#but the other also knows that wanderer is very much aching and resentful and like. he's Not Ready. not yet.

[alchemania]

Fractured Mirror.

Inazuma was not a place he haunted often, but Tetsuya found himself roaming here again, as Furina had wanted to get out and about seeing the world in her long journey to self discovery. Everything felt familiar - the maple trees, the sakura blossoms, the dendrobiums dotted across the beaches in silent testimony - but it did not feel like home; though it was the land of his birth.

Being slightly taller, it was easy to fall in stride with his friend, taking in everything around him in silence - he wasn't one to talk much, which was nice at times considering Furina was a chatterbox and a half. “It's so pretty here,” she breathed, eyes wide with wonder, and he nodded, noncommittally. That was one thing he would not disagree with - despite everything, Inazuma WAS beautiful. All of a sudden, the chatter and hustle and bustle around them seemed to stop, and Wanderer snapped to attention, eyes guarded.

“What's going on.”

“I'm not sure,” his friend replied nervously, walking up to a resident. “Um .. excuse me, what's happening???”

“She's coming!”

“Who is???”

But the woman took off in an excited dash, leaving a very confused former Hydro Archon in the dust, and she turned to Tetsuya, eyebrows raising all the way to her hairline. He shrugged in answer, shaking his head. “Looks like people around here are useless, as always. Guess we have no choice but to see for ourselves.” There turned out to be no need for that though, the crowd parted like a river a moment after that as a tall woman with violet hair pulled back in a braid that practically swept the floor made her way through, her very presence demanding respect. The duo froze, though for very different reasons, and Furina's jaw practically hit the ground.

“Is- is that-”

“The Raiden Shogun,” Tetsuya finished for her, eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. “Yes.” Turning to his companion, he frowned. “Close your mouth. You're going to let flies in.” The girl hastily did so, staring up in awe as the other archon approached, while Wanderer merely glowered. Raiden practically towered over them both, her eyes curious as she sized them up.

“I know you,” she said, in greeting, and Tetsuya seemed as pale as the moon, throat closing up. No, no, that was impossible, there was no way she should - but then she moved closer to Furina, and he belatedly realized Ei was only speaking to her. “The Traveler has told me much of your endeavors. I must say, I have only the utmost respect, knowing all that has happened.”

“Ah- um,” the girl stammered, eyes very, very wide. “Thank you. It's nice to meet you, too-” and she extended a hand, which Ei stared at for a brief moment before taking it and squeezing firmly. 

“You must be tired from your journey. Would you like to come and rest for a while in my home?” 

“Ah, w- well-” Furina turned and looked to Tetsuya, who waved a hand nonchalantly.

“Go on, if you wish.” 

“Wait - please, hold on a second,” the girl implored, turning to the braided woman for a moment before taking her friend by the hand and rushing around the corner. “You have to come with me. You must!”

“I never agreed to visit anyone,” he frowned, eyes dark, and she grabbed his other hand, fear swimming in her expression. 

“Please?? I- well, she's -”

“An archon, yes. And what of it?” 

“I'm nervous, okay?”

“And you'd feel better if I was there?”

“Yes!” 

Wanderer averted his gaze, conflict swimming in his eyes. Of all times…why did she have to be here, now?? He thought he would never see her again, and he had resigned himself to that fact, but now she was here and of course she didn't remember him, of course she didn't, and it had so many emotions running through him- 

“.. please?” Furina almost whispered, and Tetsuya sighed, all the way from the pit of his soul. 

“Fine. But don't expect me to be all buddy buddy.” 

The girl's relief was palpable, and Wanderer let himself be pulled back to his mother, sullen. “We'll come!” 

“Excellent,” Ei nodded - though she did not smile, her eyes seemed softer, and she turned on her heel, beginning to move. “Let's be on our way, then.” Turning her head, she looked to Wanderer, and Furina looked between the two, gears turning in her head now that the initial shock was over. 

…wait a minute -

“I'm sorry, I did not address you earlier. I do not think that I know you, but I hope your stay here is pleasant.”

Wanderer averted his gaze, an unreadable emotion flickering in his eyes. “..no. You don't know me,” he replied, after a beat. Looking up, his eyebrows furrowed. “And I don't know you, either.”

“You are angry with me.”

“And the sky is blue. Anything else you wanna point out, Captain Obvious?” Tetsuya huffed, pushing past her roughly. “If you thought everyone would be worshiping at your feet after what's went down these past couple of years, think again. I'm only coming along because she begged me to. Let's get this over with.”

Ei and Furina exchanged glances, blinking twice, and then the older one sighed, looking weary. “..he seems quite troubled.”

“Yeah ..”

You don't know the half of it ..

“Despite not knowing him, I feel as if-” the woman shook her head then, cutting herself off. “No, never mind. It couldn't be. Come, Furina. Let's be going.” All the way, the shorter young lady looked between her two companions, an unspoken question in her eyes. The way these two carried themselves, their expressions, their mannerisms, they felt so…. similar. Wanderer had mentioned his mother before, though he hadn't told her much besides the fact that she had abandoned him when he was younger; but it didn't take much to put the two and two together.

..so then, why didn't Raiden recognize him??

The trio sat on couches, each one holding a cup of tea (in Wanderer's case, no sugar, while his mother and Furina added at least 3 cubes each); and Raiden began to make conversation. “Have you been faring alright after everything?” she asked the younger woman, and the girl hummed thoughtfully, looking to the floor.

“.. I'm…I'm getting there. As well as I can be, I guess."

“I understand. These things take time.”

“What would you know of human suffering?” Tetsuya countered, gaze resentful as he glowered above the rim of his cup. “How could you ever dream of wrapping your head around it after all-"

“Tetsuya,” Furina interrupted, and he closed his mouth into a thin, angry line. “It's alright.” Taking a breath, she went on. “..the prophecy was averted, but not without loss…it's.. difficult. To process, and to talk about. I'm sorry."

“I see. I am no stranger to loss, either. I've lost my friends, my sister…” Ei’s features marred with sorrow, and Furina nodded, sadly. “I wish I could tell you that it gets easier with time, but I find each loss to be a fresh wound within my soul. I'd say I've lost a creation, too,” and at that, Tetsuya gripped his cup so hard his knuckles turned white. This reaction did not escape Furina's gaze, and she looked to Raiden, suspicions rising. "But the scars ache less, over time.."

“You did..?”

“Long ago, yes. He was…very emotional, and I thought that he would not be able to bear the task I made him for. So I set him free. I felt as if- I at least owed him his own life. I didn't want him to be weighed down by that burden, or intervene wrongly in his fate.”

A dull but loud thunk sounded as a mug was almost slammed into the table.

“And what if the child wanted to stay?” Tetsuya suddenly butt in again before Furina could reply, head bowed so his face was not visible as both women turned to him. “What if it was not freedom for him? You- you set him free?? Don't make me laugh,” he scoffed, shoulders shaking with bitter chuckles. “You abandoned your child and left him alone in a world that he did not understand and yet you would fix your mouth to try and call it doing him a favor??? For all you know, he could be dead. He needed you, and you-”

Ei’s brow furrowed, and Furina could not help but notice how uncannily familiar it looked on her face- she had seen Tetsuya make the same expression thousands of times in confusion or frustration, or just plain anger.

“Your child needed you,” he repeated, trembling. “And you left him. What if he just wanted a mother. You couldn't even give him that. What if he-”

“You speak as if you know him,” Ei chimed in, and Furina was close enough to see a streak of pain fly across Tetsuya’s face as his chest heaved. Violet eyes fell to the Vision on Wanderer's chest, and suddenly, Raiden seemed to stop breathing. “...wait.”

“What,” Wanderer asked hollowly, voice cutting off when the goddess almost fell over herself to cross the room. “H- hey?”

“You,” she said, pointing to the golden feather on the casing of Tetsuya's Vision. “Where did- where did you get that. That's the emblem I gave to my-” A tense silence filled the air, and it was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop as things began to click. Ei blinked once, twice, three times, and then her pupils dilated so large they seemed to almost swallow up her irises. “...you don't - you don't know him, you- you are-”

“..your son,” Wanderer ventured, finally looking up, and as he did, tears splashed down his cheeks. “Yes. But you never saw me that way, did you?"

“You …needed me?”

“I did,” he whispered, finding the floor interesting. “But you were never there.”

“I'm so-”

“Stop,” he choked, shaking his head. “Don't - don't say you're sorry. It's hundreds of years too late for apologies. You can't - you can't fix anything,” and he stood up, scrubbing at his eyes furiously. “I hate you. And I always will,” Tetsuya finished, the markings on his bodysuit glowing as he beelined to the door and fled.

“Wait!!” Raiden called, outstretching a hand, and Furina stood, finding the strength to stand somehow.

“I'll - I'll go talk to him -”

“I'm coming with you,” Ei replied, in a tone that left no room for arguments, and the girl nodded, slowly. "We have to find him."

He wasn't not sure how long he flew for, just that everything was blurred and he could barely make heads or tails of anything around him. Eventually, Tetsuya came to a stop and clutched his chest, using his free hand to balance himself against a tree.

Hurts….

Though he didn't need to breathe, he found himself struggling to around his sobs anyway, little drops of water falling into the dirt and staining it. He hated this - hated feeling so vulnerable, so weak, so childish. “Stop that,” he chided himself, voice wobbly. “Stop crying, stop crying!” He didn't - need her, he'd been fine without her so why ..why???

…I don't hate her... I don't. I'm angry and I'm sad and confused but I -

“Why the hell is everything so confusing,” Tetsuya barely managed, putting a hand to his temple. His head hurt, and he grimaced in discomfort, dizzy. I. I need to sit down. . . Finding a pool of water, he sat by the riverbank, hugging his knees. “Why do I care so much,” he muttered, glowering into the horizon.

Just because she hurt you doesn't mean you can't miss her, Furina had told him some time ago, and he sighed, clutching his chest again. “.. I shouldn't. It would make things easier.”

Hours passed, and movement nearby startled him into alertness- when - when did the sun go down? Did he cry himself to sleep??? Why. .why was everything so warm???

“I found him!! He's over here,” Furina called, appearing through the underbrush, and Tetsuya stiffened as Raiden popped up not even a second later, eyes wide. Before he could speak, she bolted over, like lightning, and his eyes got wider and wider, looking fit to pop out of his head as she threw her arms around him and pulled him into her chest.

“..Ah - what -”

“I didn't know,” she was saying, tumbling over her words. “I wasn't aware, you saw me that way. I never - I never wanted to hurt you, I- but I did. I'm a warrior, not a mother. I don't know how to- I wouldn't have been-” Ei took a breath, shaky and shallow. “I am not asking for your forgiveness. But I want to tell you I'm sorry for the pain I unwittingly caused you. I can't fix it, or make it go away. But I'm sorry."

He'd often turned over situations like this playing out in his head, but now that it was actually happening, it felt unreal; and he felt hollow, anger draining away - at this point, he was just tired, and Tetsuya made no attempt to move, chest heaving. “Stop acting like you care,” he choked, hands trembling.

“I'm not,” she frowned, lifting his head so she would look at him. “I have many faults, but being a liar is not one of them.” He looked away sharply, tears threatening, and she brushed them away with her thumbs. “You don't have to forgive me, or trust me, or let me back in. But I need you to know that I - I didn't get rid of you because you were weak, or anything of that sort. I was afraid the world would hurt you, I was afraid you would crumble under the weight of everything -”

"And a lot of good that did,” he snapped, though there was much less venom behind it. “The world did hurt me, time and over again. And it all started with you, it all goes back to you, I -”

“You hate me.”

“No.”

“...No?”

“Yes?” Tetsuya went on, eyebrows knitting in distress. “I don't - I don't know, okay? I'm angry at you and I'm hurt you weren't around! But I - I also - I missed you, and I don't understand why. I don't - I don't need you,” he muttered. “I survived without you, but there's -” he clutched his chest then, tears flooding his eyes again. “It's like there's a hole, and no matter what I do, it won't go away,” and his shoulders shook. “And you did that to me. And then you - after what I said earlier, you still came to find me and - none of this makes any sense. .it would be so much easier to just hate you but I don't, and I hate this, I hate it so much,” he finished. A part of him wanted so badly to pull away, but another part wanted to be held and comforted, and that side was winning, to his chagrin.

Furina put a hand to his shoulder, and he looked to her before looking away, drained. After a moment, Ei frowned. “Tetsuya. You're burning up,” she noted, eyebrows furrowed with worry, and it was true; he was warm, much too warm. Tetsuya was never, ever warm- on the contrary, he almost always ran cool, hauntingly so. In response, he clutched his shirt so hard it wrinkled, chest heaving as he sobbed- and to both the others’ shock, his breaths came out in little visible puffs of air, though the night was warm. “What is the matter?”

“It hurts,” was all he could manage, eyes squeezing shut.

“Where? Where does it hurt? Just your chest?”

“I- I can't pinpoint a place,” Tetsuya replied, vexed. “It's just - it's everywhere. It's fine, I'll be alright -” and he wiggled out of her arms, attempting to stand. “Stop worrying.”

“If you're feverish, I don't think you should walk,” Furina worried, rushing over, and he weakly brushed her off. “Tetsuya, stop being stubborn and let us help-”

"Leave me alone," he growled, walking away. "I don't - I don't need-" And then he abruptly stopped talking, swaying where he stood before putting a hand to his temple. Tetsuya's eyelashes fluttered for just a moment, and then the next thing they knew, he was crumpling over, legs giving out.

"Tetsuya!!!"

Ei thankfully managed to catch the boy before he hit the ground, and he groaned in distress, clinging to her arm. "Mother-"

"I'm right here, I'm right here," she assured. "We- we can talk more later. Right now, we have to take care of you," and she scooped up the startled boy, Wanderer squawking in shock.

"What? Where are we -"

"Home," she stated, hurrying back to the estate. "Hold on."

(To be continued :) I'm thinking this will be a 2 partner, I didn't want this to be too long and figured this was a good stopping point.)

[witchybitchycrybaby]

Enemies in public, lovers in private

Davos Blackwood x Bracken!fem!reader

Warnings: smut, it's basically porn without plot, suggestive language, fighting

Words: 3k

Also this is my first ever attempt at writing 18+ content, I hope I did well

✨✨✨

It was a perfect day for another traditional clash between Blackwoods and Brackens. It wasn't too hot nor cold, it didn't rain at all and the sun wasn't shining in their faces, hidden behind clouds.

Maybe it was hiding because it no longer wanted to see the unresolved conflict between the two houses.

The air was thick with tension and hatred at the boundary line. Davos Blackwood, with a handful of his men, stood at the edge of their territory, the Red Fork River murmuring softly nearby. Opposite them, you and your brother Aeron approached, flanked by a few Bracken soldiers.

Your eyes locked with Davos' brown ones with a mix of frustration and longing. That was the only way you could communicate something more than insults without anyone paying attention to you. You blinked quickly, hiding every one of your feelings behind a cold, resentful mask.

"Blackwood," Aeron sneered, his voice, though a little bit unsure, was dripping with disdain he didn't even try to disguise. He then looked the dark haired boy up and down. "What brings you to our lands? Lost your way like a stray dog?"

Davis gritted his teeth at the insult. He took one step closer to where the bracken stood. “Just making sure you craven lot aren’t overstepping your boundaries, Bracken. Your family has a knack for moving boundary stones.”

"Funny thing, Blackwood," you barked back, his name a stinging venom on your tongue. "We were just discussing how often those stones seem to wander towards our side. Must be the wind, perhaps, or the dragons. Surely, you wouldn't have any share in that, would you?"

One of the Blackwood men, until now staying a pace behind Davos, took a step forward and looked at you with so much hate and anger you had to suppress a shiver. You stood still however; you would rather die than cower before them.

"Careful, you Bracken wench. Watch your tongue before we cut it out."

Before anyone could react, Aeron's face twisted with fury, and he drew his sword. His grip was however a bit uncertain. You really appreciated this, his want to always protect you. He was the more delicate one among the two of you, not suited for battle. And yet, he was very stubborn to prove himself.

You saw the way Davos' jaw tightened as his fingers gripped the hilt of his sword. Davos Blackwood instantly unsheathed his weapon, eyes trained on the blond boy. "Looks like little Bracken is shaking in his boots. Did your sister drag you out here to play knight?"

"I've got more honor in my little finger than you have in your entire body, Blackwood."

Davos stepped closer, his eyes darkening. "Honor? You wouldn't know honor even if it bit you."

With a war cry on his lips Aeron lunged at the Blackwood boy. The metallic sound of the sword struck the otherwise quiet air like a thunder. The clang of steel against steel echoed through the trees as they clashed with a fury borne of centuries-old hatred. Their hits were brutal and fast; their movements swift and well-practiced. You watched, your heart aching with every strike, knowing you had to play your part.

The fight was intense but brief. Both men landed a few cuts, blood staining their clothes but nothing fatal. As Davos prepared for another strike, you decided you were fed up with this fight and stormed between them, your eyes blazing with anger. You put a hold on both of their arms, stopping them from doing something they would later regret.

"Stop this, both of you, or I’ll take my sword and kill you myself,” you said with ice in your voice. Your gaze wandered from one boy to the other.

They both well knew you could and would do it; you weren't the one to make empty promises. They could play their little war all they wanted, but not on your watch. You'd faster claim a dragon than let them kill themselves over some stupid boundary stones.

Your grip on their arms remained strong until both of them lowered their swords. You could feel Davos' muscles twitching beneath your touch. He huffed with anger and wrenched himself from your grasp.

For a brief moment, Davos' eyes softened as he looked at you, but he quickly masked it with a scowl. "Listen to your little cunt of a sister, Bracken. Fuck off to your side of the river.”

As he walked away to his men, you tugged at your brother and pulled him to yours. He would bitch about it later, you knew it. But oh well, you'd take it.

Aeron glared at you enraged and also pulled his arm away from you. "What are you doing, (y/n)? They deserve to be taught a lesson."

"And you'll be the one to learn it if you don't back down," you retorted, your hand closing to the hilt of your own sword. "This pathetic Blackwood isn't worth the blood on your blade."

His jaw tightened but he had enough sense in his head not to speak.

You heard Davos sheathing his sword so you turned to him. There was a small cut on his cheek and your heartbeat quickened. He wiped the blood with the back of his hand and stared right into your eyes. You lifted your chin just a little and crossed your arms.

"Tell your men to stop moving the boundary stones, and we won't have to keep coming here to correct your mistakes."

"Perhaps if your men had the integrity to keep to their own lands, we wouldn't have this problem."

A scoff came from one of the Bracken men. "You're saying you have integrity, Blackwood?"

Davos smirked, you practically could see the glint of craze in his eyes.

"It's not us who's always trying to take more than what’s ours.”

The Blackwood and Bracken men exchanged hostile glances, muttering curses under their breath. You balled your hands into fists, your knuckles white.

"Enough!" yelled Aeron. "We'll leave your precious stones alone if you do the same."

There was a moment of silence on the hill. You knew how much Davos loved those little battles between your houses and that no matter what he might now say will stop them.

Finally, Davos gave a mocking bow, his dark eyes flashed with something very opposite to the want of truce. "Fine. But don't think this is over, Blackwood."

Aeron nodded curtly. "Wouldn't dream of it."

With that, Davos Blackwood shot you a final glance and ordered his friends to retreat. There was promise in his eyes that only you could understand. You watched them go, your heart thudding in your chest. You played this meeting well, your love-hate relationship still sealed and hidden.

"Next time, dear sister," Aeron hissed. "I won't back down so easily."

You sighed when he moved away. Maybe you won't stop him next time. Maybe you should just let them kill themselves and they'd be rid of this callow feud.

As the Brackens turned back to their lands, your thoughts lingered on Davos. Your love was a dangerous game, one that could cost you everything. But for now, you had survived another day, your secret safe for a little longer.

~•~

The Mill stood at the edge of Blackwood and Bracken lands, silent and dark, shrouded in shadows. It wasn't precisely a mill anymore, truth be told. Nobody used it, so it stood empty and alone.

And it was just perfect for Davos and you. The Mill became your sanctuary, its walls one of a very few confidants of your love and late-night trysts.

Davos waited inside, not daring to light any candles for fear of drawing unwanted attention. His breath was steady, but his heart racing. He knew you'd come. You always did.

He fixed his eyes on the wooden door when he heard the soft and cautious footsteps. Your footsteps. You quietly slipped inside, the door creaking when you closed it behind yourself. You barely had time to turn around and properly look at him before he surged forward, and in seconds was on you, pushing you against the rough wall. You yelped in surprise, but it was quickly swallowed by Davos' hungry mouth when his lips crashed against yours in a hard, desperate kiss.

You instantly melted into him with a fervent response. Your hands threaded through his silken, dark locks, pulling him even closer. His hands roamed over your clothed body, caressing the curves of your waist and hips, which he knew so well.

Finally, you broke the kiss, panting heavily, both completely out of breath. There was a string of saliva connecting your lips. You leaned back, resting your head against the wall.

"Cunt?" You asked rising an eyebrow. "I thought you'd have some more sophisticated terms up your sleeve, Blackwood."

He laughed, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "My apologies. Had to keep up the appearances." he murmured, his voice anything but apologetic. He pressed a kiss to the column of your neck, and you shivered. "Would you prefer 'Bracken witch' instead?"

Your eyes narrowed in mock-serious resentment, but your body betrayed you, arching towards him. "Bastard." You whispered with a smirk on your lips. Just like that, he was forgiven.

He'd kneel if you'd asked. He would beg, and he wouldn't find any trace of shame it that. Seven Hells, he'd crawl if that was what you wanted. He'd do everything without a second to lose, because you were his Brecken. His and nobody elses.

"And you love me anyway." He gave you one more peck on the lips and grasped your hand in his. He pulled you further into the Mill, towards the makeshift bed of hay and blankets. As you moved, he kissed you again, his lips trailing down your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

"I've missed you," he whispered, his hands moving to the laces of your shirt. You could feel his impatient fingers grazing over your sternum and stomach. You sighed with contentment when the material slid from your shoulders and fell to the ground.

"I hate how much I've missed you too," you admitted, your hands clasping his shirt and pulling it over his head.

Davos attacked your lips with a new wave of desire, he kissed you like a man starved, and you were the sweetest of fruits. His hands slid down your waist to the lacing of your breeches and slipped them off. He picked you up, and you crossed your ankles behind his back. His body was so hot; in every place you touched, you felt fire.

He laid you gently on the blanket and quickly discarded his own breeches somewhere in the corner. He then climbed on top of you, careful not to put his whole body weight on you. You opened your legs to accommodate him and you gasped when his half-hard cock brushed against your inner thigh.

"I was a bit disappointed seeing you fight today, Blackwood. I've seen better fighting from children. Do you train with toddlers in Raventree Hall?"

"You vixen," Davos rasped and bit your lip and didn't let go until he tasted warm metallic liquid on his tongue. "My fighting is better than whatever pathetic excuse for training do Brackens do. I bet even a blindfolded squire could best you or your brother."

His lips wandered down your body, leaving open mouthed kisses in their wake. Down the column of your neck, to your collarbone, and to your breasts. He eagerly took one nipple in his mouth, teasing it into hard peak. He then continued his ministrations on the other one, all while you were a squirming and whining mess under him.

You threw your head back and dug your nails deep into his shoulders when Davos put his hand between your heated bodies. He was sure that the marks you'd leave would stay on his back for quite a while. His finger travelled between your folds and stopped right at your entrance. You pushed your hips to seek any type of friction but he just released your nipple with a soft pop and shook his head, a crazed smirk on his face.

"You know, Bracken," he whispered slowly, leaning above you, his face mere inches from yours. "I used 'cunt' on purpose. Because yours is just divine.

And with that he thrusted one of his digits inside you. You moaned, and all he wanted to do was freeze the time and capture the sound in a bottle. His perfect Bracken, all pretty and pliant for him. He could do whatever he wanted to you, and you'd let him. His ethereal lover.

You buckled your hips once more when he pulled and pushed two fingers. In and out, in and out. He could see the unshed tears on your lashes when his thumb started to tease your clit.

"Fuck-.Davos..." You whimpered. "You lousy teaser."

He captured your lips in his again, a low groan escaped from him when your soft, warm walls started to tighten around his fingers.

"You are so eager, my dear Bracken, so unsated. You will come on my fingers and then I'll fuck you stupid, I promise."

And it didn't take long. He kissed you until both of you were breathless, and whispered sweet nothings into your ear; whispered how good you were for him, how good you were taking him, heaven-sent just for him to have and take care of. He pushed his fingers and continued his assault oh your clit until your legs started shaking. Your back arched into him, and with his name on your lips, you climaxed. And even after that, he didn't stop because that's what he was there for. To make you happy, to worship you, your body and the ground you walked on.

