#but the temptation to be dramatic is too powerful

[buckysgrace]

Out of My Mind

Gator Tillman x stepsis!reader

Gator finally listens to you, only for you to realize that's not what you want.

CW: Stepcest/pseudocest, blowjobs, unprotected p n v sex, some religious trauma sprinkled in there, degradation, reader gets highly highly pathetic soooooo

Can be read as a standalone or you can check out Good Graces as well :)

You were regretful. Your previous actions pained you, made your stomach knot with guilt and worry as you tiptoed through the ranch with your head down.

You were almost convinced that everyone knew, or at least had to be suspicious. Every time someone watched you for a second too long, or spoke to you in a different tone you were sure the truth was going to come out. You were fearful.

Not that Gator seemed to mind. No. He had no issues strutting around in his normal manner, almost as if nothing had happened.

You were doing everything in your power to avoid him. You didn't want to talk to him, didn't want to touch him or see him. You didn't even want to smell his cologne or hear his irritating music. Everything about him got underneath your skin.

It almost worked on your part, but Gator had apparently decided that he couldn't get enough. He was like a little puppy, following you around so closely that he often stumbled onto the back of your heels. The asshole.

You tried to pray away your sin, just like your mother said you could do. But not even that seemed to work. Today, your mind kept wandering back to Sunday and how he had continued to brush his fingertips against the bottom of your dress, just enough that you could feel his bare skin against your own. You could still feel his touch now, almost as if he had burned you.

"You look good on your knees." Your fingers tightened together at the sound of his voice, your eyes dramatically rolling into the back of your head as his footsteps echoed in the room.

"Leave me alone." You retorted the same sentence, although your curiosity got the best of you as you turned your head to the side.

He was in his usual cargo pants, and a black muscle tee clinging to him like a second skin. You could see everything if you allowed your eyes to wander, which you didn't. You couldn't.

"What crawled up your ass?" He teased as he cocked his eyebrows, bringing his vape up towards his lips. You shifted your arms over your mattress, too tired to tell him not to vape in your room.

His eyes were warm, a mixture of brown and green as he took a step closer to you. You hated to acknowledge the way butterflies erupted in your tummy at the way he towered over you from this position. You craned your head up further, deciding to be a little honest. Maybe he'd get the hint then.

"It shouldn't have happened," you told him seriously, whispering underneath your breath so no one could possibly hear, "it was wrong." You reminded him, feeling like he needed a reminder of what that meant.

He cocked his head to the side as he blew out a large puff of smoke, fruity like bubblegum. You swatted at him, wishing that he’d leave you alone.

"I don't remember you tellin' me to stop." He added as he watched you intensely, like he was trying to understand your next move before you made it.

You felt a wave of guilt and shame crashing over you, clearly remembering how you had acted. You didn’t need him to remind you. It kept you up at night as it was.

"Go away." You said at last, swallowing harshly as you turned your attention back towards the cross on your wall. You wondered how people could so easily resist temptation. And that’s exactly what he was.

"In fact," he grinned from ear to ear as he knelt down next to you, sighing softly as he moved his large hands across his thighs, "I think you begged for more of it."

"Don't flatter yourself." You scoffed even though it was true. You knew that you would do it again given the chance. He just happened to be blessed in an annoyingly manner.

Your stomach flipped into knots as he moved a hand against your lower back, making you stiffen as his fingers slowly ran underneath the hem of your shirt. You hated how easily you caved in, how you wanted to feel more of his touch:

"What's the problem?" he hummed as he dragged his finger across your abdomen, earning goosebumps across your skin, "you're already ruined for anyone else." He spit out, making your body chill from his cold words.

"Fuck you." You retorted as you found your voice once again. He couldn’t talk to you like that, you wouldn’t let him. Especially knowing what he had been up to. He has no right.

"Ooh," he smirked as he continued to drift his fingers across your skin, "I don't think God likes when you talk like that." He whispered, suddenly much closer than you anticipated. You could see his freckles on his nose from his closeness, making you wonder if he could also see the way his words sliced into you.

“Leave me alone.” You spoke firmly, sternly as you wrapped your fingers around his wrist and pushed him away. He couldn’t treat you the way he did ever other girl he had been with. You wouldn’t allow it.

“You sure you want that?” He asked, all high and mighty like you would be missing out on something fantastic. Still, you thought about it for a moment. A brief second before you turned away from him.

“I’ve never been more positive about something in my life.” You replied as you linked your fingers together again, bowing your head and pretending to pray. You refused to look at him, only allowed yourself to listen as he stood next to you.

“Then don’t come bitchin’ to me when you’re all lonely again.” He snapped, his anger crashing over you like a thick wave. You ignored him still, only listening to the sound of his footsteps leaving the room.

You prayed that he had gotten the hint.

-

The next few weeks were uneventful, cold even. Gator didn’t bother you, didn’t look in your direction or speak to you other than to occasionally ask you to pass him the salt.

Which was somehow worse. All that effort to push him away and now you were regretting it, but you refused to admit it. You were sure he’d come crawling back first.

In place of his absence, your lust grew. You thought about him in the shower, during early mornings and late nights, when you were in bed alone and only God could judge you for your actions. You were a mess.

And when he remained stubborn you hatched your own plan; wearing shorter skirts and unbuttoning the top of your dresses a little more. Sitting close to him and drifting your fingers across the nape of his neck, making him shiver even when he pretended it didn’t affect him.

“Late night?” You asked as you turned towards him, checking the clock on the wall. He was almost three hours late, making you wonder where he had been. Or whom he had been with him.

“Why do you care?” He snorted as his eyes breezed over you, not paying attention to the little nightgown that you had picked out. You had hoped it would make him break and grovel for you.

“Who said I did?” He scoffed at your reply, shaking his head as he continued to strip his vest off. You watched the way his muscles tensed as he did so, making your mouth water just a bit.

You were already damned. You might as well make the most out of it.

“You don’t talk to me anymore.” You rested your hand against your cheek as you spoke softly, sighing as you crossed your ankles together. Your heart flipped inside of your chest as he turned towards you, eyebrows furrowing together.

“You said to leave you alone.” He stated in disbelief, eyes narrowing as you began to shift again. He wasn't any fun.

“Oh, come on,” you pouted as you rested your arms across the back of the chair, watching as he kicked his boots away, “I was just scared.” You admitted, wishing that he would turn those gloomy eyes towards you.

“Alright.” He stated dryly, like he wasn't interested. Panic swelled inside of you, making you wonder if he had already found someone else.

“Why don’t you come sit with me?” You offered as you patted the spot next to you, wanting him to notice how well you had cleaned up.

“I’m good.” His reply made your heart drop into the floor, beaten and bloody as you straightened your shoulders out. You wouldn't take that as his final answer, no way.

“I’ll rub your feet,” you offered as you slowly crept towards him, well aware of the way his features fell in surprise, “your shoulders and your legs. I’m sure you worked hard today.” You cooed softly, crawling like a beast towards him.

“What’s gotten into you?” He whispered out this time, hazel eyes widening as he gave his head a little shake. Like he honestly had no idea what he had done.

“Just being nice,” you told him as you rested in front of him, fluttering your eyelashes, “You look so tired. Let me help you.” You pleaded softly, hands falling against his ankles.

“You’re pathetic, you know that.” He spit out harshly, like his words could offend you as your hands moved up towards his knees. You didn't care what he thought, what anyone thought. He was probably right, but you knew he wanted you just as badly.

“And I know you’re lonely,” you whispered as you ran your fingers across his thick thighs, “I can fix that.” You told him honestly, leaning your face against his hip bone. You could feel his body stiffening from your touch, like he was fighitng the urge to give in.

“Why should I?” He asked as he breathed in deeply while you dragged your nose across the front of his pants. He smelt nice, really good.

"I'll be good," you promised as you nuzzled your cheek across his thigh, your nose dragging across the obvious bulge in his pants, "Please. I'll be a good girl. A good little sister."

"Yeah?" He tsked as he tilted his head once again, like he was still considering what you had said. You pouted your lips out as you continued to press yourself up against him, desperate to feel anything from him, "You can't be that pathetic for some cock."

"Just yours," you promised, purring as you linked your fingers across his belt, "I wanna feel you so badly. Please." You nodded your head encouragingly, as if it might do something to change his mind.

It felt like a lifetime had passes as he dragged his fingers across your forehead, the corners of his lips curled into the tiniest smirk. His eyes were intense as he watched you, but you refused to look away. You wanted him to realize just how much you needed him.

"S'okay," he said at last, making your heart hammer inside your chest as he began to undo his belt. Everything inside of you pulsed as you observed him greedily, trying to fight the urge to reach out and do it yourself, "We all make mistakes sometimes." He retorted cockily, nearly making you roll your eyes. But you didn't, too fearful that he might stop his actions.

You flicked your tongue out across your lips as he pulled his belt free, then unbuttoned his pants. You could no longer just sit as you reached forward, eagerly helping him pull his slacks down to his ankles.

Your hungrily stared at the large bulge in front of you, straining inside of a pair of boxers. You exhaled as you drifted your fingertips across it, grinning at the way he groaned underneath your touch.

A grin fell to your lips as you gripped a hold of his boxers, tugging them down slowly as his dick popped free from it's restraints. You were in awe of how long he was, how thick and hefty he appeared.

You hated to admit that his cock was pretty. Slightly paler, tip pink and leaking as you felt how heavy it was in your hands. Curved upright and his base surrounded with thick hair.

You wrapped your fingers around his thick girth delicately, biting down on your bottom lip as he inhaled deeply. You dragged your fingers up to the head of his cock, smearing the precum across his tip before gliding it towards his base.

He grunted lowly, jerking his hips forward with your motions as you continued to trace the curve of his cock with your hand. You swore you could feel him pulsing against your skin, warm and soft at the same time.

You relaxed your jaw, momentarily preparing yourself to feel the stretch of his cock in your mouth. You leaned forward, kissing the tip of his cock while stroking his base in your hand.

A whimper broke free from his lips, making your insides twist and turn in bliss as you snapped your eyes up towards him. His eyes had fluttered shut, his eyebrows furrowing together as his lips fell open.

Pretty. The bastard had the nerve to look absolutely beautiful.

"Fuck," he cursed, eyes snapping open to look at you as you spread your lips across his thick tip. You pressed your tongue down further, trying to make more room in your mouth as you lowered your mouth onto the length of his cock, "You're such a little slut."

His words carried like electricity through your veins, warming your skin as your clit throbbed as you savored the feeling of his dick in your mouth.

His hands fell to the back of your head, his grip tightening as he forced your mouth further along the length of his dick. You whined at the feeling, chest aching as your lips stretched further sound him.

“Just like that,” he groaned as his hips snapped forward once again, needy as you continued to bob your head along the curve of his cock, “taking me so good.” He praised as you swallowed a moan, all too aware of how soaked your panties had become.

You gagged as his cock hit the back of your throat, eyes watering as drool slid from the corners of your lips. It was messy, sloppy as he gripped the back of your neck and continued to fuck into your mouth.

You knew it was dangerous to be doing this, even more so than last time. Roy and your mother were just upstairs, hopefully asleep as you continued to drag your mouth along your stepbrothers fat cock. Something about that turned you on, sent a desirable rush through your body.

His fingers dug into your scalp as you gagged harshly around him, drool falling onto your chest and his boots as you struggled to hold him in your throat. His balls were warm against your chin, soaked in your spit as he held you in place.

He held you there for a moment, hazel eyes locked on yours as he breathed in the sight of you. You were sure you looked a mess, but everything written on his features suggested that he enjoyed it.

He released you with a loud groan, his cock sliding from your mouth as you pulled away to fill your lungs with fresh hair. You touched your chest, spit continuing to leak from your mouth as you panted roughly.

“Fuckin’ whore,” he cursed as he grabbed your arms, pulling you onto your feet before you could fully compose yourself. Your body felt like jello as he stripped you from your dress, moving hastily before he pushed you onto the couch, “knew you wanted me badly.” He replied with a little smirk, looking quite proud of himself.

You could barely not your head as you watched him, excitement pooling inside of you as you stretched your legs wide. You pushed your knees up towards your chest, trying to ignore the way your pussy was glistening with want.

“She’s so needy for me,” he cooed as he dragged his fingertips through your soaked folds, earning a little whimper from you, “can’t wait to feel her stretchin’ around me.”

"Need you to fuck me." You whined as he grazed his digits across your slick hole, making your walls flutter with anticipation. Your clit was throbbing, desperate to feel his girth gliding into you.

"You've got a dirty little mouth on ya." He stated as he tilted his head, looking rather cocky as he used his other hand to rub his fat tip across your drenched cunt.

Your body spasmed at the feeling of his heavy cock resting across your pussy, making you feel even more eager as you examined just how much of him would be filling you. You breathed in and out, eyes heavy and mind fuzzy with pleasure. You needed him now.

"Please, Gator," you whined, rolling your hips forward, "Make me feel good." You begged as your clit dragged across the curve of his cock. he groaned at the sensation, his eyes darkening as he reached between your bodies.

You chewed on your bottom lip, heart hammering as you watched the way he wrapped his fingers across his girth. His lips curled into a little smirk as he thrusted forward, his balls pressing against your skin as you squirmed underneath him.

He pulled back hungrily, features full of lust as he bullied the tip of his dick against your soaked hole. Your hands fell to his strong shoulders as he slowly slid inside, his soft groans filling your ears.

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head at the feeling of his cock stretching your walls out, allowing his thick cock inside of your tight walls as little whimpers left his lips. You were just as whiny, needing to feel him buried deep inside of you.

The sound that left his lips was enough to make your toes curl in pleasure, bliss burning deep inside of your veins as you tugged him even closer. His chest was hot against your own, his skin slick as you arched your chest up towards him.

One of his large hands fell to your waist, his fingertips digging into your flesh as he began to slowly grind his cock in and out of your clenched cunt. Your nipples hardened in the chill air, sparking pleasure as they brushed against his strong torso.

You reached your hands above your head, fingertips grazing across the armrest as he continued to drag his cock in and out of your wet walls. His mouth was hot against your skin, licking and sucking on your neck.

"So fuckin' good for me," he cursed as his forehead fell against yours, soft whines and moans continuing to spill from his tongue. You gaped, feeling like you had never been so deeply filled before, "You like my cock, don't you?" He mumbled, words strained as he roughly jerked your hands back across his shoulders.

Your nails dug into his flesh, earning a little yelp from him as he dragged his cock into you deeper. You could feel your eyes rolling back in pleasure, moans leaving your lips freely.

"Love your cock so much," you whined as you rolled your hips up to meet his thrusts, sighing as your cunt cried around his cock; soaking your thighs and his balls, "right there, Gator." You begged, electricity burning deeply inside of you as his warm eyes fell onto yours. Your insides twisted in bliss, taking in how pretty he looked as the pleasure filled him.

The couch creaked from underneath the combined weight of the two of you, your body sinking further into the cushions as his fingertips burned into your skin. You clung to him, your walls gripping him tightly as he pressed into your faster.

"S'fucking good," he spit out, lips coated with spit as his head rolled back lazily. The sound of your bodies meeting filled your ears, bouncing off of the living room walls, "Gonna fill this pretty little tang up, make her all mine." He huffed, throat straining as he gripped you tighter.

You nodded your head lazily, your mind foggy with pleasure as you savored the curve of his cock dragging against your bundle of nerves. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, nails digging into his skin as your stomach muscles clenched tightly.

"Gator, fuck, fuck," you cursed, whimpers breaking free as your body squirmed underneath his heavy body, your orgasm crashing over you in thick waves, "Fuck!" You cried out, leaning forward to muffle your sounds of pleasure against his neck.

Your body shook, trembling as his thrusts became harder and faster. Your pussy squelched around his cock, leaking with your cum as his moans became whinier, needier.

Your lips pressed against his neck gently, leaving sloppy kisses against where you could feel his pulse raising underneath his flushed skin. You licked his sweat away slowly, before giving his skin a little nibble.

"M'fuck," he hissed as he pressed into you deeply, cock twitching as you curled your toes in pleasure once again. He was flush against your bundle of nerves

You bit down harder on his skin as you felt his cum spilling inside of you, coating your walls with a mixture of your sin. You hated how glorious it felt, how you already craved more of it.

His lips were soft against yours, even though his mouth was slightly chapped. You tilted your head up towards his, wrapping your arms around his shoulders so he could kiss you deeper.

Your body was limp underneath him, thighs still trembling as you savored the taste of him on your tongue. This was going to be the last time. It had to be.

Maybe.

“Gonna want more of you.” He mumbled, like he could read your mind as he gripped your chin in his hand. He squeezed softly, eyes searching your own.

“It’s wrong.” You whispered as your heart continued to hammer roughly inside of your chest, making you wish you could hide it away.

“But it feels good,” he responded with a little smirk as he brushed his fingers across your cheek, “why should we deny ourselves that?” He questioned, making you wonder if you could agree with him for once.

[lxgentlefolkcomic]

Wilhelm, while your in hell, may you please tell that impaling jerk I said hi?

[harmonyrae]

Merging Territories

Synopsis: You just need a little more time with him, you don’t want him to go. Sylus once said actions are more sincere. It’s time to act, no more games.

AN: This is my interpretation of Sylus’s Night of Secrecy memory.

Content Warnings: Fingering, oral (f receiving), handjob, praise kink, implied unprotected sex, PiV, squirting, cream pie, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 4.6k

“I won.”

You couldn’t hide your smirk as you slid the final part into place on the gun. You shift on the carpet and turn to face Sylus, pressing the muzzle under Sylus’s chin. His eyes narrow and raises his hands in defeat. He lets out a breathy chuckle, tilting his chin to look at you.

“And I lost. Go ahead. Ask your question.”

You’re suddenly aware of how warm the room is. The fireplace crackles and pops, providing the only light in the large sitting room. Sylus’s features are shrouded in shadow, his skin looks warm and soft. You weren’t exactly sure what you wanted to do, you just wanted to spend more time with him. You weren’t ready for him to go. Just a little more time. 

As you stare into Sylus’s eyes, you feel your stomach tighten. You decided to trust your instincts, not entirely sure if it was a good idea or not. You lower the gun, check the safety is on and place it on the floor before locking eyes with him again.

“I’m sleepy.”

“Uh…”

His confusion mirrors your own. You felt your cheeks burn and you hope he can’t tell in the low lighting. The past few months have flown by, you remember meeting Sylus and how much you initially hated him. But over time, you’d seen a side of him that made your heart pound and butterflies flutter in your stomach. You knew what you wanted. Sylus’s words echo in your mind.

I believe sincerity is not having to beat around the bush or play any games.

You had played your game and now, you felt guilty. You swallow your anxiety and square your shoulders.

“Can you… tuck me in?”

Sylus raises a brow and leans forward. His eyes scan your face, like he’s trying to figure something out.

“I thought a certain relentless hunter would ask about my destination.”

You cross your arms and pout dramatically.

“I care more about the present than an answer I can’t get. So… Are you doing it or not?”

“Of course, kitten.”

That damn smirk is back and you can’t stop staring at his mouth. He stands before leaning down to pick you up. You wrap your arms around his neck as he tucks an arm under your legs. He swiftly picks up your heels, which were discarded next to the couch. He looks down at you as he makes his way out of the sitting room and towards the stairs.

“This request is way more powerful than that little gun.”

You feel your heart pounding in your chest, your brain feels fuzzy. You try to keep your hands still and not give in to the temptation to drag your hand down his exposed chest. He had undone his tie and unbuttoned his shirt shortly after getting home, intending to change but you challenged him to your little game. It was like you were being punished for messing with him. He had just sat there, his torso on display for you. 

You kept your eyes on his face, trying to ignore the delicious firmness of his abdomen against your hip. He looks down at you, his eyes look… gentle? The smirk from downstairs was gone, replaced with a soft smile. You hear a clatter and glance over his shoulder to see your shoes discarded on the floor. His arm circling around your waist, his hand resting on your hip.

He enters the bedroom and strides to the couch next to the window. The snow was building up rather quickly, a thin sheet of white covering the lawn outside. He stops at the couch and waits for you to let go so he can set you down. But that all too familiar twinge of panic settles over you, keep him close.  “If you don’t want to lie down, I can keep holding you until I leave.”

Another memory flashes in your mind. The small yurt in the grasslands, the bed you shared with him, his strong arms wrapped around you keeping you warm.

Sincerity really is the best.

“What if I don’t want you to leave…?”

Sylus holds your gaze. You move your hand slowly and rest your palm against the side of his neck. His heart beat is rapid and his skin feels warmer than before.

“Then.. we better make the most of our time before dawn.”

He leans down, forcing you to set your feet on the floor. He stands before you, you barely realize your hand is still resting on his chest. God, you want this. You don’t want to lose your nerve.

You push him down onto the couch, he grunts, a brief expression of surprise gracing his face. You settle your knee between his legs. You press your hand against his chest again, your fingers itching to explore. He tilts his head forward and looks at you, his eyes urging you to continue. 

Actions do speak louder than words. And more sincere.

He’s right. You’ve tried to find the right words for the past three days and they always get lost between your brain and your mouth. It’s time to stop thinking so damn much. 

You caress his face, slipping your hand behind his neck. His reaction to your touch tells you everything you need to know. His shaky breath and the corner of his mouth curling upwards - his excitement palpable. You pull him to you and the moment your lips touch, your mind clears. His kiss is exactly like you imagined it to be. The kiss is needy and rapid, he moves like he is intoxicated. You wrap your arm around his neck, feeling his chest graze yours sets your skin ablaze again.

You bring your other knee down and straddle his leg, inching yourself closer to him. He places a hand on the back of your thigh and pulls you to him. Your bodies collide, your knee finally presses against his groin and your breath catches. He was so fucking hard. His hand trails up to your ass and he holds you close.

He pulls back for only a moment, his breathing unsteady and his eyes hazy. 

“You really don’t want me to leave?”

He leans forward once again to capture your lips. His hands start to explore your back, his fingers sending chills over your exposed skin. You roll your hips, desperate for more. He moans into your mouth, his tongue finally tracing your lips requesting entrance - you immediately oblige. His hands drift down to your waist and he lifts you, allowing you to shift and properly straddle him. 

You hold his shoulders in an attempt to steady yourself, but your thighs are already burning and you just want to sit down. But if you do that, he will undoubtedly feel how wet you are. Your panties soaked and your lace shorts wouldn’t serve as much of a barrier. You needed to change positions, you wanted to feel his body on top of you. You mumble into his mouth, your words lost amongst the messy kisses. Sylus opens his eyes and meets yours.

“Sylus, over there…”

Your head tilts towards the bed. He tucks his hands under your ass and lifts you up, your legs wrapping around him in an instant. His leg hits the bed and he sinks his knee into the mattress, slowly lowering you down onto your back, his lips never leaving yours.

As you settle on the bed, he pulls back to look at you. His cheeks flushed and his lips puffy. You reach up to lock your fingers behind his neck to pull him down. He holds back and that smug smile returns. His fingers caress your cheek and for a moment it’s like you are meeting him for the first time. But instead of cowering, you are holding on for dear life, never wanting to let go.

“Looks like we’re on the same page when it comes to not wanting to waste time.”

You try to control your breathing, but staring at him doesn’t help. You try to look away, but his hand catches your chin. He takes hold of your face, keeping you in place. 

“Stay focused, kitten.”

He covers your eyes with his other hand. 

“Don’t look.”

