,” she over-enunciated in the way she did when some slang of hers went over his head.

John sounded baffled. Why do you look like that?

“Oh, boy,” Tabby said.

“John,” said Arthur. “Be polite.”

Hastur did not step in to help. That ass.

You’re human, John said accusingly.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur started.

What did you do to yourself?

“He’s not… really himself right now,” said Arthur.

“Eh, I’ve gotten similar questions from four-year-olds,” Tabby said. “You’re gonna have to be more specific, bud. Do you mean the hair? The lip ring? The lack of light in my eyes? Gimmie something to work with, here.”

Who are you worshiping with all of this? John demanded.

Arthur sighed. “Yeah, we, um. Really need to see the Keeper.”

What are you getting out of it? And John gasped. You’re chosen, but you’re not even marked!

“Keeps is expecting you. She wanted to let John get re-adjusted to the place without her first,” Tabby said, and there was a distinct tone in her voice that signified she was reaching the end of her patience. “Anyway. It’s good to see you too, Hastur. Keeps has been going nuts for the banana bread when it’s toasted, with some melted butter on top, and I know she’s made a pot of that tea Arthur likes. She’s in the office, if y’all are ready.”

“Thank you.” Hastur acted like nothing awkward was going on, and finally—maybe reluctantly—put Arthur down.

“Which way?” said Arthur.

Wait! What powers are you getting from these choices? Should we do… piercings and dyes? John hollered.

John hadn’t answered him, so Arthur just started walking blind—and walked directly into Tabby, who had stopped dead.

“Arthur,” she said, with a grave seriousness tinged with the most excitement Arthur had ever heard her express. “Can I dye your hair?”

“No,” Hastur rumbled from behind them.

“Oh, fuck off,” Tabby said. “Anyway. Dude, I’ll do such a good job.”

Hastur growled.

Hey! He’s mine—and we’re not going to let you deface Arthur to grow your powers! He’s magnificent as-is!

“I’m so sorry. About both of them,” Arthur said.

Tabby made a magnificent scoffing sound. “I don’t have any powers. I just live here, for fuck’s sake. Turn, like, forty degrees to your left Arthur, follow my voice. He’s cranky, huh?”

“Thanks. And he’s just confused.”

I am not confused! A pause. Except about her!

“He’s really confused,” Arthur added conspiratorially.

“You’re the one flipping your gourd about seeing hair dye for the first time, my guy,” Tabby said dryly. “I think ‘confused’ is the charitable descriptor here.”

“Let it go,” Arthur murmured.

But she’s weird! She’s being weird!

Arthur’s heart lurched. It was such a reminder of how young John was, even though he was simultaneously ancient. “You’re such a contradictory being,” he murmured.

Fuck you!

Arthur snorted. “You know what? Fuck you, too.”

John puffed like an angry bull.

Arthur ignored him and walked in the direction indicated. “Ma’am?” he called.

“Jesus fuck, definitely not ‘ma’am’, thanks,” Tabby said. “Over here. Got the door for you and everything.” And then, just as Arthur got ready to pass through the door, Tabby sighed. “John. Look, for what it’s worth, I’m… I’m glad you’re alright. Even if you’re a dick about it.”

I am not a dick!

“He doesn’t have a corporeal form, so there is no dick,” Arthur said primly (privately deeply pleased at John’s inarticulate snarl), and walked through the door.

“Tabby, I asked you to be nice,” the Keeper said, the frown evident in her voice.

“And I said ‘nuh-uh’,” Tabby replied. “I’m bringing y’all the last of the banana bread. I need more bananas, by the way. Everyone’s been eating it like crazy.”

“I’ll ask someone to obtain more for you. Thank you,” the Keeper said warmly. And then there was the soft shift of silk sliding over itself, and Arthur could feel the force of her gaze, like the sun itself turned to look at him. “Arthur, you’re looking better. And John, so are you! How are you feeling?”

John was absolutely quiet and still, as if to remain unseen.

“I’m feeling better, thank you. Able to eat regularly now,” said Arthur.

John stayed absolutely quiet and still.

“John’s doing a lot better,” Arthur said. “There’s a lot for him to overcome.”

“Indeed there is. Many would consider it insurmountable. I think, given the context, it’s quite brave of you to come see me today,” she said.

John trembled. You’re very large, he said (bravely).

“I am,” the Keeper said sweetly. “Please, take a seat. Hastur, you seem to be feeling much better than the last time we spoke as well.”

“All is well,” said Hastur, by which he could mean anything.

Arthur felt his way to a seat. “I was hoping you could help John adjust more. He… there’s a lot, is all.”

“Of course. Hastur paid for my aid in returning both you and John to your full health,” the Keeper said, clearly for John’s sake. “How are you feeling, John?”

John made a soft, frightened sound. Fine. We can go home now.

“Have you recovered any memories?” she asked, even gentler. “Any small bits of knowledge you shouldn’t otherwise know? Feelings towards people that have no basis? Deja vu?”

I… one. Just one.

Arthur knew his face fell. He couldn’t stop it.

Does she know? John whispered.

“I don’t know,” Arthur said. “Probably.”

A bad memory, John said.

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” the Keeper said gently. “Negative memories often leave powerful marks on our psyches; I’m sad to say it won’t be the last. Is this memory one you and Arthur shared?”

Yes. Rough. Though we experienced it in different ways.

“Tell her,” Arthur said. “It’s okay. You can tell her what I did.”

John gasped. But Arthur…

“It’s all right.” It was a whisper, delivered with his face turned down. “She probably knows, anyway. Kayne’s show, remember?”

John took a deep, disembodied breath. When… he had Arthur, John said, gesturing in Hastur’s direction, we were thrown into the prison pits, in the Dreamlands wilderness, and starved.

Arthur said nothing.

Hastur said nothing.

For no reason he knew, that made John angry. Starved. Starved. And then he threw this… man into the pit with us—a cannibal, who planned to kill and eat us, too. But I… It hurt. I… when Arthur touches a dead body, I see how they died, and this cannibal had a braid he’d cut from the woman he’d last killed and eaten, so… I found out what he was planning to do from that.

He hesitated.

No one spoke.

Damn them all. Arthur killed and ate him first.

Arthur said nothing. Did not look up, as if even the thought of the response to what he’d done was too much.

John watched her for signs of violence. He had a left hand. He’d get Arthur out of here if needed, by hook or by crook.

"That… I can certainly see that is the type of memory that would stick, lingering like an old wound," the Keeper said gently. "I'm sorry that was the first memory you recalled, John. And I'm sorry you both went through that. My understanding of the situation was, in the end, it brought the two of you closer; perhaps there's bitter irony in that the memory of it seems to be doing the same." She rose, the rustle of her silk skirts somehow soothing. "Would you like some tea? You don't have to drink, if you don't want to; sometimes, when I recount difficult memories, I find it helpful to hold onto something that I can ground myself with." She paused. "I learned it from Tabby."

John hadn’t expected that.

Arthur had clearly been hoping for it. “Yes, please.”

What, she’s fine with eating people? John hissed.

“I think she knows we had no choice,” Arthur whispered back.

We had no choice. There was no… John‘s voice choke off.

“It’s a complex situation,” the Keeper said gently. “You had to kill and eat to survive, forced by a god who is an expert in the various ways at which one can break the minds of human beings.”

“I am,” said Hastur simply, and John growled.

“If you had refused to eat, more than likely that man’s body would have rotted, providing an even less hygienic environment than you already had, and you would have starved even further to your detriment—plus, if you had elected later to eat in desperation, you were much more likely to have become ill from it. You made the only choice you could, and there is nothing to shame you for. And, not for nothing, I must remind you I am not human.” She let out a small, dry laugh. “Gods have no qualms about eating each other, if the need or opportunity arises. I have no desire to eat my siblings, but if one of them were to attack me with such viciousness that I needed to kill them, I would almost certainly eat them afterward.”

Arthur took John’s hand.

But I saw him die every time we… John said, barely audible.

“Oh,” the Keeper said, very softly. “You poor thing.” She turned to Hastur. “Did you know he could do that?”

“Yes. I took advantage of it in a place called Harper’s Hill to send a monster their way,” said Hastur.

So matter of fact about it. John growled again. Motherfucker.

“He remembered that.” Arthur sounded like he was on the verge of tears. “Of all things…”

“It’s a powerful, painful memory that the both of you share. It’s not surprising.” The Keeper set down a mug of tea in front of Arthur, the ceramic rattling lightly on the marble-topped desk. “Luckily, he had you there to guide him through it, Arthur.”

“I did what I could.” His thumb stroked the back of John’s hand. “But it doesn’t feel like enough.”

Arthur…

“You’re only human, Arthur.” He could feel the weight of her gaze on him, like a thousand-watt spotlight directly on a bare stage. “Suffocating yourself under the weight of your own expectations does no one any good.”

“I’m not… I’m not doing that,” Arthur said. “He’s always been there for me, at my lowest, at my… my heaviest burden. I must do the same for him. I’ll do anything to help him.”

“Are you not already doing that now?”

And maybe Arthur would have snapped at her, bared his teeth, if not for the sweetly innocent tone of her voice, the gentle question in it. “I’m trying!” he said, but it lacked vitriol. “I’m trying,” he said again, almost a whisper. “Can you help me do more?”

Arthur, you don’t need…

Arthur clutched his hand.

The Keeper was quiet for a long moment. “I would like to try something, Arthur, if you are willing.”

“Anything.” He looked up, though he could not see. “Anything you want to try.”

She let out a sound like faraway thunder. “I would like to speak to you privately. One-on-one, so you may speak freely without the fear of input from others.”

Arthur blinked several times, or maybe John did. “I don’t understand.”

John’s hand twitched.

“I would like to speak with you, and you alone, without the fear of being overheard by others,” the Keeper repeated, and there was no malice in her repetition, no harshness in her words. “You have a lot on your shoulders, Arthur, and no privacy in which to examine that which you carry without fear, without regret. Without others. I propose this: Hastur leaves the room, and I deafen John for a short time so you and I can converse in true privacy. John keeps your eyes and your hand so he can see that you remain unharmed; Hastur will be close by, and will respond to your mark, of course. Anything you say to me remains fully and completely confidential, and you and I can discuss strategies to address the issues that are on your mind.”

No!

Arthur hadn’t answered yet.

You can’t have him! John seemed to have gone somewhere nobody had intended with this suggestion.

Arthur still hadn’t answered.

“I am not taking him, John. I cannot take him from you.” The Keeper’s voice was measured and even. “I neither have the power or desire to do that.”

John growled.

“John,” said Arthur quietly. “What would it take for you to feel safe with this?”

You want to hide things from me? John said, his voice somehow child-like in spite of his basso profundo.

“No, no. I’ll tell you everything after. I just want to figure some things out without having to say what might… hurt you because I worded them poorly. I know things you don’t right now, and it’s very messy.”

Part two.

“Yes. All I’m trying to do is figure out how to help you.”

Be mine. That’s how.

Arthur blushed.

“No pressure,” Hastur said, and laughed, low and wicked.

In response to that, Arthur’s jaw set, the visible embodiment of stubbornness. He lifted his face. “I’m willing once John says yes.”

“John,” the Keeper said, her voice warm and gentle and soothing. “I know what it is I’m asking of you. You do not know me, and yet I am asking for you to set Arthur in my hands and trust that I aim to help. I very much do, John; on our first meeting, months ago, Hastur requested I unravel the reasons that Arthur is aging, and paid quite heavily for it. My reigning hypothesis is that Arthur’s own particular brand of power enables him to resist magic, including the magic of the mark which normally would grant him a limited form of immortality.”

John was making very small sounds. He… he paid? What? What did he pay?

“A memory. More, I will not say; confidentiality is important to me, as is keeping my word.”

A memory. Arthur’s eyes moved on their own, taking in the Scriptorium. Something you would treasure.

“Something more valuable than the entire public section of my Scriptorium,” she said. “I am beholden to him, and I will ensure Arthur’s health and safety.”

Arthur’s eyes swiveled to Hastur.

Hastur was unreadable, tentacles undulating, beautiful and horrible and magnificent and nightmarish. John hated him. John envied him. John feared him. But John knew damn well Hastur wouldn’t pay something important if he didn’t mean what he’d said.

John still held off answering for an awkward, silent moment, just to make them wait, just to have some control. Fine. I see everything. And you tell me what was said after.

“That’s a promise,” said Arthur, tension leaving his face.

“Thank you, John.” The Keeper reached out, gently patting the knuckles of John’s hand. “If at any point you do not wish to continue, Arthur, you may say so, and our conversation will end. John’s hearing will be restored, and I will summon Hastur back to attend to you. Is this amenable to you?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“I will be enjoying your marvelous library.” Hastur bowed (a thing John had definitely never seen before, and he both envied the grace and marveled at impossible humility) before floating away.

John suddenly felt very alone and very exposed. He clutched Arthur’s hand.

“I’m ready.” Arthur swallowed and sat up straight.

CHAPTER TWO

“First,” the Keeper said, and gestured. The door audibly locked. “Privacy is key, of course. And now, John: I will be able to hear you, still, though Arthur will not. Kindly keep that in mind. Alright?”

John audibly (impossibly) swallowed. All right. He had a death-grip on Arthur’s hand.

Arthur didn’t pull away.

There was a subtle shift in the air, and suddenly, John was silent. “John,” the Keeper said. “If you can hear me, please squeeze Arthur’s hand three times.”

John’s grip remained the same.

“Arthur,” the Keeper said gently. “Thank you for agreeing to speak to me. How are you feeling, in this moment?”

Arthur hesitated. “I’m tired.” His eyes filled. “I’m so tired. And I don’t… I can’t trust so much of what he says, and I… I miss him, but that makes no sense because I have him. I don’t know what to do. I don’t think I’m enough.” He wiped his eyes.

“Oh, Arthur,” the Keeper said, her voice tender. “I can hardly blame you. Recovering from the poisoning would be exhausting enough, even without caring for John through this. This is not a situation that can be fixed with a clever application of magic, or even love alone. No manual has been written for this; I would know, after all.” She laughed, soft and gentle like a distant bell. “Do you feel as if you’re grieving?”

“Yes,” softly. “But… he’s here. It isn’t right. It isn’t fair of me, at all.”

“Who says that the only proper reason to grieve is death?” The Keeper shifted in her chair, and Arthur was struck by the sudden idea that she moved to make sure he knew she was still there, still somewhere he could track her. “John appears to be regaining his memories, and this is something good; but you are still allowed to grieve the loss of what the both of you had, however temporary this loss may be. Perhaps it is not fair, but, what part of your situation is at all ‘fair?’”

His face tightened. “No, you’re right. You’re right. It’s fair.”

“Is it? How is it fair, then?”

“I… haven’t exactly laid the brickwork for an easy road for myself.”

“That you certainly have not. If anything, it almost seems as though you make things harder for yourself, even when others try to help clear the way for you,” the Keeper said. “Why do you think that may be?”

He bristled. “I haven’t made them harder for myself. I’m just saying I… choices have consequences, and I’ve made a lot of choices.”

“And I by no means am disagreeing with that statement; I merely am commenting on what appears to be an overarching thread. There have been several instances now in which you have been offered forgiveness, genuine apology, or affection, and it almost appears as though you rejected them, at least to me. Do you feel you don’t deserve these things?”

He couldn’t see her. He still managed a pretty good hardboiled stare. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Because your determination makes things happen, Arthur.” Her voice was calm, gentle. “Your extraordinary will enables you to resist some of the most powerful magics that exist in the known universe; you kept John from succumbing to a poison that was specifically designed to kill Forgotten Ones, a poison that shreds apart mortal souls like paper. And yet, despite the potency of this attack, you survived. You resist the magic of Outer Gods, and you currently resist the magic from two different gods who are trying to keep you from aging. So, I ask again: do you not feel as if you deserve forgiveness, or apology, or affection?”

His brow knit. This was a look Hastur knew well, and she was beginning to: fucking stubborn. “I don’t see the connection. No, in answer to your question. I don't. I know I don’t. I know what I am. Happy now?”

“‘Happy’ is not the word I would use, no. But I appreciate your honesty.” She refilled his tea, judging by the sound of pouring liquid. “I do not ask with the intent to be cruel. I believe that your guilt may be part of the reason that you are resisting the dual marks on your soul, and John’s own guilt may in turn be hampering his recovery, whether he is aware of it or not. That is why I ask: to examine if, perhaps, we can find a way to comfort John, and allow these painful memories to come back without additional damage.”

Arthur went very still. He started to answer; stopped. Shifted. “You… you think I’m… resisting the marks with the power of a guilty conscience?”

She ruminated on that for a moment. “It is a bit more complex than that, but I suppose putting it into the simplest possible terms: yes.”

His mouth fell open. “You’re shitting me.”

“I truly wish I was. I wish I had an easier solution than ‘find a way for Arthur Lester to forgive himself so that he no longer ages, which conveniently models self-compassion for John, who can (probably) stop fighting the recovery of his memories and return to himself more fully.’” She took a sip of tea.

“Wait, no. No, hold on. Hold on.” He stood, sat down, and scowled like a pro. “You’re telling me I have to deceive myself in order to be what John needs?”

“Interesting choice of words,” the Keeper said. “From my perspective, John is afraid. He has been thrust into a situation in which he likely feels like he’s acting in a play without a script, and that everything will fall to pieces if he does not find a way to play his part adequately. His first regained memory was one of mutual horror and pain, tinged with the guilt that his presence was part of the reason you were in the pits to begin with. I imagine he’s in a similar position as you, now: feeling guilt over actions of the past, unable to forgive himself for his part in them, and that makes him afraid of triggering memories going forward.” She paused. “Am I making sense?”

That was an oh, fuck, face. “I… you’re saying I can’t help him work past that unless I… project that, somehow? Show him… I… it’s not the same situation! I can’t just…pretend it’s the same! I… I’m not… he wasn’t the…” He took a deep, stabilizing breath. “I have done things that can’t just be overlooked. But you’re telling me I have to or I can’t help him. You’re sure. You’re sure?”

“So has he, Arthur. So has Hastur.” She let out another low hum. “Do you still hate Hastur, for what he did to you?”

“No,” Arthur said quietly. “I don’t. I honestly never really hated him, anyway. That was more John’s thing.”

“May I ask why?” And there it was again, that innocent curiosity.

Arthur was quiet for a moment, just linking his fingers with John’s. When he spoke, his answer was quiet, face turned down. “How could I hate him for bringing my daughter back and giving her everything I never could?”

“Many would hate someone who tortured them, starved them, forced them to turn to cannibalism, and then weaponized their most painful loss with the intent of permanent harm. Your daughter's return has become a wonderful thing, but I know it wasn't always that way.”

Oh, how he scowled. “It was. It was.”

She folded her hands, demure. “And John has changed, has he not? In part because of you, and in part because of Faroe.”

“She’s worth it.” He said that almost too fast, as if anticipating pushback. “She’s worth it all.”

“Of course she's worth it,” the Keeper said, certain and precise. “What about you, Arthur? Do you feel as though you've changed?”

“I… yes, all right. He’s changed. And I’ve changed.” He swallowed. “I know I’ve changed. Some of it’s for the better.”

“It is not an insignificant thing, change; a god, changing for a mortal. The few times Hastur and I have spoken on Faroe, I can hear it in every syllable, read it on every cell of his body. But is that change enough? Have you forgiven him for what he's done to you?”

Arthur seemed confused. “Of course. I had to. John’s the one who’s getting pissed all over again.” As if John had found peace with it all, though it’s unclear where Arthur found that idea.

“If you can forgive the ancient being who tortured you,” the Keeper said, painfully innocent, "why can't you forgive yourself for not being able to magically fix John?”

Arthur went very, very still. “That’s not what I… that’s not it.”

“Well. What is it, then? It can’t be about the poisoning; that was targeted specifically at John, not at you, and you saved his life. I was there, so I know exactly how that shook out; you can’t argue you somehow made it worse. So what is it?” She let out a very soft, small sigh. “You don’t need to answer right now, of course. I understand that is a difficult question; but it’s a question I think is worth exploring.”

Oh, his expression was miserable. “Do… do you know about Faroe?”

“I do,” she said, and her voice was so gentle. “I know what happened, Arthur. I did research on you; I found her birth certificate. And I found her obituary. I understand the reason why you shattered, Arthur."

His lower lip trembled; then he hardened. “Then you know why I can’t be angry at the one who brought her back. And why I can’t forgive myself for losing her in the first place.” His voice dropped. “And how John’s situation isn’t like mine.”

“I am not asking you to forgive yourself for that, Arthur," she said. “John's situation is different, and yet you're punishing yourself in a similar way for being unable to fix him. He needs you, and though you have done admirably by every measure, you still believe it is not enough. He recounted a traumatic memory, and you kept him safe, and yet you still punish yourself with the same intensity. Why?”

“Because of what I did!” His voice was high and cracking. “Just because the stars fucking aligned and I got her back doesn’t mean I didn’t do it! It doesn’t mean I didn’t… fail her on such a level that I…” He had to stop, breath hitching, fighting wildly with his grief. “I know what I am. And I lose people. I don’t dare try to help him on my own.”

Her gaze was intense. “And what does Faroe think of that, Arthur?”

The way his jaw set was really something—a wildly stubborn look that would strike deities as cute or infuriating, no in-between. “She… forgave me.” His lips twitched, softened. “By royal decree.”

“And how would she feel, to know you're still punishing yourself for it, despite her insistence you're forgiven?”

He turned his face away. “I don’t want her to know. She might blame herself, and it isn’t her fault.” Which wasn’t quite an answer.

“You also kept the truth of her parentage close to your chest, until the end,” the Keeper said, soft. “That little girl needs you, Arthur, especially as she is becoming a young woman. John needs you; not as someone to fix him, but as his friend and companion.” She paused for a long second. “Hastur needs you. And the way things are going…” She let out a soft sigh. “Arthur, I have another question. You do not need to answer if you don’t wish to: but I feel, deeply, it is important.”

He licked his lips before answering. “Okay. Ask it. Whatever it is.”

“Do you want to die, Arthur?”

Arthur went dead white.

The trembling began with his chin, an emotional crumbling, working its way up to his lips, tightening his eyes, until he curled forward, covering his face with his hands, and sobbed just once. “I’m not trying to die,” he said, which was far from a no. “I’m not suicidal. I just… I… thought it would end naturally, and then I learn they’re going to try to keep me forever, and I… it’s like a hallway with no way out. I’m so afraid of what I’m going to do to them all. I’m so tired. And I can’t… I can’t lose anyone else. Not again. But it’s going to happen because people I love die.”

She reached out, her fingertips brushing Arthur’s knuckles—only for John’s hand to swat them away, and she let out a soft noise. “You are one of the reasons, currently, they all thrive the way they do. They need you, Arthur.”

Arthur’s hand shook as he covered his face.

John’s hand flipped her off. Flailed. Gripped Arthur’s wrist and pulled as if to lift him bodily through the air.

“John is… distressed,” she said, voice low and worried. “He’s very distressed. I’m going to bring him back in, Arthur. He needs you.”

Arthur took another sharp breath. “I’m sorry. I… let me talk to him, and we can…” and he pulled it together. “Let me talk to him. It’ll be all right.”

—reach you, we’re leaving, and no one can stop us, and I don’t care what he says!

“You’re back, John. Arthur can hear you again.” The Keeper’s voice was gentle. “Would you two like a moment alone, before I summon Hastur back?”

John’s breath—metaphysical or not—was hard and fast. Arthur!

“I’m here, John.” He couldn’t even try to make his voice cheerful.

Arthur! What’d she say? What’d she do? Damn you and your help!

“Shhh. It’s okay.” Arthur caught his hand, speaking against the back. “It’s okay. I’m okay,” he lied.

Liar!

“John, it’s going to be alright,” the Keeper said, soothing but firm. “Arthur is safe. We had a difficult conversation, but—”

Fuck you!

“I’m sorry,” said Arthur in a horrible, shattered tone. “She didn’t hurt me. It’s my own… what I’ve done that…”

You said you wouldn’t take him away! John cried, and his voice cracked. You—you broke him, too! Just like Hastur did, you fucking monster!

Arthur gasped.

“Did you regain another memory?” The Keeper’s voice was soft, almost awed.

Fuck off!

“John?”