You panted when he removed his fingers and brought them to his lips. You watched as his tongue darted around them, licking up your juices.

"You will be the death of me, Blackwood," you moaned and kissed him hard. You could taste yourself on his tongue, and it made your head spin. You locked your ankles behind his back to keep him in place. As if Davos would rather be anywhere else than right here.

"Will you give me another one?" He asked and positioned his cock right at your entrance. You shivered some more when you felt his already leaking tip tease and push at you. "Will you," he pushed more until he was inside your warmth. "be a good girl to me?"

You writhed beneath him and it made him swell with pride. He made that. He was responsible for this state you were in. His sweet, sweet girl.

"If you don't put it in right now, I'll do it," you blurted.

"As the lady commands." He grinned at you and bottomed out in one smooth thrust.

He groaned at the feeling and hid his face in the crook of your neck. He needed a moment to compose himself and not come right away. You were so warm and tight, he truly didn't mind dying like that, inside of you.

You gasped for air and looped your arms around his neck. One of your hands tangled into his hair, your nails scratching his scalp. Did you know how much he loved you? Did you know that he would kill for you? Gods, he would start a war in your name, all you had to do was ask.

Davos tightened his jaw and rolled his hips just a little. Both of you moaned in unison. You didn't believe in heaven or hell, but you sure knew that heaven was right here, with him between your legs and inside you.

"You chicken out, Blackwood? Are you just gonna lie there and look pretty, or will you move already?"

"I should've put this mouth of yours to a better use," he muttered but did as he was told. He pulled out almost completely and then thrust back in. Hard. You yelped and cried out in pleasure.

He did it again. And again. And again. It was a torturous tempo, and everything in him screamed to be faster and claim you already. But you were a brat today, a spoiled brat, and he wanted to punish you for it. Yet, your sweet mewling and moaning made him grit his teeth and go faster.

He placed his hands in the bend of your legs and brought them to your chest to give himself even better access to your pulsating core. You were so beautiful like this, so hauntingly beautiful he could cry. His Bracken, his, his, his and he accentuated it with each deep thrust he made.

You moved together, your tempo more erratic with each push. The world outside the walls of the Mill stopped existing; there were no more lands, no more Blackwoods and no more Brackens. There were just you and your desire.

Davos knew he wouldn't last much longer, and neither would you. He left open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, your neck and collarbones until he felt the climax building up within himself. He could feel it in you too by how your walls were tightening around him. You had this serene, fucked-out expression on your face, your eyes glassy. And it tipped him over the edge.

You came together. His milky spent filled your insides, some starting to leak out as soon as he pulled out and turned around to lie on his back beside you. Your bodies were covered in a thin layer of sweat, the smell of sex filling the air.

You panted heavily for a while, and then Davos pulled you on top of him, your hair pooling around you two. You placed your head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.

You then pulled yourself up and leaned on your elbows. Your smile was sated when you looked into his eyes, but it faltered when your gaze fell on the cut on his cheek. You gently traced it with your fingers.

"Does it hurt?" You asked softly.

But he just turned his head and kissed your wrist. "It's not bad. Blackwoods are tougher than Brackens, I assure you."

You rolled your eyes playfully. "Stubborn as mules, more like."

"Maybe," he replied and caressed your cheek. "But we know what we want."

"And what do you want, Davos Blackwood?" You whispered leaning into his touch.

"You, (y/n) Bracken. Always you."

[dilxcc]

chapter five

summary. in which two friends who desperately clings to each other until the other slips away . . .

contains. fem!reader, friends to lovers, angst, fluff, slowburn, cussing, grammatical errors . . .

note. i swear this chapter would be more enjoyable if you read it while listening to kai's come in. ALSO FOR EVERYONE'S INFORMATION!! i actually was listening to kai's say you love me (i thought it fits the yandere theme much more but angst works too hehe) when i come up with this ff 🤭 im not even going to lie when i say most of his songs inspired me to write

previous chapter

his face was adorned with a sweet smile. one hand caressing your hair while the other were wrapped around your waist, pulling you close to him. you were too caught up in what was happening until he was suddenly further away from you. your voice were stuck in your throat, desperately trying to call out for him.

that gentle smile were replaced with resentment. you didn't get what was happening. your heart ache as he continue to get further away. you begged for your legs to start moving ― to start chasing after him. but it wouldn't move.

.

you woke up with a start, slightly out of breath as you take in your surrounding. your head was immediately turned towards the door when it swung open, revealing the very source of your nightmare. "satoru..." you muttered. despite your best effort to look like nothing had happened, he had already caught on to it.

"you good?" he asked, sitting down on the side of the bed. "yeah," you answered almost immediately. he knew that was not the case. hell, he's been friends with you since your teenage years. of course, he would know if something was wrong. but he didn't push the topic any further. "are the kids okay?" you asked softly. he put the plastic bag that he brought with him on the bedside table. "they are. thanks to you," he smiled slightly.

you let out a sigh of relief before laying back down on the bed. "i brought your favorites," he said, his eyes were wandering around the hospital room. "eat it while it's still hot," he added.

for the next few minutes, he accompanied you as you ate your lunch ― that was what he told you. as if noticing your constant need to clear your throat, he suddenly got up from his seat and started walking towards the door. "where are you going?" you immediately asked. "missing me already?" he asked with a teasing smile, making you to crack a smile of your own. "i'm getting you water," he said softly, his hand on the doorknob. "i'll be back in a few,"

after he left, you were left alone with your thoughts. your mind wander back to the dream you just had. was it really a dream..? or was it some sort of prediction that might happen in the future? you shook your head slightly, denying all possibilities. there was no way that would happen... right?

.

the two students clung onto you, tears staining their faces as they shout words of gratefulness. "you scared us back there!" itadori started. "we thought that you died!"

gojo only watched the scene unfolding before him with amusement. the fushiguro boy had a concerned look on his face but he was trying his hard to not show it.

after a few minutes of consoling your students, they finally calmed down and returned to their usual routine. you were left alone with the gojo satoru yet again. "don't you have a business trip? you usually have one," you muttered.

"told those old men that i'm busy," the white haired male shrugged. "then why are you still here?" you tilted your head in disbelief. he let out a chuckle and shrugged. "let's hang out," he smiled brightly, dodging your question expertly. he do know why he was here ― why he was reluctant to leave your side. he was scared that you might get hurt again; that you might... leave him.

you sighed and shook your head. "i can't, satoru. i still have classes," you rejected. "oh, you mean the one you had after this? loosen up. you still got two more days before you actually need to start teaching again," he said. "plus, those kids won't have a single mission any time soon," he smiled.

"no, means no, satoru," you sighed. "yes, you mean?" he insisted. without asking for your permission, he grabbed your hand and warped the two of you in front of a sweets shop. "satoru!" you groaned.

without letting go of your hand, he starts walking inside the shop, looking through at the various flavors they have. "choose your favorite," he said softly before letting go of your hand and wander around the store in search for his favorite flavors.

you sighed in defeat before you decided to give in and take a look around the store. it had different flavors, some you have heard of and some that you have never heard of. your eyes stopped at the familiar candy that you used to eat back in the days. yours and satoru's favorite.

you wondered if it was still his favorite.

.

sitting at the park bench, you unwrapped the toffee plastic and popped it inside your mouth. "oh," satoru was frozen in his spot, his eyes glued on the confectionery. he remembered the times during your teenage days when both you and satoru would eat these candies under a tree, laughing at each other's joke.

"still your favorite?" he asked softly, his eyes soften behind his black glasses. you hummed and closed your eyes. "i haven't ate this since..." he trailed off. obviously he meant since the time that your relationship drifted away. "yeah, me too," you smiled bitterly.

he scoot himself closer to you and wrapped his arm around your shoulder. there was no words needed to be exchanged. just simply being in silence with him, the chirping of the birds and his raging heartbeats were enough.

taglist: @wooasecret @charisthemaniac @tw0fvced @1lellykins @dnnalssndra

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[thedeafprophet]

On Matters Of Child Minding

for @awordbroken for the @fallenlondonficswap.. hi charm :3c chance saw fit to assign us, so it seemed only par for the course that I write about a shared topic of interest~ I hope you like it <3

Summary: Mr Fires finds itself yet again tasked to watch over Mr Transport on a day is was not scheduled to care for it.

Words: 1.8k

Also on ao3!

Mr Fires burned with a deep, bitter resentment. This whole matter was indignant and insulting, a true sign of its colleagues' lack of aptitude. There would be hell to pay in response for this insult, this calamity, this-

Its raging thoughts were interrupted by the chirping of the delighted child hanging off its arm, seemingly enjoying the motion of Fires pacing around the room. Its ire simmered down to embers as it moved to scratch the child under the chin where it hung. 

Of course, It did not blame Transport for this matter - it bore no responsibility for the failings of its colleagues - but this did not change the fact that it work had been so sorely interrupted. 

It had already done much to accommodate its schedule for when it was its turn to care for the child, and yet, somehow it found itself being tasked with it on a day entirely out of planning. It did not care what ‘emergencies’ came up, it had its own work to do - logic that of course was heeded no mind to. Leave it Fires to be the only one to properly follow schedules around here!

Most irritating of all, was that this was not the first time this matter had occurred. For some reason, its damnable colleagues kept finding a way to pass off the caring duties onto Fires whenever the schedule came up dreadfully lacking, as if its work wasn’t a matter to be considered. It knew very well it was far more equipped and experienced then its colleagues, like with most matters, but that didn’t suddenly mean it had all the free time to spare.

Fires couldn’t help as its mind wanders back to oh so long, of times that had passed before with other, smaller chirping things. It shook its head to clear its thoughts; there was no time for pondering the past, nor for the aching emptiness that threatened to creep up in quiet, inactive moments. 

It had been this matter of its busy schedule that had kept it from child rearing of its own, of course. Far too busy with work, dedicated to its plans for its factories, for London, all the matters dictating why it hadn't dedicated its time to producing any children in quite some time. 

And unlike a certain colleague of its, it would not unfairly pass off its duties onto others. 

With the energy of this particular child, and no playmates to help entertain it, it was a full time task in and of itself. Fires almost wonders if it's a matter of its parentage that leads it to being so particularly rambunctious, or if it had simply been far too long since Fires had been around pups. It knows from experience just how much chaos little ones could cause, of how much focus and dedicated time was required to properly care for. It couldn’t help but ponder slight concern on the matter of its soleness - it would be an unideal matter of socialization, to be raised without a creche of other pups. 

As it was, Fires went on, doing its best to keep the child occupied, begrudging its lack of work hours all the while. Thinking of the reports delayed as it yet again fetched the child's model train to slobber on, keeping its time preoccupied with tiring out the rambunctious little thing. It knew if it did not entertain it, it would find something else to play with, and Fires was not inclined to have any items in its rooms destroyed. 

If perhaps its mood softens at the delighted squeaks and chirps of the child as it played, that was neither here nor there, now was it? 

With all due time, even a child  as energetic and destructive  as Transport was bound to settle down, its new set of teeth proudly shown as it let out a tired yawn. Fires held it gently as it scooped the tired pup up, settling it gently under its arm for the moment, as Transport snuggled its head down finally, finally, nap. 

And then Fires was left to ponder in the silence. 

It would of course do no well to sit around while the child napped, now would it? The most efficient use of its time would be to get a start on the work it was missing while it napped. It's not like the child could go far, or anyone would duly notice if Fires attended to its own office, and Fires knew itself well enough to know it would not be able to sit still and waste the hours. 

It was a simple, logical plan. Mr Fires would simply go to one of its offices, work on the backlog of paperwork that was piling, and make at least some use of time while the child rested.

Yes, it was the simplest course of action. 

Or at least, the concept of it was. 

As it goes with any matter of trying to organize and work, it was only a matter of time before frustration rose. People’s lack of aptitude and capability never ceased to anger it, and time and time again it found its employees falling short. Sorting the ins and outs of its various factories and experiments is one thing, but the job becomes near impossible when people can't even get their work done on time! Sure, it was behind in delivering its own reports, but that was extenuating circumstances. Its factory managers had no excuse in the matter!

It was only when it came across the third missing report that it gave up altogether, huffing a puff of smoke out from its hood as it dropped the papers back on its desk. Fires drummed its claws on the desk as it considered its course of actions; It would have to seek out those reports from the factories itself.

With a quick check to ensure the child was still sleeping, Fires moved out of its office with a quick gesture towards its staff. It would have to be quick in the matter- there was no telling when it's time would run out, and it was playing a risky game it knows - but it was damn well going to get that report even if it had to drag it out of the foreman itself. 

It would need to make the most efficient use of travel time - a matter that would of course involve its dirigible. Sure, all in its city was fair enough to walk between, but why waste time traversing around the scattering ants who would get in its way? 

It boarded its ship with a determined moment, deciding to limit it having any crew when it took more than 3 seconds for its pilot to come aboard, electing to travel itself and the rest of its staff would have to find their own way there. 

Once it was in flight, directions in order, firm in its plans, Fires looked to check on the child again.

It was not there. 

A sharp pang of panic suddenly shot through Mr Fires, of which it quickly worked to rationalize. It shook its own limbs, as if it would suddenly notice the child clinging somewhere else. 

It was not there. 

Oh. This was… most certainly not ideal. If it misplaced the child, it would never hear the end of it, let alone the chaos of what would happen if it ventured outside to the public. It was most certainly not panicking and fearing for the safety of the child. 

It forced itself to think rationally on the situation - it very clearly remembered the child's grasp when it had ventured onto the dirigible, so by all accounts, it could not have gone far. Yes, of course, Fires must have simply gotten distracted during the venture on board and it did not feel the child wander off. 

Thus, a thorough search must be conducted on board, it reasoned, and there was no sense in considering the panicked thoughts of if it had wandered off before then, and if Fires would have to search much, much farther before anyone became aware. 

It was relieved it had chosen to limit the staff on board as Fires searched around the airship in a fit, moving so quickly it was liable to start catching aflame and smoking the ship out. 

It throws open the supply closet door - nothing, not even as it moves around a discarded broom, and lifts up a toppled over bucket.

It checked the side quarters it very, very occasionally rested in - no sign of it there. 

Even the smaller backroom of which its employees were to wait in was astoundingly empty.

It was about to truly fall into a panic, rushing back into the control room, when it finally took a moment to glance down at the control panel.

Of course, there Transport was, happily gnawing away at one of the panel’s levers, seemingly overjoyed at its new found ��toy’, none the wiser of its caretaker’s fearful fretting.

The anxious fury cooled down to embers as a wave of fond amusement passed through Fires at the sight. Had it been here this whole time? Why had Fires not thought to look in the very place it started to panic. 

“Ah, I should have known. Fond of the dirigible, are we? Industry is a particularly ideal specimen.” Transport looks up at Fires with its big, bright eyes as it speaks. “Bigger than your little toys, I'm sure. I imagine you and I are going to have quite the manner of arguments when you’re grown, hm? I won’t be separated from my ships without a fight.” 

Transport, of course, paid no mind to its comments, continuing to happily gnaw away on a lever. 

The child came with only a little manner of tugging its mouth away from the lever as Fires scoops it up, Transport moving to hang happily off its arms as Fires walks closer towards the airships panels. It delights in telling the pup all about the inner workings of the machine, as it watches aptly with bright eyes. Fires wasn’t sure if it was quite at the capability to understand what it was saying yet, but proper education starts young, after all. As it was, its ears peaked up and swiveled around with Fires’ voice as it paid apt attention - at least as much as an energetic pup could. 

The matter of the factory reports was all but forgotten as Fires continued to delight in showing off its airship to the little one, moving from the controls, to the panels, to the view out the window as it speaks of its great affection for all it transpires. It doesn’t even mind that the child moves to bite on its sleeve as it talks. 

Perhaps it was not so grand an insult to have been left to watch the child unplanned for. 

Spices would still be getting through earful later, though. Insults, even minor ones, must still be accounted for. 

[madneurologist]

What’s your take on the family dynamic of Hugo meeting Varian’s aunt, uncles, his pseudo-adopted sister and her husband.

I apologize for every single typo you're going to find on this post

in regards of his family on the earth kingdom,

his heart would ache with pure envy wishing he had the same. varian has a huge extensive family while he has nothing, he doesn't even have a proper home nor family, he was abandoned in an orphanage and later he was left out to wander in the streets until donella found him, and even though he knows she loves him she still exploits him for her own advantage but he's too scared of being abandoned again so he never calls her out for it

at that point i don't think hugo knows about varian's past yet, therefore he still has this "wealthy spoiled boy" narrow view of him, so he grows resentful towards varian around that time. because, varian's so lucky in life, he has the tremendous advantage of growing up in a much more loving environment, advantage hugo did not recieve. he'd wonder that if he had grown up in better conditions he would now be doing great things, maybe he could've grown to be the royal engenieer from ingvarr, maybe doing great inventions to help other people instead of being an awful person to everyone

it goes like that for the first days they're staying with varian's family, he is more distant than usual and has been isolating himself due to the shame he feels for being envious over that. varian really doesn't notice it until much later because he hasn't been paying attention to hugo rather than his family members for the most part, so hugo can't help but feel left out, because everyone else in the team is having fun with varian's family but him

at some point varian tries to talk with him once he feels something is off- but hugo just pushes him away until varian gets rightfully frustated and gives up. it's not the first time hugo has done this with him to avoid showing vulnerability, but it still makes varian upset

now, hugo meeting eugene and rapunzel!

as for eugene, i'm one of those people who think it would be hilarious when they see each other at the castle, because of the criminal history they share with one another, like the whole deal about hugo dropping a piano on eugene years ago and eugene still being pissed about it?? that never gets old.

HOWEVER, i think their relationship goes deeper than that, not only because they met when hugo was still a kid but also because now that hugo has started to live with varian it's obvious this is new for him. finally having a home, proper food, and in general luxuries he always dreamed about as a kid, is overwhelming for hugo, and eugene gets it because he's been there too.

even if he's VERY skeptical, he can't help but feel empathy, specially when he sees hugo is really trying to make up for varian, so he shows his care in very subtle ways, sometimes more direct-like even if hugo maks fun of him or gets snappy thinking eugene is trying to ridiculize him when he says certain things that speak through his soul, making him feel vulnerable as ever-

as slowly as he realizes eugene is genuinely trying to be nice, he starts being nice too (in his own way)

finally as for raps *panting for breath*,

i have doubts about my take on this one, i'll just say whatever comes to my mind, sincere apologies

his first interaction with rapunzel gives him a bad feeling because of how kind she's being the whole time, even though he became good friends with princess nuru, he still couldn't help not distrusting royalty as a whole. and with rapunzel being queen, he feels a bit intimidated because of this, *yes* he does loosen up eventually when he gets to know her better, however even if he were to throw a snarky comment or two towards her, he's surprisingly respectful, not out of fear, but out of pure admiration

apart from this i believe that at the beggining he would get kind of spooked when realizing how good she is at reading people and being a positive influence on them, he finds it as annoying as it is amazing, esp when they have mushy talks about not having emotional barriers and opening your heart to the affection of others— in which he just wants to curl up and die

[malfunctioning-mantis]

Hell yeah 8 paragraph cape kid lore rewrite WOOT WOOT. (I have a feeling I'm going to quickly change this but it's fiiiine)

Cape Kid grew up on a planet like Hat Kids. Their father was a highly trained and well known actor while their mother was a clothes designer. Capey's mom taught Cape Kid how to sew and make nice things for themselves, like their capes! Which they admire and care about a lot. While their father gave them acting tips, mainly out of Capey's request because of how interested in movies he was...

They were a perfect family. For a little while. Capey's dad wanted a perfect family just because he thought he deserved it. Which meant if their mother or cape kid themselves weren't being perfect in his eyes he'd make it known. His comments on his wife and child is one of the reasons why Capey's mom left at an early age.

As the years went by his resentment for cape kid started to grow more and more because seeing how cape kid was special and was experiencing child-like wonder, it made him feel less special and important. So, in a cruel fashion, keeping your child’s confidence down is a way he’ll never be better than you.

What stresses Capey out the most is that his dad wasn’t always this way, it was a slow build up over the years and he had nice memories when his dad used to be so much more supportive and caring, but that's all dwindled away. BUT ALSO, his dad still has nice moments here and there, so he can’t even hate his dad completely. Seems like Capey’s just the one being bothersome somehow. He isn’t able to figure out WHEN this all started or WHY. He can’t pinpoint it and it makes his head and heart hurt...

Cape Kid overhears about acting roles being open in a movie from his dads usual rambles about acting and movies. Cape Kid had the thought of going to the studio to fill in that role. Maybe that would make his dad love them again! Perfect plan! And Cape Kid would be happy to do so, since they love to act. So when a ship landed down they snuck inside and made their way to the studio. But when they arrived it was… empty. Nobody was there at the time. It was the wrong studio.

No no no no… it's not supposed to be dead bird studio! It was supposed to be a different one! But alas, he is stuck there. All alone. He wanted to go home, so so so bad. But with more exploring he found that abandoned vampire horror film set. They found salvation there, since there were no birds guarding it. They also felt a sense of safety, since vampire movies were always their favorite and the vampire castle setting made him feel right at home. Every so often he'd leave to take some food from other active sets, but very rarely since they had the aching fear of being caught. Other than that, they stayed put for almost an entire year.

But then Hat Kid came along. She noticed Capey wandering the more unnoticed parts of the studio and followed them back to their home. Cape Kid finally noticed Hattie and quickly put on their vampire act to try to scare her off maybe. But then they realized they are a kid like them too. He gets super excited and all sparkly eyed and is like "HOLY CRAP!! OTHER CHILD!!" and immediately wants to play with her.

Hat Kid doesn't get a good feeling about it but plays along for now. Capey suggests that hat kid acted as the "damsel in distress" in his little made up story. Hat Kid declines which makes Capey a bit upset… since cape kid rarely interacts with anybody he doesn't know how to react or speak their emotions and thoughts correctly, so it all comes out like cape kid absolutely HATES hat kid. Which is not true at all, cape kid would LOVE to be friends with them. But hate kid thinks of it as Cape kid and them wanted to be enemies. Because of this, Cape Kid accepts this and decides that the two were hero and villain in their "story" and Cape Kid follows Hat Kid from the shadows. Causing mischief wherever they go and getting into their own hijinx whenever they lose sight of Hattie.

Okay that's where I'm leaving it off goognigh snoorrreeee........

[kinsurou]

Forgive me Lord, for I have sinned

Pairings: Dabi x Reader

Word count: 6.8k

Warnings: Smut, Incubus!Dabi, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, slight hypnosis, horror elements, sex in a church.

Ever since you were a child, something about that church always got under your skin. Being inside that old building always left a fallacious sentiment. No matter the days, months, or years that were spent performing church service with your whole family.

Every time your younger self would attempt saying something about it to an adult, they would always brush off the child pulling on the ends of their shirt with trembling hands and wobbly pouts.

In the eyes of the adults, you were just a child with plenty of imagination.

And your nana's words never helped either.

For "Nothing bad can ever linger in the house of God." 

That was back when you were 18. It was the last time you mentioned anything about that eerie feeling. As well as the last time you stepped inside that church, much to your parent's disappointment.

Now...Five years later, you faced the same house where you grew up, while carrying a suitcase in hand. And a huge, resentful scowl twisting your sceptical face. 

Your parents had begged you to come home for the holidays. The same parents who didn't hesitate when they turned their backs on their daughter, after she tore the rosary off her neck.

Had it not been for your nana's decaying health, you would have never come back in the first place. But the elder woman could leave this world any moment now, and she begged to see her granddaughter one more time.

Having dinner with a bunch of people who did nothing but judge your every move was detestable. From your clothes, to your hair, to your studies, everything seemed wrong in their judgemental, hypocrite eyes. It became downright awkward, when you did not keep your thoughts to yourself.

No longer were you the little girl they could carelessly brush off. But that didn't mean you were the golden child either. And frankly, you wouldn't have it any other way.

The only thing you wish could actually change, were the everlasting tremors you felt each time you passed by that old church. Three blocks away from your parent's home. The same church you could watch every single night, through the window of your childhood room.

Just gazing at that building was enough to feel those tremors all over again. You thought the feeling would disappear as you grew older. That maybe, just maybe, your family's words were true.

If only they knew how wrong they truly were...

That night, as you laid in bed, something bizarre happened. You were used to fall asleep at midnight, allowing the soothing melody of the crickets to lure you into a peaceful slumber.But this specific night, something was off. You had fallen asleep at the same time as always, but not to the regular, dreamless night.

