#even before he got his own taste of the betrayal of being replaced with someone else

[lokiskitten]

hello i love ur works omg idk if ur still accepting reqs or suggestions regarding ur stepdad! tom imagines but what abt an imagine in which tom attempts to end the secret affair between him and the reader and then the reader is heartbroken so she gets herself a boyfriend which makes tom jealous then smut ?? idk HAHAHA tyyy

Tom Hiddleston | forbidden behavior

Stepdad!Tom Hiddleston x fem!reader

plot : around a week after your stepfather called it off regarding the bond you two had developed, you are caught hanging out with a couple of friends in a café. Noticing his presence outside of the building, you decide to join him only to receive the most peculiar lecture of your life.

warnings : stepdad!trope, stepdad x stepdaughter intercourse, jealousy, slight physical abuse, kissing, crotch groping, handjob.

A week had passed since your stepfather had decided to end the relationship the two of you had progressively developed behind your mother’s back. You obviously took this as betrayal, an unnecessary decision which easily led you to develop hatred for the older man- especially after he had managed to convince you that the moments you spent together filled him with as much bliss as it did for you. But these times were now over, and your first mission easily became to avoid him as soon as you penetrated inside of your own home. Before your mother, both you and Tom were obviously forced to make an effort in order to keep your secret on the low- scared that any suspicious behavior would lead your past to come flashing under the lights of the projectors.

On a warm Friday evening, you had decided to stop by a café with a couple of your friends in order to celebrate the end of the week. Within this group stood Trystan, a boy you had finally agreed on offering a chance after breaking up with Thomas. He was nice and well educated, a mass of long black hair covering the top of his head as well as his neck. The young man also brought home plenty of nice grades, which could only be a green flag to your high expectations holding self- adding up to how he had offered to help with your mathematics homework after school. Now this was a proposition you jumped on immediately, but which you knew wouldn’t be able to take place within the walls of your house- and that due to your dragon of a stepfather.

Being too busy laughing with your classmate, you hadn’t noticed Tom’s presence outside of the café, his body leant against his car as he watched you fall for someone else. In fact, he had been following you on your way back home from college nearly every day of the week- satisfying the weird obsession he held for your younger self and easing his crippling anxiety and possessive behaviors. Seeing you with another man couldn’t have driven him more upset, his fists clenching out of pure anger within the pockets of the suit he wore for work. Minutes passed by, and the older man remained leant against his car whilst growing more and more impatient regarding the sweet words and touches you appeared to offer the black haired boy. These touches he knew so well were meant to be his, and this overall sight easily led the adult to regret ever breaking it off with you.

When your head finally looked up in order to divert through the open doors of the café, your heart tightened upon witnessing the stern silhouette of your stepfather waiting against his car. Embrassement and fear progressively started to fill your organism, face decomposing whilst your friends continued to laugh with one another. Thankfully, it didn’t take long until Trystan noticed the way your mood had unexpectedly yet drastically changed. “Hey, Y/n?? You’re okay?” He asked on a concerned tone, his empathy leading your stomach to grow a couple of more knots at the thought of your stepdad witnessing such a scene. “Yeah..I’m fine. I think I’ll be going home now.” you responded politely, catching all of your mates off guard though none of them did a thing to hold you back. They could tell you appeared sick and pale.

“Take care.” Lizzie purred out as you swung your bag over your shoulder, the group’s curious eyes following your silhouette which exited through the door of the café only to end up joining an older man who stood nowhere far from here. Swallowing your saliva, you attempted your best to keep a rather proud expression on your face in order to push Tom a bit closer to the edge. You were aware that he absolutely despised it whenever you held an attitude. “Hi.” Your briefly said, not fighting the situation as your feet immediately started to lead you towards the other side of the car. “Who’s that guy you were with?” Tom immediately asked as he got into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut behind him. You mimicked his gestures, and the two of you were now sat in the front of his vehicle.

“Just a friend. Why is it important anyway?” You answered harshly, leading your stepdad’s anger to rise above the edge. “Right.” He responded coldly, both of his hands firmly holding onto the steering wheel as he began to drive away from the café. Silently, you watched the way his veins popped out of his skin due to the pressure applied onto his palm- the way his jaw clenched easily matching with his overall tensed and aggressive behavior. Without showing any form of weakness, you simply decided to behave as if you were indifferent face to this situation. You couldn’t exactly tell where Tom was taking the two of you, but even after your breakup you still trusted him well enough not to bring any harm to your fragile mind and body.

You felt surprised and confused to watch him park his car in a nearly empty parking lot, the upset male obviously seeking intimacy for the peculiar lecture he was about to give you. But again, he remained unexpectedly silent, his jaw and chest being the only parts of his body which remained in action. He couldn’t appear to find proper words, though was he truly seeking any? Gathering your courage to take the first step, your lips parted shyly, a single word barely getting enough time to come out of your mouth before you were violently cut off by your stepfather. “Tom-“ you began, body jumping due to the man’s unexpected and quite violent reaction. His palm had collided with the steering wheel, as if the only sound of your voice made him remember about what he had seen back at the café. It was the first time you ever saw him behave in such a way. Usually, he was always calm, friendly. Anger wasn’t an emotion he often felt the need to summon.

“What were you thinking?!” He blamed, the accusations penetrating your ears and leaving your poor mind clueless regarding what he was referring to. All you could tell was that his tone carried hatred, and that therefore his overall body was probably full of this exact same wrath. “Tell me, what were you thinking?” He repeated, this time on a slightly softer tone though this unwelcome touch of dominance remained. Pressing his head back against the seat as air escaped his lips, you finally found the strength to step forward and explain yourself. “He’s just a friend from college. He doesn’t stand up next to you.” You promised, the words escaping your lips as if you two had never put an end to your inappropriate relationship in the first place. “I think about you every day. I think of us.” You added, growing hopeful face to how your words appeared to progressively calm him down.

Tom’s head turned towards yours, ocean blue eyes locking with your unique orbs as the empty parking lot made it feel as if the world around you had stopped. The way his chest moved up and down as he breathed led something to rise within your soul- a sensation you hadn’t felt for over a week... ever since he had decided to put an end to your affair. His veiny hand moved up to your cheek, fingers brushing against your cheekbone before he took the initiative to delicately push a bit of your hair behind your ear. “I don’t want you to see this boy again... ever. You’re mine. My property.” He spoke gently though asserted dominance, allowing you to loose yourself in his soothing tone. However, his head was soon to tilt to the left, his upper body moving closer to yours in order to steal a kiss.

You understood the signals and moved forward as well, his hand still on your cheek as your lips collided against one another’s. His jaw roamed air as Tom took the initiative to intensify the kiss, enjoying this moment after he had been craving the taste of your flesh ever since he took the stupid decision that was ending it all between the two of you. Within a matter of weeks, you had managed to make your own stepfather crazy about you and your aura, your body, flaws and qualities. And whilst Tom continued to enjoy the taste of your lips, your nostrils were filled with bliss as they were finally allowed to breath in his cologne again, a smell you had terribly missed. No scent could’ve potentially replaced the infamous perfume that was your stepfather’s and which you had grown used and attached to through your multiple intercourses.

Growing more and more heated, you took the initiative to slide your hand down until his crotch, fingers tightening against the thick material of his suit which allowed you to feel his prominent bulge through his pants. Tom groaned out of satisfaction as you began to massage his flaccid length which had yet to harden through his trousers, hips buckling upwards just so slightly as if his crotch desired to remain stuck to your palm forever- and that through the help of a denser contact. The warmth which emitted from his groin felt delightful under your bare fingers, a sensation which could only make you crave for more. And so did he. Keeping his lips against yours, your stepfather proceeded to slide both his hands down between his thick thighs, digits unbuttoning and unzipping his pants in a rush which finally allowed you to penetrate within his intimacy.

Sliding past the elastic of his briefs, your hand was soon to come in contact with the slightly hardened member which resided down Tom’s pants. This once he moaned, the vibrations penetrating inside of your moist cavity before his tongue slid inside of your mouth. You were soon to hold up a rather satisfying pace, rubbing up and down his shaft and stopping only when you felt the need to offer him some extra pleasure by giving attention to his testicles. The male broke the buccal contact to collide against his seat, eyelids shutting close as you carried on leading his cock towards orgasm. His member had now hardened properly, revealing his true and generous length which had recently been pulled out of his pants. Just like before, Tom found pleasure in thrusting his hips upwards and participating to the intercourse a bit more than he already was.

“That little boy of yours.. is his cock this big?” Your stepdad asked through seethed teeth, having trouble finding his words due to his clenched abdomen and twitching nutsack. “No...” you responded, being slightly out of breath due to the heated kiss you shared earlier. Hearing these satisfying words coming out of your mouth, the older man couldn’t help but raise his shirt in a hurry before white semen began to sprint out of his overly sensitive urethra, his shaft twitching and contracting in order to propel the sperm out of his crotch. You bit down onto your lower lip face to such a delightful sight, hand moving down to his testicles in order to praise them one last time. This move made your stepfather shiver. You two had finally found yourselves, and it wasn’t any time soon that the older man would ever agree to let go of you again.

“And as you can see... I’m not dead”- all jokes but yes, I am alive and giving the people what it wants😭 I’m sorry if it isn’t very good tho🥺 I hope y’all are taking care!

taglist : @theaudacitytowrite @devilsuga @bucky-soldat @winteralpine @fa-me @ineffablefanic @delightfulheartdream @rosie-posie08 @marygut1407 @wildxwidow @tabea3 @lokistoriesreblog @arzennn

[mikeyinnit]

lovebug

Pairing: Wilbur x GN!Reader

Summary: Wilbur was done with love after he lost Sally, but when Fundy introduces him to one of Niki’s friends, things start to change.

Word Count: 2k words

Notes: Songfic!! I said they would be rare and it’s the second fic I post lmao. Inspired by Lovebug by the Jonas Brothers, totally willing to do a part 2 for this one because I have other ideas with other lyrics and stuff

Tagging: N/A

After Sally, Wilbur wasn’t really looking for anyone else to love, in fact, he had given up on love entirely. He had to focus on his son and the nation he was building from the ground up.  

Then you came into the picture.

You were a friend of Niki’s, that’s how he met you. Fundy was visiting the bakery and when Wilbur came to get him, he saw you helping the young fox hybrid make cookies. It was such a sweet sight that he took a moment to just enjoy seeing his son have a great time. When he did enter, Fundy introduced the two.

“This is Y/N! They’re one of Niki’s friends. Y/N, this is my dad. He’s single.”

Of course his son would throw him under the bus like that. But you just laughed, and god did you have a beautiful laugh, and held out your hand. A gesture that Wilbur returned with one of his charming grins.

“Fundy’s talked about you all day, I feel like I know you already…” you had trailed off, obviously Fundy only referred to him as my dad, prompting him to give his name.  

“Wilbur Soot.”

“Wilbur. It’s great to meet you.”

You gave him your phone number, clearly you were as taken with Fundy as the boy was to you, for him or his son to use anytime. Then you said your goodbyes for the night as you sent them on their way with the cookies you and Fundy baked along with some extra baked goods.

Called you for the first time yesterday

Wilbur hadn’t used your number for a good couple of days. He had been busy with L’Manberg and honestly had barely had time to see his son, let alone the enchanting stranger.  

Today was a day that he could actually spend quality time with Fundy, and obviously all of that time at the bakery while he was working just made the young boy want to bake cookies with his dad. Unfortunately, Fundy was very specific with what cookies he wanted to make. The ones he baked with you.

“These don’t taste like the ones Y/N made.” Was said numerous times throughout the night no matter how Wilbur changed the recipe so eventually, he just gave up and called you to figure it out.  

“Hello?”

Your voice rang out through the telephone and it instantly felt like all of the stress of this baking night was leaving his body.

“Y/N, it’s Wilbur. We met at Niki’s the other day?”

“Wilbur! Of course. How are you? How’s Fundy?”

Another grin was brought to his face at you almost immediately asking about Fundy, though he didn’t have the chance to respond as the aforementioned hybrid returned from getting more ingredients for the cookies and practically begged his father to put you on speaker so he could talk to you as well.

“Y/N!!”

It was almost like he could hear the smile on your face as you spoke to Fundy. “Fundy! What are you up to?”

“We’re trying to bake cookies but dad can’t make them like you.”

Wilbur heard that laugh again, that beautiful laugh that he first heard at the bakery.  

“That’s because your dad probably doesn’t know the secret ingredient that we used to bake those cookies. How about you give the phone back to him so I can let him know and then I’m sure you two will bake the best cookies ever.”

Then the phone was back in his hand and he spoke, “Secret ingredient?”

You grinned as you answered, “I just told him to tell the dough nice things in his life. Some people say speaking love into the dough helps, I don’t know if it’s true or not but he had fun with it.”

It sounded ridiculous, but Wilbur decided to try it.

“Thanks, Y/N. I’ll let you know how it goes.”  

This time, Fundy thought the cookies were perfect.  

I finally found the missing part of me

You became a big part of his routine after that night. He would see you at the bakery every time he came to get his son, he called you even when he was at work, you quickly became an important part of his life. Fundy loved you, days together often involved him telling Wilbur all about whatever the two of you got up to.  

Wilbur wasn’t a stranger to love, he loved Sally, he loved his country, he loved his son. But it felt very different with you. He couldn’t even say it was love yet, you just felt like you fit with him and Fundy. You were kind, and obviously cared about his son, you were funny, the texts and calls he exchanged with you never failed to put a smile on his face. And you cared about his son a lot, which was certainly not a negative. For the two of them, it felt like you were the perfect fit to the puzzle they didn’t realize was missing a piece.

I felt so close but you were far away

Getting used to having you in his routine meant it really sucked when you traveled to a village far away. Fundy missed you and honestly, Wilbur did too. You promised the young boy that you wouldn’t be gone for long, and told him that he was welcome to call you at anytime. Which Fundy took full advantage of. Every night before the young fox hybrid went to bed, he called you on Wilbur’s phone and the two of them heard about your day and they shared details of their own. On certain nights, you even joined Wilbur in singing a lullaby for him.  

People say that absence makes the heart grow fonder and that absolutely seemed true with your trip. Both of the boys missed you and wondered when you would be back, but luckily, you came back within a month. And you came back with plenty of gifts for Fundy, which made the boy ridiculously happy. You even got a gift for Wilbur, which was certainly a pleasant surprise since really, you being back was enough of a gift for him.  

That night, he invited you over for dinner. He said it was to celebrate your return, which is true, but he also just wanted to spend time with you now that you were back. You agreed, and the three of you even tried baking dessert, which resulted in a small flour fight initiated by you.  

Wilbur usually liked everything in order and in his control, something like throwing flour around and making a complete mess of his kitchen is something that Tommy would enjoy, but somehow it felt okay with you and his son.  

I never thought that I’d catch this lovebug again

After that night, Wilbur came to realize that he did like you, if not love you. You were a nice balance to his control and an escape from the stress of his job as president.  

At first, it felt like a betrayal to Sally. He decided he was going to focus on his son and his nation, not love. He decided that long before you came into the picture and he was a man of his word. Even if that word was only said to himself.

He knew he couldn’t just outright ignore you. Not only would that be unfair to you, it wouldn’t be fair to Fundy.  So he had to deal with it another way, throwing himself further into his work. It meant less time with his son but it was very productive for L’Manberg. Plus it meant Fundy got to see you and Niki more so Wilbur is certain that the young fox would understand and perhaps enjoy this more than spending time with him.  

There was a knock at his door but Wilbur didn’t even look up as he called out, “Come on in.” Obviously it wasn’t Tommy since the boy never knocked but it could have been Tubbo or Jack Manifold or even someone from outside of L’Manberg.  

“You would think that in a time of peace, the president would have more free time.”

He knew that voice. He could never forget the face that went along with it. Your smile and eyes never left his mind even with him trying his hardest to shut out the rest of the world.  

“Y/N, I wasn’t expecting to see you. What brings you by?”

“I haven’t seen you in a while, Fundy told me you’ve been sleeping here lately so I thought I would check on you.”  

And there was that kindness again. The kindness that made him fall in love with you in the first place.  

“I’m okay, Y/N. Just busy.”  

“Too busy to stop by the bakery to see your friends? Or to even come home and see your son at night?”

There was an edge to your voice and Wilbur wasn’t sure how he felt about it, obviously he thought that Fundy would prefer spending time with you and Niki over himself but it seemed like you disagreed.

You strongly disagreed.  

“I’ve just been busy. Running a country is a lot of work, Fundy will understand. He gets to see you and Niki more anyways, he’s happier that way.” He shifted his eyes back to the papers in front of him, letters he had been drafting for the past two hours and couldn’t get anywhere with.  

“Fundy is a child, Wilbur. Niki and I are happy to see him at the bakery but we aren’t replacements for his dad. His dad who suddenly became “too busy” almost overnight. What happened?”  

It truly was sweet the way you cared about his son that much. Enough to come to his office when you could be sleeping. This could have been a good moment for him to say what was on his mind, that he thinks he was falling in love with you and didn’t want to betray his dead wife. But he lied.

“Tommy has been getting into trouble with Dream recently, I want to make sure we don’t fight in another war so soon. Or ever again.” It was a solid lie, Tommy had a reputation for being a troublemaker and he could use that to his advantage. You seemed like you were about to speak, probably about Fundy, so he spoke first, “I promise that I will talk to Fundy and see him more as soon as I get this figured out. Thank you, Y/N, it’s really nice Thank you, Y/N, it’s really nice to know that someone else cares about Fundy this much, he needs that.”

“It’s not just him that I care about, Wilbur. I wish you would see Fundy more sooner but I was also worried about you, I know you care about him so something had to be going on for you to miss seeing him this often.”

Well that certainly didn’t help with him trying to ignore these feelings.

“Then I thank you again. I really appreciate it. Goodnight, Y/N. Get some sleep.”

“Goodnight, Wilbur.”

I kissed them for the first time yesterday

Wilbur kept the promise he made to you. Considering the reason he gave you for being busy was a lie, it wasn’t hard to get back to seeing his son and by extension, you.  

If you asked him, he would say he’s handling his feelings for you rather well now. He hasn’t done anything about it but he isn’t shutting out the world so, progress.

It was another dinner night with you and Fundy, you had brought desert with you this time so they didn’t have another flour fight but it was still lovely. After he sent Fundy to bed, you stuck around.  

The two of you had been sitting on the couch together for a whole, just talking about anything, and maybe it was just because it was late and you looked so beautiful but something came over Wilbur and he asked, “Would you mind if I tried something?”

You nodded, curious about what he was going to try, but you didn’t stay curious for long as Wilbur gently cupped your face with one hand and leaned in to kiss you.

A kiss that you returned.  

I never thought that I’d get hit by this lovebug again

[vimeddiart]

Strangers

Patron-voted fic of my D&D beeflings! Read the previous comic and the first comic for this series for context!

On AO3

Clang.

Clang.

Clang.

The zinging cadence of his hammer hitting a new blade usually tempers his fraught emotions and lessens their intensity. The rhythm and beat usually calms him, the heat of the furnace and the steady drip of sweat as well. Except his heart thunders on and his breathing remains irregular and his eyes sting—not from stray embers or errant drops of perspiration—and his agitation grows.

It grows so powerfully that he miscalculates and swings his hammer much too harshly, breaking the blade he was trying to fashion which frustrates him further and he throws down his tools with a clatter, pressing the gloved heels of his hands to his brow.

Lazlo.

Tuhka releases a trembling breath.

Barely a day had passed since he had regurgitated all of the regret and agony of his childhood friend’s death right into said friend’s face before gracelessly fleeing, the bitter taste of tears still on his tongue and Lazlo’s look of resounding disbelief haunting him even here in the safety of his forge.

It wasn’t fair.

Why must he have been forced to carry the burden of grief and guilt for so many years? All those moments of remembrance, thinking of a friend—the only one he ever had— ripped away from the world much too soon, endless nights of pain and suffering, wishing he’d been taken instead...and for what? Lazlo was alive. Had been for perhaps as long as Tuhka had grieved his loss.

How much hatred—or worse, indifference—must Lazlo have harboured to fail in seeking Tuhka out...to reassure him, to reunite with him, to talk with him. They had been family.

Tuhka wrenches off his gloves and tosses them to the side, stalking towards the entrance of his smithy for some air, unable to concentrate anymore on his craft. His hands shake when he grasps the wrought iron gate.

A sound distracts him for a moment, one that carries over on the salty evening breeze that cools the sweat of his brow. Gravel crushed underfoot. It’s gone in an instant and even with his sharp hearing, Tuhka strains to listen for something further, ears swivelling in the hopes to catch it.

It doesn’t take too much investigation to track down the source of the sound once he decides to; a dark figure perched somewhat dejectedly on a boulder that offsets a scenic cliffside path Tuhka often takes to clear his head.

“You didn’t waste your grief, if that’s what you’re bothered about,” the figure says.

Tuhka’s breath leaves him in a rush as he’s met with a familiar blue gaze. He feels pulled forward by some invisible thread and settles himself on the far edge of the same boulder, leaving a bit of distance between them.

Lazlo sighs, drops his head into his hands. “When you left that day and never came back, I...believed you’d abandoned me, that you’d made good on your promise—”

“That was a child’s threat, I never meant to—” Tuhka began, needing to explain despite the betrayal he felt, still very fresh, that had upended years of mourning.

The other tiefling shook his head, dropping his hands away from his face and letting them fall to his lap. “I made a terrible decision, I paid for it,” the spectral left hand twitches and Tuhka notices it properly for the first time, heart squeezing despite everything and mind filling with more questions, “and I...went away for a long time. I didn’t think to look for you...I thought you despised me.”

He releases a mirthless laugh. “I don’t think I would’ve found you anyway. I’d have been looking for someone...quite different.”

Tuhka swallows hard. “I’ve...probably grown a bit since you last saw me.”

This startles a small, but real, laugh out of Lazlo, even if it does sound a little wet.