With your eyes covered, your other senses buzz to life. He starts kissing you again, his open mouth kisses leaving you even more breathless. He lets his tongue dip out and trace your lips before placing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. You finally allow yourself to moan, softly at first to test the waters. You feel his hips lower and he grinds against you. His response was more than you could have hoped for. Just the thought of him being so turned on by the sounds you make is almost enough to send you over the edge. 

All you can hear are your combined breathy moans and the pounding of your heart in your ears. He glides his hand down your arm and threads his fingers with yours. His thumb gently rubbing your palm.

When he finally removes his hand from over your eyes, you want to giggle at his love drunk expression. You’re not even sure he can still see you through the haze. You reach up and touch his cheek, his warmth seeping into your fingertips.

“Am I being too greedy… if I ask you to keep your eyes only on me?”

As you pull away, he grabs your hand. 

“You always had that right.”

He places a chaste kiss on your wrist.

“Which means…”

He leans down and places kisses along your neck and collarbone. You feel his lips drag across your skin and you clench your fists, grabbing a fistful of the comforter beneath you. Your moans are much louder now. His lips are so soft, and every time they make contact you feel your clit throb.

“You can be even greedier.”

He hovers just over your breast, he lets his lips press down gently, kissing your nipple through your top. You feel a burst of pleasure. You wanted nothing more than for his lips to explore every inch of your body.

He rises, reaching down to lift your leg beside him. His hand strokes your thigh before he bends to place a kiss on your knee. When his eyes meet yours again, the intensity behind his gaze overwhelms your senses.

“Do you want it, kitten?”

You take a moment and let your eyes roam. His silver necklace dangles from his neck, sweat has started to drip down his chest, his abs look tight - like he is tensing, awaiting your answer. And then you see how his pants have become much too tight, his erection threatening to break through the confines at any moment. There was only one answer to his question and you didn’t have to think.

“Yes.”

His smile vanishes as he leans in, hungry for more. The answer is yes, but you didn’t want him to think you could be tossed around like a ragdoll. Well, you wouldn’t mind that, but you didn’t want to feel powerless. You know what you like and what you want him to do to you. And what you want to do to him. 

You reach your hand up and place it firmly against his chest stopping him in his tracks. He grunts, his brows knit together and his eyes light up with panic. He regains his composure and  slowly lowers his hand under your knee, pulling you downwards. You feel your tits bounce at the sudden movement. 

“You haven’t changed your mind, have you?” 

He bends your knee once more, bringing your thigh up to his mouth. He kisses your inner thigh right by your knee. The thought of his kisses trailing down your thigh until he sinks his face into your soaked pussy…

“You just said ‘yes’?” 

His voice is needy and broken with his gasps for air.

“I’m hoping yes is still your answer because…”

He releases your thigh and slowly lowers himself on top of you. Your thighs spread open and he presses his erection against your center. He lowers to his elbows, tucks a hand under your waist and holds your face with the other.

“I just can’t hold back anymore.”

He traces your lips with his thumb before diving back in. His kisses seem more desperate now, he doesn’t wait for either of you to catch your breath. He nips at your lower lip and his intensity grows with every shift of your hips or moan echoing from your throat.

You start to feel dizzy. And not the fun kind of dizzy, the “I might pass out” kind.

“Sylus… I can’t breathe…”

You finally push Sylus away and try to catch your breath. You feel a strand of hair fall against your forehead, you try to blow it away, but it stays put. Sylus brushes it aside, tucking it behind your ear. 

He holds your chin, forcing you to look at him. He looks down at you and, while you’re completely clothed, you feel exposed. He can feel your body shiver, your nipples hard and needy beneath your blouse. He’s reading you like a book. He nuzzles his face into your neck. He sinks his teeth into the tender flesh above your collarbone. He’s fucking biting you. And god, it felt incredible. You can’t suppress a moan, but quickly clear your throat and try to be angry. 

“Hey, no biting here.”

He sighs.

“First you want it rough, now you want it soft… You’re a tough one to please tonight, kitten.”

He slides a hand behind your neck and soothes the sensitive skin with tender kisses. He pulls back, lifting his chest away from yours and looks down at you, his eyes glowing in the dim light.

“What do you really want? Won’t you be honest and tell me like you just did?”

You let your hands glide down his chest, digging your nails in as you pass over his nipples and down to his abs. You feel him shudder, here’s your chance.

“... I’m not falling for your tricks.”

You push his shoulder hard, he tips and you hook your leg, rolling him over. The change in positions allows you to finally take a deep breath. You plant your hands on his chest as you take in his shocked expression. You rarely catch him off guard, it’s a treat really. 

“I told you that a hunter doesn’t like being passive.”

His eyes narrow and he nods slowly. His hands wrap around your waist and he traces the zipper of your top. He tugs gently at the zipper tab, just enough to send the message.

“So, you want control.” His voice was raspy and so damn sexy.

Your new position was supposed to help you get more air, but with Sylus fiddling with your top, your chest heaves. You close your eyes and run your hands down his chest again, feeling the goosebumps rise across his skin under your fingertips.  

“Unfortunately, I can’t give it to you. Not yet, at least.”

He finally pulls the tab further down, the buzz of the teeth separating fills the room. Your top loosens and you feel his hand press against your newly exposed skin. He hesitates, giving you a moment to stop him. Instead, you pull the straps down and pull your top away, tossing it to the floor behind you. 

His hands slide up your back unhindered before gliding his hand around to cup your breast. The feeling of his palm on the underside of your tit makes you shiver. His thumb flicks over your nipple and you moan, throwing your head back. 

Your body is on fire as his hands explore your breasts, squeezing and tugging until you grab his wrists. He tucks his hands under your ass and lifts you, he sits up against the headboard. He wraps an arm around your waist while his other hand squeezes your breast, lifting it to his mouth. He rolls his tongue over the hardened peak before closing his lips around it. He holds your nipple between his teeth, not biting, but the pressure is enough to make you rock your hips against him. 

He releases your breast, his mouth moving to the other as he sinks his hand down the back of your shorts. He squeezes your ass while he suckles your breast, he’s painfully slow in his movements.

You try to lean back, the teasing becoming torturous. 

“... Don’t run.”

“You’re… so annoying…” Your voice barely above a whisper.

“I won’t deny it. I guess you can say I lied. Tonight, you’re not the only one feeling greedy…”

He picks you up, his hands under your thighs and you reach around his neck instinctively. He leans forward quickly and your back meets the bed again. His head dips down and he places kisses down your chest, kissing each nipple before continuing down your stomach.

“And I won’t be leaving until this greed is completely satisfied.” 

He reaches the waistband of your shorts and traces it with his finger. He hesitates. “Ah, I misspoke.”

You look down at him and watch him crawl over you until you’re face-to-face. 

“What…?”

He stares into your eyes, lifting a hand to gently hold your cheek.

“Greed can never be satisfied…”

He picks up your hand and places it against his chest. You feel his rapid heart beat. 

“But you can temporarily soothe it.”

His voice is calm, but the storm behind his eyes tugs at your heartstrings. He needs to know that you want him as much as he wants you.

“Say it again. Do you want it?”

You run your fingers through his damp hair. He closes his eyes and leans into your touch. You reach up and lock your fingers behind his neck, pulling him to you. You kiss him sweetly. He lets out a breath, as if he’d been holding it this whole time. You press your forehead to his.

“This is my answer.”

Sylus doesn’t hesitate to capture your lips once more. His hands move urgently to knead your breasts. You grab hold of his shirt and push it over his shoulders, he tugs the shirt loose and tosses it aside. Your hands explore his body, the definition of his abs, the curve of his chest, the deep V leading to the waistband of his pants.

He hooks his fingers and tugs your shorts and underwear down in one motion. The sudden burst of air against your core makes you moan loudly. You felt his fingers slide across your pussy, stopping at your clit to pinch and tug. You arch your back off the bed and cry out.

“Sy…!”

You hear a deep chuckle as the bed dips and you feel your legs being pushed apart. You look down in time to see his face dig into you. His nose rubs against your clit while his tongue presses into your entrance. He works slowly, reveling in your body reacting to every flick of his tongue. 

He shifts his mouth and sucks in your clit. You feel your hips twitch and you grind against his face. A deep moan of approval vibrates against your clit and your hands fly down to grip Sylus’s hair. Your tugs only earn you more groans and vibrations leaving you shaking. His finger circles your entrance and you buck your hips again.

“Sylus fuck…!”

You can feel him smile against your pussy. He wastes no time and presses in two fingers until his palm is flat against you. He curls them slowly and he strokes a spot that makes you see stars almost immediately. 

You’re shamelessly riding his hand now, your hips bucking every time he hits that spot. You feel tears pool and spill over. Your orgasm builds rapidly. You tug on Sylus’s hair once more, harder this time. He groans and pulls back just enough, his words muffled.

“Come for me, beautiful.” 

You hold your breath, calling on your remaining willpower to make this request.

“No, Sylus… I want… I need –”

His movements slow and he lifts his head to look at you, his fingers still pumping in and out slowly. You wiggle your hips away from his agile fingers, but Sylus grabs your hip, pressing you into the mattress to keep you still. 

“Tell me what you desire.” His voice is smooth as silk.

“I want you… inside me... Please Sylus...”

Sylus smiles, your arousal coats his chin and he licks his lips savoring your taste. He leans down to kiss you, slowly and purposefully. You taste yourself and whimper. He removes his fingers and runs his hands up your thighs.

“So direct.”

He reaches down to pull at his belt. You reach down to help him and he chuckles, placing his hand back on the bed to let you handle it. He rests his forehead against yours.

“I’ll give you anything you want, sweetie. Everything I have is yours.”

You unbutton his pants and slide down the zipper, your hands shaking as your mind reels from his words. You meet his gaze as your hand slides down the front of his boxers. You wrap your hand around the base of his cock and firmly drift your hand up and down. His mouth falls open and he gasps quietly.

“All I want is you.”

You feel lighter, like this secret you’d been keeping was weighing you down. And for what? You had finally let your guard down, you didn’t need it when you were with him. Not anymore. He was what you wanted, he made you feel safe, seen, beautiful, happy. 

Hearing your words stirred something in him. He looks down at you, his eyes glistening. The smile on his face is radiant and you trace it with your thumb, wanting to always remember this moment. 

He pulls your hand from his boxers before standing briefly to remove his pants and boxers completely. How he felt didn’t do him justice, he was going to fill you and then some. He chuckles, he must have seen your eyes widen. He crawls back onto the bed and hovers over you, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

“Don’t be afraid, kitten. I have you. I won’t hurt you.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down, his chest presses against you and you sigh at how perfect his skin feels against yours. One of his hands dips down and starts tracing languid circles around your clit. You kiss him hard, feeling his presence everywhere. 

He rolls you over to your side and guides your leg over his hip. His arm under you wrapping around your shoulder to keep you close. You hold his cheek before raking your fingers through his hair. 

You finally feel the head of his cock press against your entrance and you shudder. He reaches down, angles himself and then tucks his hand under your knee, lifting your leg higher. He starts to press into you and you have to break the kiss to groan in response. He takes his time, letting you adjust and stretch. He waits for you to push your hips forward, begging for more of him, before he continues. You grab a fistful of his hair and dig your nails into his back. 

“Are you ready? Tell me…”

His muffled words bring you back. You let out a breathy laugh and bury your face in his neck.

“Yes, Sy… all of you.”

He bucks his hips one last time and buries himself fully. You scream his name, completely overwhelmed. He strokes your hip and cradles your head. He kisses you slowly as he pulls out and rams back into you. You moan into his mouth, incoherent words tumble from your lips.

“You’re so… perfect, so… so beautiful…” 

His words are broken, his pace quickening with every syllable. You start to match his movements, feeling him deeper and deeper with every thrust. He rolls you on your back once more and you wrap your legs around his waist, locking your heels. His lips trail down your neck to your chest, his pace never faltering. 

“Feels so – ngh – you feel so good Sy… oh god…”

His moans start to sound like whimpers as he takes in your praises. You want to hear him and feel him and hold him, always. Your muscles clench and you feel the pressure building, Sylus can feel it too, your walls fluttering around him bringing him close to the brink as well. He starts to thrust faster, his hands finding your breasts again to pinch and tug at your swollen nipples. 

Your thighs burn from how tightly you’re holding onto him and pulling yourself upwards. Every nerve is on fire and your lungs burn with how hard you are breathing. His pace starts to become erratic, his hips stuttering. 

“Come for me, Sy. Come in me…”

He holds his breath, trying to slow down and hold off, but you’re not letting him. You realize he wanted control, but really he never had it. Not completely. His pleasure is directly linked to your own. And he wants to give you everything you desire. Right now, all you desire is feeling his release deep inside you. He’s already made his way into your heart and now… 

That’s when it hits you. You place kisses along his jaw and down his neck. You sink your teeth into his skin and the way he moans your name sends you right over the edge. You release his neck and throw your head back, chanting his name louder and louder. Your climax gushes across his abdomen and thighs, soaking the sheets beneath you. 

“Fuck fuck fuck…”

Sylus tries to continue his movements, but once he sees the intensity of your release he can’t hold back. You feel the warmth of his cum and nearly cry out with how full you feel. His cock buried deep inside you, his cum filling you to the brim, his voice singing your name, his lips peppering your face and neck with open mouth kisses. 

He slowly pulls out and you unhook your legs, you fall to the bed and your legs tremble. Sylus rubs your hips, massaging them carefully. Your breathing steadies and you force your eyes open. Sylus hovers above you, he looks at you with so much admiration and joy, his hair slicked back with sweat, his neck bearing the mark you left. You reach up to hold his face, stroking his cheeks softly. 

“My beloved…” You whisper.

Sylus collapses on top of you, burying his face in your neck, smothering you with a thousand kisses. You wrap your arms around him and hold him close. You’ve never felt so at peace. 

You desperately want more, but your mind is drifting. Sylus senses your exhaustion, he rolls off of you, sits up to grab the blanket from the bottom of the bed, covers you both and drapes an arm over your waist. You roll on your side and lean back, letting him pull you to him until your back is flat against his chest. You lift your head and Sylus slips his arm under, letting you use his arm as a pillow. You let out a deep contented sigh. 

With Sylus holding you close, his steady breaths fanning your ear, his heart beat putting you at ease, it doesn’t take long for you to fall into a dreamless sleep. You wonder if you’ll ever dream again? What’s left to dream of? You have everything you could possibly dream of right here.

AN (part 2): I want to note a few things real quick. Even with their dialogue about control, I feel like it was less about who dominates and more about love making. I also FIRMLY believe MC has a TON of control. In my opinion, Sylus enjoys dominance in the act, but not necessarily in the relationship. He will do anything she desires. Thank you for reading!! :)

Tag List (comment if you wanna be added!): @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer @lilyadora @crowskitten22

[doumadono]

I voted for Nsfw alphabet - and I would love to request Shinso 🙈🩵

Also, congratulations on your milestone 🎈

Warnings: post-timeskip Shinso

MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST - PART II ⊹ Doumadono's 6k followers event

A - Aftercare Shinso is incredibly attentive after intercourse, even if he doesn’t show it in overly dramatic ways. He’ll brush damp hair away from your face, murmur low reassurances, and carefully clean you up, his touch unhurried and soothing. If he senses you need something — be it water, a warm towel, or simply silence — he’ll provide it without you needing to ask. His favorite way to end the night is holding you close, his breath soft against your temple as you both drift off.

B - Body Part On you, he’s obsessed with your neck. Maybe it’s the irony of his Quirk, but he loves watching the way it reacts — how you tilt it for him, the marks he leaves behind, and the shivers he can draw out with a single touch or kiss. On himself, he’s a little self-conscious about his hands but secretly loves it when you kiss or hold them.

C - Cum Shinso is versatile — cumming inside, on you, in a condom, or on himself — it’s all fine by him, as long as it’s what you want. But the longer you’re together, the more he craves the raw intimacy of cumming inside you — he finds it super hot. His clean diet leaves a subtle sweetness to his cum taste.

D - Dirty Secret Shinso has toyed with the idea of using his Quirk during sex — not strictly to control you, but to strip away inhibitions and hear your raw, unfiltered thoughts about him.

E - Experience Shinso isn’t a playboy, but he’s had a couple of past experiences. He’s a fast learner with a natural talent for observation. His natural curiosity drives him to explore what makes you tick, and he takes pride in the way he can unravel you, piece by piece.

F - Favorite Position He loves positions where he can see your face, like a missionary or a cowgirl. There’s something deeply grounding about feeling your breath mingle with his, your hands clutching at his shoulders as you lose yourself in the moment.

G - Goofy While he’s typically calm and collected, Shinso does have a dry sense of humor that slips out occasionally. He might throw in a teasing comment like “What? Not so brave anymore, hmmm, baby?” or smirk if he catches you flustered, but it’s always good-natured and meant to make you laugh.

H - Hair He keeps himself neatly groomed, more for practicality than vanity. Shinso doesn’t mind a little maintenance but doesn’t obsess over it either. He appreciates you however you’re comfortable, often making a point to tell you so.

I - Intimacy Every moment with Shinso feels personal. His focus is always on you — your needs, your desires, your pleasure. When he’s with you, he’s completely present, making each moment feel deeply personal and uniquely yours.

J - Jack Off Before he met you, Hitoshi found the idea of pleasuring himself too embarrassing to entertain, shoving the thought aside as quickly as it came. After you entered his life — but before the two of you became a thing — he gave in to the temptation more than once, only to be consumed by guilt afterward — because he thought of you in a sinful way while he shouldn’t. But once the two of you became a couple, that shame melted away. With your love and reassurance, he finally understood there was nothing wrong with his desires. Now, when he needs to take care of himself, he does so without hesitation.

K - Kink He has a soft spot for subtle power dynamics. Nothing extreme, but he likes knowing he has some control — whether it’s holding your wrists gently above your head or pinning you with his weight. He’s also intrigued by light bondage, though he’s always cautious to ensure you’re comfortable. Shinso has a curiosity for sensory play as well — blindfolds, silk restraints, etc.

L - Location Shinso prefers the comfort of the bedroom, where he can focus entirely on you without distractions. However, he isn’t opposed to sneaking into more adventurous territory, like the shower or even a quiet corner of his agency late at night.

M - Motivation Seeing you wear his clothes, hearing you laugh, or catching you stealing glances his way are small but powerful sparks that ignite his desire.

N - No Shinso is firm about keeping things safe and consensual. Anything that risks harm to you, physically or emotionally, is off the table in an instant. He’s especially cautious about introducing his Quirk into your intimate life, fearing it could create a dynamic that feels manipulative, even unintentionally.

O - Oral Hitoshi is skilled, patient, and attentive when it comes to oral. He enjoys the reactions he can pull from you, taking his time to learn exactly what makes you come undone. Receiving is less of a priority for him, but when he lets you take the lead, his flushed cheeks and uneven breaths reveal just how much he enjoys the attention.

P - Pace His pace is usually steady. He loves a slow build, watching your tension rise until you’re utterly desperate for him. However, if the mood strikes, he can surprise you with a rougher, more primal side.

Q - Quickie Quickies aren’t his preference — he values the depth of connection in slower, more intentional moments. However, he’s not fully opposed to them — the idea of sneaking out for a moment of passion during a busy day has its own appeal.

R - Risk Hitoshi is cautious by nature and doesn’t take unnecessary risks. However, he’s open to trying new things as long as you discuss them beforehand. He’s more adventurous in private though.

S - Stamina Shinso has excellent stamina, honed through years of hero training. He can go multiple rounds if you’re up for it, though he prefers focusing on quality over quantity. 

T - Toys He’s curious but cautious. Shinso appreciates how toys can enhance your common experience, and he’s more than willing to incorporate them into your sex life. 

U - Unfair Shinso can be a terrible tease when he wants to be. He’ll hold you just on the edge, whisper husky compliments in your ear or pull out just before you reach your peak. He thrives on the way you plead for more, though he always makes sure to let you come undone in the end.

V - Volume Shinso isn’t loud, but the sounds he does make — low, husky groans and breathy murmurs of your name — are utterly sinful. 

W - Wild Card Shinso rarely succumbs to jealousy, but when it does creep in, it’s impossible not to notice. He’ll pull you closer, his arm curling around you like a protective barrier, his touch lingering longer than necessary. Sometimes, he buries his face in the curve of your neck, his lips grazing your skin in open-mouthed kisses.

X - X-Ray Shinso’s cock is around six inches, uncut, with a slight upward curve at the tip and a few prominent veins that add to its appeal. He leans more toward length than girth.

Y - Yearning Hitoshi’s sex drive is above average. Yet, he’s never ruled by desire — self-control comes naturally to him, and he can abstain when needed without complaint.

Z - Zzz Afterward, Shinso is the type to stay awake for a while, holding you close and basking in the quiet intimacy of the moment. Once you’ve fallen asleep in his arms, he lets himself relax, his head resting against yours as he drifts off. Those moments are something he treasures, a reminder that he’s exactly where he belongs.

@pixelcafe-network

[metalomagnetic]

Either must die snippet

***A dear friend asked on discord if I have some EMD writing left, so here it is.***

----

Harry hadn’t stopped screaming since he entered the kitchen; he’s furious. It’s been a long time since he exploded in such righteous anger.

Cheeks red, jaws set, and those damned eyes of his glinting. Why, it’s almost like before, back in the war. Of course, now at least he can appear somewhat intimidating, what with the size of him. He doesn’t intimidate Voldemort, but it is easy to imagine he could make a random individual cower. Voldemort would like to see Harry going off like this on some pesky journalists or one of his stalker fans. It would be entertaining.

As it is, it’s not entertaining at the moment. It irritates Voldemort to be screamed at.

One flick of his wrist, and he could silence Harry. Another flick and he can send him crashing into the wall. To resist temptation, he drums his fingers on the table, reaches inside to find patience. It’s getting harder and harder to be patient these days. He had to suffer it for a while, but now he’s back in power. A Minister, not a war lord, yet people learned not to trifle with him, not to glare at him, not to talk back.

Even Harry learned, as the years passed by. He minded his business, and he let Voldemort be. Yet it’s not worth the trouble to put him in his place, now. He can already imagine the dramatics that would follow. Harry would break again, and Voldemort will either have to lock him in an attic, never to be allowed in public, or he’d have to put in the effort to build him back up, and he certainly lacks the patience for that. Hermione would be insufferable about it. Delphini would cry.

Harry must be aware of these unpleasant outcomes, too, because while he screams, he doesn’t dare do more than that. He cries, too, tears of pain and frustration and pure despair. That improves Voldemort’s mood a tad. Harry always looks good when he’s crying. “I asked for one thing!” his voice breaks, rough. “One thing! You have everything, and I said nothing- you use me, you use my name, you- I only asked for one thing.”

What a lie. Harry might not verbally ask for much, but those pitiful eyes of his ask plenty, and Voldemort gives it to him. The ungrateful brat.

“And you couldn’t let me have it! You’re a monster!”

Show him, a voice begs, a voice that was dormant for so long, but it’s waking up lately. Show him the monster. Show him how patient you’d been with him all these years. Show him how it could have been.

Voldemort ignores it. His fingers curl around the table, momentarily, because just drumming them isn’t enough anymore, he itches for his wand, but then the crisis is avoided, and he is in control, he won’t snap. He does stand, because it’s safe to do it, his temper is in check, and Harry tired himself out with his tantrum. “You asked for her life,” Voldemort reminds him. “She is alive.” Moly Weasley lives. Thought it seems a misfortune befell her earlier that day. Well earned. Delicious revenge. Harry, sadly, is not the type to enjoy the poetic justice, the mastery in this delivery of punishment.