But to someone calling out for you. A deep, raspy voice, kept calling your name, and although unable to comprehend the language, somehow, you could understand what it wanted.

Come to me...

The instant your eyes stirred open, a thick and heavy fog made its way deep inside your head, clouding each and every of your thoughts. Except for that urge to follow the voice.

With stupor glazed eyes and a mindless stare, you peeled the blankets off your body and rose up from the bed. No one noticed you walking to the front door, for they were all resting deeply. 

Hurry...

The front door was easily opened. This neighborhood was one of the quietest and safest places around, so the need to lock the house at night was unnecessary.

Each step led you down a certain path. You were uncertain where, but that voice most certainly did, as it guided you through the dark and empty streets without much of a struggle.

Had anyone seen you outside this late at night, with an empty look in those usually bright eyes, they would have thought you were just sleepwalking and ended up outside.

Not even the aching in your feet, from stepping over sticks and stones was enough to wake you up. Whatever hold that voice had in your mind was stronger than the feeling of stone digging under your bare feet.

You couldn't even tell how much time had passed, but eventually you reached the place where this voice kept dragging you to. Away from the comfort of you plush, albeit small bed.

An old door with elegant, yet subtle carvings all over its surface, currently blocked the path that lead towards the alluring hum, demanding your presence. 

With the strength of your whole body, the door opened effortlessly, allowing you to step inside. 

Come.

The moment you stumbled inside, the voice calling out, had a drastic change. The most prominent of them all, was the clarity behind each and every word. 

This time, you were able to understand it all.

Come closer, little one...

Once again, your legs moved on their own. Following after the strong, magnetic like feeling that kept on pulling you forwards, like a moth entranced by a radiant flame. 

Something changed through your surroundings in an instant. The door slammed itself closed with a tremendous force, rattling the whole building with overwhelming magnitude. 

You didn't know what did it, but that chain of events created an uproar, startling you out of that trance, and immediately dissipated the foggy sensation deeply fixated inside your head. 

And once your head became clear, nothing but worry began swirling inside your head, accompanied by that very same quivers that went down your spine ever since you turned 18.

Because, you were standing right in front of an all too familiar altar, one inside the very same church that you've come to despise over the years.

Worry began brewing inside you at an exorbitant rate. That horrible sensation of something dark and hostile lurking around the corridors began increasing by the second. Bile threatening to crawl its way up your throat the more you stayed in place. 

You had to leave this place, now.

Or at least that was the idea, but no matter how much you tried to open those vast doors trapping you inside, neither of them budged in the slightest. How in the world did they get locked in the first place? The priest had always made it clear that the church's doors should always remain open.

This wasn't normal, at all.

Neither this, or the sudden heath drapped over your back that sent chills down your body, could be considered normal.

"Took you long enough."

The same deep, raspy voice from before, was coming from behind, Sending chill through your body. There was no doubt in your head, that whoever kept calling out for you, and the person standing behind you, were one and the same individual.

"Why don't you turn around, so I can finally see that pretty face of yours?"

A slim hand made its way up your shoulder. Long, sharp claws toyed around with the thin strap of your tank top, making their way under the thin fabric to drag themselves over the soft skin of your shoulder. 

Even if you wanted to follow said command, it was nearly impossible to do so when your whole body was frozen in fright. 

Carefully, your head turned to the side, just enough to take a small glimpse of this...man? Slowly, your body turned around, and you finally saw the one responsible of bringing you here.

A man stood before you, or at least, you thought he was a human male at first. Had it not been for the long pair of horns on his head, slightly angled down before circling all the way to the back of his skull.

That was just one of the few things about him that caught your eye. 

The second thing, was that despite the cold, harsh breeze inside the building, his chest was bare from any clothing, and the only thing that covered this man's psyche was a pair of black, leather pants. 

Even his feet were bare, which by the way, also presented the same sharp, black claws as the ones on his hands.

But if that wasn't enough, the last thing you noticed was his scars.

Nearly his whole body was covered with charred skin, holding on to his body by the metallic stitches that retained everything together. A knot could be felt in your stomach when you saw his face. 

Those very same scars and stitches, were also over the lower half of his face, and right under his eyes as well. That mesmerizing pair of teal colored eyes of his, that you could almost swear glowed in the dark, calling out for your soul.

He slowly advanced towards you with a long stride, but for every step he took forward, you took one backwards, trying to maintain as much distance between you and him as possible. 

Or at least, that was the idea. 

Which came crashing down when you felt that cursed door stopping you from going anywhere. He just smirked lazily when he saw the fear inside your eyes, as you turned to glare nervously at the dreaded piece of wood.

"Going somewhere, little one?" One of his hands came up to play with a lock of your hair. When his knuckles brushed against your cheek, some kind of energy racked your head momentarily. It was like an electric shock that sent your brain into a haze. Almost like an instinct, your head tried leaning towards his hand, yearning for more that feeling.

He took a sharp breath and closed his eyes. Judging by his behaviour, he felt something similar. And when he opened them again, you could have sworn his pupils had turned into slits. 

"Who would have thought, that after all this time," His eyes wandered all over your body. "You would be coming back? Must be my lucky day." 

The same fog that dragged you all the way here came back with force, slowly clouding all of your thoughts like it did before.

It wasn't until he leaned towards your much smaller frame, that you were able to snap out of it. Especially when you felt his breathing ghost over your neck. Blissfully inhaling your scent.

His hum of approval was all the answer you received. But his words were what made you feel real panic.

"You smell so good, so much different from other humans." One of his hands rested on your hip, just above the fabric covering your body. "You'll be a perfect vessel." 

...Vessel...? 

He pushed himself closer, trapping you against the door. And started kissing softly at the skin all over the side of your neck, before leaving a trail down your collarbone, causing another surge of electricity to rattle your body from head to toe.

The feeling of sharp fangs grazing your skin startled you. Frantically, your eyes went all over the place, eventually landing back on the man...no, on the creature in front of you, purring, nipping and peppering your chest with his lips.

That same feeling of dread triggered your fight or flight instincts. And with shaky arms you mustered as much of your strength, pushing the demon away with a shriek. And before he had a chance to lay his hands on you one more time, you had already escaped from him. 

Even he was caught off guard by the push, staggering back with surprised eyes, that slowly became darker. Like those of a starved animal, ready to pounce on his next meal.

In the meantime, you had escaped towards the back of the church. Running away and hoping to find another way out of this damned place.

"I always knew there was something wrong about this place! But did anyone ever listen?! Noooo!" Even as a mere whisper, your voice echoed through the halls. You had to cover your mouth in order to hold back a yelp, when something was violently slammed against the walls. 

Tears began filling your eyes as soon as you heard an approaching pair of footsteps. His voice kept getting louder the closer he got.

"Thought I scared you off for good. But you're a big girl now, aren't you?!"

He shouted bitterly, footsteps becoming erratic.  

Somehow you managed to avoid him, and ran all the way back to one of the utility closets at the back of the halls. Carefully, you opened the first door that came into view and hid inside the small space. 

Hiding between cleaning supplies was never a good idea, but you had no other choice, unless allowing this thing to slaughter you was one of them.

Teardrops became dangerously close to spill when you heard his voice getting closer. The louder his footsteps became, the longer you tried to hold in your breath from the absolute terror you felt.

"I've been watching you for a long time, y'know?" His voice was different this time, calmer, confident, but his frustration was still evident. "Ever since you turned into a grown woman. I could tell there was something different about you!" 

Something was once again thrown into a wall, a loud crack could be heard from the wood of whatever he had thrown this time.

"And when you took off that fucking rosary?! I could feel it, I just knew you had something special!" 

His footsteps became louder, a warning of just how close he came to your hiding spot. You've never felt this terrified in your life, watching his shadow become bigger the closer he got...But then, he just walked past the door, without even bothering to look back.

When he walked around the corner, you opened the door with care, afraid that the slightest of creaks could alert him of your presence.

And then, you dashed back towards the main entrance.

The fear rushing through your veins kept pushing you, telling you to hurry up and get out of this place. And as soon as you were out of this building you would go to your parent's house to take your stuff and never come back again. All those years you were right, but nobody bothered to listen. 

Much to your dismay, the main doors didn't budge in the slightest. Out of frustration, your fist slammed against the wood, the sound echoed loudly all around the place. And your blood went cold when you heard him approaching. 

Hiding in the same place as before was not an option, and in a desperate measure, you ran toward the altar at the front, pulling the cloth and crouching down to hide underneath. 

It was such a small spot, that you had to pull your knees close to your chest in order to fit in. Your whole body trembled with fear. More so when his presence could be felt as soon as he came into the main halls.

"Where are you, little one? I promise you won't get hurt." The tone of his voice was not reassuring.

You may have turned your back on the church all those years ago. But in that moment, you couldn't help praying to God for your safety. So with your eyes closed and hands intertwined together. You began chanting the very same prayer, strictly inculcated in your family for generations.

Our Father, 

Who art in heavan,

Hallowed be thy name.

Thy kingdom come, 

Thy will be done on earth 

as it is in Heavan

Give us this day our daily bread,

And forgive our trespasses

as we forgive those 

Who trespass against us.

And lead us not into temptation,

But deliver us from evil.

"Amen/Amen."

Your whole body broke into a cold swear. And when you felt a cold breeze brush against your trembling body, the thought of opening your eyes made your heart pound harshly against your ribcage, so harshly, it could be heard resonating through the small space you were currently hiding in.

Slowly, slowly turning sideways. The sight in front of you drew out a blood curling scream. The pristine cloth of the altar had been pulled to the side.

And he was crouching down in front of you, with a deep, desperate hunger in those feral eyes of his, completely engulfed into nothing but pitch-black. The feral grin on his face sealing your fate in an instant.

"God can't help you now."

You were dragged out from under the altar by the ankle. Struggling, kicking, and begging for him to release you, but each and every word fell on deaf, pointed ears as his body hovered above yours, trapping you between the carpeted floor and his lean body.

Upon closer inspection, it was clear something was wrong with him. The patches of non-burned skin looked sickly pale, like he hadn't been able to eat, or sleep for a long time...Were demons able of sleep in the first place?

"Please...Don't hurt me..." He ignored your pleading whimpers, observing with half-closed eyes as you became closer to burst into tears. The moment the small, salty droplets ran down the corners of your eyes, he leaned down, and kissed them away with a softness that left you paralyzed.

No longer was he behaving as the same creature slamming pews against the walls in a fit of rage. It was almost like a switch had been flipped, and somebody completely different had taken his place.

"You really think, that I'd do something to hurt my precious vessel?" His palm caressed the side of your face. The touch of his skin was electrifying against your own, sending goosebumps through your whole body.

"I'm not going to hurt you, so just relax your pretty little body, and allow your master to take care of you."

He leaned down once again, this time whispering in your ear with that mesmerizing voice of his.

"The name's Dabi, you better remember that name when it's time to worship you master's cock." He growled eagerly into your ear. 

All those year he could only watch from afar. Now that you were back, Dabi finally had you right where he wanted you. 

He would not let this chance go to waste.

Once again, Dabi started out by kissing your neck, and he had to admit, those gasps were like heavenly music to his ears, as ironic as it sounded.

His black claws started to become longer, and sharper. They made quick work of your shirt, dragging themselves all over the fabric and tearing the thin cotton tank top to nothing but shreds, causing the cold air inside the church to hit your nipples with full force. Even during the hottest time of the year, the inside of the building always felt cold.  

Dabi ignored your shivering. Kissing and nipping all the way down from your neck, to the skin of your chest, leaving a small trail of bites on his path. His lips reached down the plush skin of your belly. The cold inside the building could barely be felt from the warmth he made you feel.

Panic overtook your senses when his hands went to the hem of your shorts, finger hooking into the fabric as he attempted to pull them down. 

"W-Wait!" You yelled out with hesitation, afraid that your words could end up with a raging demon bringing your demise. But it would probably be worse if he found out on his own, right?

"I'm not...I'm not a virgin!" He stopped immediately, and for a minute you saw your life pass before your eyes. 

A low, sarcastic laughter was the only thing he answered with. When you looked at him, Dabi's shoulders were shaking, and he couldn't stop laughing.

"You think that's the only thing demons care about?" You gasped once again, when the remains of your clothes were suddenly torn to shred for the second time, leaving you completely bare to the creature kneeling before you, who took in the sight of your every curve with a famished glint in his eyes.

"Virgins are overrated. Innocence? Purity? Tch." He scoffed in mockery. "Wanna know a secret, little one? Sometimes, the people who claim to be the purest, are actually the worst of them all."

He pulled your legs apart, chest grumbling in satisfaction at the sight of your bare sex present before him. And when your hands went down to attempt covering you body, he just growled, trapping them both by the wrist. Claws digging slightly into the skin, just enough to leave small traces of pain.

"Don't you ever, hide yourself from your master." He growled, slowly releasing your hands, and when you made no other attempts to hide yourself, he retook his proper place in between those exquisite legs.

"And don't think acting all shy will let you off so easily. I can tell just by your scent, just how many people you've laid under the sheets with. I must say, you have experience." 

Dabi had to say, that watching your face flushing that harshly, was a sight he'd treasure for all of his eternal life. 

Dabi spent centuries trapped inside this damn church, without a single chance to satiate his hunger. Watching people come and go inside the building to confess their sins, hoping the act would save them from the hellfire awaiting for them. 

He could say, this was a nice change of scenario.

"Do you need a sin for your next confessional?" The warmth of his breath fanned over your core, and the high pitched squeak coming out through parted lips did nothing but increase his appetite. "'Cause I've got a few in mind I'd like to try with you."

As ironic as it sounded, Dabi almost wanted to thank the heavens. Given that your scent was already addicting, but the moment he dived down, finally getting a taste of your body? He became addicted it.

Addicted enough, to begin devouring you with nothing but pure desperation. Drawing out a breathless moan from you. Nothing but overwhelming pleasure shot through your body from every stroke of that forked tongue against your soaked folds. 

"You taste so good." He pulled away for a second, watching your eyes closed shut, the dark flush across your cheeks and the way your breathing came out in heavy puffs of air. "Even better than the finest of wines."  

Your arms wouldn't stop roaming, looking for something, anything to cling on of dear life as Dabi continued lapping your glistening core, with nothing but pure vigor in those long, sensual strokes. 

And you only hoped it wouldn't anger the demon when you pulled on his hair. As terrified -and aroused- as you felt, the desperation to grab on to something for dear life was stronger than self restrain.

Dabi's reaction was far from expected. His strokes became fiercer, the soft muscle pushing its way inside. Savoring the taste of those velvet walls that coated his jaw with their sweet essence.

Centuries had passed since the last time he fed, and now that he had the chance, Dabi would not let such an exquisite meal go to waste.

You couldn't understand, why did it felt so different from other times? something about the way he devoured you, was too different from your previous partners. It was so good, so addicting, and you couldn't get enough of it.

Your hips buckled against him, a warm feeling began crawling all over your body the more he kept his head in between your legs. And when his thumb went to caress your clit, that feeling began getting stronger.

"Ah!...Dabi, please...!" Your hips buckled against his face, and were quickly brought down by his hands, and a snarl that froze you in place.

"You're interrupting my meal, little one. Stay still, and maybe your master will be generous enough to let you cum."  

As soon as you went quiet, Dabi continued where he left off. Each slurp just kept making even warmer on the inside. And when he pulled away to suckle on your swollen clit. It felt like an explosion, nothing but one of the sharpest bursts of pleasure ran through your lower regions, shortly followed by a loud scream and your back arching from the sweet release. 

"You're such a filthy little thing." Dabi wiped his chin with the back of his hand. A satisfied grin on his face as he waited for you to regain your breath. "But this was just an appetizer. Now, get ready for the main course."

Everything around was like a blurr, the only thing you recognized was the silhouette of the demon before you. Something felt different around him. That feeling that brought terror upon you disappeared, and when you finally looked at him with clarity, something was different.

That sick complexion of his was gone. Pale skin regaining a healthy looking color, and his eyes became clear from that feral like state.

You didn't have time to ask, as he took you by the wrists, tugging you slightly without much of an effort. And positioned you both in a way, that he was laying down on the floor, while your sat down on his lap. 

Looking down between your bodies -When did he take his pants off?!-, the sight of his erect member was definitely a sight to remember...

For starters, his head was modestly pointed, followed by a trail of ridges all the way to the base, and not just that...It was huge. 

You may not be a virgin. But how the hell was that going to fit in?

"Like what you see?" Even his attitude had changed, now he wouldn't stop teasing, at the same time he took a hold of your hips. His hands dragged your body back and forth, grinding your lower lips against him with leisurely gestures. The friction, along with how sensitive you were from your previous orgasm, turned you into a whiny mess for the second time that night.

"I'm going to ruin you so bad. Nobody, and i mean NOBODY, will ever be able to satisfy you. Not like your master."

Slowly, he lifted up your hips, before pulling you back down, slamming his girth deep inside your throbbing cunt until the base of his length was pressing against your clit. 

You screamed in bewilderment. Amazed by the way Dabi made you feel as he buried himself deeply inside of you. The way your insides stretched, adjusting themselves to his size, and the friction from every ridge of his girth was absolutely marvelous. It was like a fire consuming you from the inside. It was hot, so hot that it could burn, and you wanted more.

"What's wrong, little one?" Dabi grunted in satisfaction, loving the dazed look in your eyes from the slightest of movements. His hands guiding your hips back and forth with a quick pace. "Enjoying your master's cock?" 

"Ah!...Y-Yes!...I love my master's c-cock!" You yelled out, leaning forward to rest your hands on his chest, head tilted back with pure euphoria on your face as Dabi had his way with your body.

He had to admit it, you really were perfect. And there'd be no way he'd let you walk away once he was done with you. 

"Then prove it, show me how much you love to be fucked by your master! Worship his cock like your life depended on it!" 

Obeying his every command, you began moving on top of him. When Dabi said he'd ruin you, he was serious. Nothing you've ever done before came remotely close to what he made you feel in that moment. 

Each and every of his thrusts was powerful enough to make you see stars. With every thrust, his head brushed against the deepest corners of your sloppy insides, easily kissing your womb.

A part of you felt ashamed of your actions. You were riding a demon's cock in the very same place where your parents got married. The very same place where they baptized you.

Many sins were committed during your life, but this? This was definitely a sentence to hell.

"Oh...Oh God!" Your eyes widened in bliss, wandering all around the walls of the church. In the midst of it all, you realized Dabi had positioned you both, in a way that you sat right in front of the statue of the lord. It almost made it seem as if the lord himself, was judging your actions with nothing but a disgraceful eye.

Dabi let out one of the darkest chuckles you've ever heard. Dark enough to make every hair in your body stand. 

"God won't hear you now, little one. But the devil will"

In the blink of an eye, he was sitting up. Embracing your waist with a deathly grip. His already rough pace became downright barbaric, so much that it started hurting, but it hurt so fucking good.

The feeling of another climax rattled your thoughts. Everything around you became a blur from the upcoming high. Dabi felt it, and knew he had to get it done fast, it was the perfect chance, and there was no way he would let it go to waste.

"You're getting close, little one. Aren't you?" He pulled your body closer to him, into the suffocating waves of heat. Your wrapped your own arms around his heck, and held him closer to yourself, running your nails along his scalp in the process, which made him purr in enjoyment. 

For a minute, you could have sworn you saw something akin to a blue flame coming to life around him. "Do it my pet, come for your master. And lend your soul to me."

His mouth latched on your neck, tongue running circles around the soft skin, looking for a certain spot. And when he found just the right place, his fangs bit down harshly. Right at the same time your climax overtook your senses. 

All you could do was scream as you felt him tear on the skin with those sharp fangs of his. A warm, sticky sensation ran down your shoulder all the way to your chest. Followed by a scorching pain.

The smell of copper and smoke became intoxicating as Dabi's body trembled, and then he let out an earth shaking roar as he came. Filling your womb with rope after rope of scalding, hot cum.

Exhaustion took over your limp, shaking body. As much as you tried to move, even attempting to lift a finger was considered impossible.

Dabi planted a small, tender kiss on the spot where he sunk his fangs less than a minute ago. During that time, your sweat covered bodies clung to eachother's, still yearning for much craved contact, all while trying to catch your breath. 

When he pulled away, Dabi admired his work as the bite he left on your neck glowed brightly, before dying down and leaving behind a beautiful, burgundy mark. 

Finally, after so many years trapped in this goddamn place, he finally had a vessel. Now, he could leave once and for all.

Dabi carefully pulled away, watching his seed run down your shaky legs with every little throb of that delicious, little hole of yours. If claiming a vessel wasn't that draining to begin with, he'd definitely fuck you again. 

"You, are perfect."  He carried your passed out self in his arms. Taking you all the way to one of the pews, where he laid you down softly on the wooden surface. One of his hands brushed a loose strand of hair back into its proper place. "I'll see you soon, little one."

Taking one last look at his sleeping vessel, Dabi turned on his feet and walked to the church's entrance. As soon as he got closer, the door opened gracefully on its own. 

For the first time in centuries, he was finally able to leave his prison. And with a deep breath of relief and a serene smile, Dabi walked away from the church, disappearing into the dark depths of the night.

......

"...W...up....Wa...ke...Wake up.." Someone kept calling out your name.

Slowly, your eyelids stirred open, and the first thing you saw was a black cassock coming into view, accompanied by the worried face of a middle-aged man you've known since childhood.

What was father August doing in your room?

"Thank god, you're finally awake. What are you doing sleeping in the church?"

Wait...Church?

Your eyes widened in an instant. Father August's words made the memories from last night come back abruptly. The voice, being locked inside the church....And Dabi.

You got up from the pew where you had fallen asleep, and looked around frantically before looking down at your body. All of your clothes were unscathed. But you could have sworn they were torn to nothing but rags after Dabi tore them apart with those big, black claws of his.

Dabi...Where was he?

Thinking about him made you realize something. For the first time, the church no longer felt cold. It had a warm, welcoming feeling to it. Had this sensation been here all those years ago, you'd probably still be on good terms with your family.

"Are you feeling unwell? You seem pale."   

"Y-Yeah..." You looked all around the church. The pews that had been slammed into the wall, broken into pieces, were good as new. And the altar at the front, where its cloth had been carelessly thrown to the side when Dabi found you hiding, was also untouched.

"Was it just a dream?" You asked to yourself. Remembering everything the demon did to you, yet not a single part of your body felt sore. In fact, you felt better than ever. So full of energy.

"What are you talking about? Are you having night terrors again?" 

Oh shit, Father August was still here. 

"N-No! Everything's fine, father!" You reassured the older man that stood straight in front of you. "I must have sleep walked all the way here! Remember I used to do that when I was a kid? ahahaha..." 

No way you would tell him about what happened last night....If it ever happened in the first place.

He was kind enough to walk you home. To say your parents were worried was putting it lightly. They were terrified when your mother went to wake you up and found the bed empty. It was strange, watching how worried they were about you, when they never bothered to call you for a long time.

A tired sigh left your lips once you finally went inside your bedroom. It was barely morning and the whole house was already in chaos.

"Right, today we're going to see Grandma." The suitcase was pulled on top of the mattress with ease. Good thing you preferred to travel lightly. "Better get changed now."

From the small arrangement of clothes, you picked out a white sundress. Then you pulled out the hair dryer as well and turned back to the mirror so you could fix the bird nest in your head, also called hair.

When you saw th reflection in the mirror, your whole body became stiff.

There was a strange mark on your neck. A deep shade of burgundy adorned your skin in the shape of a small flame, running down all the way to the collarbone...Right in the spot where he bit you last night.

The dryer fell out of your hands with a loud clank as you stood in front of the mirror, watching this...thing on your neck with pure horror.Why didn't anyone say anything when you came in with this mark covering a good portion of your skin?!

Your thoughts were interrupted when your mother barged inside the room with a worried look on her face. And you were quick to cover the mark before she could see it.

"What happened? I heard something falling?" She looked at you in worry.

"N-Nothing! The dryer just slipped from my hands!" But she wasn't satisfied by that answer, and squinted in disdain when she saw the way you hid from her prying eyes.

"What are you hiding? Don't tell me you actually got that tattoo?!" She approached with an angry pace to take a closer look at your neck.

"I told you, it's nothing!" But she didn't listen, pulling your hand away from your neck by force. Your eyes closed shut, expecting her to start yelling just like that time you got your ears pierced again.

"Why are you grabbing your neck? Does it hurt?" 

"You can't see it?" You asked quietly. But she just gave you a look.