John was puffing. He broke him. Right there, using her. I saw. I saw!

“Oh, gods. John, no—”

John gathered power, beginning to cast.

Arthur gasped again. “Don’t cast magic! I can’t do it right now!”

And John… whimpered.

It wasn’t a sound Arthur had heard from him before. “John?”

Why is all of it… why…

“Why is he only remembering the bad things?” Arthur said.

“Because those are the memories you seek to define yourself by,” the Keeper said, gentle but firm. “He learned from you, Arthur. But we can start to fix it.”

Arthur went pale again.

Don’t you dare put this on—

“She’s right.” A flat tone. “She’s right. I did that to you, John. I taught you that.”

A sputtering. You didn’t teach me anything!

Arthur laughed weakly. “Maybe we can largely agree on that, but… no. No. I taught you that.” He exhaled slowly. “And I have to undo it, somehow.” He rubbed his face. “I’m sorry, John. I didn’t think… I’ll fix it. I promise, I’ll find a way to fix it.”

Fix… you… what are you talking about? This isn’t your fault! Everybody aims for you! Hastur! This Keeper! The Bu… he stopped.

“The Butcher, John?” said Arthur very quietly.

He was going to break your hands!

Arthur shuddered. “We got away, though at a price. Remember?”

A long pause. No!

“That’s all right. It’s all right. We’ll work through it together.”

“The wound has been exposed,” the Keeper said, “And now that we’re aware, treatment can begin for both of you.” She sighed. “For what it’s worth, Arthur… I wish my hypothesis had been wrong. But I hold out hope that maybe, just maybe, I can still be proven incorrect.”

He nodded. “You are.”

What hypothesis?

“A theory,” said Arthur.

The Keeper rustled her way to the door, followed by that piercing, teary golden gaze. “I’m going to give you two a few minutes to collect yourselves before I get Hastur. Will that be alright? Or would you like longer?”

“Thanks. I think that will be fine.”

Maybe keep him away forever.

“I can’t do that, but I’ll give you time to talk.” And she was gone.

A beat of silence.

You swore to me, John hissed.

“I know. I’ll keep my word. Just… give me a minute, okay?” Arthur said, wiping his eyes.

What did she do?

“You remember him breaking me.” He wasn’t a question.

John’s tiny breath was shaky. Yes, but I don’t… I don’t understand. I don’t know how we got there, to that room. I don’t know why the memory feels so… ashamed.

“Ashamed?” Arthur yipped. “Over what?”

I don’t remember! John cried.

Arthur swallowed. “I think we have to talk about part two.”

I’m afraid of part two.

“We’ll get through it.” It was a vow, and as the Keeper came back inside, she saw the entanglement between them tighten, like their hands, like their choices, more bound and binding and clinging by the second.

CHAPTER THREE

Hastur was quiet, taking them home.

John was quiet, clutching Arthur’s hand.

Arthur was quiet, chewing the Keeper’s words.

No. No, he wasn’t… he wasn’t what she said. No.

It didn’t matter, though. Not with what faced him now. He had to tell John part two.

It was… maybe going to require a part three, now that he thought about it. From his time with Yellow on, through the moment when Hastur broke him… that was part two.

Carcosa had its own part. It had to. There was so much…

Arthur.

He would never grow tired of the way John said his name. John put meaning in it. John made his name matter. “Yes?”

I’m not letting go.

“Neither am I.”

Good. Join sounded like he needed it. Good.

“After everything we’ve been through,” Arthur began.

Yes?

Oh, this was so hard. “It’s time for part two.”

Hastur inhaled quietly, but said not a word.

Good. This… needed some privacy.

The garden was warm this evening. Sweat trickled down Arthur’s sides under his shirt and cooled along his hairline. He followed the sound of the fountain, ignoring distant chatter from some strolling beasts, and sat.

So this is just where we do this, huh? said John, sounding amused. The Fountain of Confessions.

Arthur smiled wryly. “Well, it seemed appropriate to continue where we left off.”

John’s hand wandered across his waist, clinging to Arthur’s shirt, as if physically representing their entanglement. He’d been doing that since they left the Scriptorium. Might as well.

Arthur lay his hand over John’s. “Buckle in. A lot happened in a few days. After you came back to me, Larson had me—us—thrown down into his mine.”

It was too much.

Too much horror in a few days, and the parts Arthur did not know threatened like malevolent shades, stalking in the gloom.

John knew there was more. Arthur had nearly (nearly?) died, and didn’t know, and You saved me. You stitched my wound wasn’t enough.

Something more had happened. Something…

Then Arthur got to the train, and that was wild (and so smart!), and John had no room to worry about the rest.

He did it, John kept thinking, growing more amazed at this ridiculous, insane, courageous human by the moment.

Scratch. The widow. Daniel. The Butcher again. Oscar. The horror of reconstituting a god.

The betrayal in Scratch’s face and voice.

The understanding he’d pushed Arthur to finish what they’d started, sealing that betrayal.

Daniel dying, Arthur at his side. Others trying to take John and running into what John now recognized as Arthur’s absurd willpower.

The gate nearly opening. The gate…

You broke your end of the deal. And John remembered the voice, remembered the accusation, remembered…

“John! John, it’s all right! John!” Arthur held John’s hand to his lips, his breath hot, his voice sharp.

I… what did I…

He remembered reneging on a deal with… with…

“I’m here,” John, whispered Arthur, because he was, because he always would be, even though he’d almost been…

What did I do?

“You made a deal,” said Arthur slowly. “You never told me the details. What matters is you didn’t follow through.”

How could he say that? But I…

“It was like in the hotel. In Leerie. You… when the moment came to spend my life and change places…”

To open the gate, John said thickly.

“You pulled back. Because I can trust you, John, no matter what you’ve come from, no matter what you’ve done. You are what you choose to do now, and I trust you.”

But he shouldn’t.

John wept softly. Arthur joined him. It wasn’t the screaming nightmare memory of Faust, of what they’d had to do. This was quiet, a grief, a regret; for releasing her into the world had done great things.

Terrible things.

She was probably, he realized, the reason all those nations were suddenly able and willing to access the occult in their world-wide war, the reason Parker would never go back there by choice, the reason Arthur was safer here because Scratch’s memory of favoritism and betrayal had made her so insanely obsessed with Arthur, torn between keeping and destroying Arthur, but in both cases it only meant torment, nightmare, twisted memories as if to shatter his mortal soul.

And yet she hadn’t. Faroe had done that. And Hastur. All her efforts, over the three years they were on the run, had not broken this incredible man—though John now suspected it might have led to the ease of that shatter.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you. You… I didn’t die,” Arthur said.

But he had, hadn’t he? Touched by the Dark World, bruised by its fingers gripping and sliding off him like some abusive lover as Arthur escaped out the door.

Arthur had chosen to live. Between that and John fighting the deal he’d made, and Kayne focused on gloating like a monster, and her showing up out of nowhere to take Arthur for herself—

“We got away.”

They had.

“We ran, John. The stone was shattered. They couldn’t use it anymore.”

No… but they could use the pieces they’d likely found.

Arthur kept talking, rocking them back and forth, saying without saying that he forgave this betrayal though he should not have, and as he discussed another train and another spooky town in New England and another attempt to rebuild their life, John only had one thought.

It’s me. I’m the bad person.

He’d betrayed. He should be put to death. Justice delivered. Instead…

Instead, they’d set up as “Peter Saltzman, P.I.,” and survived.

And Arthur never brought it up (but should have). And they both really enjoyed their new life (which John did not deserve). And it hadn’t occurred to them why nobody was able to track them down, especially since Arthur still dreamed.

She should have found them. Why hadn’t she?

It seemed Arthur had ideas on that, too. “It was because of Hastur. I’m sure of it now. He’d begun leaving those… clues that shook me so badly long before he came with Faroe in his arms. Tilling the soil.”

Yes. Yes. John didn’t remember everything, but he remembered the effect.

There was a photo of a murdered little girl with curly dark hair and sweet, round cheeks.

A packet of baby clothes patterns, designed by someone whose sloppily written name looked like B—a Le—er.

A vinyl long-playing record with a piano piece eerily similar to a certain waltz Arthur had written for his daughter, close enough that it sent him into a panic attack.

Small dresses and baby shoes.

A drowned little boy in a bathtub, though that had been on purpose, and that guy who did it got shot in the face and it was good.

The fucking neighbor’s kid being named Darrow, which wasn’t fucking Faroe, but guess what that sounded like, leaking through the walls, as a frustrated parent yelled at a toddler all day?

“I’m sure there were more,” said Arthur, still rocking them both just a little, holding John’s hand between his shoulder and his cheek. “I don’t… remember a lot of them. You said it was endless, and objectively nothing—stuff you’d only connect to my past by assuming. Coincidences. But it was so many coincidences.”

John swallowed. And your dreams?

“All over the place at first. Just dreams. We’d decided if we had any hint at all that she’d found us, we’d run, but it never got like that. And it should have. I think… maybe… Hastur staked some sort of claim.”

John growled.

“It doesn’t matter, John.”

It fucking does.

“I got my daughter back.”

And there was no climbing over that one, was there? No pushing through. No tight hole to wriggle one’s way inside. That was it, the end of the conversation, and John wanted badly to bite something.

Arthur sighed. “I’m tired.”

John was, too, but he really didn’t want to drag this out. You want a… part three?

“Please, John. I… going over this again, remembering… I really thought we’d gotten away. Those three years in Maine.” Tears slid down his cheeks, wetting John’s hand. “I’d begun to believe it. I don’t want to spend too much time in that remembrance. In what we’ve forever lost. Please, John.”

Holy fuck.

Arthur…

Arthur needed help, and John didn’t know how to help him, but they knew someone who did.

This was for Arthur. For Arthur, he could be brave. We’re going back to the Keeper tomorrow.

Arthur hadn’t expected that. “What?”

John almost saw the connection. The way Arthur had resisted the Dark World’s pull, the way he resisted the marks now… Tomorrow.

“All right,” said Arthur, and wiped his face. “We can do that.”

Then part three.

“Did you… remember anything else during this?” said Arthur slowly.

You broke your end of the deal.

No.

Broke your end of the—

“That’s good,” said Arthur, who should know better than to trust John, and stood.

They didn’t say much as they got ready for bed, bathing and climbing onto the huge mattress with a weariness of mind that sapped the body. Arthur hummed, though.

John needed it. That small music. He noted how the whole place seemed to react when Arthur sang, how the shriek-birds went quiet, and sentient plants peeked over the balcony as if they wanted to listen, and—when Arthur did it in public—how passing creatures always stilled to hear.

Arthur didn’t know. He just made music, and when he did, he moved the gods.

Mine, John thought before he could stop himself, though he knew he did not deserve it.

Maybe that didn’t matter. Maybe this surpassed paltry things like morality. Arthur was his, and he’d fight to keep him—and apparently, had before, as well.

Broke your—

He wouldn’t think about it. It had been years. None of that mattered anymore.

This was for Arthur, and for Arthur, he would do whatever it took.

CHAPTER FOUR

“Again?” said Hastur.

Yes. Now.

Faroe eyed them sidelong. Larson spread jam on his flatbread, pretending disinterest.

Hastur’s tentacles curled through the air, enviably graceful (and John wished he could be as beautiful as that). “Very well. After court.”

“You’re different today,” said Faroe. “John, I mean.”

“How is he different?” said Arthur.

She considered. “Like a candle after the draft has been shut off.”

“So he’s… steady?” said Arthur with such hope that John almost groaned.

“Yes,” she said as though passing some royal judgment.

John growled just… well, he didn’t know why, but because.

Nobody took that too seriously, and the conversation moved on.

Hastur must have made one hell of a deal, because he evidently had open access to the Scriptorium any time. Absolutely wild.

The staff scuttered around, all of them wearing that focused, bright look of treasure hunters hot on the trail, and none seemed to even find it remarkable that Hastur and his whatever had come back.

John was still certain that Tabby was worshiping something, but the Keeper seemed unlikely. Not her style.

It could be endangering Arthur. He would find out if it cost his last—

Hastur exhaled again, weighty, slow.

Well, whatever that was about. Keeper!

“Welcome back,” she said, voice bright and warm. “I wasn’t expecting you again so soon; are the both of you feeling a bit better?”

No, said John.

“Yes,” said Arthur.

A beat.

Maybe, said John.

“Somewhat,” said Arthur.

Hastur sounded amused. “Do you have time for them?”

“I can make time,” she said, and opened a door in the wall. “Did you think about what we spoke about, Arthur?”

Arthur drew himself up as tall as he could go, which wasn’t very. “Yes. I have some critique.”

Hastur’s many eyes widened, not that Arthur could see it.

That wasn’t what John expected. Are… you sure?

The Keeper turned, her gaze falling on him like the heat of the summer sun at noon. “Well. I certainly look forward to hearing it, then. I will admit I did not handle our conversation as best I could.”

“No, you were fine.” It was Arthur’s bargaining voice—vaguely, John recalled that Arthur thought he was a hard bargainer. “But we need to talk. You and me.”

“Oh. That sort of talk, and so soon. Very well.”

“Thank you.”

If Hastur was surprised at this, he hid further reactions. “I will wait. Thank you for your time.”

Wait a minute! This meeting was my idea!

“I’m sure Tabby will find you shortly,” the Keeper said to Hastur, her voice fond. “Thank you.”

Hastur bowed out.

“You can talk to her first,” Arthur offered.

Now it was suddenly scary. I… of course I will!

“Alright,” she said, gesturing to the plush armchairs, the couch. “Take a seat, the both of you. May I get you anything? Tea?”

“Yes, please,” Arthur said, still in his hard-bargain voice.

John thought it was adorable. She must, too. He growled preemptively.

“Of course.” She produced the teapot from nowhere (as per usual), a mug and a teacup manifesting themselves on the short coffee table between them. “I apologize for yesterday, John. I didn’t realize that we would end up triggering another distressing memory while we spoke. How are you doing?”

Oh, the pressure. Yes. That was not the right reply. Fine. Can only you hear me now?

“I can make it so Arthur does not hear, yes,” she said. “Is that alright, Arthur? I’ll put on a bit of music for you, in the meantime.”

“I’m fine with that.” He hesitated. “Could we do that musical? The one you had on before.”

“The Sound of Music! You remembered!” she said, sounding delighted. “Yes, absolutely. I’ll start it from the top for you.”

It was strange, seeing her act without the need of performance; she raised a hand and a gramophone twisted into the air from nothing and spun to life, strings swelling, and then John could hear it… dim, just faintly. “It’s just us now, John,” she said gently. “What is it you would like to tell me?”

John missed the mirrors. He couldn’t see Arthur’s expression—but at least he seemed physically relaxed. I figured something out. I think I know what’s happening with Arthur.

“You did? Please, share. I would like to compare theories.” She settled into the chair, lifting her cup of tea and swirling it.

He eyed her. She’d better not be mocking him. I think the problem is he doesn’t want to be owned. And he huffed because really. Absurd.

The Keeper paused, tilted her head, and seemed to ruminate on that for a bit. “That is… unfortunate for him, in quite a lot of aspects,” she said thoughtfully. “How do you figure?”

Wasn’t it obvious? He is fiercely independent. He wants to do things his own way, to the point he resists even sensible suggestions. He’s resisted me. And Hastur. The coup de grâce: And he’s resisted death.

“That he has, multiple times,” she said, pensively. “I believe his uncanny powers of resistance are part of the reason the two of you are still alive and speaking to me now. The other part, of course, was you; your entanglement meant that with you there, he could not be loosed from the body fully, and in turn he would not let you go to the Dark World.”

John’s golden form swelled like a bullfrog. Me? I helped?

“You did,” she said. “You enabled him to hang on long enough for Hastur to call upon my help. Just as you, in the past, have dragged him to safety with one arm, or stitched up his wounds with no help. You can be quite astounding in your own right.”

Oh, it felt so good to be seen!

He’d been trying! He’d tried so hard! He sniffled. He’s mine, you know, he said, because maybe she’d see that, too.

“Yes, he is.” Her voice was tender. “He was yours even before you marked him, John. He loves you, just as much as you love him. Only a fool would seek to separate you two.”

John exhaled. He had no idea it was like Hastur’s, a release of weight. So. I think he’s resisting the marks out of stubbornness because it wasn’t his idea. He told me it wasn’t.

“I certainly think that could be a part of it. There are a lot of threads in the tapestry of Arthur Lester that are tangled up, and I…” She paused. “I think I may have confused my metaphors. But I trust you understand what I mean. There are many layers to this issue, and I believe lingering resentment over the nature of being marked may be part of that, no matter how it has turned out since.” She set down her teacup on the saucer. “Thank you for telling me this. I really, truly appreciate it.”

He could see why they liked her. She understood. So how do we fix him?

It was a “we” now.

“That is what I’m working on currently,” she said, gently. “Arthur… Arthur is stubborn, as you know. He also has a very strong sense of justice, which I’m sure you also know. Where we are coming into conflict is that Arthur’s sense of justice is making it difficult for him to move forward, instead of dwelling on the past.” She folded her hands, pensive. “More than that, I cannot say; that is for Arthur to tell you, not for me. But Arthur’s stubbornness, combined with his lingering feelings, creates a potent cocktail of resistance.”

John pondered this.

He chewed it, testing its taste, its texture.

He came to his own decision. So, he said. I have to help him move on from the past. And he gasped. He’s not giving himself a chance! That hypocrite!

That hypocrite had begun to lightly hum along with Julie Andrews, but anyway.

“In a sense. It’s a bit more complex than that,” the Keeper said. “Arthur has defined himself by his past; it leaks into everything he does. What I am looking to do is help him begin to envision a future; something for him to look forward to. Something to want to strive for. Does that make sense?”

John huffed. I’ll make him strive for his own standards. Yes. It makes sense. Now, I know what to do. And he startled Arthur by reaching up and touching his jaw.

Arthur caught John’s hand and held it to his cheek for a moment.

I won’t let you drown, John whispered, and did not even remember vowing it before.

“I’m glad to have you on the team, John,” the Keeper said, her voice warm. “I know I can count on you. Should I bring Arthur back, or was there anything else you wanted to tell me?”

No, it’s time. He was proud of how strong he sounded. I’m ready.

“Very well. Thank you, John.” The music grew louder in John’s ears, as did Arthur’s humming. “Oh,” the Keeper said wistfully. “You’ve got such a lovely voice, Arthur. We’re back, now, all three of us; did you enjoy the music?”

Arthur blushed. “Thank you. Yes, I really did. This is amazing music.” And pleasantries done—“John. Are you all right?”

Yes. John rested his hand on their leg. She’s wise.

Arthur’s face went long. “Is she, now?”

Yes, she is, said John as though he’d made this groundbreaking discovery.

“I can’t wait to hear how it all went.” Arthur stroked John’s fingers. “But you’re all right.”

Yes. Have your little session and we can go home.

Arthur did laugh this time, gently. “All right. I’m ready, ma’am.”

“Same rules as before: if you no longer wish to continue the conversation, say so, and it ends,” she said, gently—and then John went quiet but for the gentle twitch of his hand beneath Arthur’s. “Now. How are you, Arthur?”

Arthur checked. John squeezed his hand back. Arthur nodded. And he turned to the Outer God, whose presence he could feel like a flame. “I think you’re wrong.”

“Well, how very fascinating,” she said, pleasantly interested. “You understand, I am not often wrong about things. This is a bit of a surprise for me. How do you figure?”

“I don’t want to die. And I have proof.”

“With evidence! Even better.” She adjusted her skirts, picking up her teacup. “Please, elaborate.”

That look could get him killed. That look could get him captured. It was a weirdly defiant look, too personal, impossible not to feel. “When John asked me to get in shape so I could play with Faroe, I did. Would someone who wanted to die do this?” And so help him, he flexed his bicep.

“...Oh!” Her voice was… Bright. Sparkling. And it sounded suspiciously like she was fighting the urge to laugh. “...Well. Motivation to keep up with your daughter certainly made a potent medicine. I don’t know that I would… discount my theory, based upon it. But I think that brings us to a very interesting point: you’ve spent the past six—nearly seven—years finding ways to survive for the sake of your daughter. When you think of her growing up, what do you think of?”

The hardness melted. “That’s… I don’t know anymore. I used to imagine… like her mother. A strong woman, maybe finding… real love. Which I didn’t. But she could. I wanted her to grow up in a world that let her vote. I wanted her to live a full life. Now…” He took a deep breath. “I think she’s going to be a goddess.” So softly. “So far above me. Above anyone I ever knew, and… I want that for her. She deserves the world, and always did, and thanks to Hastur, she’ll have that.”

“Do you envision yourself there, at her side? Supporting her during her coronation?”

He was silent for too long.

He wanted to lie.

He wanted to say what he should say.

The hesitation was oddly tense; maybe it was his weird magic thing, his will, like wind affecting the waves.

John stroked his hand with his thumb.

Arthur made his choice. “I don’t see myself there. It doesn’t mean I want to die.”

“Perhaps.” She made the softest sound, like she was sipping her tea. “What do you think you would be doing instead, Arthur?”

Fuck. He’d trapped himself. “I don’t see myself at all.” And he scowled “I don’t plan to die!”

“Let’s take a step back, then,” she said, frustratingly soothing. “I can agree with you that it doesn’t seem you want to kill yourself, or harm yourself. But Arthur: current difficulties notwithstanding, you’re marked. There’s no reason you shouldn’t be around when Faroe gets older. Have you thought about the future much?”

He licked his lips. “I…” but he didn’t know where that was going. He paused.

The silence got to John, but didn’t upset him like Arthur’s tears. He stroked Arthur’s hand again.

Arthur sighed. “I don’t see anything. Anything.”

“Therein lies the problem, Arthur; you exist, yes. You survive. But not wanting to die is not the same as wanting to live.” She shifted, settling into her chair. “It’s alright for you to want to see your daughter grow up, you know. Just as it’s alright for you to want to see John safe, and cared for. John most certainly wants you to stay by his side forever; you know that, right?”

He shifted. “I…” He swallowed. “I want to stay with John.” And he had no idea the import of those words: something he wanted. “I… I can’t… I don’t… deserve this. I don’t know how to want what you’re saying.”

“What is it that you want, Arthur? Do you know?”

He hung his head.

John didn’t know—couldn’t—but held his hand tightly.

Arthur lifted it to his lips, gently, a soft and intimate movement. “I don’t know.” It’s almost a whisper. “I don’t know. How can I want anything? It’s not… nothing is mine to want. Even John is just… he’s stuck with me. I know that, even if he doesn’t.”

The Keeper let that hang in the air for a moment. “What do you know about magic, Arthur?”

“Not much, if I’m honest.” He shrugged. “John casts it. I just have to be willing.”

“Indeed,” she said. “Magic is defined by will; the will of oneself to change the world around you, to shape it further to your desires. The relative strength of magic often depends on the will of its wielder; for gods, this comes as naturally to us as breathing, and thus magic is part of our innate beings. For mortals like yourself, this can vary; but you have quite the strong will, Arthur. You have survived a great many things that ought to have killed you, even before you and John cast your first spell.”

Arthur’s brow knit. “It almost sounds like you’re saying I somehow have a willpower to match the gods. I don’t. A lot would never have happened to me—to us—if I did.”

“On the contrary, Arthur; I found your medical records.” There was a soft shuffling of papers. “You got pneumonia when you were four months old, did you know that? A death sentence for any other infant; but not for you. And in 1918, while living in Boston, going to school, twenty-eight people in your apartment block came down with influenza, including your next door neighbor; about a quarter of them died. You, evidently, had nary a sniffle.” She let out a soft hum. “And that’s not to mention everything that happened to you after John. Gunshots, stabbings; a month long coma. Is that where he got the name?”

Arthur was quiet. He knew these things. He refused—with an almost poetic insistence—to put them together. “He did. He… a nurse came in and addressed me as John Doe, since no one knew who I was. It was John’s only communication during that time. He chose to build a new identity from it.”

“I can see it touched him deeply. I never got a chance to ask if he had a surname; I had a guess it was Doe, before I got ahold of your records, but I was nearly positive afterward.” She shuffled the papers back and forth. “John helped bring you back from some of the more egregious wounds you suffered, this is true; however, most people would die after being impaled from behind by an eldritch creature, regardless of whether or not their wounds were stitched up, and certainly they would die if they didn’t receive medical attention shortly thereafter. Except for… you.”