After a pause, Tuhka gathers strength from the stars and attempts to keep his voice steady. “That day...I went back for you. I did. I wasn’t going to, I was about to start a new life away from those bloody mines and I was so angry with you that I hoped you would stew in them forever...but then I remembered you wanted to get out just as desperately as I did and we swore to do it together so I went back to fetch you.”

Tuhka didn’t dare raise his eyes to Lazlo’s face, staring intently at his own hands grasping his knees even though the image was beginning to waver and blur.

“It was snowing and freezing and I walked through it without stopping, thinking that I would see you soon and whisk us away to a better place, until I saw the smoke from over the hill and I knew you’d gone ahead with our plan without me,” Tuhka let out a shuddering breath, “they said you got crushed in the tunnel along with that bastard foreman. Don’t remember much of what happened after that...just that I’d gone to fetch you and came back empty-handed.”

Tears flowed freely, despite previously believing he had run out of tears to shed. From the corner of his eye he noticed Lazlo wipe his face with a pure, white square of cloth.

“Told you the truth though…” Tuhka continued, after a none-too-discreet sniff, “mourned you like a piece of me had died. Couldn’t think of much else for a good few years,” He runs a forearm over his face roughly and finally turns to Lazlo, raw and exposed, “I would’ve looked for you in a heartbeat if I’d known you were alive. I would’ve.”

Lazlo lets out a sound like an animal in pain, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks that he no longer tries to wipe away. “I didn’t know...I didn’t know— I mucked up my plan and ending up losing everything, I— I was trapped for years without knowing how much time passed, I was...I was isolated from the outside in a way you won’t be able to understand but you must believe me, I never wanted to lose you—”

That final crack in Lazlo’s voice is what forces Tuhka to move closer and wrap an arm around his shoulders, mumbling soothing words until the sobs that wrack Lazlo’s frame subside. It reminds him of when he was younger—and much smaller—when Lazlo would do the same for him after a tumble, a run in with the awful foreman, or when overcome with a sadness he couldn’t understand, much less explain. Lazlo would have been there to comfort him, always.

As if hearing his thoughts, Lazlo lets out a tremulous sigh. “...Tables have turned, hm?”

Tuhka makes a tentatively amused sound in response. There is a whirlwind of emotion to wade through, but he can take this moment just to experience how real and solid Lazlo is. That he’s back.

“A right pair of bellends we turned out to be,” he ends up saying.

“Quite.” Lazlo sniffs, but there’s a small, albeit watery, smile on his lips as he straightens out of Tuhka’s one-armed embrace, and Tuhka tries not to let the empty feeling that remains affect him too much.

Something that has been niggling in the back of Tuhka’s mind takes on more force and the reason finally dawns on him.

“You sound different.”

Lazlo finishes wiping his face with a fresh, white handkerchief and makes a noise, muffled by the fabric.

“Yes, ah...I trained out the accent I used to have and replaced it with a new one.”

Tuhka blinks. “What’s wrong with your old accent? That’s the accent I have! I got it from you!”

“I needed to, ah...move in higher circles of society and I couldn’t very well sound like a common miner, could I?”

Tuhka opens his mouth to argue, a nostalgia for their juvenile arguments filling him in a split second, but Lazlo interrupts, “You know, we don’t have to speak Common if you’d prefer.”

They fall back on Infernal so naturally that Tuhka has to swallow a lump in his throat and keep the waver out of his voice. He never thought he would have this again. He’s a little rusty and out of practice but that doesn’t seem to matter in the moment—it’s like they’re back in the mines, speaking their language out of earshot of the foreman, making plans for the future in a world that was all dreams.

Tuhka tells Lazlo how he adopted Ooria (and not the other way round as she claimed to recall) and how she had helped him find his true self. He tells him about his work, his smithy and how he made a home on this cliff by the ocean. He doesn’t talk about the painful things, like crying himself to sleep every night for years from missing him, or the search for his adoptive mother who was now lost.

Lazlo talks about— what Tuhka suspects is— superficial milestones, his expertise in identifying gemstones, the places he’s visited and the night skies he has lain under and commemorated on his skin. Tuhka notices the glittering constellations peeking out of Lazlo’s clothes and his heart thumps, wanting to ask what made them special enough to wear permanently but he stops himself...still feeling like a stranger. There’s an undercurrent of darkness in Lazlo’s vague statements, of secrets untold, and Tuhka is slightly surprised by a keen disappointment that bubbles within him at not being trusted with them.

There’s a lull in conversation, an impending finality that Tuhka does not appreciate. He refuses to remain a stranger as well, which prompts him to realise that he hasn’t even properly introduced himself yet.

Feeling bold, he holds a hand out in the human way. “Tuhka Turunen.”

Lazlo’s gaze lands on the proffered hand and then flickers up to Tuhka’s face, seeming to weigh his options. He breathes out a laugh and leans forward, ignoring the hand to press his forehead slowly but firmly against Tuhka’s in customary tiefling fashion. An echo of the greeting they shared when they first met as children.

“Lazarus Astrophel,” whispers the tiefling formerly known as Lazlo.

Tuhka smiles. “Nice to meet you, Lazarus.”

They part and Lazlo—Lazarus—clears his throat, “My close acquaintances sometimes call me Laz. You may do so, after all we’re—” a beat of hesitation, “—old friends.”

His vibrant blue eyes are on Tuhka, almost as if expecting him to disagree. Tuhka doesn’t.

“Laz,” he says, smiling, “lot less likely to get mixed up with that.”

The sea breeze sighs around them, ruffling hair and clothing. Tuhka watches as Lazarus gets to his feet.

“It’s late. I should be going.”

Panic flickers through Tuhka. “You’re leaving?”

“I have business in town for a day or two, I’m staying at an inn there...The King’s Cushion?”

Tuhka nods, recognising the name. He gets to his feet as well, unintentionally towering over Lazarus.

“Stars...I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to that.” Lazarus grimaces.

“You’re welcome to visit,” Tuhka blurts out, trying to keep any semblance of desperation out of his voice and getting the impression that he failed, “you wanted to commission something, we can talk about that whenever you like.”

After a moment of confusion, Lazarus’ expression clears. “Ah, right, yes, that was what got us into this mess in the first place, wasn’t it? Yes,” he smiles, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

This time when he leaves, it’s with a lot less anger than moments after their first confrontation only days ago, and with a promise to come back. They had once shared everything, even their deepest desires. Now, after fifteen years apart, they’ve become completely different people—the fact that Lazarus came here, willing to talk, making promises to return even if there’s a chance he may not keep them...it’s a start. And that will have to be enough for now.

Tuhka sits back down once Lazarus has vanished from sight down the path and gazes up at the same stars he had begged night after night to return his best friend to him.

He thanks them for listening.

[gotnofucks]

Prometheus

Pairing: August Walker x Reader

Summary: You disappoint August and must make up for it.

Words: 2.3k

Warnings: Smut, dom/sub themes, language, 18+ ONLY

A/N: This is my entry for the Happy Hoelidays Challenge by @donutloverxo @stargazingfangirl18 and @navybrat817 . You guys are all fucking amazing and I adore you! I chose the prompt “Kissing under the mistletoe” but with a twist. And honestly, this whole fic is a mess. But I hope you’ll find something worthwhile here.

Masterlist

Our love story will not be found in romance books. People like him and I, we don’t exist in rose tinted pages with flowery scents. We are found within the darker pages of horror books, where our love is written with blood and pain, where it’s ghastly stunning in its dangerous beauty. But I promise you, it’s no less beautiful than the walks in a meadow or cuddles in the bed.

We bleed and cry, from eyes and heart. We drown each other deep and deeper still, only to pull back above the surface as we’re about to die. That gulp of air, that’s sweeter than any other, if simply because it’s the one that has us clinging to life.

I like to think that I am Prometheus, and he is my Eagle, sent by the gods to devour me day after day, letting me writhe under him. It’s pain beyond anything, but what most don’t understand is that I need that pain to feel alive. But what if one day Prometheus was left hanging alone, liver intact and no eagle to eat him out?

That would be torture.

I am being tortured.

The whip in his hand cracked on skin and I choked on a sob. The sharp swish of the whip parted the air again and crashed on the skin with precise intervals, creating a crisscross of welts like a painter does his design. The blue in his eyes was clouded by the deep, boiling waves of anger and disappointment.

I could take his anger, but never his disappointment.

His anger meant punishment, it meant retribution. His disappointment meant distance, it meant betrayal. And here I was, Prometheus who disappointed his eagle and now watched that beak bite on someone else’s liver.

She took his hits gracefully, only small whimpers escaping her as his whip landed on her bottom. They left marks on her skin, but they seared my heart. People say nothing hurts more than being punished this brutally. They know nothing. Nothing of the pain of watching someone else take your pain, your punishment. People don’t know the torture of being tied down and being made to watch your master pour his anger into someone else.

I closed my eyes at the scene, incapable of watching more. It was more than my heart could take. I had promised to take his love and his hate, his sweetness and his poison. And to have someone else cry under him, wear marks on her body that should have decorated me left me more broken than any of his toys would have done.

“Please sir” I begged, “No more.”

His eyes were on me the entire time, even as he had someone else at his mercy. He cocked his head to the side, looking at me naked and tied up, balancing on my knees. He came closer and lifted his booted leg to part my thighs with it, an unreadable look in his eyes.

“Melly, leave.” He ordered the other girl. She swiftly got up and left without a word, just happy to be of service when required. I raised my eyes to his, pleading, begging. His large hand traced the curve of my cheek before dropping to the collar on my neck, playing with the charm that dangled on the front.

AW’s Princess

“I should take this away” August said, and I jerked as if I had been electrocuted. I shook my head, hair falling away from the elastic that secured them. He couldn’t take away my collar. No, he simply couldn’t.

“Please, no sir. I am sorry.” I sobbed.

To me, this collar was a symbol of ownership. Of being claimed by August Walker, being his. I would never trade this for a wedding ring, for this was more sacred to me. It sat on my neck, over my pulse, beating with the blood that pumped under it and reminded me that every breath I take belongs to him. That I chose to surrender my life living at his feet.

“What are you sorry about, Princess?” He asked me. Before I could answer, he was walking away to pull from his drawer a bowl and his trusted vibrator, and the sight of it made my thighs tremble.

“I am sorry for lying to you sir.” I replied. He hummed, coming to kneel before me, placing the bowl between my parted thighs and opening me wide with two fingers. I gasped, mouth parted as he touched me most intimately, his fingers that easily pulled the trigger of a gun running gently along my spongy walls to create an explosion no less than a gun shot.

He followed every pant that fell from my mouth, observed every twitch that showed on my face and drank in the fluttering of my lashes. Whenever I would turn my face he would tut, forcing me to look at him.

“How did it feel when I hit Melly instead of you?” He asked me, and slowly started to insert the vibrator inside me. I sucked in a breath, wincing at the stretch before answering.

“It hurt sir, it hurt so much.” I whimpered, tears shining in my eyes before dropping to my cheeks.

August leans back once the vibrator is completely in me, my juices dripping out from around it. Cupping my face gently, he brushed a soft kiss on my forehead, like the brush of angel wings and the slightest nip of Death’s scythe at once.

“You hurt me too.” He whispered. The darkness in his eyes had me shivering, both from fear and arousal. Being with August felt like standing on a cliff, every moment terrified that a strong gust of wind would have me pummeling to the ground. But when one wants to fly, even falling becomes a kink. How long does the fall last, and when you do hit the ground, how good does it hurt?

It hurts like heaven.

“You will fill this bowl with your cream” He ordered, “You will drip into it, and as you do, you’ll tell me where you went wrong. Apologize to me like you mean it, give me a reason to have you at my feet.”

He started unbuttoning himself and with every new inch of him revealed to my hungry eyes, I dripped. I clenched around the vibrating toy inside me, moaning softly. This is how completely he owned me. The eagle was going away, and it was up to Prometheus to seduce him to come back, to convince him to eat that liver one more time, that the taste it worth it.

“I am sorry sir, I lied to you. I didn’t tell you where I was going.” I started. He continued undressing, languidly tossing aside his clothes to unveil the scarred flesh underneath. I could tell every battle he’d ever fought by tracing the hardened marks over his body. Sometimes when he would let me, I’d trace the scars of his heart too, feeling the hurt and loss that lingered in their ridges.

“Where did you tell me you were going, Princess?” He asked me, sitting naked in front of me on a chair. Easy, confident.

“To the movies with my friends.” I lowered my eyes, ashamed of myself for lying to a man who can see through anyone and anything.

“And where did you actually go?”

I bit my lip, knowing I had disappointed him. He required nothing from me but trust and honesty.

“To see my family.” I whispered.

He shook his head, a sneer curling under his mustache. His gaze bore into me with a force that had me gushing in the bowl and he scoffed. The control he had on my body without even touching it was almost embarrassing. He got up to stand in front of me, his hard length so near to my face if I poke my tongue out, I’d be able to lick him.

“Your family” He spat the word like it was poison. “Why don’t I like it when you go meet with them Princess?”

“Because only you’re allowed to hurt me sir.” I answered.

August was not a nice man, he was not someone you mess with. He got off on pain and terror, on instigating fear in those around him. But when it came to me, only he is allowed to hurt me. He will whip me and spank me, tie me and choke me, but woe betide anyone who so much as hurt a hair on my head. Which is why I didn’t tell him I was meeting my family.

Every meeting with them came out the same way. Me in tears after a shouting match. For someone who had never managed to quite fit in anywhere, my only solace was August’s arms. And those arms would pound anyone to pulp if I cried tears that were put in my eyes by anyone but him. Fucked up? Maybe.

“Why did you go?” He asked, brushing the tip of his cock on my face, smearing his cum and marking me. The natural musk of him filled my nose and I leaned forward to have a taste when he moved away, wagging a finger in warning.

“It was Christmas.” I pathetically said.

August smirks, his eyes falling on the bowl between my legs that had collected my slick. He exhaled, kneeling before me and pulling out the vibrator with a pop, instead replacing it with his fingers that had me struggling in my restraints.

“And you thought I wouldn’t celebrate Christmas with you?” He asked me and flicked his fingers on my hardened nub that had me cumming into the bowl. His name was like a chant on my lips and I begged him to set me free, to hold me again.

He took away the bowl and put it on the bedside table, coming back to finally release me from the ropes that bound me. Carefully picking me, he dropped me on the bed and smirked nastily.

“I even got us mistletoe. I was going to hang it on the door and surprise you with it, but since you’ve chosen to be a bitch today, I’ve found another place for it.” Saying this he pulled out a bundle of mistletoe and held it over his cock, looking expectantly at me.

“W-what?” I sputtered.

“You’re supposed to kiss it sweetheart” He mocked and came closer, slapping me across the face with his dick. I blinked at him before licking my lips and taking him in my mouth. His familiar taste and thickness made me feel at home, and I sucked and slurped, trying to show him how sorry I truly was.

His hand tangled in my hair and pulled me along, bobbing me up and down his length, one hand still dangling the mistletoe over my head. I relaxed my body, letting him guide me as he wanted. My love was my apology, and this was my repentance.

“I had planned a fun night with you” He snarked, sitting deep inside my throat, “I got you a fucking tree and presents. Thought we’d watch a movie. But all that romantic bullshit doesn’t work for us, does it?”

His pace increased as did my moans. I held onto his thick thighs that had more than once choked me. He may have all the power over me, but I reveled in that just the same.

“We don’t make love beside the fireplace darling, we burn ourselves in the fireplace, surrounded by the flames of passion and lust that run in you and me.”

His words heated me up and I doubled my efforts, taking him deeper and looking into his eyes, letting him speak to my soul as he owned my body. He tensed and twitched, warmth pooling in my mouth and down my throat and I smiled when he pulled away. My jaw ached a little, but pain was an old friend.

“That was quite a kiss” I said, and he chuckled, pushing me down to lie on my back.

“It’s not over by a long shot.” He said and taking the bowl with my cum he dripped my essence over my bare chest and belly. My skin broke out into gooseflesh as the cold liquid hit me but just as soon it was followed by the warmth of his tongue, sucking me, tasting me.

This is what being worshiped felt like. In chains and in pain, and yet the object of desire and love. When one slap meets your cheek, the following caress feels just that much softer.

August rolled on his back, smearing the rest of my cum over his own chest. I leaned over him, tongue gliding through his hair and veins, dipping into deep scars and damaged tissues. His voice rose in a crescendo, cock hardening again and as I licked, I climbed over him, aligning myself and bringing him home with one thrust.

“Fuck” He whispered, mouth meeting mine in a kiss, sinful and dirty. He kissed me like the Angel of Death serving me the elixir of life. I bounced on him, rode him like he was the stairwell that would take me to heaven. His smell, his taste, the feeling of his rippling flesh and the dominance in his eyes set fire to my veins. I clamped hard on him, sliding my damp body over his as I crashed and fell apart.

His hips kept pushing up, going hard enough as if trying to come out of the other end. Nails dug into the flesh of my thighs as he kept me steady over him, pumping into me until I felt him release inside. We fell into a tangle of limbs, a sheet lazily pulled over my bruised body. That was the thing with August, when he hurt me it left a mark on the outside, but never inside.

“I love you” He softly panted in the crook of my neck. I turned over and clung to him, pulling him close in my embrace. Prometheus needed his Eagle to feel alive, and the Eagle needed Prometheus to sustain. Neither is complete without the other.

“I love you too”

 Permanent Tags: @what-is-your-wish​ @shooting-star-love​ @stanmysoul​ @sweeterthanthis​ @muralskins​ @rayofdawnworld​ @just-one-ordinary-fangirl​ @donutloverxo​ @angrythingstarlight​ @rockyrogers​ @slothspaghettiwrites​ @nerdygirl8203​ @firebolt99 

Henry : @agniavateira​

[acourtofsnakes]

Haran - Rogue, Chapter 8 | The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader (f)

Summary: The Mandalorian tries to get back on with his normal routine without you. So he decided to go visit Peli on the quiet, almost deserted planet of Tatooine. Where he will meet no one of interest or danger. At all. 

Warnings: Hmm, not many. Some light swearing and mentions of death briefly. 

Word count: Around 7139

AN: I’m not sure if everything I wrote about Tatooine is strictly ‘correct’, so forgive me if not!

As always, credit to whoever owns the gif. I usually find them on Google or Pinterest, so message me if it’s yours ♥︎

Rogue Taglist:  @snipskixandbeskar   @weirdowithnobeardo @the-bottom-of-the-abyss​ @jackgrzs @sarahjkl82-blog @boomtownboy

Rogue Masterlist | Introduction| 1: Solus| 2: Arir | 3: Tor | 4: Gaa'tayl | 5: Kyr’am | 6: Cabur | 7: Ret'urcye Mhi | 8: Haran

Mando’a translation: Haran – Hell

The Mandalorian watched you walk away. 

He watched your figure retreat further and further into the distance, each step taking you closer to Nevarro, and further away from him and the kid. He watched until he could see you no more, then sighed, murmuring to Grogu and returning to the cockpit to leave. 

And it hurt. 

He knew it would, he wasn’t stupid. He just hadn’t expected it to hurt so very much. Didn’t expect that it would feel like you’d wrenched his heart from beneath his armour and took it with him. 

He hadn’t even hugged you. Touch like that was rare for Mandalorians, wasn’t considered… ‘normal.’

But when had your… friendship... ever been ‘normal’? You’d started off as hunter and prey, for Maker’s sake. He’d hunted you down and took you onto his ship with every intention of delivering you to the new Client and being on his merry way. 

Only, you were different. You didn’t shy away from him. You didn’t cower or beg for your life. You were cocky, inappropriate and had a silver-tongue and knew how to use it. You got under his skin and drove him insane. 

But… he’d laughed more times with you than he had with anyone that wasn’t the kid. 

You made him feel… less alone. And he’d hoped he’d done the same for you

Then you’d saved his life. 

And he’d realised just how much he had come to adore your presence and your company. 

As cliché as it sounded, it was like having a little bit of sunlight in his ship. 

Well, no. That might not be the right analogy. You weren’t just sunlight. You weren’t just a flame; you were a blaze. 

You burned brighter than anyone he had ever met, determined not to be dragged down by your past. Your anger was a storm, ravaging everything it came near, with all the force of a tempest. He’d borne the brunt of it enough times in the few months he had been together. 

But you had a light inside you, a thirst to see the good in the world, the beauty no matter how dark it may have appeared. He admired that about you. There was a word for it in Mando’a. Shereshoy; a lust for life. 

The last argument you’d had… He knew from the moment you ran from the market, that you would lash out. He didn’t know how, but he’d seen the shift in your eyes, seen the way that fire had blazed – only to gutter out into consuming darkness. 

It had flickered as you had yelled at each other, and when he saw it go black, saw darkness cloud over and suck you into the depths, he’d dived right in after you. 

It had been instinct to run to you, catch you in his arms and let you both sink down together. Only he held you from being pulled too deep.

And you’d let him. 

The moment you’d let go and curled into his body, was the moment he felt everything change. 

It had broken a gate within him. A carefully and purposely crafted wall of adamant in his mind that held back the force of everything he shouldn’t feel. 

It was why he’d done what he did the other night. 

He’d been on the hunt, tracking the bounty. It was an easy one, so easy he didn’t even really need to think about it. Which of course, left his mind open to wandering. 

And it kept coming back to you, over and over again. 

What you were doing, if you were okay, if the ship was too hot for you and if he’d set the locks correctly. 

He always had the same thoughts whenever he left the kid, but with you there, they had eased. He’d trusted you from that first night you sung Grogu your mother’s lullaby. 

So that didn’t plague him. 

No, it was your hair that was the main subject tonight. That damn hair that he couldn’t take his eyes off of since the moment you’d let it down a couple of days ago. 

The light had caught it just right, turning it to gold and when you ran your hands through it…

He’d been struck with a craving so intense; it took his breath away. 

He yearned to move away your hands, replace them with his own. 

To shuck off his gloves and truly feel the silky texture of it, to feel anything but the worn leather interior of the material. 

He couldn’t have been more relieved when you’d landed on the desert planet. He had though that the Maker had taken pity on him, saving him before he could do something really stupid. 

The distraction had remained with him throughout his hunt, sneaking up on him whenever he should be at least trying to concentrate. 