"See what?" 

So...they couldn't see the mark on your neck?

..........

Three weeks later, you finally came back to your precious apartment, away from your family, and that cursed church. But also away from an answer.

What happened that night? Did something even happen at all? Or was it just your brain playing tricks on you? 

Groaning in frustration, you decided to forget about everything and kept walking back home, carrying a bunch of groceries to restock the fridge. Besides, tonight was Taco Tuesday, and you were eager to start preparing your meal.

When you got inside the building's main hall, you could see the landlord talking with someone at the lobby, but their back was facing you, so at the moment, it was impossible to see their face.

The moment the old lady saw you walk inside, her face lit up with joy as she waved at you, and made a gesture to come closer.

"Good afternoon dear! How did your little visit go?" She was always a curious woman, but never meant it in a bad way. There was nobody in the apartment complex who didn't love Miss Yuki.

"Good afternoon Yuki! And well, you already know how it went. It's always the same after all..." You grumbled, not really feeling like going into detail about what happened.

Then you turned sideways to see her guest. A dark haired male just stood there, watching the interaction between the older woman and you with a lazy smile. 

He was wearing a pair of ripped, dark jeans. Black military boots, and a white T-shirt underneath a leather jacket. One of his most prominent features was those teal eyes of his.

Somehow....He seemed familiar.

"Oh how rude of me! My memory's not what it used to be!" Yuki clapped her hands together, embarrassed that she just ignored her guest in favor of talking to you. 

"This is Touya! He just moved into the apartment right next to yours! I was just about to take him to his new home, but I need to take Mochi to the vet. Would you please be a darling and show him the way for me?"  

"Ah, that naughty cat? again?" You laughed sarcastically. That cat of hers always seemed to get into trouble for something. "Don't worry Yuki, I'll take him off your hands!"

"You're such a sweetie! Now, here are your keys, Touya. Please let us know if there's anything you need help with!" She handed Touya the set of keys, and swiftly walked inside her home.

Turning back to Touya, you greeted him with a sheepish smile, ignoring the burning sensation at the side of your neck.

"So, I guess we're neighbors. Welcome to out little community. Just let me put this in my fridge and I'll give you a tour!"

"Ah, yeah. Thank you for the help." ...Even his voice was familiar.

You walked together to the second floor. On the way there, Touya mentioned how her was starting anew. Away from everything, and everyone. In a way, he was just like you.

"Well, this is my place!" You beamed, juggling with the set of keys and the bags in had. Touya had offered to help, but you refused. After you finally unlocked the door with a victorious hum, you pushed it open with your hips, walked inside and turned back to face your new neighbor.

Who's face, for some reason, became dead serious the moment you looked him in the eye.

"Please come in. I'll prepare some coffe!" As cheerful as you were. The smile slowly, slowly disappeared when you saw the way Touya was staring at you. 

There was a dangerous smirk on his face, and an all to familiar glint in his eyes...

He quickly stepped forward, and stood in front of you with a proximity, that allowed you to feel the heat of his whole body. He trapped your chin in between his fingers, and licked his lips with an evident hunger in those blue orbs.

"W-What are you doing?" The nerves were such, that you didn't notice when the bags of groceries fell from your hands, and the carton of milk spilling all over the floor, creating a puddle besides your feet.

"Remember what I told you last time?" From the corner of your eye, you could see those same horns from that night, slowly starting to come out. Your heart pounded against your chest. And the burning sensation in your neck became unbearable the moment his eyes became engulfed in black.

"I told you I'd see you again...Little one."

With those last words, your door was quickly slammed shut.

@hawks-senseis @honeytama @savagetrickster @unbreakableeiji @wakaoujisenhime @fanfic-me-up @natsuosfairy @shoutogepi @gr0vndz3ro

[peaceisadirtyword]

Fate (Ivar/Reader)

A/N: Hello!🥰 As I said here’s the first fic I wrote about season 6B. I already loved Ivar but his evolution during this last season made me love him even more (I didn’t know that was possible). And I was dying to write for him (I even have a series planned, but I’ll wait until I’ve finished Move On and maybe Hate to post it. 

This one will only have 2 parts, next one will be posted maybe tomorrow! I really hope you like it, and that I have captured this “new Ivar” well enough! And, of course, this contains spoilers for season 6B!! so if you haven’t seen it yet don’t read it!😅 

I was going to post this one earlier this week but I had a pretty big exam today and I was exhausted. So next part will be posted maybe tomorrow or on Sunday!☺️

Also, thanks to @ivarhoegh for reading this before and telling me her opinion🥺🙏🏻 I hope y’all like it and enjoy the reading, thank you!

Warnings: mentions of sex, alcohol and violence, Ivar might be a bit out of character, my bad writing (?) not much! 

Words: 3459

gif belongs to @therealcalicali​

You knew he'd be back. The Ragnarssons would always go back to Kattegat. For some reason, you had the feeling he would be back soon and not with the Rus. 

A single boat, a Rus boat, which meant he didn't betray them or escaped from Kiev. Hvitserk came with him, of course, that made you smile softly. Hvitserk would always go back to him because he loved his little brother but didn't even know it. 

People booed, spat and yelled insults at them as you watched, silently, standing at the end of the crowd and rolling your eyes at the insults. You knew they'd be laughing and toasting while yelling their names very soon, as they always did with their father. 

Ivar had changed. He looked much more calmed, not so tense nor ready to attack to the first person that angered him. He had a huge scar on his angelic face, you frowned at it, angry at whoever dared to hurt his beautiful features. He had changed a lot. Of course, you had seen him at the battle against the Rus, but then you ran away from him, not even thinking about trying to fight him. 

You watched as Erik lead them to the Great Hall, where, you supposed, they'd meet King Harald. 

"Fucking traitors" someone spat next to you, making you raise an eyebrow and turn around to look at him "We should kill them and leave their bodies to the wolves" 

"Now that's no way to speak about the sons of Ragnar, is it, Einar?" You bit your lip to hold back a smile. 

"Their father would do it if he was here" he scoffed "They betrayed us all" 

Sighing, you started walking back to your little house, not far from the Great Hall. Seeing him again had been maybe too much, and you needed some time to yourself. 

Einar stopped you, though, taking your arm. 

"Will I see you tonight?" He licked his lips. You frowned softly, not really in the mood to see him. Some days ago, you'd said yes, opened the door to your house for him and then have sex until you passed out, but now Ivar was back and that changed everything. 

"I'm tired" you smiled apologetically at him "Maybe some other day" 

Einar sighed, but nodded. He was an asshole sometimes, but at least he respected you. 

Inside of your house, you started the fire on the fireplace to warm the house a bit as you took off your clothes. You had no intention of going back outside, so you'd eat something and get into bed. With some luck, you'd get some sleep. 

A part of you wanted to think you'd never see Ivar again. Even if it hurt, after seeing him every single day since you were both kids, it would have helped to forget him, but then again... Would you ever forget him? Not even so much time apart, since he left Kattegat when Björn took it until he came back to Norway with the rus army, had made you forget him. In fact, you'd swear your feelings were stronger than ever. 

But it was exhausting. To search for those ocean eyes, wishing and praying to have them look back at you even if it was for a second, to go to sleep thinking about him and wake up thinking his face was the first thing you wanted to see. You had always been there, looking at him when everyone else looked at his brothers, fighting alongside him to avenge his father, conquering York with him, and going back home with your king, he always was your king. 

Your parents were always worried about your unhealthy obsession with the youngest Ragnarsson. At first, they thought it was only a stupid crush, but as you kept growing and your feelings didn't disappear, they realized it was serious.

Then you heard that Ivar had sex with Margrethe, that pretty slave that had his older brothers pursuing her, and you were so devastated that you searched for comfort anywhere. And you found it on his brother Hvitserk's arms. 

You never regretted losing your virginity to Hvitserk, he was a good lover even if he didn't really remember your name the day after. 

Your parents left Kattegat when Lagertha was queen, disagreeing with the way she killed the former queen, Aslaug, Ivar's mother. You know how much he loved his mother, how close they were, and your heart ached for him as he lost both his parents at the same time. 

So you joined the army and sailed to England to avenge Ragnar. Always fighting by his side, always watching his surroundings, killing every single person that dared to get close to him. And learning that, like his brother, he'd never remember your name, because he was a prince, a son of Ragnar Lothbrok, fated to be a legend like half of his family was, and you were just a girl, the daughter of a seamstress and a warrior that learnt to fight for her prince knowing she would never become his princess. 

Then he became king, and took a queen. You still remembered how much it hurt to see him looking at her like that, how broken your heart was when he announced he'd marry her, and that they would have a child. You tried to hate Freydis, but you couldn't hate someone who made him that happy. You didn't want him suffering the same way you did for him. Ivar was special, and he deserved to be loved and happy. 

You could have left, escape Kattegat and never look back, but you couldn't. And it broke your heart when he did leave. 

Now he was back, and you were still the young girl in love that would fight an entire army of Christians for him. 

_______________________________________

King Harald was throwing a feast. It surprised you, as you didn't think the king would be so keen to throw a feast for Ivar the Boneless, former king and the source of most of his headaches. 

You wore a dark red dress your mother had sent to you, with your hair  barely braided and some kohl on your eyes. You never dressed for men, you couldn't care less about men's opinion about you, but you found yourself wondering if Ivar would notice you. It was like going back to being sixteen, trying to catch his attention without him knowing you were trying. 

It had been a long time since you stepped into the Great Hall for the first time. You didn't really attend the feasts when Björn was king, you were somewhat angry at him, at his family and his men. They were the reason Ivar left. 

And you probably wouldn't have attended this feast if you hadn't known for sure he would be there. 

He sat on king Harald's table, with Hvitserk sitting at the opposite side of him. The king, his wife and Erik sat facing the crowd. It was a weird feast, people didn't sit down and many chose to eat while standing. It was also awfully quiet, and everyone eyed the main table suspiciously, as if they were waiting for Ivar to stab king Harald at any second. It wouldn't have surprised you if he did. 

Einar drank horn after horn of ale next to you. Sometimes, he'd stop laughing with his friends and mutter some insults to the Ragnarssons, but not too loud. Not even Einar was foolish enough to insult the Ragnarssons in public, especially Ivar. 

You hadn't said a word. It felt familiar to stay silent, drinking and eating quietly and sneaking glances to Ivar sometimes as you had done your whole life. He had changed a lot, you could see he wasn't as defensive as before, his eyes didn't scan the room expecting to find someone laughing at him. But even if he was surrounded by people that probably would love to cut his throat and throw his body into the sea, he looked relaxed, making small talk with the king sometimes, as if he had everything under control. 

Suddenly, everything went quiet. Ivar looked at the crowd for the first time, his hands rubbed his lips as everyone stared at him and his brother. He could feel the resentment on their eyes and, for a moment, his eyes fixed on you. 

His eyes widened softly when he recognized you, but you looked away before you could see it, directing your glance to King Harald, who stood on his feet looking sternly at his people. 

A fake smile curved Harald's lips as he walked closer to the crowd. You barely listened to him, even if you kept your eyes on him, almost afraid of letting them wander around to find Ivar again. 

"Ivar regrets the way he ruled here" Harald pointed at him. Ivar didn't even try to look ashamed, looking directly to his brother. Neither him nor Hvitserk seemed to understand Harald's game "He was young, the responsibilities were too great, and he forgot the lessons of his father" 

You raised an eyebrow. Ivar had lost his mind for a woman while ruling, something his father had done too. Men could pretend to be all powerful and great, but women had the true power, the power to make them do unimaginable things out of love and obsession. 

"And his brother, Hvitserk, he never meant to kill Lagertha" Harald continued "How could he ever mean to kill such a goddess?"

Hvitserk never meant to kill her, that was true. You had been the witness to his illness, you had lost the count of how many times you found him, all drunk, drugged and wandering around Kattegat. You gave him food, but he never accepted your help more than that. He wasn't himself when he killed Lagertha, but he never regretted it. 

"They are who they are" Harald kept talking "But they are also sons of Ragnar"

Ivar looked at the people again, this time with a defying glare on his face, nearly asking who would dare to try and kick him out of his own home.

"I don't trust them" Einar clenched his jaw, and you felt his grip on your waist. He was half drunk and that gave him a false feeling of courage. Ivar heard him, and he narrowed his eyes. 

Then someone stood up. A man, whom you had seen drinking maybe too much ale, was standing bravely, looking at Ivar. 

"So tell us, Ivar, is it true you are a God, like you told us?" 

You tensed up, and gasped when Ivar stood up. Everyone was silent, looking at him. He walked until he reached the middle of the room, and he threw his crutch to the floor. 

You closed your eyes, not wanting to see him collapse on the floor. You heard him fall. And suddenly everyone was laughing. You opened your eyes to see him laughing too. 

Just like that, he won their trust again. The music started playing, and the mood in the room shifted quickly. Ivar was still on the floor, looking proud of what he just did, and letting his eyes wander around the room. He found you again, and this time you held his gaze.

__________________________________________

It was hot inside. Einar had reached the point of groping you, trying to make you sit on his lap to lift your dress. You managed to wiggle out of his grip and made your way out of the Great Hall. It was overwhelming, especially after all the tension of knowing Ivar was back. You barely slept the night before, and you weren't feeling like celebrating, what exactly would you celebrate? That you would be back to being the stupid little girl obsessed with a prince that wouldn't look at her twice. 

There was a couple of drunk men yelling and laughing when you walked down the streets of Kattegat while trying to get home. Hail Ivar, they yelled, making you raise an eyebrow. They were Einar's friends, and they had been cursing the name of both brothers a few hours ago. Men. 

But as you continued walking, your head throbbing from all the ale you had drank, a voice startled you. 

"I know you" 

You froze. You knew that voice very well, but had never heard it directed to you. 

Ivar was half hidden inside one of the barns. There was a torch next to him, and the dim light made him look even more handsome. You raised an eyebrow, and it took all of your willpower not to start running. 

"You know me?" You cleared your throat. 

"Yes" he pressed his lips together "You're Y/N, aren't you? You're a shieldmaiden" 

He knew your name. The fucking Ivar Ragnarsson knew your name. 

"Yes" you walked closer to him, trying not to stare at him too much. His crutch was leant against the wall next to him, and he had a wooden stick on his hands, in which he carved patterns with one of his knives "And you're Ivar" 

He smirked at you. It made your knees weak. 

"We fought together, didn't we?" His soft voice was like velvet, it was like a gentle caress when you were about to fall asleep "In England, I remember seeing you fight in York" 

You nodded. He tilted his head curiously, his ocean eyes looking you up and down. Those eyes you had always dreamt of. 

"I saw you on the Great Hall and I was surprised, I barely know anyone here anymore" he frowned, looking around "It felt nice to see a familiar face" 

"What are you doing here?" You blurted out. You didn't want to be rude nor make him uncomfortable, and immediately you bit your tongue. 

Ivar smirked again. 

"You mean here in a barn or in Kattegat?" He chuckled. 

"Both" you frowned. 

"I was feeling a bit overwhelmed in there" he shrugged "I needed some air and I needed to be alone for a bit... And, to be honest, I don't know why I am in Kattegat, I just needed somewhere to go, but it doesn't feel like home anymore" he looked at you in the eyes. It was so intense that you had to look away after a few seconds. 

You nodded softly.

"I'm glad you're back" you muttered. Ivar tilted his head with curiosity. 

"Did I kill any member of your family? Should I be careful in case you're planning to stab me?" 

It was the first time you smiled in front of him. 

"No, if you had killed someone I loved, I would have stabbed you long ago" 

He sighed, nodding his head. 

"Fair enough" 

"You did break my heart, though" you whispered, approaching him to lean your back onto the wooden wall next to him. Ivar narrowed his eyes, confused, but didn't say anything. 

"I just remember you were a really good fighter" he shrugged "And that you slept with my brother once" 

That surprised you. You looked at him, flustered. 

"I..."

"I wasn't... I wasn't spying on you or anything" he chuckled "I just saw you sneaking out of Hvitserk's room, I was sitting on the throne" 

"So I made a great first impression, didn't I?" 

Ivar smiled. A genuine smile, not a smirk, a real smile. 

"It wasn't the first impression, I had seen you training more than once, and I saw you when you came with your mother to see mine, I remember she made her dresses" 

Your lips parted in surprise. So Ivar did see you. You always thought he never paid attention to you, that he didn't know of your existence. Knowing you were wrong made you feel a strange warmth on your chest. It was nice. 

"You've changed" you pointed out in a soft voice. He had changed a lot, the Ivar you knew was very different to the one standing next to you. But it was a nice change. You liked it.

"Everyone says that" he raised an eyebrow. 

"Maybe because it's true" 

He shrugged, and his eyes went back to the piece of wood on his hands. 

"Why didn't you stay with the Rus? Why risk everything coming here?" 

"Did Harald pay you to ask me all of this?" He laughed. 

"No" you bit your lip to hold back a smile "I'm just curious" 

He looked at you again, with the ghost of a smile on his lips. His eyes shone under the dim light of the torch, and you felt the need to lean in to kiss his pouty lips. 

"I learnt a lot in Kiev" he muttered "I understood many things, and I met people that marked me forever" his voice had so much emotion that you wondered if he was talking about a woman "But my destiny isn't there, and I had to move forward" 

"So where is it? Your destiny" your eyes lightened up with curiosity. 

"I don't have a clue" he raised an eyebrow, smiling at you softly "I figured I'd come back to where I started, trusting the Gods would tell me what should I do" 

"Have you heard from them yet?" You giggled. 

"No, not yet" he chuckled. 

"Give them time" you shrugged "You're a favorite of the Gods, Ivar Ragnarsson, they'll guide you" 

Ivar looked surprised, and turned his head to look at you a bit better. He remembered seeing you around Kattegat when he was young. Once, after you had been in the Great Hall to give Aslaug a new dress your mother had finished for her, he had told his brothers he thought you were pretty. They teased him for days. He felt a small tug on his heart remembering the playful banter and the teasing. 

He had seen you look at him. At first it annoyed him, thinking you stared at him because of his legs, but then he caught you staring at him more than once the same way the girls stared at his brothers. It helped with his self-esteem, more than he'd ever admit. 

"What about you?" He shook his head. Any feelings you might have had for him were in the past, he was sure, he'd seen you with a man in the Great Hall. 

"I'm afraid my life isn't as interesting as yours" you giggled "I haven't left Kattegat"

"I know very well that things can happen without leaving Kattegat" he raised an eyebrow. 

"I just keep training, and sometimes I go to raids" you shrugged "And I work around here... Not much"

Ivar's eyes flicked back to yours, interested. 

"No husband, no children?" 

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. 

"No one finds me interesting enough to marry me" you sighed "And children? I can barely take care of myself" 

"I find you interesting" he muttered, and for a moment you thought you hadn't heard him right "I mean" he cleared his throat, chuckling "I'm glad to see you're well"

"Thank you, I'm glad to see you're..." You frown, looking at the scars on his face, that seem rather new "Alive" 

Ivar hummed, nodding when he realized you looked at his scar. 

"Thank my dear brother for this" he scoffed. You smiled at him. 

"You probably deserved it" 

He looked at you, surprised, but nodded softly. 

"Yeah, I kind of deserved it" 

Ivar the Boneless admitting he had done something wrong? Wow, you didn't know what had happened while he was with the Rus, but that was a huge change. 

Ivar turned to look at you when he heard you giggling. He liked you, he felt at ease with you. He felt like he didn't need to impress you, as you knew him too well already, but also didn't seem to be angry or afraid at him like the rest of Kattegat. 

His eyes hypnotized you again, they were even more beautiful from up close. 

Without realizing it, you leant into him. Ivar's eyes twinkled as he understood your intentions, and you'd swear he leant into you too. 

"Y/N!" Einar's scream startled you. Ivar turned his head to glare at the drunk man that stumbled down the street, with eyes half closed and looking around "Where are you?" 

You leant back with a sigh. You had forgotten about Einar and how needy he was when drunk. Ivar raised an eyebrow at you, and you took a deep breath, visibly embarrassed. 

"He's... Einar" you groaned "I should go and make sure he gets home"

Ivar nodded slowly. 

"It was nice talking to you then" 

"Same" you gave him your widest smile. Your first conversation with Ivar Ragnarsson had been very different from what you had imagined, but also better. 

"Good night, Y/N" he smirked. 

"Good night, Ivar" 

_________________________________________

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Okay I hope I didn’t forget anyone :( Tumblr doesn't send me notifications and sometimes the asks don’t even appear on my inbox💔 so please if I didn’t add you to the taglist tell me!

[stufftippywrote]

a suggestion

For @anonprecious on Twitter, who requested a Nielan kiss "as a suggestion" many moons ago. This takes place during the Sunshot campaign, so Mingjue is not yet Xichen's "da-ge."

The Sunshot Campaign has been hard on him.

This Lan Xichen can tell in a single glance. Even if he were meeting Nie Mingjue for the first time and not another in a series of a thousand strategy meetings, he’d be able to tell. The others, maybe not, because Nie Mingjue holds himself so upright, conducts his affairs with a practiced stiffness that discourages anyone from looking deeper. But the signs are there, as he leads the meeting, even if Lan Xichen is the only one who can see them - an exhalation, the grip of his hand on the table loosening, the circles of grey under his eyes.

The strategy session mercifully ends, and the other young military leaders make their way out of the room with all the tireless enthusiasm of youth. Lan Xichen remains. Nie Mingjue sits on a bench with his head low, propped up on one weary palm. He lets out a heavy breath. Lan Xichen approaches him carefully, as though he was a cobra that might strike if disturbed. But Nie Mingjue only looks up at him, and if anything there's relief in his eyes when he sees who's there.

"Xichen," he says, the name breaking halfway through as his voice gives.

"Mingjue-xiong," Lan Xichen returns. Nie Mingjue's shoulders slump. He would never slouch like this in front of his soldiers. It gladdens Lan Xichen's heart to know that this upright general can relax in front of him. He drives himself hard, and he deserves to be able to relax somewhere, with someone. Luckier still that Lan Xichen is that someone.

He steps forward and eases himself onto the bench next to Nie Mingjue. "When was the last time you slept?" he asks.

Nie Mingjue shakes his head and mumbles.

"How about your last meal?" Lan Xichen prods gently.

"I ate." Nie Mingjue evades his gaze.

"When?"

"This morning."

Lan Xichen wants to laugh. This serious, justice-minded man can be as stubborn as a toddler. "Well, you're eating again tonight," he says. “Come to my room, I’ll have dinner brought in for us.”

Nie Mingjue shakes his head, but there’s no conviction in it. “I need to look at these maps,” he says, even as he lets Lan Xichen pull him up and away.

He follows Lan Xichen through the passageways and tents like a guilty schoolboy, and they come at last to Lan Xichen’s quarters, a remarkably lovely room for the temporary nature of it. There’s a low table, some ornaments, an incense holder. Lan Xichen finds a stick and lights it, letting the soft perfume disperse into the room. “Sit,” he urges, and Nie Mingjue follows. “And remove your armor. We won’t be attacked tonight.”

Nie Mingjue grumbles a little at this, but he pulls off the heavy breastplate and belt, letting them sit unceremoniously beside the cushion where he sits. As he does, he can’t help letting out a little groan of relief. Lan Xichen hears it and tries not to smile.

He has food brought; the two eat in relative silence, though Lan Xichen tries to lighten the mood with a few observations about the state of the camp, the little dramas by the younger soldiers that play out under his nose. Nie Mingjue is not really listening, or at least he has nothing to say in response. He just eats -- trying not to appear rushed, though his bites are ravenous -- and “mm”s an assent once in a while. It’s fine. Lan Xichen is just happy to have him there, not behind his desk or hunched over a scroll, peering at faded characters in dim light.

When he’s finished, Nie Mingjue of course tries to get up and go. Lan Xichen is there, with a hand on his arm, tugging him back down. Nie Mingjue glares at him, taken aback. Lan Xichen scoots closer to him, pulling his cushion to sit side-by-side with him, and lets his hand wander down from arm to weathered hand. “Stay for a while,” he urges.

“I have things to do,” Nie Mingjue protests, but Lan Xichen shakes his head gravely. He’s learned from years with his brother that sometimes a protest is also an admission. Nie Mingjue wants to stay. He just needs Lan Xichen to insist.

So he does. “I told you, no one will attack us tonight,” Lan Xichen tells him. “You might as well stay and put your worries aside for a time. I can play for you if it will help ease your mind.” He conjures the silver-blue xiao into being in one hand.

Nie Mingjue looks at it, then at him, and shakes his head firmly. “I don’t need music,” he says.