She lives, like he wanted, she isn’t even in pain, but the score was settled. Fleetingly, he wonders if Bella is happy, if she laughs gleefully in the afterlife. Perhaps not- Bella was never one for poetry, for subtlety. She got her vengeance in blood and screams. Harry stares at him, shaking his head. “I hate you,” he whispers. Voldemort did not want to break him, but he broke, anyway. So fragile, this boy of his, despite his impressive muscles, he shatters like glass. “Nothing new,” Voldemort replies, and walks out of the kitchen.

As soon as he reaches the garden, he feels his anger rising, now that he isn’t focused on not hurting Harry until he explodes into a pile of blood and bones. He gets angrier and angrier with every step. He feels as impotent as Harry must feel. No matter how mad the boy was, how obviously hurting, he did not even think to draw his wand at Voldemort, or punch him, like he once did. He would have- for Molly fucking Weasley, he would have. Harry has few limits, but the Weasleys are one. Harry would crash and burn with them, for them, the world be damned. He didn’t, however, because he must know, deep down, that it wasn’t Voldemort. But he can’t admit it to himself, not consciously. Voldemort is a convenient scapegoat. Voldemort is a monster, rotten and evil, and it’s easier for Harry this way. Easier than the truth.

He Apparates to Lestrange Manor, and he thinks of Bella again. How odd- he hadn’t truly thought of her in years, but now he feels her around; when he walks to Lestrange Manor, is feels like before, like when he’d walk this path and knew he’d find her and Rodolphus inside. He doesn’t, of course. He finds a copy of her, instead. Bella left him copies of herself, echoes that remain to dwell the earth in her absence. Voldemort walks past Andromeda, strolls through the Manor, until he finds Rodolphus’ copy.

Voldemort knows Rabastan is guilty as soon as he lays eyes on him. That stiff posture, the fear in his eyes, even if he keeps his chin up, defiant. “Your wand,” he snarls. Andromeda followed him, she’s frowning, confused, asking what the matter is. The matter is that Voldemort was disobeyed. “Leave,” Rabastan begs her. “Leave,” Voldemort snarls at her. Andromeda is a cheaper copy of Bella, in all senses. Tamer, sadder, broken. But wiser. She leaves.

Rabastan gives up ‘his’ wand. It’s not his, of course, just like Voldemort suspected. He knew, as Harry was screeching, as Voldemort sat there trying not to snap, he was thinking how all this could have been accomplished. Delphini is at Hogwarts, after all. Impossible for her to also be at the Burrow. Unless she Apparated there. But she wouldn’t risk doing all that with her wand. It became quite obvious who would have given her a wand. “It had to be done,” Rabastan dares to speak. “You moved on, but I can’t; not until justice was served. You moved on, but Delphi couldn’t.” Delphini is a far better copy of Bella, compared to Andromeda. But, as Voldemort feared- you do not fear!- as Voldemort suspected, she is no true copy of her mother. Oh, she’s her spitting image, she has some Black traits in her personality, but no- Delphi is his copy. The anger reaches its peak. Voldemort always treasured Rabastan over most others, awarded him more leeway than most others. But Rabastan is no Harry, he’s no Delphini, and Voldemort snaps.

He reminds Rabastan who he serves, whose mark is on his arm. Useless, of course. Rabastan was never one to cow for pain, nor learn from it. Yet his pain serves to soothe some of Voldemort’s anger, lets him take it out on him. Another convenient scapegoat.

(-)

She does walk like Bella, a confident, defiant tilt to her hips. She walks loudly, proudly, as if used to have others look at her in awe, covet her. She brought her heels, even if the path to the Forbidden Forest is not exactly best suited for heels. Whenever she angers him, she knows to make herself look even more like her mother.

Once, when he searched her mind, he saw Rodolphus teaching her this, on the night before he left her at Rowle’s. “It’s best if you look like her,” he told her, advising her to let her hair free, to wear the dresses Bella favoured. “He treasured her above all others, and, in time, I hope he’ll treasure you, too.” She doesn’t stop at a respectable distance, like Bella would have done when she knew she messed up, when she angered him. No. Delphini comes close, closer than anyone dares.

She’s taller than Bella already, and the heels almost bring her up to his chin. She looks up, and those are his eyes, that is his glare, his defiance, his stubbornness. “What potion did you give her?” “My own invention,” Delphini says, and pride flushes stronger on her face. “They won’t detect it.” “And if they do, then what is the problem, no?” Voldemort asks. “Who is going to suspect a perfect school girl? And if they do suspect her, who is going to blame the Minister’s daughter? Who would dare arrest her?” Delphini shrugs.

“If you plan on using my influence to stay out of trouble, if you know you can easily fall back on me to protect you, then you should discuss things with me before you do them.” “Why bother,” she spits. “You would have said ‘no’. Better to ask for forgiveness than permission.” He should have tortured Rabastan more, because not all the anger is out of his system. Furry comes back hot, coursing through his veins, going to his head. “Ask for forgiveness, then,” he hisses, and he takes the step that separated them, towers over her. If she wants to play these games, he’ll play them. She will lose. It’s time for her to learn to lose- Harry spoiled her, far too much. He ignored Voldemort’s warnings that Delphini shouldn’t get away with everything she does, that he should push back, whenever she tests them.

As always, Harry’s kind, tolerant heart, explodes spectacularly in his face.

Delphini doesn’t cower, not truly, but he can detect the current of fear that passes through her. Strangely, it does nothing to improve his mood. Terrifying people usually soothes his fury, but now it just taints it with an unknowable feeling. “I thought you loved Harry,” he says, softly.

“I do!” Her fingers curl into fists at her side. Her neck is bent back uncomfortably, trying to keep Voldemort’s gaze. “She’s alive, isn’t she? Like he asked. She loves Harry, didn’t forget him, and she’ll no doubt dote over him, like a mother. In fact, now that she only remembers loving him, she’ll love him even more! I took nothing from Harry! He can have his pretend mummy! I only took away the memories of all her living children! It’s only fair!”

Delphini’s voice gets louder. Defensive. “She stole my mother from me! So it’s only fair she forgets all the beautiful memories she has with her children, memories she didn’t let me form with my mother. It’s only fair she will only remember her dead son, like I have to remember my dead mother, every time I step foot into the Great Hall, where that harpy took her from me. From us! You lost her, too! And now Molly Weasley cannot remember her husband, either! It’s fair, it is!”

It is beautiful, he agrees. It is poetic and it is just. It is perfect. However.

“You knew he’ll blame me for it; you understand he’s devastated; you understand how he’ll avoid me now, how he’ll suffer, how he’ll moan and whine at me for months on end, start drinking again, retreat into his spare bedroom and rot there for who knows how long. You are perfectly aware Hermione will blame me, too. That it could potentially harm my work. You knew this would affect me. And you did it anyway.” He cups Delphini’s face, and she finally flinches, though she doesn’t draw back.

So beautiful, this child. So intelligent. She loves Voldemort, understands him like no other. His perfect girl. If Voldemort would have ever wanted a daughter, if he’d have been given the chance to make her, build her from scratch- this is what he’d have imagined. Only, he still wishes she would have been more like Bella, or Rodolphus, or Harry; it would have been easier. For him, and for her. Alas, she is not like them. She is like him.

“She deserves it,” Delphini insists. “She hurt me!” Ever her tears are perfect, pretty shapes, clear, trailing down her cheeks. “That never works with me, Delphini,” he reminds her, using his thumb to brush one tear away. “I know!” she hisses. “Nothing works with you! That’s why I didn’t ask! Because you give Harry everything he asks, you are so attentive to provide him with what he needs, but you never care about what I want. What I need. I asked you to punish her, you promised me, remember? When I first met Ron. You promised me! But then Harry asked you to spare her, and you did what he wanted. You forgot about me, about my pain-“

“Shut up,” he says, softly. “I allow you far more than I would anyone else. Harry is my prisoner, he does only what I allow him to do, even if he deluded himself into thinking otherwise. I give you freedom. I don’t make decisions for you. I accept you as you are. But-“ he takes his hand away. “Do not trespass against me, Delphini,” he warns her. “If you want to hurt others, don’t use your mother as an excuse to do it. More importantly, don’t hurt people that are useful to me. Ask before you pull something like this again. And when I say ‘no’, better heed it. Or leave. Go far away, and make trouble there. This is my country, and nothing happens inside it without my say so. I worked for sixty years to subdue this island. If you want that kind of power, you will have to work for it, too.”

[skzdarlings]

the kingsguard ; jisung x reader ; part v

part one| part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | tba | ao3 link

pairing: han jisung/reader summary: You are a queen. He is a kingsguard - a member of a holy order that vows to defend the king in the name of the gods. They forsake all earthly goods and swear a vow of chastity to avoid all worldly temptation. When he stands in as proxy for the royal wedding, all those vows are tested.

content info: reader described with curly hair.

content warnings: the previously established story dynamics are prevalent in this chapter, please proceed at own discretion. the king threatens sexual violence again. there is explicit consensual sexual content in this chapter with reader and jisung. first times, breaking of vows, lots of mental work packed in there lol.

chapter word count: 11500 words.

enjoy <3

-

Despite the delay, you reach the intended campsite before nightfall.  The king finds his own entertainment while everyone else works at erecting tents and constructing fire pits. 

Chan assigns Seungmin to watch the king while he occupies himself elsewhere.  The tension between the king and the kingsguard captain ripples through the camp, though no one – not even the king – is audacious enough to remark on it. 

The kingsguard has a sanctified power, burdened with the responsibility of protecting the crown above all else.  This manifests as protecting the king so long as oaths are kept and holy accords obeyed.   The king is abundantly aware he is not in the leader’s good graces right now.   Even that petulant fool of a man is smart enough to recognize that antagonism from an ancient religious order is a perilous position for a holy king. 

Because he cannot harass Chan, the king directs his ire towards Hyunjin, so Chan sends Hyunjin across the camp to help there.  Jisung accompanies him.  As the lowest ranked kingsguard, his absence will not be minded. 

You are irate, watching Hyunjin limp away with Jisung following behind him.  You think of their skill and bravery in protecting you from the assassins.  You think of their loyalty and good hearts.  They both deserve better. 

Stewing in irritation, you opt to stay out of the way.  It is better to remain unobtrusive rather than instigate more dramatics after the events of today.   

You kneel down in the grass, out of the way of the tents.  You are organizing a bag of personal effects when an unfamiliar pair of painted boots appear in your line of your vision.  You look up, startled to find one of the king’s courtiers looming over you.  He is one of the few who has been riding in the carriage and you are surprised he is so far from the inner circle now. 

“Your Holy Majesty,” he says, surprising you with the appropriately respectful title.  He surprises you further by offering his hand and helping you to your feet.  The final surprise is a bow so deep he bends his knees.  “I ask for your grace and forgiveness,” he says.  “And I ask for you to pray on my behalf that the gods may also forgive me for my petty transgressions.  I would never speak ill of the gods-chosen king but—”  He looks over his shoulder briefly, spots the king far across the camp with the remainder of his inner circle.  Satisfied with the distance, he looks at you, expression solemn.  “But I believe human error may have conquered the holy senses,” he says.  In a lower voice, tinged with resentment, he says, “To raise hands to the queen in public, especially after the events of the other day…” 

You are still too surprised to respond.  You remain silent, hands folded in front of you. 

He says with some finality, “I know I am not alone in feeling this way.  Your Holiness, please ensure that you have support in some noble factions here – particularly after today.  And please do recall, this is not all the court, merely the king’s personal selection, and there are those at home in the capital who will also support you.” 

The sincerity of his oath leaves you stunned.  You stare at his footprints long after he has departed. 

The courtier does not return to the inner circle but joins a different cluster of palace residents.  Their attention turns to you, followed by dips and bows. 

Your bewildered mind finally catches up to your racing heart.  You sweep into a quick return bow.  When you turn away, you let out a breath.  Your eyes trace the treeline around the clearing.  The smoky orange mist of sunset winds through the branches.  You look but do not see, mentally replaying the whole exchange.

It seems even the most devout courtiers have a restricted capacity of tolerance for royal misconduct.  Their motivations may be selfish in seeing a flagrant disrespect of the gods’ will and worrying what ramifications will manifest for them, but it is still a significant loyalty shift.

You allow yourself a little smile.  Knowing the camp is no longer brimming with hostiles lightens your heavy heart.

You are barely at ease when you turn around, startled again by yet another visitor.  This time is the kingsguard Minho.  He stands as still and patient as marble, hand on the hilt of his sword.  He lists slightly to that side, his other hand dangling in a fist. 

“Your Majesty,” he says.  His bow is more of a nod as he seems lost in contemplation –  or maybe that is scrutiny, studying your face like it holds the answer to some profound question. 

You are open as ever, as patiently marble in waiting for him.  

He exhales.  It sounds like a surrendering.   It makes you nervous, especially with the way he darts a glances over his shoulder.  The king and other kingsguards are busy, the courtiers turned to their own affairs, and the servants are busy with meal preparation.

You cannot imagine what Minho has to say or do that cannot be witnessed.

Your answer comes without a word but a gesture, his closed first opening between you.  You jump at what he reveals.

The phial of sleeping draft.  You assumed it was lost in the ocean tide.  Last you touched it, it went into your dress pocket and that dress is now underwater.  You thought the draft was lost too.  You lamented the only protection you had in prolonging the king’s advances. 

It must have fallen out of your pocket earlier than that, when you threw yourself to the forest floor in sickness.  Minho helped you through it.  Somewhere in your distraction, he must have grabbed the bottle. 

A hot flash of terror spreads through you, looking at the dark liquid sloshing around in that little phial.  When you look up, his brow is furrowed, face pinched with intense scrutiny. 

You are not sure what to expect.   Minho is decent and he seems close with Jisung, which naturally lends your trust to him, but your interactions have been minimal.   He could grab you by the wrist and drag you to Chan to accuse you of harbouring poison.  It would no doubt instigate the king’s wrath and everything would spiral before you could catch your breath. 

Minho sighs. 

“Will it kill him?” he asks. 

“Oh.”  It is not the question you are expecting.  With sincerity and pleading eyes, you reply, “No.  I swear.  It’s just a sleeping draft.  For – for myself.  To help me – at night.” 

He has clever eyes.  You suspect he can deduce what that really means.    

“Mm,” is all he says.  He takes your hand and puts the phial in your palm, then he closes your fingers around it.  He gives you a look, something stern that demands secrecy without a word. 

You nod, clutching the bottle tightly. 

“Be careful,” he says. 

“Of course,” you reply. 

He walks away while you gather yourself, the adrenaline of two unpredictable encounters simmering.  It has not yet settled when the king barks an order, his voice making you jump, particularly when your name is included in his angry tone. 

It draws Hyunjin from the outskirts.  He is still teeming, looking as though he wants any excuse to swing at the king again, punishments be damned.  Jisung is a step behind him, looking with worried eyes while the king seeks you out. 

The king stops a distance from you, speaking across a fire pit, like he cannot be bothered to cross that space.  You think he is also a little intimidated because Hyunjin is fuming in his periphery. 

The king does not look at the kingsguards, not even Chan who approaches on his other side.  He glares at you, enunciating every word with a snarling upturn of his lip as he says, “Go to the river.  Bathe yourself.  You will see me tonight.” 

This gives you another flash of terror, wide-eyed as you stare at his retreating form.  The implications are not subtle.  They are also not surprising.  He has spent the day being belittled and tested and he blames the brunt of it on you.  Of course a cruel and violent man would steal back his supposed dignity in the only hateful way he can, putting you in whatever perceived place he believes you belong. 

You know he will make it awful.   He would have been unkind on your initial wedding night but now you are certain he will be brutal.   He does not just want to use you; he wants to hurt you. 

You wish you could be stronger in the face of this reality, uncaring and brash and mouthy, snarking at him behind his back.  Your heart is not built that way.  You are frightened and very sad, fist curled so tightly at your side that it shakes. 

You almost forget what that fist is holding until you glance at Minho.  He is leaning against a tree, out of sight of the king.  He quirks an eyebrow then mimes taking a drink. 

Unfortunately, this makes you laugh, your nerves melting into the outburst of sound. 

The king looks at you over his shoulder, his eyes furious.  You feel the sparkle in your own as you stare back at him. 

Before the king speaks again, Chan steps forward.  His displeasure is obvious, his concern more so.   He looks at you with that despondency, helpless to do anything insofar as the marriage bed.  That is not the realm of the kingsguard, to say the least, though Chan looks like he wishes he could command otherwise. 

“The queen should not be left unaccompanied,” Chan says.  Looking at the king, he says bitingly, “Especially considering recent attempts on her life, Your Holiness.” 

Holiness sounds like an accusation in that tone. 

The king straightens, glaring back at Chan. 

Hyunjin, seemingly determined to escalate the mounting tension, walks towards you with an easy gait.  He smiles a very charming smile. 

“I can escort the queen,” he says, in a very different voice than usual, almost sultry in its depth.  It makes you blink in confusion.   

The king forgets Chan entirely as he reels around, pointing a finger at Hyunjin. 

“You will burn for eternity first, kingsguard,” the king snaps. 

Hyunjin just smiles prettily, hands folded neatly behind his back.  The lack of response agitates the already exasperated king who huffs and shakes his head.  His eyes dart around and inevitably land on Han Jisung.  It startles Jisung who swings into an instinctive bow.  He stares wide-eyed at the ground. 

“Bard boy,” the king says.  “Take the queen.” 

You look at Jisung as he straightens.  His blinking gaze moves from the king to you. 

That laughter is still caught in your throat, its bubbling delight only intensifying as you look at each other.  You think of that kiss on the riverbank, the softness of his every glance since then.  You do not even think it is especially subtle, or maybe you are just supremely aware of it, holding his gaze as he approaches you.  You feel like it gives everything away. 

The king is arrogant and he thinks Jisung is nobody important.  He does not even glance at at the unassuming bard, his eyes following Hyunjin as he waltzes away. 

“Are you going to take me then, bard boy?” you whisper. 

Jisung chokes on a laugh, a blush darkening the tips of his ears.  He looks over his shoulder but everyone else is ambling back to their posts.  

He looks at your innocently fluttering eyelashes. 

“Don’t tease,” he says with a nervous giggle.  “I think it might kill me.” 

He means it in a playfully hyperbolic way, but you grant there is a sobering truth to that statement.  It succeeds in quieting you, your fingers now clammy where they grip the phial.  You let your mind wander to that, preoccupied with the thought of tonight while you fetch some necessities.  Jisung is dutifully quiet the entire trek, following at an appropriate length all the way down to the riverside. 

You think he has similarly sobered, so quiet behind you as you step through the trees to the water.  The grass turns to sand and pebbles beneath your feet, crunching with every step. 

Your mind is far away, thinking of your very precarious position, how you can slip the king sleeping draft tonight, if it is even worth it to prolong the inevitable.  You doubt he will ever change his feelings for you.  You cannot be so demure and loving that a man with no respect for humanity will somehow see special humanity in you. 

Your gaze rests on the flowing river and the setting sun.  Streak of of orange and lavender flow over the water.   The breeze is laced with an evening chill, brushing a curl off your shoulder.

You realize the gentle touch is actually Jisung.  You shiver as his fingertips follow the tumbling curl down your back, until he is not even touching you but you still feel the proximity.  It moves through you with an intensity far more powerful than the king’s threatening glower. 

This warmth is not terror, a different heat that rushes and burns with startling efficiency. 

“What can I do?” he asks in that careful, low voice. 

You remember him behind you just like this, supporting your body, the look on his face and the feel of him as you discovered more pleasure than you ever knew existed.  You are amazed that it is not the most preached phenomenon of them all, that the gods would bestow such a gift on humanity.  You cannot imagine what you would have done without the revelation.  The immensity of it all has you shivering. 

“You’ve already done so much,” you say. 

“I’ll come to you after,” he says, words flowing in a nervous rush.  “I’ll help you.  Whatever you need – if you’re – if something happens – I can come.  The king won’t care if it’s just me.  I’m just bard boy, ha-ha, I don’t – it won’t matter, at least—”

You turn around.  His breath catches as your eyes meet.  His hand is trembling but he drops it to his side.  His eyes dart to the empty treeline and back. 

“Bard boy,” you whisper with a smile, teasing.  “The king may believe otherwise, but you are most assuredly admired by your queen.”  

“You—”  He looks at the still-empty treeline then you again.  He is so clearly flustered. On a startled, nervous laugh, he says, “You can’t say things like that to me.”

“Why not?” 

He kisses you, a reply made with no hesitation. 

He cups a hand around your jaw, fingers firm on your neck with a guiding pull.  The kiss is more than a touch.  If kisses can be whispers, this is a song, rhythmic and grand. 

Your knees nearly buckle beneath you.  This is your third kiss but it feels like first and the thousandth, the natural way you move together, gasps of breath and pressing lips.  His hand moves under your hair, cupping the back of your neck.  Your own hand raises, fingertips stroking his jaw then resting between his neck and shoulder. 

He makes a noise into the kiss, tilting his head, kissing you with so much intensity that you both stumble.  His eyes widen at his own actions, a hand covering his mouth as he looks at the treeline.  His startled expression makes you burst into giggles.

“That was my fault,” he says, throwing his hands into a surrender, then raking them through his hair until it is a dishevelled mess.  “My fault, my fault, it’s fine, it’s fine.”  He makes a series of faces while muttering to himself, giggling nervously at you, then walking away to stand guard. 

You turn your back to him, hiding your smile as you touch your lips.  Somehow a kiss provided all the courage you needed to decide, yes, it will be worth prolonging the king’s advances.  You and Jisung are already outsmarting him, his arrogant eye turned to the wrong kingsguard, and you will continue to find ways to do so.   The sleeping draft was made by a friend and you know you will develop more.  Perhaps alone you cannot combat a king, but you are not alone. 

For now, you will play his game.  A quick wash will feel good after the long day in the summer sun regardless of intention. 

You strip down to your shift as is appropriate for a queen bathing out-of-doors.  It is about the only appropriate protocol, as you should have more company than solitary male guard, even a kingsguard.  It is not surprising the king has you left you bereft of any ladies, forgoing introductions, actively discouraging his nobles.  That is something you will remedy yourself in the capital. 

For now, you are not mad it is just you and Jisung.  You glance at him while disrobing, catching his eye, smiling at his flustered blush as he looks away again.

You pile your curls as high as you can, then step to the water.  Even though there is a chill in the air, the water is warm because the hot sun has been pouring down all day.  You suspect it will be colder to emerge than to enter.  For now, it is comfortable as it laps at the foot of your shift, darkening the hem as you walk. 

You find a smooth boulder to perch on, grateful to use one of your own soaps from home as you scrub your skin.  The breeze is sharp against your wet skin so you sink into the water up to your shoulders, paddling around for a little bit as you let the day wash off you. 

The sunset has lost its golden traces, the sky melting from orange to pink, and you let yourself admire the colours as they swirl overhead. 

When you look at Jisung, he is already staring at you.  He is sitting on a rock, fiddling with the hilt of his sword in an absent-minded distraction.  He exhales heavily when you look at him. 

“What is it?” you ask. 