Arthur scowled. “He saved my life!”

“He did… though not with the stitching, Arthur.” He could hear her shift, hear the clink of her teacup against the porcelain saucer. “You weren’t going to take him to the Dark World with you, not after finally getting him back. You had a desire to live, Arthur, to protect John; but when Hastur lured you and John into his trap, nearly seven years ago, you lost that desire.”

He bared his teeth, trembling. “You’re saying I saved myself because I was saving him. And when Hastur broke me—“ He had to stop for a moment. “I couldn’t… I almost… but no. No! I waited! I was going to wait until—“ He stopped.

Until Faroe was gone.

Until Faroe was safe.

Then he was going to die.

It had been clear at the time. He hadn’t considered it since, hadn’t analyzed, just drifted in the sea of heavy depression. And he remembered—

“Not in front of her,” he whispered, finally making connections. “I won’t die by choice in front of her, so I haven’t been… I…”

The Keeper was right.

His thoughts fell still. He had no argument. His chest ached in time with the soft, regular ticking of a clock. Arthur hid his face in his hand.

“I’ve set a handkerchief down at about eleven-o-clock to you,” the Keeper said, very gently. “Take all the time you need.”

It felt like ceding something, to pick that up. But if it was going to help John—which was what all of this was about—he had to, hadn’t he?

For John, he could. For John, he would. Arthur took the handkerchief and danced at his eyes.

John wasn’t freaking out yet. They must have had a hell of a discussion.

“It isn’t my place to make demands of you, Arthur,” the Keeper said gently. “And I certainly don’t think it’s possible to force you to do something you don’t want to do. But what I would like you to do, for John, for Faroe, is to find a place for yourself in the futures they have. I know John can’t envision a future without you at his side, even in his current state.” Her long, papery fingers gently patted the back of his hand. “He made that very clear to me in our short conversation. Trust me.”

His expression was almost gaunt. “But if I… how can I… if I forgive what I did, then other people…” Which wasn’t what she’d said, but he clearly understood what was unsaid. “I won’t be a hypocrite.” He quieted. “‘Not on purpose. Do you know what you’re asking me to do?”

“Alas, perfection is unattainable even for the gods,” the Keeper sighed. “You have some time to work out your how, Arthur. You can be quite brilliant if you put your mind to it; think. Talk it out, if it suits you. And, of course, I am always available if you need a private sounding board.” He got the sense that she was smiling.

He wasn’t.

If he was going to save John, to avoid hurting Faroe, he’d have to want to live.

How? How did one do that? He had no idea how to find that again. Not since Hastur had…

His sigh was heavy, like the weight John and Hastur dropped had settled on him. “I’m ready to go back. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Arthur. I wish I could be of more help.” And with a gentle tap on the back of his hands, she returned John to him.

“John?” Arthur checked.

Good talk? said John smugly.

Which made Arthur bristle. “Yes.”

I knew it.

“Knew… you didn’t know anything! You said she was horrible.”

Before I talked to her, said John loftily.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Sure.”

Are we ready to go home?

And face it all?

And try to live out this new thing that still felt undeserved and immoral?

And fight his way toward helping them. “Yes,” said Arthur, drying his face, and both internally and externally, he sat up.

#malevolent #malevolent fic #surrogate series #arthur lester #john malevolent #the keeper (surrogate)

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💌 ) BEST BELOVED. okay time to be normal. here’s a tag for my comfort characters, never specified by name or dug into in any meaningful depth. i am putting them in my mouth and chewing. i am asking at all times to be reading illuminated treatsies on their actions and their subtexts and their costume designs and their leimotifs and to hold their beating heart in my hands (just to look at it!) and yeah, okay, also sometimes to suck their soul out of their body twice a day for the rest of my life.

💎 ) OLD MONEY. this is quite literally just my blair waldorf tag. it’s the newspapers in print and the purses that don’t carry cash and lipstick made custom and champagne from the valley and not just imitation. it’s the world that gatsby could entertain but never enter. it’s the girls who aren’t daisy. it’s a white winter in the city, but every path you walk on is still clean and dried. the grand vizier, the high pope, the dark curl-spilled queen to serena’s lion-haired king among men, morgan le fey come again to wear chanel.

🔏 ) POETRY. another normal tag! i am a horrific poet with barely a handful of daily lit deviations (i hope reading that phrase gave you flashbacks) under my belt, but the self-published poetry scene is finally recovering from the mass damage that instagram and richard siken fanfic did to it. and i for one am fucking pumped. other quotes with particularly good cadence will also be thrown in here just to jazz things up a bit.

📖 ) MEDIA. i’m on a normal tag roll. these are the stories that are important to me in ways unrelated to comfort characters or my deep abiding need to get plowed by questionable anime men. a lot of my favorite posts end up untagged on my sideblog because they’re not as structured as i like my main to be, so the ones that do make the cut are guaranteed to have been heralded by me physically showing one of my spices my phone.

🥠 ) LITTLE THOUGHTS. essentially a text post tag. a lot of them have tended to be sweet or sad rather than silly, but i like collecting the ones that make me react. fortune cookie emoji feels self-explanatory from there. as with my media tag anything that i like enough to have but not enough to revisit or incorporate into my bird’s nest goes over on a sideblog, so these reblogs are fun treats for me to pick back through.

🪶 ) HOPE AS AN ACTION. “empathy isn’t just something that happens to us - a meteor shower of synapses firing across the brain - it’s also a choice we make: to pay attention, to extend ourselves. It’s made of exertion, that dowdier cousin of impulse. sometimes we care for another because we know we should, or because it’s asked for, but this doesn’t make our caring hollow. this confession of effort chafes against the notion that empathy should always rise unbidden, that genuine means the same thing as unwilled, that intentionality is the enemy of love. but i believe in intention and i believe in work. i believe in waking up in the middle of the night and packing our bags and leaving our worst selves for our better ones.” - leslie jamison.

🫖 ) LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO. domesticity, and family, and growing, and trying your best, and singing without thinking about it, and cooking for eachother, and existing in the world as a participant. being housebound on and off for years has not been good to me even as being happily married and content in my triangle has been a massive act of healing. somewhere in between the two i’m holding on fiercely to celebration of the things i can still do together with them and trying to believe that it can be enough.

🍫 ) BITTERNESS. kind of discourse, kind of venting. i’m not overly invested in collating my opinions daily any more, but i have been saying certain things for actively years now while waiting for the wider zeitgeist to catch up to me and it’s always a pleasure to see a widely accepted and welcome new take from the last three months that i got into a fight in my 2018 dms for suggesting. sometimes i just want to hit people i have blocked with a car. being a sex worker who has to ebeg will do that to otherwise perfectly lovely friendships more than you’d think. sometimes you are all just so, so illiterate. essentially a dump for anything that pisses me off.

🔖 ) AUDIENCE ASIDES. this one is for “reblog and tag yourself” memes and is functionally an about me tag that i fill up only with uquiz answers, disjointed facts from my childhood, and either/or games. they’re fun! not everything has to be complicated. scroll around this tag for interaction bait or just to hang out. maybe one day i’ll port my vent app “which major arcana are you” tag meme over here as a uquiz of some kind. that’d be fun, i think. (i’m the moon, btw. just in case you were wondering. mine was the moon.

🫕 ) BESTIES. this is a catch-all tag for my assorted friends to opt-into that is 110% just about being, yknow, kind of a cunt. all of the references to insane internet-specific drama go here, all of the polycule jokes go here, all of the “hey i know you’re high so i invited a thousand people over” jokes go here, and so does all of the sweet stuff. fondue emoji because that way people can dip in and choose to be included in it or not, and also i am too lazy to tag for each individual 🌈/🐰/🎲/📿/🐱/🐻/fruit code/tumblr mutual/etc vibe.

🕰️ ) FIRST FOLIO. because despite the lobotomy i am in fact a washed-out imitation of both english and art history qualification-havers, and sometimes a bitch wants to talk about the way the world shaped a colour choice or a turn of phrase or an adaptational choice between book and stage or stage and dance. constantly fellating the macmillan romeo juliet choreography, my own imaginary staging of ibsen’s fruen fra havet, and prospero’s final lines in the tempest. this is a dump tag for anything that i would pin to a board like a butterfly if given the chance to do so together with my loved ones.

🌪️ ) OIL ROOM. oh, hey, a normal tag again. an art tag, even, for things that rattle around in my brain for a few days after, or things that i’d spend useless hours trying to dig back up on pinterest to add to a board for a fictional character that has (in a similar manner) started to haunt me. probably going to lean more modern sculpture than traditional oil, but to be fair that is because traditional oils find their way into my other tags and didn’t need an invented catch-all for me to skim back through circa pinterest o'clock in six weeks when i get back to that.

🍳 ) THE AI-KYŌGEN. nice little oc tag for my brats. a truly insane overabundance of girls who are crocodiles in the rivers of their own narrative, girls who are self sufficient because they were grown from seed in total darkness, boys who damn themselves and then damn the world in revenge for it, girls who wear their lives wholecloth like a costume every morning until it fits or it kills them, girls who were too young for the tasks they were trapped with and succeeded anyway, girls who died but didn’t because they only remember how to get back up. and clumbo, my orc detective.

📚 ) DEAD INTERNET. short stories, flash fiction, and other pieces i am trying to scrounge up via the wayback machine. i'm an unabashed pirate who lived off of e-begging for 5 yesrs solid and do not have the money to support authors i like. what i can do is collate every short story i've personally cared for onto an un-searchable blog and cross-index my thoughts on them here.

🧦 ) BULLDOZE VENICE. disability talk, encompassing everything from my mental health conditions / sanism to physical disability justice, marriage equality, institutional ableism, and how developmental disability is treated by the wider populace. i don't believe in "mental age" and i don't steal the terms nonverbal/nonspeaking for autistics with high support needs who suffer the most under the pseudo-aba assumptions that you can make yourself speak if needed.

🍱 ) TEXT POSTING. basically the same as my audience asides tag but for posts i personally am making to bitch about running a blog, or changes i am midway through making on this one, or polls about which of my previous tagging system sections i should port over to this blog en masse that day.

📟 ) MIXTAPE. i know i run ostensibly a sideblog for music but i do also like specific songs i want to put here and cross-reference into other tags. since the ancient websites i used to use to listen to just the songs on my rp blogs in another google chrome tab has gone totally under i will have to make that possible another way (that isn't using spotify, because i'm lazy sometimes).

🎫 ) TO REMEMBER. quotable bits that i am going to drop for years into bios. i used to try to run this as a sideblog on its own for cross-referencing but porting the entire mountain goats lyrical discography was hard and i quit. i still need somewhere to store the "spit his cum back at him like a camel" post that has haunted my dreams for a thousand years.

#🗝#♟️#💌#💎#🔏#📖#🥠#🪶#🫖#🍫#🔖#🫕#🕰️#🌪️#🍳#📚#🧦#🍱#📟#🎫

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otherworldseekers · 2 years

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They Can’t Take You Away From Me: Amnesia AU part... 4?

Just a couple of short scenes to set up what’s coming next. Also, I changed our culprit’s name from Alon to Alecto for reasons.

Part 3 Part 5

Shoulders slumped with weariness, Krile emerges from the Dawn’s Respite after having spent the morning attending to the sleeping Scions. In the common room of the Rising Stones, she passes by the many empty tables and proceeds to the counter where F’lhaminn stands with a cup of tea already waiting for her. After all, this has been her routine for the past several weeks now.

“Thank you, F’lhaminn, you’re a treasure,” Krile says with a smile.

“And as I tell you everyday, you need to take better care of yourself,” F’lhaminn says sternly.

“Find me the time and I will,” Krile quips as she carries her tea over to Tataru’s desk where she and Cid are engaged in deep conversation.

“I’ve called in a half dozen favors at least,” Tataru is saying. “And still come up empty handed. This man is the slipperiest person I’ve ever tried to track down and that includes the elusive Azure Dragoon!”

Cid taps his fingers on the desk in irritation. “None of the Ironworks’ contacts have been able to tell us anything either. It really shouldn’t be possible to appear out of thin air in a place like this…”

With a sigh Krile leaves the Rising Stones and the Seventh Heaven behind and finds herself a bench outside in the shade to sit on and enjoy her tea in peace. It’s a beautiful late Summer day in the Toll, but Krile feels the pressure of their current situation weighing her down. The Scions’ bodies aren’t getting any better and there haven’t been any updates on the soul research underway on the First.

Severia has yet to make any contact at all, leaving them with no idea how their friend is handling her loss. And now it is clear that their researches into the mysterious man who has stolen Nero’s attention aren’t going anywhere. If this situation with Nero can’t be resolved, will they ever see the Warrior of Light on the Source again?

Krile basks in the gentle breeze stirring in the trees nearby as she finishes her tea. She’s not quite ready to return to her duties so she continues to sit, watching the activity of the Aetheryte Plaza. Her eye catches on a familiar tall, blonde figure crossing the plaza toward the Ironworks headquarters. Next to him is a man in adventurer gear who can only be the notorious Alecto. This is her first time seeing him.

The two pause outside the Ironworks and bid farewell to each other and Krile realizes this is a rare chance to find out where their target goes when he isn’t with Nero. Leaving the teacup behind on the bench, Krile gets up and follows Alecto as he leave the plaza. Tailing someone isn’t really something she possesses the skills for, but she’d the one on hand and she doesn’t want to lose this opportunity.

She creeps behind him as he makes his way toward the northern town gates, heart pounding with trepidation. Just past the last gate he veers off to the side and she runs to peek around the wall just in time. What she sees chills her to her bones. Nearly out of sight behind a large boulder, her target is vanishing in a cloud of swirling purple and black aether.

Krile bites her thumb to keep herself from screaming. Her knees are threatening to turn to jelly but with a heroic effort she flees back into the Toll. She runs all the way to the Rising Stones where Tataru and Cid are thankfully still debating. Panting from her exertions, she leans on Tataru’s desk and tries to catch her breath while the two look on in alarm.

“Al…He’s a… As…”

F’lhaminn rushes over with a cup of water and Krile gives her a grateful smile as she sips. Once she’s recovered enough, Krile takes a deep breath.

“Alecto. He’s an Ascian.”

“What?”

“Are you sure?”

Krile nods. “I saw him teleport the way the Ascians do with my own eyes. He didn’t know I was watching him.”

“Twelve have mercy,” F’lhaminn mutters. Tataru and Cid exchange significant looks.

“Then it’s as we feared,” says Cid.

“Severia needs to be told right away,” Tataru adds. “This is more than we can handle.”

“Any idea when she’ll be back?”

“She said she would be back within the month. So sometime in the next 5 days”

“Should we tell Nero?” Krile asks.

“No,” Cid says emphatically. “It’s safer for him to remain ignorant for now.”

“For now,” Tataru says,” we’ll have to bide our time and pray the situation doesn’t worsen.”

The second council of war is called 3 days later. This time Severia, looking apprehensive, joins Cid, Tataru, Krile, Biggs and Wedge at the table in the Rising Stones. As usual, Tataru begins the meeting.

“Severia, we’ve gathered here because we have some important news concerning Nero and his… friend.”

“Oh gods, Tataru,” Severia says with a miserable laugh. “Do we have to do this? I told you I’m not going to meddle. I’d rather just… ignore it.”

Cid and Tataru exchange looks. “We think you’ll want to hear this,” Cid says. “Trust us.”

Severia takes a deep, panicked breath. “All right.”

“First of all, my friend, this isn’t just about you.”

“Though it is mostly,” Biggs whispers to Wedge.

“I at least,” Cid continues, “also have some concerns about Nero. Alecto has been a suspicious character from the beginning.”

“Fair enough,” Severia concedes.

“So we decided, as a group, to do some investigating.”

Severia feels the tingle of panic increasing. She doesn’t know if she could handle this conversation. “And?”

“And we turned up not a single shred of information,” Tataru says. “Which is even more suspicious. We’d still be clueless if not for Krile. Krile, would you like to tell the rest?”

Krile nods and briefly explains what she saw. “There’s not a doubt in my mind. That man is really an Ascian.”

“We think everything that’s happened is an indirect attack on you,” Cid tells Severia.

Severia feels like she’s going to faint. Her body flashes hot and cold. She doesn’t know whether to hope or despair. She only knows one thing: she must at all costs protect Nero from Ascian machinations. “I have to do something,” she murmurs.

The members of the war council share looks of satisfaction and eagerness. “We’re here to follow your lead,” says Cid. “We’ll back you however we can.”

Severia nods, deep in thought. The Unsundered are all accounted for, she knows. Besides, one of them would hardly be involved in an operation like this. But there are still several members of the Convocation she has never seen. Could it be one of them? Or perhaps just a lackey? She recalls the mysterious black masked Ascians she’s encountered in the past. If he’s one of them he should pose no threat to her. But can she take that chance?

“Give me a couple days to prepare,” she says. “Can you keep an eye on Nero til then?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll be back the day after tomorrow then,” Severia promises grimly. “And we’ll reveal this Ascian’s true motive.”

#Severia x Nero #Amnesia AU #my writing #As Rivers Reach the Sea

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mizutori-heiko · 3 years

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Mizutori’s bakudeku fanfiction master list [complete works]

Really really good writing by these incredible authors. In no particular order! These are all Top!Bakugou and Bottom!Deku. If A/B/O dynamics then it’s Alpha!Bakugou and Omega!Deku. Yes, I have preferences.

Canon World – until 15k

What The Fuck Did You Just Call Me? by reading_raindrop | 8,303 | Izuku starts calling him Bakugou and it pisses the explosive teen off a lot more than he thought it would.

Oh right, you were a little sh*t by SaysiWrites | 5,653 | When Midoriya Izuku gets hit by an age-reversion Quirk, the last thing anyone expected to find out is that Toddler-Izuku is a little shit. Except for one Bakugou Katsuki, who has seen this phase one too many times already. (Bonus+ the entire Little Sh*t (Kidfic) series)

Do Not Disturb by surveycorpsjean | 10,010 | Apply enough force, and something is bound to break.

And Atlas fell by supercrunch | 15,185 | They move in together, after a while. Katsuki joins Best Jeanist and Izuku trains under Gran Torino. They still take comfort in each other every day, curl up in bed and kiss and talk about how life is going. Their live are tumultuous, after all, what with villains and training and rescuing people every week. It’s nice to have something certain. At the end of a day filled with violence and adrenaline, Izuku knows he can come home to someone concrete. It’s perfect. Being a hero is scary and grueling and uncertain, but this part is just right. And then, one day, a child dies in Izuku’s arms.

be loved by bonnia | 5,403 | The kidnapping incident leaves bakugou traumatised about being touched on the back of his neck, and midoriya decides to take matters into his own hands.

Big Protein by Mysecretfanmoments | 13,683 | Bakugou Katsuki has a thriving hero career, an agent to manage his famous attitude, and absolutely zero romantic interest in anyone. With the exception of his favourite health food joint refusing to expand to his city, his life is pretty damn perfect—so why does a viral video revealing Deku's stash of dirty mags involving him and Deku together turn everything upside-down?

Chocolate cake and resin preserved flowers by Anoksun | 11,396 | Izuku loses his memories. Katsuki struggles not to lose Izuku too.

Twin Stars by theperksofbeinglarissa | 8,435 | When Deku saves a woman's life, her quirk is accidentally activated. Her quirk? She reveals a person's soulmate. A star-shaped mark appears on Midoriya's left arm... and on Bakugou's as well. Kirishima is the only one who knows that Bakugou is Midoriya's soulmate, and Bakugou isn't taking the news very well. Can the twin stars of class 1-A work out their differences and find their happy ending?

Unhealthy Fixations by Thesis | 12,522 | Izuku is an adult who knows better than to crush on his childhood bully. AND YET.

Like the Moon by osakakitty | 14,781 | Katsuki Bakugo is having constant, erotic dreams about Izuku Midoriya. He isn’t sure why, but they won’t go away. In order to make them stop, he needs to figure out what Izuku Midoriya means to him.

Worth a Second Shot by cinnabee | 13,080 | Katsuki and Izuku celebrate registering as a Hero Duo together with a big party. What could go wrong?

Like Something Out of A Shoujo Manga by Merrywetherweather | 2,971 | Deku ends up in a rather interesting quirk accident, one that triggers flag events as if he were the protagonist of an otome game.

Canon World – 15k++

Blood Moon by lalazee | 94,860 | The Thank-Fuck-We-Aren’t-Dead Sex had started then, and had never really stopped. Then came the feelings and the fights. The ego, the pride, the jealousy. And then there was Us.

The Way You Used To Do by edema_ruh | 669,463 | During a battle, Midoriya gets hit by a villain whose quirk detaches his soul from his body. Stuck in a ghost-like state, the boy enters a race against time in order to save himself from permanently dying. Much to his luck - or lack of it -, the only person who can see and talk to him in this state is no one other than Kacchan.

Just Like Breathing by MD_Daydreamer | 35,423 | Izuku got engaged. He didn't mind. If that made Uraraka happy, he could do it. He thought his life wouldn't change much.But then, Kacchan went to live in the USA.

briar roses (and hundred years of sleep) by vannral | 15,951 | In which Izuku is hit by a ‘Sleeping Beauty’ Quirk, Class 3-A tries to find his True Love and get them to kiss him, and Katsuki’s very angry about it all.

"what's your type?" by sapphicflower | 20,192 | In order to increase their popularity rankings as up and coming pro heroes, Izuku and Katsuki participate in the most popular late night talk show for hero duos - ‘Heroes Rising!’. They’re killing it, obviously, because they know each other from inside and out. Until one question stumps the two of them: “What is your hero partner’s type?”

and it was Just Right by cinnabee | 23,759 | Katsuki spends two years post-graduation in a furious one-sided competition with his childhood friend and rival's promotional photos - until they finally run into each other, and, well. You shouldn't believe everything you see in magazines. A love story about size differences.

Notice Me, Nerd by useless_donut | 40,000 | Bakugou is in love with Midoriya. He doesn’t hide it, in fact it’s so painfully obvious that the entire class of 3-A has him figured out in a matter of months (days, in some cases). Too bad Midoriya is the most oblivious motherfucker out there, and Bakugou is too damn stubborn to actually ask him out. A love story as witnessed by the class of 3-A.

in your dreams, nerd! by sapphicflower | 37,639 | In a strange and unexpected set of circumstances, Izuku and Katsuki find themselves sharing their dreams together whenever they happen to fall asleep at the same time. Being hopelessly in love with each other, they don’t mind it all that much. What better way to spend time with your crush than in a stupidly vivid dream?

Hear Me by my_name_is_Levi | 22,419 | It wasn’t as if nightmares were uncommon for the freshman class of Yuuei. They’d seen plenty of things, heard and felt and witnessed enough travesty in their lives to last them a lifetime. But Midoriya Izuku was screaming, and no one, not even Bakugo Katsuki could ignore it.

Bridges by supercrunch | 18,018 | Bakugou is signed up for a Calvin Klein modeling gig. The thing is, they really do need the money. And Katsuki's technically the leader of this bunch of morons, so he finds himself taking the job even though his pride will never recover. And even though nobody thought to tell him that he'd be working with his ex-boyfriend. You know, the cute freckled guy from high school who went and broke his heart. So, yeah. This whole situation kind of sucks.

objective truth by mamalade | 15,390 | Izuku gets hit with a truth quirk, as one does. He seems to be handling it well—until Katsuki shows up.

catharsis by dollcewrites | 15,071 | It's been six years since Izuku graduated.It's been six years since he confessed to his childhood friend; his classmate and his inspiration. It's been six years since he deleted Bakugou's number, asked his friends not to mention the name, spent every last effort of his heart turning off the TV and averting his eyes from the newspapers. It's been six, long, long years since he gave up on Katsuki Bakugou ever loving him back.

Here here, my friends and me (You are my familia) by Jeka | 128,832 | Bakugou Katsuki has made a great job of ignoring the fact that he is tragically in love with Deku, someone who could never love him like that and let's face it, he doesn't deserve. Now that he can't ignore it anymore, he has to find a way to keep his childhood friend and move on for his own sake. Or so he had thought, maybe he can have Deku, after all. Izuku has everything he always wanted in life. But suddenly he has to navigate the most important relationship in his life through different eyes.

Canon World – Jealous!

