#edit; now with ao3 link!

[doing-something-unholy]

Sabbatical

Monsignor Pruitt/Father Adrian Cult AU: another priest around to offer a more level headed approach means that Easter reveal goes smoother, not as many people are turned, and John and Adrian (and Bev...) have the makings of a brand new religion on their hands.

This is John and Adrian having a well earned stay-cation, a romantic night at the rectory together.

Tags; ftm oc, masochism, slight choking, blood kink, John being a bit of a Freak(tm), under-negotiated Dom/sub dynamics, some fluff.

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

The lights in the rectory were dim as Adrian let himself in the door, locking out the golden light of sunset behind him. It was very still but not exactly quiet, a record player with… John Denver, Adrian recognized after a moment, softly filling the room. John was awake then, and the sound of the bathroom floor creaking told Adrian exactly where he was.

Adrian smiled to himself, set his bag on the floor by the antique tv set, and the brown paper bags with the surprise for later in the refrigerator. Adrian hummed along with the music as he set the table for their dinner-breakfast. John didn’t eat much actual food, but always appreciated sitting with Adrian in the ‘mornings,’ listening to the updates on everything that happened during the daylight. It started under the guise of the ‘changing of the guard’, Adrian telling John about the goings-on of the church so he could take over at night. But these days, while there was some practical information shared, it was mostly Adrian rambling about anything and everything or John telling him some story from decades ago, stealing the little moments together that they could.

Today though, finally, they had clear schedules. No Mass, no Confessions, no visits, once Adrian could get out of his cassock- no collars, nothing but free time for three days. Adrian could hardly believe he’d pulled it off. He was sure Beverly would not be pleased when she got back from her ‘mission trip’ but he was finding it hard to care. Not when he had John all to himself for three, wonderful days.

Adrian finished lighting a candle for the center of the table, had just stood and blown out the match, when arms closed around his waist and a nose found its way into his hair, then a gentle kiss on the back of his head. Adrian couldn’t help the smile on his face, the way his heartbeat kicked up a notch, and he knew John could tell, the way his breath stuttered and body shook against Adrian’s back as John tried to hide his laughter. Adrian turned in his arms, pressed a kiss to John’s mouth.

“Stop laughing,” Adrian pretended to scold, fighting down a smile.

John leaned in and kissed his nose, smiling at the feeling of it scrunching under his lips.

“I’m just- It’s cute how excited you are to see me.” John grinned down at Adrian, then tilted his head to look behind him, at the table. “What’s all this?”

“Well, remember how Bev is away on ‘Mission’?” Adrian set his hands on John’s chest, slid one up to his neck, “That means there’s no one to bother us for the next week, so I arranged to clear our schedules for three days.” Adrian stared up at John, suddenly just a bit worried he’d miscalculated. “That- that, um, is okay right? I mean we aren’t that swamped right now and I figured it was a good opp-”

John kissed him before he could get too far down the anxiety spiral. When he pulled away his expression was so soft and fond Adrian could cry.

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s perfect.”

And Adrian did cry then, tears welling up on his lashes as he grinned at John and dragged him in for another kiss, then several more just for good measure. John finally tipped his head back so Adrian couldn’t keep kissing him, saying something about getting started on dinner. Adrian’s stomach chose that moment to growl, so he had to agree.

“There’s nothing to get started on,” Adrian said with a sly smile. He waited for the quirk of John’s eyebrow before continuing, ���I picked something up from the mainland. I- I wanted something kinda fancy for tonight.” Adrian extracted himself from John’s arms, excited to show John what he’d got, “I wasn’t sure if you’d be awake this early, I was going to plate it nice but it’ll still taste the same.” He started setting the groceries out on the kitchen counter, John watching curiously over his shoulder. Fresh fruit, honey, cheese, prosciutto, and bread. Adrian gave John another sly smile as he pulled out a box of chocolate truffles and their favorite white wine. John loved how excited he was, the joy of surprising him written all over Adrian’s face.

“Oh, wonderful, I’ll get glasses.” John got the wine glasses, and a few plates, down from the cabinets, setting the plates down where Adrian had started cutting everything into bite sized pieces or slices, and John uncorked the wine and poured them both a glass. 

They carried everything over to the table, John gently handed Adrian a glass, and held his own out for a toast.

“To having a few days off. To- to us.” John’s smile looked like the warmth pouring off a crackling campfire, and Adrian’s face lit up in return.

“To us.”

They clinked glasses, and fell into their routine, eating and drinking and laughing, very glad to not have to mind the time, just enjoy each other’s presence. 

One of John’s only regrets about this path they’d been set on was how busy they were, how little time they had to themselves. Being Blessed was a gift that he'd always be grateful for, but it came with responsibility that kept them working, growing the church constantly and fending off those that wanted it destroyed. John was shocked at how many people resisted God's new covenant even when the truth of their blessing stared them in the face. But he supposed even Jesus had His fair share of dissidents in His time. 

They'd come around eventually. In God's time, they'd learn.

The sun set long ago, and for once they didn’t have to get ready for Mass. Although now that John thought about it, why was Adrian still wearing his cassock if the day was over for him?

“Are you comfortable? In that- the cassock, I mean.”

Adrian looked up abruptly, deer-in-headlights.

“I- yes?” He looked almost guilty. John raised an eyebrow at him.

“Well- It-” Adrian stuttered, “I didn’t exactly get a chance to change.”

“You could change now?”

“...I was hoping to wait until we went to bed.” Adrian sipped from his glass, trying to hide behind it, until he was struck with a sudden bite of bravery, “I was actually hoping you might… help me with it. If you catch my drift.”

“Oh?” John adjusted in his seat, leaning back, “What exactly did you need help with?”

Adrian didn’t need to look at him, he could hear the smirk in his voice.

“Well, it's just so many buttons, isn’t it? Awfully hard to undo.”

“You could always just push up the bottom of the skirt,” John teased back, “But maybe you’d just end up with it stuck bunched around your waist.”

One of John’s favorite things about his Blessing was the way he could see the life flow through people’s veins. In particular, he loved how obvious it made the effect his words had on Adrian, watching that golden shimmer of his pulse beat just a little harder as Adrian pictured what he was saying. He couldn’t stand to tease his boy any longer. The food was good, but his hunger couldn’t truly be sated by it.

“Come here.”

The sudden heat in John’s voice startled Adrian. He moved to comply immediately. John pushed his chair back from the table as Adrian approached, eyes raking over him with such intensity Adrian shivered. Adrian bent slightly to get on his knees but John cut off his movement by reaching out and holding one wrist firmly.

“Just stand here. Just like that.” John’s hand trailed as far up Adrian’s arm as he could reach, then over to his chest and stomach. His fingers dipped into the band of his fascia, tugged gently to encourage Adrian to step closer. He pulled until Adrian stood between John’s spread thighs. John smoothed the band back down and looked up at Adrian, delighted to see the pink spreading across his face already. He grabbed at Adrian’s hips just to hear him gasp. 

John abruptly stood up, keeping his grip on Adrian to manhandle him into leaning against the edge of the table, Adrian had to put his hands behind him on the table to keep himself propped up as John leaned into him. John kissed him hard, cupping Adrian’s face in his hands. He pushed against his body, soaking in the heat coming off him. His tongue invaded Adrian’s mouth, he could taste the wine still.

Adrian broke the kiss first, panting and gasping for air. John kept peppering kisses on his face, trailing down his cheek and neck. Adrian shivered and made an appreciative noise in the back of his throat as John’s teeth grazed him.

“John- darling- please, bed?” Adrian whined at him with big pleading eyes.

The only warning he got was John’s smile and nod before Adrian was being dragged into the bedroom. He swooned dramatically, happily pretending to sucumb to his lover's rough grasp.

John maneuvered him to the edge of the bed, then pushed against Adrian’s shoulders until he swayed backwards.

Adrian fell back into the mattress with a sigh, head tossed back and exposing his throat, perfect bait for-

John followed him down, caging him in with long limbs and immediately putting his mouth over the center of Adrian's throat. Adrian laughed, the skin under John's tongue and teeth bobbing. John knew what he was thinking, and nipped him to quiet him. He shuffled his legs over Adrian's, until he could straddle one thick thigh and grind his own thigh into where Adrian was already dripping wet under so many layers of fabric. Adrian gasped and rolled his hips onto the offered leg, holding on to John's upper arms and whining. He pressed kisses into Adrian's neck, while hooking a finger over his own collar and pulled the tab out, then tossed it in the direction of the side table. John undid a few buttons of his shirt, listening to Adrian breathe, panting already.

John moved back after only a short moment, pulling his leg away.

"Hush, darling boy. You'll get yours soon." John settled back down to press his face into the crook of Adrian's neck, breathing deeply. Adrian squirmed and whined as John dragged his fangs over Adrian’s neck so slowly and light he broke out into goosebumps. John showered the delicate skin with affection and kisses, melting Adrian down into submission.

"You know by now, my need first."

He licked a stripe up Adrian's neck.

"Besides,"

He nipped the skin gently, soothed it with a kiss.

"I know how much you like being fucked when you're dizzy and pliant."

With that John sank his fangs into Adrian's neck, right over the faint scars from repeated feedings. Both of them moaned, Adrian's trailed off in a whine but he held still obediently, the pain and anticipation making his clit throb in need. Every little groan and sucking noise from where John’s mouth made contact with his neck drove Adrian wild.

John was very well fed these days, no shortage of faithful willing to supply him food in hopes of being blessed, but Adrian was his favorite meal. It was a shame he couldn't feed from him as often as he liked, preferring to wait for him to heal naturally to avoid overexposure to the Sacrament. Still, he couldn't get enough of Adrian's blood, the way he whined so sweetly for him and got so needy for his touch. 

John drank greedily from him, any thoughts of slowly indulging in his blood gone the instant the taste of Adrian’s life flowed over his tongue and down his throat. The trust Adrian had in him to let him drink directly from his veins was almost more intoxicating than the feeling of John’s body filling with the warmth of Adrian’s blood. Knowing Adrian was inside him every time he drank from him and being able to feel it filling his stomach was a wonderful, glorious gift that John cherished. 

Adrian was his assistant publicly, and his prized pet in private. And it seemed to suit him just fine, he'd told John once that even if most of his 'ownership' over him was just play, it made him feel safe. John had smiled at him, said he was glad, and quietly laughed to himself. It wasn't just play to him. Adrian was his, and his alone. John had been the one to take Adrian's virginity, had given Adrian his role, his purpose, and watched him blossom, his anxiety fade as he stepped into the role he was divinely made for. And the boy had been blessed by God to be perfectly receptive to him, his cunt welcoming him in every time. 

John had half a mind to marry him, Adrian didn't mind a hint of femininity, he would look so beautiful in white-

John groaned and rolled his hips down against Adrian, he felt half drunk off blood and arousal. He pulled his mouth away for a second to lave his tongue over the skin, chasing a rivulet of blood, and sank his teeth down again, pulling another gasp from his sweet boy. He wanted more of those noises, despite what he said earlier he couldn't wait any longer. 

He grabbed a fistful of Adrian's cassock and pulled it up until he could get under the hem, and immediately stopped when his hand touched soft warm skin instead of fabric. He pulled away again to look, holding his hand over the bite wound. 

Adrian wasn't wearing pants under his cassock, but what he was wearing… John could feel his pupils dilate as he took in the sight of Adrian's gorgeous thighs wrapped in lilac lace at the top of sheer stockings, held up by a silk garter belt that framed the thin lace covering his aching core. 

Adrian smiled up at him sheepishly, blushing.

"Surprise, Father."

John ran his free hand up Adrian's leg, feeling the delicate fabric and curling a finger under the strap of the garter. He smiled down at him, and heaved a fake sigh.

"Whore."

And snapped the garter against his leg making Adrian jump and yelp.

"Yours," Was all Adrian said in reply, grinning and unrepentant. 

John moved his grip to Adrian's hip, hard enough to bruise just to watch his eyes cloud over with lust.

"Mine, huh? My whore?" John leaned back down to Adrian's neck, licking his fingers clean of the blood that had welled up around them. 

"I think I like the sound of that, darling. Mine." John growled out the word and latched his mouth back to the wound. The bleeding was slowing down, as much as he wanted to keep going it was best to stop soon. With one last obscene sucking noise he pulled away from Adrian's neck and cleaned the last of the blood with his tongue, making Adrian shiver and squirm.

John caught Adrian's jaw and moved his head to kiss him, the taste of blood passing between them. John shifted his weight again, settling between Adrian's legs. Adrian looked up at the holy man on top of him, the light catching John's hair like a halo. He wrapped his legs around him, arms resting on the pillow beside his head.

"Ah, w-well, Father? Are you going to punish me?" Adrian purred.

Adrian always called him Monsignor in public, and Father in bed. Adrian probably couldn't call him Father in public, John had never been so affected by his title before. 

He put a hand on Adrian's chest, and slid up to his neck with the slightest pressure, just to watch Adrian's face change from cocky to needy.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" John's voice was deep and rough, a dangerous edge to it. Adrian could see his eyes shining in the dim light of their bedroom.

"Please," He whined as John's hand slowly tightened around his throat.

John waited until he felt Adrian's pulse beat rabbit-fast under his fingertips before letting go all at once, watching Adrian gasp for air and moan. He didn't wait for Adrian to fully catch his breath, immediately grinded his palm into Adrian's tdick through the lace and reveled in the way his hips rolled into it, the noise it pulled from him. He could feel his cock straining against the front of his jeans, where it had been for a while, but he needed to make sure Adrian was ready for him first.

John pulled the soaked lace to the side, listened to Adrian gasp and whine as he gathered up the wetness and stroked his clit with it, maddeningly slow. Adrian bucked his hips into the touch, so John grabbed his hip and held him still.

"Behave, you eager little thing," John gently scolded as he slid two fingers into Adrian. He was pleased to see his thighs tense as Adrian held still, obediently following his implied command with a whine. He rewarded his boy by curling his fingers as he pumped them in and out, and stroking his clit with his thumb. John smiled at the way his hips stuttered ever so slightly, he wouldn't really be in trouble if he moved, and Adrian knew that, but watching him try so hard to obey anyway was its own reward.

Adrian whined and bucked his hips into John's hand, John could feel him start to shake as he gradually gave up on holding still and chased his orgasm. John let him ride his fingers until he heard the tell-tale hitch in Adrian's moans that told him he was getting close. John pulled his hand away right when Adrian started to tense up, he knew he had the timing perfect when Adrian cried out and whimpered.

"Please! Please, please, John, please!" Adrian grabbed John's shirt and wrapped his legs around him tighter. 

"Please what, darling?" John teased, already unzipping his jeans.

"Please– please fuck me, Father," Adrian whined, pure desperation in his voice.

John grinned enough to show his fangs, and hauled Adrian closer to him by the hips, completely unnecessary but it made Adrian gasp and blush at the casual show of strength. John pulled his cock out, and leaned forward over Adrian's body to line himself up with his entrance. He teased Adrian with the head of his cock just sweeping through his lips once, twice, before he buried himself to the hilt in Adrian's cunt.

Adrian closed his eyes and groaned, reveling in the stretch, the feeling of being so full. John immediately grabbed his jaw, pulling Adrian's face back to his.

“Look at me,” John demanded, “Look at me.”

John stared into Adrian's eyes, watching them cloud over with lust as he pulled out and slowly thrust back in. He kept a tortuously slow pace until Adrian just about opened his mouth to whine and slammed his hips into him, turning that whine into a shocked gasp. He kept going, each thrust knocking another little noise out of Adrian. 

Adrian clung to John’s shoulders, nails digging in and leaving faint lines under John's shirt. They'd heal before the hour was up but the slight burn of them lit up John’s nerves. 

Adrian was so wet and warm around him, taking him in so beautifully. John lowered himself down until he was practically laying on top of him, pressing every inch of their bodies together, as best he could while they were still half-clothed. 

A tiny smear of blood stained Adrian's collar, John pressed his face into the crook of Adrian's neck above it. The scent of him, of his boy, of Adrian, flooded his senses. His teeth itched to bury themselves in his neck again, John snarled but contented himself with licking the sweat accumulated there. He knew Adrian couldn’t afford to lose too much at once, even if John wanted it desperately. 

John kept slamming his cock into Adrian's cunt, trying his hardest to claim him from the inside out. Adrian whimpered and gasped with each thrust, John knew it had to be hurting him but his darling boy kept pulling him in, legs locked behind him.

“Does that hurt?” John gasped out between thrusts.

“Yes,” Adrian whined, “Y-yes, Father. You're- you're hitting my cervix.”

“Do you want me to stop?” John slowed down but he already knew the answer.