“I—”  He laughs then thuds the heel of his palm against his forehead in a punishing little smack.  “Nothing,” he says.  He looks at the ground then slowly at you, his gaze moving across the shimmering water before tracing up your shoulders, neck, and face.   “I just hope no one tries to attack us right now.  Because honestly?”  He lets go of the hilt to show his hand, revealing the slight tremble.  He immediately crosses his arms, tucking his hands under them.  “I don’t think I’d be much help,” he finishes with a laugh. 

“Don’t worry,” you say, matching his smile.  “I’ll keep you safe.” 

“Oh,” he says.  “Good.” 

You smile at each other for another moment.  It is disturbed when you hear the king shouting about food, far into the distance.  A couple of birds fly out of the trees and away.  You spread your arms in the water and watch them go, wishing it was that easy. 

“We should go back,” Jisung says, though he sounds as uneasy as he looks, biting his bottom lip, his big eyes as shiny and concerned as ever. 

The water is not very deep.  When you stand, it comes below your hips.  You squeak, a mousey and unqueenly sound, as the evening chill swarms you.

“Oh goodness,” you say, too distracted with the cold to think of much else.  “Robe, please.” 

Jisung is a very capable soldier.  You have witnessed it firsthand.  Where most of the kingsguards appear to specialize in certain skills, he has so far proven to be a master of everything.

He trips over his own feet now.  He slides clumsily across the gravel, drawing a sharp line in the sand.   He manages to remain upright, only just, muttering to himself as he picks up the robe you requested. 

He steps to the water’s edge, the robe under his arm.  He holds out a hand to help guide you forward, but he is very distracted with looking at the rest of you, so he keeps accidentally moving it out of reach. 

You finally clasp his wandering hand.  Only then does he lift his frantic gaze to your eyes. 

This is your second time emerging from water in nothing but a shift, the light material leaving nothing to the imagination.  Last time, you were shy and embarrassed, but it seems a bit silly to be modest now considering what he has seen.  Furthermore, you do not feel embarrassed, not with the way he looks at you.  The shift clings to every curve, nearly translucent, more so with the chill as the sensitive peaks of your breasts pebble against the wet white fabric.   

His eyes dart there again, his mouth open.  He doesn’t say anything.  With a bit of struggle, he manages to say, “Ahhhh…?”

“Robe, please,” you say again, amused.  Truthfully, you are not as cold under his gaze, flushed with a tingling warmth that conquers the other senses. 

“Fuck,” Jisung says, shaking his head as he wraps the robe around your shoulders.  “Sorry for cursing, pretend you didn’t hear it.”

Now that he is speaking, the words come in a breathless stream.  It comes from an honest, human subconscious that a kingsguard should have under control, but which he has evidently relinquished from mental bondage. 

“I can hit him on the head,” Jisung says.  “I mean – fuck.  I can’t do that, obviously.  He’s the king.  I wouldn’t do that – but also I would, if you asked.  If you ask then it’s fine because I’d do anything for the queen.  I should obey the queen.  I must protect her.  Then again, if I hit him on the head, It could go wrong, and he could die, then I didn’t just hit the king but killed him, and kingsguards aren’t supposed to do that.  Well, sometimes they do, but that’s very rare and definitely not the bard’s call.  I shouldn’t kill the king, even if you ask, right?  Right.  Fuck.  Sorry for cursing.  You wouldn’t ask that anyway, even if he deserves it – ah!  I didn’t say that.  Maybe if I get him drunk instead then he won’t be able to – you know–”

He lifts his finger, a rather impolite mime of a rising erection, which he realizes is a very rude gesture to make in front of the queen.   He throws his hands together in a prayer position instead. 

“By which I mean,” he says, “Nothing.  I meant none of that at all.  Unless you say otherwise, my queen.  Then I meant it all.” 

It is silent save the sound of the river lapping at the shore.  His hands are still clasped for prayer and you are holding the robe closed.  He blinks at you.  You are already smiling. 

“Right,” he says.  “Umm… Fuck.”

You pat him on the arm, stepping around him.  You go to your possessions and kneel down to find the phial. 

“I wasn’t going to ask for help,” you say.  “I fear I have already put you in a precarious enough position as is—”

“You haven’t done anything,” he says, quick and sharp.  His black robes swish with the swiftness of his spin.  He marches to where you are knelt down. 

You look up at him, your hand closed around the phial, but he does not see it.  His eyes are on your face.

“My queen,” Jisung says.  He crouches down so you can look at each other.  “I’m a lot better with words when I’m singing, especially a story about someone else.  That’s easy.  But I—”  He stares into your eyes.  His shoulders fall with an exhale, his expression softening just as surely.  “I wouldn’t go back to the easy I knew days ago.  I know I’m a mess now.  I don’t know what’s happening anymore, or what’s going to happen soon, but—”

He looks at the treeline.  It is still empty, of course.  The king does not see the pretty bard boy as a threat to his dignity.  He is probably brooding and glaring at Hyunjin and Chan while it is Jisung who lays a hand on your cheek.  Jisung captures you more completely than the king could do with iron. 

“It’s probably wrong to say,” Jisung speaks in a low voice, his face close to yours.  A tuft of dark hair falls near his brown eyes.  “It’s too selfish for a kingsguard or any mortal to say, but…   You said it first, that you feel the gods when we’re together.”  His thumb strokes your cheek and it might as well be a lightning bolt launched from the heavens, wracking your whole body with a shiver.  “I feel it too,” he says.  “I think I’m supposed to be here.  My life, the war, becoming a kingsguard, a – a – a queensguard – it was supposed to happen.  The gods led us here and we made it happen, and the gods allowed us, so we must – it must – it can’t be completely wrong, right?  When the king is like that, and you are like this.”

You are everything I ever dreamed of worshipping, he told you two nights ago, before you ever kissed, before you even really touched. 

“You’re worth a thousand kings, Han Jisung,” you say. 

It is confident amidst his stammering and it makes his eyes go wide.  You brush the hair away from those eyes. 

“I don’t know what will happen either,” you say.  “I know the king will try something untoward sooner than later, whether I am faithful and obedient or not.  I believe it is thus appropriate to reserve my faith and loyalty to that which I pray directly.”

You turn your face and kiss his palm.  You look at him from the corner of your eye, watching his breath catch as his eyes are bound to where your lips touch his skin. 

You wonder if he is so flushed because he is remembering how you said physical love was like prayer.  Hearing your words now, seeing and feeling your kiss, he seems to stop breathing entirely. 

“And in such a case as that,” you say, “I believe I would like at least once more night to pray for answers.” 

You open your hand and reveal the phial.  His gaze drops.  His eyebrows leap comically high as he looks between you and the bottle. 

He snatches it, looking at the treeline, then whispering so frantically that his voice breaks again, “Is that poison? Where in the name of all the gods did you get poison?”

You cup his face with both hands, laughing helplessly at his expression.  You stroke your thumbs across his cheeks and it lessens his panic. 

“It’s not poison,” you whisper.  “It’s just a sleeping draft.”

“A sleeping draft,” he says, words a little slurred as his cheeks are squished in your hands.  He looks down at the phial again, then at you.  “Well,” he says and gets to his feet.  He adjusts his sword belt, swishes the length of his robe and clears his throat.  “You could have started with that,” he says. 

You are laughing as he helps you to your feet. 

-

Thanks to your friend’s sleeping draft and Jisung’s help, you escape the king unscathed for another night. 

Jisung completes his task in the only way Han Jisung would and could: with a great deal of theatricality. 

The sun is nearly set and everyone is gathered around the fire pits.  The king is with his inner circle, guarded by Changbin.  After changing into a clean dress, you sit with the remaining kingsguards.  The meal is simple, meat cooked in a spicy broth.  Apparently, esteemed kingsguard leader Bang Chan is tragically intolerant towards heavy spice, a fact you learn because the others relentlessly tease him. 

It makes him crack a smile, the first one all day.  He has charmingly deep dimples when he lets himself go.   You are sitting beside him and the sight delights you. 

In the midst of comforting food and friendly laughter, Chan looks at you.  While the others are rowdy and distracted, he takes a moment to say, “I’ll guard the king’s tent tonight,” he says.  “Find me, yeah?  If you need… anything.” 

“Thank you,” you say, genuinely touched.

His chivalry will not be required, however.  Moments after he says that, the king starts screaming. 

“You incompetent mongrel!” he shouts, clear across the campsite, scaring another pair of birds. 

The kingsguards are quickly on their feet, food and jibes forgotten. 

You stay sitting, slurping your soup.

“Your Holy Majesty, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, a thousand times sorry,” Jisung says to the king. 

You glance over there, watching as Jisung alternates between bowing and scooping up the bits of meat that splattered on the ground when he knocked over the king’s bowl of soup. 

When Jisung told you he would take care of administering the sleeping draft, he did not tell you his plan, maybe assuming you would not like it.  You cannot honestly say you are happy to see him intentionally drawing the king’s anger, but it is certainly a fair strategy.  The king is too surrounded to truly sneak up on him.  He is, however, very easy to antagonize.    

Jisung tries to hold out a dirty piece of meat as offering.  The king slaps it out of his hand.  Jisung looks at it with dramatically wide eyes.

“I swear to the gods, kingsguard—” the king says, raising his hand as if to strike Jisung.

Jisung bows again, holding up his hands in supplication. 

“I apologize, your Holiness,” he says, bowing some more as he grabs the king’s empty bowl.  He remains bent over while scampering around.  “It was an accident.  I’ll get you more food.  Forgive me, sire, I’m a worthless dog, I’m a flea on a dog, I’m a flea on a flea on a dog—”

The king kicks at him as Jisung scampers off to get more soup.   The other kingsguards sit back down, either laughing at the nonsense of shaking their heads, chalking it up to Jisung being a little clumsy and silly. 

You slurp some more soup. 

The king only makes it halfway through his meal before he falls asleep.  The remainder of his soup splashes onto the ground when the bowl falls out of his lap, so fortunately no one else ingests it.  

No one seems bothered by the peculiarity of his sudden slumber.   This seems to a combination of the exhausting day and simple relief that there is no more yelling. 

Chan, Changbin, and Minho carry the king back to his tent where he will sleep alone and where you will not be visiting any time soon.  

Seungmin is assigned the first shift to guard your tent but Jisung escorts you while Seungmin is still finishing his meal.  You and Jisung walk side by side, saying nothing suspicious or untoward.  Nothing beyond his wink and your smile, at least. 

“Was the king this bad on the journey over?” you ask while Jisung unties the clasps of your tent. 

“Almost worse,” Jisung admits.  “He doesn’t like travelling.  And you already know he wasn’t, um, happy with the wedding, heh.  Now everything with Felix—”

“Right,” you say, watching as the last clasp comes undone.  “I suppose an affair can change a man.”

“So I’ve heard,” he says.  

The tent opens.  There is a lit lantern inside, brightening the night with golden warmth.  The interior is simple, though marginally more comfortable than the average tent. It is tall enough you can walk around without ducking. The ground is neatly covered, a thick bedroll unfurled in the middle of the space.  It looks as inviting as it can be, blankets draped across the long cushion, a pillow at the head.  One of your smaller trunks is in the room.  There is a low table and a cushion beneath it, a tea pot and cup in wait.  The lantern sits on the ground, near the bed. 

You look at each other. 

It would require only a step out of the darkness and into the light, then he could kiss you again.  Only a step, yet a serious one with real ramifications. 

Despite all that, you want him as you have never wanted anything before.  You want him so much that you learned how to want.   Before him, you were numb but content.  Now you feel every prickling tingle of a hair standing on edge, the anticipation twisting inside you, and the flush of heat that moves through you when his eyes move to your lips. 

“I—” he starts and never finishes.

You can see the complicated gears and cogs spinning in his head.  You think of him on his knees before you, kissing your hands, shaking with desperation.  Every kiss is both a gift and a surrendering, the forging of a serious vow in the breaking of another.  You want him but not in the way a king wants his kingdom, not with a selfish and possessive cruelty, and not with a command. 

“I enjoy your company,” you say.  “When Seungmin takes his post, would you play some music for me?  It would make me happy.” 

He releases a breath. 

“Yes,” he says, smiling at you.  “Yes, that would make me happy too.” 

Jisung stands guard until Seungmin arrives, then he leaves to fetch his guitar.  You dress down for the evening, removing your layers and letting your curls loose.  You sit on the bedroll in nothing but your shift.  It goes without saying that it does a better job of modesty when it is dry.  The recollection of Jisung’s staring makes your cheeks feel hot. 

You are smiling down at your embroidery when he returns.  There is only a brief conversation between him and Seungmin, the latter somewhat perplexed by his presence. It is not inappropriate for a kingsguard to guard the royal personage from inside the tent, but it has not been deemed necessary, nor has Jisung been posted. 

Jisung lets the guitar does most of the talking.  It is very persuasive.

Moments later, Jisung is inside the tent, lacing it closed again, the guitar on his back.  Somehow, the lacing of the tent ties feel even sturdier than a lock.  It would take a long time for someone to undo it, making it nearly impossible to sneak up on you. 

You suspect it would also take you a long time to become conscious of the real world.  Jisung is not kissing you, not even touching you, just moving inside the same small space as you, and you are already distractingly rivetted. 

So distracted, you poke your finger on a needle.  You put your finger in your mouth to catch and wipe the tiny pinprick of blood.  You look at Jisung as he sits.  He does not sit on the bedroll, just beside it on the ground. 

His eyes flick to your mouth, his face a little flushed. 

“Ha-ha,” he speaks it more than laughs it.  “Right.  Music.  Um.” 

The first strum of the guitar feels very loud in this small space, making your heart jump.  The alarm slows to a gradual stop as you let the gentle plucking of each string soothe you.  He hums softly until you are visibly comfortable with the sound, then he starts to sing too. 

He starts with a familiar ballad, famous enough it reached your land at the borders.  The next song you do not know but he has hummed snippets here and there over the past couple days.  The third song is about you, though it takes a second to realize it.  Your eyes are on your embroidery, knotting little loops of cherry blossom petals, when you realize the ‘mermaid in white with curly hair’ who has ‘wanting eyes for the soldier on the shore’ is maybe not so distant or fantastical as the lyrics might imply. 

You look at him, flicking your gaze to the sealed tent flap as if to remind him that others can hear.  He grins innocently and keeps singing, your story hidden in the details of some fictional recreation.  

Hearing his interpretation of your supposed thoughts makes you laugh.  He is often doing everything to make you laugh.  Hearing the thoughts of the soldier on the shore stirs rather differently, your heart palpitating as he sings about longing and terror.  Both those feelings seem to torment the soldier, a man equal parts integrity, desire, and fear. 

The lyrics trail off though he keeps strumming the guitar.  You suppose the story is not yet finished. 

The melody changes a little.  He hums to chase it, perhaps crafting another song in his mind. 

You look at your cherry blossoms, listening to him, remembering the first time he sang to you.  He had never even spoken to you.  You did not know him at all.  You were alone and miserable, sulking in the dark, and he jumped into the light and touched you with his music. 

It feels like so much has changed even while technically nothing has.  You are still married to the king.  You have both sworn oaths. 

His music still touches you.

Your vision blurs, then the first teardrop plunks onto a cherry blossom.  He notices immediately, just like he was the only one to see your tears at the ceremony.  The music comes to an abrupt stop, a suspended note awkwardly fractured.  He puts the guitar aside and gets on his knees, leaning over your embroidery to lift your face. 

You sniffle, smiling at him through your tears. 

“I’m sorry,” you say.  “I’m not even crying because of the sad things.” 

“That’s okay,” he says, his face as morose.  He tries to smile softly, though his brow is still pinched with concern.  “You can cry,” he says.  “If it will make you feel better.” 

Yes, you think it will.  You have too long repressed feeling.  You are allowed to be angry and passionate and sad.  Crying will not necessarily solve all your problems, but it will empty the clutter of your mind and soul. 

You let it wash away, then you let him wipe your eyes. 

“Thank you,” you say, wiping the last teardrop as he sits back. 

He picks up his guitar, though he just looks at it, running his hand along the neck while you tidy up your embroidery tools.  He looks from his art to yours, blinking at the cherry blossoms. 

“What are you making?” he asks. 

“Just bits and pieces, really,” you say.  “Spring is my favourite season.  It’s beautiful back home, with the blossoms and warm rain showers.  Everything sparkles all the time.”  

If you had not already cried, thinking of home might have done it.   You just sniffle and lay the fabric down.  You smile at him. 

“What’s your favourite season?” you ask.

“Mine?”  His eyebrows lift.  His mouth is open as he looks for an answer, then he glances at your embroidery and laughs.  “Spring,” he says.

You swat his arm and he playfully howls, clutching it. 

“You can’t just say that because it’s mine,” you say. 

“Why not?” he asks, still laughing. 

“Because!” 

“All right, all right,” he says.  He taps his chin with great contemplation.  “Autumn?  No, no, it’s gross in the capital then.  The rain doesn’t sparkle there, not in the fall.  It sort of just – pings.”  He makes a high-pitched sound on the word, miming each droplet as it tumbles.  “Let’s see then – it’s not autumn and spring is forbidden to me.  Ah, winter?  No.  No.  Guard duty in the winter is the worst.  Oops, I’m not supposed to say that – of course being a kingsguard is a blessing, and I can’t wait to experience the next winter, Amen.”  He opens his palms and pretends to pray, then bows his head before continuing.  “So it’s not those.  Then, ah, let me think.  What’s left? Hmmm…” 

You are already giggling when he leans towards you, grinning.

“Remind me,” he says.  “What’s left?”

“Summer, of course,” you say. 

“Ah, of course.  Let’s think.  It’s hot, muggy, and the rain doesn’t help either of those things.  Everything feels a bit like soup.  But…” 

“But…?”  You lean towards him as well, playfully eager like this is the most important secret he could reveal.

“But…” His eyes drop momentarily to your smile.  “That’s when we met.”

You look from his mouth to his eyes.  The joining of your gazes makes everything feel very quiet, slow, and warm.  Nothing exists past the golden light beside you. 

“Yes,” he says.  “Summer.  I think I used to hate it.  I think I’ll never hate it again.” 

“That’s funny,” you say. “I feel the same way.”

“Well, you can’t,” he says, abruptly teasing again. “Because that’s my favourite, and you can’t just pick it because I did.” 

Your laughs turns into a snort and you quickly cover your mouth.  He laughs at the sound though he tries to stifle it. 

You swat each other, trying and failing to keep the laughter down.  A kingsguard keeping watch or a bard playing music is one thing, but giggling with the queen is a little different.   

Your embroidery is between you and he accidentally puts his hand on it.  He hisses like he was run through with a sword rather than pinpricked with a sewing needle. 

“Oh my goodness,” you say, shaking your head with playful irritation.  You gather your embroidery things and place them out of reach so there are no more accidents.  “Silly,” you say.  “Big strong guard, you are.  It couldn’t have hurt that much.”

“It’s the worst pain I’ve ever felt,” he says with dramatically sad eyes and a spectacular pout. 

“Oh, I’m sure,” you say, taking his hand.  It is not even bleeding.  Still, you bring it to your mouth. 

You do not intend to be seductive.  You are truly just playing, intending to wet his finger against your lips and tease him some more.  The moment your lips touch his skin, however, the whole energy inside the tent changes.  If you did not know better, you would say the earth itself tilted. 

You look at him while taking the tip of his finger in your mouth.  His smile vanishes too, those dark eyes suddenly smouldering in the lamplight.  Your heart is pounding so hard that it wakes up the rest of your body.  When you kiss that fingertip again, moving your mouth, making no mistake of its deliberateness, your heart seems to plummet as well.  It drops right between your legs where it continues to pound, sending heat in every direction, so stark and sure that it makes you want to double over. 

“Jisung,” you say, your lips a little wet. 

He does not have far to go, cupping your face and pulling you in for a kiss.  You clasp his shoulders, closing your eyes and kissing him back.  You would not notice an intruder, nor even a fire, not even a god walking the earth.  You lose yourself completely, even more than those precious kisses from before.  Maybe it is knowing you are truly alone, that the king is out cold, that it is nighttime and you are in your shift and he is right here, and it would be so easy to lay down and—

“I—”  He abruptly breaks the kiss.  He still looks lost in it, eyes half-open, face tinged with a blush.  He pushes his fingers through his hair and shakes his head like that will pull him out of it. 

He looks at you then at your mouth, then he falls right back in.  His eyes close and he moans when he kisses you, like it is rearranging him.   He cups your face with both hands and guides the kiss, opening his mouth, inexpertly but hungrily.  You follow just as inexpertly but just as passionately.  You make a sound of your own, higher and lighter, sweet in the kiss as he licks into your open mouth. 

He is affected, either by the sound or your taste or your tongue against his.  He pulls back with a shuddering gasp, like he forgot to breathe the whole time.  You think you forgot too, breathing much harder than before. 

“I—I’m so—”  he says, forcing himself to look away.  He stares down at the lantern.  His eyes look a little wet, verging on tears as well.  He pushes his hand into his hair and keeps it there, the dark locks messy around his fingers. 

“Jisung,” you whisper his name, touching his shoulder, then his face.  “Jisung, I know.  This is – this is all crazy.”  He looks at you, eyes still sad, hand still shoved in his hair.  “I know,” you say.  “You’re not alone.  I know this is complicated.”  You stammer, tripping over your racing heart.  You cup his face and stroke his cheek.  “I’m not asking for anything but what you want to give me.”

“I know,” he whispers.  “I’m not scared of you.  I’m scared of me.  Of what I want to give.  It would be—”  He finally lets go of his hair.  It takes a second to fall back into place after being pushed for so long, falling messily across his forehead.  “It would be easier,” he says again, “if I didn’t want to, at all.  But I—” 

It is certainly easier for him to speak in song.  He conveyed so much as a soldier on the shore, longing and terror in equal parts.  Yes, that is all over his face as he looks at you, even if he cannot articulate it like this.  He just breathes.  He tilts his head and looks at you.  He is right, that this would all be easier if that expression was not so tender and loving. 

“What about you?” he asks.  “What do – what do you want to – give?” 

“Jisung,” you say, almost laughing, because isn’t it obvious?  “I want to give you everything.”

You thought that was so obvious but his look says otherwise, that he is surprised and taken back and overcome. 

“I believe,” you say, “that even though we are surrounded by danger, my heart and my body would be truly safe with you.”

“Oh,” he says.  He gazes back at you for a time, then he looks down.  He takes your hand.  His eyes closed, he brings it to his mouth and kisses your palm.  He holds it to his face after, eyes still closed, clearly thinking very hard.  When he straightens, he says, “It is.  But when it comes to me, I—”  He laughs without much humour, his expression rather withering and his tone self-deprecating.  “I think I’m broken beyond help.  I think I always have been.  I don’t even have a good reason why.  I just know I feel worthless if I don’t cling to the only vow that has ever meant anything and you – and I – and—”

“You’re safe with me too,” you say gently.  “Whatever that looks like, Jisung.  Whether you think it’s broken or not, I’ll take care of it all.” 

He nods, sharp and quick.  He rests his forehead against yours.  You close your eyes and stay there, just breathing until your racing hearts are under control again.  He kisses your forehead before standing.  You stand as well, mostly to see that your legs still work, everything fuzzy after all that. 

He picks up his guitar and goes to the tent entrance.  He unlaces it carefully, then looks at you before parting it.  His expression is fond, his mouth open with some parting words, but his eyes widen and he swallows whatever gentle words were on his lips.  You look over your shoulder, wondering what surprised him, but there is nothing there.

“What is it?” you ask, smiling when he does. 