By the time he’d caught the bounty and had begun to lug him back to the Crest, his body had begun to itch. Less of a persistent irritation and more of a yearning. At first, he’d thought it was from the heat, but when he’d climbed the ramp to the Crest, he could smell the lingering aroma of the soap you’d used in your shower. 

He’d quickly dispatched of the bounty in the carbonite chamber, eager to escape to the small storage compartment he had now taken up residence in. 

He hadn’t bothered to take back his sleeping quarters, something in him wanting to give you that small bit of comfort. Besides, he’d slept in worse places. 

He’d retreated there after a brief conversation with yourself, trying to clear his mind as he lay on the collection of blankets and sacks that he’d made up for his bed and waited for his body to relax and sleep to claim him. Eventually, it had. 

It wasn’t Grogu’s crying that awoke him that night, as it normally would. 

No, it was that damn smell. 

It had filtered through his helmet, invading his sleep and gently tugged him awake. 

He’d sat up and without a thought, followed that scent like a hound. 

It had led him to the kitchen and then…

Then he’d seen you. 

In that flimsy drape of fabric that could hardly call itself a dress. 

There was just… so much of your skin on show. So much of your smooth skin on display, lined with scars here and there but it didn’t matter to him. It told your story, your survival  

The Mandalorian’s own body had tightened, heat blazing across his skin and making his armour uncomfortable. He rarely acknowledged the heaviness of it, but standing there, looking at you, had truly made him feel the crushing weight. 

And when you’d turned, the water rolling down your neck…

The image of removing his helmet and catching that bead of water on his tongue, of trailing it up your neck and finally tasting your skin that he knew would be as sweet as your scent.. it nearly undid him. 

In fact, it did. It broke a restraint in him and set a haze in his mind that cleared only when the beeping of the autopilot had demanded his attention. 

He’d sat up in the cockpit for hours afterward, staring at his now gloved hands. 

He had touched you. He had removed his gloves in the presence of someone else, trusting in you not to turn around. He’d felt you. 

Felt that gorgeous, silky hair on his fingers. 

Felt the bumps of your spine beneath your skin. 

The noises you’d made, the sighs and the moans, they were branded into his memory, followed him when he finally went back to bed. 

They’d echoed in his ears, playing over and over until his trousers had become even more painfully tight and he was forced to fix the problem. 

The next day, the pleasure and breathless thrill of what had occurred went stale. It turned into shame, disgust at himself for treating you like that, thinking of you like that in the late hours. 

The snide voice in his head had whispered that it was time, time to invoke what he already planned when he was out on his hunt. 

And like a cowardly fool, he gave in. 

The betrayal and hurt in your eyes when he’d told you had been like a punch to his heart. 

He’d been battered in fights and that hurt less. 

Hurt less than this pain as he re-joined the atmosphere above Nevarro and moved the ship away. 

Was he making a mistake? Should he have kept you with him? OR stayed with you, even just for a little while longer? But what if someone had caught up to you or spotted you and gave you up. There would be no telling who would-

Ping!

A metallic note on the back of his helmet snapped him from his frantic thoughts, echoing in the confines of his helmet. It had come from Grogu’s direction.

He turned around, looking at what it was… and saw Grogu’s ball on the floor. 

“Hey, kid, what are you doing?”

An angry gurgle emanated from the little green creature, waving his arms in the air and his face full of disdain. 

Mando sighed, “Look, I know you’ll miss her, but we have to do this, okay?”

Grogu only waved his hands again, and suddenly the ball was flying through the air, bouncing off of his visor before rolling along the cockpit again. 

“Hey!! Now you decide to use your powers? That’s enough. This has to happen.” He pointed a finger at Grogu. 

Which just made the kid burst into tears and scream. 

Loudly. 

Mando swore under his breath, pulling him out of his crib and plonking him down on his lap. He turned back to the front of the ship, one hand holding the back of the kid’s head, the other piloting the ship, “Hey, hey… look, I’m sorry but… she had to leave. It wasn’t safe for her to stay with us..”

Grogu just wailed more, his little fists thumping into Mando’s belly. He was not happy with his father, and seemed intent on letting him know that. 

He sighed, letting Grogu pummel him. After all, his little hands barely made an impact, and it just reminded him painfully of that night in the cargo hold, where you fought him and broke down. He switched the ship to autopilot, tilting his head down to give Grogu his full attention. “Grogu.”

More wailing, the little tyke was determined not to pay attention. 

“Cmon, Grogu. Look at me.”

Grogu’s head shook rapidly from side to side, his little body shaking with sobs. 

“Not even for cookies?”

A pause. A questionable gurgle replacing the wailing. 

Mando couldn’t help the smile on his face behind the helmet, “Ah, see, I knew that would get your attention. If you look at me, I’ll let you have the pack.” It was bad parenting, not to mention bribery and he knew that. But anything to stop Grogu being upset – and to convince himself he’d done the right thing. “Just look at me, okay? And listen..”

Grogu lifted his head up, looking up at his father with glossy, tear filled eyes. 

Mando felt his heart break a little, and he gently wiped the tears from Grogu’s cheek with the back of his little finger, “I know you’re mad at me, and I completely understand why. But… there are so many people after her. After us as well.”

Grogu listened intently, little snuffly breaths rising from him now and then as a result of the previous tears. 

The Mandalorian reached across to a little box beside him, pulling out a package of the blue space cookies. He unwrapped them as he spoke, “The people that are after us all might start to work together. They might think that... if they can get to one of us, they can get all of us.” He pulled out a cookie, then held it out to the kid. “Everyone knows that I threw away the tracking fob. And that will draw more attention.”

Grogu took the cookie, biting it and his head tilted as he let his father speak, munching away. 

Mando leaned back in his seat, head still tilted down to watch, “If they find us… they find her. Any of the bounties I catch could turn, like that guy before with the tail. So.. if she goes to Nevarro… She can blend in and hide. Cara and Greef will monitor anyone coming in. They’ll keep her safe and steer away any authorities or hunters. She’ll be safer there than she will with us… and if we need to, I can draw away any hunters who think we’re all still together.”

Grogu’s ears sagged a little, a softer coo rising from him that flung a few tiny blue crumbs onto his fathers lap. 

Mando huffed a slight laugh, shaking his head a little, “Messy.” He brushed a few more crumbs from Grogu’s mouth, “Do you understand though? Why I had to do it?”

The kid nodded, though he still looked sad.

The Mandalorian held him closer, “I know, kid. I wish we didn’t have to do it either.”

~

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Just travelling to Tatooine. His ship needed repairing, and the Mandalorian hadn’t met with Peli for a long while. 

And… maybe something in him was craving the comfort of… a friend? 

Besides, the kid loved her too and he wanted to cheer him up. 

He would see if the sparse planet had any extra work for him. He doubted it, the cantinas were rarely ever half full, but it didn’t hurt to try. He needed something to keep his mind occupied and away from thinking of a particular cocky, snarky, gorgeous companion. 

When he was close, he set the ship to autopilot, the display on the panel and his internal body clock telling him it was time to sleep. 

He scooped up Grogu, who had been playing with his ball, “C’mon, kid. Time for bed. You can come with me tonight.” 

The Mandalorian made his way to the little area that had become his bedroom. He looked down at the pile of blankets on the floor, pausing. 

Maybe he should return to his bed. The floor was wreaking havoc on his already aching back, and it was cold on the floor. 

He sighed, taking way too long to think about it, before returning back up to his sleeping compartment, pressing the pad on the wall to open it. 

Fuck. 

The entire compartment smelt like you. It hit him as soon as the door slid open, wafting under his helmet and filling his head with your scent. He swallowed back a soft groan, made his body move across the room. He didn’t need this. He needed sleep. He needed to focus. 

Mando walked across the room and set Grogu laying down closest to the wall, before sliding in and manoeuvring his clunky body and armour into the bed too. 

It was stronger here, the smell of your perfume. If he closed his eyes, maybe he could imagine you were there with him. Tucked up against him, sleeping deeply and evenly. 

He sighed, pulling the blankets over Grogu’s body and then his own, images swirling through his mind, the same ones that taunted him every night when he tried to sleep. He tried not to feel them, the thoughts that relentlessly filled his mind. It had made him restless, made his inhibitions low – hence why he’d found you in the kitchen, unable to hold back on the things he wanted to do and say. 

Mando said quietly after a while, rubbing Grogu’s ears, “You really liked her, huh?”

Grogu cooed, nodding his head a little before tilting it into his father’s touch. 

Mando sighed softly, resting his head on the pillow again and closing his eyes, “Me too, kid… Me too.” He allowed himself to inhale deeply, let that scent envelope him and lull him into sleep. 

~~

“Oh, thank the Force!! You’re still alive! Come here you little womp rat!” 

Peli’s excited exclamation was broken only by Grogu’s delighted squeal as he tottered over to her, arms outstretched and making grabby hands. 

Mando smiled behind his helmet. He knew coming here was the right thing to do. Grogu adored Peli, and hopefully this would cheer him up somewhat. He looked at Peli, the raised eyebrow evident in his voice as he leant against the side of his ship, “Did you expect us not to be?” 

Peli scooped Grogu up, holding him close after inspecting his body for injuries or hurts. “Are you blind, boy? Everyone is out looking for you. They know what you did, even out here. The droids picked up chatter from the town. Word is, they increased the bounty on your head and doubled the girls.”

Mando stood up straight quickly, “They’ve doubled her bounty?! That’s… That’s ridiculous. It was already the highest I’ve seen.” 

Peli narrowed her eyes, watching his reaction. “So, it’s true then. You kept another bounty. I didn’t know Mandalorian’s liked to collect things so much.” Her voice was a little disapproving, but she motioned for Mando to follow her. “You shouldn’t be taking such stupid risks, Mando. You’ve got a child to look after. Harbouring criminals isn’t the way to do that.”

The words left his mouth like an instinct, “She’s not a criminal.” He followed her though, his boots scuffing up dust on the floor. 

Peli looked over her shoulder at him, her own eyebrows raised this time, “Oh? She’s not? So that bounty fell on her accidentally did it? Look, if we heard of her all the way out here, she must have truly done something b-“

“She is not a criminal, Peli.” He tried to rein in the steel in his voice. Peli was just looking out for Grogu, and for him. But something about her tone had struck a nerve, reminded him of the own conclusions he had jumped to, and how badly it had hurt you. 

Peli didn’t even bother to turn around as she walked into the hangar, “And how do you know that? She tell you what she’s being hunted for?” She shifted Grogu to her other arm and pointed at the droids that rolled past her on their way to the ship, “Careful with those parts.”

Mando swallowed, hesitating as he looked back at the droids and then back toward Peli, following her to her desk area. “No. She didn’t. But I just know.” He sunk into a chair, picking up something from the desk and fiddling with it. 

Peli watched the movement, assessing him and she just hummed as she sat down herself, Grogu on her lap. “Look. What you do, who you meet and decide to put in your band of rogues is none of my concern. Hell, we know nothing about each other. But you have to remember, this child is still wanted by Moff Gideon. You’re still wanted by both sides. You need to be careful.” Her voice was firm, but there was a note of softness there that you had to look to find, but it was there all the same. “I assume she’s in that ship of yours hiding? You can bring her out. I won’t bite her.”

Mando swallowed, his words becoming a little difficult and he had to pause again, “No. She’s not there. I… we parted ways.”

Peli frowned, looking down at Grogu who had turned his head to her, cooing. His ears had flopped a little again, but he didn’t contest the fact. She made a thoughtful noise again, “Parted ways?”

Mando sighed silently, wanting to take the subject away from you, the pain in his chest, “How has business been?”

She blinked, then burst out laughing, “Business? Are you actually pulling a joke on me, Mandalorian? Do you see any business here? Tatootine is just as quiet as it was the last time you were here. Why? Looking for a job?”

Mando shrugged, setting down the object he’d been playing with, “It wouldn’t hurt to get some extra credits.”

Peli tilted her head thoughtfully, “Well, I can’t promise anything. But there have been a few new stragglers coming through the town lately. Some hunters, smugglers and the like. One of them might have something you can do. I wouldn’t rely on it though.”

He nodded, grateful for the chance to go and do something. Even if it was just walking into town, being told no, and heading back again. “Great. I’ll check it out in a bit.”

She wasn’t listening. She’d already diverted all of her attention back to Grogu, cooing at him and pulling faces.  

~~

Tatooine was just as dry, dusty and barren as it was the last time the Mandalorian had set foot here. Its inhabitants were scattered throughout the towns, which were dotted few and far between, though there were a handful more inhabitants here in Mos Eisley. It ws one of the larger spaceports, so had a little more traffic. 

It was still almost deserted though. 

You didn’t often see people or creatures in the streets, as the sun beating down was too much sometimes even for those that called the desert planet home. They also seemed to know when sandstorms were coming – which were often. Maybe there was another on its way. There was a wild wind brewing, stirring the sand. 

There weren’t many out today, maybe driven inside by the relentless sun, though a cluster had gathered here, in Chalmun’s Spaceport Cantina. 

It was a roughly hewn building on the outside, the same colour as the dusty ground. It was small, but its thick walls provided a natural shade, cool and dim out of the sun.

Mando ducked under the upper threshold as he stepped inside, ignoring the glances and muttering that occurred whenever he walked into a place. Even if he hadn’t been clad in shiny – albeit rather dusty – beskar, he still would have garnered the attention, simply for being a Mandalorian. 

He was used it to by now, but it did still make him feel uncomfortable sometimes. 

He surveyed the room, then walked to the bar, which provided the main source of light in the centre of the room. The atmosphere seemed…calm, though that could change at the drop of a hat and the bar could erupt into one of it’s famous brawls. 

The last time he’d set foot in this particular cantina, he’d helped a young bounty hunter… who’d turned traitor. 

He would try to avoid that this time. He only wanted a job. No help. 

The Mandalorian tapped the bar to gain the attention of the barman, “Hey. Anyone come through here with bounty pucks?” 

The barman paid him no attention, continuing to serve the customer, a pilot by the looks of his jumpsuit. 

Mando frowned behind his helmet, “No?” He was hot, a little agitated and he missed you. So his temper wasn’t the greatest. 

The barman snapped, “No. Come back tomorrow, maybe there’ll be a line of people waiting to fall at your shiny feet.” He looked at Mando in disgust then walked to the other end of the bar to serve.

Mando sighed, counting to ten his mind. He needed a job. He would just have to keep trying. 

And so, he did. Over the next three days, he went back again and again. And every day, he would come home with nothing. 

Each night, Peli would tell him over dinner that it was because of the approaching storm. That there would be more people once it had cleared. 

The third night, the storm finally rolled in. 

Mando was already awake, the lack of distraction meaning his thoughts were spiralling again, so he was conscious when the howling wind roared to life, bringing with it waves and waves of sand. 

He spent the night watching the wind move like it was an animal, unleashed from its cage to be free. It didn’t sound angry. It sounded mournful. Like it was tearing through the town looking for something, for someone. 

Mando couldn’t help but relate. 

~ 

The storm stayed for another four days. Endless howling of the wind, the cold chill it brought of a night, so different to the scorching wind of the days. 

Luckily, it gave the Mandalorian something to do. He secured his ship when the wind had died down a little, making sure there were no gaping holes or anything that could get damaged should the wind change direction. 

As much as he didn’t like droids, he had to admit that Peli’s did a pretty good job. 

After that, she had him clearing out any of her gear and belongings that were outside. 

Which meant hauling in all the nearby boxes and making sure the droids didn’t roll out and get buffeted and dragged away by the wind. 

When that was done, he was to spend his time clearing away the dust and sand that blew in through the openings. 

Peli told him she couldn’t work in a messy environment, but the scattered parts, oily rags and various paraphernalia dotted around would have him beg to differ. 

Still, it gave him a way to keep his mind busy. 

However, the jobs and handy work he did for her didn’t stop him from watching the storm every night, or from checking Peli’s rusty but still operational tablet for updates on the atmospheric pressure. 

…

The morning of the fifth day dawned bright and scalding. 

The storm was gone, reduced to a few gusts of heavy wind here and there, but nothing like the raging force of the past four days. 

The heat was even more oppressive than usual, like the wind had sucked any minuscule ounce of coolness from the air and left it feeling like fire in the lungs. 

Peli told him he was stupid, that the town would be deserted. She was even more annoyed when he informed her that he was taking Grogu. He had been penned inside for four days and was starting to act as stir crazy as Mando felt. 

Peli yelled at him, even threatened to take apart his ship but he respectfully ignored her and made the trek anyway. Even if every step in the blazing heat made it feel like his armour was melting to his body. He’d popped Grogu into his crib, to spare him from the scorching air. 

Why did he decided to come to another desert planet?

Maybe he would go somewhere cold next. 

Yeah, that sounded like a good idea. Somewhere where he could take a breath of chilled, icy air. Somewhere he could show Grogu the snow..

~“Snow and ice are stunning. They’re powerful and strong. I’ve only ever been in a proper snowfall once, and I fell in love. The way the flakes float down and.. dance even if there’s the faintest breeze. And then when they land on your skin or your eyelashes like little cold kisses… The sound it makes under your boots when you walk on a fresh fall. And it softens everything, makes it easier on your eyes to see across the landscape… it’s quiet, muffled…”~

Mando’s heart wrenched as he remembered your words, the way your face lit up and your eyes danced as you described the feeling of snow on your skin. He swallowed, shaking his head free of the memory and walking into the cantina, Grogu’s crib floating along with him. 

The barman sneered at him, “What, no questions today?” 

Mando just shook his head, ordering a bowl of cold broth for the kid and then he retreated to a table in the corner, sinking into his seat. 

Maker, he was tired. So, so tired. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a proper sleep and it was beginning to catch up with him now. 

The tiredness, mixed with the physical work of the past few days was getting to him. His back ached and his shoulders were constantly tense with the weight of his armour. He wasn’t a young man anymore, things had started to niggle and irritate more than usual. 

The quiet ambiance of the cantina and the soft slurps of Grogu enjoying his broth were beginning to lull the Mandalorian into sleep. His body relaxed into the hard bench seat, his eyes began to close behind the helmet, no matter how hard he fought it. 

Maybe he could just close his eyes for a moment… just to rest..

It wasn’t until Grogu’s sharp warning cry echoed through the fog in his brain, that he realised he’d actually fallen asleep. His head shot up from where it had rested on his chest, adrenaline shooting through his body so fast it made him dizzy. His hand had flown to the blaster on his hip by instinct, and he looked around rapidly for the cause of Grogu’s cry. 

And then he found it. 

Sitting opposite him and the kid, was a male figure, draped in an expensive looking black cloak that was embroidered with golden thread. The hilt of an ancient blade protruded above broad shoulders, sheathed down the figure’s spine. The cloak hid anything on the figures body, but Mando knew it was lined with weapons. 

The male figure had an elbow on the table, a long arm propped up with his hand disappearing into the darkness of his hood where he presumably had his chin resting. 

He knew that this man was a hunter. 

A predator. 

He could sense the coiled energy slumbering within the relaxed stance, just knew that the heavy material of his cloak hid an arsenal of weapons. 

That and the fact he could see the faint outline of a knife hidden within the man’s sleeve. 

The Mandalorian straightened, alertness flooding every single sense, along with the anger at his own sheer stupidity for falling asleep. He reached out, pulling Grogu off of the table and back into his crib in one fluid movement, shielding it between his body and the wall behind him. 

He might have chosen a corner table, might be backed into that corner, but at least no one could get the jump on him from behind. 

Mando had already marked the exists and potential attack points the first time he’d come here, so he didn’t need to worry about those. 

He was in the process of trying to spot any tells on his new acquaintance, when the figure laughed. 

A laugh like silk, flowing over the skin. A laugh that was designed to draw you in, to caress you and seduce you. 

The voice was the same. Low, with a rich baritone like velvet that slid over the Mandalorian’s bones, “Relax. You don’t need to go on the offence, Mandalorian. Though I know that might be hard for you.” He was grinning under that hood, and Mando could almost imagine a set of fangs to match the voice, itching to sink into flesh. 

“Don’t I?” The Mandalorian’s voice was hard, cold. He needed to get out of here… but something was making him curious about who this shadowy figure was, something niggling at the back of his mind like he knew. 

The figure shrugged, an easy gesture, “Nope. Trust me, if I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have woken up from your little nap there. I could have killed you and that Peli woman during the storm and hung your skins out as wind gauges.”

He knew who Peli was? Who was he?

The Mandalorian said nothing. He supposed someone from the town could have spotted him staying at Peli’s. He’d have to leave. He didn’t want her getting hurt because of him. 

The man laughed again, set Mando’s teeth on edge, “Honestly, Mando. Are you always wound this tight? No wonder you don’t sleep.” He dropped his hand, resting both forearms on the table and lacing his fingers together. They were clad in fine leather gloves, perfectly snug to his hands. “I won’t kill your little friend either, I promise. I’m here on business.” He paused, “Acceptable business, if you could call it that. Not my usual or favoured type of business, mind you.” 

Mando kept his hand on his blaster, kept his other arm held slightly out in case Grogu’s crib was on display. It was only then that he’d noticed the entire cantina had emptied out. It was just the three of them. How long was he asleep? 

“What business would that be? I don’t exactly fall into the ‘acceptable business’ category myself.”  He couldn’t keep the snideness out of his tone. 

The figure leaned into his hands, no ounce of light creeping past the hood. There was nothing there, just heavy darkness shrouding his face. “I need you to find someone for me. I’ve been tasked by someone supposedly important to bring them in, and I heard you’re almost as good as me.”

Mando had a feeling he knew where this was going. “And who am I helping you bring in? I don’t have sidekicks.”

The figure snorted, like Mando’s words amused him, “You think I’d be your sidekick? Please. You’ve been living with your head in that bucket too long. You obviously don’t know who I am.” He might have shaken his head beneath the heavy cloak, “I digress. Here is the person I want you to help me find.” He slid a puck onto the table, “I think you’ll be able to help. I’d be happy to split the reward in half with you. It would be enough for you to take your little one to one of those sanctuary planets.” 