“No, but please, please touch me.” Adrian rolled his hips, trying to get John to keep his pace.

“You can't cum from this?” John purred at him, teasing Adrian's clit with just one finger.

“N-no, more, please!” Adrian gasped and clenched down around John, making him groan.

John smacked Adrian's clit without warning, making him yelp and jump.

“Yes you can, you've done it before. Be a good boy for me.”

John picked his pace back up, just as brutal as before. But he wasn't intending to be too cruel, he kept one hand between Adrian's thighs, thumb just barely grazing Adrian's clit with each thrust, providing a little extra stimulation that had Adrian mewling.

“Cmon, pretty boy, my sweetheart, you can do it,” John breathed into Adrian's ear, “Just a little more, huh?”

Adrian was beyond words, he just whimpered in reply. 

John decided to have mercy on him, and stroked his clit in time with each thrust. He could feel it in the way Adrian shivered and tensed around him, thighs tightening and the tremble in his arms: Adrian was so close, just the slightest thing would take him over the edge.

“Cum for me, Adrian,” John whispered to him, “cmon, cum for me.”

Adrian answered him with a cry, the tension snapping in him all at once as he shook in John’s arms. John kept fucking him through it, keeping the pleasure rolling until it burned white-hot and nearly painful.

“Thank you, thank you, thankyouthankyou oh my God thank you–,” Adrian squeezed around him as he came, and John was so overwhelmed by feeling and seeing Adrian's orgasm that it was only a few more thrusts before he was coming too, deep inside. John briefly wondered if maybe this time they'd be lucky, however impossible it might be. 

Adrian went boneless first, limp and panting as he came down from the high. John rolled his hips until he couldn't anymore, too overstimulated and exhausted to keep moving. He reached up to sweep the hair out of Adrian's face, gently stroking his cheek. Looking closely for any sign that he'd gone too far, any lingering pain that might be written in Adrian's face.

“Hey,” he said, with a breathless smile.

“Hey,” Adrian grinned back at him, tired but perfectly happy.

“I love you,” John kissed him softly. 

“I love you too,” Adrian threw his arms around John’s neck, buried his face in his shoulder, “Love you so much.”

They both laid there for a long while, tangled in each other's arms until they got the strength to get up. Adrian whined when John pulled out and away, missing the body heat. John laughed at him softly, promising to come back soon. 

Adrian worked on undoing his cassock while John fetched two hand towels from the bathroom, one wet, one dry. Adrian was peeling off his stockings by the time he got back, and John ushered him to sit back to clean him up.

“I could do that myself, y’know,” Adrian said, but sat back anyway, letting John help.

“I know, but I want to take care of you,” John glanced up at him with a smile, “Are you okay? Sore?”

“Oh I'm gonna be,” Adrian sounded almost smug, “But that's half the fun.” 

John sighed and rolled his eyes in fond mock exasperation, tossing the towels in the laundry and working on getting out of his own clothes.

“As long as you're having fun,” He climbed into bed beside Adrian, who immediately rolled over practically on top of him. John pulled him in to a comfortable spot.

“I would've stopped you if I wasn't,” Adrian responded, “But what I wanna know is where on Earth did you learn to do all that? Who taught you to talk like that?” Adrian laughed into John's neck.

“You think you youngin's invented kinky sex?” John teased, “Besides, you've only got yourself to blame.”

“... Uh, don't– or maybe do– let's just go with don't- call me ‘youngin’ again. Please.”

John laughed at him again.

“Do you like it a little too much?” John dropped his voice down to a rumble.

“I'm never saying anything to you ever again,” Adrian tried to roll away but John held on to him.

“Oh no you don't, get back here,” John held on to him tightly, dragging his fingers along Adrian's sides to make him laugh and squeal and drag him back over.

“You're so mean,” Adrian tried to pout but it would probably be more effective if he wasn't smiling. John just grinned back at him, warmth glowing in his chest. He placed a gentle kiss on Adrian's forehead. 

“I love you.”

Adrian gave up on their playfighting, and snuggled in closer with the blankets in tow.

“Love you too.”

[tusks-and-claws]

The Death of Peace of Mind

Miguel O’hara x female reader

Summary: "I miss the way you say my name/the way you bend, the way you break"

You think your fearless leader needs help relaxing, but another door is opened entirely

Tags/warnings: smut (18+), oneshot, fingering, blowjob, pronebone, blood, biting, unprotected sex, paralytic venom, dominant Miguel, dirty talk, God there’s so much to list : )

Word count: 3.3k 

Can also be found on Ao3 here. Please give it some love if you enjoyed ;_;

-

"I know better than this, I shouldn't be… we shouldn't be doing this."

Miguel O'Hara sat at the edge of your bed, your room softly illuminated by a candle on the bedside table. He liked the dark. His back was to you, his broad shoulders slumped forward, as you had your back against your headboard. He was still in his suit, his mask off.

"Miguel…" you said, starting this conversation again for the umpteenth time. "You have needs, too, y'know." 

He waved a hand dismissively. "What are my needs when compared to all this?" He gestured to nothing. You weren't even at HQ. You were both in your dimension. A vacation, you had said. You could never get him to leave HQ for long. "I know what happens when I try to get what I want. When I go where I don't belong."

You furrowed your brow. "But you do belong here, I invited you."

"You know exactly what I mean." He spoke quickly. Trying to expel the words as fast as possible. 

Your arms crossed over your chest as you eyed him. He'd been through a lot, yes, but what Spider hadn't? How long was he going to keep ignoring himself for the greater good? What purpose would he serve if he tore himself apart? 

"You're right," you said, finally. 

"What?" He asked, peering over his shoulder to look at you, incredulous. 

"You're right," you repeated. "You can leave."

"I… well. I suppose I can leave. Do you… want me to?"

You suppressed a smile. "I don't really care," you lied. 

"You…?" He turned around at that, hands on the bed as he swiveled his torso to meet your eyes. "You can't be serious. I- I made the effort to make sure Jess could cover me so we could come here, I… it's a huge waste of time. You see that, don't you?" 

"I guess so." It was hard for you to break eye contact with him, but you managed to do it, and stared pointedly out the window. 

"You 'guess,' I can't-" he rubbed his face with his hands. "You're so frustrating, I can't read you, you-" 

Your face broke, betraying you, a smirk cracking your façade.

He narrowed his eyes, fully turning around now, bringing his knees up onto the bed to crawl to you. His claws came out, and they pulled at the threads of your comforter, threatening to tear holes. "Is this what you want? You want to make me mad?" 

You blushed as he made his way to you, his sudden intensity stirring you into silence. 

"Well?" He asked. "Suddenly so quiet." He reached you now, looming over you with both hands on the headboard on either side of you, his muscular thighs straddling your legs. His huge frame took up your whole vision, his presence overwhelming your heightened senses. Heat was radiating from his body. His scent washed over you. He was all clean musk and warmth and something deeper, something primal. It played to your baser mind, telling you to lose control and give in. 

You swallowed. "You have no need to stay here." You weren't done teasing him just yet. 

"But you have need, hm?" He looked down to study your form, releasing his hands from the headboard to touch the hem of your shirt. "Don't you?"

You held your breath, nodding.

"Say it." His tone was casual. Flippant.

Your breath left you as your lips parted to speak, the words far from you as your brain grew foggy. He always liked to hear you admit how much you wanted it, how much you wanted him. And he always asked you when he knew you'd struggle to form a response. 

"Yes." It was the only thing your brain made abundantly clear. Yes. Yes, you have needs. Yes, in this moment, he was one of them. 

"Yes what?"

How cruel. Under his gaze for this long, intense and bloodshot, you grew more flustered and delirious. 

"Yes, Miguel, I have need of you." You impressed yourself with the eloquence of your reply. 

"Oh? Oh, do you?" His hands finally moved again, snaking under the bottom of your shirt, the fabric of his suit keeping your skin from touching his. "That's kind of selfish of you, isn't it?"

You nodded, biting your bottom lip and closing your eyes as his hands moved to firmly hold the sides of your waist, thumbs stroking soft skin. He was being careful to not scratch you. Though his claws were retractable, you noticed throughout your encounters that he had a hard time keeping them hidden when his passions were running high. But part of you didn't care if he marked you up. Part of you wanted to keep something from him. Something more than awkward passing glances and intimate encounters that were few and far between. 

"M-Miguel?"

"Mm? What is it?"

"You don't need to be gentle, y’know."

His gaze flicked to meet yours as he raised an eyebrow. He seemed amused. 

"It's just that," for some reason, you felt the need to elaborate. "I'm strong, too. I can handle it. You've been so stressed."

"So… you want me to use you?" His voice was low and level. 

Use. The word sent a shock up your spine. He could see the emotions flashing across your face, the thoughts of him, of what he might do to you. Was this safe? Could he control himself? He'd have to. You'd just have to trust him. 

You released a breath you hadn't noticed you were holding, meeting him in his bloodshot eyes. "Yes. Please."

He grinned, bearing his pearly fangs in the flickering candlelight. The fog in your head grew thicker at the sight of them. Would he bite you with them? How would they feel against your skin? How would they feel piercing you? Would it hurt? Would it-

The feeling of his bare forefinger, claw retracted, gently teasing your slit quickly shut you up. When did he move his hand under the hem of your shorts? You were so deep within your own clouded thoughts, you hadn't even noticed. He caressed you there before carefully plunging his finger into your heat. The feeling was immediately maddening. You bit your lip to keep yourself from asking for more, for another finger, for his mouth, for his- no. You were following his pace. This was what you wanted, yes, but it was mostly for him. You somehow knew that he needed this more than you did, though he'd never admit it.

The whole time, he kept his reddened eyes on your face, studying every reaction. "You're wet, you're so wet…." His voice was quiet. "So, this is what does it for you, huh?" He pumped his finger at a steady pace. You could hear the wet sounds he elicited with his efforts. You braced yourself on his hulking shoulders, preparing for him to quicken at any moment. But he was agonizingly slow. His free hand gripped the headboard above you as he leaned down to whisper into your ear. "Me, your leader, using you." There was that word again. You lightly arched your back into him upon hearing it, trying to keep yourself calm for now. Falling apart could come later. "I try so hard to hold it all together. But you… you threaten me. The looks you give me, your smiles, your smell, estoy cachondo, fuck." Your eyes widened. He only spoke Spanish when his emotions were heightened. He was unraveling. 

Good.

He slipped his digit out from inside of you and circled your clit with a slick fingertip. The feeling was intense and electric, and even though you were still half-pinned by his muscular thighs, your upper body curled into him. "Seeing you like this…" he swallowed, his heartbeat quickening. "Rendering you helpless… It's revenge for how you make me feel when you look at me the way you do. If I can make you feel half of that… that might be enough. You're going to come for me. Feel what I feel." 

You nodded fervently, unable to speak under his attention, his words, his touch. That delicious, warm feeling was building up and coiling in your core as he kept expertly circling your clit, until the coil finally snapped and you came, lifting up off of the bed and throwing your arms around his neck as you whimpered. Miguel continued as you rode it out, reveling in the newfound wetness that came with your orgasm, until you finally settled down, your heart still thumping in your chest. You released your hold of him, your arms weak, your gaze heavy. He seemed to match your labored breathing, his chest rising and falling in time with yours. You had hardly even touched him and he seemed as much of a mess as you were. 

He stared at you like that for a brief moment, seemingly awestruck at your reaction to this newly opened door. 

"God, I need… I need your mouth around my cock." He flipped unceremoniously off of you to lay on his back at your side. "Come here." Before you had time to react, he had a hand on your head, guiding you downward. Despite the forceful movement, he fondly scratched at your scalp with bare fingers, his hand shaking just enough for you to notice. You positioned yourself so your head rested on his hard abdominals while you admired the display he brought you down to see. His hard cock pushed against his nearly metallic suit. The sheen of the fabric left almost nothing to the imagination. You could see his thick shaft, prominent veins like rivers flowing over a landscape, all leading up to the bulbous head. He twitched eagerly as he sighed, trying to calm his heart. 

You reached your hand up to touch Miguel through his suit, and his reaction was bodily. He hissed a breath in through clenched teeth. You played with his hard length, running the flat of your palm up and down the underside of his shaft, until he couldn't take it anymore. He seemed to be able to dismiss parts of his suit at will, and he did just that, creating an opening so he could spring free. It was always an impressive sight, sizable and thick. His golden skin slightly red with anticipation at the head of his cock, soft dark waves of short hair at the base. Reaching up, you gently held it. You couldn't quite wrap your whole hand around it. He exhaled at your touch, skin on skin. The hand he had in your hair gently pushed your head until your waiting lips met the tip of his cock, and you accepted it, closing your mouth around it.

Miguel threw his head back, slamming it against the headboard and shaking the two of you on the bed. The sound startled you, but you knew the headboard would've taken more damage than Miguel. He gave no indication that he was hurt, and so you kept going, sucking on the tip of his cock and being as noisy as possible so it would overwhelm that heightened hearing of his. And overwhelm it did. The soft, wet heat of your mouth was nearly too much for him. And as you started to take him deeper, he reached his arms up and behind him, taking the headboard into a vice grip. You could hear the wood splintering. 

That should've worried you, you should've cared about your furniture being destroyed. But you didn't. You couldn't, not with Miguel O'Hara melting underneath you. He could destroy a thousand bed frames. So long as you could touch him, could hear him moaning, could watch him as he barely held his composure. This would always be worth it. 

You took him further into your mouth, humming around his length at the pleasant,  full feeling. You were slow, holding him there, savoring the taste of him and the weight of him on your tongue.

"M-move-" he croaked.

You turned your gaze towards his face, raising an eyebrow. He was straining. Muscles bulging, chest heaving, fangs displayed in clenched teeth. You could see the prominent cracks in the wood.

"Move your shocking head, amor."

His hands came down to tangle with your hair, grabbing handfuls so he could move your head for you. You happily let him, and he bobbed you up and down on his shaft as you opened your throat to him. 

"Oh, fuck, yes… that's it. Good girl. You're- you're taking me so fucking well." 

Your eyes started rolling into the back of your head fondly. Good girl. He'd never called you that before. You'd be good for him. You'd be so good. 

The sounds coming from you were the very definition of lewd, as were the strands of thick saliva that connected you to him. You closed your eyes, continuing to breathe through your nose, when you felt something prick your scalp. His claws. In and out, in and out. He was struggling to keep control of them.

"Ay, coño, I can't fucking do this." His voice barely a whisper. "You're gonna," he paused, swallowing. "You're gonna make me lose control, you know that?" Despite his words, he kept going, kept moving your head, even started to thrust his hips up to fuck your throat more thoroughly. His moans turned into what could only be described as growls, and the sound of them hit you like an electric shock, making you want him even more. If that were even possible. 

His claws kept scraping you, threatening to fully unsheath. But Miguel never let them. He finally let your head go, bringing his hands up to his face and rubbing it in exhaustion. You stayed on his cock for a moment longer, carefully lifting your head away and disconnecting from him with a wet pop.

He groaned to himself through his hands. 

"Miguel…? You alright?"

"No." He finally said, "no, I'm fucking not."

You cocked your head in surprise at the response, opening your mouth to question him further until you were cut off by him quickly grabbing you and positioning you underneath him. He was pinning your legs again, but you were faced down this time, your cheeks pressed against the soft sheets as he pushed you into the mattress. He finally let his claws out, and with one swift movement, tore your shorts and panties into ribbons. In that moment, you were glad he couldn't see your face. You were grinning like an idiot. Finally. You're finally seeing the side of him that you always knew was there. That you desperately wanted him to let out. Your previous encounters had been tame compared to this. He'd been holding back. 

"Because now," he grabbed your waist with both of his large hands, holding firm. "Now I know that you like being treated like a little fucktoy. I know that you'll be good for me and that you'll listen. What a rarity." He started to line up the tip of his cock with your entrance. "And if I thought you took up too much space in my head already, well-" he chuckled, pushing his tip into your pussy. "I'll never have peace of mind again."

He thrusted into you, and you were immediately seeing stars. With each pump, he took himself nearly all the way out of your warmth before plunging all the way back in. You could feel every delicious, hot inch of him. So deep and so filling. He fucked you into the mattress so thoroughly and so hard that you were convinced a crater was forming underneath the both of you. You felt the sharp points of his claws pricking your skin but not quite puncturing you. Your head swam as you grew dizzy. 

He released your waist, left hand steadying himself on the low headboard, which was bound to break again. His right arm snuck up underneath your right arm, reaching around your collarbone to grab at your left shoulder, pulling you up so you were close into him. His chest was flush with your back. You reached up to hold onto that arm for dear life, as he brought his mouth down to your ear. 