Hands Off by SaysiWrites | 7,140 | When a new girl at school starts flirting with Bakugou, his friends quickly become invested in the idea of their friend experiencing love - even if he doesn't seem at all interested in her. What they don't see is Midoriya fuming in the background. But how can he get rid of her when they've spent so long keeping their relationship a secret?

Surfaces by surveycorpsjean | 25,225 | Katsuki has a new girlfriend, but something isn't right. As impossible as it is, Izuku can't help but wonder what it'd be like to be called Katsuki's girl.

Green-Eyed Beast by SecretKiwi | 4,721 | Everyone wants a piece of Katsuki Bakugou, but they should beware of the Green-eyed beast always lurking close behind him.

Green with Envy by Sol_Morales707 | 2,611 | Izuku Midoriya is not as innocent and pure as everyone thinks he is. The truth was he was very jealous and willing to do anything for a certain blonde.

Happy Camper by Arysa | 7,074 | Wanting a break from the stress of dealing with the rookie Pro Hero grind, a handful of students from Class A decide to go on a camping trip. Izuku's excited to relax and catch up with everyone, especially Kacchan. But, well, Kacchan's... Kacchan. And dating Kirishima.

How to stop time: kiss by Teddingtons | 31,693 | Deku finally asks Uraraka out. Everyone's supportive except Bakugou who can't even look him in the eye. Deku seeks him out after and is hit with truth.

What I Deserve by s_the_queen | 16,671 | When Izuku starts dating a student in General Studies, everyone is happy for him. She's super sweet and really caring. But something doesn't sit right with Katsuki.

Deku's Already Fucking Taken by asdfjkl129 | 20,704 | 5 times people don't realize that Deku is already in a very happy relationship and try their hand at asking him out, and then in Bakugou's unique and special style, get very firmly corrected, +1 time where no correction is needed.

His by sister_elric | 6,206 | Izuku would like to consider himself a pretty level headed individual. Sure, he had the occasional tunnel vision, especially when it came to training. And hero work. And Kacchan. But, overall, Midoriya felt as though he typically kept his cool. Well, maybe that was a stretch. But, at the very least he could understand his own emotions. So, it surprised even him when an unfamiliar emotion coursed through him as a first year approached his boyfriend, Katsuki.

Down the Red Line by MinervaHope | 7,804 | Izuku has been able to see the red strings of fate since birth. It's no surprise that his is connected to Katsuki.

Canon World – Fake Relationship Goes Wrong

how he should’ve known (and how it turned out) by vannral | 43,918 | In which Katsuki and Izuku pretend to be a couple to avoid journalists, the plan backfires magnificently because of course it does, and the act goes on. Includes feelings, pining, domestic fluff and jealousy.

Vicious by feelslikefire | 105,173 | Midoriya and Bakugou wind up in the very last position either of them thought they'd be in: Hero Partners. It's not fun, but they learn to cope. Their first big assignment together takes them undercover to infiltrate a cult, but the situation turns out far more sinister than they first thought.

What I can never tell you by Mikacrispy | 27,067 | After living in the US for 5 years, Izuku returns to take care of a concussed Bakugou who believes they're engaged. Now, Izuku has to pretend he's in a relationship with the man he's loved for most of his life, knowing that it's just a matter of time until Katsuki gets better and realizes it's all a lie.

Not-Dating by MiraChaDoodles | 14,290 | Katsuki takes Deku on a not-date to save his career, only to find himself wishing it were real.

we'll do the things that lovers do by ethereals | 29,544 | Izuku gets an invitation to Shouto's wedding and Katsuki is PISSED that he asks Kirishima to be his date (also he wasn't even fucking invited

Canon World – Friends With Benefits (?)

Four Times Bakugou Katsuki Doesn't Intend to Sleep With Midoriya Izuku (And the One Time that He Does) by fallingraine85 | 17,601 | He hadn’t planned for any of this. He isn’t about to go delving into the ball of yarn that is Midoriya Izuku’s heart; he isn’t equipped to try and untangle and make sense of it all. He isn’t about to try to analyze how he’s feeling about all of this, either.... How many times can you repeat the same mistake?

We Wear Chains on the Weekend by surveycorpsjean | 35,086 | Well, in a day of revelations, it turns out that Izuku isn't as vanilla as Katsuki previously thought. Unfortunately, that fascinating discovery is overshadowed by Izuku's dumbassery, because he has zero concept of aftercare."Don't go to anyone else," Katsuki says, because screw it. He can do a better job anyways. Or; Katsuki finds Izuku on a bad drop.

Just for Now by Shiro_Kabocha | 48,135 | Katsuki's parents are out of town over a school break and to keep him from getting up to any shenanigans, they ask Izuku to house sit with him. What are two teenaged boys to do when left alone to their own devices? (Bonus+ the entire Just for Love series)

safe in the darkness by yoonskisses | 20,855 | Izuku and Katsuki had been meeting up secretly for months, with absolutely no feelings involved. Or so Katsuki thought at least. The dorm gossip about Ochaco and Izuku's new relationship seemed to set a spanner in the works for their arrangement.

Alternative Universe – No Quirks

Bluebird by EtherealBeing | 53,108 | Dialing a wrong number was no unusual occurrence. Everyone did it once in a while, and Katsuki was well aware of that fact. However, possessing this knowledge made it no less aggravating for him to discover — a full two minutes into his rant about his day — that he’d been venting his frustrations to a complete stranger. As if that wasn't enough, said stranger was also inexplicably determined to hear his story to its end.

Someone Borrowed by mynameis152 | 138,996 | It felt like hours that he stared at Izuku, coming to terms with the fact that a man, his childhood best friend, whom he hadn’t seen since their senior year of high school, was there in front of his very eyes. Then his brows furrowed and his jaw clenched before he uttered through gritted teeth the very name Izuku had longed to hear for years. “Deku.”

Dark Side of the Sun by Synnie | 51,598 | Staying up too late playing video games, Kirishima wasn't expecting to get an urgent call begging for help. Next thing he knew, he was letting his classmate Izuku Midoriya take refuge in his apartment - without consulting his always angry roommate.

Manage Me by Justaperson1718 | 10,756 | Izuku becomes Katsuki’s model agent.

Don't Set Your Drink Down by Crandberrycrush | 88,424 | With sudden clarity Izuku realized he had broken the first rule of going out. Never leave your drink unattended.

Livewire by pretty_rekless | 18,160 | Per Ochako's request, Izuku downloads a gay dating app in hopes to finally find a partner. Except every single one of his leads keep ghosting him or standing him up... That is until one hot, fiery blond enters the chat. Grindr/Tinder AU fic.

Drinking Watermelon by warschach | 8,906 | Katsuki works as a camp counselor, and Izuku is a boy made of summer heat and sunlight.

Precious Pet by Mikacrispy | 6,379 | When broke college student Midoriya Izuku found a job that offered lodging, food, and good pay for four hours of work each day, he thought it was too good to be true. But he called anyway. Turns out all he has to do is to be the spoiled little puppy of a rich businessman.

Our Eleven Summers by Dark_Mage_Ayumu | 34,472 | The first time Katsuki met Izuku was when he was eight. For the next eleven years, Izuku changed his life, and no one even knew. Their relationship was something they shared in secret.

sticky note crushes by ladyofsnails | 3,239 | Katsuki hates his roommate. The green-haired, freckled, artsy son of a bitch with his dumb pun t-shirts and paint-stained hands he can’t fucking keep to himself. Katsuki can’t leave a single assignment or paper out in his room because that idiot will just grab anything to draw on it. He’s like a shark that can’t stop swimming else it’ll die – he can’t stop drawing. Ever.

Don't Play Pretend by SweetSide | 10,103 | Actor AU: Deku and Bakugou get the leading roles for an upcoming TV Drama. They weren’t aware that they would be working with each other for who knows how long. It would’ve been completely fine if they weren’t exes.

97.6 FM by jamjars | 32,249 | Izuku can’t stop listening to the radio host with the deep voice who sounds like he’s stuck in 2010. It’s a harmless crush. That is until he starts calling into the show under the pseudonym Deku.

Read {between} Your Lines by greatcloudninja | 52,252 | Midoriya Izuku, up-and-coming actor, has finally hit his big break (...), Bakugou Katsuki, who has been acting for over twenty years.However, Bakugou seems to have it out for Izuku, leading to tension both on and off set. When some incriminating photos surface, the studio suggests (...): having Bakugou and Midoriya fake a relationship to get ahead of the rumors.

I’m not looking for somebody with some superhuman gifts by PassingShadow | 5,522 | Izuku is a professional cuddler and Katsuki is his new client that’s just a little rough around the edges, and needs a natural healing touch.

Alternative Universe – Quirkless Deku

A Good Old-Fashioned Tattoo AU by lalazee | 14,437 | After their paths had split, Bakugou & Deku meet again as adults. While Bakugou begins to repent for the kid he used to be, he also starts to prove himself as he the man he is now.

Call Me a Safe Bet (I'm Betting I'm Not) by WTTTD | 10,803 | He wished he had some sort of heads up before seeing Deku again for the first time after nearly two years, looking like the essence of a lazy Sunday, smiling and surrounded with brand new, adoring friends. It was a little fitting that Katsuki burned for him so badly. (Support Department Deku)

In Which Kacchan Has a Ruff Time by OneshotPrincess | 14,511 | Bakugou Katsuki gets quirked into a dog, gets adopted by an unknowing Izuku and generally has a very rough few days full of realizations

While You Were Sleeping by Belkacaramelka (annabelleg) | 71,197 | The one where quirkless fanboy Midoriya Izuku rescues Pro Hero Todoroki Shouto, gets mistaken as his fiancé while he is in a coma, and gets caught up in the most unlikely fake engagement... until his childhood enemy and Todoroki's classmate Bakugou Katsuki tries to catch him out, and they both end up discovering a lot more about each other than they'd expected.

Let Me Assist You Personally by Seeress | 32,806 | Izuku is long-suffering Personal Assistant to #1 Pro Hero Dynamight.Dynamight can't keep a PA to save his career. They all quit crying after a few days weeks. Enter, Izuku—with enough money problems to brave the jaws of the cranky beast. Childhood friend turned glorified paid slave. Somehow it all works out. ‘Kill them with kindness’, his mom had told him once. If that were true, Bakugou Katsuki would be stone-cold dead by now.

Smile For The Camera by kurokonekokilled | 19,179 | Midnight has a cam site, home to millions of users, but one catches Katsuki's eye when he goes scrolled through it in search for something to help him release a little stress. A live stream and the best orgasm of his life later, his wallet is lighter, and he might be almost as obsessed with this Deku guy as the cam boy is with him.

Just Like The Comics by brichibi | 24,935 | Where Izuku works at a comic book shop because that’s as close to a hero as he’s gonna get, and Katsuki plays the part of heroic ex-boyfriend who is good at everything except winning Izuku back... maybe

Alternative Universe – Quirks

Get on my Level by Mikacrispy | 92,273 | Bakugou Katsuki is a Pro Hero whose boss demands him to take an intern. Midoriya Izuku is a UA student who needs an internship. When the two of them are put together, they learn about what it truly means to be a Hero and what it means to be in love.

A/B/O – Secret! Baby

Home by Emerald2402 | 87,214 | Midoriya Izuku left Japan in a rush, moving to America without a word to anyone else. But then almost 11 years later he arrives back Home and Bakugou Katsuki's Alpha is furious. Fuck that, Bakugou is furious, because Midoriya Izuku, an omega he tasted one time, has been keeping a very big, very blonde haired, green eyed secret.

Those Under the Same Stars by PerpetuallyPerturbed | 325,553 | When Katsuki Bakugo left Izuku Midoriya five years ago, he thought it was for forever. He put aside dreams and wishes of the omega to focus on his career. He was going to be the best hero, after all. He couldn't have an omega getting in his way. So when he's stopped on the streets one day by a pup begging for help for his mom, he isn't prepared to face what he gave up, and what the consequences of his actions were. (Quirkless Deku)

A/B/O – Quirks

Mark Me. Make Me Yours. by decadentbynature | 10,062 | Midoriya is the only Omega at UA and he's been hiding it well but there's one issue that threatens to expose him: his attraction to an Alpha, Bakugo. After being told to give some paperwork to Bakugo, Midoriya lets him into his dorm room and is immediately overwhelmed by his scent. Unable to help himself, he gives in to his urges, only to be discovered by Bakugo but instead of becoming enraged, Bakugo decides to give Midoriya exactly what he wants

Claim Me by ScientificallySinful (VampireGaaraCheesepuffs) | 114,449 | Being an Alpha has nothing to do with Katsuki's success as a Pro-Hero, the same way Deku's Omega status hasn't kept him from becoming Number Two. Secondary gender doesn't mean anything nowadays and “mating” is an antiquated practice. So when Izuku, his rival, asks Katsuki to Claim him in the middle of the night, there is only one logical thing to say. “What the fuck?”

Change of Plans by Mikacrispy | 185,965 | Alpha Pro Hero Bakugou Katsuki never planned to get married to some random omega but what he wants isn't an option anymore. One for All wielder Midoriya Izuku has suffered injustice too many times and doesn't plan in allowing his secondary gender to dictate how he must live his life. Falling in love was never in the plans.

Going Feral For You by ANGIE_fic | 17,977 | Bakugou has an aggression problem that might have to do with his Alpha. His job is on the line because of it. So what do you do with a pent up Alpha? Yes.Rut. (Quirkless Izuku)

i live for you, i long for you by jeonjeonggukkkkkie | 19,165 | The five times Izuku hinted he wants Katsuki to spend his next heat with him, and the one time Katsuki took the hint.

Baby's First Bloom by ContraryBee | 44,945 | Izuku blooms for Katsuki one warm day in their third year of middle school. What follows is both boys learning about themselves, their bond, and the society they live in.

As Fate Would Have It by ScientificallySinful (VampireGaaraCheesepuffs) | 88,737 | Katsuki Bakugo had plenty of reasons why he wasn't mated yet, not that he was going to explain why to just anyone. But now, Ground Zero was running out of time. If he didn't find someone soon, he'd lose his position as a Pro-Hero and he'd never get to be #1. So, when he finds out there's a male Omega recently arrested for prostitution that's headed to prison if he too doesn't get a mate…well it must be fate. (Quirkless Izuku)

A/B/O – No Quirks

Gravity by warschach | 71,477 | Izuku is back in his hometown and plenty hasn't changed much from the 8 years he was gone. Except, Katsuki Bakugou, the alpha king of their small town. He's hotter- because that's fair, right, God? -, stronger, a now-famous pro fighter, and noticeably nicer this round.Not that he cares, pfft. (Fine, he cares.)

Nine Months by greatcloudninja | 23,303 | Omega Midoriya Izuku connects with Alpha Bakugou Katsuki through an online singles ad. Izuku pays Katsuki to help him with his heat, ending up pregnant in the process. What follows is a pregnancy filled with ups and downs, but whatever hurdles come their way, they can make it through together.

The long dark by Ominous-Anonymous (Ominonymous) | 13,289 | He could have been really dangerous. He could be a fucking murderer for all he knew. But Izuku Midoriya, ever the reckless daredevil, was not thinking of that when he got into a car with a complete stranger. Completely ignoring the part where his mother always taught him to never gets into cars with alphas he didn't know...

#bakudeku #masterlist #fanfic masterlist #katsudeku #holy shit i can't believe i did this #mizutori’s personal post archive #bakudeku fanfiction #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #alpha bakugou #omega izuku #bnha fanfiction #bnha #mha fanfiction #fanfiction masterlist post #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #archive of our own #ao3

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mochii0park · 3 years

Text

metanoia; 01 | kth

Title: Metanoia

Pairing: Taehyung / Reader

Part of series: Waterlilies and Japanese Bridge

Genre: angst I collage!au

Pairing: student!reader x photographer!taeyhung

Word count: 4,7k

Summary: Vante, a household name among photographers became known for his minimalistic photography style that came along with his secret persona. Never showing his face on his own exhibitions fueled the public’s desire to learn more about him which skyrocketed his fame. While preparing for his next exhibition Vante went missing. Disappeared into thin air and even now a year later was never found.

Author’s note: I am very conscious of any grammar mistakes. Although I have read this chapter three times I am sure I’ve missed some so bare with me.

On another note, I have switched the dates of the chapters for Saudade and Metanoia. Since this story got more attention compared to Sauade I’ve decided to write it before the date.

This is my first attempt at writing on this platform and I hope it will reach out to a wider range of readers and catch your interest. Any feedback is greatly appreciated.

Taglist: @ggukkieland @honig-und-millch , @deliciousdetectivestranger ,

Masterlist

Metanoia masterlist

< intro | next chapter >

You sink into the overaged draggled yellow chair, catching second-hand embarrassment at the sight before you. The boy walked about, his thrusts were not enough to keep the neon hula hoop from falling. He attempts to fumble his way out of the mess, but it was too late. The left ankle twists itself and before you know it, he hits headfirst against the wooden flooring. The professors rush towards him, medics following behind. The boy tries to pull himself up but fails his body slumping against the stage. To your left Mingi snorts, stuffing his face with popcorn amused by the scene playing out.

“I don’t mean to sound rude or whatever, but people need to search up the meaning of talent before their eyes skip to the word show.” Minnie ruckles her nose, her mouth loop sided.

“I find this highly entertaining,” Mingi speaks up, mouth full of food. He takes a sip of the cold beverage rested in his lap and shakes the mixture before swallowing.

To his left Yeonjun shudders at him, “Talent or not I would rather replay that scene than watch Mingi be a slob. It makes me want to bleach my eyes out.”

Mingi rolls his eyes ignoring Yeonjun as he pops more popcorn, oblivious to his own weird antics. Although the four of you are friends for years, Mingi managed to take you all by surprise with his uncanny behaviour.

The second act starts and suddenly you contemplate your university choice. Reasonably the overbearing staff of your university wanted the timid first years to feel welcomed hence this so-called show. In hindsight, you think a friendly party would’ve been just as good.

Halfway through the act, you feel a light tap on your shoulders, professor Kim Namjoon stands there like a sore thumb in the mass of students’ bodies. With his hovering height, freshly dyed purple hair and the rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose he was sure to stand out. He shifts his footing from one to the other foot anxiously waiting for you to follow him, few students commenting on the disruptions that his appearance caused.

You observe him for a second, accompanying him out of the theatre into the cold November air. He fumbles through his leather briefcase before fishing out a small, crumpled flyer. Opening it he shoves it into your hands while tweaking his glasses.

“I have a favour to ask you Y/N. There will be a course taking place here and I would love for you to attend it with your peculiar friends.” He says emphasising the word peculiar.

You knew that Mingi gave Namjoon the creeps even though the latter denied it.

“No.”

You push back the flyer spinning on the balls of your feet ready to join your friends.

“Y/L-…”, Namjoon groans, “Do it for your brother-in-law.”

Widening your eyes, you look at him shaking your head.” This isn’t the time to use our family relations to bribe me into a stupid course.”

“Did you even read what’s it about?”, you take the flyer from his hands skimming through it.

Photography course

Length: 10th November till 10th June

Time: Friday, 6pm -8pm

Attendance: Third years and above

Equipment not needed for the course

Your eyes pause at the date, laughing releasing itself from your chest. Surely Namjoon was kidding when suggesting this. You were in your last year which meant you would soon be flooded with work for your final project. In conclusion, there was barely enough time for you set foot out of your studies let alone attend another one of the university’s poor attempts to make a course for students to bond over.

“You understand I’m in my last year. I don’t have time to go out and have fun with my friends. How in the world did you think I would fit a whole-ass course?”

Namjoon releases a breath running a hand through his thick hair, desperation evident on his face.” I am sorry to have to do this, but I am cashing in my favour.”

You become stiff mouth agape, incoherent vowels coming out of you. It takes you a few seconds to gather your thoughts, “you promised to not cash it in. You gave me your word.”

“And you gave me yours.” Namjoon retored sassily, finger pointing at you, “I won’t tell Sunmi if you promise to do me a favour when the time comes.”

Pushing your tongue against the palate, you try to control the boiling anger.

The incident happened four years ago, back when you were still figuring out your college life. Namjoon and you were acquaintances, sharing one elective course called German Literature. Needless to say, both of you suffered greatly.

By the end of the year, you noticed your sister piqued Namjoon’s interest. Grossed out by the idea of your older sister engaging in any kind of relationship/activity with a twenty-three-year-old, you kept your distance until the faithful day.

Choi San was the synonym for the devil himself. With his fiery red hair and dazzling cat-like eyes, he lured you into his messy life of illegal parties and binge drinking. You still find yourself cringing at his pathetic excuses of professing his undying love to you when it was all under false pretences. His eyes bearing into your naïve soul, pulling your heart out and wrenching it until your friends came to pick up the pieces.

Sitting in the police station you counted down minutes before your older sister would burst through the door and finally decide to disown you. With your head nested between your knees you suck in the tears threatening to spill, the euphoria from the alcohol long gone. You’ve dialled Mingi’s number first, the others were a no go when it came to answering their phones. He picked up in a matter of seconds. After explaining the situation, you figured he would bring his own parents to bail you out instead Namjoon comes first, after him a stressed Minnie trying to keep up the pace with him and a Yeonjun who’s pulling his masks further over his nose in a lame attempt to be unrecognizable. Mingi idly meanders behind them in his pyjamas with not one care in the world. Namjoon pulls a small amount of money handing the police officer and not long after you were free.

At that moment you’ve truly recognized your friends as the people you wanted to keep in your life forever. Namjoon jokingly said he would someday cash in his favour. Little did you know the joke would get over your head.

“You’ve waited for four years to cash it?”

He shrugs and nods lightly. Quickly he composes himself, washing his features of playfulness and switching them up with hopelessness. “It’s really important for me that you and your clique of friends attend this course. Professor Seojoon organized it-“

At the mention of your favourite professor, your eyes light up making Namjoon shudders. The little “crush” you harboured didn’t go unnoticed by him. Putting his hands on your shoulders he gains your attention again before continuing, “his brother is the one to hold the course so you must come. I will put in a good word for you all. Maybe he will go easy on you during quizzes.”

You roll your eyes knowing fully well that you didn’t need Namjoon’s intervention although it was greatly appreciated. Putting the flyer in your back pocket you throw a thumbs up to Namjoon, “Well Minnie and I don’t need any favouritism and I am almost certain you can’t do much for Yeonjun and Mingi seeing as they are in different departments.”

“Oh?” Namjoon’s brows shot up at the revelation, totally dismissing the idea that you know each other any differently than through the classes you attend, “I thought Yeonjun was in the literature department, as for Mingi it’s far-fetched but I didn’t want to sound rude.”

“Actually, Yeonjun is in the Vocal department while Mingi is in the Physics and Astronomy department. He’s also on top of his class, both are.”

Namjoon seems stunned at the information you threw at him, but he recovers swiftly, “Bunch of nerds.” He chuckles at his own jokes before both of you bid goodbyes. You slowly make your way to the cafeteria mind set on pursuing your friends to join you and Namjoon running to the staff meeting hoping to extinguish the chaos caused by the talent show.

Pushing past the mass of people on the campus your sneakers squeak against the pavement, the chatter between the students becoming louder as you push the cafeteria doors. Making your way towards the table in the further left corner you spot Yeonjun’s eye-catching hair. The pink shade fits well against his pale skin making him noticeable from afar. The boy throws a piece of chips at Mingi, the latter catching it mid-air.

The rustling of your chair brings them out of their bubble. Minnie plops her elbows on the table, hand supporting her cheek as she lays it there, eyes staring at you amusingly. Mingi continues to catch Yeonjun’s chips, his attention now slightly focused on you. “How was the talk with professor Namjoon.”

“I need a favour to ask you.”

“Last time you asked for a favour we had to bail you from jail,” Mingi adds face void of any emotion causing Yeonjun to almost choke on the piece of chicken from his plate. Minnie reaches for his head hitting him hard on the back.

“That was four years ago for God’s sake.” You yell, a few students turning bothered by your loud voice disrupting their meal.

Slumping further into the seat, cheeks reddened from the heat of the sudden attention you gained you say quietly, “there is a course taking place this year and I would love if you could attend it.”

Mingi was the first to read the flyer once you push it in the middle of the old table. He hums a couple of times and gives you a thumbs up, unlike Minnie who scoffs.