He didn’t want to press that puck. He didn’t want to reveal what he already knew. “Sorry. I just remembered. I’m busy.” He made to rise from his chair. 

The figure didn’t even move a finger, and suddenly an iron grip wrapped itself around the Mandalorian’s throat. He choked, his hand slipping from his blaster to his neck, trying to prise away whatever was suffocating him, but it wasn’t there. Nothing was touching him. 

The man watched him, “Sit down.”

The pressure became tighter, dragged down Mando’s body and forced his legs to relax and for his body to dump back onto the bench. “Now. Activate the puck.” 

Mando shook his head, gasping for breath beneath the helmet, his lungs already fit to burst and his eyes tearing up. He had to protect you and the kid.

This man, if he was one, snarled softly, “Unless you want me to crush your windpipe and slit your baby in half, open the damn puck.”

Mando growled, clawing across the table and slamming his fingers onto the puck. 

At once, the pressure immediately vanished. The man still sounded calm, casual, “That’s a good boy.” 

The sudden rush of air was surprisingly not what had Mando gasping. It was your face, lit up in holo with the now absurdly high bounty flashing above it. 

He’d known it’d be you, but it was still like a blow to his heart. The hazy blue mirage of your face, projected into the air stared at him, cutting right through him. 

Mando shook his head again, his voice hoarse, “I don’t know where she is. I lost her. I don’t have the rights to go after again.”

The shadowy man leaned forward closer, flicking the puck “I knew you’d say that. I also knew that roughly a week ago, you dropped her off in Nevarro. I know that she’s currently staying under the protection of Marshal Cara Dune and Greef Carga.” He pressed the button to deactivate the puck. 

Ice spread through Mando’s belly. How did this freak know where you were? How did he know where you were staying? Had he been following you?

His heart started to increase rapidly in his chest, his brain scrambling for a way out of this conversation. If it were anyone else, he would have ripped them apart and left by now. 

But some primal instinct told him if he tried, he wouldn’t be the one walking away. 

The man pulled the puck toward him, slipping it deep within his cloak, “You catch on fast. You’re right. You wouldn’t be walking away. There wouldn’t even be enough of you left to paint the walls of this disgusting building. Not even with your precious baby.”

What the fuck? He just… 

A silky chuckle emanated from the hooded abyss, “Yes, yes. Don’t dwell on it, Mandalorian. There are bigger things to worry about.” He sat up straighter. “Now, I’m assuming you don’t remember what I am. So, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. I have been employed by someone who is far too arrogant and overestimates both their intelligence and their influence.” He paused, “No… employed is the wrong word. That would imply that they are my boss, and that is simply beyond ridiculous.” He tapped the table, “Anyway, as I was saying. I have been paid by someone to find your little girlfriend. And I will not stop until I find her. There are no ifs, buts or maybes. I will find the girl. And it’ll be sooner rather than later.” 

Mando couldn’t breathe. There was a roaring in his ears. 

The man continued on, “My client has asked me to bring her back to them. And I am nothing if not a gentleman of my word, so I have promised that she will be taken to them. On one condition.” He reached behind him, unsheathing his sword and resting it on the table in front of him with a movement so smooth it could have been choreographed. “I will have her returned to me after they are done with her. For she belongs to me, truly. And I will do to her whatever I see fit.”

A deadly fury rose within Mando like a tidal wave at the disgusting possessiveness in this mans words, but it was diminished when he saw the blade.

As long as his arm, a metal so black it sucked the very light from the room. There patterns within the surface, liked it was folded back onto itself again and again, until it was virtually indestructible. The centre of the blade and its hilt were etched in gold with symbols that Mando didn’t know. 

But he recognised them. 

With a sudden clarity, it came rushing back to him. 

As a child, he was told bedtime stories, of a terrifying phantom of death. He rode the night sky, which answered to him. He slipped through the shadows and into people’s minds. He could kill a man from the inside out without touching him, reduce him to a screaming pit of fear, so tortured that he would tear out his own eyes. 

He left behind no trace. He killed without mercy, without remorse for he had no soul. 

There were rumours that beneath his hood, lay the head of a monster, so vile and cruel that the deepest pits of the galaxy spat him back out because they were too good for someone like him. 

There was even talk of him in Mandalorian culture. Warnings. 

This being was the one thing that a Mandalorian should never engage in. For he would make even the most skilled hunter or assassin cower. He had slaughtered in the Mandalorian wars, killed thousands on either side and then returned later to suck the souls out of the dead. 

There were multiple names for him in Mando’a, the two most prominent being Werda which meant shadows, or more commonly, Haran. Translated, it meant hell, or cosmic annihilation, as he was said to be older than time. Older than the galaxy. He was death. 

Haran chuckled softly, “Ah, I thought that might stir up some memories. I admit, I was surprised when I learned that the Mandalorian’s knew who I was, and even warned you about me. As if they believed that would save you. I thought you were all… what’s the phrase? Ori'buyce, kih'kovid. All helmet, no head."

He might throw up. Mando might throw up right here. He couldn’t wrap his head around what was happening. A fucking myth, a legend told to Mandalorians and people across the galaxies, was sitting opposite him. 

He was real. 

He could speak Mando’a better than some of his fellow Mandalorians. 

He wanted you. 

Haran was caressing a gloved finger up and down the edge of his blade, “I am going to get her, Mandalorian. She will be mine. She has belonged to me since the moment she was born, our fates entwined like threads of time. I will have her back by my side, and I will teach her everything that she is. I will help expand her past the limits of what she can be. She will be unstoppable. Indestructible.” There was a hunger in his voice, a hunger that struck genuine fear into Mando’s heart. 

Mando croaked, the only thing he could manage, “What are you talking about?” 

Haran tiled his head again, his movements stilling, “She never told you?” That irresistible voice actually sounded surprised, then he chuckled, “Oh, that’s interesting. She’s obviously tried to forget who she truly is. No matter, I’ll show her soon enough.” He appeared to be thinking about something, then his cloaked head tilted up and Mando knew he was watching him. 

If he even had eyes under there. 

“You can go and run off to her now. But you won’t be able to save her.” Such simple words, spoken with such a casual knowledge, a man used to being right. 

The Mandalorian didn’t even think. He lurched from his seat, numbly pressing the button on his vambrace that had Grogu’s crib following him. 

He had to get back to Peli. He had to get back to the Crest. He needed to find you, needed to take you somewhere far away, somewhere where you’d be safe from this monster.

“Wait.” 

The man caught Mando’s arm as he made to go past him, gripping it with an iron strength that seemed to reverberate throughout his bones, root him to the spot. He couldn’t move. 

“I tell you what. I’m a generous man, so I’m going to give you a head start. I’ll be here for the next seven days. After that, I’ll be making my way to Nevarro. And I will lay waste to anyone that tries to stand in my way. ”

Mando couldn’t speak, his tongue had frozen to the roof of his mouth with that same phantom grip. He could only make a choked noise, a growl that sounded as threatening as he could. 

The man laughed again beneath that fucking hood, letting go of the invisible grip and sheathing his blade, “Better hurry… Lori.” 

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[maybankiara]

TELL ME, IS IT WORTH IT?

pairing: JJ Maybank x Pope Heyward

summary: Pope proposes, JJ panics, and now he’s trying to explain why he said no (and why he shouldn’t have done it.)

w/c: 3.7k

a/n: angst with a happy ending, ignore all the typos bc this is entirely unedited (i might edit in the future)

masterlist | tag list

read on archive of our own

It’s really unfair that when someone’s life falls apart, the world itself doesn’t. JJ thinks it should. It should be raining knives, hailing bullets, volcanoes should be exploding and the ground shaking shouldn’t be just his personal experience of reality. 

But it’s not even a moderately hot day. It’s breezy, it’s perfect, and it’s one of the nicest days of the fucking whole year. 

JJ hates it. 

The Chateau has only got John B and Kiara under its roof when he barges in, teeth gripping on the cap of a beer bottle. ‘Don’t ask,’ he states, then drops in the empty space between the two on the couch. His legs find their home on the coffee table and he nearly downs the bottle. Burps. Sighs, dramatically. 

He knows they’re exchanging glances, but he chooses to ignore it. 

Kie’s consoling hand lands on his shoulder. ‘What ha—’

‘Pope asked me to marry him,’ he says, ‘and I said no. And I also said I think it’s never going to happen.’

John B should’ve made a dumb comment. Kie should’ve made a sarcastic remark. But they didn’t, and they won’t, because JJ feels the gravity of the situation weighting down his lungs. (It feels like being torn up inside out, like his heart is chewing on itself out of anger, or sadness, or betrayal. It feels like the moment when your heart skips a beat and you think this is it, this is how I die, except you don’t; except you’re stuck in that moment forever.)

JJ burps. It chips at the silence, but it doesn’t break it. Kie’s hand on his shoulder is frozen and the distance between him and John B seems like an ocean. 

‘Yeah,’ says JJ. ‘I don’t think that was what he expected.’

A sigh comes from Kie, but he doesn’t look. ‘When was this?’

‘About twenty minutes ago. I drove straight here.’

‘Drunk?’ asks John B. 

‘Does it matter? I’m here now. Safe and sound.’ He lets out a dry chuckle before he can stop himself, and shakes his head. ‘Physically, anyway.’

‘You’re not drunk,’ says Kie. It sounds a little like a scoff, so JJ looks at her, but he can’t figure out what her face is saying. Tight lips scream anger, but her eyes are soft as ever, maybe a little concerned. She glances between him and John B with one of her eyebrows slightly raised. ‘He’s a heartbroken idiot, but not drunk.’

‘Ah. Understandable. Should I—’

‘You know what being a heartbroken idiot means.’ Kie pushes herself off the couch and when JJ glances at his other friend, John B’s just as confused as he is. ‘I know a thing or two about getting your heart broken for a dumb reason. You two sort that out, and I’ll make sure Pope’s okay. Let me know when you’ve knocked some sense into him.’

Before either of the boys manage to comprehend her words, she’s out the door. The Kie-shaped void on JJ’s left side feels a little odd, so he pushes himself into that side of the couch. The beer is bitter at the back of his throat; he wishes some music would be playing. 

John B calls his name, so JJ looks at him. He’s giving him the puppy eyes, trying to get him to talk, and it’s because neither of them really know how to start. (Their affection is physical, not verbal. Kie’s the one who’s good at that. Pope is—)

‘Did you panic?’ asks John B. 

JJ shakes his head. ‘Don’t think so. Not until after I’ve said it, anyway.’

‘So what happened?’

There’s a pause, JJ feels his brow furrow, and then: ‘I don’t know.’

‘…you don’t know?’

‘No.’

‘So you panicked.’

‘No, I didn’t, it’s—’ With a sigh, JJ accepts the momentary defeat. He glances over and sees John B’s signature stare full of indecipherable intent, but nothing less than pure kindness. They’ve had their bumps, but they always came out on top. It’s the pogue way. Even if John B wears that stupid bandanna around his neck well into his married life of his late twenties. ‘I knew the answer was no.’

It’s John B’s turn to frown. ‘You’ve thought about it?’

‘No, I just knew. Like you know the ocean is salty.’

‘You know that because you’ve tasted it before,’ counters John B. ‘I doubt you’ve been proposed to before.’

‘I could’ve been!’ 

All John B offers is a long stare yet that is enough. He’s older by only a few months, but he’s also married and didn’t say no to the proposal (granted, it was him proposing to Sarah, but still) and kind of has got his life together. He’s still JJ’s dumb older brother, but he knows something JJ doesn’t. 

‘How did you know you wanted to marry Sarah?’ 

‘Are you reconsidering your answer?’

‘No, I just—’ JJ sighs again and tries to wish another bottle into appearing in his hand. Doesn’t work. Probably for the better. He just leans his head back on the couch and stares at the ceiling, connecting the dots in his mind. ‘I don’t know what I’m doing. I just want you to tell me how you knew.’

He hears shuffling, and then feels John B’s feet in his lap. (He’s not going to comment on the boat shoes. There’s been enough deflecting. He’s got to listen, because Pope is threatening to burst into the forefront of his mind any second now.)

John B gives out the deep, heavy sigh that only comes with a slight aah whenever he’s about to tell a story. ‘When we were young, she made everything come alive. Everything looked brighter and clearer, and it was like I could finally breathe with the entirety of my lungs.’

JJ closes his eyes, trying not to gag. ‘Bro. I’m not listening to that.’

‘But that’s how I knew!’ He could just hear the grouch in his friend’s voice and now he’s threading the fine line between laughing and gagging. ‘Seriously, JJ, you asked. I don’t— I don’t know what to say. I don’t think you’re taking this seriously enough.’

‘I am.’

‘No, you’re not. You’re deflecting.’

‘Big word.’

‘See?’ John B scrunches his nose, shaking his head. His thumb and index finger grip the bridge of his nose. ‘I know you’re confused. And scared. I know you panicked when Pope asked, but I don’t think you understand how horrible is the thing you’ve done.’

‘It’s not like I broke his heart,’ scoffs JJ, but the words are flat and his heart skips another beat. He doesn’t need to look at John B to knows he’s got his head in his hands. ‘C’mon, it’s Pope. He’s tougher than he looks.’

‘Yes, but he proposed, JJ. He asked to spend the rest of his life with you and you said no!’

‘I didn’t say no to that!’ JJ flings himself off the couch and now he’s pacing around the living room of the Chateau, marching circles around the coffee table. His forehead is pulsating; he’s probably having a heart attack. That’d explain a lot. ‘I said no to getting married.’

‘That’s the same thing.’

‘It isn’t.’

‘It is.’

‘It really isn’t, John B,’ he spits out. Christ, he’s getting hot. Is that his blood boiling? ‘Marriage is… It’s taxes. It’s prenups. It’s joint bank accounts, it’s added tension, it’s fucked up. Half of the marriages don’t even last.’

(Pope’s always talked about getting married. When gay marriage was legalised, before they were together, before they were out of the closet, even then he was openly delighted about it. He’s been talking about the two of them getting married for a while now, or at least hinting at it. 

He should’ve expected it. It didn’t come out of the blue. He saw the signs, just ignored them, because… because…)

‘If you’re scared marriage is going to ruin your relationship, JJ, I’ll have you know you’ve already done that yourself.’ 

This is about the point where everything just… It comes crashing down. The world does end the way JJ wanted it to. 

He feels himself growing very, very still, like when he was younger and his father raised a hand. He feels his breath halting in his throat and ears tuning out all sound, repeating John B’s words over and over until the echo became the echo of itself. He could feel the ground opening beneath him despite not moving an inch. 

When gravity drags you down to earth, your rose-tinted glasses shatter like porcelain. 

He sees Pope’s face of shock, then laughter, then embarrassment and betrayal at once, once he’s realised JJ isn’t joking. He sees him get up from his knees, hands shaking as JJ fumbles over his words, unable to find an explanation or an excuse. He feels cold sweat breaking out on his forehead, blood turning to ice in his hands. He sees his mum leaving, his dad’s hand raised; he sees people arguing and JJ wants to cover his ears. He sees himself, alone, alone, alone. 

And he sees Pope turning his back to him. Quietly. He doesn’t even argue back. Just takes the no and i’m sorry, i can’t do this, it’s never going to happen, not like this and doesn’t say a word. Just walks away. 

It’d be easier if he screamed at JJ. At least he’d know how to deal with that. 

Pope’s heartbreak is the quiet kind, the one that doesn’t ask for attention, just the opposite. Usually JJ’s there to hold his hand, to sit by his side until Pope’s ready to talk about it, or be somewhere around, far enough so that Pope deals with things himself, but close enough so that he’s there if he’s needed. He’s never been the reason for the quiet. 

Fire replaces the ice. JJ feels like the sun itself is tearing him open. 

‘Shit,’ he says. ‘Fuck.’ Then raises his eyes until he meets John B’s, blurry and barely visible. ‘I fucked up.’

He doesn’t realise he’s shaking until his knees buckle under his weight and he stumbles to find his footing. John B shoots from the couch and pulls him into a hug, wrapping his arms around him so tight JJ couldn’t have escaped if he wanted to. He didn’t. He wanted to be held, even if by a friend. 

He doesn’t sob because the sob gets caught in his throat, too, but he lets out a cough that says all the same. ‘It would’ve been easier if you yelled at me.’

‘I know.’ John B pats his back, letting JJ rest his weight unto him. ‘Pope will understand. That’s why Kie went to talk to him. As long as you realise you’re hurting everyone by being an idiot, you can make it better.’

‘I thought—’ He stops, because his words get fumbled again, and now he’s pressing his eyes into his friend’s shoulder like he’s all he’s got. ‘I don’t want to hurt anyone again.’

‘You’re not going to, okay? Just… Marriage is not all taxes, and you gotta understand that. It’s about knowing that if they get hurt, you’ll be allowed to see them. That you can get a house together, that you can look after each other if something goes wrong. That what you have is there to stay. Think of it as a promise.’

JJ snorts, but he doesn’t let go. ‘I don’t do well with people promising things to me.’

‘Then promise it to yourself,’ counters John B. The way he puts it makes it sound it’s as easy as breathing – JJ wishes he could feel the same. ‘Promise to stay with him. Promise to be around if something bad happens, but if something good happens, too. That’s what marriage is.’

‘I already promised that,’ he says. ‘His future and mine are the same.’

‘Then what’s the problem? Marriage is just making it legal. Making it formal. When what you have is honest and true, it doesn’t change anything. It just makes things better.’

JJ pulls out, feeling confident he can stand on his own two feet. He still feels a little lightheaded, but the thought of Pope possibly thinking that spending the rest of their lives together is the last thing JJ would want… That is the last thing JJ would want. Pope hurting because of him. 

JJ can’t afford to be scared anymore; living a life half-way ready to run is not living. 

He checks his phone; it must’ve chimed at some point because there’s texts from Kie, telling him where she is with Pope. His heart skips another beat, and at this point he thinks he could have enough heartbeats for a whole new person just from the ones he missed. 

He’s not dying today. He’s not dying before he gets to live the future he’s almost ripped out of his own hands. 

When he looks up at John B, he feels the hint of a weary smile on his lips. ‘I think I’ve got a promise to make.’

—

It shouldn’t be a surprise JJ finds them at the Boneyard, yet it’s still quite odd to see the scenario he’s seen a million times – Kie sitting next to the sea with her feet dipped into water as her fingers splash at the waves just about reaching her, and Pope… Pope sitting on the half-dunked log that’s been here forever, with his feet bare but not quite touching the water. His head is hung low and JJ can see the strain in his shoulders even from halfway across the beach; the cap is sitting on his lap, unused, despite the sun high above their heads. 

The sight tugs at his heart and he falters in his step, but John B’s firm hand on his back encourages him forward. JJ gives a slight nod; he’s not giving up on the courage. 

It’s Pope who notices them first and he stiffens even more; JJ sees Kie pat his knee before turning around and waving at them, then saying something to Pope. JJ wishes the wind would carry her words to him – is it encouragement or telling Pope he’s better off without someone who panics and refuses the one thing they’ve always longed for?

‘Don’t.’ John B pats him on the back. ‘I see you doing your dumb thought thing.’

JJ opens his mouth to say something, but whatever it was that he meant to say, it’s gone forever. All he can do is try and keep his shoulders from slumping and hands from forming fists; he can’t allow himself to be angry at the world, or himself. 

The sand creaks underneath his feet. He hates it in this moment, because it makes him aware of every step he’s got to take to get to Pope, and the steps drag into eternity. 

Pope locks their eyes. JJ tries figuring him out, but he’s too far, and Pope’s too guarded. 

(Not against me, Pope. Please. Not against me.)

When they get there, JJ feels like fainting, but he sets his foot firmly on the ground. He’s not escaping. 

‘Hey,’ greets Kie, and John B returns the greeting. The feuded lovers stay silent, just taking each other in. 

(JJ always wished he could paint. The lines of Pope’s face are shaped as if they were meant to withstand centuries instead of being washed away with age. He wishes he could offer to Pope more than just… himself.

He’s talked about this with Pope before, though. Feeling inferior to his boyfriend was always going to be JJ’s Achilles’ heel, yet he didn’t think it would come to this. He made another promise, ages ago – to try to see himself the way Pope sees him. The way other people see him. 

To believe in himself the way he believes in other people, for once.)

The silence is heavy, but JJ forces himself to not see it that way. Instead, he looks over to Kie, to John B, and says: ‘Can you guys give us a second?’

There’s nods and then they’re off, with nothing between the couple aside from waves crashing into the shore. Pope’s head is hung and shoulders slumped, and he’s sitting on this log with one foot pulled up and resting on it, the other hanging in the water now. JJ’s fingers ache to reach across for his, but he tells himself it’s not the time. 

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘Marriage scares me. I don’t know one that worked out, aside from John B and Sarah. I was raised to be on my own. Marriage means not being alone and that scared me, until I realised that… I haven’t been alone for a while now. The pogues, you… Nobody’s going anywhere. And if marriage is just a way to promise to you that I’m not going anywhere, either, and if it means so much to you, then I say let’s do it. I got scared, but never for a second did a life without you cross my mind. It’s — That’s my nightmare, Pope. Your future and mine are the same. Where you go, I follow. That’s the way things are.’

For a long time, it was JJ trying to come to terms with loving Pope – then it was Pope coming to terms with loving JJ. They’ve always loved each other, in a way, without quite saying it. It has never been the kind of love that is shouted from the rooftops – it’s the helping hand, the whispers of i got this, or you’re not alone in this, or i wish you could see yourself the way i see you. It’s the kind of love that’s etched into the air around them, existing as a part of themselves rather than something external. They’ve grown into it, shaped their lives around it.

It’s always been the beach for them. Their first kiss when they were seventeen, their first fight, their first promise to stick together through thick and thin. Every time something happened, something that mattered, etched itself into the back of JJ’s mind like the sound of his mother’s voice, it was always accompanied by the sound of waves on the shore; by the wind howling over the bay. It was always people chatting in the distance, or some music playing from a half-working speaker. It was always them, in the midst of other people’s lives. 

Pope proposed in their flat. 

When JJ drops to his knees, he doesn’t do his dumb thought thing. He doesn’t even think about it – for once, his gut isn’t telling him to run, but stay. ‘Pope Heyward.’