"Wanna bite you so bad, amor," he growled. "You smell so shocking good. Drivin' me up a fucking wall."

"Do it," you said, your voice strained.

"Wh-what?" His pace wavered. "You can't mean that."

"I- fuck- I do. Bite me, Miguel. Please."

"Are you," he exhaled a shaky breath. "Are you sure? It's a paralytic venom. I've- I've used it on Spiders before and we can withstand it a bit, but, shit… I need you to know what you're getting into." 

"Do it," you said again. 

His entire body shook against you. "Unbelievable…." His voice sounded reverent. "Hold on tight."

You listened, gripping his arm harder, shutting your eyes. His mouth came down to meet the crook of your neck. He inhaled, letting your scent wash over him, before carefully sinking his fangs into your skin. The pain was sharp and fast, and was quickly replaced with a wave of warmth and laxity. Your muscles loosened, allowing him to easily pull you in even closer. He moaned against you, his thrusts quickening, his cock feeling like it was hitting your cervix. With every smack of his skin against yours, he buried himself to the hilt. That incredible, intense feeling was building within you again, deep inside your core.

"Fuck," he hissed into your skin, releasing his jaws and lapping at the light trickle of crimson blood. "Good girl, good girl, I've got you."

He held you and didn't let go, caging you against his huge form, fucking you until that feeling turned into a huge sunburst that sent spots across your vision. Your body trembled involuntarily as you clenched around his cock. 

"Yes," he encouraged, "yes, come for me. Give it all to me. I've got you, bebé."

You smiled against the venom, and he was right, it wasn't too potent in your system. It was just enough to comfortably loosen your muscles. You came down from your high as he kept pumping into you, his pace merciless. His body started to shake again, his right hand's grip on your left shoulder tightening. 

“Too much for me to handle,” he rasped. “I’m gonna come… gonna come inside you.”

“Yes,” you croaked, finding your voice and gaining back enough control of your muscles to push yourself up into him. 

His tempo stuttered as he slammed his hips into you, curling against you as he came. His cock twitched inside of you, spilling hot seed in thick spurts. He held you there for a long while, savoring the feeling of being inside you, like he knew he'd miss the warmth once it was gone. Despite what he wanted, he let go of you and flipped onto his back beside you, placing a hand over his heart as his chest heaved. He closed his eyes, trying to compose himself. Silently reaching for you, he pulled you in so you could rest against his chest, your head rising and falling with each heavy breath he took. He stroked your hair as you stared up at him, his face glowing in the yellow shine of candlelight. 

"That…" he started to say, then stopped, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I…. I needed that." 

You smiled, nuzzling into him. "Thank you." 

"You're thanking me?" He asked, laughing at how ridiculous it sounded. 

"Yeah," you said. "I feel like I finally saw Miguel tonight. Not Spider-Man. But Miguel. And I really like him." 

He rolled his eyes but still smiled, petting your head until you fell asleep on him.

[branches-of-time]

The House That Built Me

“Figured you’d either still be at the tavern, or were already home wondering where I was.”

He smiles at you, soft, before looking away. “I was at the tavern most of the day, like I planned this morning. But… something didn’t feel right. I wasn’t really… giving it my all, and I think the patrons could tell.”

You frown. “What didn’t feel right? Are you okay?”

“Oh, I’m fine, Windblume. I’m just fine.”

You aren’t convinced. “Then, uh… do you feel like sharing what isn’t fine?”

His gaze drops to the dark sea below. “I think you know what it is, actually.”