“A whole semester? Y/N you know this is impossible to juggle this with our final project. As much as I would love to participate you know what you’re asking for is too much.”

You bite your lower lip remembering Namjoon’s words. “I know but professor Seojoon is organizing it, and don’t you think having him on our good side would mean a lot?”

Minnie shrugs and pops the strawberry into her mouth. “I understand, but it’s on Fridays. The only time I can spare for parties and clubs, and you’re asking me to spend it studying something I am not even remotely interested in?”

You turn towards Yeonjun knowing if he agrees Minnie will crumble under the pressure of your group. He scans it quickly and shakes his lightly head from left to right before agreeing to accompany you making Minnie collapse her shoulders in defeat.

“Fine but if it takes too much of my time I am signing out.”

“I love you guys so much.”

“Cut it with the sappy shit, I have piano lessons.” Yeonjun gets up telling you goodbye before he disappears in the ocean of students his pink hair no longer visible. A distant scream could be heard a few seconds after, “I love you too.”

You smile feeling the love of your friends.

“We love you too.” Mingi gets up and places a carton of freshly squeezed apple juice in front of you sending off a small smile. Just like Yeonjun, he’s gone.

Nose buried deep into the book; Taehyung tried his best to mute out his brother’s lame attempts of starting a conversation he never intended to finish. Legs resting on the polished marble table he did his very best to further fuel Seojoon’s irritation. The older one pacing back and forwards provoking Taehyung’s headache.

“If you would just listen to me.”

Kim Taehyung detested surprise, especially those he didn’t catch on early. This one though topped the cake. “There is no need to listen.”

“Quit being stubborn.”

“Oh, the irony.” Taehyung looked up catching his brother’s burning gaze,” contrary to your beliefs, I must say you are the one who’s stubborn here. When a person asks for space and time you give them that instead of forcing them, wait sorry what was the word again? Yeah, lightly pushing them into holding a course. One which they never asked for or showed the desire to hold.”

“You needed a little push in the right direction.”

“Arranging a one-year course isn’t a push you idiot,” Taehyung shouted; the book was long forgotten and tossed aside on his couch. His yell echoed in the empty room causing Seojoon’s to scowl. He found comfort in a small armchair adjacent to the marble table. “You can’t bury yourself in books and spend your days in the atelier. It’s not healthy Taehyung.”

“I don’t remember asking for advice.”

Seojoon was on the verge of giving up, letting the course get cancelled before it even happened hadn’t it been for the twelve people that signed up and Namjoon’s effort to recruit them.

“Look-“he takes a deep breath calming himself, “You can think of it as a one year course, but in reality, it’s eight months. When you count Christmas, New Year, Easter you can cut one month coming to seven months in total. I’ve gone all out for this course, please don’t make me go and explain to my higher-ups why it’s cancelled before it even started.”

Taehyung shut his eyes trying not to feed the growing frustration inside him. Seojoon takes the time to look at his brother, the embodiment of pain. The eyes that used to shine brightly at the sight of new opportunities were now dull and empty, almost as if his soul left the body. It tore him apart to see Taehyung like that, powerless and what added more to his pain was the inability to help him.

“It’s been a year since I’ve held a class.”

“I know you Taehyung. You are a man of many talents and there is nothing that can convince me otherwise. You need to move forward and face the fear you’ve been holding onto. It’s been a year. Nobody will judge you.” Seojoon’s eyes soften as he walks up to his brother ruffling his hair, hoping that his sincerity got through to him.

“I don’t know Joon.”

Before Seojoon could even start talking Taehyung shakes his head and moves hurriedly reaching for the knob. Seojoon takes a step towards Taehyung, but he doesn’t even give him a chance to speak as he runs right out of the door leaving him alone in the atelier.

The water drips from Taehyung’s wet hair down his face creating a false comfort, the sound of water coated a perfect cover to hide his emotional baggage. It became a habit of his to seek solace in the bathtub surrounded by lavender soaps that Yuna bought. A tradition carried on from their mother to them. The scent took Taehyung back into his childhood spent in his family home in Busan. Carefree of responsibilities and the heavy burden the world carried.

He recalls the delicate touch of his mother’s fingers untangling his locks while singing Elvis’s song can’t help falling in love. Her voice heartening Taehyung as he wept over a dispute he had with his second brother Hyungsik. The vivid memory of his mother placing a kiss on the crown of his head before wiping away the tears from his cheeks.

“Siblings are there to teach you about life,” she whispers softly, “They teach you what it means to be kind, to be fair and to know you will not always be right. They teach you about teamwork, conflict resolution and most importantly Tae they teach you what it is to love and to be loved.”

Opening the door of Seojoon’s study, Taehyung is greeted with a sight to behold. Leaning against the door frame he watches Yuna and Hyungsik dancing in the middle of the muddled room, furniture pushed aside to create more room. They attempted to follow Yuna’s new choreography, Seojoon’s seated in the leather armchair grading assignments although he would glance up occasionally laughing at the duo. More like laugh at Hyungsik’s failed attempts but he didn’t need to know that. Noticing Taehyung’s presence, Yuna runs over linking their arms and pulls him forward oblivious to the slight tension between him and Seojoon.

“Idol my ass, “she scoffs at a gasping Hyungsik, “Taehyungie I need a dance partner for my new choreography. Hyungsik can’t even learn the basics.”

“Not my fault the younger generation goes overboard with their dances and outfits and singing. In my time we relied on our charms, and not how you call it? Fairy ending? What is even that?”

“It’s when idols finish the song, and the camera pans on of them giving them some more love and screen time. Right?” Taehyung looks at Yuna for approval. She places Taehyung’s hand over her shoulder, linking her arms around his waist while he kisses her temple and puts his cheek on top of her head.

“Admit it you’ve gotten old Hyungsik.” Seojoon derides.

That was enough to motivate Hyungsik to crack his fingers and reach for the tablet, “Give me the goddamn tablet. I’ll show you who’s old.” burying his nose into the gadget, he replays the video repeatedly.

By the time he made it through the first segment of the dance, Taehyung was sure he could blindly replicate the choreography himself.

“Couldn’t you ask one of your professors or other idols in training to help you?” Taehyung asks as the two observe Hyungsik’s rusty moves.

“One friend is busy finishing school projects and Jungkook-a has too many events lined up to help. I haven’t seen him since last Friday and I don’t feel comfortable asking Jimin-ssi to practice with me.”

“Isn’t he your professor?”

“Yes and no. He helps the idols which have already debuted in our entertainment company, that’s Jungkook. Jimin-ssi does occasionally step in when other professors are prevented from teaching. But his job is being a full-time professor at the EQ Royal Dance Academy.”

Taehyung nods, the information flying over his head as Hyungsik messes up a move and topples to the floor. He erupts into fits of laugher for the first time in weeks and Seojoon is suddenly reminded what’s it like to be happy. He knew bringing Yuna home for the weekend would do Taehyung some good. The sight warms his heart, his siblings bickering loudly, breathing some life into the old room. Resting the assignments on the nearby table, he sits up to join them. Catching Taehyung’s gaze he looks towards the boy, brows raised.

“I’ve thought about it and-” Taehyung stops for a second, but Seojoon’s soft gaze prompts him to continue. “I’ll take the job.”

“Well, you better get ready because it starts in two hours.”

“What?!”

There were many ways you could spend your Friday night, like partying for instance yet here you are sitting in your car listening to Minnie whining. Mingi’s soul stuck somewhere on his iPod the second he set foot in the car, his head bobbing to the music blasting from his AirPods. Yeonjon was the only one not present. Due to his idol actives, he was held back by his vocal coach, but he promised to be there for the second lecture.

Placing your analogue camera on the desk, you tug your hair into a ponytail mentally preparing yourself for two hours of dullness. Minnie sits to your right while Mingi takes the chair to your left. The three of you seating yourselves in the front of the classroom, Namjoon’s words bunch of nerds playing in your head.

Shaking the thought away you see the watch tick eight pm as the door swings open.

When Namjoon told you professor Seojoon’s brother would hold the course you had expected a man either older than him or somewhere around his age, not a handsome make you take a double look type of a man; two or three years older than you.

His features were nothing short of a Greek god. He stood head and shoulders over you even when you were seated, confidence radiating from every fibre of his being as adjusts his bag over his shoulder. Pushing his brown curls away from his face he allows you to look at it. Perhaps you were exaggerating but you never saw such a gorgeous man. Straightening himself up you take notice of his attire for tonight’s lecture. An orange blazer draped over a white shirt brought out his sun-kissed complexion paired with the same-coloured trousers. A type of anonymity laced itself with every step he took in your direction, his stare a mixture of coldness and determination.

He comes forward, eyes scanning each one of you before he sets his gaze on you. It lingers there for a second, his expression unreadable before he breaks it.

“Hello, my name is Kim Taehyung and I’ll be your lecturer for this course.”

For the first time, you see Mingi’s focus entirely on Taehyung. His presence demanded to be felt and a part of you was sure he knew it. Taking the camera in his hand he turns towards you.

“I assume you have at least once taken a photo, whether with your phones or camera. Moreover, I am positive you have attempted to make an aesthetic photo for your Instagram feed. How many of you were successful?” laughter filled the lecture hall,” The goal of this lecture isn’t to make a photographer out of you nor to help you improve your skills. The point is to make you fall in love with photography. The rest will come easy.”

He walks around the desk and opens an old leather binder. Walking towards your table he places it in front of Mingi allowing the three of you to peek at the content of it. There neatly stored in a plastic sheet were his photos. Mingi pushes the portfolio in front of you, allowing easier access to both Minnie and you. Slowly leafing through the pictures, you stop in total awe. Eyes trailing over a simple photo of a ray field, caught somewhere in later November or early December judging by the snow. The contrast was striking, the clash of the colours and the depth of field creating an imaginary line between the ray and the sky.

Taehyung observes your dumbfounded expression, intrigued by your sudden amazement he ambles to your side. He rakes over the photo, which was a thereby sheer mistake, panic rushing through him. In a reckless attempt to stop you from further prying into the photos he grasps the portfolio out of your hold knocking over your camera in the process. It hits the floor shattering the lens into pieces, the film rolling down until it stops near his feet. Cursing himself for his abrupt action, he looks at you. Your eyes drift from the broken camera to Taehyung’s face.

He hurriedly squats picking the pieces, analysing the damage. Beyond repair.

“I am so sorry. I-” he says placing the parts on your table trying to come up with more words of apology.

“It’s alright.” You shuffle awkwardly in your seat not liking the spotlight put on you.

“I’ll be sure to repay you the coasts of a new camera.”

You shake your head; the camera was already outdated, and you were sure Sunmi would let you borrow her digital one from the gallery. “It’s fine.”

Taehyung puts his lips into a thin line, the confidence he marched beginning to leave his body. Although you showed no anger or resentment towards him, he still felt the need to apologize. Swallowing the awkward moment, he paces towards the centre.

“Today we will start with simple terms such as ISO, Aperture and Shutter speed. Three things you should get familiar with.”

Fetching his Nikon camera from the case he turns it around. Swirling the button on the upper part of the camera he adjusts the mode to manual. Pushing another button towards himself the camera shows three circles in the middle of the screen.

“The first circle is shutter speed. That’s the speed at which the light of a camera sensor is exposed to light when taking a photo. Slow shutter speed captures the blur of subjects in motion. It’s valuable for night and landscape photography. On the other hand, high speed allows you to freeze a single millisecond in time.”

Pointing to the middle circle he continues. “This is an aperture, the opening through which light passes through the lens to enter the camera. Its size can be modified to control how much light reaches the sensor.”

Lastly, he shows you the third button. “ISO represents the sensor’s sensitivity to the light. The higher the number, the more information will be captured in other words the picture will be brighter.”

Taehyung fumbles with the camera for a few seconds before he focuses it on you and with a click and shutter of light, he takes your photo. With no time to recover you feel a blush creep at the thought of how the picture turned out. “As you can see this is the perfect setting for the indoor portrait. Now if we put the shutter speed high and the ISO low-“

He again takes a picture of you turning the camera screen to the students. The photo was dark, your features barely visible but still your figure could be distinguished. “This is an underexposed photo. Now if we set the shutter speed to let’s say 1/40 and places the ISO high-“

Expecting his move this time, you look up at the camera. Taehyung halts his action for a slight second before he presses the button. Looking at the photo, the brightness is overbearing. “This is an overexposed photo.”

He places the camera in front of Mingi, Minnie and you allowing you to take your time and compare the three photos he took. “Why am I showing you this? Because for your next assignment that’s what you will do. You will take three photos of the same object. The object you choose should be something that left a great impact on you. That can be your family, your friends or an inanimate object such as phones, books etc. The choice is yours.”

Pulling out stacks of paper he leaves them on the corner of his desk.” These here are today’s study notes. I don’t expect you to write down notes while in the class, but I do expect you to finish your assignments. That will be all for today.”

The students began leaving the room each taking one paper, Taehyung stood there, hands in his pocket looking through every pupil that passed by. Minnie was first in line, her flirt mode on. You see them exchange a few words, Minnie’s behaviour suddenly going from sweet to sour in seconds. You dally your way to the desk aware of his gaze burning holes in the side of your head.

“Sorry, Y/N was it?” You peek up not expecting him to spare you a second let alone address you.

“Yeah?”

Taehyung scratches the back of his neck awkwardly.” I am sorry for what happened to your camera. I know you said it’s fine, but I feel responsible for it. I would feel better if you let me repay you by buying a new camera or at least participating in the coasts.”

“No, really it’s fine.” You laugh as you say it for the fourth time today.” I will borrow my sister’s camera for the course. If I do find myself in a need to buy a new camera, I will let you know.”

Before Taeyhung could protest you nod politely and leave the room. Biting his lip, he couldn’t help to feel bad about the wreck he made knowing full well how much an analogue camera costs nowadays. Taking the Nikon one from your table he swipes through the photos deleting each one before he pauses on the last one. It was the first black and white photo he took of you.

Your eyes were focused on Taehyung, although taken aback by the light they held their composure your mouth pulled into an affiliative smile. The white light made your baby hair stand out in the black background. For an unexplained reason, Taehyung felt a small tug, one he couldn’t pinpoint the meaning of. Shutting off his camera, he exhales through his nose and throws the bag over his shoulder.

The first lecture was done, thirty-three to go.

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bookishofalder · 3 years

Text

Night Changes [Six]

Summary: In which Poe and the reader recover, and feelings intensify. A mission brings them closer, and memories give us insight into their pasts.

Warnings: Language, violence, smut, fluff, emotions, angst. Everything you came for.

Poe was wandering aimlessly, his feet scuffing along the dirt road as he kept his eyes focused downward, his cheeks stained with tracks of dried tears. His unruly curls were falling into his face, somewhat shielding his eyes from the lowering sun as he ventured around his neighbourhood. When another sniffle threatened, he cleared his throat aggressively and choked it back.

His father told Poe that it was more than okay to cry, as much as he wanted and for as long as he needed. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of crying and showing his emotions, nor was it why he hadn’t yet gone back home. It was just...he was tired; of crying, of feeling so enormously miserable. And now that the funeral and life celebration was over, it felt suddenly very final. Like the second he walked through the door tonight, it would hit him that she was never coming back.

That she was lost to the stars, forever.

It still didn’t feel real, not fully, and so when they were making their way home a short while ago, Poe froze up when they turned the corner onto their lonely stretch of road. He couldn’t bring himself to continue walking, and after a few moments, his father had glanced around to find Poe standing several feet back. A look of sorrow and understanding had crossed his face before he pulled him in for a tight hug and suggested that he take a walk. Told Poe to take his time and come home when he felt ready, that he’d be waiting up no matter the time. Dad was good like that, never pushed but always seemed to understand, to tell Poe he was seen.

He was on a street not too far from home now, the sun low and golden and the temperature easing just enough, though Poe was still sweating a little. He was considering removing his sweater when a voice to his left cut through the air very suddenly.

“Duck!”

He did, not needing to be told twice even though he wasn’t sure what he was avoiding. Glancing up, Poe saw a large red ball fly over his head and instinctively reached up and caught it before it could get too far. When he looked around, standing back up, a boy that looked to be his age was running toward him, his eyes crinkled in a friendly way as he pulled a face that conveyed his apologies.

“Wow, sorry!” The boy said, coming to a halt in front of Poe and panting. He pointed at the ball, “I was aiming for my sister’s head, but I’m not the best kicker.” He admitted, and Poe smiled at the boy’s candour.

“That’s okay, you missed me too,” He held the ball out for the boy, but before he could hand it over a girl, who looked to be a couple of years younger, came barreling over. Her face scrunched in anger that Poe wanted to think was adorable, but it was also kind of scary.

That was the first time Poe saw you.

“Charlie mommy said not to do that anymore!” You shouted, ripping the ball from Poe’s hands and then aggressively tossing it toward your house. It bounced until it hit the duracrete side, rolling to a stop. “You’re a massive-“

“Hey, don’t swear in front of-oh,” The boy paused and looked back over at Poe, who was standing somewhat awkwardly as he watched the siblings exchange. “Sorry, what’s your name?”

You were both looking at him now, your faces friendly and open. “I’m...Poe. Dameron. Poe Dameron.” He mumbled nervously, suddenly feeling too tired and hot. His face flushed a little from the heat and embarrassment, and he just knew you were both going to think he was a real loser.

“Poe Dameron, nice to meet you, buddy! I’m Charlie and this pipsqueak-“ The boy-Charlie- broke off to ruffle your hair as you rolled your eyes, “Is my sister (y/n). We’ve seen you around before, you must live close.”

Poe nodded, “Yeah, just over by-“

“Why are you dressed like that?” You asked suddenly, a hand shooting out to pluck at his black sweater.

Poe hesitated, unsure of how to explain without immediately scaring both of you off. You were surprisingly serious for a little kid, your big eyes sweeping over his face and taking in his red eyes, before again taking in his outfit.

But when you looked back up at met Poe’s nervous gaze, your lips tugged up ever so slightly in a way that...well, it made him trust you. He didn’t know why, but he looked between you and the equally friendly face of your brother and didn’t sense a shred of hostility or insincerity.

“My mom just died, today was,” He took in a shuddering breath, the words heavier to admit than he ever could have imagined, and yet just saying it out loud was surprisingly freeing, “The funeral. I was just...I wasn’t ready to go home yet, I guess.”

Poe had stared at your bare feet as he spoke, focusing on the wiggling toes because he didn’t want to see the pity on your faces after spending the last few days receiving nothing but pitying looks from everyone he’d ever known. He was entirely caught off guard when he heard you give a little gasp, then launched yourself into him, your arms wrapping around his waist and pulling him into an unexpected, firm hug.

“Poe that’s awful,” You whimpered, peering up at him with tears eyes.

Poe felt it then, the shift inside of him that he wouldn’t realize for a very long time was his universe colliding with yours, the staggering sensation of his soul meeting your soul for the very first time. He was too young to know this, of course, but the intensity of his feelings was felt nonetheless. The first thing he did recognize was that he really, really wanted to prevent you from looking so sad.

Charlie’s hand clapped down on his shoulder as Poe gazed down at you in surprise, only seconds had passed, “We’re really sorry about your mom, Poe,” He smiled sadly as he spoke, shaking his head a little. After a moment his gaze shifted to you, “Kid, he’s already warm! Give him some space!”

You almost seemed surprised at your reaction to Poe’s news, though upon hearing Charlie’s admonishment, you quite suddenly jumped away from him, as though you had been electrocuted, all while furiously apologizing to Poe.

You were so adorable and sincere that Poe laughed. For the first time since his father had come into his room and kneeled next to the bed with the most heartbreaking expression to tell him his mother had died, he laughed. Full bellied, the muscles in his face stretching upward into a wide grin, Poe Dameron laughed. There was only a slight pause before you and Charlie joined in, your pealing giggles filling his ears as Charlie held his shoulder and stars, did it ever feel good.

Poe was still just a kid, even though his mom had died and he’d had to suffer through heartbreak that no child ever should, he was at heart still only ten years old. Yet as he stood on the front lawn laughing with the Horn children he was overwhelmed by the feeling of home he found in you both. He knew this was the start of something incredible.

Charlie gestured toward the ball once the laughter began to fade, “Do you have to go home yet, or do you want to play with us for a bit, Poe?” Charlie asked, gesturing toward the ball.

You were nodding eagerly next to him, and with a glance at the sun to confirm it wasn’t yet too late to stay, Poe smiled at his new friends, his eyes meet yours as he answered. “I’d love to.”

————-

Your hips swayed lazily to the music as you eased your way through the evening crowd gathered at Maz Kanata’s cantina. Poe kept close behind you, his face relaxed but his eyes flicking carefully around the room, watching for signs of trouble, his senses on high alert. He kept his face neutral, holding back the frown he found himself tempted to make as strangers' eyes fell down your body when you passed them, drinking in your curves.

You found an empty booth and sat, propping your legs on the seat across from you, the picture of ease and comfort when you smiled up at Poe. He tried to mimic your relaxation, but you’d always been much better at acting a part than him when it came to the cause you both fought for. He had trouble pretending to not be on edge, and so he kept close to you. Not just for safety, but also to be considered a protective partner, rather than an undercover Rebel.

With a small wink, you patted the seat next to you to give Poe permission, that you knew he needed, to sit close to you. He flung an arm behind you, resting against the booth seat, and spread his legs wide in hopes of appearing at ease. Your hand patted his knee briefly and he had to actively work at not tensing under the heat of your touch.

You sat in silence together for a few minutes before Jess Pava cut through the crowd to join you, her hands holding four drinks carefully that you jumped up to help her with. Your body leaned over Poe’s as you plucked two drinks from the fellow pilot’s hands, and he had to take a small breath to steady himself due to your proximity. Stars.

‘Your system is entirely flushed of the pollen, Commander. We ran the extra tests you requested and they came up the same as the previous.’

‘But I feel so...you know what, never mind. If you say it’s gone, then I believe you.’

You handed him his drink and he raised it in thanks, then pretended to take a sip. None of you would be drinking this evening, because you were working but it would have looked suspicious if you’d all sat down in the cantina without them.

“Thanks, Jess,” You sat back down, your thigh only inches from Poe’s. He watched Jess toss you a flirtatious wink and rolled his eyes in amusement as you flushed in response. She had always loved to flirt with you.

“Well, I’m not sure when exactly our friend will arrive but he can usually be counted on to be on time when there are free drinks.” Jess rapped her knuckles on the table, her eyes drifting around the room casually. She’d been based at an outpost nearby Takodana and was the lead on the current intel handoff that required Poe and you.

You scoffed, “I don’t care if he’s late. But if his intel isn’t as good as he claims, I’m shooting him before I ask questions.” Out of the corner of his eye, Poe saw your fingers twitch on your shooting arm; as though you were tempted to pull the hidden blaster from your backpack.

Poe nodded in agreement, “Not that it isn’t lovely to see you, Jess.”

She laughed as Poe grinned, sitting back into her seat to get more comfortable while waiting for the contact to show up. Each of you was dressed to look like casual, tired travellers. In various shades of khaki, Poe wore a light linen shirt tucked into his pants, his blaster hidden in the waistband at his lower back, his regular boots exchanged for a worn pair of travelling boots that were anything but comfortable. You were wearing the same light linen, though the tunic you wore was tighter fitting, tucking into loose-fitting shorts that hit mid-thigh, the look revealing a lot more skin than he was used to seeing.

It was distracting, you were distracting to him, especially as you sat so close to him that he could feel your body heat, smell your shampoo.

Poe and you had been released from the med bay two days before this mission on Takodana. He’d returned twice to demand further testing, unbeknownst to you because he wanted to be certain he would never hurt you again. He’d woken up feeling pretty spectacular, that first day after receiving what Tahla told him had been special transfusions to clear out the pollen. His friend had said it would feel intense, the new clarity in his mind, because he’d spent nearly a month unknowingly gripped by a fog that only increased each time Poe and you touched.

And stars, it was true how free and open his mind felt now. It was like losing a large amount of weight all at once, and with his newfound clarity, he thought there would be a substantial decrease in his attraction to you-enough, that is, to stop his thoughts from wondering and his heart rate to increase every time he so much as looked at you, but that hadn’t happened. Instead, it was like the exact opposite had occurred; free of the effects of the pollen, Poe was no longer confused or overwhelmed by his feelings, rather they had all seemed to be glaringly obvious.