“A game, then?” Lan Xichen gazes at the shelf, where a worn go board and two pots of stones sit. “Or would you prefer a drink? I can fetch some wine for you…”

“No, no.” Nie Mingjue waves a hand, dismissing both the suggestions. “I need--”

“--to go back to work?” Lan Xichen finishes. “Don’t you think you’ve worked enough for one day?”

“People are fighting and dying while I--” But Nie Mingjue doesn’t have the strength to continue the sentence. He pulls his hand out from under Lan Xichen’s and hides his face in it. “I have to carry on,” he says, his voice muffled. “I have to be strong.”

It’s almost comical. This man, who is the essence of strength to so many people, worrying he cannot be strong. Lan Xichen, not for the first time, envisions taking him in his arms and allowing him to rest there. He wants to be that haven for him. But this moment isn’t about him, and hope is a dangerous creature. He lifts his hand to Nie Mingjue’s back, just daring to stroke it gently, and shakes his head.

“What you have to be is healthy,” he corrects. “What good is a Mingjue-xiong who can barely read a map because he hasn’t slept in days? Without eating, will you have the strength to carry your sword?”

“I’ve eaten,” Nie Mingjue says. “And I can’t sleep.” He sounds weak. Defeated. Lan Xichen’s heart aches.

“Then release your tension,” he advises. “Surely you have a preferred way to do that.”

Nie Mingjue pauses, looks up. “Yes,” he says cautiously, “Battle.”

Lan Xichen almost wants to laugh. “Not battle. Something to calm the spirit and release the resentment. Meditation.” Nie Mingjue scoffs. “Or take to the woods and hunt game. Challenge one of the soldiers at camp to wrestle you. Whatever it is. Do what you need to do so you can return to that war table with your mind and body whole. But leave that saber alone for the night.”

How Lan Xichen despises that saber. It’s a priceless, high-level spiritual weapon, but every time Nie Mingjue wields it, it takes a piece of his soul. Lan Xichen remembers, long ago, a gentle, serious boy who nonetheless loved fiercely -- loved his brother, loved his friends, loved the trees and the sky. Loved justice, and he still does, but his love used to come with a brash grin and a light in his eyes. That saber, and this war, have crushed that.

There are several long seconds of silence. Nie Mingjue appears to be thinking. Lan Xichen can usually tolerate extended silence, but now, the quiet unnerves him. He has no idea how Nie Mingjue will respond. He sits as one would sit upon a cushion of pins, uncomfortable and itching to move.

But eventually Nie Mingjue seems to shake himself out of it, and catches Lan Xichen’s gaze with his own. There’s something soft in his eyes, and also something like interest. It’s a rare, unguarded look -- and it makes Lan Xichen catch his breath. “Do you have any other suggestions?” Nie Mingjue asks, and there’s something in his voice not unlike humor.

“Women?” Lan Xichen is hardly the person to suggest it, but he knows that’s a preferred tactic for many a soldier. “We could ride to the nearest town. Find a girl who’s willing.” Or for sale. Lan Xichen isn’t about to cast aspersions in the heat of war.

“Not interested.”

NIe Mingjue looks ready to check out again. Lan Xichen stumbles over himself in an effort to keep his attention. “Then -- then men, if that’s your preference,” he says.

But he gets a glare in return. “I’m not taking a stranger to bed.”

The words strike Lan Xichen funny. There’s nothing odd about them, surely, but between the lines there’s something to discover. First, that he didn’t immediately say he wasn’t interested in men, which is the reaction that question would get from many a soldier. And he made it sound like there was someone he’d consider -- someone he already knows. A bright spark of hope lights up in his chest. Is it possible? “Then--” he says. Carefully.

Nie Mingjue eyes him. This time it isn’t the angry glare, but a sort of caution -- as though he half-expects Lan Xichen to make some move. Again, that spark of optimism catches in Lan Xichen’s chest. Perhaps it would be okay if…

He leans in, lifts his hand to that weathered face. “If that’s how you feel,” he says, leaning closer to Nie Mingjue than he’s ever been, “then…”

He’s very careful as he presses his lips to Nie Mingjue’s closed mouth. Afraid to drive him away.

He isn’t driven away. Paralyzed, perhaps, as Lan Xichen pulls back again and gazes at him as beatifically as he can muster. Shocked, if the wide eyes and the slight part of his lips are anything to go by. But he doesn’t flee. Or pull back, or get up. He just stares, and slowly lifts a hand to his own lips.

“If you are interested,” Lan Xichen says, barely above a whisper.

And then Nie Mingjue lifts an eyebrow, and the corners of his lips twitch. “Really?” he asks, sounding incredulous.

Lan Xichen shrugs. “It’s just a suggestion.”

“A suggestion--” The words echoed back at him are devoid of any artifice. The Nie Mingjue before him is the boy Lan Xichen knew all those years ago. The one capable of so much love. Any shame or trepidation that Lan Xichen felt at offering that kiss vanishes. What he wanted to communicate, he has. Be the consequences what they may.

“Or we could play go,” he says, truly meaning it. Whatever he needs, Lan Xichen is willing and happy to give.

“Let’s do that.” Nie Mingjue says with some determination. Lan Xichen nods. Perhaps he feels a bit of disappointment, but not enough to regret what he’s done.

As he rises to bring the board and stones to the table, Nie Mingjue surprises him once more.

“Make your suggestion again afterwards,” he says.

[tanoraqui]

Umm sorry could I ask for more spirit pouch wwx? Pls?

*pokes plot bunny* *lapine remains inert* Uh, no, apparently not.

You CAN have scraps of an emotionally resonant idea that I’m also never going to write, though: what if Wen Ning escaped Jin captivity sometime during those 13 years, maybe just after they put the nails in? Idk, something’s gotta prompt it. Maybe they put hte nails in and try to take him out for a murderous test drive. But he escapes...and is promptly found and captured by Jiang Cheng and YunmengJiang?

not very much of YunmengJiang. this is going to be very secret, when we lock the Ghost General in the basement seal the Ghost General in Lotus Pier’s deepest, darkest dungeon

(it’s not very deep, though maybe it’s dark. Each of the like 3 max cells IS floodable - very deliberately, at the will of whoever has the magical keys to the talisman seal connecting the cells to the lake, which has been used for torture in the past. Equally of-course, this is no concern for a dead man.)

if there’s nails in his head, Jiang Cheng takes them out - maybe not immediately, but pretty damn soon, because how else can he yell at him properly? How else can he demand answers as to what the hell Wei Wuxian thought he was doing, in those last few months? How else can he wander down with a bottle of wine at 3am one night (multiple nights) because it’s this or nightmares, and shout at the dead man chained to the wall, because it’s not the dead man he wants but it’s the closest he has?

sometimes, in hte early days, when he’s being deliberate and cold rather than visibly slightly unhinged by loss, he brings Chenqing as well, and it’s just a bit of a threat because...the Tiger Seal couldn’t command Wen Ning to do anything he didn’t want it to, or rather, it could command him, but he didn’t have to listen nor obey. Even with the nails in his head, the Tiger Seal had no part in the making of him as he is now - Wei Wuxian made damn sure of that - so there were no nasty little puppet strings built in for it to yank.

Chenqing, however...the Ghost Flute Chenqing, carved from the resentment-rich bamboo of the Burial Mounds, isn’t as strong as the Tiger Seal, but it is a cultivation tool in its own right, and it very much did play a part in the making of Wen Ning as he is now. If anything save Wei Wuxian himself could direct the Ghost General against his will, it would be that dizi.

Jiang Cheng never plays it, though. Twirls it, maybe. Threatens to break it in half over his knee. Hits Wen Ning with it in a fit of temper

Wen Ning is definitely capable of breaking those chains and whatever other suppression/binding/etc talismans they put on him. But he also...doesn’t really have anywhere else to go. Everyone he loves is dead. And at least Jiang Wanyin is only using him for weird stupid therapy, instead of cutting him open and trying to replicate the Yiling Patriarch’s work.

That said, this goes on for like a month maximum before Wen Ning snaps and tells Jiang Cheng about the golden core transfer

"Ohhhh my god oh my god he didn't choose us over you! He gave you everything he could POSSIBLY give and then tried to do ONE decent human thing instead of, I don't know, sit by and watch innocent people who'd helped you be killed!"

Jiang Cheng, skipping with skill over the back half of that: Like hell he gave me everything! He-- 

Wen Ning, ruthlessly: Whose golden core is in your chest?

JC, already understanding because all the puzzle pieces are THERE, but he doesn't have to put them together if he doesn't want to: I- mine! Baoshan Sanren-- 

WN: My sister, Wen Qing, the greatest healer in QishanWen, cut Wei Wuxian's golden core out of him and put it in you. He had to be awake through the whole thing or it wouldn't work. You didn't. I held him down while he screamed.

JC: He-- 

WN: There was only a 50% chance that he'd survive, but he insisted. For you. And YunmengJiang. Everything you've done since then has been with his help

(and at another time, those words would land differently - and they land a little bit that way, because Jiang Cheng has Neuroses. But...maybe the difference isn't that it's framed a little differently, or that instead of a confrontation after a long day, it's 3am and Jiang Cheng woke up muffling a scream for his brother. Maybe the difference is just that Wei Wuxian isn't here to be furious at, so Jiang Cheng gets caught up in the very first step of finding him again: relief so bone-deep it aches, and guilt so gut-wrenching that he nearly collapses from the pain)

WN: So please shut the fuck up and get over yourself, and leave me alone

Jiang Cheng does come back the next night, or more likely the next day, and yell at him some more about it. (This is good - he may not have Wei Wuxian to yell at, but he has someone, which means he won’t just descend into an inescapable pit of self-loathing over this, which I AM convinced would happen otherwise if JC found out about the golden core while WWX was dead.) 

There’s a lot of shouting. Only by the grace of decent dungeon soundproofing and several competent YunmengJiang disciples does the Ghost General in the basement remain secret

Jin Ling, for instance, is extra super not allowed to know, for everyone’s emotional health

Jin Guangyao also never finds out, because I don’t think him knowing would matter - he’d probably leave it unless he needed tomake political hay of it, and he wouldn’t before canon kicks back into gear - and it’s much funnier if he’s just anxious about the missing Ghost General for the better part of a decade

Wen Ning ends up staying in the basement, though possibly not in (completely useless) chains - depends on how petty...they both are, really. But he stays because, again: where else is there for him to go? He’s not hunted, here. He’s not causing anyone trouble. And if Wei Wuxian could see this situation, all their family of blood and hardship dead and gone except this one, Wen Ning is sure that Wei Wuxian would ask him with his final breath to watch over Lotus Pier and the people he, Wei Wuxian, never stopped counting as family. So at least that’s something that feels...almost useful.

Anyway, and then one day Wei Wuxian claps his hands and calls for corpses, and Wen Ning hears and very politely breaks the door off his cell, maybe even resets it on its hinges, and sneaks out. He doesn’t leave a note, even though he and Jiang Cheng are, like...very begrudging friends/companions in mourning by now. He’ll figure it out.

Edit: continued.

[goldentournesol]

All That Matters

*gif originally posted by @heat-waveee​ *

(Spencer Reid x Reader)

The one where Reader doesn’t visit Spencer in prison.

Length: 3.0k

A/N: MAJOR SPOILERS FOR SEASON 12 FINALE AND BEGINNING OF SEASON 13! 

Part 2: Here For You

masterlist

Spencer’s absence was felt in every aspect of her life.The bullpen wasn’t the same without him, her apartment, although they lived separately, wasn’t the same without him, even the jet wasn’t the same. She was so used to looking over and seeing his tall frame sprawled over that beige couch that she found herself glancing over out of habit just to find someone else there. It was just as disappointing every time. Her heart ached for him. It ached because she knew that there was nothing more she could do to help him or ease the pain he felt as he was being tortured in prison and it took a huge toll on her mental health. Everyone else had visited him, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

“Hey, Spence.” JJ said tearfully as soon as he took a seat across from her in the visitation room.

“Hey, is everything okay? It’s not my mom, is it?” He hurriedly asked with slight panic.

“No, no, she’s fine. Y/N and I saw her yesterday, she asked about you.” She nodded, smiling in an attempt to reassure him. He mirrored her expression with relief when she told him his mother thought he was at the beach. A short silence ensued.

“How are you doing?” JJ asked, as sympathetically as possible. Spencer fought back tears.

“I’m okay. I’m, uh, really happy to see you.” He admitted, even though he knew it probably wasn’t a good idea she was visiting. However, she reminded him of the promise she made him the last time she saw him. She promised she’d never leave him alone.

“How’s…” he paused with a swallow, “Y/N doing?” The question came out tentatively, his facial expression displaying something between a grimace and a hopeful look. The last time he’d seen Y/N in the courtroom, she was in a silent fit of tears.

“She’s...fine.” JJ lied. Spencer raised his eyebrows questioningly. It didn’t take a profiler to know that that was a straight up lie. “Alright, she’s not doing very well. I just didn’t want to tell you that because I knew you would worry about it and I don’t think you need any more of that.” She gestured around. Spencer heaved a sigh. He expected her response, he just didn’t want to hear it. 

Later that day, JJ found Y/N at her desk, nose deep in a file. Her eyes were frantic as they raced through the words on the page, hoping to find something useful. She had thrown herself into the case files, the Spencer-related and the non-Spencer-related. When she wasn’t occupied with the work, her mind would wander over to Spencer, which would send her into a whirlwind of panic, guilt, and rage. 

Panic because she didn’t want to imagine what he was going through, alone, scared, hopeless--. 

Guilt because she hadn’t visited him yet, she just couldn’t bring herself to see him. Not when she couldn’t wrap her arms around him, not when she couldn’t kiss him, or hold his hand. 

Rage because time was moving so slowly without him and they weren’t any closer to getting him out.

She hadn’t heard JJ come up from behind her and rest a hand on her shoulder. She yelped out in response, having been totally focused on the file.

“Woah, sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” JJ said as she was met with Y/N’s red rimmed eyes.

“It’s alright.” Y/N muttered softly.

“Y/N, when was the last time you took a break? Or got some sleep?” JJ asked, noticing the constant nervous tapping on her thigh.

“A break? I can’t--I can’t take a break, JJ!” She uncharacteristically snapped, standing from her seat. JJ took a step back at her sudden outburst, her friend’s eyes aflame. 

“How am I supposed to take a break when he’s in there, probably terrified out of his mind?! How do you think he would feel if he knew I was sipping on some tea or...or styling my hair instead of helping him get out of there?” She spat, not even caring that she was gaining attention from people around her. She didn’t know that this was the guilt taking over and speaking for her, but JJ knew.

“He asked about you today...again.” She stated coolly, seeing Y/N’s angry expression soften immediately. She averted her gaze quickly, heart wrenching in her chest. She grabbed some files and made a move to leave, probably to shed some self-wallowing tears, but JJ stopped her by grabbing her arm gently.

“We’re going to get him out of there, I promise. But we need you on board with us. I suggest you go home and get some rest. This won’t be solved overnight.” JJ assured her with a determined voice. Y/N pulled her arm out of her friend’s grip and made a beeline for the exit.

It’s not like she didn’t want to see him, of course she wanted to see him. She wanted to see him more than anything, but she wouldn’t stop. She wouldn’t rest until she caught the son of bitch who put him in there. Spencer wanted nothing more than to see her face and hear her voice.

 At first, he genuinely couldn’t blame her for not wanting to visit, but as matters outside the prison began to worsen, the matters inside were on another level. Then, hope began to elude him. He stopped hoping to see her, stopped hoping for a future. Spencer struggled to see his future as anything other than void and bleak as the four walls of his cell consumed him every night. He tried to file away any resentment he felt for her, he even stopped asking JJ about her. Whether or not she chose to share anything about his girlfriend was completely her choice. It had become too painful for him to think about her, let alone talk about her. 

And in the beginning, he was thankful for his eidetic memory because it allowed him to replay their conversations and memories on a loop. But now, the memories mocked him and kept him up at night. She became a part of his past life and he didn’t know whether his new life after prison could accommodate her.

What if they never solved the case? What if he had to spend the entirety of the 25 years in prison? Would she come see him then? At what point would she move on from him? Would she even bother showing up to break up with him? Or would he eventually have to learn from JJ that Y/N found a new lover as she mistakenly mentions her name in conversation?

This is ridiculous. She loves him. He knows that.

Right?

 Curse the intricate inner workings of his brain. It never ceased. He shouldn’t be thinking this way. But pulling himself out of the darkest place he’d ever been was proving to be increasingly difficult. 

Rage filled him as he learned of his mother’s abduction. He didn’t know why he expected Y/N to come take him home when he’d been released instead of JJ. He shouldn’t have done that. He also shouldn’t have felt disappointed when he saw Penelope all by herself right outside the prison doors.

But he did.

No one mentioned her on the way back to the headquarters, but she invaded his mind anyway. He didn’t have the time or the energy to be thinking of her, he needed to find his mother. 

She had been eagerly awaiting his arrival in the bullpen with the rest of the team. She grinned for the first time in months as she saw his tall figure appear through the glass doors. She watched as Rossi grabbed Spencer’s face and kissed his cheeks before pulling him into a bear hug. She watched Emily stroked his hair and kissed his head. Even Matt threw his arms around Spencer. Tears fell as she watched the scene unfold across the room from her desk. 

Spencer’s entire attitude shifted as his eyes finally landed on her. His smile dissipated, his shoulders were pushed back, and his eyes, his kind, soulful eyes were cold as they bore into her wet ones. She felt a shiver race its way down her spine. The air in the room shifted. It was eerily quiet, everyone waiting for the fallout. But Spencer stood still and silent, neither of them making the first move. There was so much left unsaid between them.

“Let’s go find my mother.” Spencer spoke as he averted his gaze from her and made his way to the conference room. 

A silent sob wracked through her body as she fell back into her chair, her fingers gripping at her roots in frustration. Penelope rushed to her quickly and tried to console her, the rest of the team already in the conference room discussing the case.

“Go help the team, I’ll have Emily brief me later.” Y/N said, taking a deep, shaky breath as she pried Penelope off of her frame. Penelope reluctantly nodded and made her way into the conference room. Spencer’s expression was stone cold and indecipherable as he watched Y/N scurry off into the direction of the bathrooms through the window. 

Hours later, they had managed to retrieve Diana after learning that Cat Adams was in fact impersonating Mr. Scratch along with some help from Lindsey Vaughn. They were now doing the best they could to track down the real Mr. Scratch, but the team had been caught in a horrific car accident, which led to Emily’s abduction. Spencer was currently at home with his mother. Y/N, Penelope, and Matt hadn’t gone with the rest of the team. Y/N had been too shaken up to go out into the field.

“Y/N, get Spencer and meet us at the hospital!  Rossi’s refusing treatment until he talks to you two!” Matt yelled as he and Penelope raced to the hospital. Y/N nodded and called Spencer. Her name was the last he wanted to see on his phone, but he picked up anyway. He almost didn’t.

“Spencer! There’s been a terrible accident, Emily’s been taken by Scratch, I’m picking you up now! Rossi’s refusing treatment! I’ll explain everything on the way to the hospital.” She spoke frantically into the phone, speeding off into the direction of his apartment. He hadn’t even had time to reply before she hung up. Minutes later, he got into the car and noticed her panicked state.

“Are you okay to drive?” He asked, immediately noticing her rapid breathing, wide eyes, and white knuckles from gripping the wheel tightly. She met his eyes, shaking her head. Spencer saw the tears and switched places with her, driving to the hospital. He also noticed how she failed to manage her breathing.

“Hey, hey. Try to match my breath.” He breathed in and out slowly. She shook her head in disbelief, hating the fact that this was their first encounter. He was still the caring man she fell in love with, even though she knew he probably hated her guts right then. Her breathing evened itself out and she fiddled with her fingers.

“I’m good, I’m good.” She muttered, mostly to herself, “Spencer, I-” she began but he cut her off harshly.

“Not now, Y/N.” He spat as he rolled into the hospital, searching for JJ and Rossi. Y/N’s heart wrenched as he ran to JJ’s side, treating her with the tenderness she craved. She found Rossi and ran to him quickly.

“Where’s Spencer? Get Spencer.” He uttered, obviously in pain. Y/N brought Spencer over.

“What’s going on?” He asked, walking into the room.

“Shut up and listen.” Rossi demanded, eyes shifting between Y/N and Spencer, landing on Y/N as he spoke, “First, you, go through my pants pockets and find my keys. Second, you’re back on the team.” He referred to Spencer.

“Not sure I should be. Has the director approved that?” He asked.

“I’m making the calls now. I’ll take the heat. You’re back on the team.” He panted.

“I’ve got the keys.” Y/N said, holding them.

“There’s a little one there to a file cabinet in my office. Inside, there’s Chicago Bears season tickets. When you get them, call Matt Simmons. I promised him those tickets.” He seemed adamant.

“Rossi, did they give you something to make you loopy?” Y/N asked.

“I’ll get the doctor, we’ll get him into surgery.” Spencer stated and made a move to leave.

“Just shut up and listen.” He insisted, “Emily is missing. Stephen is dead. As for you two ass clowns, you’ll do me the courtesy of following my orders. And for the love of God, work through whatever it is you two are going through and then I’ll go into surgery.”

She and Spencer nodded as they left the room. “This has nothing to do with season tickets.” She stated and he agreed.

“Ass clowns?” Spencer muttered confusedly and she repressed a giggle. 

They had been so caught up in the urgency of the case that they hadn’t found the time to talk, but Y/N was glad that Spencer was at least conversing with her, even if it was strictly about the case. With Emily now found and Scratch finally dead, they learned to breathe again. Y/N offered to drive Spencer home from Stephen’s funeral, seeing how morose he seemed. He reluctantly agreed and got into the car.

“I know you don’t want to, but we really have to talk.” She said softly, afraid that if she spoke too loud, he’d either snap or break. It was unclear which was more likely to happen.

“Now’s not really the best time, Y/N.” He spoke defeatedly, his hands running over his face and digging into the sockets of his eyes.

“It’ll never be the right time, Spencer.” She pushed, “I missed you.”

He laughed crudely, almost mocking her, “Oh, you missed me?”

“Yes, I missed you. Of course I missed you. I’m sorry I didn’t-”

“Sorry?!” He practically screeched, turning to face her. Her jaw clenched in reaction as she focused on driving. 

“You’re sorry for what exactly? For not coming to visit me? For not bothering to write me any letters? For practically pretending like I didn’t exist? Do you have any idea how often I hoped to see you? Do you have any idea what it feels like to be disappointed to see one of my best friends because I was hoping it was you? I hated myself for it, but it happened. How could you, Y/N?!” He seethed, voice uncharacteristically booming through the small space between them. It was laced with hurt and betrayal. She abruptly pulled the car over on the side of the road and turned to look at him. 

“How could you forget about me like that?” Spencer’s voice was small and shaky, tears threatening to spill.

Her own tears found their way down her cheeks as she stared at his heartbroken face, “Forget about you? I could never forget about you, Spencer.” She sniffled softly.

“You were all I could think about. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat. I’m pretty sure I developed an ulcer from the stress, by the way. I didn’t visit because…” she swallowed, pausing to blow her nose, “because I was angry. I was so angry, Spencer. Not at you, of course. At the situation. It was unfair to you and I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I know no amount of apologies will undo it, but I couldn’t handle it. I knew I wouldn’t have been able to handle seeing you in there and not be able to hold you or kiss you or...or touch you.” She paused again to blow her nose. 

Her words were disguised by the sobs, but Spencer managed to comprehend them. “It would have been too painful for me, I’m sorry. I was too weak and too selfish. You deserved so much better than that, I know.”

Spencer’s heart ached to see her cry, but he was so upset that he didn’t know if he could forgive her just yet. His throat got that familiar feeling of being so tight that he couldn’t speak. He just shook his head and rubbed at his eyes, turning away from her.

“Just take me home.” He whispered and she nodded, pulling herself together. Spencer occupied himself with a loose thread on his clothes, the soft hum of the engine was the only thing filling the silence between them.

She pulled up in front of his apartment complex and he was about to step out of the car when she reached for his arm, stopping him. She drew her hand back immediately, realizing that that was the first time they made physical contact since he got back. She hoped she wasn’t overstepping. He stared at her curiously at both reaching for him and drawing back.

“Spence, I understand if you want to end things. I just...I love you. I never stopped loving you and I never will.” She reminded him and he nodded, the tenderness she’d grown so used to returning to his eyes.

“I love you, too.” He spoke quietly, offering her a tight smile that obviously hid a lot of pain. 