Cryptic as ever, you take a moment to ponder what he might mean. He takes the silence as an opportunity to elaborate. “I never really wonder where you are, you know?"

~~~~~~~

Inazuma, all raging storms and war-torn, is calling your name. Shamefully, you find yourself running north instead, searching for something, anything to fill this home-shaped void in your heart.

Maybe, just maybe, you’ll come to find that home is a person, more than a place.

Pairing: Venti x Reader - Established Relationship, GN!Reader

Word Count: 11,033

Contains: [angst (with a happy ending)] [crying] [cuddling] [emotional hurt/comfort] [lack of communication] [loneliness] [memories] [not canon compliant] [pet death] [Reader & Venti are both adults] [Reader is not Traveler but they essentially take their place in the game's plot] [self-deprecating reader] [separation anxiety] [set prior to Version 2.0] [songfic]

A/Ns: This is a songfic! Title and verses written throughout the fic are from the song- "The House That Built Me" by Miranda Lambert.

Lastly, some context- Reader is a Riftwolf-Human hybrid, can manipulate all seven elements but has an affinity for Geo.

I know they say you can't go home again.

Sand, warmed by the afternoon sun, swells between your spread fingers as you press your hands down into the ground at your sides. Summoning a modicum of Geo elemental energy, your hands meet no resistance as they sink into the compacted grains like a hot knife through butter. You drop your raised shoulders and let your hands bury several inches into the beach until the sand surrounding them is cool, untouched by the heat of the day.

Dismissing the energy you’d been using to repel it, you allow the ground to resist you again. You note the weight of the sand as it presses down on the backs of your hands, and the firm bed of grains packed beneath your palms. You shut your eyes and flex your fingers slightly, focusing on the soft grit of Falcon Coast as it surrounds your hands in its weighted embrace.

Breathing a heavy sigh, you reopen your eyes, dropping your head and cursing the earth beneath you. This attempt at grounding yourself is doing little to ease the knot in your stomach, nor the tightness in your chest. Looking up and out across the expanse of ocean before you, the sight of Musk Reef looming in the distance doesn’t help either. You refuse to allow your gaze to drift any further south.

You begin to ask yourself what you’re even doing here, and why you thought this was a good idea. You’re no stranger to fleeing to Mondstadt whenever the world overwhelms you, but this specific beach perhaps wasn’t the wisest choice. Certainly not when the very thing you’re running from is the sea.

You hadn’t put much thought into where to go, you just knew you wanted to go home. Materializing at the waypoint east of Windrise was simply instinctual. Though, when you arrived, you didn’t turn and head north like you had so many times before. No, you took a running jump off the cliff below, gliding south and landing on the coast.

Sitting here now though, hands buried in the same sand you first washed up on after clawing your way out of the abyss… it’s not as comforting of a spot as you thought it might be. You don’t feel grounded at all, caught up between memories of the past and fears of the future.

Tugging your hands out of the sand with a frustrated huff, you turn your head to glance behind you at the cliff to the north.

…Maybe you should’ve gone that way instead. Maybe you should go home.

 I just had to come back one last time.

Materializing at the earlier waypoint once again, you pause to collect yourself for a moment. Making frequent use of the waypoints, especially in your current state, isn’t very wise. Then again, you aren’t in a very wise state. Taking a deep breath to dispel the dizziness, you let the warm breeze caress your cheeks. Looking around from your current vantage point, you find yourself grateful for the lack of people in the area. Even Chloris is currently nowhere to be found.

Well, at least you can think in peace. Jumping down from the crumbling ruin, you steady yourself against an archway, narrowly avoiding crushing a small patch of lamp grass. …Perhaps you should’ve taken another moment to collect yourself. Perhaps you shouldn’t be wandering through the wilds all on your own, in such a state.

You scoff at the latter thought. This is Mondstadt, and you’re… you. What’s the worst that could happen?

Pushing aside the thought that more alone time may not be what you need right now, you think yourself through your predicament once again as you set off on a walk.

-

You’d been reluctant to leave Mondstadt and set out for Liyue, despite knowing that you’d get no further answers to your myriad of questions here. Not to mention the nagging, relentless tug of fate, pulling you away from the nation you’d come to call home. You knew full and well that you’d have to leave. You’d find no peace in an attempt to ignore the call, and settle here indefinitely.

Still, that didn’t stop you from milking your time here as much as possible. You’d gotten to a first name basis with nearly every soul in the city by the time you ran out of tasks to busy yourself with. Gained quite the notable reputation for yourself in the process too, although that hadn’t been your goal. You truly just didn’t want to leave.

You’d trekked over every hill, passed through every valley, climbed to every peak and turned over every stone and leaf along your way. You explored the nation’s ruins, deciphered inscriptions half faded into their stone, and felled every field till- …ruin guard that stood in your way. You’d braved the frozen peaks of Dragonspine, and gained a newfound appreciation for the Pyro element in the process.

You stood atop the celestial nail, looking out through the blizzard and over the expanse of land to the southwest.

The vast, foreign land that laid before you scared you more than the journey to the top of the nail had.

After all, you didn’t fear falling. The wind at your back would surely catch you, you had no doubt.

Flecks of Cryo stung, colliding with the flushed, exposed skin of your face. You closed your eyes, balance wavering slightly as a result. A small arm was quick to wrap itself around your waist.

No, you didn’t fear falling. You feared leaving.

You leaned into the safety of your Archon’s hold, their concerned voice perfectly audible in spite of the blizzard winds surrounding you. “Are you alright? Do you need to get down?”

You feared leaving him.

-

Leaves from the end of a tree branch brush against your perked ears, pulling you back into the present. Shaking your head and drawing your ears down on instinct, you look around and realize your muscle memory has carried you the rest of the way home. Tucked away against a small cliff south of the Thousand Winds Temple, stands an even smaller cottage, forgotten to time. An Anemo Samachurl paces in circles in the yard, and its Geo counterpart sits on the old stone stairs leading into the home.

Ma'am, I know you don't know me from Adam.

The Geo Samachurl turns to look at you, and you give it a small wave in acknowledgement. Its attention lingers on you for only a moment longer, before turning back to continue watching its Anemo companion instead. A smile plays on your lips, tight and bittersweet.

You make no move to continue approaching, instead opting to back up a few paces and lean against a nearby tree, observing.

They can sense enough of your shared origins, or- maybe it’s the lingering abyssal energy on you… regardless, they can sense something on you that they recognize. Nothing specific, but something familiar enough that they feel no need to take up arms upon the mere sight of you. In all honesty, you feel the same. Their presence here doesn’t pose any genuine threat, so you’re content to leave them be.

In the many months that have passed since Venti and you moved out of this place, it’s become a haven for others. Whether it be traveling adventurers seeking shelter for a night, wildlife seeking refuge from a passing storm beneath the awning, or even your old Khaenri’ahn kin seeking a place to camp, the cottage has served many.

The both of you have kept a distant eye on the place since your departure. Though, Venti has found himself remaining more distant than you since these Samachurls have set up camp. While your presence doesn’t ring any alarm bells for them, the same cannot be said for Venti. While he holds no ill intent toward them either, something about the aura he emits sets them instinctively on edge.

You can hardly blame them. You’d raised your hackles and bared your teeth at the bard, defensive upon your first encounter as well. Looking back, he was hardly posing any threat then either, but at the time, you viewed everyone and everything as a potential enemy. After all, you’d just escaped the abyss and been tossed to the shore of Falcon Coast by the waves, your weaker control over Cryo failing you halfway across your attempt at an ice bridge. Waking up on hot sand to find a humanoid being with an unsettling gaze emanating a suspiciously divine aura above you was more than enough to kick your fight or flight into gear.

You attempted both, in that order. You immediately dug your hands into the sand and threw fistfuls of it at the stranger, successfully disorienting them and giving you an opening to flee. With nothing but ocean to the east, you bolted west, and then north, headed for higher ground intent on gaining an advantage.

Looking back now, you know nothing could’ve stopped Venti if he’d truly wanted to catch you. At the time, though, you felt pretty confident in having outrun him. By the time you felt like you’d lost him, you found yourself also lost amidst trees, the uneven terrain obscuring your sense of direction. So- tired, thirsty, hungry, scared, and confused- you dropped from a run to a walk. Pressing forward in the direction you’d run in, you kept your ears at attention to catch any threat before it could catch you.

-

The Anemo Samachurl breaks from its quiet chanting and pacing, its sudden cry pulling your focus from the past. From the way it points and takes off in a run, and the way its Geo counterpart rises to follow behind, you assume it must have seen something in the woods that caught its attention. You see nor sense nothing of note, and dismiss the likely false alarm. Probably just wildlife, or perhaps a Dendro slime looking to play. As the two little shamans run off into the trees, you take advantage of the vacancy they leave behind.

But these handprints on the front steps are mine.

You figure you’ve got enough time for a quick visit before they return. Besides, the worst that’ll happen if they do catch you in their “camp” will be a few disgruntled spells cast toward you as you hightail it out of there. It’ll be fine.

Approaching the trio of old stone steps that lead to the front door, your gaze catches on two handprints engraved into the highest stair. Memories begin to surface.

-

Sitting on the stairs with your back pressed to the door, you found yourself growing frustrated with the green-clad individual in your yard. Well, perched in one of the trees in your yard, to be precise.

You’d taken up residence in this old run-down cottage once it seemed that no one else had been occupying it. The first few days had been blessedly peaceful, it seemed the area was rather devoid of other life. Well, threatening life, at least. There were plenty of plants and animals, plus a little pond close by, providing far more sustenance than you’d grown used to surviving on. You figured it was as good of a place as any to try and sort out your next move. You hadn’t put much thought into what you’d do once you escaped, after all. You found yourself feeling… lost. After charging ahead with your focus locked on a single goal for so damn long… you didn’t know what to do with yourself now that you’d achieved it.

You weren’t lost for long though. The nosy stranger that found you on the beach proved to be the next target of your focus. Your peaceful existence in this cottage overlooking the sea didn’t last long before you found yourself in their unwanted company once again. They might’ve thought they were subtle, hiding amongst the treetops and watching you quietly.

They weren't. You could sense them. Hell, even if it weren’t for the strange aura they emanated, you could smell them. They carried a strong scent of fermentation with them, and you could easily pick up on the pungent smell in the wind.

On the third day of your silent standoff, you grew fed up with this stranger’s odd behavior. You only knew one way of settling things, and that was face-to-face, not through some weird game of observation. You cleared your throat, preparing your underused voice and searching for your words. Tilting your head back to look at the trespasser, you snarl at their relaxed stance, laid back across a branch like they’re asleep.

“Come down.” You bark the command up into the trees.

The stranger doesn’t comply, but they do acknowledge you, opening their eyes and turning their head to look down at you. “So you can speak!”

You’re in no mood to entertain their conversation, certainly not before making sense of their intentions. “Come. Down.” You repeat, voice flat and serious.

“Are you gonna throw sand in my eyes again?” Light and playful, they question you.

You huff. “No.” Not without good reason, at least, you think to yourself but fail to vocalize.

They hum in thought for a moment before going quiet again. You let the seconds pass, growing more irritable with each one. Just as you’re about to call them down once again, they roll to the side, willingly falling from the branch they’d been laying on. Your muscles twitch and lock for a moment as you stop yourself from… from… from what? What were you going to do, run and try to catch them? Why would you do that? They’ve done nothing for you.

Your lack of action proves itself inconsequential as the stranger falls at a remarkably slow speed. It’s less of a fall and more of a… decent, you suppose, seeming to effortlessly defy gravity. Righting themself midair to land on their feet, they pull their cape forward on their shoulders, beginning to approach you.

You plant your hands firmly on the stone at your sides, readying yourself for anything.

“While that wasn’t the most convincing answer, I suppose I can extend a bit of trust to you. I sure hope you don’t make me regret it though!” They come far closer to you than anyone with a sense of self-preservation ought to. They hold a hand out between you, and you stare at it, waiting for something to happen. “I’m Venti, a bard from the city.”

Finally getting your first proper look at them up close, you’re struck with the strangest sense of recognition. You couldn’t pinpoint it to save your life, but… something about this person feels… familiar. Distant, hazy, and inexplicable, but it’s there nonetheless.

You don’t like it.

When you make no move to do… whatever they seem to want you to do with their hand, they drop it, and you flinch at the sudden motion. Frowning, they question you. “Might I ask for your name in exchange, my dear trespasser? We can hardly get to know one another without exchanging some basic information.”

Your brows pinch in frustration at the stranger's many words. They say a lot, and they say it fast. It’s been… you can’t recall how long it’s been since you last held such conversation. One word stands out to you, though. “Trespasser? Me?”

He nods. “Well, technically, yes! I don’t know much about you yet but I do know that this isn’t your house.”

“How?” You question, eyes narrowing, watching as they stupidly step even closer.

“How do I know that this isn’t yours?” They question you in return.

You nod, claws sharpening, palms itching with pent-up Geo energy crackling beneath your skin.

“Because it’s mine, silly!” They laugh, reaching out toward you.

Your instincts take over as the stranger moves to grab you, and you force your hands into the stone beneath you. Releasing the Geo energy you’d been holding onto, you use the repelling force to launch yourself up off the stairs and at the fool standing before you.

You don’t make contact with them though, stumbling forward into what suddenly becomes thin air and tripping over nothing, sending yourself straight to the ground. Righting yourself before you can even register the impact, your claws tear through the dirt and grass as you turn back to face your opponent on all fours.

You freeze at the sight of them, casually propped against the railing of the stairs, clearly not poised to fight. With no weapon in their hands, and refusing to take on any sort of combative stance, you find yourself locked in a one-sided stand-off.

Not taking their eyes off you, the stranger pats the banister they’re leaning against. “I wasn’t reaching out for you, friend.” As you process their words and the seconds turn into a minute, they make no move to attack you, so you slowly let your guard down. Just slightly. Bending at the knees, you settle in a deep squat on the ground.

When the stranger seems confident enough that you aren’t about to throw yourself at them again, they allow their attention to leave you and fall to the step where you’d just sat. Following their gaze, you notice two handprints now carved into the stone, the very edge of the stair chipped away in places where your claws had caught on it.

You ready yourself for an attack, as this stranger surely won’t take kindly to destruction of, apparently, their property. But they make no move to do any such thing. They simply look back up at you with a knowing smile.

“You take after Morax, I see.”

Up those stairs in that little back bedroom, is where I did my homework and I learned to play guitar.

Smiling and shaking your head at the memory, you make your way into the small home. It’s rather bare, even more so than it had been when you first found the place. The two of you had taken all of your personal possessions with you into the teapot, leaving nothing but the basic furniture behind. After all, you had far better options awaiting you through Tubby’s sub-space creation.

Seeing the cottage in its original state, it once again becomes clear to you just how little Venti had customized the place prior to you moving in. He didn’t, and still doesn’t have much to his name, truly living the life of the wandering bard he identifies as. Most of what he does have he keeps on his person, whether that be in the physical sense, or dematerialized and stored away.

The cottage turned into a bit less of a shelter and more of a home over the many months you spent there with him. You stocked the little kitchen with far more than just his assortment of fruits, and an array of objects you collected from your outings lined the shelves. Looking back now, with a bit more insight on your own mental and emotional states, you venture a guess as to your behavior. You were likely hoarding whatever you found as a means of making up for how long you spent having nothing.

Venti never shamed you for it, even though he likely understood the behavior from the beginning. He was incredibly empathetic, and kinder than you felt you deserved, even once parts of your past became known to him. It took some time, given your struggle to keep up with his words, and the bigger struggle of finding your own. You managed to get it across to him eventually though, and he’d been benevolent enough to take you in.

-

You come to a stop in the bedroom doorway, surveying the place through the lens of the past.

You remember countless hours spent at the small desk in the corner, hunched over paper with text on it that you couldn’t decipher. Venti stood beside you, one hand on your shoulder, patiently teaching you how to make sense of the symbols you saw.

You remember less stressful hours spent sitting on the floor, curiously plucking at the strings of the bard’s various instruments with your claws. He’d sit on the bed watching you, naming the notes and teaching you how to turn your discordant noise into beautiful music. You were never as good as he was though, and you really didn’t mind. You preferred to listen to him playing, anyway. The bard possessed a beautiful voice, and the soft songs he’d sing to you in the dark of night never failed to put your tormented mind at ease.

Staring at your designated spot on the floor, you laugh at the memory of countless nights spent refusing his invitations. He’d offered his bed to you from the beginning, insisting that you deserved it more than he did. Besides, he said, he was used to sleeping in trees and fields, on barstools and street corners. He claimed he wouldn’t miss the bed at all.

You wouldn’t hear of it. Vehemently denying any offers, you stubbornly slept- atop as many blankets and pillows as you’d allow him to give you- on the floor by his bed like the dog you were. He wasn’t the only one used to sleeping in uncomfortable places, and you weren’t about to lose your edge by getting too comfortable too soon.

You think of the way you woke up this morning, wrapped in soft, warm blankets on a wide, plush mattress, face nuzzled into his neck, arms around his waist.

You’ve both come a long way.

You hear the familiar sound of distant hilichurlian chanting, and make your move to leave, bidding your old bedroom a quiet farewell once again.

Slipping out of the cottage and rounding the side of the building in a few long strides, you narrowly manage to evade their notice. Peeking around the corner, you watch them return to their prior posts. The Anemo Samachurl diligently paces between the trees, its Geo companion keeping watch from the stairs.

You smile, and turn to make your silent departure.

-

Checking in on your old home had been a successful distraction from the thoughts you’re trying to avoid, but you couldn’t linger there forever. Still, feeling unprepared to return to the teapot and try to put on a brave face for Venti, you find yourself wandering. With no particular destination in mind, you let your feet take you where they may.

You try to think of nothing at all for a while, failing over and over again as your mind searches for something to latch onto. Apparently counting your steps wasn’t entertaining enough for it.

After a while of failing to meditate on your walk, you find yourself leaving grass and stepping onto a dirt path. Looking up and around, you realize you’ve made your way to the road leading to the Thousand Winds Temple.

Turning and looking south, you can see the massive tree at Windrise, off in the distance. Far, far, beyond that, bringing your eyes to the horizon, you can see the snowy peaks of Dragonspine beyond the tall cliff of Galesong Hill. You sigh.

And I bet you didn't know, under that live oak, my favorite dog is buried in the yard.

A few months after arriving in Mondstadt and settling in with Venti, you found yourself exploring the icy riverbank that borders Dragonspine. The stubborn bard, wrapped in the thickest cloak he owned, trudged along behind you.