Now, instead of looking at you and remembering what had happened after the pollen exposure, Poe simply became distracted because you were beautiful. Equal parts protectiveness, adoration and attraction surged within him anytime he glanced your way now, and it didn’t feel wrong or confusing any longer. There had been a few times now where you’d looked at him similarly, and he wondered, or rather, hoped, that maybe you were feeling the same.

With a low sigh, you shifted next to Poe, recrossing your legs as your feet rested on the seat opposite, and Poe’s eyes automatically swept over your form. He sensed your apprehension and impatience and let his hand fall forward slightly, sweeping some of your loose hair away from your neck. His belly warmed when he saw you shiver a little.

Pulling his gaze away from you, he glanced around the room once again. Maz Kanata’s was a neutral territory, which meant that coming in disguise was as important as it was to keep your blaster nearby. The place was filled with a mixed bag of smugglers, spies, travellers and more. There was no telling who could be in the room and with you at his side, Poe was hyper-aware of the risks that being members of the Resistance held and he was as eager to leave, with the intel, as he knew you were.

“Oh, here’s our green friend now,” Jess’s voice pulled Poe from his thoughts and he glanced around, spotting the Twi’lek man approaching their table with an easy-going smile.

“Fucking finally,” You murmured to Poe, your warm breath brushing against his neck and raising goosebumps along his skin.

He was starting to wonder if you were doing these things on purpose, now.

Medical Bay Two Days Prior

You awoke somewhat rapidly with a gasp, almost sitting up as you came to, only a hand on your shoulder that seemed to be expecting the reaction cautioned you to remain laying down. You allowed your body to relax, your eyes still shut.

A distant and possibly familiar voice was speaking to you quietly, though you couldn’t make out the words yet.

To wake yourself up properly, you pulled in a deep breath and focused on yourself for a moment, noticing how good you felt, your body light and pain-free. And your head...it felt so clear.

The memories came back, then, of walking down the hallway toward the hangar with Poe, his hands touching you more and more like he couldn’t help himself. How good those hands felt until each of you was falling to the ground in twisted versions of ecstasy. It had been painful, terrifying, and you remembered clinging to him both in panic and for safety as you screamed, Temmin appearing and then it all slips away, the last thing you could recall was the stinging sensation in your arm. It must have been a quick dose of bacta, enough to keep you from dying even though you still passed out from the overstimulation of everything.

As you thought of Poe, panic began to rise within you and you heard the resulting increase in your nearby heart rate monitor. Had they been able to save him, too? Or had he...oh, what if he-

“Major, relax, you need to calm yourself. You are alright. Commander Dameron is safe as well-yes, that’s right, breath for me, Poe is safe, good, good.” The voice next to you was soothing, the firm hand on your arm rubbing up and down gently as your heart rate decreased.

Poe was safe. Your Poe.

And then the clarity hit, no longer blurred by your panic over Poe’s condition, and the monitor picked up the brief spike as your mind caught you up. It was like...the pollen had mangled and warped your feelings, pushing back everything that mattered most to focus on what your body wanted, what it wanted your bodies to do. It left you both in need, even after you worked through the initial exposure, and you hadn’t even realized it. It was like a filter on your brain, not blocking out the real stuff, but keeping you more and more focused on Poe in a sexual way the more you touched, until it all became too much.

But now you could feel everything real and it was almost too much to suddenly bear. You knew you’d forgiven him, that you’d each begun repairs on your broken friendship, falling back into a comfortable pattern...but stars, it was so much fucking more, wasn’t it? You were completely-

With another gasp, you opened your eyes before the realization could send you into a panic, and the Healer next to you prevented you from sitting up again, coming into focus now as you adjusted to the sunny medical room. You saw a privacy curtain around your bed, then looked at the person standing over you.

You blinked in surprise as you gazed at the Healer because you knew him.

“Tahla!” You cried out in delight, and he let you move finally so that you could pull him down to you for a bone-crushing hug. He laughed, a rich baritone he definitely hadn’t had when you last saw him on Yavin-4 years ago.

“Hey kid,” He said, pulling back to gaze down at you with a wide smile, “Welcome back. How do you feel?” He searched your face in a way that told he was there in a professional capacity as much as a friendly one.

“I...well, shit,” You stammered, struggling to sit up. He helped you, adjusting your pillow behind your shoulders and then pulling your blanket up a little. “My head feels so clear, I can’t believe it.” He nodded knowingly as you gazed up at him, looking at his Healer uniform, then to the medical droid next to him waiting for instructions.

Noticing your shift in focus, Tahla pointed in question to the edge of your bed and you nodded, scooting your legs out of the way so that he could sit. He settled, then took one of your hands into his own. “It’s been a few years, hasn’t it?” He asked you softly, “I’m sorry about that. And for not being able to make it to Charlie’s funeral, either.”

“You don’t owe me any apologies, Tahla Martell, you should know that,” You replied quietly, squeezing his hand, “Not after everything you’ve done for me.”

He sighed, nodding his understanding as you both remember your last few months on Yavin-4. He then glanced back at you and despite the faint laugh lines around his eyes, the more dense peppering of facial stubble, you thought he looked much the same as he had all those years ago. Based on how his eyes were roving over your face, you believe he was thinking the same thing.

“I suppose it goes without saying, but I am a Healer now, a specialist actually. In foreign contaminants. My team was responding to the General’s request for assistance, but when I saw your name and Poe’s name on the patient files, I decided to come myself,” He explained, tossing you a little smile that told you he just knew you’d get yourself into trouble someday. You grinned back at him. “The Healer’s here put you both into temporary medical comas, and once I arrived yesterday I was able to complete the transfusions required to clear your system of any and all lingering toxins.”

Frowning now at the memories of the last month, you shook your head, “Tahla, I really fucked up on this-”

“No,” He interrupted softly, and you felt yourself flush a little from the sincerity of the look he was giving you. “You didn’t. That pollen is one of the more lethal ones known to us in the field. The fact that you were both able to survive this long...and once you were exposed, you were both technically compromised. The pollen didn’t want you to report the exposure, that wasn’t a lapse on your part,” He paused, thinking over his next words carefully as you waited patiently with your guilt-ridden heart sitting in your throat. “One could argue that had there not been a delay in your return to base, meaning the three-day travel, it could have been more likely you’d have reported what happened. But because you and Poe were exposed together, worked out the initial effects together, and subsequently remained within close proximity during the travels home, there was absolutely no chance of either of you making that correct call.”

You let that linger for a moment, closing your eyes as the build-up of emotion swelled. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t fuck up. Though, you couldn’t help but wonder how far-reaching the pollen’s hold on you was. When you opened your eyes, Tahla was watching you closely with an expectant expression, as though he sensed the direction of your thoughts.

“Did-did it affect everything I did and said? That P-Poe-?”

“No, just the more, shall we say, primal parts,” He said thoughtfully, “I read the report you did submit, and I found it interesting. You stated the trip home was fairly uneventful. Was that true, to your recollection?”

“Oh,” You thought back to those three days after you’d made up with Poe. “It really was.”

Tahla bobbed his head in thought, “It’s unique, I think, that exposure happened to two people who had a pre-existing friendship beyond being mere teammates. At least in our reports over the years. Do you recall wanting to touch Poe, but not allowing yourself to do so?”

You stared at Tahla in surprise, “Yes, right after we rolled through the bush that they were growing from. Why?”

He ran a hand over his jaw, brows furrowed in thought. “I think the pollen had its work cut out for it, getting you both to ignore your instincts to protect one another. If you were fighting it that early, well, that’s the first time I’ve heard of such a thing,” He tapped over his lips now and you could practically hear his scientific brain whirring away. “Even the timeline here is beyond anything I’ve ever come across. You were both able to resist initially, then worked the first dose out of your system. But when you came back to base, you were still fighting against the urges and that is...something else. The more you touched, the harder it was not to touch, am I right?”

You wanted to feel more embarrassed at the questions, but you were too caught up in what he might be getting at to give a damn. So instead, you nodded, “Harder not too, but felt more dangerous to continue.”

“I think the preexisting friendship played a major role here, it allowed you both to walk around nearly for a month when you should have been succumbing within a day after the initial-hold on, what symptoms have you had since you’ve been back, other than what we’ve discussed?”

He gave you an intense look then, and now you flushed a lot because you were hoping not to have to talk about the dreams. “I was uh, having dreams. Nightly, or like really early in the mornings. They woke me up.” You bit nervously at your cheek.

Tahla, ever the Healer at heart, got straight to the point. “You were having sexual dreams that woke you up because you orgasmed?”

You pulled your hand from him, covering your face, “Yeah, but it was like only a second or two of relief. And then I’d be worked up all day...tried, you know, before bed to see if it helped, but nothing did.”

“Huh,” Tahla grunted, going quiet for a few minutes as he thought. You suddenly felt very grateful you were having this conversation with him and not any other Healer’s. Stars. “Remarkable.”

You peeked out from behind your hands, “Tahla, are you saying that because Poe and I care for each other so much, we were able to fight against the pollen to a degree? That what happened the other day was the result of too much touching after so much time resisting?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, or theorizing at this point,” He replied, and you huffed out a breath. This was too much to think about. He seemed to sense your exhaustion and reached out to grip your shoulder. “Back to the initial question, though, you were both still yourselves underneath the underlying desire to, well, you know.”

He laughed a little shyly then and you smirked, quirking a brow in surprise. “Oh now he gets shy,” You giggled, “Stars, Tahla.”

“I know,” He agreed, laughing along with you, “I suppose it doesn’t make sense for us, considering our history. It was my poor attempt at being delicate after asking such personal questions.” He blushed a little and you couldn’t help but grin at him.

You shrugged, “Honestly, I’m glad you’re asking. I want to understand it all, and I’m sure Poe will want to as well. Have you spoken to him at all? Is he awake?” You wanted to see him, tell him everything was okay now.

Tahla opened his mouth to reply, only another voice cut in from the other side of the curtain. “I’m awake, sweetheart.” Your friend stood then and walked around to the other side of your bed, pulling the curtain along as he did. You watched Poe come into view, sitting on his bed with his legs over the side, and you knew straight away he’d heard everything. Meeting his gaze, you felt your stomach flutter in a sudden wave of nerves, because there he was.

Your Poe.

Tahla was saying something to him, but you couldn’t focus on what because you were lost in his eyes, drinking in his features, the soft expression on his face as he gazed at you, and you realized that whatever Tahla had done to cure you of the pollen, it had worked. Because you were looking at Poe now without any barriers-no pollen, no grief, no anger-and you felt like you were back on Gold team, the night before Charlie died, walking across the cantina as Poe watched you and you started to realize how you felt...

He pulled his gaze away, meeting Tahla’s outstretched hand and you looked to your hands where they sat in your lap. You swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry, though the hovering medical droid passed you a cup of water moments later and provided a nice distraction from your thoughts.

“Well, you’ll both remain here for a few more hours just for observation, but I’m releasing you at dinner time. You’re cleared for duty, so I’m sure you’ll be in the field as of tomorrow.”

“And we...you’re sure, one hundred percent sure, that nothing else can happen? That I-we-“ Poe broke off awkwardly, and you kept your eyes on the drink in your hand.

“I’m completely, entirely sure, Commander.” Tahla assured you both, “Listen, I’ll be off by dinner time so I’d love to catch up if you’re both up to it?”

You glanced up, meeting Tahla’s warm eyes, “That sounds great, Tahla.”

You saw Poe nod out of the corner of your eye, “Yeah man, see you then.”

He left you then, not before reminding you both to relax, and throwing a wink your way that you knew Poe hadn’t seen. When the door shut behind him, you were both silent for a long minute, though you could sense Poe looking at you. And you felt...nervous, under his gaze now, though you wanted to look at him as well, you were afraid of what he might read from your expression. He’d always been able to read you well, and you him.

“How are you doing, sweetheart?” He finally broke the silence, his voice low.

You clasped your hands in your lap, then looked up and met Poe’s eyes. The heart rate monitor gave you away, gave you both away. Each of you gazed at one another, hearts racing, and you thought it felt really good to be looking at Poe, no pollen making it about sex. Instead, you looked over at your best friend and realized how much you cared for him. How much you missed him. How scared you had been to lose him again.

Before you could overthink it, you were out of your bed. It was only a few steps to his, just enough time for Poe to sit up straight, eyes bright, before catching you in his arms. You flung yours around his shoulders and pulled him close, stepping between his legs as you did. “Poe,” You murmured, and his arms tightened around you in response.

You slid one hand into the curls at the nape of his neck, smiling to yourself when you heard him give a low sigh in response. He pressed his face into your neck, making you feel safer than you’d ever felt in your life, wrapped there in his arms. You think you were both putting a lot of things left unsaid into the hug, neither of you quite ready to talk it all out, but silently agreeing all was forgiven.

And as clear as you realized your feelings were for Poe Dameron, you also knew that you weren’t ready to voice them aloud, no longer because you denied them, but rather because you feared they wouldn’t be reciprocated.

Poe didn’t trust the contact, despite the Twi’lek’s easy smile and friendly banter. His opinion was possibly coloured by the fact that Dario had first greeted Jess, whom he’d met several times, before promptly and very obviously dropping his gaze to check you out and then making a show of shaking your hand as Poe glowered at him. He would have remained angrier had he not noticed you shift a little closer to him once Dario looked away to take his seat.

“Listen, I think considering the shit I’ve gone through to give you this information, the least you can all do is enjoy another drink with me,” Dario stated, tapping his glass with a long green finger. “At least make me feel like we’re friendly, Jess.”

Jess rolled her eyes, her jaw tight, “Don’t pretend to suffer more than you do, Dario, it’s unbecoming.” The Twi’lek barked laughter in response. Jess sighed, “We can stay a little longer, and then we’re giving you your credits and you are giving us our intel and we’re leaving, got it?”

“Fine, fine,” He relented, glancing around at the three of you, “Well, who's buying this round?”

Poe wasn’t about to let the man out of his sight, something that you understood just from the set of his shoulders because you sat forward instantly, “I’ll go,” You shot Poe a look that said you were just as annoyed as him before standing up and stepped past him carefully.

Dario noticed the way Poe’s eyes determinedly stared at the table when you stepped over his lap. And he didn’t let it go unmentioned, either, “So are you two a thing or do you just enjoy the heavy sexual tension you carry for one another?”

Jess tried to hide her laughter in her drink, giving Poe an apologetic sort of look when he glared at her. “You said friendly, not friends. I’m not going to let you braid my hair and ask about feelings and shit.” He huffed, to which Dario simply chuckled, raising his glass at Poe.

“Sorry, sorry. Just wanted to be prepared if you suddenly started going at it on the table.”

“You know what man,” Poe growled through clenched teeth, leaning forward, “You suck at making friends.”

Dario raised his green hands in mock surrender, “Then you won’t mind that a smuggler just pinched her ass?” He jerked his chin toward the bar and Poe whipped his head around, seeking you out in the crowd.

Sure enough, you were leaning against the bar and a large, unruly-looking man was standing way too fucking close. Poe was out of his seat in an instant, catching your eye as he approached. The thing about places like Maz’s was that if a little traveller woman like you suddenly pulled out highly skilled hand-to-hand combat moves, it would draw a lot of attention, which your group was rather eager to avoid. Poe, on the other hand, could easily get away with what he decided to do the moment he saw you flinch, the smuggler having pinched you again.

Wordlessly, he pulled you close with one hand and grabbed the back of the smuggler's neck at the same time. Before he could react to Poe’s sudden appearance, his face was smacking off of the bar. He folded somewhat comically, unconscious on the floor. Poe looked at the bartender now placing the drinks on the counter.

“Here’s a few extra credits for the trouble, man.” He passed them over, and the gruff-looking man merely grumbled his thanks, pocketing the credits and then directing a nearby droid to drag the man outside.

“That was satisfying,” You quipped at his side, drawing Poe’s gaze. You pitched your voice lower to prevent anyone from overhearing you, “I think you broke his nose, flyboy.”

Poe laughed, releasing his hold on you but moving his hand to rest on your lower back, just in case anyone else thought they could come near you. “You good? I can go outside and finish him off, you know.” He was only half-joking, and you arched a brow at him before reaching out to pick up the drinks, passing two to him to carry.

“If I can resist the urge to kill him, then you can too,” You replied, leading the way back to the table. “But thank you all the same.”

Before he could reply, Poe met the amused expression on Dario’s face and frowned at him over your shoulder. Jess was determinedly looking anywhere but Poe, which told him enough about where her loyalties were. And while you’d been all smiles for him moments ago, evidently your patience had been torn to shreds from your interaction with the smuggler.

“Alright, here’s your fucking drink,” You growled, slamming the glass on the table in front of Dario, “Now hand over the intel or I’m kicking your ass.” Poe had to bite back a proud smile.

Dario exhaled as he gave you a weary look, “Wow, you’re kind of scary when you get all worked up,” He admitted, shooting back his drink in one go, “Since I don’t think you really want to be my friend now, I’ll give up on the attempt here at civility.”

You gave a cold laugh as Jess leaned toward Dario, “Look, you promised me good intel, good enough that I called in these two to get it straight from you rather than risk it hopping between squadrons. Hand it over and you get your credits and a continued pass from our people to remain on Takodana peacefully.”

With a roll of his icy blue eyes, the Twi-lek man reached into an inner front pocket of his jacket and pulled out a data stick, passing it to you. You grabbed for it but Dario didn’t let go straight away, instead leaning forward to meet your eyes levelly as you both held the intel. “Probably should mention one thing,” He began, and Poe felt himself go rigid, eyes on Dario.

“Oh yeah?” You replied coldly, giving another tug on the intel.

Dario let go of it, “The man I stole that from has a lot of people working for him and I may have been made a few minutes ago. More than likely there are First Order officers on their way, which is why you’ll be happy to hear I no longer want your money. Just sneak me out the back with you and I’ll be on my merry way, deal?”

Poe’s eyes flicked around the room, seeing no immediate threats but fully aware that sneaking out was going to be an issue with so little warning. You had stiffened, then quickly pushed the data stick down the front of your shirt into your chest band before reaching across the table and grabbing Dario’s shirt roughly, tugging him close. “You motherfuck-“

Jess was already typing into her comm as you let loose on Dario, unleashing the fury of your words in place of kicking the shit out of him and Poe continued to survey the room. “Poe,” Jess said, and he glanced toward her, “I’ve got back up coming in for a distraction in two. You’ll have to go out the doorway to the south, take a long way around to your ship.”

“Well, it was great seeing you again, Jess,” He replied lightly, “We’ll have to do this again sometime. Everything, the bad drinks, the toxic masculinity, our idiot Twi’lek the Major is currently teaching a new language. Really, it’s been wonderful.” With a final laugh, Jess reached over and patted your head in farewell, winked at Poe, and then sprinted away from the table to meet her backup outside. The distant sounds of shouting and a sudden loud bang was all the warning Poe needed a minute later.

Grabbing you by the arm, Poe quickly stood and began toward the exit, hearing rather than seeing that Dario was still there because he was cursing as he stumbled along in your angry grip. Pushing through the doorway, he heard Dario cry out in pain and glanced around to see him reaching for his shin. You had kicked him. “Sweetheart, need you to-“

You were on your wrist comm before he finished, “On it,” You said, running a scan of the immediate area, which thankfully came up clean, “It’s your lucky day, Dario, you get to live to see another. I’d say farewell, but I wouldn’t mean it!”

Poe laughed, then pointed into the tree line, “Go that way as long as you can before circling back to your ride, they’ll be gone pretty soon.” He told the Twi’lek, who grunted his thanks and tore off in the direction Poe had indicated. “Which way?” He asked you, knowing you had the entire area memorized in preparation for this mission.

You nodded to his right, adjusting the bag on your shoulders, “That way, there’s some water we can lose them in. Unless you’ll let me go and kill Dario-“

“I’ll let you kill him if we ever bump into him again, I promise,” Poe grabbed your hand and started running, neither of you unaware of the danger you were in with First Order troops nearby. Once safely in the cover of the trees, he continued between breaths, “Though I think it’s safe to say he’s going to be in hiding for a while.”

“He won’t be able to hide from me if this intel is anything but as good as he claimed,” You grumbled, your grip on Poe’s hand tightening as you jumped over thick roots, “You think Jess is alright?”

“Of course,” And he wasn’t lying, he knew she would be long gone by now, seeing as this was more her territory than anything. “You should really be more worried about us, sweetheart.”

You giggled, “I am! Listen, I know we said we’d go straight around to our ship but with Dario out there knowing that it’s probably best we hide for a while.” You left it unspoken, but it meant that you’d be camping in the dense wilderness as you hid from the First Order with highly sought-after intel that they didn’t want in the hands of the Resistance.

“All in a day’s work, eh?”

You sighed heavily in response. Jumping into the ankle-deep stream, you began walking in the opposite direction of the ship, further into the forest. Poe felt the water soak through his socks in seconds and couldn’t help but agree with your angry reaction back in the Cantina. Careless or intentional, Dario had all but ensured Poe and you would be on the run until you could get off of this planet and escape in hyperspace. And he had wet socks to top it all off.

“It’s open!” You called out, glancing up from the dining table where you were sealing the last few boxes of your mothers' things, to see Tahla Martell standing in your doorway. “Hey, Tahla.” You said warmly, moving to greet him in the hallway.

“Hi kid,” He replied, pulling you in for a hug, “I know you’re leaving first thing and you already said your goodbyes to us all, but I didn’t want you to be alone on your last night on Yavin-4.” He held up a covered dish that you caught the scent of, his mother's lasagna.

Warmth spread through you at his kind gesture, “Tahla, that’s so sweet of you,” You had to clear your throat, blinking back tears.

It had been a rough few months since your mother had passed, the house you’d lived in with her for over a year without Charlie and Poe seeming far too big now with just you wondering the lonely hallways. Packing things into storage was at least somewhat therapeutic, and you were keeping the house, but you knew you wouldn’t be visiting anytime soon. It just felt wrong to sell it until you saw Charlie in person and discussed the options.

And you felt a little guilty too, with how excited you were to be headed to the Resistance base the next morning. You’d be seeing your brother and Poe again after two years apart and you couldn’t wait. The fact that your friend understood your mixed emotions and shown up with dinner was...beyond appreciated. Tahla had always been good to you, even when you were younger and Poe had caught you kissing and punched him for it. He hadn’t done anything other than saying he’d prefer to be friends and a friend he’d remained all of this time.

“Are you hungry now?” He asked, and you nodded before moving to the kitchen and realizing you packed up all the plates. Tahla followed you, placing the food onto the table.

“Uh, you okay with eating straight from the dish? I think I have some forks...” You glanced around and spotted the box with cutlery, popping it open and pulling out utensils. Tahla laughed and sat at the kitchen table, taking the cover off of the food. You joined him, moving your chair close and passing him a fork before you both dug in.

You ate in comfortable silence, eating your fill and then sitting back in your seat and pushing the rest toward Tahla while you held your full stomach in content. You looked around the bare kitchen, another wave of nostalgia and emotion bubbling up.

“It feels sadder because it’s not how you pictured it,” Tahla said, breaking into your thoughts. You looked up at him, confused, and he clarified. “You were supposed to be leaving while your mom fussed over you and promised you she’d spend all of her free time with my mom, that she wouldn’t be lonely. She was supposed to take you to the flight dock and wave at you when you boarded, tell you to give Charlie and Poe hugs from her. It’s okay to be sad about how it is instead.”

Emotion swelled again and you nodded because he was right. Your mother was supposed to be here, you were the one that was leaving her, it shouldn’t have been this twisted version, where she left you by way of a sudden and fatal heart attack as you shopped the market together one morning several months before. Tahla and his mother had been at the market as well, a few booths away haggling when they’d heard you screaming, and Tahla had had to pull you away from your mother’s still, peaceful-looking body as his mother checked her pulse and called for Healers. He’d held you for hours, eventually bringing you home, only leaving when you insisted he could come back first thing in the morning.