She watched as he got out of the car and disappeared inside the building. He hadn’t confirmed nor denied that he wanted to end things with her and she didn’t know if she should be relieved at that. All she did know though was hearing those four words from Spencer again breathed a new life into her lungs.

He still loves her.

That’s all that matters.

Part 2

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

I’m Always Curious Part Twenty Nine

Previous Part | Next Part |  Masterlist Notes: I hope everyone’s having a good week 💕

Also if y’all didn’t see, I made an I’m Always Curious Playlist, check it out if you’re interested 😊 Also toying with the next chapter being in Pike’s POV, we’ll see tho

Warnings: Cursing and mentions of canon-typical violence Summary: When I had determined the most appropriate position for the tag and that couldn’t quiet my mind any longer, I headed down to the shuttle bay.

Having had opposing pictures of her character drawn for me by Spock and Tilly, meeting Commander Michael Burnham was a bit of a trip.

The things that Spock had told me about her led me to expect someone austere, distant. But while she was composed, she was cordial, going so far as to make small talk on the way to the Ready Room. It wasn’t in the forced way that it had originally been with Jett, either. Apparently Burnham had heard a fair amount from me from Tilly. Jett joined us in the turbolift, and from there it was a short trek to the Ready Room.

I felt my stomach twist in apprehension as we neared the doors. While I had had some time to process the fact that Pike and I were in close range again, I had spent far too much of the last hour reflecting on the look he’d given me. I was distinctly out of place in the Ready Room. Not only was I the most unfamiliar with the crew, but I was still in my civvies. The Captain was already there, a PADD in hand. His eyes darted to the three of us we entered, but they quickly lowered to the device again as he said, “Commander Burnham, a word, please.” Burnham excused herself from Jett and myself, and I took the moment to look around. I ached with the familiarity - the sight of Chris’ table from Mojave in the room, along with a few other things that had made the trip over from the Enterprise. I drifted toward a window, unable to help my fingers trail over the wood of the table on my way. Jett followed at a pace, glancing at Burnham and Pike before stopping beside me. “Any idea how long Durling’ll take?” She asked. I shook my head a little. “Cornwell just said that he’d be here in a few hours.” At the sound of the Ready Room door opening, I straightened, hands tucking behind my back at attention-- And then I immediately dropped them as I scoffed, “Oh, it’s you.” “Is that any way to greet me?” Eli asked, walking deeper into the room, “You used to stand at attention, be all ‘yessir’ about it.” “I am your superior now, Durling.” “In rank only,” He retorted, coming to stop just in front of me. Despite his words, though, he was pointing that warm smile down at me, like not a day had passed or a thing had changed. And I couldn’t help the smile that made its way onto my face at his familiar gaze and teasing. After the war, Durling had been assigned to the USS Cetus, a temporary post as he awaited an official reassignment. While we spoke from time to time, I hadn't seen him in weeks. “God, I forgot what a dick you were,” Jett grumbled beside us. Eli turned to her, brows raising in surprise. “And it’s good to see you, too, Reno. Especially considering we thought--” “Oh, I know. This one got all misty on me about it,” Jett nodded to me. “Unnecessary detail,” I muttered.  “You can cry? I thought you’d gotten your tear ducts removed back on Starbase 115,” Eli frowned at me. “I would punch you if we weren’t in mixed company.” “Restraint? Wow, that’s new for you.”  We turned at the sound of someone clearing their throat behind us. Pike was there, brows raised a little. Eli smiled, turning fully from myself at Jett. “Eli Durling,” He introduced himself to both Pike and Burnham. “Commander Michael Burnham. Welcome aboard.” “Christopher Pike,” Pike tacked on as he shook Eli’s hand. Eli glanced back at me, brow raised, and I felt the urge to punch him intensify. Instead I just gave him a slight glare before averting my eyes. He knew about me and Pike. I had spent the last year with the man, we’d spent that time having one another’s backs. He knew all of my secrets— but then, I knew all of his. “We should start the briefing, the target’s nearly in range,” Pike added as dropped Eli's hand. “We’ve never run any 22-9-14s on the Discovery,” Burnham explained. “Well, you’re in luck, because the three of us ran a lot of them," Eli nodded back toward me and Jett. “Define a lot, I mean how many times did you ruin your phaser cannons after you transferred?” Jett asked. “Well,” Eli glanced back at me, “I’m not sure I have a count on the phaser cannons, but I personally ran around a hundred, and the Commander ran a number somewhere in the 300s.” “Somewhere? Where in the 300s?” Jett frowned at me. “I’m not sure that’s pertinent to this briefing, as I don’t have the same penchant for bragging that Lieutenant Commander Durling does,” I folded my arms across my chest. Eli smiled.

“Regardless, you’re in good hands,” He added, turning back to Pike and Burnham, “I’ll coordinate from the Bridge while the Commander takes care of the tagging process. Any questions?” “I’ve got one,” I piped up. “Of course you do--” “What am I tagging?” I asked over him. Eli nodded to Pike’s desk, and Pike stepped out of the way, waving his hand with silent permission. I watched as Eli walked over to it, opening a file and pulling up a holographic display of a ship. I pushed off of the wall and walked over to join him with the others, my eyes wandering the surface of the ship. “Is that a DY-100 Sleeper?” I frowned, bracing my hands on the desk to get a better look. “It is,” He confirmed, “The S.S. Botany Bay.” “You’re familiar with this craft?” Burnham asked. I glanced at her. “Few months into the war, Command was looking for craft that might be able to slip past Klingon sensors. These vessels are antiques— 20th century, decommissioned. Older metals, outdated tech, but high crew capacity.” “And the Botany Bay was used during the war?” Pike asked. I turned back to the hologram. “Only two ships were in good enough condition to shore up and get off of the ground. This was neither of them.” “Maybe it’s just being tracked for longevity, see how long it holds up,” Jett suggested. “No,” I shook my head a little, “No, Cornwell said colony when I came aboard…” I straightened up, folding my arms back across my chest, “We’re either gonna get radio silence or hear some really cryptic shit.” “That’s the spirit,” Durling clapped my shoulder, and I shot him a sidelong glance. “You realize this is gonna be a manual?” I asked him. “Ah-- No,” He laughed nervously, “No, you don’t have time for manual.” “Time or not— Look at the surface area on that thing,” I nodded to the hologram, “If this is an original sleeper class and launched back in the 1990s when they were originally being built, it’s possible that the integrity of the hull is going to be compromised. That means that the arms on the bot are going to be too rough for this task.” “What would you have to do to attach it manually?” Burnham asked.  “She’s gotta eject herself from her ship,” Jett told them. “How much does that differ from a ship-based tag?” Burnham asked. “... It’s different,” Eli tread carefully as he said so. I could feel him eyeing me critically, and I couldn’t help the way my jaw clenched as my stomach swooped with nerves. I hated manual tags the most. There were fewer safety nets: no tether, no easy way back to the ship if something went very seriously wrong--just me and a jet pack and a whole lotta hope. “Considering the fact that Command even authorized this mission in the first place, a manual attachment should be our last resort,” he added, “And who am I to argue with Command?” “Usually the second in line,” Jett answered. “Who’s first?” He frowned. There was a pause as I felt the two of them direct their gazes to me. “I resent that,” I muttered. “Which puts you in direct opposition with Commander Reno, which, given the longevity of her rank, technically puts you at odds with your superior--” Durling muttered. “O-kay.” “What are the steps that we need to get this off of the ground?” Pike asked, cutting over our bickering. I suddenly felt like a schoolkid called out for chatting in class. “Reno needs to look over craft, make sure it’s safe to fly,” Eli told him, “Your ship’s doctor needs to give our pilot a once-over as well, same reason.” I rolled my eyes a little. I was a little tired, more than a little jittery at the prospect of being behind the controls of an attack fighter again, but I had flown and been cleared for flight in worse condition. “Anything else?” Pike asked. “No,” Eli shook his head, “Barring any complications, we should be set to launch… round 1800 hours.” “If that’s the timeline, I’m gonna go get some sleep,” I straightened, “Thanks guys.” I turned away, heading for the door as I heard Durling pipe up: “Oh, and Commander?” “Yes,” I turned back, “Lieutenant Commander?” Durling took a moment, eyes sweeping down my body, then up again. “Where are we with that uniform?” I forced out a little laugh before nodding once, “I’m gonna leave now.”

-- I knew that I needed to get rest, but the prospect of a manual tag kept had set my mind racing. Instead I studied the schematics that I had available for a DY-100. And when I had determined the most appropriate position for the tag and that couldn’t quiet my mind any longer, I headed down to the shuttle bay. -- “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” Jett almost scowled at the sight of me stepping onto craft. “Not tired,” I fibbed. Jett gave me a short look before lowering herself beside the control panel. “Make yourself useful, then, pass me the magna-spanner.” I crouched down beside Jett’s toolkit and found the requested implement before passing it to her. Once I had, I sat on the floor of the craft, leaning back against the wall and looking around the small cabin. It seemed so much more confining than I remembered— crammed with measuring instruments, controls, an emergency med pack. I directed my gaze toward the hatch in the ceiling, the one I’d be pushing myself out into open space from in just a short while. “So,” Jett spoke up, “What’s the plan after this?” I smiled at the question— just like old times. “Maybe get some more pie?” I offered. “And sugar crash later?” “Mhm. It’s the risk you take when you eat the hard stuff.” “And after that?” “...Dunno. Maybe something that actually utilizes what I went to the Academy to do. You know, speak and translate something other than Klingon, work with texts and languages we’re less familiar with…” “But we put our dreams away?” “But we put our dreams away.” Jett leaned back, tossing the magna-spanner at me. I caught hold of it, depositing it in the toolbox. She humphed, “Well, you’re morose as shit, but your reflexes seem to be in good order. Should be helpful, huh, Captain?” I frowned before I heard, “Yes, it should.” My head was turned from him, and I had been focused on other parts of the ship, but I hadn’t even heard him come aboard. I glanced up at Pike to find him standing with his hands tucked behind his back. He cleared his throat. “Doctor Pollard needs to examine you,” He nodded over his shoulder. “Right,” I pushed myself to stand before glancing down at Jett, “You’re set here?” “Please leave,” Was her smiling answer. I smiled a little myself, shaking my head before following Pike off of the craft. I couldn’t help but chuckle at the way he had to duck to ensure he didn’t hit his head on the way out. A brief wave of embarrassment crested over me when he glanced back at the sound. Pollard and Eli were in the shuttle bay, not too far off from the craft. The introductions were short as I shrugged out of my jacket and tossed it to Eli. He caught it without a question or hesitation, hardly missing a word as he regaled Dr. Pollard with the story of his part in the Battle of Xisad. She seemed to only be listening out of politeness, humming in response now and again. Knowing Eli, though, this chatter was meant to distract all of us from what I was about to do. Dr. Pollard’s hand skimmed over my left shoulder blade and I jolted a little, tensing as I sucked in a sharp breath.  “Alright?” She asked. I nodded as I heard her switch to the scanner on her tricorder. “Quite a lot of scar tissue,” She added. “Caught the wrong end of a bat’leth,” I explained flatly. “Is there pain?” “No.” “Does it hinder any of your movements?” “No.” When Pollard returned her hand to that same area, fingers carefully massaging the area to ensure the truth of my statement, I held carefully still. “...Is there a right end of bat’leth?” Eli asked, breaking the tense silence from our superiors. “The side without the pointed blade would’ve been preferable,” I told him, glancing in his direction. “You’re so particular,” He scoffed, but he was smiling. I shook my head a little, feeling the tension drain from me a little. “Well, apart from a slightly elevated heart rate, everything seems to be in order," Pollard reported from behind me. “That’s not a concern?” Pike asked. “According to the Commander’s prior medical records, there is typically some uptick in heart rate prior to these particular missions. She’s fit to fly," Pollard tucked her tricorder into its holder. I gave her a small nod of thanks. “And yet not outfitted to fly. Starfleet regulation 67: an officer acting in the interests of the Federation must be in uniform to command or commandeer any vessel,” Durling rattled off. I hummed, nodding, “An excellent point, Lieutenant Commander, but you seem to be forgetting Starfleet regulation 67-A: In the event of an emergency procedure, Starfleet personnel are permitted to eschew Federation vestments as the mission demands. Or have you forgotten who that rule had to be instituted for?” Durling shuffled closer, holding my jacket back out to me as he muttered, “Can’t recall.” “Well— that’s hilarious, because I can. And I’ll be in a Starfleet flight suit, I do believe that that counts as uniform.” “It does,” Pike piped up. “Exactly— thank you, Captain.” “Anytime, Commander.” “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get changed and run through the pre-flight checklist with Jett,” I added. I thanked Pollard again before I turned, heading back to the attack fighter. Anytime, Commander. Two words. Easy. Two words that set my heart racing faster than the prospect of a manual tag-and-run did. Tag list: @angels-pie​​ ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta​​  ; @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo​​ ; @how-am-i-serpose-to-know​​ ; @onlyhereforthefandomandgiggles​​ ; @inmyowncorner​​  ; @tardis-23​​ ; @2manyfandoms-solittletime​ ; @paintballkid711​​ ; @katrynec​​​ ; @hypnobananaangelfish​​ ; @elen-aranel​​ ; @blueeyesatnight​​

[rein-ette]

A cleaner version of my previous ask 😅

Engport, babysitting (catsitting, plantsitting etc) or fire, please?

Oooookayyyy, so. I wrote...something. It's for the engport + fire prompt, but if I'm going to be completely honest it doesn't have anything that much to do with fire, though I swear I did come up with it because I was thinking about things related to fire. And this first part of it doesn't have much engport either, though there's certainly a lot of Port. It does have a cute small animal in it, if that's any consolation.

I do also have another idea for plantsitting, so I might write that at some point, but I didn't want to keep you waiting much longer so -- please accept my apologies and this fic that I can almost guarantee is not what you thought it was going to be.

Warnings: abuse of Greek mythology and one scene from Spirited Away. Also skulls. One skull. And I guess, death? But not really.

The realm of the dead was turning out to be a lot less crowded than Gabriel had expected. Since many mortals died every day, he had imagined that the banks of the river Styx would be crowded with souls, screaming or writhing or whatever spirits did in agony as they waited for their passage to the Underworld. Instead, Gabriel stood alone on what appeared to be a train platform, in the middle of a river so still he could easily see his own reflection in it, and so wide it might as well have been an ocean. Gabriel only knew it was a river because he could sense that the water was drawn to him like a curious child to pretty flower, responding to his immortal parentage. Unconsciously, Gabriel flexed his fingers and wondered if the steaming waters of the Styx would listen to him if he tried to command it. Probably not, and seeing as he was going to be knocking on the door of her master momentarily, Gabriel did not want to be introduced as that nephew who had angered the Goddess of Hatred the moment he had woken up in the Underworld.

Fat lot of good his powers had done him anyways, since he had died at sea.

Hadn't mother always told him the Oceanids were bad shit?

Sighing, Gabriel looked around again at his surroundings. He realized with no small amount of surprise that, while he had just been alone, now several shadowy figures stood with him on the platform, the edges of their figures melting in and out in the thick fog that rose from the waters around them. He tried to examine their faces to see if any of them were the spirits of his crewmates, but whenever he thought he could make out a feature their faces dissolved back into the fog. Exasperated, Gabriel glanced back at the river, noting with another jolt of surprise that now he could see the dark outline of a set of train tracks beside the platform, about half a meter underwater and stretching away into the blackness. Not long after he registered that, he heard the rumble of a train in the distance.

I suppose that's my ride, he thought to himself. The old myths said that Chiron ferried people on a boat across the Styx, but apparently the Industrial Revolution had come to the Underworld as well. Snorting at the thought, he dug in his pocket for his gold coin, which any good sailor always kept in case the ever-capricious ocean claimed them — even semi-immortal sons of river goddesses. Clearly, this was a good habit, because being semi-immortal had not saved Gabriel from that torpedo, which had reduced his poor ship to a lump of floating scrap metal before Gabriel could call up enough power to fill a water bottle, and, oh, all those poor soldier boys who would now never get a chance to die in a gruesome war and fulfill their heroic fates —

Gabriel could not find his coin. Frowning, he searched the front pockets of his admiral's tunic as well, even though he knew he had not kept it there. When that yielded nothing, he moved on to his back pant pockets, then his boots. For the first time since he had drowned in the icy cold Atlantic (which, admittedly, was not that long ago), Gabriel felt a shiver of true panic run through him. How would he board the train without his coin? How would he enter the Underworld? How would he join the ranks of the heroes in the Elysian Fields, where he belonged? Had he perhaps lost his coin when he had rushed to the railings to survey the damage on deck and was promptly dropped into the roaring Atlantic when a stray bit of flak from the exploding engine room tore clean through his right leg?

Now that he thought about it, that seemed likely.

At least he’d gotten his leg back.

The train slid to a rippling stop into front of him. With a soft swoosh, the doors opened, and Gabriel found himself staring at a man who, despite his smart train conductors uniform, could not have been anyone but Chiron, given that his face was a gleaming skull and his eyes literally balls of hellfire. It seemed the god had tried to update his aesthetic for the 20th century as well.

Chiron proffered to him a small wooden box, in which Gabriel could see several gold coins. Desperately digging through his pockets one last time, he finally shook his head. "I’m sorry, I don’t have the fare, I —"

The doors slid closed in his face, and immediately the train began to pull away.

Muttering a few choice curses, Gabriel stumbled a step away from the edge of the platform and watched as the train picked up speed and swooped away into the darkness.

Somehow, he doubted it would be returning to this station.

In the ensueing silence, Gabriel weighed his options. He could sit on this platform and mope, possibly for eternity. He could jump in the river and hope that his aunt either saved him or tore his soul into shreds from the agony. He could try walking along the rails in the direction the train had left, also possibly for the rest of eternity, in the hopes of reaching the entrance to the Underworld eventually.

Gabriel took off his shoes and chose the last option, despite feeling that sulking for the rest of eternity held a certain amount of appeal. He was very good at sulking. Nevertheless, he waded into the water at the end of the platform and found immediately that Hatred was lukewarm, not freezing cold like he had imagined — a nasty, suffocating lukewarm which swirled thickly around his thighs with the collected resentment, broken promises, lurid thoughts and heavens knew what else of millions of miserable souls.

He had feared the water might send him immediately into convulsions of unbearable pain or suck his consciousness right out of him, but as he continued along the track nothing remarkable occured. Perhaps the Styx had sensed his godly parentage and was protecting its kin. Or perhaps Gabriel had collected so much resentment in his long life that the river didn't even recognize him as a foreign body. Whatever the case, Gabriel held his shoes gingerly in one hand and sloshed on.

Quickly, he lost all sense of time, distance, or direction. It felt like he had barely taken two steps before the platform he left was swallowed by the fog, and the tracks underneath his feet curved and meandered like a small stream itself, without rhyme or reason. Gabriel realized that even if the water had not immediately destroyed him, he could not walk forever, and when he finally collapsed from exhaustion he would either be eaten by whatever dwelled in this wretched river or drown over and over in its depths until it dissolved him like a piece of wet toilet paper.

Still, he could not turn back. There was no hope even if he managed to return to the platform, and while a lesser man might have cowered in fear on dry land anyways, Gabriel had spent most of his twenty one centuries of life fighting and wandering across the oceans anyways. Wading through an infernal river until even his immortal soul crumbled into the waves — it seemed somehow like a fitting end.

To distract himself from his happy thoughts, he began to sing. At times it was just a wordless tune, but when he felt inspiration hit he added lyrics. He sang of his birth on the sun-kissed banks of the Douro, the eldest son of its beautiful immortal gaurdian and a local Roman nobleman. He sang of his siblings, not all of whom had inherited his mother's immortality, and he sang in particular of the one brother who did and accompanied him through the aching, bittersweet years that followed. He sang of the lands he had travelled, some bursting with life and colour, others stunning in their harsh, barren beauty. He sang of his lovers, the princes and the ladies, the soldiers and the nymphs and the humble farmhands whom he had courted, bed, and occasionally wed — but never to last, for mortal lives were but a flicker in the endless night and even the immortal ones could not tether down his heart for long. The stars called him, the waves called him, and Gabriel always, always answered.

He suppposed now, though, he had finally found his last resting place.

This thought was immediately followed by a less melancholic one: I didn't know polecats could swim.

Gabriel stopped singing and instead stood and watched as the little furry animal approached, paws paddling furiously as it slipped through the water. It stopped when it neared him and splashed around for a bit, before lifting its snout and looking pointedly at Gabriel, its dark eyes gleaming and intelligent.

Gabriel hadn't known that polecats could give pointed looks, either.

He cupped his hands and extended them to the animal, which immediately scrambled on and promptly snuggled up in his palms, curling into a little content ball. Unable to hold back a smile, he stroked its slick, midnight fur with a thumb, marvelling at how soft and warm it was and how docile it seemed.

Well, he thought, at least I still sing well enough to seduce a polecat.

"You've seduced more than just a polecat, that's for sure," someone muttered.

-- part 2 is here --

[infiniteiram]

I Never Understood Summer Love.

a vds one shot. you can find more on my ao3.

( @ apolloswords )

feel free to comment/message me any suggestions for one shot ideas!

Jens and Lucas experience a summer love together, but even when the seasons change, the feelings they have shared do not.

( jens and lucas | i never understood summer love )

I never understood summer love. Lucas thought to himself. Because I'll never know why they call it summer love when I still long for you as the leaves begin to fall.

-

The early chill of the autumn air was crisp this morning, as both boys slipped on their jackets before heading out for another day of school. The navy blue jacket of the taller raven-haired boy felt soft around his body. But not as soft as the gentle brown curls and skin belonging to the boy of his past. His summer past. And from across the school's courtyard, the boy of the summer sat, hugged by the denim jacket he had always found security and comfort in. But not as much as he found security and comfort in the boy his eyes could never break gaze from. Without even realizing it, he was watching him again. Wondering how they were once so close and intimate, to barely even holding an exchange of greetings now. Actually, he didn't need to wonder. He knew how they had become sudden strangers. But even if he knew the question to his own answer, that didn't break his stolen glances.

Until the other boys' dark brown eyes met his blue one, and he averted his eyes, looking away quickly. Ashamed to have been caught staring.

But he didn't know why he felt ashamed, why he felt like he needed to be ashamed. Lucas figured that when they went back to school, he would forget about Jens. Forget about the way the sunlight kissed the tip of his nose as he tossed his head back, laughing at some snarky remark he made. Forget about the way Jens looked at him, like he was the reason the sun stayed out all day. Forget about the way his hands trailed and wandered all over him, the curve of his shoulders, dip in his back and sharpness of his lithe jawline. Forget about Jens entirely.

Yet, even from across the courtyard, as both boys pretended they were nothing but someone passing by, he knew there was no way he could forget any of that. And as the autumn leaves rustled behind him, disrupting his golden memories, Lucas continued to long for the summer he once knew.

Frustrated, and feeling rather even more sorry for himself, Lucas got up and walked away.The newly fallen leaves felt loud underneath his feet, and with each step, it felt like he was walking away from more than his spot on the courtyard. His cheeks were a little pink from the harshness of the colder air, spiking his skin. Lucas could do nothing but just sigh. Deep down, he felt himself walk further away from what he had found familiarity with.

It wouldn't have been the second time he'd done that to avoid confronting the way he felt.

-

It started out like any other summer. Basking in the warm sunlight all day, partying under the moon all night. Yet, it was so much more different this time around. Lucas would have to leave everything he once knew behind. He would have to leave everything in his familiarity. It was no surprise that Lucas resented heading over to live with his cousin Milan, but since he was still in high school with no actual parent around, he had to find family elsewhere, And the closest thing he had to family was all the way in Belgium. Granted, it wasn't super far away, but Lucas already felt an ache in his heart the second he departed from his friends at the train station. Long gone were the days of Utrecht, and now were days of Antwerp.

It made him feel even more alone than he already did.

But that was until he saw him. He remembered the first time he had seen him. It was when he and Milan had gotten high at some park, laying in the grass that tickled the back of their necks and their fingertips. Milan had sat up, calling a group of guys over and even though Lucas' mind was a little hazy from the weed, he couldn't mistake how beautiful one of the boys jogging over looked.

He was tall, dark hair flowing as he came forward, skin so very sun kissed from spending all his days outside in the summer sun. The grin on his face was playful, but also rather teasing. Something in between a smirk and the start of a laugh. Lucas felt like he wasn't high anymore, as the world just seemed to clear and become in focus around him. But, at the same time, his whole body felt afloat. He felt a sense of euphoria, a rush of both serotonin and dopamine running through him.