You’d told him he didn’t have to join you that day, but the thought of you exploring unfamiliar territory without him apparently just didn’t sit right. So, in spite of his occasional grumbles over the increasing cold, he never left your side.

The area was predictably desolate, save for a few Cryo Hilichurl archers lounging on the icy banks like they were on summer vacation. You weren’t looking for a fight that day though, just to explore, so you avoided drawing their attention given the divine company you were in.

Later on, as you were focusing hard on what Pyro energy you could summon in an attempt to melt the ice encasing a chest, you found something far more valuable. Venti saw it first, having been eyeing the surroundings while you were focused on the task at hand. Calling your name, he summoned your attention with ease.

Turning to look at him, your gaze followed his pointed finger and landed on a dog, slowly making its way toward you.

The animal was fairly large, but certainly far from threatening given the state it was in. As it drew closer, Venti lowered himself to his knees in the cold wet grass, suddenly forgoing his prior reluctance to endure the elements. You smiled. It seemed like he’d learned a thing or two from you about dealing with fearful dogs.

You followed suit, crouching down beside him and getting on the dog's level. The shivering animal hesitated, coming to a stop about fifteen feet away. Materializing some fresh meat you’d caught on the journey there, you quietly held it out toward the dog.

It sniffed the air, but refused to move.

Tearing a chunk off, you gently tossed it in the dog’s direction, and it landed a few feet in front of it. Sniffing harder, the animal carefully approached the offering, sticking its head out as far as it could to reach the food and avoid coming closer.

The two of you spent the better part of an hour luring the dog toward you, slowly but surely winning it over with continued offerings of fresh meat.

Upon closer inspection, you were honestly shocked that it was still standing. Skin stretched tight across its ribcage, hip bones two sharp peaks, spine a long mountain range down its back… the thing was clearly starving. You weren’t sure if it was the stress of a difficult life, a sign of old age, or both, but what you assumed had once been black fur was almost white from graying, particularly in its face. It trembled incessantly, and as soon as it came close enough and didn’t seem apt to bolt, Venti untied his cape and wrapped it around the dog, who shockingly didn’t fight it.

Maybe Venti had been serious when he claimed he could talk to animals.

You fed it more bites of meat as the two of you quietly discussed the best way to get it home. Blessedly, once the dog realized that neither of you held malicious intentions, it switched gears surprisingly fast. More than just tolerating your presence, the dog actually began to cling to you, frantically whining when you both stood up, fearful that you’d be leaving it behind.

Abandoning your half-melted treasure, you knew it was time to leave. You were quite a ways from home and you weren’t about to try teleporting the dog in its current state. So instead, you carefully picked her up, frowning at how little she weighed. Venti took the remaining meat and distracted the nervous dog with more offerings of food as you began your long, slow journey home.

“Don’t- don’t feed her too fast. I know she’s hungry but I don’t want to make her sick.”

Venti nodded, tearing off smaller bites. “I remember.” He cryptically confirmed.

You adjusted the dog in your hold, pulling Venti’s cape up around her neck. “…Remember what?”

He suppressed a shiver, but you still noticed. “You ate yourself sick on fruit and raw meat the first night you spent here.”

Your head turned quickly, staring down at him. “You were watching? Even then?”

He nodded, expression solemn. “I followed you home, you know? It just took a few days for you to notice that I was there.”

You walked in thoughtful silence for a while after that, wondering if your scattered senses had failed you, or if he was actually better at hiding his aura than you thought.

-

The dog lived with the both of you in your little cottage for a few good months. She gradually put on weight, and some life returned to her alongside it. She still moved slowly, though, and you feared she was in pain.

By that point, you’d befriended a timid alchemist with mint-green hair, and sought her assistance. She’d kindly offered you a medicine of her own creation, advising that the dog seemed rather old, and likely suffered from joint pain. You offered her payment in Mora, which she politely refused. You eventually got her to accept a small assortment of bones you’d gathered in exchange, correctly surmising that the offer would be too tempting for her to refuse.

Sucrose’s medicine seemed to help, because the dog moved with noticeably more ease once you began giving it to her. She was far from spry, but she seemed comfortable, so you were content. She was also content, in the precious, innocent way that only a dog can be. Just happy to be alive, happy to be fed, happy to be safe. Happy to be near someone that loves them, and happy to be near someone they love.

“Adagio.” Venti had once said, gently raking his nails through her fur on a warm, sleepy afternoon.

“What’s that?’ It was far from the first time he’d said a word you didn’t know.

“In musical terms, it means played slowly… I think it would be a nice name for her.”

You considered it for a moment, and found it rather fitting, nodding in agreement with a smile. “I like that.”

Adagio spent her days laying in the shade near the cliff’s edge, watching the waves lap at the small shore below. Looking back, you can thank her for teaching Venti that you can survive a half a day on your own. She could hardly chase you all over Mondstadt, or weave her way after Venti through the busy city streets, so when one of you needed to go out for something, the other would stay home with her. One of the two of you were always there, and she never knew the pain of being alone again.

She spent her nights curled between the two of you. She couldn’t make the jump up onto the bed, and you were still stubbornly sleeping on the floor, so Venti made the executive decision to heave the mattress onto the floor as well. As silly of a sight as it may have been to an outsider, the three of you were comfortable, curled together amidst blankets and pillows on the too-small mattress, bed frame abandoned on the other side of the room.

Nothing lasts forever though, and it seemed to you that the best of things were always the quickest to go.

As months passed, her movements went from slow to slower, and she started struggling with more things. She could no longer steady herself to make it up and down the three stairs to your home, so one of you carried her every time. She slept more and moved less, and her love of food began to wane.

This wasn’t your first experience with something like this. Though it had been an awfully long time since you lived through it last, you still knew what was coming.

That didn’t make it hurt any less, though. Not at all.

Both of you sat awake with her through the final night, keeping her comfortable and telling her how much you loved her. You’d never hoped harder that Venti’s communicative abilities held true.

You kept it together until she released her final breath, and when you knew she was gone, you allowed yourself to fall apart.

Up until then, your walls had been an impenetrable fortress. No emotion escaped unless you allowed it. Venti had never seen you cry.

So when your pain escaped you this time, falling in heavy golden tears and landing in her gray fur, he could only stare. He knew this wasn’t his moment to intrude on, so he didn’t. He didn’t rush to wrap you in an embrace, nor did he try to offer any hollow words of comfort. This was pain. This was loss. He was intimately familiar with it, and he knew it had to be felt.

There isn’t a single detail of that night that you don’t recall, and the teal tears that fell next to your golden ones are no exception.

That was the first time you saw him cry, too.

-

The evening breeze cools the hot golden tracks running down your cheeks. You watch tears fall onto the dirt path beneath you, and then you close your eyes.

-

You both sat there with what remained of her until the morning sun slipped in through the window. You were surprised when Venti broke the silence, offering to bury Adagio beneath the Windrise tree.

You spoke through a voice thick and strained from your cries. “That’s… that’s a really special place.”

He nodded. “She was a really special dog.”

You wiped the fresh tears from your eyes before they could fall, turning to face him.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” He put his hand out, laying it next to Adagio on the mattress. “Unless you’d prefer elsewhere?”

You knew what to do this time. Reaching out and laying your hand in his, you shook your head slowly. “No. I think Windrise would be perfect.”

-

Opening your eyes, you raise your head to glance once more at the massive tree across the sprawling field. Bidding Adagio another quiet goodbye, you pull in a shaky breath, and turn, heading north.

Walking in silence for a while, you try to let your emotions settle. The tears you just shed seemed to help a little, but the knot in your stomach won’t leave you.

You follow the road a little while longer, but when you find yourself nearing the temple, you take a detour and head west, off the beaten path. You aren’t keen on running into whatever random explorers might be camping there this evening. Besides, the scent of cecilias is on the breeze, and you’d rather follow that instead.

Making your way up the uneven terrain that comprises the base of Starsnatch Cliff, your mind returns to its ruminations over what brought you here today in the first place.

You leave home, you move on, and you do the best you can.

The reason for your reluctance to leave Mondstadt became abundantly clear on the day you finally set out for the neighboring nation. As you left Dawn Winery behind and crossed the border, headed for Stone Gate, it sank in quickly.

Venti wasn’t beside you.

Up until that point, he’d been the literal wind at your back every step of the way. Every commission you completed, every request you fulfilled, every inch of land you explored, he was right behind you. Or beside you, or above you, or in front of you…

Regardless, he was there. Answering your questions, telling you stories, helping you make sense of the unfamiliar. Whether it be words you couldn’t yet read, customs you didn’t yet understand, or emotions you couldn’t yet identify, he was your guide through it all. The Stormterror crisis came and went, as did the… incident with Signora, and the two of you grew ever closer as a result of it all. You could fill a book with the stories of what you two went through in the mere year you spent in this nation. But, as you sat together beneath the Windrise tree one evening discussing it all, it slowly grew clear that it was coming time to move on. As if the notion alone wasn’t stressful enough already, there seemed to be an unspoken understanding that it was a journey you must undertake alone.

So, you did. You’d packed your things, said your temporary goodbyes, and set off on your own without so much as once giving in to the urge to ask him to come along. The goodbyes were, after all, only temporary. You hoped. If you made it through whatever awaited you in Liyue alive, you always planned on returning home.

And you did. Many times.

You, scared as you’d been, made it through the lively adventure that was your initial trip to Liyue, and you’d come out much stronger for it. You found a confidence that you’d forgotten you possessed, forced to show itself once there was no travel companion for you to rely on.

Quite early in your journey, you gathered that you weren’t completely alone anyhow. Sure, in your day-to-day there was no talkative bard trailing behind you, and the nights proved themselves awfully lonely indeed. But Venti’s parting words, “may the wind protect you”, proved themselves surprisingly literal as you took note of one particular Yaksha. After a few nights at Wangshu Inn, and a few bowls of almond tofu shared in relative silence, the man had made himself into your shadow shockingly fast. He never seemed to be around when your gaze searched for him in a crowd, but was always conveniently there the moment you ran into trouble.

Still, in spite of his protection, not to mention your growing, innate connection with the God of your favored element, you longed for home. You longed for your home. You longed for your God.

I got lost in this whole world, and forgot who I am.

So, once the dust, or, well, waves had settled and Rex Lapis had been “officially” laid to rest, you found yourself headed northeast.

In spite of how proud you’d been for making it on your own, all of that crumbled the evening you first crossed back into Mondstadt. You could've used any of the waypoints you’d resonated with, could’ve gone right back home to the cliff overlooking Falcon Coast. But something about that just didn’t feel right. Not for your first return.

Walking the path back toward Dawn Winery, you tried to keep your composure. You tried to not get irrationally emotional over the familiar sight of Anemo crystalflies fluttering over the grape vines. You ignored the warmth in your chest at the sight of soft yellow candlelight illuminating the cottage windows along your path.

Your weakening grip on your emotions completely failed though when you caught sight of a small, green-clad bard, legs dangling from the edge of a rooftop, plucking at his lyre.

You burst into tears on the spot, folding in on yourself and crumpling to the dirt beneath you.

He dropped the nonchalant act instantly, dematerializing from his perch on the rooftop and reappearing beside you in a small, warm burst of Anemo energy that you didn’t see through your tears, but definitely felt. He’d questioned you frantically, worried you were hurt, not understanding what was wrong. Eventually, largely thanks to his embrace, the sobs wracking your form eased enough to assure him that you were fine.

You’d just missed him, was all.

The array of conflicting emotions that flashed in his eyes at the admission would've intrigued you, had you not been so absorbed in your own at the time.

In spite of how badly you craved his company, you’d already proved to yourself that you could travel on your own. So, you continued to. After an extended stay in Mondstadt to recover from your first eventful excursion, you began traveling between the two nations more regularly. Having resonated with most of the waypoints and Statues of the Seven in Liyue as well, it was easy to hop over for the day and still come home to Venti at night.

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it, this brokenness inside me might start healing.

Such was your routine until Madam Ping had introduced you to her Teapots. Adeptal magic was quite the wonder, capable of impressive feats, and the new home offered to you was no exception. When you learned that not only could you live in it, but you could invite others in as well, you were over the moon. You were, of course, reluctant to bid a more permanent farewell to the little house overlooking the sea that you’d grown so familiar with. But when faced with something as convenient and extravagant as the teapot, you could hardly turn it down.

Venti had been more than interested in your offer when you brought the thing home and showed it to him. After bestowing a permanent invitation upon him, he took a liking to the space quite quickly, happy to help make yourselves a new home. Having already been informed of your penchant for Mondstadt, Tubby had crafted a world for you that resembled the land of freedom’s sprawling hills, cliffs, and beaches to an impressive degree. Your new home was far grander than your old one, but with a little time and personalization with what you both brought from the cottage, it really did start to feel like home.

It was… nice, having a safe place to return to every night, regardless of where you were or what you may be caught up in. It was even nicer that Venti seemed to quite enjoy spending time there as well. There’d scarcely been an evening where both of you hadn’t wound up in the teapot together, sharing stories of your respective days over dinner.

Things carried on like that for the remainder of your time in Liyue. You spent more and more time in the land of contracts, and less and less in Mondstadt as a result. Sometimes you’d have reason to return, and somehow you’d almost always run into Venti while you were there. Time spent with him in the teapot was no less real, but it always felt… special, when the two of you were together in Mondstadt again.

Out here, it's like I'm someone else, I thought that maybe I could find myself.

Still, just as it had been with Mondstadt, you couldn’t linger in Liyue forever. You’d built a reputation for yourself there to match your standing in Mondstadt, making a slew of new connections, exploring, finding answers and more questions alike. It was time to move on. Inazuma loomed far, far off on the southern horizon, and it was up to you to make the first step to reach it.

You didn’t want to.

You stood on the docks, looking out at Guyun Stone Forest, and at Beidou’s ship anchored nearby.

You found yourself feeling something you hadn’t felt in a long while. You felt the same as you had when standing atop the celestial nail, only this time it was somehow worse. It scared you. Yes, the prospect of setting off effectively alone to yet another unfamiliar nation, but more than that. It scared you because you thought you’d grown past this. You thought you could handle this. You thought… you thought you’d outgrown this immature sense of homesickness.

You were wrong.

If I could walk around, I swear I'll leave.

That’s how you found yourself here, ambling through the wilds of Mondstadt. You really, really don’t want to leave. But you know that you have to.

You think of the stories you’ve heard in Liyue, of the terrible war raging in the island nation to the south.

You release a shaky breath into the cooling air.

You pray that you’ll make it back alive.

Won't take nothin' but a memory, from the house that built me.

Following the cecilias as their trail grows thicker, you weave your way up to the peak of the massive cliff.

You’re only slightly surprised to see a small figure, dressed in a very familiar shade of green, sitting with their back to you at the very edge.

Tension you didn’t notice you were holding melts from your shoulders at the sight of him.

You do your best to push aside the emotional storm you’ve been caught up in, and you call out to him, playful. “Fancy seeing you here!”

He twists at the waist to face you, following your movement as you approach. “I could say the same, love. What brings you here?”

You laugh softly as you come to a halt beside him. “Well, I could ask the same of you.” You carefully lower yourself to the ground, letting your legs dangle off the cliff beside his. “Figured you’d either still be at the tavern, or were already home wondering where I was.”

He smiles at you, soft, before looking away. “I was at the tavern most of the day, like I planned this morning. But… something didn’t feel right. I wasn’t really… giving it my all, and I think the patrons could tell.”

You frown. “What didn’t feel right? Are you okay?”

“Oh, I’m fine, Windblume. I’m just fine.”

You aren’t convinced. “Then, uh… do you feel like sharing what isn’t fine?”

His gaze drops to the dark sea below. “I think you know what it is, actually.”

Cryptic as ever, you take a moment to ponder what he might mean. He takes the silence as an opportunity to elaborate. “I never really wonder where you are, you know?”

You glance at him, bemused for a moment before growing serious. “Oh, what, were you- like- watching me today? How… Wait, how long have you been up here, actually?”

He doesn’t look at you, but he shakes his head. “I don’t have to be watching you to know where you are, dear.” The wind tousles your hair. “I’m already everywhere. All the time. If the wind can reach you, I’m there.”

“...Oh. Right.” You let your own gaze fall to the sea. “Maybe I let myself forget sometimes, just how… literal that is.”

You remember the warm sea breeze from this afternoon, the brief gust that cooled your tear-stained cheeks early this evening, and the wind that brought the scent of cecilias down toward you.

“...So you could tell that I was here today.”

“Yeah.” He confirms quietly. “There was something… discordant, blowing in from Falcon Coast this afternoon. It didn’t take long for me to identify you.”

Guilt blooms within you. “Is that when you left the tavern?”

“No, I didn’t head out immediately. I mean- I can hardly turn off my omniscience, but I do still try to give you privacy in spite of it. I figured if you needed me, or… wanted me, you would call out.”

The way he says “wanted” makes your frown deepen.

“But, when the tone of the air only continued to sour as time passed, I did eventually give in to my concern.”

You pluck at the grass beneath you to busy your hands. “I’m sorry for distracting you. I really didn’t mean to, I just…”

He turns to you, cutting you off. “Please don’t say that. I couldn’t care less about losing out on a few mora at the tavern. I care about the fact that you’re out here, crying to yourself, all alone.”

A familiar tension makes itself at home again in your throat. “I…”

You trail off, lost for words. Venti makes up for it though, seeming to suddenly have quite a bit to get off of his own chest. “I can sense the difference between someone who wants to cry on their own, and someone who’s crying because they’re on their own.” His pained voice nearly cracks. “I never thought I’d feel the latter coming from you. But I’ve felt it more than once now, and… I don’t know what to do.”

At his confession, honesty slips out of you, and you can’t hold back the tears that come with it. “I miss you.” You turn to face him, and then look past, gesturing weakly out to the sprawling land of freedom behind you. “I miss this! I miss home! I miss you!” Voice breaking, you choke on your tears and lean into him, crumpling pathetically down onto his lap and curling yourself around him like the needy animal that you are.

His hands settle on you, one on your back and another reaching for your legs, pulling you against him so you don’t slip off the edge. His winds would cradle you if you fell, but he’d rather prevent the problem before it can happen. His own voice is tight with emotion when he speaks. “You have me, love. You- you hold me every night, I bid you goodbye every morning, you can visit Mondstadt whenever you please!”