You ducked your head down as tears spilled onto your cheeks, ashamed to be crying in front of Tahla. He put down his fork and shuffled closer, pulling you in for a gentle hug, patting your back, “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to upset you, I could just tell-”

“No, you’re right,” You interrupted, pulling back only slightly and wiping a hand across your face, “Y-you understand, and I’m grateful. You’ve always been an amazing friend. I’m going to miss you, you know.” You tried for a small smile, and he returned it with his warm one. You sighed, “I just wish I was leaving this place...my home, with better memories. Alone for the last few months, packing things up, sorting out mom’s will, it’s not how I pictured it.”

Tahla nodded in understanding, “I’d tell you to focus on the fact you’re seeing Charlie and Poe, but I know it doesn’t help with this part.”

“I appreciate it all the same, Tahla,” And you leaned back in to hug him again, knowing he’d probably be leaving in a few minutes and wanting to enjoy the last moments of peace before you were alone in this whole house again. “This is a good memory, though, so thank you.”

He chuckled, the vibrations moving you as you leaned into his chest, “I know the lasagna makes it seem like mom sent me over, but I was planning on stopping by either way,” He admitted, his eyes finding yours again when you leaned back. “Didn’t seem right to let (y/n) Horn fly away from home without a proper goodbye, and by that I mean I selfishly wanted to be the last person you saw.”

You quirked a brow at his joke, Tahla was always ready to flirt with you, “Oh yeah? Well, I’m glad you did.” And while your words were light, the tone of voice you used surprised even you, coming out a little more sultry than either of you expected.

You saw Tahla swallow in surprise, his wide eyes flicking from yours, then down to your lips as you wet them. Boldly deciding to go for it because he was your friend and it was your last night at home and he was handsome and kind and sweet-

Tahla closed the distance, pressing his lips to yours and you moaned in response, gripping his shirt. Opening your mouth to deepen the kiss, you smiled because you both tasted like lasagna. Beneath that, though, you could taste the warm, masculine undertones of Tahla Martell, and based on the low rumble in his chest and the way his hands tightened on your waist, he could taste you as well.

It was kind of like one of your books, how you ended up in your bedroom down the hall, clothing stripped as you moved together until you were hitting the bed and he was pulling away from your mouth to move his lips down your bare body. The sun was low now, casting your room in a gentle golden glow and for the first time in some time, you were feeling something other than grief and loneliness in your bed.

The fact that it was with your friend Tahla...while you’d admit you had always imagined your first time with someone different, you had accepted a long time ago that it wouldn’t happen that way. He was older and more experienced and had spent two years worlds away and free to do whatever he wanted. And Tahla had always been your close and trusted friend, he’d been there for you before your mother died and since, and now he was moving his lips and tongue across your most sensitive areas like he couldn’t imagine a better way to be spending his time.

The empty house was filled with your cries and moans as Tahla, who admitted it wasn’t his first time, brought you to the edge and over several times with just his mouth and fingers before he climbed up your body and kissed you again. You moaned, tasting yourself on him, surprised at how turned on that made you, and then almost cried when he moved back and told you that you could stop here if you wanted, that it didn’t need to go any further but he would still stay the night, wouldn’t leave you alone.

You had intended to go all the way the moment he’d literally lifted you from your chair in the kitchen, but now you pulled him to you with a renewed sense of longing, telling him you trusted him, that you needed him. He didn’t to be told twice, his eyes searching yours one moment, then dropping down between your bodies as he glided his cock through your wet folds. He sighed your name when he pushed in, filling you slowly but entirely before stopping and allowing you to adjust to his considerable size. It hadn’t hurt as much as you’d feared, but the sharp sting was still enough to have your eyes pricking, and he leaned forward and peppered you with soft kisses and kind words, encouraging you to voice what you needed and tell him if anything was too much.

It had surprised you both when the pain had ebbed away and you were suddenly rolling your hips eagerly. Tahla recovered and braced his elbows on the bed and began a hard pace that had you practically begging for more, unrelenting even as you came around him. He grunted as he neared his orgasm, his pace slowing to draw the pleasure out as long as you both could stand. He let you roll him onto his back and ride him at an almost lazy pace, his eyes never shutting, even when you found just the right angle to draw the deepest groans from him, intent on watching your face. He’d seemed almost in awe of you like he couldn’t believe what was happening even though it had been...well, the sun had set so going on just over an hour, you had realized.

When you came again as you rode him and his name tore from your lips, Tahla went over the edge with you. He had grabbed your hips and held you down when he came, your name mixing with curses as he filled you.

And then you’d let yourself fall forward and shift, felt him slide out of you before cuddling in and realizing that he meant what he said, that he wasn't going anywhere. He even kissed you again between whispering his promises to remain, his praise over how good it felt to be with you.

You think you loved him a little then, but at the same time, you couldn’t help but think of how he’d done a good job replacing the man you’d pictured having your first time with and you knew that it was a good thing this had happened on the eve of your departure. You could love Tahla Martell but never fall in love with him.

Tahla woke with you in the morning, helped you gather your things, promised to check in on the place occasionally. And then he drove you to the flight dock, where he waved you off with a promise to see you again someday. His smile a little sadder but genuine and filled with enough affection to have you run back for one last hug goodbye, one last kiss on the cheek and a final thank you for being everything you had needed without even knowing.

“This is cozy, really very cozy,” Poe grumbled from where he sat on the cold ground of a small-make that, minuscule, cave that you’d found after several hours of hiking through the forest stream. “Just enough room to stretch out and feel the ache in every part of my body.”

You hummed in reply, rifling through the backpack you’d had strapped on during the journey. “I can only feel the blisters on my feet, everything else is nothing compared to those.”

Poe grunted in agreement, glancing down at his now bare feet. They were reddened and bloody from sloshing through the water for so long in cheap boots. “Think I’ll be fighting you on who gets to take out Dario now, sweetheart.” You laughed tiredly in response.

You were settled on the ground in front of him, pulling out items from the pack now; food rations, water, and a medical kit. He’d put a small light on, the glow barely casting, just enough to see each other. Poe watched you kick off your shoes and then peel off your socks, setting them aside with Poe’s to dry, before tearing open your ration and taking a bite. Plucking his ration from your extended hand, Poe copied you and together you ate in silence, the meal brief but filling. His eyes were already starting to droop, the busy day catching up to him.

You pulled out some small bacta patches from the medical kit and pointed to his feet, “I’ll do yours if you do mine,” You smiled, and he chuckled lowly, nodding.

You held out your hand for his feet and he carefully adjusted his legs to plop them into your lap, reclining back on his hands. He watched you work, tugging the light closer to see his blisters better and place patches over each one, which instantly eased the discomfort. When you finished, you squeezed his leg before pulling out a cleaning wipe and working it over your hands. You glanced up very suddenly, catching Poe as he watched you.

He held your gaze, wishing he could read your mind. He could tell you were equally as annoyed with the way the mission had turned out as he was, that you were relaxed over the current predicament because you’d both escaped the close reach of the First Order plenty of times before. You were tired, too, but there was something else about the way you looked at him that sent heat up his back, and he felt grateful again for the freedom from the pollen-now he knew his reactions to you were genuine, and he felt the depths for which they went, the intensity, the rightness of it all.

“I feel like we’re thinking the same thing right now,” You surprised him by saying, passing him a package of patches, then switching places to rest your feet in his lap instead. Poe caught your feet in his hands deftly.

“What’s that?”

You tilted your head, a small smile tugging your lips upward, “That it’s nice to be around each other without any other bullshit affecting us-pollen or anger, I mean.” Poe wasn’t sure if it was your intent or not, but something about the tone of your voice had him flushing, and he returned your smile quickly before dropping his gaze to your feet.

He set to work, wanting to laugh at how small your feet were, before replying, “I was thinking that, yes,” He admitted, carefully placing the patches on your blisters. “It’s nice...nice to know what I’m feeling is real, now.”

“Yeah, it sure does,” You agreed softly, sighing a little when he placed the final patch over a particularly nasty-looking wound. You tossed him a wipe and he cleaned off his hands as he moved his eyes from your feet to your face. “Thank you.” You added, wiggling your toes happily.

Pulling your feet from his lap, you returned to rummaging in your backpack, first finding a couple of pairs of clean, dry socks for you each to put on. You then pulled out two thin, rolled-up blankets. Poe sighed, “I’m guessing you don’t have a couple of comfortable fold-out cots in there, Major?” He teased, and you giggled while shaking your head.

“Just some lovely, extra scratchy cameo blankets, Commander,” You passed him one of the pitiful little blankets. They were made of a material mixture that worked to confuse heat signature detection more than they provided any warmth or comfort, but they were better than nothing. That’s what he told himself, anyway.

It took no time at all to prepare to sleep, though as Poe shifted around on the hard ground he wondered exactly how he would achieve it. Usually, he was content to pop a jacket under his head, but the planet was warm enough this time of year that you’d only packed a couple of very thin raincoats as a precaution. You clicked off the light and laid next to him, a few inches separating your bodies as you tucked yourselves into your blankets and tried to get comfortable.

It was maybe three minutes later, staring into the pitch black, the Poe gathered the courage to throw out a suggestion. “Proposal...” He spoke softly into the darkness and heard your head turn toward him.

“Go on then,” You replied, though he could sense you had probably guessed what he was going to say, seeing as you were no doubt as uncomfortable laying flat on the rocky ground.

“How about we roll your blanket into a makeshift pillow, you come here and share mine, and we actually get some rest?”

Instead of replying he heard you sit up and felt a brush of air across his face from you lifting your blanket to straighten it and roll. Now that he’d offered up the idea, however, Poe tensed slightly at the realization that he was moments away from holding you in his arms. He felt his face grow warm and felt grateful for the impenetrable darkness the cramped cave provided.

“Lift,” You said at the same moment your hand found his head, tapping. He raised his head and you slid the rolled blanket underneath, providing immediate relief. Poe slowly reached out for you, hesitating when he found your back, then curling it around you when you shuffled into his side and laid against him. After a moment, your head dropped down onto his chest, though your body was almost rigid against his. Another instance where the ability to read your mind would come in handy.

“Relax, sweetheart,” He murmured, turning his head and pressing his lips to your hair. He adjusted the blanket, ensuring it covered you both, then rested his hand on your hip. He thought you might not listen, you still seemed frozen against him, but Poe was smiling a moment later when he felt your entire body melt into the side of his before your hand came to rest over his heart. The position was so familiar, a lifetime of nights together growing up just like this, that he almost couldn’t bear it. “That’s it, sweet girl, get some sleep.”

He couldn’t have said what happened after that, because you both very promptly fell asleep, warm and safe in one another’s arms. Despite being on the cool, hard ground in a cave in the forests of Takodana, hiding from the First Order, Poe had one hell of a good sleep that night.

—

You were staring through a gap in the trees towards the shipyard outside of Maz Kanata’s castle, sitting entirely still in the morning light that filtered through the trees as you surveilled for any sign of First Order troops. You’d bee on watch for twenty minutes while Poe ran around the perimeter, and you were on edge. You didn’t like having to separate, afraid if one of you was captured you’d be less likely to get away without backup, but there was nothing to be done for it.

You might also be a little worked up from spending the night wrapped in Poe’s arms, but you weren’t focusing on the right now. You definitely weren’t fixating on the way he’d spoken to you to encourage you to relax, nor of how he’d called you ‘sweet girl’ and seemed unaware of the effect that had on you. And you certainly were not remembering how, upon waking up at dawn and enough light came into the cave, you had realized how wrapped around one another you were. At some point in the night, you’d both shifted, legs tangled and Poe’s head nuzzled into your neck, an arm wrapped over your body in a way that made you feel safe at the same time revealing how small you felt compared to his broad, muscular frame.

But most of all, you were absolutely not thinking about how Poe had woken up moments after you, lifted his head to peer down at you with heavy-lidded eyes, and then just held your gaze with an unreadable expression on his face that had left you breathless. It was like he’d pinned you to the floor with that fucking look, and you weren’t sure if it was a minute or an hour before your comm alarm went off, indicating an incoming message, and you tore your eyes away to read the message from Jess, who’d managed to send through that it was safe to return to your ship.

In fact, you were so focused on your mission, so completely not obsessing over the last twenty hours, that you were not at all surprised when Poe suddenly appeared at your side, panting slightly from his run.

He saw you jump in surprise. “Did I scare you?” He joked, and you grumbled in response, though this was worse than denying it outright and he started to laugh, before pointing ahead to the pathway “We can take that, head straight for the ship, everything is clear ahead.”

Click.

All it took was the sound of a blaster’s safety clicking off for Poe to grab you and whirl, shielding you completely from the enemy who had snuck up on your six. It took a second for you to steady yourself, then you had to peer carefully around his shoulder to see who it was. The familiar green form stood a few feet away with a grimace, pointing a fairly old-looking blaster directly at you and Poe.

“Dario, you fucking-“ You snarled, attempting to move around Poe but his arm shot back and held you behind him with surprising strength, and you stilled.

“I know, I know,” Dario drawled, unmoving, “Honestly, I had no plans to do this but the First Order put a pretty decent reward out for whoever manages to capture you two. Figured I could get back into their good graces, clear my ledger, you know how it is honey.”

Poe had left his hand resting at your hip, and at Dario’s words, his grip tightened. You were pressed against his back and could feel the tension, the coil in his muscles ready to snap. “Buddy, you do not want to try this. Handing us over to the First Order only puts a massive target on your head-and the Resistance doesn’t play games when it comes to betrayal.” His words were laced with venom, his voice low.

You’d seen Poe like this only a few times in your life because usually when it came to being cornered by enemies he was cocky, mouthing off to distract until he could come up with a plan. Today, however, Poe was almost frightening to you, his focused rage as intense as it was. You pressed a hand into his back, just to do something to calm him-this was one Twi’lek, surely you could take him before he called for back up, when your hand brushed over something hard.

His blaster.

Yours was at your hip, and you knew it was too risky to go for it with Dario pointing his own at Poe’s heart. You wouldn’t even attempt it, however, the blaster tucked into the back of his pants, hidden beneath his shirt, was more than ideal. You just had to time it right.

“Look, I’m more sorry than anyone that it’s come to this. But you two are valuable, did you know that? I certainly didn’t,” Dario took a half step closer, his eyes moving from yours, where you were still peeking from around Poe, and then up to Poe’s, “I will do you one favour though. I won’t tell them how close you are; hopefully, that’ll keep them from torturing you in front of one another-“

Your temper flared again, “They wouldn’t get anything out of us regardless, Dario, that’s why this is fruitless. You hand us over and you’re only letting us die!” As you spoke, you dropped your hand to pull Poe’s shirt from his pants, sliding your hand underneath to grip the blaster.

“Don’t,” Poe said firmly, his eyes still on Dario. You knew it was a command for you, and you hesitated.

Dario sighed, “I have to, and I’m sorry about this but I’ll have to shoot you, big guy because I can’t risk things getting physical,” He lowered the blaster to aim for Poe’s leg, “I hear the First Order have excellent medical staff, so-“

You felt Poe’s grip on your arm adjust, and realized he was going to try and throw you out of harm’s way and take the shot. Now, you didn’t hesitate, pulling the blaster out, clicking the safety off and aiming it at Dario’s head before he realized what was happening. With no other choice, Poe let you go as you stepped from behind him.

“That’s good, you’re going to need them.” You seethed, watching in amusement as Dario tightened his hold on his blaster, gritting his teeth to outgun you. He didn’t stand a chance. You shot his arm first, forcing him to drop his weapon, and then fired two more shots; one to the opposite shoulder, and one to the leg. He cried out in agony and you marched forward, flipping the blaster in your hand to grip the heated shaft, and drove the blunt end into the side of his head.

Dario sagged to the ground, unconscious.

“Well, I’ll hand that one to you,” Poe spoke from behind you, and you glanced around to find him watching you, hands on his hips, smirking in a way that didn’t meet his eyes. “Even if you did ignore my order.”

With a sigh, you held out his blaster for him, watching his jaw clench as he took it from you. “You put that in the report. And I’ll put in the part where you shoved me behind you,” You quipped, quirking a brow at him. He knew it wasn’t protocol for him to have protected you like that, and as much as you were touched and your heart was racing over how instantaneously he had reacted to ensure you were safe, you weren’t going to let him chew you out for doing the same. “Now can we leave this fucking forest, flyboy, or do you want to punish me first?”

You hadn’t meant the words to come out so...charged. You were worked up, still reeling a little over the fact that Poe was almost shot, and you wanted to leave before anything else happened. He had been watching you like he expected your initial remarks calling him out for the break in protocol, seemingly amused. You weren’t sure what he was going to shoot back at you, and you didn’t find out because the moment you tacked on the last line, his expression went blank and he simply stared at you for a very long moment.

You couldn’t look away from him, despite the heat crawling up your neck from embarrassment. You weren’t even sure where the words had come from, because they were enormously similar to how you and Poe used to speak to one another, teasingly, but you’d said it with so much more attitude. Like you were flirting without caution, and it caught him entirely off guard. You wished you could read his mind, as his eyes, now brighter than you’d seen them in a while, searchd your face.

“Let’s...let’s go,” He finally looked away, his eyes flicking around the forest, then to the still unconscious Dario, and then to his blaster. You weren’t sure, but you thought his voice came out a little more husky than usual, and heat pooled in your core as you briefly wondered what being punished by Poe Dameron would feel like.

Poe stood under the hot water, eyes closed, replaying the last few days in his head. His fresher was one of the few places he could be completely alone and he was taking advantage of a quiet afternoon to himself.

After returning from Takodana that morning, he had taken the intel from you to give to BB8 to begin decryption, and you had gone off to begin working on your mission report. Usually, you did this right in the hangar, but today you’d given him a shy smile, and then marched off. He hadn’t seen you since, though he was sure he would find you in the dining hall for dinner.

He was worked up from the mission, that much he knew for sure. It hadn’t gone as planned-when did they ever?-but he was, well, fucking impressed with you. You’d always been something else when it came to being pinned in a corner, though thankfully he’d only seen it a couple of times. But today you had been like a warrior goddess, shooting Dario without even a tremble in your finger and then knocking him unconscious like it was an afterthought. You made it all look easy.

He tried to admonish you just a little for ignoring him, but you had been right that he wasn’t one to talk about breaking protocol. And then you hit him with that flirtatious little line, wetting your fucking lips as you said it, appearing a little shocked at your boldness. He’d had to force himself to go blank, fearing your ability to read him like a book, while he watched you squirm under his gaze.

That pollen had nothing, nothing, on you. An innocent remark from you and he was bulldozed, ready to drop to his knees and tell you he’d give you whatever you wanted, needed, even if he had to fly across the galaxy for it. And you had no idea, he could see that you just didn’t know how much of a hold you had on him, on his heart. Poe had gone back to the med bay the other day, before the mission, and confirmed twice over with Tahla and his team that he was clear of all toxins because his feelings were so intense.

And he’d realized that what he was feeling was so much more real and right compared to the foggy desire that the pollen had caused. And he knew now, after watching you in action in the cantina, and then as you found a safe spot to hide for the night, and certainly in the morning when he’d woken up wrapped around you and gazed into your sleepy eyes, that he loved you.

That he was in love with you.

There was no one else.

And there never would be, because you were his soulmate.

Stepping out of the shower, Poe dried off and began dressing. His mind was flipping through old memories, some from when you were kids, others from after you’d joined the Resistance, each of them evidence to support his realization. He was fastening his trousers when a knock sounded at his door, and he wandered over and hit the release button without thinking, so lost in thought as he was.

“Hey, Poe, sorry I...uh...” You faltered, wide eyes falling comically down his bare torso before snapping up to look somewhere above his eyebrows. Your voice came out almost in a squeak, “Just seeing if you wanted to get dinner.”

Seeing you get flustered looking at him made Poe sweat. He stepped away from you and went to his dresser, pulling out a black tee. “Sounds good,” He replied slowly, then glanced back over at you and grinned. “You want me to throw some cold water on you, sweetheart?”

His joking had the desired effect, instantly clearing the tension from the room. You laughed, rolling your eyes. “I’ll be fine, flyboy.”

“I don’t know, I recall a day at the river a long time ago, pulling off my shirt and then you falling out of a tree...”

You scoffed, then stuttered, stepping into Poe’s room, “I-that’s not, I was talking to someone. It wasn’t because of-Uhg!” You flipped him the bird then, unable to form a clear sentence in Basic. Poe was laughing, enjoying the teasing banter as he walked over to his desk and picked up his wrist comm, glancing at the time.

When he looked back up, expecting to see you still laughing shyly, he was surprised to find you frozen, eyes glued onto something over his shoulder. His brows came together in concern, “What’s up?” He looked around, following your sightline.

At first, he was momentarily confused because you were looking at his corkboard. But when his eyes fell to the picture of you, Charlie and him he realized you didn’t know he had it. He’d seen it in your room a while ago and had almost started sobbing on the spot. But you hadn’t come to Poe’s room before this.

Poe turned around to find you with a watery smile, your gaze fixed on him in an intensely affectionate way. “You kept that all these years?” You sounded winded, eyes locked on his. Poe swallowed, nodding, and felt himself blush.

He couldn’t look away if he wanted to.

He didn’t want to, though. He was pretty certain he could remain on this spot in his room as he burned under your gaze for the rest of his life. A million questions formed in his mind and he didn’t know where to start, what to say first.

The silence was broken by the sounds of footsteps in the hall. Pulling both of you out of the moment to look around at Poe’s still open door. Tahla appeared then, breaking into a grin when he saw you both. “Hi! Glad I caught you both, I was hoping to join you for dinner?” He stopped in the doorway politely.

As disappointment washed through him, Poe relaxed his stance and tossed Tahla a grin, “And here (y/n) was asking me to dinner too, I’m more popular than I thought!” You giggled, shaking your head in amusement, but Poe could see you bite your lip when you glanced back at him.

He thought maybe Tahla was giving you both a knowing look, but it slid off his face when you turned to walk out of Poe’s room. Grateful for his lack of comment, Poe clapped Tahla’s shoulder once in step with him in the hallway, and his old friend winked at him in response.

—

34 ABY

Poe knocked on the door of General Organa’s private quarters, repeating the motion desperately until it finally slid open and he burst through, eyes searching until they landed on Leia. She gave him a knowing look like she’d been expecting him. Of course, she was, she knew what was at stake now.

“General,” He glanced around, confirming they were alone. “You know what I know. Please help me.” He didn’t care how desperate he sounded.

Leia sighed, nodding kindly, “Of course I will...but Commander, Poe, it’s not going to be easy. There’s always going to be danger-“

Poe rubbed a hand over his face, “I know, I know but I have to do something. Tell me the safest planet, and then I’ll go to Jakku, I’ll find Lor San Tekka. I’ll complete my mission.”

The General stood, her expression soft, “You won’t be able to-“

Poe shook his head, “I know.” His voice broke.

“Then I know just the place.”

Did you enjoy this chapter? Consider leaving a comment or reblogging to ease my inner turmoil as a writer. I’d love to hear your thoughts!

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therenlover · 4 years

Text

In Sickness And In Health (An 18+ James Patrick March/Reader Oneshot)

This is 18+ content! If you are a minor, this work is not for you !!!

This fic is a sequel to my oneshot Heartsick, but it can be read as a standalone oneshot!

Synopsis: Normally people don’t have their wedding and funeral on the same day, but you and James don’t quite have a normal relationship, do you? Besides, you wouldn’t wanna go any other way.

Tags: Smut with Plot, Weddings, Fluff, Ghost Smut, Cunnilingus, Sick!Reader, Obnoxious Titanic Knowledge

Rating: E, 18+

Warnings: Swearing, Major Character Death, Romanticization of Death, Murder, Unsafe Sex (it’s with a ghost, but just to be safe...), Mentions Of The Reader Having A Long Term Debilitating Illness

Word Count: 5500~

This fic has been crossposted to my AO3 under the same title

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“How are you feeling, my darling?”

James’s voice was soft as he entered your suite, slipping off his shoes before joining you on the bed. He smelled like antiseptic, hair and hands still damp from a recent wash. Underneath, though, was the sharp, coppery tang of blood.

You stretched as you answered, weak muscles shuddering with effort. “It’s a good day. Not great, I still feel like absolute shit, but I don’t feel like I’m actively dying anymore,”

“Well, that’s certainly an improvement,”

Your fiancé offered you a rare, genuine grin. Seeing him smile made the lie worth it.

In truth, you still felt truly terrible.