“Ah, uh, you—”  He points behind you with the guitar.  There is still nothing there.  When you lift an eyebrow at him, he giggles.  “Um, the light,” he says.  “Behind you – it, um.” 

Oh.  The lantern is shining right through your thin white shift.  Perhaps it is not reliable for modesty even when dry, turning almost invisible as it reveals the shape of everything beneath the fabric. 

“Well,” you say, brushing the material out.  “I suppose it’s nothing you haven’t seen.” 

“Yes,” he says, breathlessly.  His eyes move down your body and up again.  It is such a thorough, thinking regard, that you think he might be changing his mind.  Then he swallows, closes his eyes, and bows his head.  He departs without another word. 

You do not listen if he and Seungmin speak some more.  You douse the lantern and climb under your blankets.  You thought you had tempered yourself, but that last look was hungrier and more powerful than a kiss.  With the image of him so fresh and clear in your mind, and with the tent securely laced shut again, you slide a hand beneath the covers and whisper his name again and again. 

-

You wake in the middle of the night.  You do not know what time but it is nowhere near daylight, the world in darkness all around the tent.  You went to sleep to some bustling noise in the camp but now it is silent so you believe it hours have passed. 

Your eyes adjust to the midnight blue, making out the shape of your table and trunk, the unlit lantern.   The only light is outside the tent, the guard posted with a lantern of his own.   He is holding it in the air so you can see his silhouette. 

Two silhouettes. 

It takes a moment for your groggy mind to catch up but it does.  You realize there is a hushed argument happening on the other side of the tent.  You realize you are also correct about the hour, because it is late enough that there was a guard change.  That is not Seungmin’s voice or silhouette outside the tent, but Minho.

“It’s the middle of the night,” Minho whispers, in obvious agitation.  “She’s sleeping.  Why would I let you into the queen’s tent?”

“I just want to see her.”  That voice is unmistakably Jisung.  You would recognize his voice anywhere.  Your heart wakes faster than your mind. 

“In the middle of the night?”  Minho asks.  “Are you crazy?”

“Yes!” Jisung whispers back, with a high-pitched strain.  “I am!  Now let me see her!” 

“What kind of argument is that?” Minho asks. 

“I just—”  Jisung sighs.  You watch his silhouette, his hands moving through the air as he gestures at nothing.  “I’ve been thinking—”

“I get that’s new for you,” Minho says dryly, “But the queen can be alerted to this miracle tomorrow.”

“And I just need to see her,” Jisung finishes.  “Because – because I only have half my thoughts when I’m not with her.  Like the world is only half full and I’m only—”  He jabs his chest, exhales heavily.  “Only half whole.” 

The lantern lowers slightly, Minho seemingly losing power as his arm lowers. 

“Please,” Jisung says.  “I’m just going to talk to her.  I’ll be fast.  She won’t mind.  The king will be passed out until noon at least.  This is just – I need to see her.”

“I hate you,” Minho says.  “If I hear even one disgruntled squeak from her, I’m considering it permission to kill you for being a nuisance.”

“I can’t wait to haunt you forever,” Jisung says, clapping him on the shoulder with a friendly pat.

Minho shrugs him off.  The lantern swings away as Minho stalks back to his post.  He plunks the light on the ground. 

You can no longer see his silhouette but you can hear as the tent unlaces.  Each slip of a tie has your heartbeat skipping.  You prop yourself up your elbows, watching slivers of moonlight slip into the tent.  Eventually the tent is undone enough that Jisung can step inside, then he grumbles and swears to himself as he laces it back up again.

You sit all the way upright but he does not see you.  At first, he is preoccupied with the laces.  Then, once the tent is secure, he turns around.  Your eyes are adjusted to the darkness so you see him perfectly, but his are not adjusted and he evidently has no idea you are awake and upright and staring at him.

He seems to go through a myriad of emotions, his face an entire theatrical spectacle in the span of thirty seconds.  Then he curses and turns around and reaches for the laces, having seemingly lost all his nerves, intent on departing again. 

“Jisung?” you say.

It makes him jump, shoulders leaping.  He slowly turns around to face you.  He still does not see you properly, squinting through the dark, but you think your general shape is taking form.  He faces the correct angle, at least. 

“Um, yes?” he asks. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask. 

“Oh, that,” he says.  “Right. Um.  You see.  I was thinking about everything you said.  And everything I said.  And did.  And we did.  And the king said and did.  And I was just – I was thinking – what I mean is.”  He clasps his hands together and punctuates his words with a pointed gesture.  “The. reason. I. am. here.” 

He lets his arms fall to his side.  You think he can see you because his eyes finally find yours. 

He should be a terrifying figure in the dark, all long dark robes with a shiny sword at his hip.  You are not scared.  His hands are the ones shaking, his eyes wide.  

“Yes?” you say softly, encouraging. 

He takes a step forward.  His hand rests on the hilt of his sword out of habit, no doubt a consolation to his nerves.  He looks down at it, seems to contemplate it like it has answers, or maybe just more questions.  Eventually, he reaches into his robes and undoes the sword belt.  You watch with baited breath as the sword falls into his hand. 

He crouches, laying the sword on the ground.  On one knee, looking at the sword, then looking at you, he unclasps the top layer of his robes. 

“I think,” he says, “I’m here to pray.”

You are quickly out of the covers, crawling down the bedroll towards him.  He drops his other knee so he is kneeling upright at the foot of your bed, his robes open to the dark layer underneath, his chest rising and falling as quickly as his heart must be racing. 

You get up on your knees too, hands floating between you as you take a second to just look at each other.  His mouth is open like he has more to say but he never finds the words.  You think they have all been said and they are better encapsulated in a kiss. 

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in.  His hands find your waist, at first with the chivalrous touch of a guard, the same way he has been holding your waist when he helps you from here to there.  Then the kiss deepens and your eyes close.  His tongue pushes against yours and his hands are searching, squeezing, feeling the shape of every curve under his palm. 

He says your name, not your title.  Your shift is messily gathered in his fists.  He kisses you softly, just a peck, then another, then those kisses move across your face and down your neck.  You sink your fingers into his hair, holding him there as he kisses a long, hot kiss against your throat.  You feel it all the way down between your thighs, liquid heat and a pounding need.  You scratch  at his scalp as his open mouth moves across your skin and he moans.

“Shh,” you say gently, his voice softening against your neck, just a light sound as he licks the place he kissed. 

You want to tear the robe off his body but you don’t want to startle him, his hands already shaking where they move over your clothed body.  You decide to go first, already more comfortable with it. 

You always thought disrobing for a lover would be petrifying, aghast at the thought of ever baring yourself to a husband.  Well, perhaps that last part is still true.  It is not difficult to share yourself with Jisung.  You like the way he looks at you, like he is writing songs of worship in his head. 

You lean back and smile at him.  He looks flushed and messy, his lips wet.  He blinks at you, though his gaze lowers when you gather the hem of your shift and lift.  His mouth is hanging open when you toss it to the side. 

“It’s not like you haven’t seen me before,” you whisper, laughing lightly. 

“That was different,” he says.  “I couldn’t really look.  I tried not to look.  I knew if I did, I’d want to touch you.  I tried to pray instead.  But I can’t hear the gods when you’re not near me.  Now—”  His hand moves up your naked side, skimming your curves, his eyes following the trail.  He swipes his thumb across your breast and your back arches into him.  “Now,” he says again, dipping his head, “I know where I was made to be.”

His mouth closes around the tip of your breast, already pert from stimulation, hardening further between his lips.  He sweeps his tongue across your skin, moves to the other side.  His hands move everywhere, up and down. 

He slowly lays you on your back.  He tears off his outer robe and leaves it on the ground, following you down.  You will not push him for more, knowing already how much he is giving you, though one day you want to feel every inch of him, skin to skin.  It will happen, you decide.  One day, you will be in a bed, and there will be time, and you will never be done exploring. 

He lets your put your hand under his shirt, scratching down his spine.  His arms are bare so you squeeze those too.  Your legs part to make room for his hips.  You are kissing and you make a sound in each other’s mouths when he lowers his hips against you.  You can feel him through the material of his trousers, like you could feel him that other night.  Where he ran away that night, this time he lets your hand wander down.  When you cup the hard shape of him in your palm, it makes your breath catch in an uneven stutter. 

“Jisung,” you whisper, arching against him when he says your name back. 

“Yes,” he says, pushing himself upright with shaking arms.  He kneels between your open legs.  He pushes his hair back and swallows as he looks down.  His mouth moves but he doesn’t speak, though he does make a garbled noise while running his hands along the soft skin of your inner thighs. 

That skin is very sensitive.  You are already arching by the time his hand is on you.  You have to cover your mouth.  No amount of touching yourself could prepare you for his touch, his fingers rougher and calloused both from his sword and his guitar. 

You are so wet for him.  He makes a face like he can feel the pleasure of it even though it his fingers rubbing through all that wetness.   He finds that place he showed you, as adept with the instrument of your body as he is with any other tool he puts in his hands.  Just as he is always determined to make you laugh, he is now determined to give you pleasure.   He grips your thigh in one strong hand and deftly moves his other thumb around and around that small centre of pleasure. 

You twitch in his grip, still gasping with those short, stunted breaths.  You can keep your voice down on your own but it requires more concentration now, swallowing those sounds as that pleasure breaks apart inside you.  Your hips lift, chasing his touch, before you drop in shy retreat, oversensitive. 

He grips both thighs, squeezing the soft flesh, then runs his fingertips back to their centre, then up, up the curve of your chest, touching your open mouth.  You take his fingers in your mouth, nothing like before which was playful then uncertain and demure.  You take them like you want to take everything, deep and wet and needy, moving your head, sucking them hard between your lips until he has to cover his own mouth to stop himself from being loud. 

He takes his hand back.  The other drops from his mouth.  You look at each other, hearts racing.   His hands are shaking again as he reaches for the ties of his trousers, fumbling more than a little. 

You sit up to help.  With him kneeling upright, it puts your face at a rather advantageous position.  His fingers get even more clumsy until he is no help at all, leaving it to you to unlace. 

You look up at him, holding his gaze.  This is certainly not the wedding night you were ever prepared to participate in.  You were instructed to lay back and wait, then it would happen and be over.   That could not be more different than your searching hands, eager to feel him, your eyes on any sliver of skin he shows you. 

Once the trousers are unlaced, there is little hiding, the fabric falling open and everything inside lifting up.  Truthfully, you are nervous but also emboldened with passionate wanting.  You are aware you are about to do something that cannot be reversed in the eyes of the law. 

I’m the queen, you think.  I make my own law.

You touch him as he lays you back down.  When you are on your back, you rest your hands at your sides, your legs open around him, hair spread out underneath you. 

He pushes his trousers down his hips.  He looks into your face for as long as he can but eventually he needs to look down.  He curses to himself as he is a little clumsy again, trying to guide himself to your entrance.  He finds it but your body is resistant even though you are so wet.  You wince a little but shake your head when he stops, telling him to keep going, please, please, please. 

You can only imagine how painful this would have been with the king.  Well, that man will never be your first, no matter what he tries in future.  It will always be Han Jisung, slowly pushing inside you, his face buried in your neck, murmuring your name as he fills you to utter completion. 

You almost cry when he is all the way inside you, not even from the tenderness but just the rightness.  You cling to him, sliding a hand down the back of his shirt.  He rocks his hips a little, kissing your neck when you whimper. 

“It’s okay,” he says, lifting his face to look at you.  He kisses your lips, a few short pecks that leave you wanting more.  He stares down into your face like he can hardly believe you are real.  “I have you,” he says.  “I have you.” 

He knows how to listen beyond words, hearing every cry and request of your body, even if you cannot articulate it.  He is careful until that tender burn lessens, careful for his own sake too, muttering the occasional oath when you squeeze around him.  it soon really does sound like praying with how often he calls the gods and you. 

You kiss him, moaning into his mouth, probably clawing up his shoulders as he starts to understand how to roll his hips.  Those scratches won’t matter because he’s a kingsguard and he will be completely covered tomorrow.  Only you will know his back is a canvas of your pleasure, fingers bruising and nails raking desperately as he takes you, deeply, thoroughly. 

“I’m – I can’t – inside,” he says between breaths, face scrunched up as he nears his pleasure. 

“I know,” you say, but whimper helplessly.  “One day.” 

That makes him moan deeply, a sharp thrust into you, then he is quickly pulling out.  It just takes a single stroke from his hand before he finishes too.   It is more than you knew it would be, a white streak that falls across the soft skin of your belly.  It takes a second for the sight to register for him, then he squeaks and grabs his robe again. 

Cleaning that off the queen is almost certainly not the intended use of the kingsguard robes, but it makes the most sense, as he is more likely to be able to clean it without any questions.  Still, he seems to realize just how sacrilegious it is, looking at the black fabric, then at you. 

He smiles.  It turns to a short laugh, a sound of disbelief. 

“We…” he says. 

“Yes,” you say, giggling too. 

You are not sure if he is more amazed with you or himself.  It certainly takes him a moment to stop looking so shocked, even though he was the one who walked in here. 

He comes to his senses, at least enough to lay down in your arms for a time. 

He can’t sleep here but you hold him for a while and he is happy to let you, his head pillowed on the softness of your breasts, his arms around your middle.   He turns his face and kisses your skin, just a chaste kiss, but there is a fire simmering beneath your skin now and you fear it will never be doused. 

You sit up together.  You kiss his bare arm, right up to where the shoulder of his shirt gets in the way.  He looks at you, appreciative, fond, and a little less scared. 

“We need to be careful,” he says. 

“Of course,” you say.

“I can’t let anything happen to you,” he says, cupping your face.  He brings it close to his, your noses touching. 

“I know you won’t,” you say.  “I’m safe in your hands, bard boy.” 

He laughs then steals one final kiss.  He doesn’t put the outer robe back on, giving you a chagrined smile while you giggle.  You shuffle back into your shift while he stands up and re-ties his trousers.  He smooths his hair as best he can.  He hooks his swordbelt into place.

He looks somewhat more composed but not entirely untouched.  You wonder if you look like that, if the change is all over your face and in the lines of your body.  You can certainly feel it inside, both literally with the ache between your thighs, and also emotionally. 

He unlaces the tent and looks at you again.  He gives you one last departing smile before he steps out. 

He has barely laced the tent shut before the lantern re-appears.  You catch Minho’s silhouette, his hand swinging down to swat Jisung hard on the backside.

“Ouch!” Jisung jumps.

“That was not talking, you asshole,” Minho hisses. 

Jisung, in much better spirits than his friend, simply plants a kiss on the other guard’s cheek and ruffles his hair.  Even in silhouette form, Minho is clearly shocked by this.  It takes him too long to retaliate, left standing there as Jisung skips away.

Minho shakes his head.

Smiling, you lay down to sleep, safe for tonight.  With your growing allies, you are confident will you find a way to remain so.   

[temis-de-leon]

You just have to keep trying

Characters: Mammon x gn!MC

Main Masterlist

C/W: first kiss. There's alcohol involved, but they're both completely conscious about what they're doing. OOC I think, but I'm literally half-dead from sleep right now

A/N: I'm planning on trying to post something else this weekend. This is just a sleep-deprived little treat <3

.

The night had been frantic, although MC doubted they would remember half of it in the morning and caring seemed useless; despite the sweat, the loud cheering, and the music piercing their eardrums, their smile was wider than ever before. They’d never felt happiness so pure in a long time, maybe ever, and if their heart dared beat any harder, it would surely come flying out of their chest.

Not even their fingers behaved properly, seemingly too eager to touch, grab and never let go and, judging by the neediness in Mammon’s embrace, it appeared he felt the same. Both of them were trying to absorb as much as possible from the other.

Did he always smell this good? His perfume had almost worn off, but the essence was still there and, after such a long night full of drinks and cocktails, he’d gained a certain sugary scent mixed with the bitterness of human alcohol.

“Now you can enjoy the party too!” all the brothers had said hours ago while presenting the obscenely wide selection of bottles.

And enjoy MC did.

They were about to enjoy it again, actually, with their bones vibrating to the rhythm of the music and their breath shattered in excitement, when Mammon suddenly put his hands on their shoulders and stared at them. His cheeks were blushed and his eyes showed softness, something only they were allowed to see, and, adding that to the affection with which he was rubbing circles into their skin, MC was finding it extremely difficult to breathe properly.

“So…” he started, his whisper barely audible under the synthetic melody from the dancefloor. They nodded encouragingly, urging him to keep going. “Did you like it?”

“Did I like it? Hm, let me think…”

“C’mon, don’t be like that!”

MC chuckled at his feigned exasperated expression, mindlessly giving themselves the freedom to intertwine their fingers behind his neck. Mammon dropped his hands in return and hugged their waist to bring them closer. Leaning in and showing him just how much they had liked their first kiss was a strong temptation, but the need to tease him was way more powerful.

“I give it a solid 8 out of 10” they finally said, exaggerating an academic tone to make the joke clear. He gasped in surprise and MC fought hard to hide their smile. “Might’ve been better if we weren’t interrupted”

Which was completely true.

The music had been nothing but spectacular the whole night and their feet already hurt from all the dances they had shared with all of their demon friends in those long hours, especially Asmo, so of course it was fate that the Avatar of Lust would be the one to open the storage closet door just in time to see his older brother finally asking MC permission to kiss them after a heartfelt declaration of love.

“Damn Asmo…” the demon muttered under his breath. Then, turning as fast as a switch, he hid a cheeky smile under a hand and dramatically rolled his eyes, as if doing MC an immense favour. “Let’s have another one, then”

“You can only have one first kiss with someone, dummy” they chuckled, taking a strand of his hair between their fingers and wondering if they really cared about the specifics.

“Then we start over”

He broke the contact between them, leaving MC cold and lonely despite being a mere metre away in a storage room with no open windows or AC.

“Listen well, human!” Mammon exclaimed in a theatrical tone, one hand to his chest and the other gesturing elegantly in the air. “I am the Great Mammon, Avatar of Greed, and I was wondering if you could… maybe… y’know, like, let me give you a kiss…?”

MC’s eyes were open wide in surprise, but still, their smile occupied half of their face. They launched forward while laughing in delight and excitement, landing on his lips but unfortunately clashing their teeth together.

“OW!”

“Well, that was a straight 5”

“It was your fault entirely, idiot!”

“Let’s try again, then”

There was a beat of silence where, they could swear, both of their hearts stopped at the same time. Multicolour lights drew the outline of their faces from underneath the door and the music made the glasses on the shelf tremble, but MC couldn’t stop looking at him.

“Maybe this time I have to be the one to do it” they muttered, their focus shifting completely from his blue eyes to his partially opened lips. “It’s obvious you’re awful at it”

.

.

Taglist: @ilovecandys2010  @ollieoven @kingofspadesdelusion @whimsybloom

[aventurineswife]

Okay.. a crack request. Reader doing a mating dance ritual in front of their partner as a joke, but to their shock, it ends up working. (Kaveh and Veritas together, and you choose the rest because lmfao. I feel like any foxian character could work with this, and maybe Aventurine because peacock)

Unexpected Temptations

Tags: Kaveh x Reader x Ratio, Feixiao x Reader, Mischief, Unexpected Romance, Playful Banter, Intimate Moments, Lighthearted Humor, Bonding Rituals, Emotional Tension, Slow Burn.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Sexual Tension, Suggestive Content, Unintended Consequences, Power Dynamics.

It was supposed to be a joke. A simple, playful moment. But like most things in your life, it spiraled far beyond expectations.

You had been lounging around the cozy living room, your eyes dancing with mischief as Kaveh and Ratio argued about something trivial—probably architecture versus intellect, as usual. The tension between the two was palpable, though beneath the sharp exchanges, there was an undeniable fondness. They might not admit it, but they were as close as anyone could be, despite their differences.

As you listened, an idea struck you. The playful, impish side of you that loved stirring the pot was now in full swing. A mischievous grin tugged at the corners of your lips. You stood up suddenly, interrupting their bickering with a dramatic twirl.

"I wonder," you said aloud, your voice dripping with playfulness. "What if I showed you both a ritual from my homeland? It’s a sacred mating dance... You know, to deepen bonds, increase affection... or something like that." You were mostly making it up, a little bit of theatrics never hurt anyone.

Kaveh raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued, while Ratio only looked at you with his usual detached demeanor. His expression softened slightly, clearly willing to humor you. "If it's anything like your usual antics, I’m sure it'll be... enlightening."

You stood in the center of the room, feeling the weight of their eyes on you. With exaggerated movements, you began the "dance," shifting between wild spins, exaggerated swaying of your hips, and playful leaps in the air. The sounds of your footsteps on the wooden floor echoed as you performed, each movement meant to amuse, to provoke a laugh. Your arms waved in an almost absurd rhythm as you swirled and pranced, each step a joke, a jest meant to leave them in stitches.

Kaveh, ever the idealist, blinked a few times as he watched, clearly not sure whether to laugh or question his life choices. His mouth parted, half in shock, half in amusement. "Is this... supposed to be the sacred dance?" he asked with a half-amused, half-baffled expression.

But you were too caught up in your own display to notice. You continued, completely unaware of how your movements, lighthearted as they were, were starting to have an unexpected effect.

Ratio, however, was no longer his usual aloof self. His eyes had softened, his sharp intellect distracted by the graceful fluidity of your body, the playfulness you exuded. His lips parted slightly, a glimmer of something in his sharp gaze—something... entirely different than the usual unbothered look he wore.

Suddenly, you noticed. The tension in the room shifted. There was a palpable change in the air, a magnetic pull that hadn't been there before. You faltered in your next move, blinking in confusion as both Kaveh and Ratio suddenly took a step closer to you.

"You’re... rather enticing," Kaveh remarked, his voice barely above a whisper, a glimmer of admiration in his red eyes. "It seems your dance... actually has some effect."

Ratio, who had once looked at you with calm indifference, now stepped forward, his intense gaze locked onto you. His golden accessories shimmered as his chest rose and fell with a barely-contained breath. "It appears there is more to this ritual than I initially thought. I... may have underestimated its potency," he murmured, his voice tinged with something far more personal than usual.

You blinked rapidly. "Wait, hold on, I was just messing around! This wasn’t... what I expected!"

But it was too late. You had unintentionally stirred a deeper, more primal energy in both of them. Kaveh seemed suddenly more intense, his gaze locked onto yours as if seeing something he'd missed before. Ratio had lost his usual reserved demeanor, his posture now exuding an undeniable heat.

Before you could even respond, they were upon you, each pulling you toward them, a mix of hunger and tenderness in their touch. Kaveh’s lips met yours in a soft but insistent kiss, his hand gentle but firm on your waist as he guided you closer to him. Meanwhile, Ratio leaned down, his breath warm against your ear. "You’ve awakened something... unexpected, my dear."

Flustered but unable to deny the heat that now surged between the three of you, you finally surrendered to the moment, realizing this was no longer just a joke—it had spiraled into something far more intense, something neither you nor they had anticipated.

The dance, once a playful act, had now transformed into a ritual of its own, one that bound the three of you in a tangle of emotions and desires, far more potent than you ever could have imagined.

And as you were enveloped in their embrace, you couldn't help but laugh—this was chaos, of a most wonderful kind.

The evening was quiet, the moon hanging low over the horizon, casting a soft glow across the camp. Feixiao sat cross-legged on the ground, her eyes shimmering with intensity as she cleaned her blade, the silver glint of the metal catching the moonlight. Her hair, now loose from its usual high ponytail, cascaded around her face, and the delicate ornament on her forehead caught the light in a way that made her look otherworldly.