‘JJ—’

‘Can you let me do this?’ asks JJ. He laughs a little, shakes his head, and tries not to think about how ridiculous this looks. ‘I know I already had a monologue, but I don’t think I got my point across.’

Pope shakes his head, too; he isn’t smiling, but his eyes aren’t as strained anymore. ‘It’s okay, you don’t have to—’

‘I want to. I want this, okay? I want you to hear it.’

He can see Pope’s Adam’s apple bob, and he can see his shoulders slump in a relaxed way. The lines around his eyes soften and his lips nearly turn upwards, just a little bit. A little twitch is enough to shoot electricity to JJ’s heart. 

‘Pope, I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life saying it to you. You’re my best friend, my boyfriend, and my fiancee, if you’ll have me after the shit I pulled today. Husband, then. Father of your children, because I know it’s what you’ve always wanted, and I want it, too. Whatever you’ll be, I’ll be by your side. It’s all I want. No matter what our status is, we’re always Pope and JJ. We’re always just us. And I really haven’t thought out what I’d say next because—’

Pope’s lips crash into JJ’s, his hands grasping at JJ’s face, and world pulls itself together again. When they part their foreheads lean against one another, and he can feel Pope’s breath on his lips, and he feels his hands burning on the small of Pope’s back, and he can breathe and breathe and breathe like his lungs have never worked properly before. 

(He understands John B now. Not like he’d ever admit it to him.)

He lets out a chuckle, and then he’s kissing Pope again – a small, chaste kiss, just to feel the softness of the touch. His fingers grip the back of Pope’s flannel and he’s laughing into the kiss. 

‘You’re an idiot,’ says Pope. ‘I should break up with you.’

‘Can’t. I’m too irresistible.’

‘Shut up. You’re cheesy. That entire speech would put John B to shame.’ 

JJ shakes his head again and then his thumb is tracing the line of Pope’s jaw, eyes transfixed by his lips. He almost lost this. He almost gave up everything out of fear after promising to never doing it again. (He’s making a vow, this time. It holds more weight.) ‘You loved that speech.’

Pope rolls his eyes, in the way that tells JJ he’s right. ‘Kie told me you were freaking out at the Chateau.’

‘I was,’ admits JJ. What’s the point of holding back the truth? ‘I was freaked out of my mind. I thought I’d ruined everything.’

‘You forget how well I know you, JJ. I was hurt, but I knew you would come back. Old you would run, but Kie came and said you’re at the Chateau, and you wouldn’t have gone there if you meant to run.’

‘I couldn’t ever run from you.’

‘You better.’

JJ rolls his eyes at the teasing tone in Pope’s voice, then pulls him in for a hug. It’s not long until Pope buries his face in JJ’s shoulder, and JJ kisses the side of his head. ‘I do want to marry you, if you’ll have me.’

There’s a pause and JJ feels Pope chuckle against his neck, shivering a little. ‘What is it that you said? My future and yours are the same? That better be in your vows, John B.’

‘Shut up.’ JJ feels himself burning, neck up this time, and tries to laugh it off. ‘I get to be cheesy once.’

‘Just save it for the wedding. I’d like to hear it again.’

JJ angles his body so there’s some space between them; he doesn’t hesitate before planting another kiss on Pope’s lips, reveling in the ease of movement. This is what coming home feels like, and if this is what future has in store for him, who is he to complain?

[a-driftamongopenstars]

blackwall x inquisitor; Blasphemous (rated E)

title: Blasphemous (also on ao3) Blackwall x f!Inquisitor, pwp, angst and feels and love. explicit!

“Don’t let go,” she whispers, her fingers grasping through the strands of his hair. And he clings to her, unable to move away, able only to keep taking.

She came to him in the middle of the night. Blackwall was not asleep yet, wistfully looking out of the window towards the moons, the grayscale clouds, the peaks of Skyhold that stood tall above all of the world.

And there was she. The Inquisitor. The leader, their spirit and soul. And he was desperately in love with her, shaming himself for the throbs of his heart for someone so high above his station and conscience.

The kiss they shared in her quarter still carried a feeling of a feverish dream. He wondered if it happened at all, but Inquisitor’s lips and their taste, their plump look could never truly leave his memory.

But after that, nothing happened… yet.

She stood in front of the closed doors, and the room of the barn felt small. Blackwall felt air deprived, and his chest heaved faster in betrayal of his anxiety.

“I’m sorry, this is so late,” she said, but she didn’t turn to leave. Stood there, so small and down-to-earth, and not many got to see the Inquisitor like that. She was a majestic figure, and all would have to look up to her. Even close friends were at a distance, never able to reach her of their own volition. Blackwall wanted to know, to get in her mind and wonder if she hated it or loved it.

Blackwall didn’t consider himself an exception, he worshipped everything she stood for. And having her so close, below his eye level, it made him feel unworthy.

“My lady?” he asked quietly.

“It might not be wise, but I never claimed to be that,” she said, stepping forward. Her hands were slightly shaking, as if she couldn’t find where to put them. He blindly reached forward, it happened before he knew it, but his hands guided hers to his chest. And she followed pliantly. “But I need you.”

“I am yours, my Lady,” he whispered, kissing her hands, letting himself forget all about who they were. He was already drunken on her, the calloused fingertips from the bow string and the smell of delicate perfume on her wrists. He kissed her fingers and steadied the tremble of her hands until she was calmer.

Blackwall looked in her eyes and was met with haze. Her usually pale cheeks were reddened, warm. He wondered for a moment if it was not a blasphemy to want her so badly, to want to do things with her that already made him hard between legs. She was here with a purpose, that much was clear, and he wanted to meet that purpose.

“Are you sure?” he asked, drawing her closer by the waist.

“I’ve never been more certain before,” she gasped, as her arms wound around his neck, and they kissed.

It was a much different kiss from the one they’ve shared before. She was needy and wanting, and her tongue invited Blackwall to take over. So he did, letting her rest in the circle of his arms, while he undid her mouth with intensity. She moaned, and he thought his knees would buckle at the sound of her voice in such a desperation.

Blackwall couldn’t wait any longer.

He drew clothes from her, dragging fabric against her delicate skin. He didn’t let an inch of her body stay untouched and cold, caressing it in the ways he knew best. His fingers curled and kneaded at her sides, at her buttocks, at her waist. Inquisitor was lean, athletic, but fragile in allowing him to explore her body. He dared not touch her between her legs yet, but his fingertips teased at her inner thighs, and he felt the trembling that made him see white.

Her fingers fumbled at the hems of his clothes, but he guided her fingers away. Blackwall wanted the roughness of his coat against her skin, he wanted the buckles brush and scrape, cold metal against her hot body.

And to his shame, he couldn’t let her see his body, as if his own wrongdoings were written over and over the muscle and softness. He feared that she would ask about the scars, he feared she would see through him with her inquisitive gaze.

But she yielded, pressing against him with need, stepping out of the mess of her clothes, barefooted. Rendered speechless with want.

Blackwall looked in her eyes, fingers holding her chin in position. There was seriousness in his gaze, one that he wanted her to see clearly.

“Tell me what you want,” he growled, holding her shoulder, his hand almost curled at her nape. Her black hair fell down in soft cascades, tickled his knuckles.

“I want you… I want you. Blackwall, don’t hold back.”

The fog in her wanting eyes was so clear to him. The parted lips that let out hot air made his blood boil with need. He knew what she wanted from the way she clung, from the way she allowed him to handle her. It was all too clear that she would have said “no” if there was one to be had.

But she moaned “yes” when he finally pressed her down to the cot and slipped a finger inside her.

She was ready for more than a finger. He moved his hand, fucking her slightly, testing how much she could take. Inquisitor was a sensitive woman and writhed as he kept at it, but she could take more as he learnt, pressing his finger against her clit.

“Blackwall,” she moaned again, and the sound of his name in her mouth intoxicated him. It gave him surety, made him bold. If someone so hallowed could make his name sound that way, perhaps, he could allow himself to feel forgiven for just one night.

He moved his finger faster, holding her down with the other hand, feeling the temperature of her blood rise against his palm as she writhed and whimpered. He loved watching her face, bitten lip and fevered eyes rolling as he set the rhythm. He wanted her on the verge, he wanted to deny her to make it stronger.

“Please, I need you,” she begged, and he listened.

He guided her hands at her breasts, and though she was surprised first, she followed the lead, touching herself in such a manner that pleased her and pleased his gaze. She worked her fingers into softness that made him burn with want for her, and for a moment he forgot what he planned on doing.

She whined again, and Blackwall moved. He spread her legs wider, quickly pushed down his trousers and decisively wrapped his hand around his cock, stroking fast and certain. Relief washed over him momentarily, replaced by need that hardened him. He didn’t want to wait any longer. He was done waiting. She was done waiting.

He moved, thrusting inside her as deep as he could allow himself to go not to hurt her. She moaned like a wild creature, and he matched her with a low growl.

Heavy, weighted, he settled on top of her and kept taking, setting a pace that had them both drenched in want. The sound was sloppy, the metal of his buckles tinkled, and her moans matched the quiet creak of the cot beneath her. She still held her breasts, fingers tight as she enjoyed Blackwall, so freely and so passionately. He couldn’t stop being drunken on her want of him, on the feeling of her around his cock, and it kept him going a while.

Blackwall could tell she was nearing her tipping point. It was in the throbs of her, in the whines from her red mouth, in her eyes that rounded and begged with a needy gaze.

“Please,” she whispered, and he watched in surprise as she pressed her face against his arm where he steadied himself on the cot. She sought his hand, and he moved it, silencing her mouth with his palm.

Perhaps, this was meant to be his tipping point, too, as he felt her wet breath against his palm, as she moaned, coming, and he came too, pulling out in the last moment and shaking in the strength of his and her orgasm.

The clarity of mind came slowly through a heavy haze. He felt like a blasphemous believer, cradling the Inquisitor in his arms, helping her through her pleasure as it simmered.

Yet she was a woman, just a woman, the better person of them both and someone vulnerable. She allowed him to wash his love all over her, she allowed him to see her at her deepest desireful point. He didn’t know how else to treasure her trust and love, but to hold her.

She clung to him, embraced him with her long narrow limbs, and he trusted himself to fall into her warmth.

Conversations will come tomorrow. For the rest of the night, Blackwall realised they could simply be. Together.

[ddarker-dreams]

New Oath. Yan Dabi x Reader [COMM]

warnings: isolation, food mention, unhealthy relationships, implied not sfw, not sfw dialogue and beginning of stockholm syndrome.   word count: 3k.

It feels easier to live a life without regrets.

To know that every opportunity that presents itself had been taken, is a justification that you maintain to keep your sanity intact. This life that you’ve been forced to live -- one that has clipped your wings -- denying all forms of freedom. Every aspect of the day revolves around survival, nothing else. You’ve tried different methods of overcoming with varying results. The most prominent being escape, or working towards one. 

No person was meant to be secluded in an environment like this. Not even taking into account that lack of socialization that’d be enough to drive anyone mad, but the one person you get to speak to is a pain in his own right. Speaking to a brick wall is more inviting a concept than holding a conversation with Dabi. At least a brick wall remains quiet, not trying to provoke you for a reaction. You don’t know how much longer you can maintain your cool around him.

Looking from the decaying state of the ceiling to the walls around you, which are in even worse condition. This apartment building is definitely violating some building codes. Cheap paint peels off the wall from the slightest humidity, the ceiling fan creaks with every pained turn, and the lone light bulb in the room has been prone to flicker. While you aren’t sure what Dabi’s salary might be, you infer it must be enough to live in a place better than this. A semi abandoned apartment complex with dogs barking at unholy hours of the morning, and sirens going off just as often. If you were to guess on why he chose such a seedy residence, it’s because of the advantages it brings. Any screams for help will go ignored here, as they’re commonplace. 

You’ve had lots of time to reflect. It feels like the world is against you, nothing ever going according to plan. The hours spent revising and considering every variable were for naught in the end. It felt like for each step forward, Dabi would be another two paces ahead. You had considered the fire escape, only to find the bars singed. The windows were a no go, having been fastened so tightly a tool set is necessary to undo the screws. He thought of everything when he decided to hold you captive. This might be enough to drive anyone to the brinks of despair, but not you. You continue preparing, looking for an opening, and acting accordingly. 

You don’t want to lose to someone like him.

Dabi is human, and humans are fallible. One day, in the near future, he might make a mistake. Forget to lock one of the many latches on the door, or ignore a hole in the wall that could soon crumble to sweet freedom. You tell yourself this, not sure if you even fully believe it anymore. You long to have that hope. The hope that this nightmare may yet come to a favorable ending, that you could pry your life back from his vice like grip. Even if it meant breaking your own moral code, resorting to the lowest of tactics… what he had done to you is far worse. This is the drive that drove you to strategize for weeks on end.

Just to fail, like all the times before.

Your lift your arms, grimacing at the sensation of cold metal around your wrists. The punishment for your latest transgressions against Dabi. Everything had been going so well -- too well, now that you’ve had time to think on it -- only to blow up on your face. Weeks of batting your eyelashes at him, playing the role of a perfect, enamored partner went down the drain in a flash. You click your tongue, recalling with disdain how smug he had looked. That’s what got to you the most. Getting underneath your skin and festering with all your other negative feelings for him. 

He knew what you were planning, for god knows how long, and just wanted to see how much you could pull off. Treating it like a mere game. Dabi let you taste coveted freedom, observing from the shadows with intrigue. When your feet had hit the ground, everything felt right with the world once again. You had been held prisoner to the four walls of Dabi’s apartment for what must’ve been months, each day more miserable than the last. You remember the fresh air that swelled into your lungs. The rush of adrenaline that had every nerve on high alert. How your eyes had stung, and threatened to spill over with tears of joy. Nothing could compare to the high from that moment.

It wasn’t a lovely area. At the time, you had still been situated in an alleyway; surrounded by animal carcasses and unsavory items. None of that had mattered at the time. All that mattered is that you could run, far away from his condescending words and threatening presence. You could finally run back to the life that was stolen from you. A supposed light at the end of the tunnel. Nothing in life is that easy, you think in the present. Nothing that involves Dabi is that easy.

There had been a feeling in you gut that eyes were following your every movement. A premonition that came true, and horror in the flesh made his appearance. He had clapped, and expressed how impressed he was with your valiant plan. Dabi cooed at how adorable the sight was, that he had watched you scramble to get everything done in secret. He complimented you on the tact necessary to pull it off. Then his demeanor changed, to something far too sinister to be human. Maybe it was betrayal, or offense at the audacity displayed in going behind his back. Whatever it was that clouded his eyes, you pray you never have to see it again.

Which leads you to the present. 

What you wouldn’t give for some pain killers, even over the counter would do. Anything to dull this pain in your back from sleeping on a spring mattress for days on end. Even this was a luxury that you had to earn through demeaning acts. When Dabi first threw you in this grimy room, the concrete floor was all that you had to sleep on. Through some coquettish speech and unbuckling of pants, you had earned this mattress on which you currently sits. You never thought you’d be missing the dingy, shared bedroom with Dabi until it was taken from you and replaced with something worse. There’s no way of knowing for certain how much longer this punishment will last. From the lack of windows in this room, you can’t even know the time that has passed since the punishment began. It can’t be more than a few days, you thinks. How much longer will you be held here…?

Eyelashes flutter shut, figuring that sleep is a solid way to pass the time. There’s nothing to do until Dabi decides to make an appearance. Gauging from how hungry you’re feeling, it’s been around five or six hours since he last showed up, bringing food with him. Your attempt at sleep is interrupted at the distinct sound of footsteps approaching. So your guess was on the mark. You listens carefully, no detail to be overlooked. There’s a click from unlocking. Then four more after it. So he’s placed that many locks on the door? Seeing as you’re not even able to move an inch with these restraints, you find the precautions excessive. Not even a master escape artist could get out of this. It’s nice to know he thinks you so resourceful.

Faint light shines in your room as the door screeches open, revealing your captor. In his scarred hands is a bag of takeout. He offers a nod of the head in acknowledgement to you, shutting the door behind him. It’s impossible for you to ignore the quickening of your pulse in his presence. You collect yourself to the best of your ability, face remaining composed. Will he make another lascivious offer in exchange for more comforts? The fear of the unknown is like a shadow in the night, creeping over and devouring you. There’s no telling what Dabi might do or say. It’s a constant guessing game. You square your shoulders, making a point of looking Dabi in the eye. Maintaining eye contact is a sign of strength.

“What? No thank you for your knight in shining armor?” Dabi inquires, tilting his head. His voice holds a playful lilt that almost makes you roll your eyes. He’s enjoying every second of this. 

“That’s not the role I’d associate with you.” You respond with a dismissive shrug. The two of you always banter like this, seeing who will crack first under the immense pressure. You have found yourself getting used to these encounters. At first, you didn’t find it wise to possibly earn the wrath of your captor with snark, but those feelings have since changed. Now that you’re more familiar with Dabi, the words flow from your tongue with ease. He never makes a point of stopping the behavior. There’s a tension in the air whenever you’re in a room together, that Dabi always instigates. You’re only returning his own energy.

“I was thinking,” he starts with a sharp inhale, taking a seat in front of you on the ground. “You seemed so willing to do what I asked last time. Why not always keep that attitude up, sugar?” 

You raise an eyebrow at the implication of his words. “That depends on you. What’s in it for me?” 

“Oh, I dunno. Maybe getting out of this shithole? Not that you seemed to like my other place much better,” he motions to the derelict room around you to emphasize his point. “Still beats this dump. How ‘bout it?” 

It’s like you predicted. After Dabi got a better taste of you, he can’t help but want to come back for more. You can’t deny the thrill that comes with hooking up with him. There’s a semblance of control, knowing that you can hold something over him. He could theoretically take whatever he desires, yet prefers you give yourself to him willingly, for whatever convoluted reason. It’s difficult to deny the satisfaction from your previous rendezvous. One of the first things Dabi explained to you was that life would be so much easier for the both of you with your compliance. Resentment and pride were roadblocks to this initially. Now you’ve grown weary of all the games and hiding. The sparks of resistance have been methodically snuffed out, and all you want now is a little solace. 

Your reply comes as a surprisingly fast response to you both. “Sounds like a deal. After I eat though.” 

Dabi wasn’t expecting you to be this easy, not after the stunts you’ve pulled. His eyes search, scrutinizing your schooled expression for something hidden beneath the surface. You’re met with distrust, despite him being the one who made the suggestion in the first place. Having sex on an empty stomach doesn’t sound like the best idea. If that’s what it takes to get out of this room, then you’ll  do it. You’ve been waiting for the offer. It doesn’t make you as sick to your stomach as you thought it would, knowing the prize that’ll await after it’s all said and done. Life is a game of adapting, and you’re playing by those rules. The rules that Dabi himself established.

You break the silence yourself, hunger making you impatient. “You did offer me this food, right?” 

“You’re a sharp one, princess. I picked it out for you myself. Hope you like Chinese.” 

He reaches into the bag, shuffling around for the takeout containers. The scent of fried noodles, rice, and chicken fills the air, which piques your attention. It’s by all means a simple meal, and you couldn’t be happier. When you’re as hungry as you are, it might as well be a gourmet buffet. Dabi himself admitted to not being the best chef, so most of your meals have consisted of this quality. Or, on the occasion, he’d let you cook. Partaking in one of your hobbies is a nice distraction that he makes you work for. He’s always such a pain in the ass...

Dabi fiddles with the key ring in his pocket. Looking you in the eye, he gives a sly smile. “You wouldn’t do anything stupid, would you?” 

You look down at your restraints, a result of doing just that. “Me? I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

“Mm. Let’s hope so. Would hate for you to make me think up yet another punishment.” 

You don’t want to give him the fearful reaction he’s longing for, opting on maintaining your current visage. Lips pursing together, eyes indifferent, and nose upturned to him. Dabi works through the various locks, the shackles falling to the ground as he unlocks each one. He suddenly takes on a more apathetic air. You know better than to take this at a surface level, feeling him observing your every movement. Anything that could be mistaken as a sign of resistance. You decide to act as natural as possible, to mitigate the suspicion. Really, what does he think you’re going to do? Stab him with the plastic fork this meal comes with? A few months ago, you may have given that a shot, but things feel different now. All you’re interested in is regaining your strength. The first step to that is getting rid of this gnawing hunger. 

There are indents in your wrist from where the shackles were. You stretch the sore muscles, and proceed to go for the food.

“Thanks for the food.” You offers a closed mouth smile, using your now freed hands to open up the boxes. You waste no time indulging in the meal. The grin that you’ve grown accustomed to seeing on Dabi’s face is no longer in sight, replaced by thinly veiled distrust. This conversation is oddly normal. A stark contrast to the extreme circumstance, at least enough to perturb him. What makes him on edge or not is none of your concern. You’re complying, as he’s demanded numerous times. Shouldn’t he be over the moon, if anything? To finally get what he wanted, after months of poking and prodding, a subservient version of yourself. Dabi’s the one who molded you into this shape of his own design.

He props up his chin on his knee, watching you devour the meal. “I wasn’t expecting this room to be what did ya in.” 

You swallow a bite of orange chicken, wiping at your mouth with the back of your hand. You don’t want to entertain Dabi in conversation right now. It takes too much brainpower to keep up with him, Dabi always trying to get you to trip over your words. Ignoring him isn’t one of the cards at your disposal, so you give what you hope to be a satisfactory response.

“If it’s of any comfort, it wasn’t just the room.” 

Dabi hums, keen on gaining more information. “Would you be so sweet as to fill me in?” 

“It’s nothing that interesting. I had lots of time to think, or reflect to be more exact. You said it best. What was it again… something among the lines of, the day I decide to be a ‘good girl’, life will be easier,” you reach for a box of rice next, Dabi handing it to you when it’s too far away. “So, this is me doing that. A novel idea, I know.” 

He can’t help but agree with the statement. “You said it best.” 