You shake your head vehemently in his lap, crying harder.

“I’m sorry, love- I- I really don’t understand. In what way do you not have me?”

You practically shout your answer into the fabric of your sleeves, turning your head just enough to pointlessly attempt to wipe your face. “When I leave! I have to leave! I have to leave, and leave you behind, and you aren’t with me, and I’m alone again every time I go!”

One of his hands comes up to carefully comb the damp hair from your face, the black tips now wet with shimmering gold. “When you leave Mondstadt? Like… like when you go to Liyue?”

You nod, almost hyperventilating as your fears spill from you. “I should've never gone there alone! I wanted to ask you, I wanted you to come with me so badly but something told me that I shouldn't ask, that I should go alone, and so I went and I was so fucking scared but- but- but I was fine- I was fine- I made it back alive and so what if I cried every night because I missed you? I had a fucking nation to save it’s not like I could come home crying to you about it! And- and I mean Xiao was there but I- I- I can fight I can hold my own I don’t need protection I need a friend! I need company! I need you! I- I knew I’d be fine but fuck I felt so alone and I missed you, I missed you, I missed Venti, I missed Barbatos, I missed you SO MUCH-” You suddenly heave for air in the middle of your spiel, breathing in too hard and choking on your own spit. Feeling about as vulnerable and pathetic as you’ve ever been, you give in to the misery, grasping for purchase at any part of him you can reach. Your claws dig into the thin fabric of his tights in a way you know you’ll be frantically apologizing for later, but in this moment you can’t bring yourself to stop. You can't bring yourself to do anything but cry, and cry, and cry.

He doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, the only sound he makes instead being a quiet, gentle hush, over and over, focused on calming you down. The cool hand that finds its way beneath your hair and settles on the back of your hot neck feels like heaven, and for a moment you cry harder at the relief. His other hand pets across the broad expanse of your back in slow, rhythmic, sweeping motions.

When your cries have quieted enough for you to focus on his words, he says something that surprises you.

“I’d have gone, if you’d have asked me.”

You hiccup a question. “Wh-what?”

“To Liyue. I would have been more than happy to go with you, if you’d have only asked.” His lithe fingers gently massage at the tension in your neck.

You twist in his hold just enough to look up at him. “Seriously?”

He gives you a weak smile, but it’s more sad than anything. “Of course. The only reason I didn’t invite myself along was because I wanted you to have the freedom to choose. I figured… if I offered to go with you, you might feel obligated to bring me with you.”

You laugh, but there's no humor in it. “This whole time… this whole time I really thought that you didn’t want to go.”

He’s visibly pained by the thought. “Why in the world wouldn’t I?”

You shake your head. “I don’t know… I just figured you had your reasons. It is another nation after all, and I’m still… not too sure how Archons feel about crossing into one another’s territory.” You clear your throat and scrub at your eyes and cheeks with a fist. “Figured maybe you didn’t want to run into Morax or something…”

He laughs, and there’s a bit of life in it this time. ��Even the prospect of running into that old block-head wouldn’t be enough to stop me from accompanying you.” He takes your hand in his, stopping your aggressive assault on your messy face. “And while certain Archons might be… less than enthralled to see me again, just because I’m with you doesn’t mean I have to be recognized.”

Your brow furrows. “Venti and Barbatos don’t look all that different…”

He smiles down at you good-naturedly. “True. But I could take another form if it came down to it. Something unrecognizable to even them. If there’s anything I know how to do, it’s how to hide in plain sight and not be found.”

In spite of the tears still staining your cheeks, you give a small smile to your absentee God. “You’d really go to such lengths? For me?”

He gives you a confident nod. “For you and you only, love.”

His hand continues its gentle ministrations across your back, and your muscles gradually relax. You run a hand along the fabric of his tights, waiting for your breaths to come steady. As your senses slowly return to you, your fingertips brush across a few small tears in the material, and you cringe. Venti notices as much, and reassures you. “Hey- It’s alright. Don’t worry about that.”

His words are too late to stop you from raising your head enough to observe the damage, your hand gently cupping his thigh. “I didn’t scratch you… did I?”

“Nope! Just caught the fabric is all.” You aren’t inclined to believe him, given that with his abilities he could’ve healed any minor wounds before you even knew they were there.

You huff, dropping your head to his lap once more. “I’m still very sorry. I’ll buy you-”

“That won’t be necessary-” He tries to cut you off, but your insistence overpowers his own.

“I am buying you a new pair.”

He sighs in reluctant acceptance, knowing better than to challenge you. “Alright, alright. If you insist.”

You lay there for a moment, idly kneading at his thigh and letting the soft sounds of the evening wildlife fill the silence. Still, you struggle to wrap your head around the recent revelation. “You’d really be willing to leave this place?”

He laughs beneath his breath at your disbelief. “I mean, not permanently. If you’ve hatched some plan to move to Snezhnaya that I don’t know about, then I might have to disappoint you…”

You relax further at the familiar, playful edge that returns to his voice. “Nah, nah, nothing like that… just- on my journey away and back. Not- not even every time! Just… sometimes. It… really would’ve been nice to have you by my side the first time, actually, but I know it’s too late for that now. I just… wouldn't have felt so lost.”

His smile fades a bit at the confirmation of a long-held suspicion. You had been missing him as badly as he’d missed you.

You catch the shift in his demeanor, no matter how slight. “...I’m making you sad…”

One of his hands finds yours. “Only at the realization of how oblivious I’ve been.” He laughs, humorless. “All those nights I couldn’t sense you in the wind, all the time I spent wondering if you were okay… you weren’t. You were holed up somewhere, crying, alone, afraid…”

His eyes pinch closed and you squeeze his hand. “It’s not on you. I should’ve been more honest with you before I left.”

He huffs, and then he’s quiet for a moment, thinking. It’s times like these in which you wish you could read him as well as he can read you. “...I could say the same.”

You stare up at him for a moment in confusion. “What do you mean?”

He holds your gaze for a moment and opens his mouth to speak, but seems to think better of whatever he had to say. His focus shifts from you and out to the sea. “...Like I said, I would’ve been happy to follow you. I never should’ve let you grow to believe otherwise.”

You pout just slightly at the less-than-complete sounding answer, but another question overrides your focus. “Is Liyue… the limit?”

The hesitation in your voice gives him pause. “What do you mean?”

“Is Liyue, like, as far as you’re willing to go.”

His eyes brighten in understanding, and you’d collapse from relief at the shake of his head if you weren’t already on the ground.

“Oh! No, not at all. I really meant it when I said I’d risk running into the other Archons for you.”

You release his hand and reach up to pinch the fat of your cheeks between your claws. He pouts, reaching down to stop you. “What’s that for?”

“I’m afraid I’m dreaming or something…”

He laughs properly, a beautiful sound. You crane your neck up to glance southward. The wall of storms barricading Inazuma are still there, an awful sight. You drop your head back to his lap with a heavy sigh.

He pats you gently on the cheek. “You’re wide awake, I assure you.”

Reaching up, you gently bat at the braids that hang at the sides of his face, chewing on your lower lip. He reads you like a book. “I think we’ve learned something this evening, dear.”

“What’s that?”

He catches your hand mid-air, splaying his fingers out and lacing them between yours. “It’s that when we have something to ask of one another, we should do it.”

The corner of your mouth turns up, and you meet his gaze. “Is that your fancy way of telling me to spit it out?”

He giggles. “Maybe.”

You sigh, letting your gaze drift away from him and up to the stars far, far above. “Would you be so kind… as to accompany this scared old dog all the way to Inazuma?”

You close your eyes, waiting for a “no.”

It never comes. Instead, he squeezes your hand in his, and you’re shocked to hear relief in his tone when he answers you. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Your eyes flicker open, unsure. “Is… is that a yes?”

He nods vehemently. “It is.”

The tears that spring to your eyes catch you by surprise. He wipes them away with his thumb as they fall. Sniffling, you question him again. “There’s- There’s a whole war going on over there right now, you know?”

The blue in his braids brightens, and in the dark of the early night, you notice the same turquoise light begin to shine from his chest, beneath the thin fabric of his white shirt. “I’m no stranger to war.”

You reach up, tracing a gentle finger across where you know one of his Archon marks to be. “...That you aren’t.”

His thumb swipes across the black star at the base of your neck, half hidden by your collar. “...Guess that makes two of us, huh.”

It’s a rhetorical question, but you hum in confirmation nonetheless. Rising from your spot on his lap, you wiggle your way around until you’re seated beside him properly again. Reaching an arm out, you wrap it around his shoulders, and he leans into you. Both of you stare out across the sea, watching the lightning flash in the storm to the south.

“I don’t even know what I’m gonna be able to do to help.” You sigh. “But I know I have to go.”

One of his hands finds yours again. “Whatever may come, I consider it an honor to fight alongside you.”

You bark a laugh, shaking your head at the notion. “Hey now, I just asked you to come with me, I never said anything about putting you in the line of fire.”

He smiles. “I know, I know, but still… if it comes down to it-”

“If it comes down to that, I’m hauling you over my shoulder and taking us both home.” You cut him off in a no-nonsense tone.

Your seriousness doesn’t cause his mirth to falter. “I fear I’m gonna be the one dragging you home if we run into Signora while we’re there.”

A low growl reverberates from your chest at the mere mention of her. “We’ve still got a score to settle.”

He pats you on the thigh placatingly, humor in his words. “Darling, how many times must I reassure you? I let her take it from me.”

“Still, she didn’t have to be so fucking rough about it. I’m not after the gnosis. She made this personal.” You snarl.

His soft laughter subsides as he shakes his head, but he doesn’t argue.

The two of you watch the lightning show for a short while, before you grow tired of the dreadful sight and opt to focus on something better. Unwrapping your arm from the God at your side, you stifle a laugh as he voices his sudden startled displeasure. You apologize as you reposition yourselves, moving away from the edge a bit and turning the both of you around. “Sorry about that, didn’t realize you’d almost fallen asleep on me.”

He pouts. “Can you blame me? You’re warm, and it’s been a stressful day… and speaking of-”

You nod. “I know. We should be getting home soon. But- look.” You point at the beautiful sight of Mondstadt City, lit up for the night, a beacon of hope and freedom standing strong in the distance. “Isn’t that a sight worth sticking around a little longer for?”

He sighs in content as you pull him against you once more. You can’t feel the swell of pride in his chest at the sight, but you can hear it in his voice. “It sure is.”

Lifting his hat from his head and placing it in his lap, you comb your fingers through his hair, finding your own satisfaction in the way he melts against you. The two of you admire the city for a long few minutes, and a thought occurs. “As much as I want you beside me… I feel bad taking you from your people.”

He shakes his head and the motion tickles as his hair brushes against your chin. “They don’t need me, love. At least, not in the day-to-day sense.” He huffs. “Honestly, I think the most prominent place that my presence will be missed is the tavern, and that’s of little consequence in the grand scheme.”

You know he’s right, but the guilt still nags at you. “I guess…”

He leans away just enough to turn and look you in the eye. “You are one of my people too, you know?”

You hold his gaze, considering it. Have you really been here long enough, or made a big enough impact on the region to be bestowed with such an honorary title? “...I suppose I do.”

He reaches up and cups your cheek, eyes pleading. “Then let me be there for you.”

You breathe a sigh of acceptance. “...Okay.” You turn your head and plant a quick kiss against his palm before he can pull away.

He lets his hand drop, but doesn’t turn away. “I’m really sorry that you’ve been carrying all of this pain with you for so long. I should have questioned you on it sooner.”

You pick his hand up from his lap, taking it in yours. “It’s not your fault. At least, certainly not anymore than it is mine. I should've just asked you to come, the worst thing you could’ve said was no.”

“I still hate that you even thought I might’ve said no. I… should have made my willingness clearer.”

“Nah, I mean, after a year of following me around Mondstadt I think you were quite clear. I’m just… dense.” You summon a few tiny Geo shards in your palm before allowing them to crumble into a shimmering pile of dust. “Comes with the territory, I suppose.”

Venti scoffs. “Well if you’re dense, then I’m diffuse.” A tiny gust of Anemo swoops in and lifts the dust from your outstretched palm, scattering it to the wind.

You watch your two energies mix and dissolve into the night air. “I guess they do say that opposites attract.”

He hums. “That they do, love.”

You expect him to turn back toward the city, and he almost does, but then he hesitates, and calls you by name. “I want you to remember something.”

Your interest piques, brows raising above tired, lidded eyes. “And what’s that?”

His tone is serious. “You are not alone. Ever. Not if you don’t want to be. I don’t want you hesitating to call on me ever again. If you need me, if you want me, I’m there. No exceptions.” Maybe it’s the day’s exhaustion catching up with you, but the light in his eyes feels like a beacon, guiding you home. “You don’t ever have to be alone again. Remember this, please.”

Something warm blooms in your chest, and it’s in this moment that you realize the knot in your stomach has loosened. It isn’t gone, but it’s hardly noticeable anymore, and you finally breathe easy. You hold his gaze for a moment before nodding, serious. “I will.”

He brings his hand up, holding his pinky out toward you. “Promise?”

You smile, reaching out and wrapping yours around his. “Promise.”

He exhales, satisfied. “You wanna stay out here a bit longer?”

You open your arms in invitation. “I’d love to.”

Shuffling around once more, you help situate him between your legs, pulling him back against your chest.

“Alright, but don’t hold it against me if I fall asleep out here. You make for quite the comfortable bed, you know.”

You smile, nuzzling into his hair and breathing him in. The heavy scent of fermentation he once carried is now nothing but a faint whisper. “I won’t mind.” Lifting your gaze from the distant city lights, you quietly admire the stars above. “Not at all.”

A/N: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed! You can find my commentary on this fic in the notes right here on Ao3. For more info on my OC Saoirse (aka this fic's "Reader"), along with links to various relevant playlists and moodboards, you can find it all here, in the notes of my fic series "This Is Unconditional." This is fic 4 of 16 that I'm doing based on combining prompts from this list! [Day 6 (Singing) & Day 21 (Memory)] Header Image Source: Me, for once! It's an in-game screenshot that I took myself.

[jaskier-cult]

a witcher with blue eyes

(ao3) (tumblr)

There are stories of a witcher with blue eyes.

Geralt was still a relatively new witcher, just five years on the Path, when this rumour appeared, and he was not naïve enough to fall for such fodder.

All witchers had yellow eyes. This was a given. None of the witcher schools had the exact same mutagens. Every school was slightly different, imbuing their witchers with the characteristics of the wild beast they represented – the cat witchers, with their purring, and the bears, with their excessive body hair – but all witchers had yellow eyes. That was how it was. That was how the mutagens worked. That was how a witcher could be recognised.

A witcher with blue eyes.

Geralt scoffed.

[angry-geese]

Cardinal Copia x Reader

Warnings: not osha compliant//nsfw. fluff and smut; oral (cunnilingus), overstimulation, afab reader. use of petnames (ex. my love)

synopsis: copia and the reader decide to spend a morning in :) i just wanted an excuse to write smut tbh

word count: 3.5k

Rain from the previous night has carried well into this morning, and shows little signs of stopping. Dawn is bleak and gray as it crests upon the horizon. In your state—stuck between the waking world, and sleep—you reach out for him, finding the bed beside you cold. The little villa Copia calls home lies empty, save for you, and the constant tick tick tick of the clock on the wall.

Despite his absence, you’re in no rush to get up. On a Saturday morning, there’s little more to do than basic chores, or lazing around the house. Maybe you’ll catch up on some reading, or perhaps some leftover paperwork—Sister Imperator seems to love her paperwork. Perhaps you could start with the sweeping, or dishes, but both tasks sound especially dull. Staying in bed sounds like a preferable option.

Outside, the incoming storm has rendered the sky dark, and the cobblestone path shiny. Fat droplets of water race down the window pane, spilling into the rocks below. Clouds are low enough that the tops of trees are obscured. Somewhere, not too far off, the abbey’s bells ring out, signaling the hour. Nine O’Clock. Various siblings will be gathering for mass soon; an optional ritual which only the most devoted—or those with nothing better to do—will attend. Copia will most likely be there. Certainly Sister Imperator will be.

When the door to the bedroom finally cracks open, the most movement you’ve made is that of rolling onto your side. The bed dips under his weight as he sits. A hand smooths over your hair, tucking a stray lock behind your ear.

It’s about that point in which you roll over to face him. Copia’s red cassock is replaced with a much more casual button down, and trousers. Black, although some red stitching is visible as he rolls up his sleeve. A nice touch. 

“I didn't mean to wake you,” he says, “I’m sorry.”

“You didn't.” You say. “I’ve been awake.”

The yawn that leaves you seems to say otherwise. You scoot back a bit on the bed, and he sits, tugging his pillow away from the headboard. Copia sighs, running a hand through his slicked-back hair. He doesn't seem to quite know what to do with his hands as they switch between laying limply at his sides, and fiddling with the top-most button of his shirt. 

You reach out to him, and he takes your hand, only to be pulled back to bed by you. A soft “oof” leaves him as his head hits the pillow, mere inches from yours.

“You’re back early today,” you say, “was there no meeting?”

“Terzo was terribly late,” he says, “and Sister had other important matters to attend to.”

“So you skipped work? How scandalous…” you say flatly.

Copia makes a show of rolling his eyes, though a small smile tugs at his lips. “Says the one still in bed. Isn’t it nearly ten?”

“Does our dark lord not revel in sloth?” You ask.

In reality, you have kitchen duty this week, and you’re dreading it greatly.

In theory, you could use your position so close to someone in the upper clergy to your favor. Little things like job assignments, roommates, special meals. Names could be swapped, tabled tipped in your odds. You know better than to do such a thing. Sister Imperator’s ire isn't something you want to earn, and she is aware of most things in the abbey.

Copia must not find it within himself to argue with you. And though his eyes are closed, you know very well he’s awake. You move closer to him, seeking the warmth of another body. He accepts you openly, allowing you into the space directly against him. You lean forward to kiss him—just a quick peck on the cheek. Copia catches you on your way back, pulling you in for a proper kiss. The taste of coffee lingers on his lips. 

“Is there any left?” You ask. “Coffee, I mean.”

When his eyes open, a look of guilt is visible within them. “I’ll make more.” He says.

And though you wish to stay in bed just a little while longer, you trail after Copia. The hallway leads directly into a small, but cozy living room. Shelves are stacked floor to ceiling with books, some old, some new. More wood goes into the fire, and the kettle is set on the stove to boil. The remnants of last night’s tea remain on the coffee table, aside half-read books, and video game controllers. You make yourself comfortable on the couch, shifting pillows and blankets to make room for yourself. Copia settles onto the couch beside you not long after, fishing the TV remote out from between two pillows. At this hour of the morning, nothing interesting is going to be on cable; shopping channels and reruns of game shows are the only programs available.

“What a dreary morning,” you comment, resting your head in your hands.

“I like the rain.” Copia says.

It was his timidness, and devotion to his work that first caught your attention; the passing glances in the hall, the looks that lasted slightly longer than they should have. By all accounts—his upbringing, his way of life—Copia should be a different kind of man. Sleazy. Lecherous. Rough around the edges. Someone who takes more than he needs, and does so greedily. But behind his strange exterior lies a timid, sweet man. A strange tenderness is behind each of his actions.

You never would have realized it if it weren't for Terzo’s scheming nature. Maybe one day you should thank him.

This rare, quiet moment is interrupted by the whistling of the kettle. Copia hops up to attend it, returning later with two mugs. Before, you never were much of a fan of coffee, but countless late nights and early mornings in the clergy gave you a new appreciation for it.