You, on the other hand, were sitting across from her, trying your best to stifle a mischievous grin. The two of you had spent countless hours training and fighting side by side, and while she was formidable and terrifying in battle, there was always room for fun, right?

"Feixiao," you said, voice low but playful.

She didn’t look up, her focus entirely on the blade she was polishing, but her ears twitched, a telltale sign that she was listening. You knew she couldn’t resist when you used that tone.

“What is it now?” she replied, her voice steady but with an edge of curiosity.

You stood up and stretched, glancing at her with an impish smile. “You know, I’ve heard that the Xianzhou has some pretty interesting traditions for bonding.”

Feixiao raised an eyebrow, though she didn’t look up from her blade. “Oh? And what kind of traditions are you talking about?” Her voice was laced with the slightest hint of suspicion.

“Oh, nothing serious,” you replied, stepping into the center of the clearing with an exaggerated flourish. “Just a... mating dance ritual. It’s supposed to be a great way to show affection, but don’t worry. It’s a joke. Just a little fun, nothing more.”

Feixiao didn’t react right away, though you could see the subtle tension in her muscles, a sign that she was intrigued but still skeptical.

"Are you challenging me?" she finally asked, her voice low and amused now, her gaze flicking up from her blade. There was a smirk on her lips, the kind that made you both nervous and excited at the same time.

"Not at all," you said with a wink. "Just wanted to see if it works."

With that, you began your exaggerated, somewhat absurd ritual, the moves as fluid as they were ridiculous. You swirled your hips in a dramatic circle, waving your arms with a flourish as if you were the star of a performance. You stomped your feet in a rhythm that didn’t quite make sense but was undeniably confident. You even threw in a few twirls, just to add extra flair.

Feixiao watched you, her eyes narrowing in silent amusement. You could see the corner of her lips twitch as she tried to hold back a chuckle.

But then... something unexpected happened.

Feixiao’s posture shifted. The smirk disappeared, and in its place was an intense focus. Her hands gripped the hilt of her blade tightly, and she tilted her head slightly, as if evaluating you. Her ears perked up, the earrings on her left one catching the light.

You froze mid-spin, realizing with dawning horror that she wasn’t laughing. Instead, she looked... intrigued? No, more than that. She looked... impressed?

“What... what are you doing?” you stammered, taking a step back, trying to recover from the sudden shift.

Feixiao rose from her spot, her gaze locked on you with an intensity you hadn’t anticipated. Her steps were slow, deliberate, and when she spoke, her voice was low and dangerous.

“I’ve never seen a dance like that,” she murmured, eyes flicking to the space between you two. “But I must admit, it’s... effective.”

You blinked, your mind racing. "Wait, what?"

Before you could process the situation further, Feixiao was standing right in front of you. Her eyes gleamed with a mix of amusement and something darker, more primal. Her fox ears twitched as she leaned in close, her breath warm against your ear.

"Do you realize," she whispered, her voice thick with something you couldn’t quite place, "that the Moon Rage might not be the only thing that makes me lose control?"

You gulped, heart racing. This was not what you expected.

As Feixiao took a step back, you noticed the way her fingers subtly flexed as though she were restraining herself, her expression intense. The playful teasing had faded, replaced by a hunger you hadn’t seen before.

“Well... seems like I misjudged the power of that dance,” you said, laughing nervously as you tried to back away, but she wasn’t having it.

Before you could escape, Feixiao moved with the swiftness of a fox, her hand on your wrist, pulling you toward her with a force that made your breath catch in your throat. Her eyes searched yours, and for a moment, the tension between you both was palpable.

She grinned, sharp and confident. "Maybe... you’re right. It’s just a joke after all, right?"

But the way her fingers tightened around your wrist suggested otherwise.

The dance, intended as nothing more than a joke, had worked—but not in the way you ever expected.

Feixiao's quiet chuckle echoed in the air, and you realized, with a mixture of surprise and a twinge of excitement, that the night had just taken a turn—one you would never forget.

And as her gaze softened just slightly, you couldn’t help but wonder what other traditions were hidden in the depths of the Xianzhou, because this certainly wasn’t the end.

It was only the beginning.

[conundrumoftime]

Ring-temptation thoughts and Galadriel

The three bearers of the Rings of Power in the late Third Age, upon the suggestion that they should take the One Ring:

Gandalf:

[Speaking to Frodo] 'But you have been chosen, and you must therefore use such strength and heart and wits as you have.' 'But I have so little of any of these things! You are wise and powerful. Will you not take the Ring?' 'No!' cried Gandalf, springing to his feet. With that power I should have power too great and terrible. And over me the Ring would gain a power still greater and more deadly.' His eyes flashed and his face was lit as by a fire within. 'Do not tempt me! For I do not wish to become like the Dark Lord himself. Yet the way of the Ring to my heart is by pity, pity for weakness and the desire of strength to do good. Do not tempt me!'

Elrond:

[Boromir is speaking] 'Valour needs first strength, and then a weapon. Let the Ring be your weapon, if it has such power as you say. Take it and go forth to victory!' 'Alas, no,' said Elrond. 'We cannot use the Ruling Ring. That we now know too well. It belongs to Sauron and was made by him alone, and is altogether evil. Its strength, Boromir, is too great for anyone to wield at will, save only those who have already a great power of their own. But for them it holds an even deadlier peril. The very desire of it corrupts the heart. Consider Saruman. If any of the Wise should with this Ring overthrow the Lord of Mordor, using his own arts, he would then set himself on Sauron's throne, and yet another Dark Lord would appear. And that is another reason why the Ring should be destroyed: as long as it is in the world it will be a danger even to the Wise. For nothing is evil in the beginning. Even Sauron was not so. I fear to take the Ring to hide it. I will not take the Ring to wield it.'

Galadriel, when Frodo suggests it:

'You are wise and fearless and fair, Lady Galadriel,' said Frodo. 'I will give you the One Ring, if you ask for it. It is too great a matter for me.' Galadriel laughed with a sudden clear laugh. ‘Wise the Lady Galadriel may be,’ she said, ‘yet here she has met her match in courtesy. Gently are you revenged for my testing of your heart at our first meeting. You begin to see with a keen eye. I do not deny that my heart has greatly desired to ask what you offer. For many long years I had pondered what I might do, should the Great Ring come into my hands, and behold! it was brought within my grasp. The evil that was devised long ago works on in many ways, whether Sauron himself stands or falls. Would not that have been a noble deed to set to the credit of his Ring, if I had taken it by force or fear from my guest? ‘And now at last it comes. You will give me the Ring freely! In place of the Dark Lord you will set up a Queen. And I shall not be dark, but beautiful and terrible as the Morning and the Night! Fair as the Sea and the Sun and the Snow upon the Mountain! Dreadful as the Storm and the Lightning! Stronger than the foundations of the earth. All shall love me and despair!’

Galadriel, when Sam suggests it:

[Sam speaking] 'But if you'll pardon my speaking out, I think my master was right. I wish you'd take his Ring. You'd put things to rights. You'd stop them digging up the gaffer and turning him adrift. You'd make some folk pay for their dirty work.' 'I would,' she said. 'That is how it would begin. But it would not stop with that, alas! We will not speak more of it. Let us go!'

(Sam's suggestion there is easy to overlook coming right after the much more dramatic 'all shall love me and despair' moment, but I find it really interesting as an insight into her.)

One thing I like about all this is how you can feel the effects of the Ring tempting each of them through the person suggesting they take it. Frodo is telling Gandalf that he's only a hobbit, 'not made for perilous quests', and Gandalf is wiser and more powerful than he is, and Gandalf immediately recognises this for the tempation it is: 'the way of the Ring to my heart is by pity, pity for weakness and the desire of strength to do good.' Elrond gets: the fight against Sauron wouldn't be as hopeless as you fear it is, all the peoples of Middle-earth would be able to come together again and fight him, if we only had the courage which you could give us here by taking that ring. And Galadriel gets 'you are wise and fearless and fair', and then immediately after that, 'you'd put things to rights.'

Another thing I like about this is that Galadriel effectively gets tempted with the Ring twice, in succession, from Frodo and then from Sam, and that Sam's comes immediately after she's already refused it in the most conclusive way possible:

Galadriel: I have been tempted by this for thousands of years and now, finally, I reject it once and for all. I have passed the test.

Ring: okay I hear you, but...

And the third thing I like is how different Galadriel's response is to the other two. Both Gandalf and Elrond know enough to be horrified by what they might do with that kind of power but are quite vague in the specifics: they know how the ring would target them, they know they would not be able to resist its corruption, and they know they'd end up like Sauron, and beyond that it feels very much like an It Does Not Bear Thinking About Further thing.

But Galadriel has definitely thought about it and says as much. Galadriel's response is more detailed, more personal, and much more of a definite future than a vague and threatening hypothetical. (Even the way they describe it: Gandalf: "Over me the Ring would gain a power still greater"; Elrond: "he would then set himself on Sauron's throne, and yet another Dark Lord would appear"; Galadriel: "you will set up a Queen. And I shall not be dark, but beautiful and terrible as the Morning and the Night!")

Galadriel has her Mirror which shows her visions of possible futures, so it makes sense that this would seem more immediate to her; quite possibly she's seen all this. (I have more to say on this re: Galadriel's Mirror but that's for another post because this one's getting quite long enough as it is.)

And finally, I like that what Sam offers her is: 'you'd put things to rights'.

She's been in Middle-earth for thousands and thousands of years at this point, fighting the long defeat; and here's her big temptation of all the power she's sought; and here's the test that she finally passes; and then here's Sam with a little postscript afterwards, and he's not even offering her 'you could defeat Sauron' or 'you could re-establish all the great kingdoms of the elves', he's saying she'd sort out the Shire if she could.

And she says yes! Yes she would, she'd be really good at it, those people would absolutely damn well pay if she was in charge... but, alas, that's her gateway drug to becoming a tyrant, so: thanks but no, Sam.

[witchyintention]

Deity Studies: Lilith

Lilith, a figure of immense complexity and enduring fascination, has intrigued scholars, mystics, and artists for centuries. Her narrative spans ancient Mesopotamian mythology, Jewish folklore, Christian tradition, and modern reinterpretations. This comprehensive study of Lilith sheds light on her multifaceted nature and the diverse ways she has been perceived and venerated throughout history.

Origins of Lilith

Before she was a feminist icon and a Pinterest board muse, Lilith had some humble beginnings. In ancient Mesopotamian texts, Lilith is depicted as a demon or spirit associated with the wind and storms. In Sumerian mythology, she is referred to as "Lilitu," a dangerous, winged demon who preyed on pregnant women and infants. Talk about a dramatic entrance into history!

Her first gig was a cameo in the "Gilgamesh" epic, one of the oldest known literary works, where she’s hanging out in the Huluppu Tree, likely causing some trouble. Clearly, Lilith was destined for bigger things than just being a wind spirit with a bad rep.

Lilith’s character gets a serious makeover as she moves into Jewish mythology, proving that even ancient beings can rebrand. Enter the "Alphabet of Ben Sira," a medieval text that gives Lilith a juicy backstory: She was the first wife of Adam, made from the same earth. But unlike Eve, Lilith wasn’t about that subservient life. She wanted equality and independence, which led to her dramatic exit to the Red Sea. It’s like the first season finale of a supernatural drama!

In later Jewish folklore, particularly in the Kabbalah, Lilith evolves again, this time into a demoness associated with the dangers of childbirth and the seduction of men. Think of her as the original femme fatale, with protective amulets and incantations used to ward off her malevolent influence, especially around newborns and mothers.

Lilith didn’t stop there; she made her way into Christian tradition too. While she doesn't get as much screen time here, early Christian writings often drew on Jewish traditions, portraying her as a symbol of evil and temptation. By the Medieval and Renaissance periods, Lilith was all over art and literature, often depicted as a dangerous temptress. She was sometimes conflated with Eve or the Whore of Babylon, representing the archetypal fallen woman. Medieval artists and writers sure knew how to milk a scandal.

Lilith in Modern Culture

Fast forward to the present day, and Lilith is everywhere – from feminist manifestos to your favorite TV shows. Modern views often celebrate Lilith as a symbol of female empowerment and independence.

Feminist scholars and writers have reclaimed Lilith as the ultimate rebel with a cause. Her story is a powerful narrative of a woman who chose autonomy and self-determination over subjugation. This reinterpretation has inspired various works of literature, art, and activism. It’s like Lilith went from the misunderstood villain to the anti-heroine we all secretly root for.

Lilith’s presence in popular culture is extensive, spanning literature, film, television, and music. She’s a bit of a cultural chameleon, appearing in all sorts of contexts.

Literature: Lilith shows up in works by authors like George MacDonald and Neil Gaiman, often as a complex and powerful figure.

Television and Film: Shows like "Supernatural" and "True Blood" have featured Lilith as a character, usually emphasizing her demonic and seductive traits.

Music: The Lilith Fair, a music festival founded by Sarah McLachlan, celebrates female musicians and draws inspiration from Lilith's mythological legacy. You know you've made it when you have a festival named after you!

Lilith in Modern Paganism and Occultism

Lilith holds a significant place in modern pagan and occult practices. She is revered by some as a goddess, a symbol of liberation, and a guide for personal transformation.

In modern pagan traditions, Lilith is often honored as a goddess of independence, sexuality, and feminine power. Rituals and invocations dedicated to Lilith emphasize her role as a protector of women and a source of strength. It's like she’s the spiritual equivalent of Wonder Woman, but with more edge.

Lilith's association with dark and forbidden knowledge makes her a potent figure in various occult traditions. Practitioners of witchcraft, ceremonial magic, and other esoteric disciplines often invoke Lilith for empowerment and transformation. She’s the go-to gal for those looking to add a bit of dark feminine energy to their practice.

Lilith's journey from ancient demon to modern icon reflects the evolving nature of mythology and the power of reinterpretation. Whether seen as a malevolent spirit, a symbol of feminist resistance, or a goddess of empowerment, Lilith continues to captivate and inspire. Her story is a testament to the enduring human need to explore, challenge, and redefine the archetypes that shape our understanding of the world.

Further Reading and Sources

For those interested in delving deeper into the study of Lilith, the following sources provide extensive information and diverse perspectives:

Black, Jeremy A., and Anthony Green. Gods, Demons and Symbols of Ancient Mesopotamia: An Illustrated Dictionary. University of Texas Press, 1992.

Leick, Gwendolyn. A Dictionary of Ancient Near Eastern Mythology. Routledge, 1991.

Patai, Raphael. The Hebrew Goddess. Wayne State University Press, 1990.

Schwartz, Howard. Lilith's Cave: Jewish Tales of the Supernatural. Oxford University Press, 1988.

Baskin, Judith R. Midrashic Women: Formations of the Feminine in Rabbinic Literature. University Press of New England, 2002.

Pagels, Elaine. Adam, Eve, and the Serpent. Vintage Books, 1989.

Ostriker, Alicia. Feminist Revision and the Bible. Blackwell Publishers, 1993.

Hurwitz, Siegmund. Lilith: The First Eve: Historical and Psychological Aspects of the Dark Feminine. Daimon Verlag, 1999.

Gaiman, Neil. The Sandman: Season of Mists. Vertigo, 1992.

MacDonald, George. Lilith. Chatto & Windus, 1895.

Hutton, Ronald. The Triumph of the Moon: A History of Modern Pagan Witchcraft. Oxford University Press, 1999.

Farrar, Stewart, and Janet Farrar. A Witches' Bible: The Complete Witches' Handbook. Phoenix Publishing, 1996.

Lilith's multifaceted story continues to unfold, inviting new interpretations and understandings. As we explore her myth and legacy, we uncover not just the tale of a single figure, but a reflection of our own evolving values and beliefs.

[ai-musclebound]

> Naciss' Story <

Naciss was obsessed with his own beauty. Every day, he stood before a mirror, admiring his well-toned body. Yet he longed for more – ever more muscles. One day, he discovered an old mirror in a shop. The shopkeeper told him that the mirror was magical. Fascinated, Naciss bought the mirror and brought it home.

As soon as he arrived, a voice whispered from the mirror: "Naciss, I know your desire. I can make you more muscular. But in return, you must stop looking at yourself. Each time you see your reflection, your muscles will shrink twice as fast as I have made them grow." Naciss hesitated briefly, but the temptation was too great. "I agree!" he declared.

In the following days, he felt his muscles growing. His clothes became tighter; his body felt more powerful. But the urge to gaze upon his new self became overwhelming. He removed the cloths with which he had covered all the mirrors. Yet as soon as he glimpsed his reflection, he felt his muscles dramatically begin to shrink. Panic seized him. "No!" he shouted, turning away.

His body was now noticeably slimmer than before. Desperately, he avoided all reflections from then on – window panes, shiny surfaces – and ventured out only at night. But the world was full of reflections, and again and again he caught a glimpse of himself: in a puddle, in a shop window, in the gleaming surface of a car. Each time, the shrinking began anew. Naciss became increasingly paranoid.

In a fit of rage and despair, he confronted the magical mirror. "Take back the deal!" he shouted. The mirror replied coldly, "A pact is a pact. You made your choice."

In fury, Naciss struck the mirror with his bare fists. The glass shattered into a thousand shards. He felt a sharp pain in his eyes, clutched his face, and sank to the ground. Darkness enveloped him – he was blind.

The pain was unbearable, but he also felt his muscles growing. Destroying the mirror had not broken its magic. Horrified, Naciss realized that without the ability to see, he could never again behold his reflection. The magic of the mirror would now let his muscles continue to grow unhindered.

[elsfleur]

⋆·˚ ༘ * COOL ABOUT IT - PART TWO

ellie williams x reader

summary: it was an odd thing to enjoy your work, but with a passion for music and a fling with your coworker the days at the record store seemed bright, until of course you meet her girlfriend.

content warning: i guess it’s angsty, very filthy smut with sub!ellie and dom!reader, mentions of cheating and bad self image, implies of degradation, mentions of masturbation

word count: 1,749 and previous part here

📼 ʾ ⠀

she would come to you in dreams, pale green eyes pointed at you like a weapon, body soft as a menace, reach out towards your face and in tenderness you’d surrender as though you never meant to have walked away in the first place. you’d wake up panting the nights you’d forgive her, you’d shower away the disgust the nights you thought to have felt her tongue– traitor was a dramatic word, but your heart claimed it as ellie’s synonym.

work had become insufferable but you grew into an astoundingly good employee, never at the break room as to not encourage ellie into a conversation, constantly roaming around and chatting up clients with entire discography conversations going as far as escorting them to their car in odd fashion, you appeared sparkling and every glance of your shine that reached ellie’s senses immediately sent her skin on fire. she had been miserable and lazy, escaping from her thoughts only through deafening music as to drown out the distance between you, you too a constant in her nightly affairs, forgiving, beautiful, near.

she melted into the couch imagining it your embrace, let the melody transport her into better times, hated herself for replacing her songs with your laugh as a favourite track, for indulging in temptation through entirely wrong means. she thought herself a symptom of disease, wreckening plague in the lives of those she cherished that once established could only widespread devastation. the idea that perhaps keeping you casual and secret would make it unknown to the universe and therefore not give it the power to ruin it was stupid, once she fully thought it out, but it had been comforting. allowing your affection to fill in the broken cracks of her being as though glueing them together was a sensation she knew selfishly not deserved but craved as a drug addict. you thought she called you her angel as a bit, but she felt it pulsing through her veins.

tears prickled her eyes for the eleventh time that shift, heavy metal not enough. turning the volume down her body rolled sideways and she begged it into slumber for moments of peace.

“wake the fuck up williams we’re mid shift” you cursed taking hold of her headphones and tossing them aside rather agressively, the girl immediately stood up overwhelmed, a scoff being her immediate response to your turned back heading out the room.

“what the fuck? you haven’t spoken to me for fucking weeks those are the first words you say to me since you left this place before i could even explain anything and you just go walking away again?”

“jesus christ, i’m sorry someone woke up cranky from their midday nap but what the fuck else do you even want me to say? oh right i’m sorry, how about how’s your girlfriend?”

“we broke up” ellie stated simply before interruption.

“great! and i suppose you want me to run into your arms straight into a sunset beach now while it rains unicorns and rainbows, isn’t that right?”

“oh my god you are the most insufferable human being i have ever met! i fucking hate you and i hate the way every time we walk to work together you have to stop and pick out a flower at every single bush we walk by and if i don’t put it behind my ear your feelings gets hurt and you have the goofiest smile making fun of me, and i hate the stupid witchy herbs you make me ruin my weed with that makes it taste so girly and like you and i hate the way my mouth memorized your fucking lipgloss to the point i can’t do anything without feeling you on my lips and it drives me fucking insane, i hate your frilly little love songs that only start sounding not so bad by the hundredth listen and i hate that i fucking know the lyrics to taylor swift now and you made me relate to them! i hate your smile and i hate that fruity perfume you wear that always gets stuck to my clothes and i hate the way you looked at me like i’m a good person to the point i almost believed you for a second and and i hate your lame ass sense of humour and how you’re the only one who laughs at my fucking jokes and god worst of all i hate the way i can’t even begin to hate you at all!”

you opened your mouth to reply though not quite sure what words would escape you, but she was quicker, pacing around and heightening her tone in complete desperation that cracked knuckles in soothing.

“no and you know what? yes i fucked up and i cheated on my three year relationship but we were fucking done! we have been done for years! and we haven’t been more done since the day i first laid eyes on you and thought this girl is going to fucking ruin my life! i am worse than a cheater, yes, i’m a coward! because guess what angel, it has always been you. god, it probably has been you since before i even knew you existed and you don’t understand how insane it is to say this because you’re the one who believes the whole soulmate bullshit! i’m a mess and i’m fucked up and i’m too much and still not enough and-“

“ellie” you called out, her eyes finally meeting your own as you felt immersed in the same light green dreams you have ferociously tried to escape from, the pink lips you knew so intimately quivering at your stare as though taunting you to kiss its fear away, you had heard enough for an answer “kneel.”

“what, do you want me to beg for your forgiveness now?” ellie asked ironic though her legs were compliant, lowering themselves till she fell on her knees, running a hand through her messy hair to keep it from falling on her face staring up at you in clear shot.

“take off your shirt” you demanded, watching intently as she lifted up her arms to remove the fabric obeying though deeply confused, her cheeks flushing red with the attention, eyes drifting everywhere except for your face until your hand found the edge of her chin and forced it up to meet your eye “you’ve done enough talking”

“i fucking hate that you lied to me” you started impossibly close to her face “i hate the way you ruined this job for me, i hate that i can’t look at you without feeling sick with desire like a desperate whore pulsating at flashes of skin, i hate that i’m so used to moaning your name that you may aswell have ruined sex for me aswell, and i fucking hate how your little girlfriend kissed you infront of me and doesn’t even know your mouth was sucking on me minutes earlier, take off your pants”

she slowly rose up to detach herself from the jeans squeezing her figure, only to be pushed back down once fully rid of them back onto the ground, you weren’t finished.