The second their eyes locked, both of them stared a little too long at each other. Their gazes lingered, as they studied their unfamiliarity, but felt the pull towards each other. Lucas knew instantly. He couldn't mistake the way his heart skipped, the way he felt his cheeks go into a mellow pink and the small grin on his face, as he smiled to the ground. But the boy and his warm eyes, only gave him a smile back. Knowing the same thing Lucas did.

"Hey, I'm Jens." The raven haired boy introduced, a glint in his eyes as he eyed Lucas up and down.

"I'm Lucas." He replied back.

As the summer began to continue its long days, Lucas and Jens grew closer. The pull between them only seemed to get stronger as cryptic messages laid between their quiet conversations with words only shared between them. As their smiles became a little less secretive, and more knowing. Lucas didn't know what to describe this feeling as, but he didn't think he could even if he tried.

And even if he tried to deny it, to repress the confusion and second thoughts, he was at least sure of one thing.

There was more to this summer, this new life in Antwerp, than he had imagined. And more towards Jens, who he couldn't seem to get enough of.

-

Last night was a blur in Jens' mind. He didn't remember how it happened, couldn't remember how it could've happened. But one thing must have led to another, because he did recall bringing Lucas home after a quite eventful night of partying. The way Jens couldn't keep his eyes off of this new Dutch boy, and how even from across a crowded room, he searched for him. Looking around frantically until he was met with the sparkling blue eyes clearer than the bright blue sky and a pair of pretty pink lips turned up into a an even brighter smile.

It took him a second when he woke up, seeing the way the morning set aglow on a still sleeping Lucas to fully believe it. To fully believe he was right there. Jens got up for a second, pulling on his red crewneck and wandering out of his room for a second.

Maybe it was a dream, maybe it was all in his head. The endless pining over Lucas had finally caught up to him, the way he loved looking at the stars reflect in his bright blue eyes, freckles dance over his nose and smile light up each one of his days. But when he wandered back in, he saw him again. Saw the way Lucas still hadn't stirred awake and was nothing but a peaceful sleeping beauty.

Jens couldn't help but continue to admire him. Him underneath his bedsheets, his brown curls splayed all over his pillow. Jens felt his heart beat faster, even if his whole body remained at ease. There was something special about Lucas, something he had never seen in someone before. Let alone feel for someone before. But it didn't scare him. Even if his feelings were just as much confusing as they were strong, he wasn't scared.

Because when Lucas, very hesitantly, reached out to hold his hand the day before, Jens didn't need to be scared. Not when Lucas and his love made him feel safe.

So Jens held his hand back, feeling the cool metal of Lucas' silver rings against his fingertips. Long slender fingers intertwined in his own calloused ones. Lucas' hand in his, and his hand in Lucas'.

-

The night fell on both boys, but that didn't stop the glow from both of them light up Lucas' room. He and Jens had stumbled home from another party, both too sober to be willing to be around those not. But that was because they were intoxicated with each other entirely. Jens let his eyes watch Lucas in front of him, the way he touched his body like he was a sculptor sculpting his own self. The way Lucas' hands let the shadows of the night paint him like a masterpiece. Jens was didn't think he had ever seen anything so ethereal, nor did he think he ever would.

But here was Lucas, in front of him. The way he moved, the way he was just so himself in front of him. The vulnerability of both boys, looking at each other like nothing else in the world existed outside of them.

So when Jens pulled Lucas in, letting his hands now wander over Lucas, he was definitely sure nothing did exist outside of Lucas. The way their lips touched, creating both actions of desire and affection dictate their next move. The way Jens actually did think Lucas was something sculpted by a god himself, something so far out of humanity's reach. The way Jens poured every single part of him into entirely loving Lucas in a way he had never loved before.

Lucas wasn't just a boy he was lucky to meet and have a connection with. Lucas was a world all on his own, and Jens didn't think he could ever reach out and feel the wonders of a universe at the edge of his fingertips.

-

Yet, like all good days, the sun sets into the darkness of the night. And while some nights can be lit up by the brightness of twinkling stars and the illuminating beauty of the moon, some nights are filled with the darkness.

"We don't have to end it." The boy pleaded, his dark brown eyes widening as tears began to fill them.

"You're right we don't. But we lived a summer dream and I don't think it can continue."

"Why Lucas? Why must things change? Why are we doing this?"

The boy, who's blue eyes were just as teary tried to hold back the tremble in his voice but to no avail. "Because, things change. People change. And we have to go back to our normal lives now."

"So I can't make you apart of mine?" He cried, his voice cracking out of frustration. Jens felt like he couldn't breath. His chest ached from the anger and sadness, but not as much as his heart ached for losing Lucas. For losing his lover.

Lucas only bit his lip and shook his head. He knew Jens was right, he was allowed to be with him. He could be with him. But Lucas didn't know how he could accept Jens changing a huge aspect of his life to be with him. To be out, to be unafraid of being in love with a boy. To being in love with him, with Lucas.

"I can't have you changing your life just because of some summer where we hid in the shadows of the sun. I can't have you changing your life for me."

"Do you not want this anymore?"

Biting his lip again and finally letting the tears streak his face, Lucas shook his head. "No."

He'd never lied to Jens before, never felt like he had too. But he just did. To protect and hide the truth from someone he cared about. He couldn't let Jens know how much this ached him. He couldn't let Jens know that all of this was another change to his life, one he was afraid to accept, no matter how good of thing it was.

So as the summer sun began to hide behind the autumn leaves changing colours, Lucas figured that he had to let go. Let go of the boy who was more than just a summer love.

The truth was, Lucas had no problem loving Jens at any point of the year. In every month, week and day. In every hour, minute and second. In every season, life and universe.

-

Sometimes when Lucas was sad, he would lay down on the floor of his room and simply put on his headphones. If it was any other day, he would probably scroll through the abundance of playlists he'd curated, ranging from eccentric 70's pop to Lana Del Ray's discography. Now, he would scroll through his library of records and listen to the soft strums of the guitar. Sometimes the songs played with covers of songs he knew, other times, they were just an abstract mess of melodies meddling together. Whatever it was, he enjoyed it.

He would think about the times he'd heard Jens mess around on his guitar, when they were both hanging out and not really doing much but enjoying each other's company. Jens was shy at first, almost refusing to even let Lucas hear him play, but after a few hangouts, he smiled at him and let him listen. Jens tried to impress him at first, wanting to show off his impressive guitar playing skills, but that wasn't what ended up impressing Lucas.

"Play that again." Lucas had told him. "Play that thing you just played.

Jens raised his eyebrows, letting out a confused laugh. "You liked that?"

He shrugged, not seeing why it was a big deal. "Yeah I did. It sounded really good."

"I was just messing around." Jens admitted, blushing slightly. "It was just something that came to me, nothing that special."

"Well," Lucas smiled at him. "You should mess around even more. I think what you just played may have been my favourite thing yet."

So that's what Jens did. They spent the rest of the quiet summer afternoon messing about on his guitar. And Lucas recorded it, wanting to keep something of this moment forever.

And now, when he was alone in his room, he realized it was a good thing he did. It might be the last thing of Jens he had.

-

Lately, Jens had started to take the long way home. Not because he was rather adamant on getting home, or because he enjoyed walking, but because he considered it to be more scenic. Walking through the small part of town, with the local shops decorating their fronts to fit the autumn aesthetic was definitely scenic, but that wasn't what caught his eye. What caught his eye was the boy in the window, the one who was busy working in some local boutique by helping. Lucas had begun working there, shortly after school started, from what he heard from Milan. And Jens never had the nerve to step inside, he knew the reaction he'd get from him if he did.

But Jens couldn't help himself from taking this route. Aside from seeing Lucas at the courtyard before school, the slight passing by in the halls and from his back seat in History class, it was one of the other times he could see him. He would have loved to talk to him, to strike up conversations like they once had.

He knew he couldn't. He couldn't mistake the way Lucas avoided him, instantly looking away or leaving the second he caught Jens looking at him. Or when Jens caught him looking. Whatever it was, he knew Lucas wanted to be left alone. Jens wished he could convince him otherwise, but that probably would only make things worse.

So Jens would just sigh. Even if the small glimpse lifted his spirits up and made his heart swell for even the slightest second, he only felt worse each time as he walked away.

-

"I just don't get it." Jens said as Lucas felt his heart beating. "I don't get why you think you can't be in my life."

The last thing Lucas ever expected was to see Jens stumble into the boutique just before he was about to go on his break. It had been a month since they had their last conversation. He expected to feel euphoric seeing Jens come in and ask to talk to him, but he could only be reminded of their good times and felt his heart shatter as he realized that he was the one who put an end to that. And because after all this time, Jens hadn't forgotten about him.

Lucas let Jens lead him to some nearby park, to talk before Lucas had to head back to work. For the first minute, they sat in silence. It wasn't uncomfortable, but it was not the comfortable silence they used to bask in. They were both struggling on what to say, now that they had telepathically established what they would be talking about.

"I don't get why you think the summer was the only time we could be together. Fuck, I know some things don't always make sense but, I don't know why you think this does. This silence, this avoidance. At first I thought maybe I was just a fling, something for the summer. But I see the way you still look at me Luc, you and your big beautiful eyes staring at me and I feel my entire world just go to a still." Jens continued to ramble.

He looked up a bit, shocked how much Jens had observed about his recent behaviour. The words were caught in his throat, but he tried to force some sort of response out.

"You think my eyes are beautiful?" He choked out, his mouth quivering and his voice trembling.

Jens snorted, but nodded with a light laugh. "Yeah Luc, I think your eyes are beautiful. I think what we had was beautiful and fuck, I think you're beautiful. Okay? That's it. I think you're beautiful, I always have. It's not just your eyes, your smile or anything in specific, it's just you."

He still couldn't give out a response, at a complete loss for words. But he did the most natural thing he could do, the most natural things that Jens made him do.

Lucas smiled. He smiled his soft smile at Jens as his cheeks turned pink, a few shades lighter than his warm sweater against the cold air. Jens smiled back. Because even if Lucas hadn't said a word, much like the past few weeks, at least this silence was a bit more familiar.

As they smiled at each other, they realized the world around them didn't seem so cold anymore. There was another hint of the familiarity, a warm glow emitting from the both of them. Even in the later days of autumn, the summer didn't feel so far away anymore.

-

"I can't do this anymore. I can't keep seeing you and pretending this is okay. I can't keep doing this Luc, so just tell me. Satisfy me, make some shit up but tell me what I've been begging to know." Jens pleaded. "Why didn't you want it anymore?"

The party felt far away, even though they were only in the kitchen of the house. Lucas didn't know how to go about stringing the words, rather they were lies or the truth. When no response came out of him again, Jens just nodded to himself. Without a word, he turned, finally being the one to walk away.

"Do you really not get it?" Lucas blurted out, surprising the both of them. Jens turned around quickly, his mouth slightly hanging open and his eyes wide. It urged Lucas to continue, finally admitting the truth.

"That I'm fucking in love with you." He breathed out. "You came into my life while everything around me was changing and I didn't think that I'd have something good come about that. But you came and you were a good change, a good thing. The first good thing in awhile and maybe even the best. And I know it didn't scare you, but it scared me. I lied when I said it was for your sake, because it was for mine. I was the one thinking you couldn't be in my mess of a life, couldn't be caught up in the mess that is me. I loved you too much and I knew you deserved better, better than me."

Smiling softly, Jens shook his head like he was about to tease Lucas. "I can love you anytime I want Luc, and the funny thing is I do. Because while things do and will change, some things don't. And for me, it's the way I feel for you." He paused, coming closer to him and placing gentle hand on Lucas' jaw. Whispering, he added. "Because I'm in fucking love with you too."

-

A few weeks later, Jens was holding Lucas back into his arms in the later hours of the night. The familiar feeling of his bedsheets against his bare skin, Lucas beneath him and the brisk of the night through his slightly open window let shivers down his spine. But they were quickly counteracted by the sparks igniting through him from the smaller boy who was a bundle of warmth against him. Jens smiled down at him, against the soft tickles of his curls against his face and vibrations of his light snored against his chest. He kissed the top of Lucas' head, wishing him a good night's sleep.

I never understood summer love. Jens thought to himself. For how could I only love you in in one season, when you were meant to be with me in each and every one.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

The Killing Cure (Part 24)

Salvatore is a surprisingly useful little creature. It seems to trouble him none to slink about and stalk around Donna’s home.  This time, Ethan is more than content to stand outside and wait. He will be doing much of the work when it is time to meet Karl. Admittedly it is rather boring to simply stand about in the cold. But it is infinitely better than trifling with those abhorrent dolls and whatever else might be lurking in the darker, lower corners of House Beneviento.

Ethan shivers, the frosty breeze seeping through his skin and into his very bones. He can’t help but think of the massive fireplace in Castle Dimitrescu. His mind betrays him further still with a memory of laying with the Lady herself. Of her warm skin and her soft embrace. He imagines being curled up with her in front of that fireplace basking in its heat… He shakes his head. He is mad at her and he has to hold himself to that. There is no room for domestic fantasies. Especially not when he has family matters to attend. Family matters that Dimitrescu had willfully hindered.

“I’ve got it.” The man looks pleased with himself as he holds out the third flask. The moonlight catches on its glass throwing a twinkling prism at the treeline.

“Good work, Salvatore.” Ethan whispers. “I hope that it wasn’t too much trouble.”

“None at all.” The man smiles. “Donna let me have it right away when I explained that Mother Miranda wanted me to watch all of them.”

“Th-then what took you so long!?” He sputters.

“Donna makes good tea. I don’t get to talk to her often.”

“I don’t have time to wait for you to have tea parties.” Ethan grumbles. He sighs when the fish man flinches and seems to shrink back. He rakes his fingers through his hairline and lets out a frustrated puff of air. “Okay, I didn’t mean to snap. Socializing is very important but I thought that we could do that at Karl’s place where I can talk more and you can see less dolls.”

At this Salvatore chuckles, “it isn’t the dolls that you need to worry about, it’s the hallucinations.”

“Hallucinations?” He pauses, “nevermind, explain it to me as we walk.”

Said trek through the forest had already been plenty unpleasant without listening to the fish man prattle on and on about deformed fetuses and grotesque imitations of his loved ones. Worse still, the cretin seemed to be rather delighted by these morbid monstrosities. For a few moments, the man didn’t seem so helplessly meek and pathetic. For a short while he could understand what Mother Miranda had seen in the beast. Of all of the repugnant things that this village has shown him, Salvatore Moreau has to be the most repulsive. If only he weren’t also the friendliest.

The Duke and his hearty banter are pleasant enough but he is too shrouded in mystery for Ethan to confidently call him a trustworthy man. It might be that he his annoyed by the man’s teasing and matchmaking attempts…

“And that is why I choose to stay on my own reservoir.” Salvatore concludes a topic that Ethan had realized had begun.

“Yeah, that’s fair enough.” Ethan replies and to his relief the other man grins at the validation. He sighs, likely he still has to endure a few hours of this, perhaps a few days. He can’t even see the distant outlines of Karl’s factory yet.

.oOo.

If he had known that the bastard was coming, Karl might have ensured that the route would have been more hospitable and easier to navigate. But Ethan Winters isn’t a bright man, couldn’t be fucked to ring before dropping in. And for his spontaneity he was awarded with the full Heisenberg experience! It was none dissatisfying to Karl, in fact it was quite reassuring to see that Ethan could hold his own. He likes to think that his traps and tricks are on par with Mother Miranda’s and if Ethan could weather them then he would make a superlative ally.

“Have a seat, Ethan. Wherever you can find.” Pushing up on his sunglasses he leans back in his chair and has a drag. “It’s a bit cluttered in here but, fuck, if you want a clean visit then you’ve got to warn a man that you’re coming by. Is it an American thing to come by unannounced?”  He slaps his hand upon the table and chuckles at his own joke.

“Uhh...some Americans do that I guess.”

“Well let’s get straight to the point then--Americans like things fast, right? You’re here because you’ve finally seen the light. You know that the screeching bird bitch has to go. And I take it that, since you didn’t come in guns blazing, that you know that I’m your best chance.”

“I...something like that.”

Karl rolls his eyes. “Don’t be shy now, I heard that you did a number on the super-sized bitch.”

He notices the man tense.

“You did get her out of the way, right?” He takes another drag and exhales. “Because we’ll have to take care of her if she’s not on our side.” His gaze flickers over to Salvatore. “No loose ends.”

“I’m not a loose end.” Salvatore squeaks.

“Aren’t you? I’d wager that your devotion to Mother Miranda might be even deeper than the super-sized bitch’s.”

“He’s on our side.” Ethan says firmly. “He already helped me get a flask from Donna.”

“And the head flask?”

“Alcina gave that one to me.”

“Aw shit, Ethan.” He quickly rubs his thumb and pointer over his lips. “So you haven’t put that bitch down.”  He rises from his chair and wanders over to his hammer. “No matter, we’ll take care of that easily. She’s only human, right?”

Ethan rubs his hands over his face. “Actually she’s done more to help me than Salvatore.” He clears his throat, “no offense, Salvatore, you’re very useful too.” The little man grins, tiny sharp teeth glistening in his maw.

“Then where is she now?”

“She said that if you saw her you wouldn’t be as...willing to talk.”

Karl shrugs, the man isn’t wrong. “You're an idiot to think that she won’t double cross you.” He trusts the bitch only as far as he can throw her in her largest form.

“She won’t.”

“You don’t sound too certain of that.” At these words Ethan seems to cringe.

“Listen, it’s complicated. You said that you wanted to get to the point so let’s get to it; I want to take Mother Miranda down, you want to take her down, and so does Alcina…”

“And Salvatore!” The fish puts in.

“Are you in or not?”

Karl strokes at his mustache and works a muscle in his lips. Truly he does resent the idea of working with Dimitrescu, resents it more than anything. More than anything but being stuck under the command of the bird bitch. “Well shit, Winters, how can I say no to a face like yours?”

.oOo.

She wakes up groggy, and with her head pounding. This is more or less a routine when the Duke isn’t  around to distract her. Her girls must be terribly frustrated with her; they’ve been carrying her to bed for the past several nights and she is more or less dead weight to have to drag up a flight of stairs.

This time it is terribly early. Early enough that the stars are still twinkling brightly outside her window. Alcina has, perhaps, a few moments of peace before sensations slam into her without mercy. It is those, now very familiar, sharp pangs in her belly. This time they are debilitatingly unbearable. As soon as she rises from her mattress she is splayed back upon it. She has enough strength to curl up into a quivering little ball and tightly hug herself around the middle. The pain festers and branches out. Spreading so far and fast that she isn’t sure which  part of herself to cradle. Her aching chest, her cramping legs, her throbbing arms and head… The solution is rather apparent; it is easier to keep her hands where they are. It isn’t as though massaging or cradling does anything to alleviate the pain. To a degree, with the numbness and tingling in her arms, it only makes things worse.

She bites back a whimper and squeezes her eyes shut. She wills the feelings to pass. She needs them to pass. She needs to find the strength to get to her medications… Everything stings and jabs, she can’t find it in her to get up.

Stress. Drinking. Neglect. The three finally come together to topple her and she doesn’t have the strength to call for her daughters. She doesn’t want them to see her in such a prone state anyhow. Just why the hell did this have to happen on a night when The Duke wasn’t there to fetch her medication? How had she managed to forget to take it? She gives a bitter laugh, the empty bottle on her bedside is an answer in itself.

She wonders if this will be the night that she dies. She wonders what Ethan will do when he finds her stiff and cold. Wonders if he will feel pity and guilt or if he will sneer and find relief in her passing. And her girls...she imagines them looking on in horror and dismay. Perhaps mouths agape while one of them cradles her limp form in loving arms.

Alcina presses her head deeper into the pillow. Her beating head… She can’t think straight, not that she has had much clarity these days anyhow.

She lays there for an hour or so before things start to get strange. There is a haze in her mind, a foggy disconnect. And in it there is relief. She sees her hands, they are connected to her body but they don’t feel like they belong to her. And soon her body doesn’t feel like her own. It is easy to feel as though it isn’t because technically she doesn’t think that it is. She dosn’t think that it matters how much time passes, this body will never feel like hers. And maybe that is why it is so easy to let the disconnect overtake her. To let this sense of detachment carry her away…

She doesn’t remember much but she remembers how piercingly her chest and stomach ache. She remembers the first few tremors and the blurring of her vision. She remembers acknowledging that she is, aside from leaving her girls, perfectly fine with this. She remembers a cacophony of grating caws and the tapping of a beak at her window sill.

She realizes that she hasn’t called Mother in a while...

[thetorturerwrites]

Lamb Ch 11 - Tell Me

***This amazing artwork was gifted to me by @elmidol​​. Please do not re-use or re-post it without permission from them and/or myself. Don’t be a dickbag.

Previous Chapter

Summary: “Please don’t pretend.” It was little more than a hoarse croak that cracked at the end. “I can’t bear it. Let me be.”

“What do you know of pretending?”

He pinched your chin and bade you look. It wasn’t a rhetorical question; he expected an explanation, but there was no simple answer.

“I know you don’t like me. You’ve made it clear.” You sniffed and looked down, hiding behind your lashes. “I just don’t know why.”

Author’s Note: This chapter has my heart. I hope you enjoy.CN: Mentions of pregnancy, mass death, self-harm inclinations

***

Even in Hosnia, with its perpetual twinkling twilight, there was night.

Gradually, a stillness swept over the land. The stars dimmed to a faint flicker. The wandering wind settled down to rest. And the expanse of The Ren’s keep went stone silent. Not a ripple in the bath. Not a creak from the ages-old walls. Not a crackle of candlelight. 

It was a crypt. Your crypt.

And yet, you could not die in it. You remained suspended in this agonizing in between. Perhaps if you lay quietly enough, you could slip beyond his enchantment, will your heart to beat slower and slower. Perhaps if you wallowed low enough in your grief, you could trick yourself into believing you weren’t apart from your family when the bombs dropped. You’d died with them.

Perhaps if you concentrated on it enough, you could simply cease to be.

These morose notions kept you curled into yourself. After leaving him in the throne room, you’d escaped to his bed, hoping for a few hours of reprieve. You kept on your cloak, hiding your head and face in the folds of the hood. You tucked your knees to your chest and hugged them tightly, imagining it was Nona. It was the only comfort you would get here, but it was hollow. Hollow, like everything else.

Numb, you ignored him when he entered. You didn’t need to see him anymore to know he was here. He changed the atmosphere by entering, altering the barometric pressure enough that you had to pop your ears whenever he came near. When the work was put down for the night and the souls collected, he came for you.

You thought briefly that maybe he would leave you alone. You’d fulfilled your part of the agreement. As far as you could tell, you were, in fact, pregnant. You’d done your part. But you let the wish die, as everything did here. He was too arrogant to stop turning your body against you. For all of your hostility and heartbreak, your body responded to him in a way you couldn’t quash. Regardless of how hard you tried.

You didn’t bother unwinding from your ball. He would move and position you how he saw fit. Your eyes, dry and red from staring into nothing for so long, closed in preparation. You found you could endure his emptiness if you did not look at him. It made the times he bent you over to have you less bitter. You’d been grateful for the ability to bury your head and not be tempted to look.

Tonight, however, he did not pull you from your self-pity. Neither did he jerk you from your cocoon. He watched you; you could feel it, but you would not, could not, give him the satisfaction of looking over your shoulder. You were simply too wrung out to care. Whether it was pity or anger or outright meanness, he slid into the bed behind you without a word.

An inkling nagged at the back of your mind, an anger you were too deadened to acknowledge. His presence comforted you, irrespective of your ire. Knowing where he was and that he was so close made you feel safe. He was the only indomitable soul in the whole of existence, and you had quite a good reason to be protected. More so now.

Despite yourself, you fell asleep.

You awoke to a tangle of limbs and the decadent scent of belladonna. You’d nearly forgotten how good he smelled close up. Having rolled out of your nook in your slumber, you'd stretched out and were cradled in his embrace with his fingers lazily stroking the back of your head in a way that made your scalp tingle.

Alarm bells rang in your mind. This was dangerous ground, and you needed to escape. He could fast make you forget your commitment to staying away. You shifted in his hold enough for him to ease it open slightly; but when he understood you meant to flee, those wrought irons trapped you again.

“Let me go,” you said timidly.

He not only ignored you, he tipped your face up to press an almost chaste kiss to your wrinkled brow. It was too much, the very thing you feared. Your fight erupted, and you twisted to get free. You heard yourself telling him you’d done what he asked; he could leave you alone; you can’t do this.