Dabi’s budding curiosity must’ve been sated by your word, as he now lets you eat in relative peace. The gears in both your minds are turning. Trying to predict what the other may or may not do. It’s a tedious dance, you having a lot more to lose than him. This is what makes it an uneven match up, Dabi capable of exercising far more power over you, even without putting it on display. You’ve seen enough little details to be wary of him. How the news stories in the morning speak of victims burnt to ash, the occasional spots of blood on his jackets, and suspicious material from his shoes. Whenever you’ve worked up the courage to inquire on the origins of it, he’d offer an unsettling smile and ask if you really want to know. 

Ignorance is bliss. Months of isolation, suffering, and cruelty have left you in a state of latching onto any consolation available. It’s a bittersweet idea that your tormentor is what doubles as an essential distraction. When you’re in a heated embrace with him, bodies sweaty and head in disarray, the rest of the world melts away. As if it never existed in the first place. You can forget about your own loneliness, the tears that would normally stain your cheeks that time of night, and the burning resentment for the one on top. Every touch erases a pain, even if it’s for a moment. Giving into the desires of the flesh has never felt so good. 

“Looks like you’re almost done, babe.” Dabi comments with a wolf-like grin. He crawls towards you, uncaring of the lousy conditions of the room. His hand grasps your cheek, massaging the skin, and moving down to your lips. The coarse pad of his thumb rubs circles into your bottom lip, looking down at you through lidded eyes. If you’re going to let him take what he wants, he couldn’t be happier. The possible ramifications will be considered later. For the time being, he wants to feel you underneath him, months of pent up lust finally gaining an outlet. 

“You shouldn’t be the impatient one,” you can’t help but remark, shivering underneath his touch. “I’m the one who has been locked in a room for days.” 

“You’ve got it all wrong. I've just missed you oh so dearly,” Dabi coos into your ear. His lips part to place open mouth kisses over your bare neck, hands starting to feel you up. “From how you’re responding, it looks like you’ve missed me too. How precious.” 

“Keep dreaming, Dabi.” 

“I don’t have to anymore, now that I can fuck you as much as I want.” 

[literaryfic]

Chapters: 1/?
 Fandom: 빈센조 | Vincenzo (TV) 
Rating: Explicit
 Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Relationships: Vincenzo Cassano | Park Joo Hyeong/Hong Cha Young
Characters: Hong Cha Young, Vincenzo Cassano | Park Joo Hyeong
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Italian Mafia, (i know nothing about the mafia so this will be very inaccurate!!!), basically vincenzo & cha-young being mafia bosses in italy


Summary: When Vincenzo Cassano came back to Italy, no one expected to see someone by his side. Or how Cha-young and Vincenzo became the head of the Cassano family. a mafia couple au inspired by a discussion with @ourgalaxybangtan @ghostrights & @whovie-reloaded

  Vincenzo had been handling most of the family business since their adoptive father’s health had started to decline. As the consigliere of the Cassano family, he was Fabio’s most trusted man, his advisor, his lawyer but also his second-in-command.

It hadn’t been easy, all these years, to climb the ladder. He wasn’t a native, he wasn’t blood, and so not many people had welcomed him at first. That’s why he had to become ruthless, so that no one could deny his authority or even dare to try. He had killed and tortured many men, broken their minds and their bones, burned their flesh and cut off their limbs, ashes and screams trailing behind him. If he wasn’t proud of the blood on his hands, he was at least proud of his work. All the hours he’d spent training, fighting, preparing, scheming, studying, all his efforts to erase Park Joo-hyung from the face of earth had paid off. The scared, weak little kid was gone, buried with all his other victims. ‘An eye for an eye, and then some’, Vincenzo lived by that, and he would stop at nothing except killing the innocent. There was no doubt he was the best at what he did and anyone who did not respect him feared him enough to not threaten him. His success was the Cassano family’s success, yet he knew that members of his own clan would not hesitate to have him killed if they could. Two clear factions had formed in the past five years, those who supported Vincenzo as the next head of the family, and those who supported Paolo, his brother. Paolo and Vincenzo had never gotten along, and Paolo’s inferiority complex and jealousy grew deeper every time his older brother had to clean up after one of his rushed job. Paolo had a particular taste for violence. Whereas Vincenzo killed and tortured because he had to, Paolo got a kick out of hurting others, be it children, women or elders. He loved to assert his dominance, to feel almighty. Vincenzo didn’t think himself much better than him, (regardless of the reasons behind his murders, he’d probably killed way more than him), but he wanted Paolo to be punished for his sins. It was only a matter of time before some influential family members whispered plans of assassination and of ‘restoring the rightful heir’ into his ear. Paolo was an angry, frustrated man who wasn’t particularly good at his job, an easy puppet to control. He’d been watching them carefully but he knew that as long as his father was alive, no one would dare to touch him. Back then he had thought he would take care of them when it came to it, become the head of his family, and continue to rule the underworld. Then, the incident happened and everything changed. He hadn’t been able to sleep for weeks, his victims’ screams haunting his dreams. He started avoiding mirrors, his reflection taunting him. He barely ate anymore, and Fabio had reminded him to get a grip. So he had done just that. He drank himself to sleep or took sleeping pills, and he went on. He knew, however, that he could not go on like this much longer. He had to get out before he buried himself next to Park Joo-hyung and all the others whose lives he’d taken. He’d started to plan his escape secretly. He would wait until his father died, staying loyal to him as long as he was alive. When the time came, he knew Paolo would try to kill him. The power struggle between them would start as soon as the head of the family would die, but instead of destroying his opponents, Vincenzo would seize the opportunity to leave. He would go back to South Korea, get the gold and leave to an island, where he would spend the rest of his days. The death of his previous Chinese client was perfect timing. As expected, Fabio, his boss and adoptive father, had named him the next head of the family in his will. It came to no surprise to most members, but murmurs spread quickly, “Can you imagine? A foreigner, as the head of our family? What has the world become?”. After wrapping things up in Italy, Vincenzo promised himself to never return, throwing away the key to the graveyard of his sins. …. There’s no going back from this, he thinks. Vincenzo is still holding Cha-young’s face, unable to look away from her lips, still wet from the kiss. Her pink cheeks, her smeared lipstick, the freckles under her fondation. Her. Hong Cha-young. His heart is soaring in his chest, all the emotions he had desperately tried to silence erupting all at once. There was no point in denying it, he had fallen in love with her. All he could do now was break his own heart, hoping it would heal. …. He realises he can’t live without her after she gets injured. They’re trying to get more information on Jang Han-seok’s paper company, and this time they’re trying to prove that some of the transactions made to European bank accounts were bribes. They’re breaking into none other than the Minister of Economy and Finance, Cha Do-won’s house. Miri had made sure to deactivate the security system and cameras, and Vincenzo was in charge of securing the place while Cha-young searched for the secret ledger the Minister kept hidden in his office. Cha Do-won was making a speech right now, and they had assumed most of his personal security would be with him. Vincenzo had quickly incapacitated the few men around the house and Cha-young looked for the ledger. After a few minutes, she found a hidden drawer in his desk. There it was, a thick documents labelled 'Accounts’. Subtlety wasn’t one of his strong points, apparently. They were about to leave when suddenly, a dozen men started to raid the place. Vincenzo fought them off as best as he could, and he was grateful that Mr. Lee barged in to help. They thought they had them all beat, and so Vincenzo made a mistake. He turned his back to the door to look for Cha-young, who he thought was behind him. “Vincenzo!”, he heard her shout his name. He sees her across the room, about to get struck by a man. He rushes to her and knocks him out quick enough. “Oh my God”, she says, “Did you see that? I almost died! He had a knife as well, and I dodged it, and then I ran—”. She keeps rambling while they get out of the house and into their car, clearly in shock. She’s getting paler as time passes, and he only notices the blood that pooled on the seat when she tries to get out of the car. She was stabbed, but the shock and adrenaline had prevented her from feeling any pain. “Oh”, she says, looking down at her wound. Vincenzo jumps out of his seat and rips the bottom half of the T-Shirt he’s wearing. “I don’t think now’s the time for that, Darling.” Even in a life-threatening situation, Cha-young is joking around. Vincenzo’s mind stops, he feels paralysed by fear, the fear of losing her, of her dying in his car, because of him. He pushes those thoughts away as he holds the fabric to her wound. “Hold this, as hard as you can.” The rest of the car ride to the hospital is a blur of running red lights, speeding in between traffic and repeating “Hong Cha-young, stay with me.” Vincenzo had faced death everyday for the last 20 years. He had killed, had seen people kill and had almost died countless of time. “There’s no limit to fear”, he’d once said to Jang Han-seok’s informant. Only now, waiting for Cha-young’s surgery to be over, does he understand what those words truly mean. During 6 hours, Vincenzo pleads and begs God, the devil, anyone willing to listen (Don’t take her. Everyone but her). He makes empty promises (I’ll do anything. I’ll stop hurting others, I’ll disappear from her life) and meaningless threats (Don’t you dare take her. I’ll kill you, too). In the end he doesn’t know who answers his prayers, and what promises seals the deal, but Cha-young wakes up and he doesn’t care. He holds her hand, stays by her side, and vows to never leave her. He starts to plan for an escape route shortly after that. In case they can’t stay in South Korea and need to take off. First, he thinks of Malta, or another island. But they would need to go somewhere they have allies, somewhere with an easy access to emergency money and resources. Italy. He contacts Luca and sets everything up, a two bed-room apartment, two bank accounts, and everything they could ever need like cash, some guns, and a car. “Consigliere, will there be another person with you?”, Luca asks. “Hopefully it won’t come to that”, he avoids the question. He knows he promised not to come back, but some promises need to be broken out of necessity. He needed to make Cha-young was safe, at all cost. His brother’s betrayal had made it easier. He’d been caught in the crossfire of their fight against Babel, killed by Choi Myung-hee in order to frame Vincenzo. But they had proved his innocence, and sent back his corpse in Milan. After Fabio’s death, Paolo hadn’t been the best replacement, and after he was killed in South Korea, they’d put in charge one of their cousins who had neither Fabio’s experience, nor Vincenzo’s mastermind. The family was in a crisis, which didn’t go unnoticed by their rivals. Soon, business started to slow down, their clients stolen by the competition and their allies started to switch teams. Money ran low. For that reason, Vincenzo didn’t run into much opposition when he came back. Most members and people in their business thought he had killed Paolo after he’d unreasonably followed him to South Korea and tried to finish him. Paolo only left disappointment and resentment behind him, and so no one missed him much. What they had not expected, however, was for Vincenzo Cassano to come back with someone.

[avengershumanresources]

blood 7 - Strange/Stark!Reader

Relationship: Dr. Strange/Princess!Stark!Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Adult Themes, eventual smut, adult language, implied sexual violence, general violence

Synopsis: Reader is the daughter of the legendary King Anthony Stark, Uniter of Lands, The Iron Defender, and leader of the realm. When the king disappears during battle, hope is lost and he is presumed dead.

When the late king’s uncle, Obadiah, takes the throne until your brother Peter is of age, he quickly arranges a marriage for you with a wicked king in a neighboring kingdom.

With the realms politics in question, and rumors of an upcoming siege to overthrow Peter’s rule before it starts, you quickly learn who is loyal to the crown and who is not.

part 6 - part 8 (coming April 13th)

Masterlist

Chapter Playlist

CHAPTER WARNING: Yee-har, thar be smut afoot in this here chapter. 18+

7- a king

Anthony Stark hadn’t expected all of this to come of his death. He foresaw of some of it.  

Of Obadiah’s imminent betrayal and Brock’s general ambition, but when Wanda had approached him with her vision all those years ago, he couldn’t have understood what it all meant. 

Now, however, he realized the violence that was soon to arrive at his kingdom’s doorstep. It was an uneasy feeling; the responsibility bestowed upon him to put men’s lives at risk. To make widows and orphans because of inter family squabbles. 

But Tony knew that Obadiah and Brock both presented far larger threats in the long term. 

A king who is hungry for power will never stop to consider the least fortunate in his rule. 

It was a mantra Tony had created for himself after his father had let entire villages fall to win back some petty golden toy during the War of the Giants. In the end, the lives lost had been worthless and the giants returned to their mountains with more spoils than they’d started. 

It had made him sick. 

That was the moment Tony decided to be a better man. A better king. He took pride in his unselfish rule and lack of war among those who shared the boundary with his kingdom. By a miracle he’d gotten Brock into line, but Obadiah had gotten a taste of power from his position in the Giant’s War and wanted more.

Rumors turned to plots, and all at once Tony knew his family and legacy was in danger. He had a troubled relationship with the Wakandans after one of his own barons killed their king in a quest for vengeance after the Giant’s War. Steve had volunteered as ambassador with the shadowy James Barnes (who’d long had a positive relationship with T’Challa) and they’d managed to broker a deal benefiting both nations. 

And Asgard. 

That was a whole other bag of complications. 

Odin had long been distrustful of Tony’s first wife, the late Queen Alexandra due to her Vanir lineage. The Asgardians had fought for centuries trying to eradicate what they’d seen as a dangerous race of uncontrollable magic users. 

Odin had been a step in the right direction, after replacing his late father, but the prejudices still remained and Tony’s marriage to one of the few remaining Vanir royals had soured what little relations they’d had. 

Still, in the end, they’d protected you when he so desperately needed help the Asgardians could only provide. To that, he’d offered her hand to the princes, and Odin took the offer into consideration, only backing off when an agreement was made between the two boys and yourself that affections lay elsewhere.

Which brought him to his latest challenge. Your engagement to the monster king, Brock Rumlow. 

The popular story was that he’d had his late wife killed when she hadn’t produced a male heir. Every female baby prior had been fed to the dogs and at last, when her fifth pregnancy had yielded yet another female, she fell mysteriously ill and died a few nights later. Some say a villager found the baby’s water logged corpse shortly after. 

From a strategic perspective, it made sense. You hadn’t been called upon by any serious suitors, often running around the kingdom with a begrudging Stephen on your coattails, and you were still young enough to bare a child or two. 

Brock needed a means of securing trust in the kingdom, and marrying one of its beloved daughters was the way to do it. Not to mention, Obadiah got his army, Peter would be overthrown when he attempted to take his birthright, and both men would share in the mutual benefits of being involved in one of the strongest economies in history. 

It was a clear cut plan for control of the kingdom, and it would have been more than enough for Tony to take action.

Except for one small caveat.

You. 

You’d been born of the same Vanir blood as your mother and even as a days old infant, you had shown the Master Sorceress at the time an insurmountable measure of power. 

It was an old and finicky magic, the woman had warned before your mother’s body had even cooled in bed. You would need trining, but there was no one left to provide. 

The Asgardians had been thorough in destroying the ancient texts and any remaining Vanir had long fallen into hiding, often using enchanted amulets and trinkets to conceal their seidr from those with wicked intentions. 

Your mother had been a victim of such vicious greed. She’d been open with her abilities, sharing a close bond with Orin’s own wife and his young son, Loki. The pair had conspired to learn all the forbidden secrets of the Vanir, and she’d begun to accumulate quite the library of resources from old temples and Asgardian burial tombs. 

Frigga helped her translate and in turn, the relationship with the royal families had warmed considerably until a few days before your birth. 

Things had fallen apart so quickly. The Northern Kree empire had infiltrated the castle after hearing rumors of the queen’s power. Someone had once written that a single drop of Vanir blood was worth thousands in gold pieces. A bandit had gotten through the gates while she labored, he had ambushed her in the birthing chambers and despite putting up an admirable fight- died with a dagger stabbed through her heart. 

The beast had tried to cut it free in front of the midwives. 

The Master Sorceress had only stepped from the room a moment to freshen up her herbal remedies. By the time anyone had made it to her side, she had died, and you’d been cut free of her with that same knife. 

“Your majesty?” Wanda inquired, approaching where he sat by the fire of the rebellion campsite.

“Yes?” He blinked up, returning to the present at hand. The men who were preparing for battle around him. The women sharpening weapons and sewing leather.  

The people he had asked to rise up for the betterment of the kingdom. The people who were prepared to die by his side for a secure future. 

“Master Strange is to meet at my cottage in the hour,” she explained. 

“And what would you advise Master Sorceress?” he asked, an amused expression on his face. “Shall we let him in on our secret?” 

“With less than seven days to the wedding, it might be wise,” she reasoned sardonically. “Natalia has her own mission in securing the support from within. Master Strange is working with Peter and Loki on securing the vulnerable.” 

“Do you think he told him?” Tony looked down at the fire pensively. 

“Who?” 

“Loki,” he clarified. “He and Master Mordo were among the few who knew. They had to have mentioned something to him. He’s- well- I’m not entirely sure what he is to her now, but he’s certainly one of the closest lines of protection to her.”

“Assuming the rune hasn’t already faded, I would think he either told him or Stephen found out for himself, my liege,” Wanda sat down on the log next to time, her gaze following his into the flames. “Her power is what Amora desires. It needs to be concealed until the princess is in safe hands.”

“Then he knows,” Tony decided, nodding to himself. “Amora would have done something stupid if the seidr had broken through completely. Someone is keeping it under control.”

“I’ll find out,” Wanda promised. “Would you like to speak to him?”

Tony made a disgruntled noise at the thought of approaching the sorcerer. House Strange had long served under the Stark banner, proudly riding at the front of the line when called upon for battle. When they sent their oldest to train at Kamar-Taj, Tony had been surprised.

The boy had a knack for strategy and was sharp as a needle point. Tony could have seen the young man easily rise in leadership in the house, ruling his own militiamen and managing the family affairs. 

But apparently he had no interest in it, and in an unorthodox fashion, the assets had been passed to their eldest daughter. 

Granted, in the end, none of that mattered- as the entire family estate had been stricken by a particularly nasty plague. The sole survivor was Stephen, who’d been away at Kamar-Taj when he’d gotten the news. 

He’d rushed home, and in the process gotten sick himself, but with the help of his fellow sorcerers, recovered with the only remnants of the illness remaining in his hands. He often told others it had been a riding accident. Only a select few knew the truth and devastation of his loss. 

Tony had met with the young man on his sickbed, assuring him the assets would remain in the family. That the castle would maintain the property while he fulfilled his obligations to Kamar-Taj. After all, there was no greater calling than to a life of service and compassion. It was the least Tony could do. 

Well, until you had scared off every Master to cross the castle threshold and he’d gotten desperate and asked the boy for a favor.

He should have known better. You were close in age. Equally as ambitious and cunning. For years you’d been sneaking through passages and around the villages at night, often with Natalia at your side. 

Stephen just made it easier, and helped Tony rest a little easier knowing the man would give his life for you, if need be. 

Tony wasn’t dumb. He’d seen it the first night the you had met. 

The sneaking smiles, the conspiratorial whispers in the corners of the ballroom, and when Peter’s cat turned into a lion almost identical to the Stark sigil, Tony knew that one day he might allow that young man to break the oaths he’d made for a single exception. 

“Your highness?” Wanda pried gently for a clearer answer. 

“Yes, I’ll speak to him,” he pinched the bridge of his nose. About a great many things.

(—)

“I somehow don’t believe you just found out about this,” you stated, sitting cross legged on one of the strewn about cushions, a teapot floating delicately from the palm of your hand. 

“I’ve learned a number of thing recently,” he replied dryly. “Like Mordo is alive, and Brock wants to kill Obadiah once you’re wed.”

You lost your focus and the cup shattered on the ground. 

“He what?” you gaped at Stephen while he repaired the ceramic cup with a wave of his hand. 

“It ties into the whole secret magic thing, but it really isn’t an ideal situation,” he explained, setting the cup aside and dropping to the cushion across from you. 

“I guess it’s good I’ve pestered you for your books over the years,” you mused, flexing your fingers in the air in front of you.

“It isn’t the same,” he sighed, watching while you lifted a few other stray objects and paused them between the two of you. “Seidr is... there isn’t documentation. The books were destroyed. Kamar-Taj had a few tomes but the Vanir language is nearly impossible to translate at this point.”

“What about Loki? Or Frigga?” you asked, moving both your hands at once and dropping a feather into his lap with a grin. 

“Believe it or not, I’ve been focused on other issues,” he muttered dryly. “We’re going to have to seal this before you leave.”

“But you said it’s what preventing Amora from taking over my head,” you reminded him pointedly, summoning a small flame from an incantation you’d studied the day before. Extinguishing it between your palms, you looked up at him for a better excuse. 

“But it is also the reason Brock is forcing you into a marriage and so she can control you, and in turn, your power better than you can,” he explained tersely. “She can’t know you’ve gotten partial control over it. Let her underestimate you, but until you can learn to conceal the energy yourself, you can’t risk exposure.”

“So am I being sealed or not?” you asked impatiently, floating a candle from you to him. He took it with an amused half-smile, extinguishing the light with a quick puff of air. “Can you do a... half seal? Hide the energy, keep some of the good parts?”

“Gods, I don’t know,” he groaned, shaking his head while he seat the canclde aside. “This is entirely new territory that I was not trained for.”

“That must mean you’re a terrible Sorcerer Supreme. What fool put you in charge?” you teased, reaching forward and tapping the top of his nose playfully. 

“It’s not my fault you’re a freakish anomaly that’s supposed to be extinct,” he mumbled, pulling a frown while you laughed. “Give me your wrist.”

“Fine, but when this over I demand you help me train properly,” you stated and though he  continued grumbling under his breath about being too old for your games, he agreed. “And Loki helps too.”

“Not part of the deal,” Stephen scowled. 

“Fine, I’ll marry him then,” you smirked back at him. “You still haven’t asked, so I guess when my wedding tragically falls through, I’ll have to find respite with him.”

He pulled you forward, a glint in his eyes that sent a shiver through your entire body. 

“I’m not going to chase after a betrothed woman, it’s bad taste,” he hummed, fingers crawling up your wrist and intertwining with your fingers. “I have a reputation to uphold, even if you feel comfortable hiding away with strange men in dark places.”

“Is that supposed to be a joke?” you whispered, sitting up on your knees and tilting your head.

“Do you not think I’m funny?” he murmured, reaching with his free head and tilting back your chin. A smile played on the corners of your mouth, both of you sizing the other up and daring the other to make the first move. 

“I can think of many things you are,” you lifted his hand and pressed a tender kiss to his palm. “But funny?”