“i hate that i can see how wet you are right now, i hate that you have made it so i feel disgusted to touch you, i hate that i still want to do it so fucking bad as if your moans in my ear would erase your dumb mistakes from my memory. just a question, were you fucking her when you were with me too? nevermind that’s silly, of course you were, unless you spent six months making her believe you have gone celibate-“

ellie shook her head hard, gulping down “n-no i didn’t, i told you angel it was a façade relationship all i wanted-“

“shut up. touch yourself” you ordered as she slid a hand under her underwear, lightly rubbing on her clit and silencing own whimpers through biting down her lip “i hate that i have to ask myself if she made you feel good like i did, if she knows your whole dominant archetype is actually just hiding a brat who wanted to be ordered around and fucked so bad, right els? did she get you on her knees for her too, touching yourself to the thought of her before she even took off her clothes? or am i just special?”

“angel” ellie moaned out, inserting a finger into herself.

“does she know about the freckles on your hipbone that look like the gemini constellation? did she see the bite mark i left there last time we fucked? does she know you like it when i spell my name on your pussy with my tongue, has she tried it? do you remember what it feels like to be inside me as opposed to her, remember begging to add more fingers so you could feel my walls closing in on you, remember staying inside even after i came because you wanted to feel the warmth around you, was she warm for you, ellie?” you asked, warm breath hitting her face like a makeout.

“angel, please” she begged embarrassingly.

“please what? use your fucking words since you wanted to have the last one so fucking bad”

“please fuck me” ellie moaned out arching her back with a gasp as you easily slid one of your own fingers inside her alongside hers, the sounds of wetness with your every thrust bordering filthy.

“i hate that i can’t fucking stop dreaming about you, that you’re so fucking wet for me you’re drenched, that i’m thinking after all this making me an idiot i shouldn’t let you cum, how’s that?” you asked curling your fingers inside her which lead to a near pornographic moan escaping past her lips and an aggressive head shook to your words “i hate your stupid lake eyes and how they shine like galaxies, i hate the way you hold my hand to cross the street because you know i get distracted, i hate the way you effortlessly played my favourite song on the guitar although you claimed before to not like it, i hate how badly i want to fuck the attitude out of you until my heart stops hurting about this”

“i’m sorry, my angel, i’m so sorry” she croaked out whimpering, swaying her hips for friction with your fingers every movement making it harder to keep a cleared mind, dizzy in desire “fuck, i’m here now please please let me show you i can be good i want to be yours”

“want?” you chuckled removing your fingers and shoving them by her mouth so she’d taste herself on them, sucking slowly “you are mine, ellie. i just haven’t decided if i’m yours”

[3hobbitsinatrenchcoat]

The World Shrinks to the Circle of Your Arms

Happy Dorym Week 2024! Today's drabble is inspired by the prompt "I miss you. (I love you.)" and the song May I by Trading Yesterday

I'll post all my drabbles to AO3 later, but for now enjoy them here on tumblr.

(Beware spoilers for Episode 95)

-----

“She’ll be alright.”

Dorian kneels down in front of Orym, who in the aftermath of Laudna’s dramatic window exit has stumbled over to the wall opposite and slid down to sit on the floor. He barely glances at Dorian, instead his eyes are locked on the inky black square of night beyond the window.

“I don’t think any of us have been alright for a long time, Dorian.” he says, voice cracking with exhaustion. His eyes don’t leave the window. “I just wish I could understand why she’s so determined about this.”

Sighing, Dorian reaches out and brushes his fingers against the side of Orym’s face. His heart flutters at the way his friend leans into the contact, but he tamps the feeling down. It’s just comfort, friendly comfort. After the night he’s had, Orym just needs a friend.

He swallows hard and says, “Probably for the same reasons you’re determined. You’re both grieving, you just have different ways of showing it.” 

Orym finally tears his eyes away from the window, ducking his head with a small wry smile playing at his lips. “Gods. I’ve missed you. You always know what to say.”

“I wish that were true,” Dorian moves to Orym’s side and slides down the wall next to him, pulling the blanket from his bedroll over their laps against the night-time chill. He lets his head thump back against the wood paneling. If he knew what to say Cyrus would probably still be alive. Opal would still have all the feelings and memories that had been torn away by the spider queen. At least Dariax was fine. There, that was one person he’d used the right words for, one person he’d managed to save from the landslide that had become his life… 

Dorian is pulled away from his spiraling thoughts by Orym (probably unconsciously, Dorian thinks) leaning into his side, forcing him to pull his arm out of the way before it gets pinned in an uncomfortable position. He holds it in the air for a moment, unsure, then gives into temptation and wraps it around Orym’s shoulders.

Orym hums softly and leans harder into him. “I mean it. I missed you. I… I thought about you every day.”

“Even on the moon?” Dorian asks with a quiet chuckle.

“Even then,” says Orym, pausing as he yawns so widely Dorian thinks he can hear his jaw creak. Orym presses a palm against his eyes and Dorian can see a faint tremor to his normally steady hands. When he speaks again his voice is quieter, tone approaching dreamlike. “Did you know they call Exandria the ‘blue promise’? They look up at us and have hope for the future. I…”

He cuts off abruptly, turning his face away, though Dorian can still see the flush staining his cheekbones.

They sit quietly for a long moment, then Dorian swallows hard and gathers his courage. “I missed you every day too, Orym. There… there wasn’t a single day I didn’t wish you were by my side.” 

He feels Orym slump against his side, his breath finally evening out into exhausted slumber. With an amused huff the genasi tucks their shared blanket more firmly around them both and rests his cheek against the top of Orym’s head.  

“Hope for the future,” he whispers, breath ruffling Orym’s hair. “There’s worse things to wish for.”

Try as he might, though, sleep is not so quick to claim Dorian. He holds Orym tucked close into his side and thinks of friends lost to objects of immense and powerful darkness. The last thing he remembers before his eyes finally, blissfully, slide shut is the pale streaks of dawn peaking through the window and the creak of floorboards as his wayward companions return. 

[maraschinocheri]

Happy 39th birthday to the London production of Les Misérables (which officially opened on 8 October 1985 at the Barbican Theatre, though previews began at the end of September)! By way of celebrations, scans from the 1985/86 / 1986/87 Royal Shakespeare Company Yearbook, which honoured the success of the Barbican production and its transfer to the Palace Theatre by making Colm Wilkinson and Michael Ball during 'Bring Him Home' its cover stars. The annual RSC Yearbook summarised productions in all of the company's (at the time five) theatres and on tour with production photography and critical commentary from newspapers and other media. Text from the pages above is under the cut below, with bracketed extra information to clarify some references.

Not since Sondheim’s Sweeney Todd back in 1979 has there been a score which soared out of the pit with the blazing theatricality of Les Misérables, and to those of my tabloid colleagues already in print with feeble and fainthearted objections to the show, I have but this to say: remember the demon barber. Sweeney, too, we were once told; was too dark, too savage, too downbeat a theme for a musical. Six years on, that show has won more awards and been acclaimed to more opera houses than any other in the entire history of the American musical. Les Misérables, in a brilliantly intelligent staging by Trevor Nunn and John Caird, will achieve a similar kind of long-term success …

[The Times’/Punch’s Sheridan] Morley went on. ‘… The greatness of Les Misérables is that it starts out, like Sweeney and Peter Grimes, to redefine the limits of music theatre. Like them it is through sung, and like them it tackles universal themes of social and domestic happiness in terms of individual despair.’

[The Financial Times’ Michael] Coveney talked of the allying of ‘Nickleby*-style qualities of ensemble presentation to a piece that really does deserve the label ‘rock opera’, occupying brand new ground somewhere between Verdi and Andrew Lloyd Webber. It was not, he thought, a company celebration like Nickleby, ‘but an appreciation of those values along with the musical experience gathered by the team (Trevor Nunn, John Caird and David Hersey) on Cats and Starlight Express.’ To that extent, he went on, the show was an important one, ‘bridging gaps between musical and opera, and subjecting rock musicians to RSC tutelage while last year’s Clarence [in the RSC 1984 production of Richard III], Roger Allam, is unveiled in the role of Javert as an outstanding performer in the musical idiom.’

[*The RSC's landmark 1980 production of an adaption of Charles Dickens’ The Life and Adventures of Nicholas Nickleby]

[The Guardian’s Michael] Billington posited that if you fillet any great nineteenth-century novel, ‘you are left with melodrama.’ Les Misérables, he said, jointly produced by the RSC and Cameron Mackintosh at the Barbican, becomes exactly ‘high class melodrama.’ It was staged ‘with breathtaking panache by Trevor Nunn and John Caird. It is impeccably designed by John Napier. It has a lively score by Claude-Michel Schönberg. But it is three-and-a-half hours of fine middlebrow entertainment rather than great art.’ Billington claimed to have ‘conned’ the novel sufficiently ‘to realise that it is a towering masterpiece about social injustice, redemption through love and the power of Providence.’ What the musical offered, he went on, ‘is the hurtling story of Jean Valjean, the paroled prisoner who becomes a provincial mayor, who is relentlessly pursued by the policeman Javert and who achieves heroic feats of self-sacrifice at the 1832 Paris uprising. What you don’t get is the background of moral conflict that makes this more than a classy adventure story.’ In this he thought, Hugo’s novel was infinitely more dramatic than the musical.

[The Times’ Irving] Wardle spoke of the temptation in such circumstances for anyone who has read the novel ‘to quarrel with any adaptation for its omissions and liberties instead of judging the adaptation on its own merits.’ In this instance, he maintained, Alain Boublil and Claude-Michel Schönberg had done a capable gutting job. ‘They present a clear outline of the epic contest between Jean Valjean, the saintly ex-convict, and his implacable pursuer Javert: including Valjean’s defeated attempt to save the wretched Fantine, and his life-long devotion to her daughter, Cosette, only to lose her to a young love, Marius, amid the Paris barricades of 1832.’

The adapters had cut corners with boldness and ingenuity, Wardle believed, and had found fresh situations where Hugo’s are theatrically unworkable. They had also preserved the essential sense that Valjean and Javert are two of a kind, belonging, as Hugo puts it, to the ‘two classes of men whom society keeps at arms length: those who prey on it and those who protect it.’

Coveney maintained that the organization and placement of the continuously revolving stage was ‘beyond praise’, with John Napier’s design doing as much honour to Hugo’s Paris as he lavished on Dickens’s London [in Nickleby]: ‘Two huge trucks rumble on and form a barricaded wall which, just as Hugo describes, seems to contain a city in itself, a fantastic jumble of chairs, barrels, planks and people, a teeming segment of a revolutionary catacomb.’

This alternative society, Coveney said, was presented without sentiment ‘as indeed are its urchin sentinels, the daughter of Thenardier (a devastating waif performance by Frances Ruffelle) and Gavroche … sweetly and surely sung by an admirable child actor and just when you feel the production is slipping by allowing a [writer of Oliver] Lionel Bart-ish point number, he is shot full of bullets and left to sing plaintively on the wrong side of the barricade.’

The music, [The Sunday Times’ John] Peter though, ‘has a fresh, astringent lyricism and a powerful, ballad-like drive: number after number makes robust contributions to character and drama.’ The best performances, in Peter’s opinion, came from Alun Armstrong and Susan Jane Tanner as the ‘horrible Thenardiers', Patti LuPone (Fantine) and Frances Ruffelle (Eponine). But this was, he pointed out, ‘essentially a company musical rather than a star vehicle. If it transfers to the West End where its masterful theatricality would outshine almost anything else on offer, it might show people that success in this genre doesn’t depend solely on expensive star turns.’ The transfer to the Palace, of course, came swiftly after the Barbican opening.

[The Observer’s Michael] Ratcliffe described Schönberg’s score as ‘all tinselly arpeggios, stabbing staccato, pile-driving trumpets and thinly-disguised hymns.’ In polite terms he said, it was ‘electric, trailing a range of references from high-tech Bizet and Massenet to the air-time acceptable, and Celtic Fringe Folk.’

Some scenes, said Coveney, go straight into operatic form, ‘for example the apprehension by Javert of Valjean at Fantine’s deathbed, or a beautiful garden trio for young lovers in Valjean’s garden hideaway.’ There was also a ‘startling thematic echo of Rigoletto as Valjean ponders the son he might have had.’ Colm Wilkinson’s Valjean was in Coveney’s opinion ‘a remarkable study in impassive acquisition of self-knowledge … He [has] particularly fine and lyrical use of his upper register. Above all he transmits palpable goodness without sounding like a prig or a boar [bore?].’ [The Sunday’s Telegraph’s Francis] King thought Wilkinson not only sang the role with eloquence ‘but – far more difficult – brings out the essential goodness of a much-wronged man.’ The outstanding voice of the evening in King’s opinion, was that of Patti LuPone as Fantine.

The band under the stage and the musical direction of Martin Koch include some rumbling brass premonitions of disaster as well as some very fine work on synthesizers, brass and strings. The score also underpins such exciting production movements as the arrival of the barricade, the suicidal leap (done by the bridge flying up as Mr Allam free falls on the spot) and the descent to the sewers with lots of dry ice and naked banks of light not equalled in impact since Mr Hersey did something similar in Evita.

In short, this is an intriguing and most enjoyable musical, fully justifying the mixing of commercial resources with RSC talent and personnel, even if not all that many RSC actors are involved.* Being now acquainted with the demands of the score, I see why that should be so. [Morley]

[* The RSC members who appeared in the Barbican production were Roger Allam, Alun Armstrong, and Susan Jane Tanner. Other RSC members at this time joined Les Mis in later companies, among them David Delve, who would replace Alun Armstrong as Thenardier.]

[hbyrde36]

It's Only Forever

A final heartfelt thanks to @penny00dreadful for everything you do and for always having my back! 😘💜

R: Mature | WC: 5793 | | Ch 8/8 | Read on AO3

[Penny Art - Eddie's Introduction] [Penny Art - The Ball]

[SissayeRys Art Link]

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 5 Ch 6 Ch 7

Chapter 8: Home At Last

Eddie sighed dramatically as he stared up at the vaulted ceiling of his bedchamber.

He’d been tossing and turning for hours, unable to quiet his troubled, restless mind. 

After a lengthy walk around the castle grounds, and a conversation with Dustin that Eddie had so badly wanted to eavesdrop on…

He hadn’t, for the record, out of respect, but the temptation hadn’t been easy to resist.

…Steve had come back to the castle and said he needed to sleep on it. Saying very little else before retiring for the night.

Another practice in restraint, Eddie had sent up food, fresh clothes, and a basin of clean water to Steve and Dustin’s guest-quarters with a few goblins—the three Dustin had grown so fond of—rather than take it to them himself like he wanted. 

It would have been the perfect excuse to catch another glimpse of the other boy, but Eddie didn’t want to force his company when Steve had so clearly expressed the desire for time and space.

He was determined to stay on his best behavior, doing everything he could to prove to Steve that he was more than the act he’d been putting on. He’d even gone out to meet Argyle and Jonathan earlier, where they still waited at the bottom of the castle steps, and introduced himself. He let them know, in no uncertain terms, that he meant them no harm, that Steve, Dustin, and Robin were now his guests, and that they were welcome in the castle too.

The unusual pair, who inexplicably introduced themselves as brothers, took him up on the offer, and were even now sharing the last of the spare rooms in the castle.

Chrissy invited Robin to bunk with her. No surprise with the way Eddie had seen them looking at each other, after the two had already spent hours with their heads bent together poring over books and scrolls, giggling behind their hands whenever he walked by.

Eddie was happy for them, even if it meant that he was now spread out in the middle of his giant bed alone, with nothing and no one to distract himself from his own thoughts, or help him forget that Steve was right down the hall. 

So close, and yet completely out of reach. 

It wasn’t an outright rejection, or so he kept telling himself, trying desperately to keep hope alive in his heart. Steve was still there, after all. That had to mean something, right? But still, it was hard not to fall into the pit of despair. 

Because really, why on earth would Steve want anything to do with him now?

No matter how well they seemed to fit together. 

If it was just a physical thing, Eddie could have probably let it go, but he didn’t only appreciate Steve’s body, he was attracted to his fucking soul. 

Who he was at his very core.

And who Steve was, was kind and caring, loyal to a fault, but also quick-witted and catty, in the best way. He was, too, a bit conceited and cocksure, but he had the cunning to pull it off.

Most of the time. 

He loved with his entire being.

He was as brave and smart as Dustin had claimed, and absolutely everything Eddie could have hoped to find in a— 

Boyfriend? Lover? Partner? 

No word properly encapsulated all of what Eddie wanted from Steve now. None of them quite hit the mark of describing just how deep he’d fallen.

Giving up on the idea of sleep, Eddie got out of bed, wrapping himself up in a long black silk robe. 

He’d worn nothing to bed, never did unless Chrissy slept over, save for the necklace that made this life of his possible—the unusual pendant given to him by the last goblin king, a powerful amulet which allowed him to wield the powers of his position, now split into two halves of that formerly single whole.

He wondered if maybe he should have waited until Steve gave his final answer to make them, but he’d wanted Steve to know he was serious, that he meant it.

Forever.

Those twin rings resting against his chest bore much more than a physical weight. They were a tangible promise of either pain and heartache, or, the greatest happiness he’d ever know.

The castle was quiet when Eddie slipped through his door, padding up and down the long hallways on bare feet. Without meaning to, he found himself heading for the atrium, drawn to the place where he’d finally laid himself bare before Steve.

It was somewhere peaceful to sit and think, or to maybe try to stop thinking at all, but it was also a place he could go to feel close to Steve without actually bothering him.

Or maybe not? 

The space was full of shadows as Eddie entered, dimly lit with the soft flickering light of a few sconces dotted along the curved walls, and the only sound to be heard was the tranquil trickling of water into the central pond.

Eddie breathed deep, taking in the scent of night air mixed with the heady perfume of all the exotic flowers in bloom.

He was halfway around the room when he spotted someone sitting on one of the benches. The familiar figure’s head was tilted up to the sky above, admiring the glittering expanse of stars.

His back was to Eddie, but somehow he knew Eddie was there all the same. 

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Steve said without turning around. 

Eddie wasn’t sure if he should intrude or not, but Steve hadn’t told him to go, so hesitantly he approached, rounding the front of the bench just as Steve’s eyes fell to meet his. 

Steve wore a long white linen nightshirt that fell to barely mid-thigh, and Eddie tried hard not to think about whether he was wearing anything under it or not as he raised his eyebrows asking silent permission. 

Only after Steve nodded did Eddie sit down, careful to leave a polite amount of space between them. 

They sat together for a long while in the quiet dark, watching the night go by through the wide, open ceiling. It was impossible for Eddie to look up at the view and not think of their steamy rendezvous on the terrace, and wonder if Steve was remembering too.

It was again Steve who eventually spoke first, blowing out a long shaking breath before breaking the increasingly heavy silence between them. “You’d think after such a long and difficult day sleep would come easy.”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie whispered, and as the words passed his lips his heart fell, realizing he never really did apologize properly for what he’d done. 

“I’m so sorry, Steve. I tried to tell myself that I was just doing my job, what I was put here to do, and that was true to an extent but—” Eddie leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he let his head fall into his hands, cheeks growing wet. 

“I was—” he sniffled, rubbing roughly at his face before looking back up to meet Steve's eyes again, “—so angry, for such a long time. I resented my dad for abandoning me, for not trying harder, or at all, and I let that color my perception. I took it out on you, and you didn’t deserve that.”

Steve was quiet for a long beat, until slowly, ever so slowly, he raised a hand, reaching out to brush away a stray tear from Eddie's cheek.

Eddie’s breath hitched.

“You did what you thought you had to do. If anyone can understand that, it’s me.” 

“But—” Eddie started to argue but Steve’s fingers drifted down his face, letting the same thumb that had dried his tears now rest against his lips, gently silencing him.

“Hey,” Steve whispered, his steady gaze piercing, demanding Eddie’s full attention with that single soft word. “I don’t regret it. Any of it. I'd go through it all again. It’s like you said, without all this I never would have come here. I wouldn't know that I was capable of so much more than what my parents wanted for me. I wouldn’t have met Robin, or Argyle, or Jonathan. 

“Or you—”

Steve let him go, and before Eddie could mourn the loss of his touch, Steve was moving closer, the lines of their legs pressing together as he gathered up both of Eddie’s hands in his own, lacing their fingers. “And I'm sorry about your father. I’m sorry if he ever made you feel for even one second that you weren’t worth fighting for. Because you are, Eddie. You’re worth everything.”

Their faces were suddenly so close, Eddie hadn’t realized he was leaning in until their noses nearly brushed. 

“Steve?”

Eddie didn’t even know what he was asking but Steve gave the barest of nods, and in the space of a blink they were kissing. He wasn’t sure who had actually closed the distance between them, but it didn’t matter. The second Steve’s lips touched his, Eddie was as lost in it as he had been that very first time. The rest of the world simply fell away, narrowed down to warm hands gripping tight, and desperate tongues sliding together.

He was left gasping, drowning in desire as Steve ducked to kiss down his neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. Then Steve’s hands were gone, leaving Eddie untethered for a terrifying moment, until they wrapped around his waist instead, lifting him up and over until he straddled Steve’s lap.

Eddie’s robe fell open with the movement. All that was left between them was the very thin cottony fabric of Steve’s nightshirt, leaving no more question as to whether Steve had anything on underneath.

He… did not, and that knowledge, along with the air hitting his suddenly bare front, set Eddie’s blood on fire.

Steve continued his assault on Eddie’s neck, grinding his hips up as his touch began to wander south, caressing Eddie’s ass and thighs.

“W-wait—” Eddie forced out, pulling back, and pulling his robe back around himself as best he could.

Steve’s brows pinched together in concern. “What’s wrong?” 

“I don’t think I can do this if it’s only for tonight.” Eddie smiled down at Steve sadly, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to his forehead. As much as he wanted this, it would make it all the more painful if—and let’s face it, when—Steve decided to leave.

“I’m not rushing you to make a decision. I told you to take all the time you need and I meant it, but I don’t want to know the taste of your body if I'm going to have to say goodbye to you tomorrow.” He tried to slide off of Steve’s lap but found himself pinned in place by the other boy’s unwavering grip. 

“You won’t have to,” Steve said, his voice a little strained, but steady.

“Do you mean..?”

“Yes, I'm saying yes.”

Eddie’s heart leapt, hope threatening to bloom in full, but still he cradled Steve’s face, tilting it up to look for any sign of doubt there. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve been sure since almost the moment you asked.”

“Oh, I see,” Eddie’s face spread into a wide, wild grin as he wound his arms around Steve’s shoulders. “You’ve just been enjoying knowing I was going crazy then?”

“Maybe,” Steve smirked, pecking him on the tip of his nose. 

“Brat.”

They kissed again, and as much as Eddie tried to hold back it wasn’t long before he found himself filling with heat, the same heat he saw reflected back at him through Steve’s half-lidded eyes. At this rate Steve wouldn’t even get to see the inside of Eddie’s bedroom, their shared bedroom now, he supposed, before finding their pleasure together here, out in the open in the center of the castle. 

Eddie couldn’t wait to show Steve all that they shared now, from his favorite parts of the Labyrinth, to the fun they could have with the powers they both possessed. 

“Wait—” Eddie broke the kiss and wrenched himself back, panting, pressing a hand to Steve’s chest when he tried to chase after him.

Steve groaned, letting his head fall with a light thunk to the back of the bench. “You’re killing me here.”

Taking far too much pleasure in torturing them both, Eddie cackled, leaning back to untie the cord around his neck. He pulled, letting the two rings slide off the end to land in his palm.

“Oh,” Steve breathed, sitting up a little straighter.

Eddie picked up the gold ring with his other hand, raising his eyebrows in another silent bid for permission.

With wide eyes Steve bit at his swollen bottom lip, offering up his hand. 

Eddie slipped the ring into place.