He doused your outburst by rolling onto you, punctuating your feebleness. With one arm and one leg trapped beneath him, you gulped down fear and exasperation. He slid his leg up between yours, situating you so your cunt rubbed his broad thigh. Your cheeks burned, a complex mix of mortification and yearning. You’d finally found an empty place, a desolate oubliette in your heart where you could hide, and he was already dismantling it.

“Please.” You turned your face to one side, lips quivering. “Don’t do this.”

You knew you begged more tonight than you did when you arrived, more than you did when he fucked you the first time, but it was unstoppable. You wouldn’t come back from this. If he broke you, if he cracked you open to make room for himself, you would never again be able to contain the sadness. You would ache and cry and pine without solace.

"This," he said flatly. It was an admonition and a challenge combined into a single syllable.

“Please don’t pretend.” It was little more than a hoarse croak that cracked at the end. “I can’t bear it. Let me be.”

His thumb swept across your pulse, feather soft and lingering. His jaw ticked the way it always did when you frustrated him, but you’d weather it. It was worth the risk if you could get free.

“What do you know of pretending?”

His patronizing question stoked the resentment lurking in the dark matter of your brain, but you fought it, blowing out as steady of a breath as you could manage. He pinched your chin and bade you look. It wasn’t a rhetorical question; he expected an explanation, but there was no simple answer. You knew you made far too many assumptions about his character, but he wouldn’t tell you anything to color your vision of him otherwise.

“I know you don’t like me. You’ve made it clear.” You sniffed and looked down, hiding behind your lashes. “I just don’t know why.”

“Hm. Why.” 

He dipped his head to place another soft kiss to your neck, right above the hollow. He enjoyed finding the particular places that made you shiver. You pushed at his shoulder weakly, a last ditch effort, but he caught and drew your offending limb up over your head. His granite fingers latched around your wrist, keeping you bound to the bed, to him.

This was bad. Both hands at his mercy. One leg stuck between his. His thigh perfectly situated to welcome your body’s yielding. You felt more bare, more vulnerable, more weak.

Carefully, he pulled the string holding the hood of your cloak in place. Until he untied that bow, you’d forgotten you wore it. Dutifully, he unpeeled you, layer by layer and in a fashion far too intimate. You’d jumped through that door with only your cloak because he kept you clad in as little as possible for easy access. And plunder as you might through room after room, there were simply no other clothes that would fit you available.

That idiot decision led you directly to this moment and this torturous undoing.

You suspected the lack of attire was deliberate, but you forgot about all of that when he tugged the hood apart and pushed it further back. He caressed the length of your jaw with his knuckles, deliberately drawing out your suffering. This was calculated; he had millennia to learn manipulation, physical, mental, and otherwise.

You didn’t stand a chance.

“You ask too many questions.” 

Egregiously slow, he popped the first button on your cloak, the one below the same hollow he’d kissed. With his index finger, he drew a small circle there. Your toes and fingers curled involuntarily. You wanted to argue that you only asked questions because he wouldn’t tell you anything, but you realized he answered your accusation. It was why he didn’t like you. A boulder dropped into your belly because you didn’t want to hear it. It was enough that he didn’t; you wouldn’t recover if he told you why.

“You are stupidly reckless.”

The second button met a similar fate, a leisurely unfastening. It wasn’t only the fabric he plucked apart. It was also you, and you squirmed beneath the utter slowness of it all. You wanted him to edge you forever and to hurry the fuck up.

The last button sat over your heart, and you cursed it for being so bloody prophetic. You felt like howling. You wanted to hurt and sob, but the trail of his fingers made you forget your own name. With the third button gone, he traced the line of your sternum before dipping down to lick up a bead of sweat between your breasts.

“You distract me,” he murmured, lips crawling back up towards your pulse.

That last one cracked lightning in your head. The room tipped sideways into spinning. Your lungs turned to steel, struggling to expand. You ground your jaws together painfully, and your throat burned with acrimony. With those three words, he shredded your tender soul to ribbons. Ruined, you squirmed, all pins and needles and lust. It felt like you wept, but your cheeks were too hot to be damp.

I don’t. I don’t. I’m sorry. I don’t. I’m sorry. I can’t. Don’t.

It became your litany. You chanted it, lamenting and weary, but his hands did not waver from their task. He flipped the cloak open, bearing your flesh to the cool midnight air. His slightly calloused palm smoothed up from your calf, along the curve of your hip, and over the ripe swell of your breast. He squeezed, fingers digging in until your hiccups changed to whimpers. The noise he made right before he covered your straining nipple with his mouth coaxed your entire body into a jerk.

“Kylo,” you choked, barely able to get it out. “Please. Don’t make me.”

It was the first time you said his name, and his head shot up. His eyes bored holes into you, swirling incandescent. Fast as a feline, he shifted, settling more of his body on you and looking down. He went from halfway lying between to spreading your thighs obscenely wide with the sheer size of his frame.

You didn’t want him to see the things you couldn’t hide, but he clearly had no plans to let you loose.

“Make you.”

His truncated parroting was infuriating, but you fought valiantly to not be goaded into an argument you'd never win.

His thumb breached your lips to swipe at your tongue, and your body surged up painfully as though he electrocuted you. You’d worked hard to forget the sugary taste of him, the way his skin drugged you to an erotic high at the briefest taste. He was deadly in every way and sexier than anyone had warned you, or maybe even knew.

It was pointless to argue any further. He would win. He would always win. Hardening yourself against what you knew to be a hungry gaze, you looked up at him. For a flash of a second, he wavered at the sight of you, but he disguised it with the press of his lips into a steadfast line.

“Don’t make me feel like I’m not alone.” 

You said it with much more calm and confidence than you actually felt. Your time in his captivity, beneath him and wrapped around him, developed this new ability to distill your rambling down to its foundation. He didn’t like questions or mortal nonsense. He wanted it plain, always, and you’d learned how to do it. He didn’t like a lot of extra words; but no matter your newfound skill, you overflowed with them. The essence of your human-ness was to make connections, to find understanding and empathy.

“I have nothing. Not a home, not a family, not you.” 

You studied the way he studied you, watching him swallow what looked startlingly like a feeling. 

“I’m not like you. I’ve had to mourn my family alone, and…” You stalled, but you knew he wouldn’t let you not finish. “I have to mourn you every time you say something nice to me or do something that looks like kindness but isn’t.”

His brow cocked, a clear response to what he felt was your false presumption, but you didn’t care. You were beyond it all. You may as well say to him whatever you wanted because it couldn’t get worse than his stony countenance day after day, and the alternative to that was the peaceful forever of death. 

“I’m not asking you to like me.” Foolishly, you carried on, but your voice dropped, quieter and more afraid. The bravado you felt faded fast. “I’m asking you to not make me like you.”

The way he looked at you, slightly off stoic but decidedly demanding, boiled your blood. He reached down and hooked his fingers under your knee, drawing your leg up and around his hip. It parted your legs more for him, opening you up in a way that made you swoon. You thought you could stay out of reach of his dick; but with it so close, you practically salivated for it.

“It's far too late for that.” Following the first, he tugged your other leg into place around him. “Your body gives you away.”

You wanted to disagree, but his teeth nipped your cheek. You shuddered at the tease of his hard length sliding through your mess, seeking its target in the warm and wet that never quite abated. Your everything swelled for him. Breasts, nipples, pussy lips puffy and engorged with your rushing blood. He wasn’t wrong, but you despised him for pointing it out.

Your breath ruptured into wild panting, sharp through clenched teeth. You stared up at him, hopelessly lost to the spiraling of color in his irises. He took advantage of your deliriousness and pushed your previously pinned arm above your head with the first and held both down with one massive hand. It elongated your body and arched your torso up into him, a thing he enjoyed if the thrum in his chest was to be believed.

You imagined yourself an insect, wings stretched out and nailed to the bed; and all the while, the mad scientist above you inundated your senses. His mouth descended upon your breast once more, eliciting a strangled keening when your vocal chords caught up to the rest of you. He batted the hard nub with his tongue until you writhed pitifully, and he only switched to the other when you tried to buck him off from the over-stimulation.

Playing more and more into his hand, you hugged his sides with wobbly legs and tried to draw him in closer. Your body did truly lead the way, each movement beyond your mind’s purview. It no longer hearkened to your whims but to his. Your insides leaked out of your sex, painting both you and he with heat and want. It scented the air and mingled with his tempting poison. 

You were seconds from begging him to fuck you when the blunt head of his cock found its place. He gripped your hip and mouthed at the side of your neck as he rocked himself further into your weeping slit bit by bit. Your eyes rolled back in your head, and your fingers dug into his because it always amazed you. He was long and thick and perfect; and though he stretched you open to the point of burning, it was intoxicatingly good. Thankfully, he bottomed out right when you thought you surely couldn’t take any more.

You whined his name, which spurred him to bite at your shoulder. You convinced yourself it was to cap off the grunt you heard in the back of his throat. He masked another noise by burying his face into your nape and sucking a mark into your salty skin.

You clamped your eyes shut because these were the sounds you so desperately wanted to hear for weeks. Anything to show you did well, to show that he enjoyed you, or at least your pussy, in a way he would never say. You’d forgotten, however, that shutting your eyes so hard contracted your cunt at the same time until he withdrew without warning and rammed back in to enjoy that tightness. You yelped in surprise but angled your hips to give him a deeper channel. The moans you tamped down for so long clamored to the surface. Ablaze, you couldn’t be quiet to save your soul. You mewled and yowled with each powerful snap of his hips and the way he pillaged you for every last centimetre your cunt had to offer. 

This was unlike any time he’d had you before. He kept your limbs immobilized and your body taut. He kept his pace persistent but unhurried, which had you pleading pitifully. And he kept his mouth on you, lips grazing, tongue tasting, teeth scraping. Enticing, sinful noises were pushed into your skin as though he didn’t want you to hear them but couldn’t contain them.

And then, it happened. The thing you wanted so passionately. The thing you dreamed about.

He snuffed out your cries with a fiery kiss, blasting through the last of your willpower. 

His mouth was heaven, delicious and plump and divine. He knew exactly how he wanted to kiss you, and he led you to it expertly. He tipped your face precisely the right way and wrecked you with the spice in his spit. And when your lips trembled, agitated by sadness and relief and passion, he bit them, as though to chase those things away and replace them with himself.

Abruptly, it all came to a halt. He pushed up to his knees, lifting the lower half of your body in the doing. He didn’t pull out, not willing to surrender his occupation of your body. Nor did he relinquish his rigid grasp of your wrists, opting instead to splay his free hand across the soft swell of your belly, pushing down to trap you there. Your head swam, and you groaned because you felt more full as he pressed on your abdomen. You knew he waited for you to look at him, but you blundered, destroyed and witless.

“Do you want to die?” 

His normally razor sharp tone lilted into something you could not name. Your eyes struggled to settle on one particular feature because he was hypnotically beautiful. His eyes shone brilliantly bright; a soft pink blush blossomed across his nose and cheeks from his arousal.

Punctuating the question, his hands found the magic he laid upon you at your forearm and thigh. He rubbed through the ever-looping blood, which, somehow, made your insides shiver. It was a wicked sensation, a stroke to your very veins that pulled a carp from the depths of your being.

“Tell me.”

Your eyes stung. It was cruel of him to ask you this while buried to the hilt inside you, while he was in the middle of obliterating the walls you tried so hard to build between you. But it wasn’t a threat. As you peered up at him, charting a course from one irresistible mole to the next, you saw he asked in earnest. He offered you the escape you hopelessly sought.

Strange how you weren’t so sure you wanted it.

Your loved ones still lay unavenged. Your call for the annihilation of The Resistance still had not been answered. You fought so hard to make it here, sacrificed so much of yourself to that end. What would it say about you if you abandoned it? Weak. Childish. Unworthy.

Beyond that, you had to admit he was right. It was too late to pretend your feelings for him didn’t complicate the issue. You weren’t so stupid as to think he loved you, but you burned for his kind word. You craved his touches even when they weren’t kind. He lit a fire in you and made you feel, a feat you’d not accomplished on your own since the death of your people.

Not yet trusting yourself, you worried the inside of your lip and sought his eyes, but you weren’t prepared for the way he looked at you. He was primal desire manifested, ragged and raw need encased in the skin of a man. The first man. The only man.

But what if he died? What if he found Vader and walked off his own cliff? You’d be here, alone and lonely, with only whatever semblance of a child he produced to stop you from going mad.

How you answered would change the arc of your life irrevocably. If you said yes, this teetering on the edge of begrudging coexistence ended. You could slip into nothing and be done with all of this. If you said no, he would have his hooks in your spirit for eternity. No matter if he never loved you, you wouldn’t be able to refuse him. Ever.

“N-no.”

It was a jittery, hesitant sound, but it was true. He accepted your supplication by pulling you close so he could lift you up. He guided your fingers to his shoulders and settled back on his haunches, holding you closer than ever before. Your weight sunk you down onto his cock and you whinged from the way it nudged your sensitive cervix. You crossed your ankles and tried to inch upwards for a bit of relief.

One chiseled arm held you aloft, while the other traveled your length, winding from the nape of your neck to wrap around your generous hip. He found the spot between where your thigh ended and where your ass began and made a handle, using it to move you up and down, forward and back.

In mere moments, he had you wound up and ready to combust all over again.

“S’ansur yien,” he crooned into your neck, a murmur more profound than thunder. “Tyor ilohira.”

“Kylo? I…”

The way he growled into your neck and slammed his hips up into yours when you said his name settled your curiosity. There was no doubt he enjoyed hearing you say it, and you wondered if he’d ever heard it on another’s lips before. You clung to him as his pace quickened. Over and over he said those eloquent, alluring things into your neck, your hairline, your shoulder. Things you'd never heard before; things it seemed like he couldn't not say.

Tyor ilohira. Yie ilohira. S’ansur yien.

His presence expanded, saturating the room with a consuming euphoria that addled your mind. All while he worked you on his cock in much the same way he did that first day, using your body for his pleasure. Unlike before, he was as deep in your cunt as he could physically be without ripping you apart, and he strained at the seams to keep from doing so.

You quaked. There was nothing for it but to brace. Your pussy stung, and each subsequent shove of his dick tore at your cunt more. You bled for him, as you had so many times before, and you knew he could certainly smell it tinting the air with the slightest hint of iron. It roused him to a roughshod railing every time.

His mouth lined up with yours in a kiss that could only be called a brand. It was fierce and full of urgency, lusty and skirting frantic. His grip turned brutal, possessive; and then, it was your turn to swallow the indecent sounds he made as he flooded your battered cunt. He rode the orgasm out, pumping his hips slow and insistent until his satisfied hum abated.

You swayed, coiling your fingers in the hair at the base of his neck to not topple backwards. You were wary but content to stay here however long he might like. You traced the line of his scar down to his shoulder blade with a skimming fingertip. He was ethereal, holy, and you wanted to pray to him, to exalt all that he was and would ever be, though you didn’t know why. He hadn’t exactly earned that level of worship.

He didn’t meet your stare. Instead, his luscious lips rolled together as he pieced his indifferent veneer back together. A gasp lodged in the back of your throat because he had been affected. You saw it; here was your proof. He’d ridden that whirlwind with you, the result of which was plain as day on his face.

“Kylo?” You dared a whisper, not wanting to break the moment, but your ludicrous need to know things simply would not allow the niggling question to go unasked. “What was that you said?”

His lips lifted at the corners, an entertained huff that won you a nudge of his nose to yours. His eyes softened slightly. And you thought you might fly out of your body.

“No more talk of cliffs,” he said, blatantly dodging your question.

An almost affectionate kiss to your forehead closed the book on the topic, but you’d remember what he said forever, the secret he accidentally shared. You’d already begun plotting the rooms you’d ransack for the language texts you found while he was battling Solo.

The mesmerizing crest to which he carried you ebbed further and further away. A fatigue seeped into your muscles and bones. At his withdrawal, an altogether bleak vacancy infused you with doubt, right down to your marrow. You tried to curtail the childish grumble, but it escaped through the harsh way you chewed the inside of your cheek. 

Had you been conquered or consecrated?

What you wanted at the moment was sleep. Whereas he needed none, you still required it daily, a marker of your human fragility. The bath, and its healing ripples, could wait until tomorrow. He did not see fit to allow you this luxury, however. Instead, he scooped you and the blanket you tried to wrap about yourself up. He stepped into the hallway and turned in the opposite direction you expected. You peered over his shoulder forlornly, having decided that a bath would be preferable to whatever this would be.

He walked towards the doorway that started this insanity, dousing the embers inside that had you believing you might make it through today. You shrank more and more into yourself the nearer it drew. A blind terror took over, but you couldn’t move a single cell to save yourself.

The choice he asked you to make meant less than nothing. His decisions were the only ones that mattered here; and having debased you, having obliterated all that you were, he intended to throw you out anyway.

You dared yourself to be furious, to find indignation and hate in the cavity where your heart should be, but there was none. There wasn’t fear either, only resigned acceptance. A heavy sigh sunk your shoulders down, and you closed bleary eyes. You might not fight your fate, but you wouldn’t welcome it.

But the blast and crackle of the portal opening did not come.

To your dismay, he set you on your feet in front of the free-standing obsidian wall in his throne room. The disturbing looking glass you tried so hard to avoid these days. The temptation to lose yourself to memories of Nona was too great. Scowling, you refused to face it. When he attempted to tip your face up, you stubbornly shook your head and crossed your arms over your chest.

It was his laugh that drew you out of what you were quite aware was a fit.

You amused him, and it might have annoyed you had it not been for your outright astonishment. It wasn’t a smile so much as a smirk, and it wasn’t a full laugh so much as a chuckle, but it was a thing you had absolutely no idea how to process. You’d only seen him angry, lewd, or uncaring. You didn’t know how to process…. affable.

Disregarding the flabbergasted look on your face, he turned you about, but you were so afraid of what you would see that you stepped backwards, trying to dodge what came next. His trunk-like arm cinched about your middle, anchoring you in place as he leaned over your shoulder on the right. He shushed your uneasy chirping and placed his hand upon the cool rock.

“Kylo,” the warble in your voice betrayed your apprehension, “I don’t…”

The picture burst onto the surface, cutting off the woeful entreaty you planned. It took a full minute before you understood what you looked at — the destruction of a world. Your hands flew to a throat filled with fiberglass. Revolt roiled in your stomach and turned to chalk in your mouth.

“No!” You yelled and thrashed. “I don’t want to see this!”

The aggravated rumble in his chest didn’t dull your attempt to look anywhere but where he wanted. His fingers at your side dug in painfully, cementing you to this spot. It wasn’t that you feared for your safety. With him engulfing you like this, there was no safer place to be. The concern was that you didn’t want to see what annihilation truly meant. You wanted that to remain as nothing you could imagine, the scope of it too far beyond your insipid, idiotic mind.

He wouldn’t let you go until you obeyed, though, and you knew it. The tears that had been threatening to spill for hours broke loose, rushing over your horrified flush. The devil at your ear spoke, but it was lost to the dreadful cinema playing out before you. There was only the ringing in your ears as you watched blackness detonate and spread outwards across a lovely land that was so alive before.

If he hoped to stun you into a stupor, he succeeded.

Your thunderstruck neglect allowed him to slide the blanket from around you and toss it aside. The next time his mouth found your pulse, it was with the press of his bare body to yours. He plied the back of your neck with slow kisses until you exhaled. You didn’t remember stopping, but a burn in your ribs forced the issue.

“D’Qar,” he said quietly as the dead planet faded.

Another took its place, and your mouth went slack. You couldn’t help but place your hands there to gag yourself or to foolishly forestall what already happened. It assuaged your own guilt by little more than a fraction. The next planet met the same gruesome end.

“Yavin Hoth.”

Your brow knit, and you tilted your head to hear him better. Taking advantage, he licked a stripe from his thorny collar to behind your ear.

“Dantooine.” 

The picture shifted once more; the devastation coming quicker and with less and less mercy. Your eyes shot open, bulging out with understanding. He begat a war inside of you with this burdensome lesson because you knew those planets. You recognized them from the miserable, despondent plight that led you here.

“Takodana. Ilum.”

Resistance planets.

Your knees buckled, the weight too great to bear. It was only his sturdiness that kept you from hitting the floor. With his ghastly slideshow finished, his hands were suddenly everywhere. Around your throat, squeezing your ribs, hauling you onto your toes with fingers in your sticky pussy.

“Is this not what you asked me for?” 

His dramatic declaration did not match the reality of what he was and what he did. He took your request, your dying wish, and hideously warped it. You asked for The Resistance to be exterminated, but what he’d done was use your heartbreak as an excuse to further his own cause. He wiped out entire worlds with you as his unwitting muse.

Worst of all — You couldn’t tell him to stop.

What did that mean for you?

You dropped into him, a sack of flour against marble. Torn between two truths, you choked on an appeal, unable to get it to leave your lips. The first was that you did this. You were responsible. There was no separating from the fact it was likely you who sparked the idea for his crusade. You’d unknowingly unleashed him upon the Galaxy when you asked him to avenge you.

The second was that you didn’t regret it. With all that happened, with the icy isolation, the bruises you bore for him, and the devastating fact that you’d snuffed out billions of lives, you regretted no part of it.

Disgust clogged your mouth and fattened your tongue. Many of those people did not deserve to die. The overwhelming majority of them did not deserve that fate. But The Resistance did. In the darkest pit of your heart, you were glad. Glad those planets were gone. Glad The Resistance lost so much. Glad he’d done what was in his nature and wiped so many of them from existence.

You were so mired in the swampy feelings and cloudy thoughts you didn’t feel the slide of his lips over your shoulder. It wasn’t until he pushed you face first into the thing that you broke from your reverie. Just in time for his mouth to connect with the bottom of your spine. You shot up to your toes when he bit your ass and hauled your hips back towards him.

Before you could protest, or think of why you ought to protest, he planted his face between your thighs and directly into the center of your cunt. You barked a curse, arching and squirming under the sinful slither of his tongue. At your front, his insistent thumb found your throbbing clit and pressed in, eliciting the most abject whine you’d ever produced.

It wasn’t the first time he’d tasted your blood, nor the first time he’d enjoyed toying with the rips he made in your fragile flesh. It was simply the first time he seemed to care if you enjoyed it.

You’d been in his bed for weeks, maybe years given Hosnia’s disparate slog through space and time; and though the first few encounters were decidedly more patient and mild, he’d long since tired of waiting for you. Lately, he fucked you hard and fast, and he didn’t care for anything other than filling you as many times as necessary for his seed to take root.

But now…

Now, Kylo Ren, Death, the embodiment of all endings, was on his knees. For you. 

He laved your cunt with his saliva and sucked your plasma-tinted slick down like candy. You vibrated each time his tongue delved into you and scratched at the infernally smooth surface to keep from tangling your fingers in his hair. His nose rubbed indecent parts of you that had never received such attention. His teeth tugged the engorged meat of your labia until it popped loose with a squelch. Your cunt pulsed around his probing, and he moaned in what sounded like delight.

Like a bitch in heat, you twitched in exquisite agony.

You pressed your forehead to the wall, barely upright, blinking heavily, and hardly seeing the floor. Overwhelmed was not an apt description for the moment, but it was the only one you could latch onto.

What you could see, however, what you could make out between your legs and just past his punishing hand, was the bob of his cock, recovered and standing tall, proud, and ready. The thought of him rendering you further asunder dropped you off the edge, and you shuddered. You couldn’t muster a moan through the orgasm; it was too entrenched in your guts, too laden with emotion.

But he knew. He knew, and he claimed it all with sloppy kiss after sloppy kiss to your exhausted lower half. Cunt. Thighs. Hips. Ass. Vertebrae. You hissed when he slid two impatient fingers into your well worn core to scoop out the very last remnants of your downfall.

He did it. He won. Conquered, not consecrated.

The tangy aroma of you wafted close by when he collected you in a new embrace. He folded you into his dizzying gravity, covetous of his prize.

“Kylo?”

Your brow crinkled because a strange flutter disrupted your equilibrium. You struggled to identify it because it had been so long since you felt it. You pressed a hand to your hot forehead, to your belly, to your ear, trying to uncover the source. Was it fever? Exhaustion? Had you pushed the limits of his spellbinding too far? 

Untroubled, he hummed his response into the side of your head, no doubt expecting another of the endless questions you produced.

And then it was there. This bodily function you’d forgotten because you didn’t need it here. 

“I’m really… hungry.”

Whatsoever The Ren offers me, I shall accept. He will carry me across dark waters, guide me to the distant shore, and bear me hence to my ancestors.

And I will praise his name for all my time there.