“How do you take yours?” Copia asks, although he already knows the answer.

“Sugar and cream if you have it,” you say.

He does.

Maybe a minute passes before he returns to the living room, carrying a mug in each hand. He settles back onto the couch, and when the opportunity to sprawl out presents itself, you take it, laying your legs across his lap. One of his hands trails along the curve of your leg. The other finds the remote, mindlessly flipping through channels. Copia eventually settles on a cooking show, although neither of you are paying attention to it.

Moments like this are fleeting—something to be savored—and that adds to your reluctance to get up. His hand ghosts up the side of your calf in slow, repetitive motions. Soothing. The pads of his fingers are rough, but gentle. Copia’s attention turns from the TV, back to you. The corners of his lips twitch upwards in the slightest hint of a smile. 

“What?” You ask quietly. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Who knew one little librarian would corrupt me so much,” he says.

That earns an eye roll, and a quiet laugh from you. “Me? Really?” You say.

“I used to be a pious man,” he says, “deeply devoted to my work and…”

“And I showed you there was more to life than work.” You say, and he nods.

What is the fun of the clergy if you can't relish in life’s luxuries? Much of your life was spent burying your own needs for the sake of others. Once you found a place you belong, and could truly, freely exist, you had years to make up for. A life to live freely and love fully.

Of course, Copia was born into this life. Perhaps he doesn't know the difference.

You tuck your legs back under you, leaning against his shoulder. Copia is quick to make room for you, looping an arm around your waist. His gaze falls to the bare curve of your legs. Nothing too scandalous. At least, not more scandalous than being found barely-clothed in his bed. Yet if you ask him, he’ll say something about appreciating the view regardless.

It’s a dangerous game you are playing, tangling your limbs with a member of the upper clergy. The various cardinals and papa’s are no stranger to casual relations. Casual sex, and one night stands come with the position. People love shiny, new things. They love to feel in power if only for a night. But to form a long term relationship—let alone one with the son of Sister Imperator—would be to put a target on one’s back. Not a great idea if you wish to fly under the radar.

Copia is not papa, and you will not be his prime mover.

This time, when he kisses you, there’s more of a need behind it. A set of warm hands find your cheeks—then your hair—pulling you impossibly close. The cardinal is typically a patient man, but today brings a strange desperation.

You can't help but wonder just what happened in the meeting this morning. Did Terzo say something to him?

When he pulls away, a line of saliva connects your lips to his. Warmth blooms in your chest, spreading out into your extremities. You pray he can't pick up on your racing heart. Probably not from such a distance, but the feeling of it beating within your chest is too much to ignore.

“Sister Imperator is less than pleased with how distracted I have been from my work,” he says.

So it was Imperator then?

“Was it not you that first distracted me from my work?” You ask, a coy smile spreading across your lips. “If my memory is correct, it was you who instigated that night at the library…”

If anyone is to blame for this, then it is Terzo. Without him, your little crush on the cardinal would have gone nowhere.

Copia separates himself from you just enough to slide off the couch, coming to rest upon his knees. “And who would I be to resist such sweet sin?” He asks.

Was it not the forbidden fruit that tastes most sweet?

He sits on his knees before you like a man bowed in prayer. Truly blasphemous. Your legs part just enough to give him room to settle between them. Copia moves slowly, achingly slowly. It’s not in his nature to be so direct; he’s testing the waters, waiting for you to make the first move.ands trail up your thighs before coming to rest on your hips, pushing up the hem of your—his—shirt. A small hum of approval leaves him as he realizes you have nothing on underneath.

A set of mismatched eyes meet yours, clouded with lust. His shoulders are hunched forwards slightly, head tilted down, gaze trained on you. An expectant look. From here, the once powerful cardinal looks vulnerable now.

If he ever asks, you’ll say you didn't plan this. Really, you didn't, but one has to be a little scheming to last within the clergy.

“What is it, Copia?”

He swallows hard. Your eyes follow his adam's apple as it bobs in his throat. “My love, I wish to taste you,” he says, voice low. “May I?”

“You may.”

He hooks his arms around your hips, pulling you closer to the edge of the couch—that draws a small gasp from you. Now, your legs hang mostly off the couch, coming to rest on his shoulders. Copia’s stubble is rough against your skin as he presses his lips against it, trailing kisses up your thigh. Three on the left, one on the right. Achingly slow. You don't think his movements are meant to be so—you truly think he’s trying to pace himself—but they all feel teasing in nature.

You wish for nothing more than to lean down and kiss him. To hold him gently in the same way he holds you. His tongue traces up your slit once before you can no longer contain yourself, and pull him close, hands guiding him by his hair. From him comes a small, muffled noise of approval.

Copia is a man who claims he is not skilled with his tongue, although that couldn't be further from the truth. He’s no stranger to your taste, your feel, the subtle movements of your body. He laps and sucks like a man starved for weeks, finally presented with a meal. A tongue devoted in total worship, for such reverence can only be that: worship. Moans spill past your lips and you do nothing to stop them. There’s no reason to be quiet in here, nobody is around to hear you. They only seem to make him more eager to please.

You’re reminded of a sermon from a few nights ago. Terzo led it. He would soon become intoxicated, but not before bestowing the crowd with a few words of wisdom:

Our pain, our pleasure…

One finger presses into you. Then another. Curling and pumping into you. The leg that’s no longer supported by his shoulder hangs loosely at your slide.

We devote ourselves to Him…

Sister Imperator looked about ready to strangle him once he started bringing up female orgasms. Maybe he had a point. Maybe Terzo was just alluding to what was going to happen at the afterparty.

The nails on Copia’s free hand dig into your skin. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to leave little crescent shaped marks. It’s enough to bring your attention back to him, and his mismatched eyes.

A low noise rumbles up from his chest as your grip tightens on his hair. Your own release comes upon you sooner than intended. Copia seems to notice it before you do, continuing to lap at your poor, sensitive clit. You can only writhe helplessly before him as he works you up to—and through—your release. Even then, he is unrelenting, continuing to work you over with his tongue; a mix of lust, pride, and gluttony in their most primal forms.

When Copia does finally pull away, his chin glistens in the low light of the room. You’ve done quite a good job at messing up his hair. It sticks out at strange angles now, and is only slightly fixed when he runs a hand through it. Something in Italian spills past his lips, although you can’t tell if it’s a prayer, or a curse. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, moving to sit beside you on the couch.

Once your shirt comes off, you’re left bare before him, nipples stiffening when exposed to open air. Copia takes you in greedlily, admiring the curves of your body. The angles. The softness of it—you—all. His reverence is a form of worship in its own right. He must be painfully hard now—the bulge in his trousers is a telltale sign of that. Copia palms himself through them, before you lean in to take charge, straddling his lap. Off comes his shirt, a task that takes both of you to complete, your hands fumbling for buttons in unison. His neatly tailored slacks are the next to go, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. Your discarded clothes go into a pile on the floor, tossed aside carelessly.

If the circumstances were any different, you’d go through the effort of finding a condom. Today you don't, though, it’s not for a lack of abundance. You wish to feel him in his entirety; limbs tangled, bodies becoming one. Like a pair of horny newlyweds, you’re all over each other. The first kiss he gives you is soft—gentle—but grows more needy as your hands brush across his erection. He lifts his hips just enough for you to tug down his boxers, freeing his hardened cock. Copia must be painfully hard now, yet he still tries to contain himself.

Copia leans back just enough for you to straddle his lap, and you do so, with your thighs on either side of his. The redness on his cheeks has now spread to his chest, and the tips of his ears. His breathing has evened out now. His lips find your neck, but not in a kiss—no, he’s savoring your closeness. His hands find your hips, and yours find his chest, guiding you as you lower yourself onto his hardened cock. There’s a slight sting as you do so—a stretch—although it’s the kind of pain that inevitably feels good. The two of you just fit together so perfectly, you can't help but think. 

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the air, combined with a mix of gasps, and moans. Copia’s hands wander up and down the length of your body, finding your hips, thighs, breasts, but never resting in one spot for very long. Your arms wrap around his neck, wrapping around them as you try to find purchase against his body. The couch creaks in protest underneath the two of you. Quiet, nonsensical words of praise spill past his lips, only muffled further when his face is shoved against your breasts. Copia doesn't seem to mind.

“Beautiful—” he huffs, “you’re so beautiful.”

You’d say it back if you could form any words. And he truly is; skin flushed, and slightly shiny with sweat. The veins in his hands are more prominent now—you’ve always had a thing for his hands. The feeling of them around your neck, or down your body. Gloved or not. Taking one of his hands in yours, you bring it to your lips, wrapping them around his pointer and middle finger. He still tastes of you.

Copia’s breath catches in his throat—the muscles in his thighs tense—all telltale signs that he’s going to cum. His nails dig into your hips hard enough to leave little crescent shaped indents. Maybe they’ll bruise. Maybe not. And when he finally cums, he cums hard, spilling into your unprotected womb.

Your second orgasm isn't far off, and you’re still oversensitive from the first. You’re content to chase your own release, grinding down against him. Copia helps you along with his thumb, toying messily with the bundle of nerves. Broken strands of sentences spill through you, and Copia seems to take that as high praise of his work. It comes upon you all at once, like a wave rolling over you, pulling you under and spitting you out wrong. Your thighs are a mess of his cum, and your own. The couch is certainly a mess.

Once again, you feel his stubble against your neck as he presses a kiss to it. Then your cheek, then your forehead. A hand smooths over your hair as your head falls into the crook of his neck.

It’s another moment before you remove yourself from him. If you had any say in the matter, you’d stay like this for the rest of the day. Copia guides you onto the cushion beside him, taking a moment to admire his work; the red nail marks, flushed skin, and cum seeping down your thighs.

“Eh, sorry my love,” he says, and you assume he’s referring to the mess.

“It’s okay,” you say, “it’s not my couch anyway.”

Copia groans as he stands, heading for the kitchen. When he returns, he has a washcloth in his hands. Patting the inner part of your thigh, he motions for you to lay back. Copia takes great care to clean your thighs, dragging the cloth across them. The damn cloth is slightly cold against your skin, although the chill feels nice. An ache has settled into your hips from the events of the morning. Nothing that some ibuprofen won't fix. 

“Maybe we should do that in Terzo’s office,” you say, and you swear you feel him twitch beside you, “teach him to miss a meeting…”

“Unfortunately, I think this is something that happens in his office often,” Copia sats, “not much work gets done in there regardless.”

That draws a small laugh from you. You can believe it. You’ve never been to one yourself, but you’ve heard stories of the afterparties Terzo throws. Calling them extravagant is putting it lightly.

Sleepy, and sated, you curl up in the space beside him, and the arm of the couch. The warmth of his body, combined with the smell of his cologne threaten to lull you to sleep. Your body seems to associate him with safety, and as such, staying awake becomes a challenge. You sip from your now-cold coffee, turning your attention back to the TV. Outside, the rain grows heavier, tapping against the windowpane. Fog leaves the outside world in a hazy, dreamlike state. You know at some point in time you’ll have to get up and begin your daily chores. For now, you’re content to stay by Copia’s side.

“I guess the rain isn't so bad,” you say.

“Is that so?” He asks.

A small hum leaves you—a nonverbal confirmation. Maybe the rain isn't so bad. Maybe it was Copia who taught you to like it.

[queenbirbs]

Popping the neat line of tape, Tim unwrapped the paper and lifted the lid of a box to reveal a printout. It was a reservation for two for a scotch whisky tour, including a private dinner and a round of tastings. He noted the date and time: December 30th, 4:00 p.m. “Nice,” he said with a smile. “Thank you. Let’s hope that we can both get off shift in time for it.” “Yeah, well, we’d have to leave pretty early if we wanna make it there.” She bit her lip and motioned to the box. “The rest might help with that.” Intrigued, he set the paper down and moved to the next. Another printout, but this time with the British Airways logo stamped across the top: tickets to Scotland for the 26th through the 2nd of January. “This is— Luce, that’s two days away.” “Actually one, remember?” she reminded him with a grin.

Tim and Lucy ring in the New Year with a trip away from LA — 5,146 miles away, to be exact.

Happy early New Year's, @roguetwelve! Hope I took them far enough away from LA for you ;)

[wawamouse]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Oz (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Miguel Alvarez/Carmen "Chico" Guerra Characters: Carmen "Chico" Guerra, Miguel Alvarez (Oz) Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Phone Sex, Sex Talk, Some Humor Summary:

After being released from Oz, Miguel calls Chico and tells him about his new bed.

[skyward-floored]

Aftermath

@telemna-hyelle this one’s for you :)

A sequel to a whumptober I wrote last year, I’ve had a few requests to do a little something more with it so here we are! This isn’t too long, but it’s something, and I especially hope you enjoy Tellie <3

The previous part

(And before anyone asks, no, Legend and Fable aren’t siblings here. thanks.)

————————————————————

The fight was over.

Legend let out a sigh of relief as he leaned on his sword, wincing at the dirt and blood coating both it and himself.

The sorcerer who had attempted to overtake Hyrule Castle in Legend’s absence, imprisoned Zelda and killed so many of her guards, had been destroyed, and the kingdom was safe... again.

Legend felt a burst of anger, and took out a cloth to begin cleaning his sword. I leave for a few months and every insane mage from here to Holodrum decides its a good time to kidnap Zelda.

They weren’t even sure the sorcerer had been a hylian, since he’d bled black whenever Legend had struck him in the fight. And when Zelda had finally managed to hit him with her golden light, he’d disappeared with a shriek into a cloud of dark ashes. Zelda had confirmed he was gone when she’d disintegrated the pile with a flick of her finger, but that didn’t mean all of the monsters the sorcerer had brought along with him weren’t still around.

Legend sighed, and looked over at the rest of the Links.

They were deciding now whether to split off in groups to make sure the castle was truly monster-free, taking a moment to patch up any injuries before leaving. Legend watched as Hyrule came over to him, and asked if he had any preference as to what group he went with.

“I’m staying with Fable,” he said simply, glancing at where Zelda stood. She hadn’t moved much since the battle had finished, and Legend had been about to go check on her.

“Would you like some of us to stay with you?” Hyrule asked, and Legend shook his head.

“I’ll be fine. Go make sure there’s no more of that filth’s army hiding in here,” Legend said as he wiped off his sword with more force then necessary.

“You’re sure you and Fable will be okay by yourselves?” Sky asked gently from nearby, “today was a lot... for both of you.”

Legend glanced at Zelda again, then back at his sword.

“We’ll be fine,” he repeated after a moment, wiping away one last streak of blood. “We’ll join you at some point.”

Hyrule and Sky both hesitated, then nodded, Sky glancing once at Fable before they both joined the others. They filed out of the room, having finished their preparations, and Legend and Fable were left alone in the uppermost tower of the castle.

Legend breathed out, suddenly feeling rather tired as he sheathed his sword and joined Fable’s side. She continued to stare outside as he approached, and Legend studied her as a breeze from the broken window blew her hair around her face.

“Hey,” he greeted, and Fable hummed in reply.

Sunshine caught the dirt and grime still coated on her dress, lighting up the fabric and showing just how filthy it was. Legend could still see the remnants of tear tracks on her face as well, along with dark circles under her eyes, and he hesitated as he looked at her. Fable seemed exhausted, and Legend shifted his weight, wondering if she would prefer to be alone.

But he wasn’t keen on letting her out of his sight any time soon.

Not after she’d fallen to pieces in his arms only a few hours ago.

“Zelda?” he asked eventually, when the silence had stretched on for a long time between them. “You weren’t hurt at all, right?”

His voice sounded loud in the large space, despite how quietly he’d spoken, but Fable didn’t seem to hear him, her gaze fixed on the view.

Legend frowned. It was unusual Fable would be so quiet, even after such a mess. She was usually so lively, quick to offer a smile or a comeback to a quip, and he hadn’t seen her this downtrodden since... probably since he’d been reported dead after nearly dying in a shipwreck.

Ahh, not today, he thought as red-haired memories tried to push their way to the front of his mind. There’s been enough reliving the past lately around here.

“Zelda?” he prompted again after it had been a little while, and she swallowed, then turned and smiled at him, her eyes still a little red from her earlier tears.

“I’m fine, Link. I don’t believe any of his or the monsters’s attacks hit me. None of this blood is mine,” she said with a little chuckle, looking at her skirt.

She brushed some dust off, then looked at Legend, meeting his eyes with an unreadable look in her own.

“How about you? I think I saw him hit you once or— oh, you are hurt!” she suddenly exclaimed, eyes widening as she noticed the blood on his sleeve. She immediately drew closer, taking ahold of his arm, and Legend swallowed at her sudden proximity.

“It’s not that deep Zelda,” he tried to protest, but she was already rolling up his sleeve by his injury.

Legend winced as the fabric pushed against it, and blinked down at the cut on his forearm, his arm smeared with red and still sluggishly bleeding.

Hm. Well maybe it was a little deeper than he’d thought.

“Not that deep— Link, how did you not notice this?” Fable asked in dismay, and Legend shrugged, wincing again as she turned his arm.

“I was kind of busy with some other things,” he pointed out, but Fable wasn’t really listening to him, and ran her hand along the skin by his slice. Legend almost jerked away from the touch, but Fable was careful, and he did his best to hold still as she wiped away some blood.

“I have some bandages in my study,” she sighed, leaving his sleeve rolled up. “Hopefully nothing was disturbed in there.”

Before Legend could reply, Fable took him by the hand and led him out of the main tower, her fingers tight in his. After the initial shock and scramble not to drop it, Legend held it just a little tighter as they walked, relieved, even though it was encrusted with dirt and blood, that it was warm and alive in his.

While they’d been fighting the sorcerer, he’d revealed he’d been planning to sacrifice Zelda to try and bring back Ganon— which, wow, what an original plan there— and he’d turned most of his attacks on Legend, angered that Zelda had been released from his clutches and foiled his plans.

Like Legend would ever let her be used like that again.

He was only glad they’d made it before any kind of sacrifice had taken place. If he’d had to watch anything like what Agahnim or Yuga had done to her again...

Legend shook off the angry thoughts as Fable pulled him into her study, the usual mess of papers coating her desk. It didn’t look as if the sorcerer had made it into here, and Fable tugged him over to her chair and sat him down. She then opened a few drawers, mumbling under her breath about where her medical kit was.

“Zelda,” Legend tried again as she rooted through her desk, “I could just drink a potion, you don’t have to bother, really, it’s not that—”

“If you say “that bad” again, I’ll put bandages over your mouth so you’ll stop,” Fable threatened, then pulled out a box with a small smile. “There we go. And even with a potion, it still needs to be cleaned.”

She pulled an extra chair over next to him, and opened the box, pulling out a cloth with which she wiped the rest of the blood away. Legend watched her in silence as she worked, feeling a little tingle every time one of her hands ghosted along his arm, but focused on ignoring the feeling. He could have easily done this himself, and probably shouldn’t be troubling her, but was nice not to have to clean it up himself.

It didn’t take Zelda long to clean and then bandage the slice, but she didn’t completely pull away once she’d finished, her hands still holding his arm.

“This’ll probably scar,” she said quietly, an apology in her voice. “Even with a potion.”