It had been almost three weeks since Mr. March had proposed, and true to his word he had been glued to your side helping you recover ever since. He helped you bathe, fed you meals, gave you medication, kept you entertained; days with him were filled with small, simple pleasures. You had never experienced anything like that attention before. Unfortunately, though, the time spent with James only seemed to help your mind, and not your body.

After close to two months of bed rest, your muscles were weak. It still took significant effort to do simple tasks like walking to the bathroom or using cutlery. Some days were better than others, but everything generally tended to end up as part of the indistinguishable haze of pain that clouded your memories lately. If nothing else, at least the fevers were less extreme.

The only light at the end of the tunnel was your wedding. It was still two weeks away, (“That’s plenty of time for you to recover fully, my dearest,” James had insisted) but once you were married that meant you could die. Oh, what a happy day that would be. There would be no more sickness, no more achy muscles, not another day of forced bed rest, just peace and quiet and plenty of sex. God, how you missed the sex…

Every day was another day closer to your peaceful end, and yet they seemed to stretch endlessly. Deep down, you worried that you might not even make it long enough to walk down the aisle alive. You shuddered at the thought. If James ended up having to carry you down the aisle you might just die of embarrassment before he had the chance to kill you.

“I can’t believe you killed someone without me,” You huffed, reaching out your shaking arms and inviting James to lay with you. He happily obliged.

“Would you have preferred me to let him live?” James pulled your torso gently onto his chest, letting you rest against him.

“No, but you could have at least let me watch. I’ve been stuck in here for weeks, James. I get bored,”

He ran a hand through your hair. “Perhaps next time darling, but hopefully, you will be well enough to join me before our next victim walks through the door,”

“Who was it this time?”

“A florist. Liz invited him to bring over a few samples before hiring him to do arrangements for the wedding, but they were atrocious. You should have seen them, my love, they were simply grotesque, not to mention that the color schemes didn’t even slightly match the carpets in the entrance hall. Who puts pink and yellow tulips in a wedding arrangement at a hall filled with reds and oranges?”

You gave a soft hum. “Were they all really that bad?”

“Well… perhaps I was a bit harsh, but can you truly blame me? I want our wedding day to be perfect. There shouldn’t be a single flower or ribbon out of place,” He emphasized his question by gently squeezing you to his chest.

“Is it really that important?”

James went still. “What do you mean by that, dearest?”

A sigh pushed through your lips, your chest aching from the effort. “I just don’t understand why we have to wait for this perfect wedding when we could just get married now. I’m not saying I wouldn’t enjoy a big ceremony, I’m sure it would be wonderful, but I’m just so tired James. Why does it matter if we say our vows in front of other people? There’s not gonna be anything legally or religiously binding between us anyway. Getting married to you, in my mind, is just promising to be by your side forever, so why does anything else matter besides you and me?”

Looking up, you noticed that Mr. March seemed to be deep in thought, lips pressed into a line as his thin eyebrows furrowed together. Your heart sank. Did a wedding ceremony really mean that much to him? In an instant guilt began to flood your stomach. You were really ruining a special moment in his life to die faster? Hell, did he even really want you to die? He had always relished in your warmth, enthralled by the thudding of your weak, living heart. Of course, he would hate you for rushing into marriage just to throw your life away. Or maybe he was stalling because it would be too much for him to kill you himself…

“James-” you placated, lifting a hand to his face, but he quickly snapped out of his thoughtful haze.

He gazed down at you with love in his eyes and a wicked grin on his lips. “You’re right! We shall be married this afternoon!”

A jolt of shock ran down your spine.

“What?”

“As you said, our wedding is a binding of souls, my darling! Our love is sacred, withstanding time and mortality, so who are we to bend to the rules of the common man? If an intimate ceremony for two is what you desire, I shall not deny you,” In one smooth motion, James rolled on top of you, arms boxing you in as he loomed above. He looked absolutely unhinged, eyes glinting wildly in the yellow lamplight.

You knew then that there would never be anyone else. No one could compare to James, your James. He would devour you whole and you would thank him all the while. With a sudden burst of energy, you reached up and pulled him into a scorching kiss.

It was sloppy, all battling tongues and clashing teeth, nothing like the soft pressing of lips that you had been sharing lately. How had you gone almost two months without this? Your heart felt like it was about to burst right out of your chest. As James bit down hard on your lower lip, you pulled fistfuls of his pinstripe suit into your hands.

After a few more seconds of desperate, breathless kissing James pulled away. You panted for air below him. “Why’d you stop?”

To your dismay, he climbed off of you. His hard-on was fully visible through his thin dress pants as he stood. “As much as I would love to ravage you now, dearest, I believe we have vows to exchange,”

“Can’t we just do them in bed? I want you now,”

He chuckled at your whining. “I may be willing to compromise on many things, but this is not one of them,”

“Please, Mr. March,” Your words were loaded, innocent doe eyes boring into his very soul, “for me?”

You could tell it was a difficult decision, but James stood strong. “I can’t say you haven’t thoroughly tempted me, but I’m afraid not darling,” he said firmly, “Forgive me?”

With a sigh, you nodded. “Of course,”

The instant you gave in, he beamed. “Splendid! Now, it’s a shame that we don’t have your dress, but I believe I have given you several gowns that would serve nicely,”

“You’re not gonna let me get married in my pajamas?”

“Would you prefer that to wearing a dress?”

The genuine concern in James’ voice was enough to make you fold. The things his voice did to you….

“Darling,” you groaned, fighting your weak muscles as you pulled yourself to the edge of the bed, “look in the closet. There should be a black zip-up garment bag in there,”

He quirked up an eyebrow.

“Just do it,”

“As my bride commands,” James rushed to the closet, thumbing through gowns. By the time he found it you were on your feet, leaning on a nearby wall for support. “This one, darling?” he asked, pulling it from the rack.

You grinned. “That’s the one. Open it up for me?”

James undid the zip quickly. Once he saw the contents, he gaped. “You know it’s bad luck for the groom to see the dress before the wedding,”

Slowly, you made your way to James and hugged him from behind. “Well, it’s a good thing the wedding is happening now... can you help me get the dress on?”

He happily obliged.

In less than 15 minutes you were laced into your wedding dress and sitting at your vanity. James was by the phonograph looking at records while you finished pinning up your hair. It was finally time.

“What would you like me to play, darling? We don’t have the wedding march, but there are some decent options. Let’s see… The Swan? You always have loved Saint-Saëns. Or perhaps Songe d’Automne?” James asked. He had been strangely lenient; bending to your will on the wedding, letting you pick the music, allowing you to tease him with no repercussions. You shrugged it off.

“You would really play the song that played as the Titanic sank at our wedding?”

“I find it strangely fitting,”

With a soft laugh, you put the last pin in place and turned to your groom. “And so it is. I’ll compromise. We have Mon Coeur S’Ouvre A Ta Voix, don’t we? You’ll get your morbidity while I get my romance,”

“That sounds delightful, my dear. Good choice,”

James found the correct record and set it on the phonograph, placing the needle and cranking the arm with a well-practiced hand. Then, as the music began to play, he stood. It was like he was devouring you with his eyes, drinking in every detail of you as he approached. He offered you his hands. “Shall we begin, my darling?”

You joined him in the center of the room without hesitation, taking his offering with a smile, “I think we shall,”

“I admit,” James said, voice sweet and low, “that I am well out of my depth here, but before we begin may I say that you, as you are now, are more beautiful than I’ve ever seen you?”

Your face flushed. “What’s gotten into you, James? Are you getting soft on me?”

“We can only hope not, I have a reputation to uphold you know! I just can’t help but think…” his sentence drifted off as his gaze fell on yours, “I am a hard man, one of custom and habit. My life has been filled with monotony for as long as I have lived. Even killing has become commonplace for me. Things do not phase me the same way they phase you, darling, in all of your softness and perfection. I wonder if this is what will truly make you happy,”

“James!” you dropped his hands in order to cup his face, “I love you. I want to be with you. What would make you think I’m unhappy here?”

He covered your small fingers with his own, voice wistful. “I love you too, Y/N. Don’t misunderstand me, this wedding brings me more joy than you know. I simply wish to say that you will only get married once and I want it to be exactly to your liking. I have been engaged thrice and married once before, all of the pomp and circumstance is old news to me. For you, though, in all your youth…”

In a rare moment of openness, James bared himself to you. It was only right for you to do the same.

“I have never been more sure of myself than in this moment,” you whispered, leaning to let your forehead rest against his, “You are enough. I don’t need guests, or flower arrangements, or a cake to know I love you and I want to spend the rest of eternity at your side. You’re right, I’m young and I’ve made a lot of dumb choices in my life, but loving you isn’t one of them. Take me, James, make me yours. This is where I belong”

As you spoke, you felt him relax against you.

“Well, you’ve certainly convinced me,” he murmured before pulling back and bringing your hands to his still, unbeating heart, “now, on with the show… my queen, the woman who has tamed my heart, you are the only one of your kind. No one else could move me the way you do. The moment I saw you walk into my hotel I knew that you would be mine, but I had no clue of the things you would do to my heart. You have changed me, mind, body, and soul. I can only hope that I’ve changed you in similar ways,”

While he was speaking, it suddenly hit you that this was it. Usually, brides had months of build-up to their weddings, filled with cake tastings and dress fittings and family and friends. You, though, had had only a few weeks to prepare, most of which were spent on strict bedrest while James took care of the planning. Even then, you had disregarded the plans. Tears of joy began to roll down your cheeks. Nothing had ever felt so right in your whole life.

“Oh darling, don’t cry,” he cooed, wiping your tears away with the pad of his thumb.

“I’m just so happy!”

“And you shall continue to be happy. As long as you remain by my side, you will want for nothing! I shall be with you in sickness and in health, through life and through death,” Suddenly, his voice lowered to almost a whisper. “You, Y/N, have captivated me. I wish to never be without you again,”

“You never will be,”

James smiled, squeezing your hands. In an instant, you realized it was your turn. You hadn’t given much thought as to what you would say, but as you gazed into his dark, hopeful, hungry eyes the words came to you as clear as day.

“James Patrick March,” you said, “I have never met anyone quite like you. When I first saw you, I had nothing. I was destitute. The Hotel Cortez was my last hope in life, but then, I spoke to you in the Blue Parrot Lounge and I suddenly knew exactly what my purpose in life was. Somehow, someway, I realized that I had been made to find you. You’ve given me so much, James. You showed me that life was worth living. I can’t think of a future for me that doesn’t include you. From this moment on, once I’m finally Mrs. March, we can finally be what we were made to be… one heart, one mind, one soul. I’ll never let you go. Marry me, James? Stay here with me until the world ceases to turn?”

“I will, darling. I do,” while he spoke, he reached into his pocket. “I had hoped that this ring would be sitting on your finger sooner. It belongs to the woman of the house, the holder of my heart… you, my dearest Mrs. March. Please say you love me, and that you’ll stay with me until nothing of this world remains?

You responded with a grin. “I love you, James… I do,”

Slowly, he slid the ring onto your finger. It was the first time you’d actually seen it up close, and it was more stunning than you remembered. A large, square-cut diamond sat on a bed of smaller rubies, and it was all held together by a delicate silver band that fit your finger perfectly. The red stones were a new addition. Had James had the ring altered just for you? You were about to ask when you caught his gaze.

“May I kiss the bride now, my darling?”

Instead of responding, you surged up and kissed him yourself. It was like none of the kisses you had ever shared before.

There was a passion to it, but it wasn’t desperate. It was more of a low, roiling thing, a time-bomb ticking down to explode. In seconds James’ cool hand had found its way into your hair, pulling you closer and messing up the pinned curls you had put in earlier. You found you didn’t quite care.

Your limbs were beginning to feel weak as you ran out of air, and you couldn’t tell if it was because of your long-forgotten illness or if it was just the power James held over you. Part of you didn’t care anymore. As you pulled back for air, your husband reached around to the lacing at the back of your dress and began to pull at it, earning a few giggles as he loosened it enough that it fell from your body, leaving you almost bare in front of him.

“How I’ve craved you, my lovely wife,” he growled, palming your breasts through your bra, “it’s been far too long,”

His touch felt electric against your thin, soft skin. “Please, Mr. March, more,” You pressed yourself against your husband, feeling how your words affected him. He was rock hard. Something about that satisfied an ache in your heart. Even with you sick and weak, he needed you as much as you needed him.

In a swift movement, he scooped you up and carried you to the bed, setting you down gently before settling himself between your legs. You whimpered as he sucked a deep bruise into your neck. He was an expert with his tongue, licking and sucking the skin like a man starved. It felt delightful, but you couldn’t help but think about how it would feel elsewhere.

As if he could read your mind, James grinned.

“All in good time, you little minx,”

Ever impatient, you fisted a hand into his hair in an attempt to get him to move lower. He stayed put.

“Does my lovely wife want something from me?”

You groaned as he wrapped his teeth around your bra strap and tugged before letting go, the elastic snapping against your already sweat-slick skin. “James, please,”

“Ah, ah, ah! Use your words, dearest. What do you want?”

His tutting made you flush from your cheeks to your chest. There was only one way to get what you wanted, and you knew exactly how to do it. With as much innocence as you could muster in your debauched state, you whispered, “Please sir, will you eat my pussy?”

James couldn’t hold back as he snapped his hips against the sheets. “That’s it darling! How could I say no to such a polite request?”

You released a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. In a blink, your husband was undoing your bra and pulling it off, working his sinful mouth down to your breasts. His teeth grazed your nipple, drawing a high-pitched whine from your throat as your back arched, pushing you up towards his touch. It was like your body was a live wire. Every nerve was alive, buzzing at the slightest touch. Still, it wasn’t enough.

Thankfully, he was quick to move once again. He left a trail of gentle, sloppy kisses down your ribs and stomach before arriving at his desired destination. His hot breath against your soaked panties fanned the flames of arousal building within you. Once again, you whined.

Your husband had always loved eating you out. He never seemed happier than when he was buried between your thighs with his tongue buried between your folds, and once again he was faced with his favorite activity. The hungry look in his eye told you that he wanted it as much as you did.

“It’s a shame I didn’t get to remove your garter in front of the hotel. I would have so enjoyed showing them all just how lucky of a man I am. Perhaps it’s a blessing in disguise though… I do hate to share” he murmured, pressing a few torturous kisses to the hot skin of your inner thighs as he skimmed your panties with his fingers, “I suppose these will have to do,” Then, in a sudden movement, he was dragging them down your legs by the lace with his teeth. Once they were removed, he tossed them aside to be collected later. The way he looked at your wetness was reverent. It only made you wetter.

“What do we have here,” he muttered, letting the tip of his nose just barely brush your core, “what could possibly be making you this wet, my darling?”

His taunting was, surprisingly, less severe than usual. On any normal day, it would have taken a good 10 minutes for him to be anywhere near your heat, but you could tell he was obliging your whims as a treat. It was a special occasion, after all.

“You,” you groaned lowly as his breath ghosted over your pussy.

“That’s right, my dear heart, me,”

In an instant James had buried himself in your lower lips, suckling your clit with vigor as your hips bucked to meet him. For once, he let you chase your pleasure with reckless abandon. It had been months since your last proper orgasm, so you were extra sensitive as he licked long stripes up your slit. Soon enough you were keening as you teetered on the edge of pleasure.

“James- James, please!” you shouted as he finally worked a finger into your tight, wet hole, his tongue lazily circling your clit as he gazed into your eyes across the planes of your body.

He pulled off momentarily, making you groan. “Please what, dearest?”

“I wanna cum! Please- OH!”

His lips were back on your clit instantly, his eyes smiling as he pumped in and out of you with his fingers and sucked with reckless abandon. Every muscle in your body felt poised for action, your hands gripping James’ hair at the roots with enough force that you were surprised it was still attached to his head. You tipped over the edge into pleasure the second he curled his fingers upwards, roughly pressing into your sweet spot as he hummed, his voice vibrating against you in the most heavenly way.

Your orgasm was like a wave of pure bliss rolling over you as James pleasured you through it, milking you for everything you had. Only once you stopped convulsing did he remove his mouth. Even then, he continued to fuck you gently with his fingers. “Did that feel good, my love?” he asked, rubbing circles into your still-shaking thigh with his free hand.

“Yes, James! Your mouth is perfect,” you whimpered.

He seemed to enjoy your answer because he slowly pulled his fingers from your sensitive pussy before climbing up your body and rewarding you with a passionate kiss. You enjoyed it thoroughly but suddenly became aware that he was still fully dressed. “James,” you whined against his lips, “you’re wearing far too many clothes,”

He tasted like tobacco and absinthe as he kissed you again, guiding your hands to the buttons on his suit jacket before tugging at his cravat. “Perhaps we should remedy that, darling?”

You were quick to undo each button before ripping the jacket from his body and tossing it on the ground. His dress shirt and cravat were quick to follow. He focused on undoing his pants while you relished in his bare chest, running your hands down the firm planes of flesh. “God, you’re gorgeous,” you whispered, biting down gently on his collarbone.

“No need to call me God, dearest,” he chuckled, shoving down his pants and boxers to free his leaking cock, “though I don’t oppose to it,”

He was a big man, long and thick enough that fitting all of him in was just slightly painful but more than enough to make you feel deliciously full. You drooled as you reached between your torsos to stroke him, but surprisingly James caught your wrist before you could touch him.

“I appreciate you taking my pleasure into consideration, my love, but I won’t last long as it is,” he crooned, holding your wrist to the bed with one hand as he lined himself up against your dripping heat with the other. He ran the head of his cock against your folds a few times, gathering up your wetness in the hopes that it would ease the stretch when he finally pushed in. To you, though, it was just torture, and how James did love to torture his victims.

“Please, fuck me, Mr. March,” you groaned, “I need you! It’s been so long,”

“Such a good little minx,” his voice rolled low as he smiled down at you, “using your words just like I taught you. Perhaps you deserve a reward,” Then, as he locked his hungry eyes with yours, he pushed fully into your heat.

You cried out in ecstasy the second he filled you up, your head lolling back against the headboard as he rocked in and out, letting you ride out the initial pain as he warmed you up for the main event. It wasn’t long before the sting was gone. It was replaced with a dull ache, but that was mostly overshadowed by a sweet, building fire spreading through your abdomen again as James pounded into you with reckless abandon.

Every muscle in your body felt weak, loose and slack as your husband found that spot inside you. Each thrust was a shock through your overstimulated body. It was like you were toeing the line between pain and pleasure, always an instant from falling fully into one or the other. When James picked up his speed once again, you started to lose yourself to the pleasure.

“Mr. March!” you wailed, body jolting as he released your wrist and instead used his hand to steady your thigh and hold you wide open, “ Mr. March! Oh god, please let me cum!”

Surprisingly, despite the fact that he was dead, James seemed almost as breathless as you while he purred into your ear. “Close your eyes, Y/N. Let the pleasure take you. Cum for me, Mrs. March,”

With one last sharp stroke from James, you wailed and let your orgasm overtake you. This time, though, it wasn’t a wave. Instead, it hit you directly like a ton of bricks. The feeling was heady, a high derived from the shockwaves of pleasure mixing with the sweet pain James always provided when he lost control. Distantly, you could feel your thighs covered in your wet essence as your husband gripped them and drove himself into you ceaselessly, quickly reaching his own climax.

Maybe it was that you hadn’t been satisfied so thoroughly since before you were sick, but you felt absolutely exhausted as the last remains of your release drained from your body. Perhaps you had gone too far with the enthusiasm after being on bed rest for so long… Something deep inside you felt whole, like a piece of you that had been missing all your life had finally slotted into place. You fell into a dreamless sleep as that satisfaction resonated through your thoroughly fucked-out body.

When you woke, you almost felt disconnected from time. It was like waking up from an unexpected nap that went on longer than you had intended it to. Your eyelids felt heavy, but the familiar ache in your lungs and muscles that had been your constant companion was gone, replaced with a cool, tingling numbness. You chuckled a bit to yourself. Had sex been the answer to your problems all along?

Slowly, you rolled onto your side, stretching out your arms and legs before curling up in the sheets. Five more minutes of sleep wouldn’t hurt anybody.

Unfortunately, your plans for rest were foiled as you felt the bed dip beside you.

“How do you feel, my darling?” James asked. His voice was soft. If you didn’t know him better you would have thought he sounded frightened.

You smiled, letting your eyes flutter open as you took in his face. “Surprisingly, I feel great. I don’t think I’ve felt this good for a long time,”

James smiled back at you, his brown eyes glimmering with some distant emotion. “That’s good. I’m glad you’re starting the road to recovery,”

There was something strange about your husband, you noticed as you sat up, looking around. You definitely weren’t in your own bedroom anymore. Instead, you were tucked nicely into a four-poster bed with soft, red sheets, surrounded by dark wood and art deco accents. Distantly, you touched your chest and registered that you were wearing one of James’ shirts.

“You brought me to your room?” You propped yourself up on his headboard as you took in your new surroundings, watching the golden evening sun filter in through the gap in the heavy velvet curtains.

“Our room, my sweetling,” James corrected.

You hummed thoughtfully. “I like it. I know I’ve technically been here, with Devil’s Night and our little trysts and all, but I’ve never slept in your bed before. It’s soft… nice,”

He offered you a tinny false smile, his hands fidgeting nervously with the edge of the bedspread. “I’m glad you think so, dearest. What’s mine is now yours,”

Distantly, you smelled the faintest traces of the antiseptic soap James used to rid himself of blood. You raised an eyebrow. “How long was I out?”

“Just a few hours. I took the liberty of calling Mrs. Evers to turn down your sheets while you rested,”

“You had time for a kill in just a few hours?”

“Y/N, I-”

As he spoke, you reached out to touch his fidgeting hand only to yank your fingers back to your chest. No… this was wrong.

“Y/N, please, stay calm-”

“Why are you warm?” You asked, breathing heavily, “James? Why are you warm?”

James steadied himself with a deep breath before reaching over to rub gentle circles into your thigh above the blanket.

“I… I may have taken the liberties of… Y/N, please understand that I only did what I must. You were wasting away! And a promise is a promise…. What I’m trying to say is-”

“You killed me?”

“Precisely,”

Your husband bit down on his lip, averting his gaze in the hopes of avoiding your wrath. To his surprise, though, you threw yourself into his arms, peppering his face with kisses as you laughed joyously. You were free! Free from pain and sorrow and th e endless trappings of mortality. And James was the one to free you.

“You brilliant man!” you shouted, excited giggles escaping from your lips as you squeezed his frozen body to your own, “I didn’t even notice! Oh my god, and on our wedding night too? That’s so romantic! How did you do it? Did I have a heart attack and die from the best orgasm I’ve ever had in my whole damn life? Well… existence. I’m not quite alive anymore, am I? What did you use? Did you send me down the body chute?”

As you babbled, James slowly began to function again. You truly were his perfect match. “I slit your femoral artery just as all your muscles began to contract,” he explained, reaching up a hand to cup your cheek, “and I came to my own climax as you showered me in your blood. You didn’t feel a thing,”

You happily settled yourself against James’ chest. “You’re right. If anything, it felt kinda good…” you paused, “What about my body?”

He grinned. “You’re dead now, darling, we can revisit killing you during your little deaths at any time you like. As for your body, I didn’t put you down the chute. I cleaned you up, retrieved your ring, and took you to your casket. It’ll be bricked up in a wall within the week,”

“Aw, James, you had a casket ready for me and everything!”

“I commissioned it the day we first met. After we slept together and I led you to your suite, I went right to Liz and had her make an order. I spared no expense. Dark wood, red velvet lining…”

“Mmm,” you hummed, “It’s a shame we’ll never get to christen it… unless…”

“Darling, you cannot truly be thinking what I presume you are thinking,”

You giggled, pushing James flat onto the bed. Slowly, you leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Wanna go fuck over my dead body?”

James Patrick March had never gotten hard quicker in all his 126 years of existence.

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a/n: Welp! That’s the first smut I have ever written in my entire life. I hope it wasn’t terrible! This oneshot was great practice for a future instillation of Till Forever Falls Apart, so look forward to that lol. Let me know if you liked this and what types of oneshots you’d like to see next! Also, I love comments, so feel free to comment if you feel so inclined.

Please do not upload my works to other sites, thank you!

#james patrick march #james march #james march x reader #james patrick march x reader #evan peters #evan peters x reader #ahs #ahs hotel #smut #ahs smut #fanfic

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