“You laugh at all of my clever wit, don’t try to deceive me princess, I know the truth,” Stephen sharply pulled your hand forward, forcing you to fall into his chest. He held your lower back, gazing down at you adoringly. “You’re trying to hide it, but I see it in your eyes.”

“Do you know what I see in your eyes?” your voice cracked ever so slightly, your hand cradling his cheek, your thumb lightly tracing the sharp features. 

“What do you see?” 

“Strength,” you murmured, transfixed by his opalescent gaze. All at once, it was like you were seeing him for the first time. You could feel the energy radiating off of him, seeing the waves of magic as they ripples through his body. “Devotion to... Stephen you’re beautiful.”

“Or so the stars whisper to the earth below,” his voice was soft, gentle, while his hand guided itself up your arm to your cheek. “But, what the stars do not see is their own radiance, their own ethereal light shimmering across the velvet heavens above. The stars do not know how the Earth worships the very flicker of their existence, tells stories of their magnificence and beauty. The do not know how the Earth finds its meaning in what little time it steals away to them in the night.”

It all happened very quickly after that. 

You peeled at his robes, he worked at your corset, a frenzy of hands and mouths tasting one another in a way neither had ever imagined. 

Discarding the corset, he worked his hands up your blouse, fingers lightly teasing the tip of your nipple until you let out a satisfied moan. Robes loose, you pushed him back against a nearby pile of cushions, climbing between his legs and peppering hungry kisses up and down his neck until he growled, clawing at your hips. 

“If you’re-,” he tired protesting while you pulled away more clothing, pressing his leg between yours and letting out a whimper of pleasure when he shifted in just the right way. 

That seemed to set something off in him. 

He was over you, flipping you to the ground and pulling what little clothing remained between you, your naked bodies now flush. Stephen moved down to your breast, drawing a nipple between his teeth and watching you squirm under him at the incredible sensation. 

“Please,” you mewed, an absolute wreck under him. 

He took his time, moving to the other nipple and repeating his actions until you were begging for any kind of release. 

“Needy are we?” he murmured in your ear, his voice low and so controlled, you couldn’t understand how he could stand it. Goosebumps erupted over your body, and he just smirked, continuing his exploration.  

Teasing a finger at your entrance, he looked to you for final approval before easing the digit into you. 

“Gods,” he hissed, moving the finger at an agonizingly slow speed. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes upon.”

He caught you in a kiss, speeding up his hand below, his thumb searching for the sensitive nub of nerves. When he grazed over the tender area, you nearly shot out of yourself, the sensation feeling downright sinful. 

Pulling his finger out, you let out another whimper, this one of protest at the emptiness inside of you. 

“Are you certain-?” he asked again, eyes scanning your face for any sign of hesitation or doubt. 

“I’ve never been more certain of anything,” you replied honestly. It wasn’t an exaggeration. You’d been a make up to this point, untouched and with no interest in engaging in such outrageous behavior.

Yet with him, you wished you could give more. Your body. Your soul. Your love. What did it matter anymore? He was yours, sitting before you and showing you through his loving car assess and sensations you’d never known before this moment. 

He eased himself in, giving you time to adjust to his length, the member much larger than his single finger. But Gods, did he feel incredible. 

You’d never thought so much emotion and pleasure could occur in a single moment. For this tiny hidden corner of the universe, you felt like your souls had collided and merged. 

It was a far cry from how Nat had told you it was. 

This was- you anticipated each of his movements, raising your hips to meet his as he crashed inside of you. Your brain couldn’t form coherent thoughts and when he started to coax something feral from within your core, you let him lead you through it. 

Pumping in time with strokes to your clit, you clenched your walls around him, pulling a hissed curse from the sorcerer. 

A few more pumps and a final circle around the sensitive area and you felt your orgasm crash over you. 

At first, you thought you’d done something wrong. Did you break something? How did this feel so incredible and overwhelming all at once? 

While you rode out your bliss, you felt his hips tighten, finishing with a final grunt.

You both stated at one another, eyes wide, trying to catch your breath. 

“Have you-,” you started but paused. “Like that before-?” 

It was no secret Stephen wasn’t exactly a virgin. He had his vows but they were against attachment, not sex, and sometimes, as he put it, the spirit needed to be revitalized. 

You’d called him a creep and moved on, but Gods did you understand now. 

“I don’t know what happened,” he blinked, looking thoroughly bewildered. “That’s... I’ve never- my gods, you’re incredible.”

He pulled out, dropping to the ground next to you with a huff. 

“I have a potion,” he muttered, pointing to the table above them. “Prevents pregnancy.”

“And here I thought you were devoted to me,” you poked him in the rib and he just laughed. 

“I am,” he insisted. “However, I’m not devoted enough to end up in the gallows for deflowering a princess who is betrothed to a ruthless king. My apologies, my grace.”

“Hm, I’m sure I can find someone willing to make that sacrifice for me,” you hummed. 

“And a fool he will be,” he leaned up on his elbow. “I still win the day. He would be hanged and I still get my princess.”

“Your princess?” 

“Has it been any other way?” he asked, quirking a brow. “Truly, if I’m mistaken, tell me. I don’t want to sound too over ambitious.”

You considered it briefly. Had it? 

No, you knew from the moment you spied those eyes at the ball welcoming him to the castle that he was your future. You just hadn’t realized what that meant at the time. 

There was no world, no life, where you could live without him by your side. 

The thought sobered you quickly, your upcoming nuptials springing to mind, the spell locking you in your private world, now lifted. 

“Would you have asked my father?” you asked. 

“In another life, we would have been married by now,” he answered earnestly. “I’m a fool for having hesitated and nearly missed my chance at an eternity by your side.” 

“And Brock?” you asked, the name leaving a sour taste in your mouth. Stephen’s expression darkened at mention of the man. 

“I’ll kill him before he touches you,” he vowed. “I will not yield your heart to such a monster, and I will stop this. I cannot risk you leaving my side. Not again, my love.”

You leaned forward and kissed him, soft, intimate, and gentle. Stephen wasn’t a fighter. 

Certainly he could fight, but you knew him well enough to know that violence was a last option after all other options had been tried. And here he was preparing to declare a one man war on your betrothed. 

Truly, the heavens were smiling upon you in this life.

(—)

Later that evening, when Stephen had returned you safely to your quarters, he met with Wanda at her cottage at the edge of the woods to discuss the next steps in the plan. 

When she caught sight of him, her expression shifted from confused to elated to-

“What is it?” he asked, knowing she’d gotten a read of what he’d been up to previously. 

“Do well to conceal your thoughts,” she warned, leading him inside. 

“Conceal what-?” he asked after her, stopping in his tracks when he saw Anthony sitting at her table, sipping at a large horn of water. 

Tony stood up, giving the man a once over, brows raised as he took him in. 

“You couldn’t wait until the wedding night?” he grumbled, dropping back down in his chair with a long sigh. 

(—)

8- a secret

TAG LIST (message to be added!):

@ayamenimthiriel​ @ladynothing

@im-a-bi-disaster-help @idkwhatthisislol

[dawninlatin]

Queen of Peace, chapter 13

A manorian high school AU

Words: 2563

AO3 Link

Masterlist

Summary: Manon Blackbeak is flawless, untouchable. From the outside at least. Her grandmother pushes her to achieve greatness, and she doesn’t let anyone get too close in fear of being hurt. How can anyone love her when not even her parents could?

Dorian Havilliard has always felt safe and confident around his friends. He might not have the greatest of families, but with Aelin and Chaol by his side, nothing can go wrong. That is until he tries keeping his greatest secret from them.

What will happen when Dorian and Manon gets to know one another? Can two lost souls find their way back together?

Oh, the queen of peace

Always does her best to please

But is it any use?

Somebody’s gotta lose

-Florence + The Machine, Queen of Peace

The music roared out of the speakers, and Manon moved her body to the rhythm, letting herself get lost in the upbeat tones. She had done this a dozen times by now, memorized this choreography weeks ago. 

But then she turned to the right, and it wasn’t Asterin dancing beside her - as it had always been - it was Sorrel. 

It startled her enough that she halted and messed up a few steps. Manon caught up with the others, but she was unable to pour her heart into it like she usually did. Her mind was too busy thinking about Asterin, worrying whether she was okay or not after their grandmother had kicked her out.

Manon had seen her at school a few times in the following weeks, but they hadn’t talked, and she doubted they would. Asterin probably hated her now, after all the horrible things Manon had said to her. 

Getting kicked out is the least you deserve after getting yourself knocked up by a boy who will leave at the first sign of some real responsibility. Don’t come crawling to me when you find yourself homeless and heartbroken. You’re off the dance team, by the way.

Manon hadn’t meant what she said, not really, but maybe this was for the better…

Her grandmother had made it very clear that she was not to talk with Asterin anymore, and Asterin avoiding her, hating her, made everything much easier.

Yet, if it made things easier, why did it also make her so sad? The house had been awfully quiet these weeks, so quiet it was near-stifling. Manon hadn’t realized how different, how empty, home would be without Asterin there.

Stop moping around you sad, pathetic fool!

Manon mentally scolded herself, forcing her attention back to the dancing. She couldn’t keep letting this distract her. Asterin was simply an obstacle who no longer stood in the way of her future.

Finishing the rest of the choreography, she ignored the desperate, disappointed voice inside her head that whispered; you’re beginning to sound like her.

When the music faded into nothing and her body stopped moving, Manon put on her usual mask of cold, calculating boredom and turned towards her team. She immediately knew something was up, as they were all looking at her as if they had something to say, but didn’t dare say it.

«What,» Manon said, more an order than a question. If they had all decided to gang up against her, she only wanted to get it over with. 

The girls exchanged wary glances, before Sorrel took a step forward and said, «We need Asterin on this choreo.» Manon was surprised when Vesta, who leaned against the wall with her arms crossed, stayed silent for once.

With a sigh, Manon answered Sorrel, «And why the hell do we need Asterin?» 

Yet again did they all look at each other, as if this was something they’d discussed behind her back. The icy feeling of betrayal snaked its way up Manon’s spine.

«Because it’s always been the thirteen of us. We’re off-balance without Asterin.» It was Ghislaine who spoke this time.

«You’ve said it yourself,» Briar shot in from the back of the room. «If just one of us is missing, the entire team falls apart!»

It was when Vesta finally opened her mouth that she snapped. «And you slipped up today, Manon. Several times!» 

«I have no idea what you’re talking about,» Manon hissed, clenching her fists so hard it hurt. «You have been distracted today, hell, you’ve been distracted, lazy and off-beat all week!»

«Because Asterin-» Vesta begun, but Manon didn’t let her finish.

«I don’t wanna hear another word about Asterin! It was her own stupidity that got her kicked off the team, and if you, all of you, don’t start working a bit harder, I won’t hesitate to replace you with someone else!»

The room was unbearably quiet when she was done talking, and Manon could hear her own heart thundering inside her chest. She had to stay calm, couldn’t let them see her fall apart, even if that was what she felt like doing right now. She was losing control, she was-

«I can talk to Asterin today if-»

«GET OUT!» 

Manon’s blood was boiling at the audacity of Vesta. Why couldn’t they understand that Asterin, with her carelessness, was jeopardizing everything they had worked towards? 

Her grandmother had been clear in her orders: everything had to be perfect, so they had to win nationals, which they couldn’t do when one of the teammates first of all didn’t bother showing up to half of the rehearsals, and second of all, would be heavily pregnant come spring.

When everyone had left, and Manon was alone once more, she didn’t let herself brood over the fight they’d just had, didn’t let herself recognize how awful this made her feel. She simply turned the music back on, and forgot.

She forgot everything she’d promised her grandmother, forgot the math test she’d butchered earlier today, forgot the fact that her whole dance team had probably just quit, forgot that she had no control over anything in her life anymore.

Yet as she kept moving her exhausted body, one thought remained. One of piercing blue eyes and soft lips.

And when she remembered that she had an actual date with him the next day, Manon smiled, despite everything.

-

«Why are you looking at me like that?»

How am I supposed to not look at you? Dorian wondered. Manon was radiant where she sat with her body leaned back, eyes closed, face tipped towards the sky. She was smiling softly, the autumn sun making her white-blonde hair glow.

Instead of telling her that, Dorian went with: «I’m just wondering what you’re thinking. You went quiet all of a sudden.»

She had. They’d been sitting here for hours now, under the huge oak tree in the park, eating and laughing and talking, but now she was silent, a calm, contemplating aura around her. 

Manon hummed in answer, before opening her eyes and twisting towards him. «I’m just…savoring the moment, I guess.» Her mouth quirked to the side, the movement making her nose scrunch, and Dorian had to let out a chuckle.

«Now who’s the cliché?» 

She’d been playfully mocking him for his picnic this whole time, even asking him if he was aware that they weren’t in every high school movie ever made. Dorian had begged to differ, telling her that the only reason it was a cliché, was because it worked.

And it did. After a while, Manon had reluctantly agreed that yes, maybe it was a little romantic. The admission had been accompanied by an eye-roll, of course, but what else could you expect?

«What time is it?» Manon asked after a moment. 

Dorian scrambled for his phone, finding it half-lodged under the picnic basket. «It’s almost 3pm,» he said, marveling over how much time had passed. He could spend all day like this, just talking about all and nothing with Manon. No matter what they discussed, she surprised him with her answers, whether it be a funny joke or an unusually deep thought, offering a new perspective on things. 

«I should head home soon,» she sighed, but Manon made no sign of getting up. Instead she laid down, Dorian joining her. «My grandmother will start to ask questions if I’m late.»

From what he’d gathered, Manon’s grandmother was very strict, especially when it came to boys, and Manon had told her she was studying at the library today. She rarely talked about her family, and whenever they touched on the subject, she quickly started talking about something else. Dorian knew not to ask questions, though. She would open up when and if she was ready, and those moments often came at the most unexpected times. 

«I had a lot of fun today, you know. Even if I still think you just googled date ideas and went with the first hit.» Dorian laughed at that, his stomach filling with what could only be described as butterflies. 

«Does that mean you would want to do it again?» They were lying on their backs, face to face, and all Dorian could think about was how badly he wanted to kiss her.

It had been weeks since their kiss in the library, but they hadn’t been able to do it again. All they’d gotten was stolen moments in between classes and late-night texts, their busy schedules making sure of that. Until now, that was.

«I would love to,» Manon offered, answering his question. «But next time I decide what we’re doing.»

«Deal,» Dorian grinned, his eyes staying fixed on her lips as she spoke.

Moments passed, the tension between them tangible, and then Manon whispered, «Is it weird that I really wanna kiss you right now?»

That was all it took for Dorian to crash his lips into hers. 

The kiss was exploring at first, her lips so soft and so perfect. He’d thought about their moment in the library constantly in the past weeks, but his memory could never do it justice, he knew now. This was the real thing, the real Manon, and she was bewitching. No other word could describe the experience that was kissing her.

Dorian pulled her closer, and Manon placed her hands in his hair. He had to continuously remind himself that they were outside, in the middle of a park, and anyone could walk by at any moment.

Yet he couldn’t stop either. Their mouths had gone from searching to ravenous, both of them trying to get closer to the other. Manon nudged him with her tongue, and he opened up for her, the taste of her exquisite.

His blood heated, skin becoming incredibly tight all of a sudden. He could keep doing this forever.

But they had to pull apart at some point to simply just breathe. And they did.

Manon let her forehead rest against his as they both panted slightly, Dorian reaching up to brush a strand of hair out of her face. «I really should go now,» she murmured against his lips, leaning in to kiss him once more. 

It was Dorian who pulled away this time, stroking her cheek. «I’ll see you later then.»

«Yeah,» she sighed, standing up in one smooth movement. The air around Dorian suddenly became unbearably cold. 

After Manon had picked up her jacket, ready to leave, she halted for a moment, and said, «I meant it when I said today was fun.» 

Then she leaned down to place a swift kiss on his cheek, stood back up and walked away, leaving him alone, all flustered. 

Dorian had to wait a moment before he could get up himself, because his pants had just become very tight. His face was burning at the fact, but he forced himself to think of dead puppies and his parents fighting and his gym teacher in those tiny shorts he insisted on wearing.

That last image was particularly horrifying, but it seemed to do the trick. Then, Dorian picked up his phone, only to find fifty new messages from Aelin in their group chat.

Sighing, he began to skim through the thread.

Aelin: Do you guys have plans for today?

Aelin: Rowan is busy

Aelin: And I’m bored

Aelin: Hellooooo

Chaol: I’m guessing I have plans now…

Aelin: I can actually hear how hard you’re sighing right now Chaol

Aelin: We’re seeing a movie today

Chaol: When?

Then there was a lot of planning back and forth, and both Chaol and Aelin trying to reach Dorian. The last message he got was a selfie of his best friends glaring at him, the text reading: Come hang out with us loser.

So Dorian stood, feeling lighter than ever, and began calling Aelin to hear where they were.

-

Stepping into the narrow hallway of her home, Manon carefully closed the door behind her, trying to stay as quiet as possible in case her grandmother was working. 

She hung her coat on the rack and turned her phone on silent. She rarely got any notifications, but that was before Dorian. Now they sent messages back and forth at all hours, most of it silly nonsense.

«Manon, is that you?» her grandmother called from the kitchen. Letting out a shaky breath, Manon made her facial expression that of someone who had studied in a library for hours and definitely hadn’t just made out with a hot boy.

Listen to yourself, you sound like some lovesick girl from those movies you hate so much, Manon mentally yelled, rolling her eyes at how annoying her internal monologue was becoming.

«Yeah, I’m back.» She stopped by the doorway to the kitchen on the way to her room, where her grandmother was sitting by the table, laptop open in front of her.

The woman glanced up at the clock on the wall, before looking back at Manon, her eyes searching. «You stayed at the library for a long time.»

Manon had to fight to stay fully still, to not flinch at her grandmothers words. She couldn’t know, could she? Putting on a fake smile, Manon said, «I just got into a really good workflow, didn’t wanna quit.»

Her breaths were getting faster, and she could feel the panic sneaking up on her.

Just keep it together until you’re alone! She always asks questions like these.

«I’m almost done with the history assignment,» she added to make sure her grandmother bought it. Even if it was all a lie. She hadn’t even started on the history paper.

«Good. I already made dinner, but there are some leftovers in the fridge if you’re hungry.» Her grandmother’s tone was pleasant, almost happy. She had to be in a good mood today, then. The whole thing felt deeply unsettling.

At least she was safe, for now.

«Thanks, but I’m not hungry. I’ll be in my room,» Manon said before turning and hurrying down the hall. Once she’d closed the door, she finally let out the breath of relief she’d benne holding, throwing away all pretense.

She couldn’t keep lying to her grandmother like this…

Not only did it make her feel awful, but the consequences would also be too great. She was putting her whole future at risk when she was acting like this, sneaking around and prioritizing boys over her schoolwork. 

Frustrated, she threw herself down on her bed, startling Abraxos who was sleeping on her pillow. Dorian made everything so much more complicated. Agreeing to go out with him had been a mistake. A huge, huge mistake.

Yet she’d felt better today, happier, than she’d had in a long time. She’d even managed to forget the catastrophe that was her dance team, if only for a few hours. And with this light, fluttery feeling, everything seemed more manageable. 

For now, she could do this, wanted to do this. The thought of not being with Dorian anymore… It didn’t feel right, and she was actually looking forward to Monday, when she would see him again.

She knew this, they, would have to end one way or another, but she couldn’t let go just yet.

A/N: That break really got longer than I anticipated...

It's been nearly a year now, since I first got the idea for this fic and started writing it, and here I was, believing I could be done with it by summer 2020. In all honesty, it feels like I posted chapter 12, blinked, and then 4 months had passed. But here it is, at least:) We have reached the halfway point, and a little progress is better than none. I'm still not making any promises regarding this fic, other than I will finish it, someday, whether that be in 2 months or 2 years. And to all of you who still read, from the bottom of my heart, THANK YOU SO MUCH<3<3 I could not have done it without you!

All the love, Aurora<3

Taglist: @fireheartdreamerstarborn @bookishwitchling @hellasblessed @kit-12 @onfma @ireallyshouldsleeprn @sayosdreams @rowaelinismyotp

I keep a separate taglist for each ship, so let me know if you want to be on any of them!

[everafterkeiji]

I’m tired of seeing oikawa being an ass, what if oikawa fell for a playgirl? When they got together oikawa really did love you, and he caught you cheateing with Iwaizumi even though he knew you guts were together?

𝐎𝐈𝐊𝐀𝐖𝐀 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋

Pairings: Tooru Oikawa x fem! Reader, Hajime Iwaizumi x fem! reader

Word count: 1.5k

Tags: cheating, angst

A/N: I really like this idea so thank you so much for requesting I hope this is okay! I’m also sorry this is late! <3

The odds were placed in his hands but he held it with pride even if it marked his skin.

He felt how betrayal was following him but he neglected it thinking that it was just love.

But love has never looked so cruel.

The moment he saw you, he was struck- something he’s yet to feel. With a swarm of admirers, you’d expect that his eyes would’ve landed on someone already but instead his heart was held captive along with a breath he held when you faced him. The infatuation strengthens as he spends time with you but if his eyes loved to stay on you, others felt the same.

Like two stars who shined brightly without the assistance of the other, your presence was equal to him.

He couldn’t push back the number of stares you’d get when he sees you walking through the hallways or even the people who directly go up to you and tell you how beautiful you were. He’s had his moments but seeing someone go through the same feeling as he was, it was unfamiliar to him. He understood though, with a person being incredibly stunning- he'd also be lost at words with how you gazed his eyes. You were in the same class as him so you were the cause of his distraction during lectures, he obviously didn’t mind.

He’d hear how lucky he was to be in the same room as you-it's been repeated countless of times, even he believed it. What keeps a subtle frown on his lips was how you’d approach your suitors. The playful tone and constant flirting always made him feel small with how confident you were, love in different versions were in your line and Tooru felt that he was at the very back of it.

But he ended up being winning, regardless of the list of people who waited.