Legend shrugged. “What’s one more?” At least it wasn’t one from a dumb accident.

Zelda swallowed, and looked down at where she was still holding his arm. She carefully let go of it, and Legend looked at her eyes, the normally bright blue stormy with emotion.

“...You’re certain he didn’t hurt you?” he asked after the silence had stretched between them for a while, and Fable nodded, brushing a hand across her cheek.

“He didn’t. Just locked me up, Link. And he’s gone now, I’ll be fine,” she continued smoothly, placing the unused medical supplies back into their box. “Why wouldn’t I be? Just because I was kidnapped again and almost sacrificed again so that Ganon could be brought back again, and couldn’t do a thing about it, that doesn’t mean I’m not fine, why wouldn’t it? I’m perfectly—”

“Zelda,” Legend interrupted, raising an eyebrow at her. “You were sobbing into my arms not three hours ago.”

She wilted a little, and tugged both arms around her waist, lips pressed into a thin line.

Legend had the distinct feeling that had been the wrong thing to say, and mentally kicked himself. Now what did he do? He wasn’t good at this touchy-feely stuff, that was Sky’s job. What was he supposed to say?!

He waited a minute for Fable to speak, but she didn’t say anything, and he swallowed.

He and Fable has known each other for years at this point, dealt with one crisis after another together, but even after all of that, he still wasn’t sure how close they were. They were friends certainly, close friends even, but their relationship had always been a little unusual. Especially after Mar— the shipwreck, it had been hard for Legend to spend much time with her, too many similarities at play.

But they were still friends. What could he say to her now?

He hadn’t really been thinking earlier when he’d grabbed her into a hug, he’d just seen her panicking and crying and done what he thought was best. He wasn’t sure if that would be the best option right now... but then again, Fable looked truly awful, and she could probably use another hug. But would she want one from him?

Goddesses preserve me, I’m hopeless at this.

“Link?”

He shook his head, banishing his messy thoughts, and looked at Fable, meeting her eyes again.

“Thank you for saving me,” she said quietly, and Legend blinked in surprise, not expecting her words. “I’m sorry you had to do it yet again. And calm me down, I have no excuse, it was just... it was too much, all at once. Too much like that night.”

Legend’s own memories of that night flickered in the back of his head, his throat tightening at the memory of his uncle’s dying words, a bloodstained sword pressed into too-small hands.

“I know. It’s okay,” he replied in a gentle voice. “Besides, it’s in my job description to rescue you, isn’t it?” he said with a cheerful smirk.

Fable almost laughed, and he felt something warm in him at the sight of her smile. But it soon faded again, and she squeezed her eyes shut a moment, not looking at Legend when she reopened them.

“Link, do you mind if..?” she whispered, leaning forward a little, and Legend found himself nodding before he could truly think through the request.

Fable leaned over and squeezed him, resting her head on his shoulder as he blinked in surprise. Legend belatedly raised his arms and hugged her back, and something warm settled in his chest at the touch, soothing the leftover storm of emotions from the day.

He sighed, and rested his head on her shoulder as well.

“We did it again,” he said, voice coming out more tired then he wanted it to. He rested a hand on her back, and felt Zelda relax a little. “We stopped the bad guy. Ganon didn’t come back, and we’re okay.”

“We did it,” Fable repeated a little shakily, her voice muffled in his shoulder. “Again.”

Legend swallowed, and tightened the hug, Fable doing the same.

He still wasn’t sure how he felt about everything that had happened today, and would probably be replaying some moments in his nightmares for a while. But being here, hugging Zelda, both of them still reeling from the reality of yet another attack on the kingdom, it felt... okay.

Like even if another crazy Ganon fanatic tried to bring him back tomorrow, they would have each other to lean on.

And it would be okay.

Fable squeezed him again, and he squeezed her back, neither of them caring how they were only getting each other dirtier.

It would be okay.

[deiaiko]

#5.3 Hwaryun

"I suppose you're looking for me?" A familiar red-haired woman approached Grace, her lips carefully smoothed to reveal no emotion.

"I am." Grace acknowledged her presence and gave her a friendly smile. It had been so long since he last heard her voice, and it was grounding in a way that only a guide could be. There was something different about the way she looked at him, but Grace supposed that it was to be expected.

"What is it that you want to discuss with me?"

Grace hummed and felt like humoring her a little. "Take a guess."

"You do know that I'm not a mind reader." Hwaryun gave him just the briefest hint of a smirk, and it was all he needed to see to know that she already knew what he wanted. "But if I had to guess, perhaps you want to join 'us'?"

"That's right," Grace confirmed.

"Very well. I will arrange a meeting with the director for you, but I'm sure you'll be accepted after he tests your strength."

Grace could already picture how bad the test would go, knowing Hansung. But knowing what the outcome would be eased some of his worry. "Thank you, Hwaryun."

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[sisterdivinium]

AO3 was down for a second so I decided to create a secondary place to archive my WN fics (just in case) on Dreamwidth.

I'm still copying the stories and building the comm, fixing tags and whatnot, but they will all be available over there, in full -- including the longer ones and the handful of (non-doctor superion, true) drabbles I never archived on AO3. Just a PSA, I guess. Carry on!

[mikatheseer]

We interrupt this multi-chapter sterek fluffsmut fanfic to bring you a Void Derek vs Void Stiles one shot AHAHA WHAT AM I DOING TO MYSELF

[aparticularbandit]

Of An Endless Infinity: Day Eight (IV)

Summary: What does it mean to be the Ultimate Hope?

Is it only hope on the big scale?  That the world is not so dark and depressing and destructive as the villain in front of you says it is?  That you can win, even when everything else says that you can’t?  That maybe it is better to live your life, even afraid, than it is to keep yourself sequestered away, alone?

Does it not also mean hope on the small scale?

Or: Makoto sacrifices himself in the hope that the other survivors might be able to help Junko. It remains to be seen whether this will actually succeed.

Chapter Rating: T. Fic Rating: M for Danganronpa reasons.

TW for suicidal ideation.

AO3

previous chapter | next chapter

Day Eight (of an Endless Infinity).

“Kyoko?”

Sometimes, Junko’s voice can be so soft.  Fragile.

(It’s a lie.  It was always a lie.  The mastermind weaves traps, and here she’s stumbling into one once again.  The trap was a noose around her neck, and she’d never seen it coming until it was too late.)

Kyoko comes to herself, comes out of the onslaught of memories that a kiss wasn’t supposed to unlock but somehow did, and opens her eyes to find Junko thrust against the same wall she’d just been pressed against, her hand clenched around Junko’s throat.

Tight around Junko’s throat.

If she didn’t know any better, Kyoko would think she shoved Junko against the wall herself.

(She doesn’t know any better.  She hadn’t been aware, and as a detective?  That’s definitely what happened.)

Junko’s lips are swollen, and her own ache.

“Are you….”  Junko raises one sculpted brow.  “You’re going to let me down, right, Kyokyo?” she rasps, face turning a bright raspberry red.  Despite this, she isn’t tearing at Kyoko’s hand, isn’t digging her sharp claws into Kyoko’s leather glove.  She’s complacent.  Curious.  “I mean,” she coughs, “I don’t really mind if you don’t.  Not exactly the death I was planning, but—”

Kyoko tightens just enough to cut her off.

Junko grins.

At that expression, Kyoko feels something else – some other part of her – trying to drag her hand away.  To let Junko go.  It’s the part of her that wins in the end, as the other part realizes it doesn’t want to play into whatever Junko is feeling down, and Kyoko releases her.

(Kyoko isn’t strong.  Apparently she was strong enough for that.)

Junko drops and collapses to the floor.  She props herself up with one hand, the other around her throat as she coughs – once, twice, three times; deep, heaving coughs as she gasps for breath.  “When you said you wanted to leave your fingerprints all over me, this is not what I thought you meant,” she rasps out finally, her coughs turning into chuckles.  She forces herself up, runs her fingers along her throat.  “I’ll bruise.”

“Good.”

“They’ll be there for a few days,” Junko muses, as though Kyoko hasn’t said anything at all.  She swallows, hard.  “So.”  When she meets Kyoko’s gaze, she glances up through her lashes.  Bats them twice.  “Are you?”

Kyoko stares at her, confused.  “Am I what?”

“Interested.”

This time, when Kyoko doesn’t say anything, it isn’t because she doesn’t have an answer.  It’s because the answer is complicated and she doesn’t want to delve into any of the complication with the woman who’d played her like a fiddle from the very beginning.  Is she interested?  Yes.  Is she going to tell Junko that?  No.  (Is she going to let herself acknowledge it?  Also no.)  “You said you needed me,” she says instead.  “What did you mean by that?”

Junko gives her a smug smile.  “What’s my Talent, Kyokyo?”  She spreads her hands out and waits for the answer.

“You’re the Ultimate Despair,” Kyoko answers, knowing that’s not what Junko wants to hear.  “The Ultimate Fashionista.”  Also wrong.  Still, she sucks in the breath through her teeth before she says, finally, “The Ultimate Analyst.”

“Right on the money!”  Junko finger guns with a bright grin on her face.  She coughs again – a large, hacking thing – and pounds on her thin chest a few times until she stops.  “You really did a number on me,” she whispers.  “I didn’t expect—”  Then she shakes her head, mutters, “Unimportant,” and glances back up.  “I said I needed you because I needed you,” she answers, finally.  “Just because you want everything to be a lie doesn’t mean it was one, Kyokyo.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?”  Junko’s eyes widen with feigned innocence.  “It’s your name, after all, isn’t it, Kyokyo?”

When Junko steps forward, Kyoko doesn’t back away, despite the immediate urge to do so.  It wouldn’t do any good.  She would only back up until she ran into another wall, and that would be the end of it.  So she stays just where she is, eyes narrowing as Junko takes her tie between her skeletal fingers.

“Your tie’s still sloppy, Kyoko.  Honestly, I don’t know how you manage without me.”  Junko walks her fingers up the tie and tightens it just enough.  Not tight but right.  (It’s just the noose, after all.)  She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth.  Seems to consider something.  Then lets her hand fall away.  “Remembering everything…you hate me more, don’t you?”

Her voice is soft.  Gentle.  Hurt.

The Kyoko from her memories, the one who didn’t know any better, would tell Junko that she could never hate her.  Not necessarily due to how much she might have loved her, but because Kyoko is very rarely concerned with things like hate.  The Kyoko from before would think of her feelings for her father the headmaster her father and think nothing could compare to that resentment, nothing could surpass it.  She also would have felt foolish for making the claim, no matter how much she might have believed it.

But that’s not the correct response.

(Kyoko has found herself in a game of chess, only she’s missing half of the pieces, and she doesn’t even know which ones she’s missing.)

“Do you want me to hate you?”

Junko’s brow furrows.  She starts to pull a pair of glasses out of her pocket.  “I am of two minds—”

Kyoko clasps her hand around Junko’s, stopping her from putting the glasses on.  “Don’t play a role with me.”

Junko just rolls her eyes.  “People always play a role with other people, Kyoko.  They build up walls, a façade, that protects them while they interact with the world at large.  Different walls for different people.  No walls for some people – for one person – they might say, but there’s still always a barrier, there’s still always something that’s left unsaid.”  She nods towards Kyoko’s gloves.  “You would have me remove my masks and be as vulnerable for you as you were when you removed those for me, but this self?  Junko Enoshima?”  She laughs – a light, maniacal thing.  “There’s no fucking way.”  The light in her eyes fades.  “I can’t remove her even if I tried.”

(Where is the bear?  There was a plush bear; Junko was holding a plush bear.  Where did the bear go?)

“I have never played a role with you.”

“Sure, you have.”  Junko reaches over and boops Kyoko’s nose.  “You just don’t remember it yet.”  She steps back, slips her hand from Kyoko’s grasp, and places the glasses on her nose, pushes them along its slender bridge with the nudge of one finger.  “Now,” she continues as though she’d never been interrupted, “I am of two minds as to whether I want you to hate me or not.” Her voice takes on an expository, instructing tone.  (She relaxes into the role; it fits her like a glove.)  Then she opens her mouth, pauses, and removes the glasses, folding them and hiding them in a different pocket.  “Maybe I don’t want to be that fucking exposed.”

But there’s a truth to it, isn’t there?’

The more Kyoko remembers, the more a part of her is drawn to Junko.  She’s not sure she would call it love, what she feels, because she has nothing with which to compare it, not that thing that people would call love.  For instance, she loves her grandfather even now, but that’s of such a different sort that it’s not quite comparable, is it?  What she feels for Junko – even in its purest form in her memories – is far more complicated than that.

(She is not thinking of Yui.  That is equally complicated.  But it doesn’t really matter when Yui is gone, does it?)

“You hate me,” Junko states it like it’s a fact (because it is), “and you love me,” (another fact), “and you hate me for loving me, and you hate you for loving me, and you think, How could I be so blind?  How could I not have seen?  Maybe, if I had noticed everything sooner, if I hadn’t let myself love her, this whole thing could have been prevented, and the despair of it all hits you, and I feed on that, and I love you, of course, I love you, it wouldn’t hurt if I didn’t, and I want you to love me, and you hate me, and I taste my own despair, and I want you to hate me because then I keep feeling like this, and I want you to love me because I still want you to love me, and maybe I hate myself for wanting that all the same, but I want it, and I will never have it, not so completely as I did before, and I didn’t even have it then, and the despair just increases, and I want to die, but I’ve always wanted that, and soon….”  Her voice trails off as she steps back, and she relaxes, calms, hands spread out again to either side of her with her eyes closed like she’s some sort of sacrificial heroine in one of those anime shows she constantly brought up but they never saw together, like she’s some sort of beatific, some sort of holy.  “Soon I will die.”

They say there’s a thin line between love and hate – Junko said there was a thin line between hope and despair – but sometimes the truth of the matter is that there’s no line at all, just a spiraling, a mixing of the two together until you can’t pull one from the other any longer.

“You won’t die,” Kyoko answers, and she tastes the lie on her lips when she says it.  “Not you.”

“Because if I die, I take the rest of you with me?”  Junko opens her eyes, and her head tilts so that she can meet Kyoko’s eyes again.  “Or because you won’t let me?”  She steps forward towards Kyoko again, and this time, Kyoko backs up, and Junko continues forward until Kyoko’s back presses against the wall again, until when she speaks, her breath is hot against Kyoko’s lips.  (Kyoko recoils; Kyoko wants.)  “This train ain’t stopping, Kyoko.  I will die, and no matter how hard you try, you won’t be able to stop it.  You won’t be able to save me.”  She nearly smiles.  “There’s a light at the end of the tunnel, and I’m racing for it, and nothing you say will hold me back.  However.”  She reaches up and pats Kyoko’s cheek.  “It won’t hurt any of you.  You’ll survive.  It’s not that kind of death.  If it were, it wouldn’t be at my own hand, and that’s—”

Junko is right.

Kyoko hates herself.

Before Kyoko can finish the daggers she’s speaking, Kyoko places a fingers on her lips, silencing her.  “Stop.”  She searches Junko’s eyes.  Can’t say it.  (Won’t say it.)

Junko just smiles, a fond thing, and kisses the tip of Kyoko’s finger.  Her gaze lowers to Kyoko’s lips, and she sighs.  “It would be nice,” she murmurs, “to forget.  Wouldn’t it?  Not forever, but….”  Her voice trails off.  Then she steps back, away, raising her own finger to cover her lips.  Winks with sad eyes.  And then silently gestures with her other hand for Kyoko to follow her.

~

There’s nothing else in the tunnels.

Nothing that Kyoko can see, anyway, nothing that Junko shows her, although at this point, Kyoko feels so overwhelmed by everything that she’s not certain she would notice that she missed something unless she goes back over everything on her own later.  If there’s something Byakuya’s meant to find – or have found – in his own wanderings, it isn’t something she sees.  Likely because Junko simply doesn’t want her to see it.  And it isn’t like she can explore thoroughly while Junko is here with her.

Makoto is the one who guessed the last passcode, guessed it without even knowing Kyoko’s father because he still somehow knew him better than she did.

Maybe, if she thinks about it hard enough, Kyoko will be able to guess the code for the tunnels.  Maybe she’ll get down here alone, so that she can explore without distraction.

(She doesn’t have the luck for that.)

((The plush bear doesn’t show up again.  Where did it go?))

~

When they return to their shared room, Kyoko glances at the clock, notes that it should be dark outside (if they could see outside), notes that there are other options to be made here – dinner, for one, if her grumbling stomach is anything to go by – but instead sits on her bed, too exhausted to push herself anywhere else.  She looks up at an uncharacteristically quiet Junko with a pang of combined longing and hatred, makes a decision she never thought she would make, and then pats the mattress next to her.

“Let’s forget,” Kyoko says, hating herself for saying it.  “Stay with me.”

Junko straightens – had she been hunched before? – and turns to Kyoko with wide eyes.  “You don’t mean that.”

“Take advantage, Junko.”  Kyoko meets her eyes with a steady gaze.  “If you’re telling the truth, you’re going to die soon.  Consider this your last meal.”

The words catch in her throat.

(What will one night hurt?  One early morning?  To pretend, knowing that when they wake everything will have to go back to the way that it is?  The way that it always will be?)

Junko hesitates.  “You don’t want me.”

And still, Kyoko pats the spot next to her.  She doesn’t know why she does it.  Somehow, it feels scripted.

But that doesn’t mean the script isn’t right.

“Don’t tell me what I want.”

Without another word, Junko crawls into bed next to her.  She hesitates again, looks up at Kyoko, and then curls into her, resting her head in the crook of her neck.  “Is this okay?”

Her words are so small.

(Junko is supposed to be larger than life.)

((And yet.))

(((And yet.)))

“No.”  Kyoko runs her fingers through Junko’s long pink hair.  The motion is as soothing to her in its familiarity as it might be to Junko.  She can’t know.  “Isn’t that the point?”

Junko hums her quiet approval as she leans up and kisses the edge of Kyoko’s jaw, just in the same spot where Kyoko’d left a mark on her so long ago.  “It’s okay,” she murmurs, “to forget sometimes.  People do it in the movies all the time.  Hit their heads and just…forget.  We might not be in a movie, but…but maybe, for a little while, we can just….”  She curls closer to Kyoko.  “We can have this.”  Her eyes search the air in front of her.  “Maybe we can pretend that none of it happened.  Or maybe…maybe that some of it did, but that I’m not…I was never….”

“Is that what you want?” Kyoko asks as Junko’s voice trails off.  “To not?  To never?”

“I don’t know what I want.”

But she smells of blue raspberries, and Kyoko doesn’t shove her away when she lies back in their bed, doesn’t shove her away when Junko wraps her arms around her and buries her head against her, doesn’t shove her away when she clings to her as she falls gently asleep.

[brittlebutch]

"No, I think he's just coming down with something," Brian continues, and Alex could almost laugh at its half-truth. Come down with the plague of something haunting and hungry and watching. Come down with the holy rotting wounds of age old saints. Sure, that works.

In which Alex Kralie joins the ranks of stigmatics and gains a firsthand understanding of what The Destructors meant when it claimed "destruction is a form of creation".

--

Word Count: 41,952

[hecatesbroom]

You know how you sometimes say "I could write an essay on this" and you know you could, but could you really (and moreover: do you actually want to?) so you never end up doing it? Yeah. I said that and might have ended up taking myself a little bit too seriously. (Many many thanks to everyone who encouraged me <3)

Summary

Vulnerability and emotional moments: themes left far from underexplored in The Golden Girls. But how exactly do our four Girls handle these feelings -- and how do the show's writing and genre play into their individual relationships towards vulnerability? In this essay I will-

[lazinesswrites]

Would you look at that! A finished fic! This is the one that has so far been known as Bracca canon divergence.

Title: Breakthrough on Bracca

Summary:

Crosshair wakes to a face on fire and a clear mind. --- Can fancy, illicit bio-chips withstand the heat of an ion engine point-blank? In this version of the story at least, it can’t.

Length: 4,575 words

Fandom: Star Wars: The Bad Batch

Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Alternate Universe – Canon Divergence, Episode: s01e08 Reunion, Crosshair Rejoins Clone Force 99 | Bad Batch, Crosshair Needs a Hug (Star Wars: The Bad Batch), Hurt Crosshair (Star Wars: The Bad Batch), Protective Clone Force 99 | Bad Batch, Hurt/Comfort

[loregoddess]

guess who finally got an Ao3 account and can start archiving all those meta posts they've been writing? me