It was a perfect fit.

Without hesitation Steve plucked the remaining silver ring from his palm, and in an infuriatingly good impression of Eddie’s own mannerisms, raised an eyebrow.

And oh, was Eddie going to enjoy taking him apart later. 

He flipped his hand over, offering it in the same fashion Steve had, and felt everything—his past, present, and future—click into place as Steve slid the silver ring home. 

Home.

The castle had never felt like a place he was meant to be, but now, with Steve’s solid form beneath him, holding him, and the people they both cared about most sleeping peacefully upstairs—

Yeah, home sounded about right.

Miraculously, they did manage to make it to Eddie’s—their—bed before their mutual displays of affection went too far.

And when the morning came, as though it had been some sort of premonition and not a wild fantasy, it was exactly as Eddie pictured.

Far too distracted with learning the curves and planes of his love’s body, Eddie hadn’t thought to close the drapes. He’d been half asleep, drifting in and out while basking in the afterglow of round two, but at the first sign of sunrise he forced his eyes open to watch the soft golden rays of early sun, shining in through the wide windows, dance over Steve’s sleeping form half-hidden beneath the bed sheets.

Which was a crime, frankly. 

After seeing, touching, and tasting every square inch of him last night Eddie longed to make a royal decree that Steve should be nude at all times.

Though he suspected as an equal ruler Steve would probably veto that idea.

Which was probably for the best, uncomfortable working conditions for the goblins and all that—and the fact that their friends probably wouldn't appreciate it much.

As Eddie watched Steve began to stir, rolling over so the light now fell on his bare face and chest. A truly magical sight even without the rings they wore.

Hazel eyes blinked open slowly, a syrupy sweet smile spreading over Steve’s face as he gazed up at Eddie, reaching for him, tucking a clump of frizzy curls behind his ear.

Eddie leaned into the touch as Steve lingered to caress his cheek, nuzzling his palm before turning his head to press a kiss in the middle of it.

“Everything alright, baby?” Steve asked, his voice sounding more than a little wrecked and not only from sleep.

Eddie shivered at the memory, and it might have had him considering a round three if he didn’t know how tired they both still were. Instead he settled himself back down, nestling his head in the crook of Steve’s neck, and resting his hand in the middle of his chest, fingers raking through the soft swath of hair.

“Yeah, sweetheart. Everything is perfect.”

It turned out the rules Eddie had spent so much time and energy worrying over, afraid that if he broke them it might somehow break their realm all together, were more like loose guidelines.

With Robin’s help, Chrissy was finally able to put more of the pieces together, and it seemed that Eddie, and now Steve and Eddie as one, could do basically whatever they wanted, and had the power to back it up. 

“Within reason, of course,” Chrissy had warned.

Most importantly, They could take Dustin home, secure in the knowledge that they could bring him back to the Labyrinth to visit whenever he wanted. 

Steve had agreed to give the boy one more day—to play with his friends, get to know Robin, Argyle, and Jonathan, and to say a proper goodbye to them all before returning to the real world. Any longer and it would be even more of a mess to clean up with their parents, Steve was sure.

“How will we keep in touch with each other?” Dustin asked Steve, as they, along with Eddie, Chrissy and Robin gathered in the atrium, the place everyone agreed would be the best point in the castle for traveling between worlds. “I guess it’s too much to hope cell phones will work between realms so we can text and facetime?”

Eddie hadn’t really thought about that. How would they communicate with Steve’s little brother to make plans for the future? Popping in on him randomly could prove tricky.

Steve turned to him with a frown and concerned eyes, and that simply wouldn’t do.

“Don’t worry, um, I-I’ve got just the thing,” Eddie stepped around Steve, rubbing a comforting hand across his lower back before crouching down in front of Dustin, where the younger boy sat on one of the thick velvet floor cushions.

“Here,” he said, holding out his hand, empty one second, and the next cradling one of his oft-used crystal balls.

Looking both awed and dubious, Dustin carefully took it from Eddie’s hand. “B-but I don’t have any magic.”

Right. 

Okay, no problem. 

There’d been no spell to follow when Eddie created his and Steve’s rings, but he’d wanted it enough to make it happen. This was no different. He could do this. 

Leaving the crystal in Dustin’s grip, Eddie covered the boy’s hands with his own, and let his eyes fall shut. He thought of love and family, and the desire to stay connected no matter the time, distance, or circumstances. The desire to see and hear those most dear. He remembered the determination Steve had shown in his effort to do whatever he had to to get Dustin back, had that feeling fill him and the ball, let it shape the magic. 

“Can you feel it?” Eddie whispered, for Dustin’s ears only.

“Yes,” the boy breathed, his words coming just as softly. “It feels like Steve. How I feel when I think about him.”

“Good,” Eddie said, opening his eyes. He released his hold on Dustin and stood, reaching down to ruffle the boy’s hair. “You tap into that and look into the ball whenever you want to see or hear him, and if you hold it up to your lips and talk he’ll be able to hear you too.”

“What about Steve? What if he needs me and I don’t know it?”

“We have other crystals. I gave you Present, but there’s still Past and Future up my sleeve. I’m sure I could tweak them somehow.”

“There’s also this,” Chrissy said, pulling a large leather-bound book out from behind her back. She offered it to Steve. “I found it the first time Eddie left me alone in the library.” 

“What is it?” Steve asked, carefully cracking it open and thumbing through what, at first, looked to be empty pages.

“As far as I can tell, it’ll show you just about anything. Movies, television shows, real events. All in writing, obviously, so I hope you’re a reader, including writing a story in real time of what’s happening à la The Neverending Story… kinda?”

Eddie sputtered. “I’ve been asking you what your secret was for years, and Steve waltzes in here and you tell him in a matter of days?!”

Chrissy stuck her tongue out at him and shrugged. “Sucks to suck.”

Steve was still flipping through pages, eyes flying over the words as they appeared while he smiled to himself. He flipped a few more as Eddie watched, until his face abruptly fell into a deep frown.

“Shit, Dusty,” he said, snapping the book shut. “The police were at our house. Mom and Dad filed missing persons reports. They think we were kidnapped or-or murdered, or something. We need to get you back there, now.”

Steve handed the oversized tome back to Chrissy with a nod of thanks, and turned to face Eddie. “How do we do this?”

“Together,” Eddie replied simply, reaching out with his ringed hand to take hold of Steve’s. “Dustin, take our other hands, so we’re all connected.”

The younger boy rose, uncharacteristically quiet as he slipped the crystal ball into his pocket and joined them. 

“Be careful,” Chrissy said, blowing a kiss in their direction. 

“You better bring him back in one piece, Munson,” Robin added, coming up behind Chrissy to wrap arms around her waist. 

Eddie knew he was going to regret telling her his full name. 

With Eddie steering, and honestly not having much more practice with this travel magic than anyone else, they landed together in the same spot Eddie had entered the first time—Dustin’s window. 

Which of course was not big enough to hold all of them. The three crashed to the floor, off balance, banging into Dustin’s desk, and loudly knocking over several empty cans of Mountain Dew in the process.

In seconds footfalls began pounding up the steps of the house, headed their way.

Eddie lurched to his feet, helping Dustin up before grabbing for Steve’s hand, a question poised on his lips, but Steve shook his head before he could even ask. 

The plan had been to just leave Dustin in his room and go, so Steve wouldn’t have to deal with his mom and stepdad. Dustin was prepared with a whole story about how his older brother had run away, and how he had gone off to find him and got lost, but it seemed Steve had other plans now. 

“Stay here,” Steve said, pressing a kiss to the top of Dustin’s head, “Love you, bud. We’ll see each other again soon,” before crossing the room in a flash, flinging the bedroom door open and marching out into the hall with Eddie following close behind.

“Steven?!” A woman, Steve’s mother, gasped, slowly making her way towards them from the other end of the hall, a man who could only be the infamous stepfather Gary lumbering behind her. “What on earth—where have you been? Is Dustin—” 

“In his room, safe and sound,” Steve answered calmly.

“Was this your doing?” Gary asked, with the sort of attitude Eddie desperately wished to wipe off his face the old fashioned way.

“Yes,” Steve admitted. “It was an accident, but I’m sorry we were gone so long. Don't blame Dustin, it was all my fault.” 

“Where have you been?” Steve’s mother asked. 

She, at least, looked mildly concerned and relieved to see her son.

“I-I’ve been—” Steve took a deep breath, and reached back blindly for Eddie’s hand. He gave it, coming to stand next to his sweetheart. “I’ve been miserable. I’ve spent my whole life lying to myself, listening to the two of you and your bullshit. I went along with all of it because it was easier than sticking up for myself, and figuring out what I really wanted. But I know now. I've learned more about who I am, and who I want to be in the last forty eight hours than I was ever able to under your roof. I found where I belong.” He glanced over at Eddie, smiling and pulling him into his side.

Eddie wrapped his arm around Steve’s waist possessively, staring the dumbstruck couple down with unwavering eye contact.

“I’m leaving,” Steve went on. “Moving out.”

“With him?” Steve’s mother squeaked.

Steve’s jaw tightened as he replied. “His name is Eddie.”

“Steven, you cannot be serious about running off with this… this… freak!”

Steve bristled at his side but Eddie threw his head back and laughed. Some things never changed, no matter how many years had passed. He wasn’t even wearing one of his elaborate costumes, he’d put on his own old clothes again in an effort to blend in, on the off chance they were seen. 

“Oh Gary, if you’re gonna flirt with me at least wait until your stepson is out of earshot,” Eddie purred, raising his eyebrows. “Not to mention your wife.”

Steve snorted.

Gary, aside from being so angry he was rapidly turning purple, did his best to ignore him, addressing Steve only. “Your mother and I won't allow you to throw your future away like this!”

Which only made Eddie want to poke at him more. “With all disrespect, Steve is an adult. He’s eighteen and legally you have no power over him.”

Steve’s parents had no power over him in any sense of the word, actually, but Eddie figured that knowledge was best kept between himself, Steve, and Dustin.

“Fine,” Gary snapped, “but Steven, if you walk out that door now don’t think we’ll let you come crawling back when this miscreant kicks you to the curb. I will not have you waltzing back into our lives to corrupt Dustin.”

Steve seethed, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as the lights above their heads began to flicker. 

Eddie rubbed his cheek along Steve’s shoulder, urging him without words to stay calm. 

Thankfully, while they glanced up at the fixtures with furrowed brows, Steve’s so-called parents didn’t seem to understand what was happening right in front of them. 

Typical.

Steve took a deep calming breath before he spoke, the lights returning instantly to normal. 

“I—we, will see Dustin as often as we like, and you will not try to control him the way you did me. He’s smarter than all of us. He doesn't need you to tell him who to be. You let him live his own life or so help me you will not like the consequences. And I’ll know, trust me on that.”

Gary grit his teeth, but turned and stormed off without another word, smart enough to know when the battle was lost. 

Steve’s mother just stood there, watching silently as Steve pulled on Eddie’s arm, leading him to his bedroom. 

Steve had started to pile things Eddie assumed he wanted to keep on the bed, when his mothers voice came from the doorway.  

“Where you’re going, you’ll be happy there?”

Steve’s shoulders stiffened for a moment but he turned to look at her, face pinched in confusion. “Yeah.”

She nodded, wringing her hands in front of her looking down and then away as she spoke again. “Make sure you pack your coat. You know you get cold so easily.”

Every part of Eddie itched to protect him, to step in and tell this woman that Steve wouldn’t need a fucking coat where they were going, that Eddie would give him whatever he needed—whatever he wanted. Hell, that Steve could take care of his own fucking self! 

Until he saw the way Steve was looking back at her, the way his face had softened, a bit of the tension in his shoulders easing as he did. 

And Eddie thought, maybe it wasn’t about the coat at all. 

“I will. Thanks, mom.”

She looked up, eyes swimming and moved for a second as though she would go to him, but stopped herself, giving her eldest son a tight-lipped smile before turning to go, heading for Dustin’s room.

“You okay?” Eddie asked.

Steve gave a small nod, clearing his throat. “How should I..?” He asked, gesturing at the small mound of possessions he’d collected, mainly clothes but also a few books and photos, and a shoebox full of small items rattling around inside. 

Eddie took Steve’s ringed hand, connecting them just as he had before, knowing now how much stronger they were together, and raised his free hand high in the air. With a simple snap of his fingers everything on the bed vanished. 

Steve sucked in a breath. “I’m never gonna get used to shit like that.”

Eddie laughed, squeezing his hand. “Home?” 

Steve shuffled his feet, looking suddenly almost more nervous than he had been in facing his parents. “Actually, I thought maybe we could take one more stop, if you’re up for it?” He stepped away, digging through the drawer of a small desk until he pulled out a scrap of paper, hastily scratching something out on it before handing it over.

It was an address. 

Eddie’s head snapped up. “W-what… How did you—” He knew that address. Had it memorized since he was five years old, just in case.

“When I was reading Chrissy's book. I thought about him, what you told me about him, I mean, and It appeared.”

Eddie swallowed hard. “He’s still there? H-he’s alive?”

Steve took the paper from his hand, tucking it into his pocket before wrapping him up in his arms, pressing their cheeks together. “He’s in his 80’s but still kicking. What do you think?”

“Yeah,” Eddie let himself melt into Steve’s comforting hold. “Let’s go see Uncle Wayne.”

They landed, hand-in-hand on the crumbling front porch of a dilapidated old trailer.

The place hadn’t been much to look at in Eddie’s youth either, but now it was quite literally falling apart. The whole park seemed to have fallen into disrepair, mostly abandoned save for Eddie’s beloved uncle’s home.

Afraid to lose his nerve Eddie knocked on the door the moment he had his feet securely under him, heart pounding as he listened to the sound of someone moving around on the other side. 

The ancient door creaked open, revealing a wizened old man in a moth-bitten flannel. He was completely bald now, but still sported a short beard, white these days rather than the salt and pepper of Eddie’s memory, but there was no mistaking those kind, if piercing, eyes.

“Eddie?” Wayne gasped, looking at him as though he was seeing a ghost.

Somehow Eddie hadn’t thought through the fact that he hadn’t aged a day since he last saw the man in front of him, and that was going to require some sort of explanation, assuming the shock of it didn’t give him a heart attack first.

“Long time no see, Uncle Wayne.”

“No kidding,” the gruff man huffed, making a visible effort not to let his mouth hang open. Wayne glanced from Steve to Eddie and back again before shaking his head, mumbling something to himself as he shrugged and stepped back into the house. “You boys better come on in then.”

Eddie didn’t move at first, he felt frozen and so unsure, but then Steve was pressing a hand into his lower back and he remembered he wasn’t alone. They followed Wayne inside and it took everything in Eddie not to break down and cry. The place was just as run-down inside as out. 

“I can’t believe you still live here,” he said, looking around at the peeling wallpaper, barely hanging-on paneling, and the thick layers of dust on almost every surface.

“Refused to move,” Wayne explained, leaning heavily on the old formica countertop in the kitchen, his eyes tracking Eddie’s every movement. “Even after everybody else left. I—your dad told me you ran off, and to be honest I was happy you did. But I knew you might need family one day, and I was afraid if I left you wouldn’t be able to find me. I never gave up hope.”

The tears Eddie had been fighting off won out, running in thin lines down his face.

Wayne took a wobbly step towards him, voice breaking as he spoke again. “I missed you, Eddie.” 

Eddie let out a sob, surging forward to wrap him up in a hug. Wayne was both shorter and thinner than he remembered, but there was still strength in his arms when he gripped him back.

“I missed you too, old man. Every day I missed you.”

They held each other for a long time, until Eddie’s tears slowed and Wayne could stand on his own again. 

The older man pulled back, eyes all for Steve now, giving him a narrow eyed once over. “Now—Eddie, you gonna introduce me to your boy here? And maybe explain to me why you look the same as the last time I saw you even though it’s been nearly forty years?”

“Right,” Eddie mumbled a breathy laugh escaping his throat. “Um, this is Steve.”

"Hrmph,” Wayne hummed, still squinting at Steve. Honestly Eddie wasn’t sure if the man’s eyesight was going or if he was trying to appear somehow intimidating. Knowing Wayne, it was probably a bit of both. “Steve, huh. You love my boy?”

“Yes, sir,” Steve answered quickly, his hand coming to rest again on Eddie’s lower back.

“Sir—” Wayne drew the word out, thinking, then gave a single decisive nod. “I like ‘im.”

All the breath whooshed out of Steve’s body at once, as though he’d been holding it, worried about his reception. Eddie bumped their shoulders together.

“As far as the rest goes, It’s kind of a long story.”

“Sorta figured,” Wayne grunted. “No matter, I got time.”

“Wait,” Steve said, his hand gripping tight to Eddie’s side now as he spoke softly in his ear. “How about we show him instead?” 

And If Eddie wasn’t already head over heels that would have sealed it for him. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to Steve’s cheek, infusing it with every ounce of love he felt for the other boy in that moment.

“What do you say old man, you wanna come and live with me and Steve?”

Wayne didn’t answer for long enough that Eddie was afraid he might refuse, but after a long pause his face spread into a familiar smile. “I’d love that. Let me just get my jacket and we can be on our way.”

“Don't you wanna bring anything with you?” Steve asked.

“Nah, this junk don’t mean nothing. I got my boy back, that’s all I need. Where are we headed anyway?”

“Back home, to the castle,” Eddie grinned, knowing the reaction that was likely to get. 

It didn’t disappoint. 

“Castle?!” Wayne shouted, loud as a gunshot.

Eddie and Steve shared a look, giggling as one. 

“You’ll see.”

Eddie took Steve’s hand and together they held on to Uncle Wayne to make the journey home, so much easier now that the final weight Eddie had been carrying around for so long had been lifted. After decades of mourning everything he thought he’d lost, only to find so much more in return, he was more than ready to begin this new chapter of his life, and make up for a little lost time. 

Stay tuned for a look into Steve and Eddie's happily ever after in a new spicy sequel one-shot coming this winter!

Permanent taglist(open): @penny00dreadful @pearynice @hitlikehammers @bookworm0690 @wonderland-girl143-blog 

@goodolefashionedloverboi @themagicalari @awkwardgravity1 @rocknrollsalad

Fic taglist(open): @strangererotica @paintsplatteredandimperfect @xegany @devondespresso @3vilpurpl3d0t

@ravenfrog

[multi-fandoms-posts]

Trouble maker

X Men Masterlist

It is a dark, rainy night when Y/N suddenly appears in the field. With a soft *pop*, she materializes right next to Charles and Erik, in the middle of their mission. Charles spins around, his eyes widening as he sees her.

“Y/N?” he asks, surprised, his voice gentle but concerned. “What are you doing here?”

Erik raises an eyebrow but keeps a hand hovering slightly in the air, ready to use his powers. “Did you get lost, or did you intentionally come here to spoil our fun?” His voice is as deep as ever, laced with that ironic undertone.

Y/N grins and steps closer, water dripping from her clothes. “Fun? Did you really think I’d let you go off without me?” She leans in slightly, letting her fingers playfully glide over Charles’s arm. “What kind of mission would it be without me?”

Charles’s face remains serious, but his lips twitch slightly. “I just didn’t want to put you in danger.” His gaze softens as he looks at Y/N.

Y/N sighs dramatically, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer. “You and your eternal caution,” she whispers before kissing him on the lips. The kiss is slow and intense, the tension between them immediately palpable.

Erik, observing this, smirks. “Really? In the middle of the mission?” he asks, crossing his arms.

Y/N pulls away from Charles, turns to Erik, and smirks. “Maybe you shouldn’t complain so much. You could be next.” She teleports directly in front of Erik, grabs his jacket, and pulls him down towards her. “Or what do you think, Magneto?” she whispers seductively and presses her lips against his.

Erik hesitates for a moment before returning the kiss, his hands firmly resting on her hips. But after a moment, he pulls away and grins. “That could be distracting,” he murmurs, though there’s a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Maybe,” Y/N says, her eyes sparkling with delight. “But you like it when I distract you, don’t you?” She lightly trails her fingers over his chest before pulling back.

Charles clears his throat, trying to regain control of the situation. “Let’s focus. We have a job to do.”

Y/N takes a step back, tossing her wet hair over her shoulder. “So, what’s the plan, you two tactical geniuses? Let me guess: Erik causes chaos, and you, Charles, sneak into people’s minds?”

Charles nods, his eyes serious. “Erik distracts the guards, I penetrate their thoughts. You, Y/N, can teleport us into the more difficult areas. We need to get this done quickly and efficiently.”

Y/N clicks her tongue. “How boring. Where’s the fun in that?” She grins widely and playfully teleports around the two of them. “I could make this so much more interesting.”

Erik watches her, his eyes dark and intense. “If you cause too much trouble, you’ll be the one who gets punished.”

Y/N blinks innocently and teleports directly into his arms. “Oh, please,” she murmurs, lightly stroking his jawline. “Will you promise me that?”

Erik narrows his eyes but says nothing. Instead, he gently pushes her away while Charles sighs. “Focus, Y/N,” he warns, though there’s a faint smile in his voice.

---

They enter the building, and immediately spring into action. Erik raises his hand and hurls a massive metal plate at the guards before they can react. Y/N teleports between them, skillfully kicking a guard to the ground and winking at Erik. “See? I can cause a bit of chaos too.”

Charles stands still for a moment, closing his eyes. “There are more in the next room. Be ready.”

Y/N teleports to Charles and plants a quick kiss on his cheek. “Don’t worry, darling. I’m keeping an eye on you.” Then she teleports back next to Erik and whispers in his ear, “And you too, Magneto.”

Erik gives a slight grin and raises his hands defensively. “Always with the temptation. But first, the mission.”

---

In the central room, they finally reach the weapon, a menacing machine surrounded by a shimmering barrier. Erik tries to manipulate the metal structure, but the barrier is stronger than expected.

“It looks like I could use some help here,” he murmurs.

Y/N steps closer and examines the barrier. “Can you crack it, Charles?”

Charles closes his eyes, his face tense with concentration. “Maybe… It’s complicated. Give me a moment.”

Y/N teleports behind the barrier while Charles tries to weaken the energy mentally. She looks at Erik, who is watching her, and grins. “Ready to save my life, Magneto?”

Erik snorts. “Isn’t that more my job?” He raises his hand as the barrier flickers.

Y/N teleports into the barrier, grabs the device, and destroys it with a precise blow. The apparatus explodes, and the energy barrier dissipates in a shower of sparks.

She teleports back to Charles and Erik just as the building around them begins to shake slightly. “Done,” she pants and leans casually against Erik.

Charles takes a deep breath, his forehead sweaty, but he smiles. “You saved us once again.”

Y/N winks at him. “Of course. What would you two do without me?”

Erik steps closer, placing a hand on her hip and looking at her intently. “Well done, Trouble maker,” he says, his voice deep and quiet.

Y/N laughs softly, one hand on Erik’s chest, the other stroking Charles’s arm. “Alright, boys. If you’re so grateful… how about you make it up to me?” Her eyes sparkle challengingly.

Charles tilts his head slightly and pulls Y/N closer. “I think we’ll find a way to show you how grateful we are,” he says, his voice gentle and earnest.

Erik grins wider, his eyes dark with desire. “But be sure, love … you’ll need rest afterward.”

Y/N’s smile widens, and she teleports between the two of them, her arms loosely draped over their shoulders. “I’m curious how long you will last.”

With one last mischievous grin, she lets herself be drawn deeper into the darkness by the two men, ready for her own special mission.