His heart was overwhelmed-at shock at how he heard you say “yes” to his offer of being his. It was unbelievable- to think that the met you in his first year yet he was yours by second year still has his minds running in circles. What words did he carry for you to like him the way he did? His charm, his ability to make you feel so safe and assured- the question is, who wouldn’t fall? Tooru Oikawa is everything a girl could ever dream of and for you to have him is indeed worth envying for years.

Being in love with him was close to being inside a fairytale. You loved every bit of him, ever creak of his doubts were covered with your comfort and Tooru did the same. A crown was heavily placed on him but he carried it with such grace even if it was too difficult to carry sometimes. Like the king he is, the love he gives you felt like an honor to receive. The flowers he’d leave in your locker, the notes on your desk when he’d see you frustrated, even the moments where he’d try to hold your hand when he was at practice- everything he does had your heart fluttering with every second. You couldn’t believe how the well-known setter chose you instead of the girls who mindlessly followed him with genuine admiration. You were stuck in his shoes for a second but what he despised was that even if you were the queen and king- all these other suitors still attempted to take you away from each other.

A kingdom filled with citizens who serves you two dirt as they bombarded you with rumors when you walked to the point where the third years in Oikawa’s circle of friends had to talk to him in how everything was getting out of hand. They heard how you were thoughtlessly flirting with a student who admired you or even those girls who Oikawa allows to place a kiss on his cheek. It was truly a mess. It often leads to you crumbling at how some people believed it, not even bothering to consider how you could never replace your lover- it was absurd to even think about it.

But some lies were hidden from Oikawa’s eyes yet they were visible to you.

Though it seems as if he’s known all along.

He desperately tried to keep his distance because why would you ever replace him? You've told him how much you loved him- he believed every word, even replaying it for hours because of how happy you made him. The sound resonates through him everyday but the voices in his head became too loud at some points that he begins to wonder just how possible it could happen.

He's noticed how in practice you cared about how Iwaizumi's spirits would deflate when he's unsuccessful with the spikes he does and you were always a step ahead to comfort him with your words. He figured that you were just there seeing that he was your boyfriend's best friend but seeing how Iwaizumi often stares a little too long at you, all the attempts to push away the thought has been erased.

On a particular day, he's heard the sea of people whispering whenever he passes by and he felt how different it was apart from the usual setting. He decided to stop to a locker, hiding his face with a locker beside him as the girls converse beside him, blind to the boy.

"Y/N is with Iwaizumi- I saw them at a café the other day. God, she doesn't deserve him. "

"Oikawa deserves better but I didn't think Iwaizumi-san would like her too."

This has to be a joke isn't it?

"They disgust me. Oikawa has no idea about it. Poor thing. She was always a flirt anyway."

He deeply wishes how he'd never see the day where two of the most important people in his life would turn their backs on him- together. He could beg the stars for everything to be fake. All these annoying murmurs must remain a rumor and instead of the claims that you were with his best friend, maybe you were in his room telling him pretty lies to maintain him from not leaving.

But when the truth lands on his eye, there was no escape.

Especially when he watches you trail beside Iwaizumi with a hand interlaced with the spikers fingers while he walks beside you.

“It’s okay, Tooru. You’re sick- Iwaizumi can walk me home.” Oikawa pouts as he you lean a kiss on his hand, smiling at him while his heart skips at your doing.

“We’ll be fine, love.” You said cupping his cheek while he sighs before taking your hand and intertwining it with his own fingers. He felt stiff, he used to adore the way you touch him but thinking about Iwaizumi has touched you the same way he did- his urge to let go increases.

“Iwa-chan better not steal you from me.” Oikawa whispers while there was second you felt your heart drop but hid it with a chuckle but the setter knew better when the color was drained from your features. It was a swift second but it was enough to feed his suspicions of why you’ve suddenly grown attached to his best friend, like times where you’d make him laugh which makes Oikawa stumble with his doubts but this seemed to take a hit on him much more than it already has.

“He won’t.”

“Tooru I-” Iwaizumi dodges Oikawa’s stare, letting go of your hand as his eyes were glued to the road. The captain’s heart was broken down with every moment he sees how you approached him, shaking him and grabbing his arms while your voice came out as a blur to his ears and his vision clouded with tears of rage and betrayal. You had your own pool of tears as you felt the massive impact of what you just did. How could you? Was it all just not enough that you had to find love in a person that he trusted? Why did it have to be Iwaizumi? All because he gave you the same amount of love Oikawa did? You were toying with both hearts yet you held their heartstrings with ease.

“Get off me.” He whispers as he tries to pry you off of him but all he wanted was to hold you and act like everything was a dream. He hated the fact that he knew it’d happen- habits never die but what hurt him a thousand times more was that you’ve chosen to love somebody who he trusted and the fact that Iwaizumi fell added more thorns to the situation.

“Some friend you are, Iwa.” Oikawa comments with spite covering his tone as he spoke. Iwaizumi shuts his eyes close as he held back the words to defend himself because in reality- there were no excuses to cheating on a lover.

“Are you sorry?” Tooru asks, holding you as he stares at your eyes looking for a way to find that sweet girl he once loved but his questions displayed how torn he was. You looked at him with piles of regret but that wasn’t the sight he wanted to see. He wanted to see how you were willing to play with him again and he’d fall for it.

He’d go through trials to love you again even if it brought him to his knees.

“I am, Tooru.” You answered but instead, he laughed.

Iwaizumi’s eyes widen as he held his breath as Oikawa steps back, a smile on his lips as he stares at the two.

It doesn't seem like it.

“I can’t believe that out of all the people you chose- it's Iwaizumi. What do I lack that he has? I gave you everything, Y/N. Does he love you better than I ever do? Tell me!” He shouted, taking a step forward you as he held your cheek in his hands while you stared at him wide-eyed as he wiped your tears.

“I love you, didn’t I? Where did I go wrong?” He whispers and it takes everything in him to not hate you because all he ever did was the opposite.

“I love you- I do but-”

“But Hajime could love you more? I’m right, aren’t I?” Oikawa says as he lets go of you while you were left stunned but you already knew the boy was out of your grasp.

“Oikawa.” Iwaizumi calls out for him but Oikawa looked at him with a sad tug on his lips. He's never been more disgraced to be called a friend. How could he remain loyal when it wasn't where he stood now? Temptation has never tasted this good but it always leaves a sour sensation.

"I do like you, Y/N. I just- I can't do it to him. He loves you."

"But you do too."

He should've never gave in. He should've never gotten attached to your smile and how caring you were. You were in between yet the final decision was choosing both but ended up catching you in the tangles of your own heart.

“I guess it’s okay to lose to you once in a while.” Tooru whispers as he walks away but his heart and body feel tied to you while every slip of a tear falls from his eyes.

But I never thought I’d end up losing both.

[janekfan]

Left Found

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28248915

Hunger.

Honed and piercing.

So corrosive and corrupt and consuming it was a wonder it even fit inside him anymore. Or maybe it was because he didn’t want it inside him anymore. Wanted to sweat it out like a fever, burn it out like mold and rot, tear it out of himself with his bitten-short fingernails until he couldn’t hear its constant demands.

It wanted to burst from his throat and it was everything on a good day to keep it inside, away from the others, swallowed down, down, down like acid where it couldn’t bother anybody.

It was hard to know just how much something could hurt until you tried to hide it from the people who once knew you best.

Tim was fixing his lunch in the breakroom. Jon Knew that.

Unbidden, the memories came, unstoppable and swift. The ache grew stronger with each one.

Soft, warm pats on the back, a mutual embrace after completing a difficult deadline. Tim was, used to be, casual touch, easy and affectionate to a little brother replacing the one he’d lost fitting into the space left behind like it was Jon’s place to fit. Comfort and care and Tim could make this stop the ache the hurt the pounding buried in his scarred skin down to the bone.

Tim could be an answer. A balm for the flickering, dying candle flame Jon still cultivated, protected from the rush of an entire ocean filling up his ears as he sank, awful deep, to a place where even sunlight didn’t dare reach its trembling fingers.

Tim doesn’t want to see you.

It was true, but Jon was desperate, needy, on the brink of screaming or tears or both and he needed someone to please help him because surely he was falling apart at his strained and stretched seams, all his dirty, ugly stuffing on display for the Archives to See.

“T’Tim.” Underwater and kilometers away his voice caused Tim to jump, spoon clattering into the sink as he cursed and turned and glared.

“You look shite, Boss.” Jon thought of all the iterations of himself that had come before, that should have prepared him for this moment. He knew more than anything, anyone, how to want without letting anyone know. Knew how to be alone and make it seem as though it had always been his choice to be so. “Seriously, what do you want? If this is more of your paranoid, supernatural rubbish, Jon.” Angry, Tim stalked forward, Jon stepped unsteadily back. Surprised (scared) and still needing.

“I, I, uh, what are you doing?” And instead of easy camaraderie, static rose in his throat, clashed against his teeth and forced its way between pursed lips at the same time red rage rose in Tim’s face as he strained against the compulsion and failed, words so fraught that even if Jon had been paying attention he wouldn’t have understood. Tim’s arms came up to frame Jon’s face as his palms collided heavily with the wall he crowded him against and he couldn’t hide his flinch.

“What. The fuck!?”

“I, I, I--”

“I, I,” he mocked, “Not enough to spy? You need to force it out of me? The fuck!” And Jon flinched again, cowering in the shadow of Tim’s bulk, breath too fast and pulse hammering in his head. “Christ, Jon.” And he hung his head, jaw so tight his molars were grinding together and for a moment Jon was sure he was going to be struck, bracing for it. Instead he stumbled as Tim shoved him roughly away and that was wrong. Tim didn’t do that and here Jon, stupid, stupid, stupid, had pushed him far enough. Another large hand smacked against his shoulder blade and he almost lost his footing, dizzied and sick and grateful when Tim didn’t follow him to his office. It was there he let himself go, let the tears come as he hid his stinging eyes in folded arms. He hadn’t meant to. He hadn’t...it just slipped out and he was sorry.

He wouldn’t be believed.

The burn of where Tim had pushed him was distracting and disquieting, stealing the stale air from his lungs and binding the too small cage of his ribs in knotted, tangled twine.

Not for the first time, Jon longed for the relief that would accompany his giving in to the monster, gathering up all his multitudinous selves and rejoicing in the hideous nature that would be his and his alone. Leave his friends (not your friends any longer) and embrace this transformation with the finality of the damned. After all, despite inumerable attempts to right all his wrongs, they knew his living in the world brought an irreparable damage. Jon existed at too steep a cost and the debt was becoming so heavy it was crushing his bones to sand in its punishing fist.

For now, he existed in the awful, liminal space between choices, an agony so deep seated and the sheer, impossible need, pulled like taffy in too many directions. Was this the end of things? No more kind touch. No one to be careful with him when he felt already so fragile.

Why did he have to make himself so hard to love?

“Ah!” His tailbone ached as he hit the ground sending sparks of sharp pain up his spine. “I’I’m sorry!”

“Shut your mouth!” Jon raised his arm to shield his face, breath heaving in shuddering gasps. He hadn’t meant it, he hadn’t, he hadn’t. What was wrong with him? “You alright?” Basira looked shaken, eyes just this side of too wide as Daisy ran rough fingers over her cheek, examining her closely, brows furrowed.

“Yeah.” She seemed dazed. He’d done that. Not on purpose. Never on purpose. Not to the people he loved. “Yeah, I’m alright.” Daisy nodded, that same unhinged look in her hard expression.

“Bas--”

“I said. Shut. Your mouth.” And he swallowed another apology, lurching to his feet and fleeing before Daisy could hit him again. Clumsy, he rushed through narrow corridors, colliding at the corners in his attempt to put more distance between them until he finally began to flag. He’d made it into the stacks, surrounded by boxes of statements like beacons begging him to look inside. Find the real ones. Read them. Taste them.

Consume.

He deserved this.

Jon didn’t know how long he sat there curled around his knees before Martin found him, but he was stiff and hurting, head pounding and stomach rolling from the heat buried in his skin, trying to claw its way out.

“Jon?” He must’ve looked up, because he was looking straight at Martin with the sudden realization that he had him boxed in between the shelves. “Hey,” calm, soft, talking down a wild animal but there were only the two of them here. “You don’t look well.” What was he talking about?

“M’fine.” His tongue was thick in his mouth, words of treacle and like a tide, Martin drifted in and out, Jon’s head was too heavy for his own neck.

“Jon?” Suddenly, a pale hand was reaching for him and he panicked. “Jon!” Shouting and loud and angry(?).

“Go away!” Static and bitterness flooded Jon’s throat, rushed to strangle him, and he coughed, sputtering, black coating his fingers as he tried to stop another accidental compulsion. He couldn’t bear to look up and witness the betrayal he knew he’d placed there and instead leaned forward to lose the ink threatening to choke him, watching it pool like an oil slick around his fingers.

“Jon!”

I’m sorry.

“Jon?”

I’m scared.

“Leave me alone!”

“Jon!” Fading, being carried away by struggling steps. “Jon!!” He clapped sticky hands over his ears until he was alone again.

Martin is kind to you.

Because he fears you.

Even if you let him help, he’ll leave you. Hurt you. You’ve ruined everything, you always do. You’re hurting them. You keep hurting them.

He wrapped his arms so tightly around himself, until his fingers were dug into his flesh, sucking down a heaving lung full of air because he’d forgotten how to breathe with all his wanting. Cracking apart, letting things in that he kept trying desperately to keep out, out, out.

Exhaustion caught him up despite how fast he ran from it, trapped him in a current he couldn’t control. Whirling eddies and rip tides left him gasping, sore all over from failing to hold on to something, anything to steady himself. Just get to the next second. One at a time. Unable to think of the full moment.

And he looked up into a kind and familiar face creased in concern.

Martin.

“Hullo, Jon.” Soft, so soft. Kneeling beside him. “Shh, you’re alright. I’m not angry with you.” He kept quiet. The buzzing was there, the Eye was demanding he ask, tell, order.

“Martin?” Shaky and small and closing his eyes against the touch of a palm against his forehead.

“You’re burning up.” The clot of fear, ink and ash, stopped up his voice box and kept him silent, barely clinging to the shreds of whatever he had left. Jon wanted to take Martin’s soft attention and turn his focus elsewhere, at someone more deserving than he could ever be. “You need to rest. You’re not well.”

Not well.

A cool flannel swept over his face leaving bliss in its wake before moving to envelop each finger, rid it of the tacky, drying blotches. Wary, he watched Martin’s deft hands fold the cloth to hide the mess, setting it aside.

“I’m going to take you home. You shouldn’t be alone, not right now.”

“M’m…” He wasn’t safe, he couldn’t control the Beholding. Even now it was feeding him information, rooting around in Martin’s head for things that didn’t belong to it. Luckily, Jon couldn’t hold on to any of it as he was, wearied and wasted.

“You didn’t mean it. You aren’t thinking clearly, not with a fever like that.” The words washed over him, soothing and soft. Martin shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be kind to him like this when Jon would only take it and twist it into something terrible. But he was being lifted to his feet, the rest of the world following along a beat behind in his crowded vision, and Martin had to catch him when his knees buckled under him. “Alright, steady, I’ve got you.” With Martin doing the majority of the work, they waded through pools of emergency lighting between empty desks, everyone long gone home by now. He didn’t remember the cab ride, now standing cold and shivering at the bottom of the set of stairs leading up to Martin’s flat. Glancing up, overwhelmed and overwrought, the thought of climbing them drew a sob from his tight chest.

Warmth at his elbow made him balk, eyes wide and searching when Martin held up his hands in a placating gesture, moving slowly and with calm, obvious intent. He was speaking. Jon could see his lips moving, but it didn’t make any sense and when the Eye reached blindly for it an icepick lodged itself firmly behind his ear. The next time Martin went to touch him, the effort he put in to avoid it ended with him twisting up his feet together and all he could do was watch the ground rise up to meet him. If he hit the floor he didn’t remember, prying apart heavy lids to take in unfamiliar walls.

Not alone.

Before he could panic, Martin crouched beside where he was laid out on a sofa, removing his shoes and smiling gently when he caught him staring.

“It’s okay.” Calm. Quiet. “It’s okay.” Again. Infinitely softer. The backs of steady fingers brushing against his forehead and when Jon closed his eyes against his kindness, tears slipped down his cheeks. “It’s okay.” And he let himself believe it, the relief heady and stealing away the last of his resolve. “Let’s get you tucked up and warm, hm? Slow now, that’s good.” The babble was comforting, easy to drift along in the current, and he let Martin tell him what to do, accepting the water, the tablets, and drinking both down. Allowing Martin to manhandle him into soft clothes to replace his stained ones. “Lay back, try to sleep.”

Martin’s bed.

Before he himself knew he’d moved, the sleeve of Martin’s jumper was tight in his trembling grip. He could feel it, his expression twisting up, ugly and disgusting, lips pressed tightly together to keep his begging in, to trap the want. Trap it behind teeth and tongue until Martin realized what he’d done and kicked him out.

Then he could let go again. Where no one could see how badly he needed.

“It’s okay.” The soft pass through his sweat damp and tangled curls undid the rest of him. “What do you need?” A sob, a laugh, a burst of static that made both of them wince. Desperate. And his crying stopped all else. A stillness descending so thick and deep it felt like drowning, throat blocked up with ink and sorrow and impossible agony.

Arms wrapped around him. Tight, hot bands of iron and despite the strength with which he was held it became easier to breathe and he gulped down air sweeter than anything he’d known in a long time.

It was dark. Darker than it had been before and he was something far beyond tired. Wrung out and stretched thin, unspooled like fine wire. Gradually, sensation trickled in. The scent of tea from the breakroom. Wash worn wool. Gentle hands. He was moving, just slightly. Swaying.

Small sounds he couldn’t parse fell like rain, soft and warm.

Laid carefully down, like he was a precious, breakable thing. Wrapped up, legs and limbs and warm, warm, warm. Greedy, selfish, he drank it in, clinging to Martin in the velvet dark, hand to hand, skin to skin, and it still wasn’t enough. How could it be when he’d gone so long without. When he’d never known anything else.

Hunger. Always there.

Even before he’d been cursed with this awful gift.

Gnawing and persistent but quieting in the wake of the grounding beat of Martin’s heart, everywhere and all around. In his own pulse, his blood, his body. His touch was fire to his frostbite; painful and so very good.

He wanted it. Wanted so badly to be warm again.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Jon buried his nose in Martin’s throat, shuddering under his hands. “Rest, Jon.”

Apricot light seeped between his lashes, lifting him up and out of sleep. His cheek was pillowed on Martin’s chest, the man’s fingers still buried in his hair.

It was gentle here. The static muted and buried under the quilts, no longer lurking, waiting for its chance to take.

“Fever’s down some.” But all the same he pressed him with more medicine before excusing himself to put the kettle on. Jon curled up in the warmth he left behind, clear headed and wondering, waking when Martin came back with tea and toast. “You should eat a little something.” Wordlessly, Jon opened his mouth. Closed it, worried that all he had left inside was the ability to compel, to steal. Martin busied himself with the meticulous application of jam on his toast and Jon appreciated the space. The patience he didn’t really deserve.

“Th’thank you. Martin.”

“How long have you been ill?” Jon shrugged one shoulder, forgoing his own toast and sipping on the tea instead.

“Thought.” What had he thought? He only remembered wanting. “I. I don’t know. It’s all…” he tried to gesture in a way that explained how twisted things had been with the fever and the hunger and the fog. It was lacking. “I’m sorry for--I, I didn’t m’mean to. I.”

Couldn’t control it.

Jon thought he could taste the ink threatening to make a reappearance and took another swallow. He felt somewhat better, still sick. Still worried.

“I’m not angry with you.” Jon stared into his tea. “Hey, look at me.” Martin lifted his chin with a touch. “I see you. I see you trying.” Tears welled in his eyes, spilling over only for Martin to brush them away. Jon set the cup aside and let himself fall into the broad chest, melt beneath the heavy hand cradling his head.

Safe.

Sated.

[peel-a-potato-with-a-potato]

So I binge read Invincible

What a trip of a story. Gotta say, I’m really hoping Amazon doesn’t screw it up, but what I’ve seen of the show so far seems to be a good update. The comic came out in 2003 after all, so there’s some parts that don’t hold up well 18 years later.

The ending wasn’t to my taste, but it was mostly satisfying. Spoilers if you keep reading beyond here.

The comic makes gratuitous use of time skipping, usually because of Mark being very vincible (yes, bad joke, don’t care), at several points. The worst ones for me were the 3 or 4 months he spent with his father and brother healing from a stomach wound and the 5 year skip after the “reboot”.

And oh boy do I have thoughts on that reboot. Some mysterious entity we are never given any further information on traps him in a cave and sends him back to being 17 with no powers on Earth. He proceeds to do everything in the most efficient way he can before giving up to be with his family. And then he’s back, but 5 years after he left. Was he really in the past or was that entity just messing with his mind? And did it really take him 5 years to process those few weeks? Or did he get brought back to the wrong time? Was that thing vengeful and wanted to rob him of what he wanted for disobeying it? And after that little section is over, we never hear about that thing again.

And then there’s the deaths of Oliver and Nolan. Both were mostly well done, Oliver died in battle (sure he would have wanted it that way), and Nolan died with his favorite son present. Or least favorite, it’s hard to tell at some points. And both were well used catalysts into propelling the story. Oliver’s death convinced Mark he had to act against Thragg. Nolan’s death put Mark in control of the new Viltrum Empire, and in direct opposition to Robot. I refuse to call him Rex. Rex Splode deserved better than that.

Through the whole series, I didn’t trust Robot. From the beginning, I had a bad feeling about him, and when he was revealed to be a human, Rudy, that pretty much cemented it for me. A genius who relies entirely on logic, even when they have an emotional attachment to someone? Yeah, if that doesn’t scream trouble, I don’t know what does. Putting his brain in a jar and leaving Immortal in charge seemed like the best option.

But that also brings up the question of why he left Immortal in charge at all. Having been brought to the future by two people working for Immortal just so he could get his death, don’t you think Mark would have remembered that? Would have known the pain he would cause his friend? Or was there really no better option? It does provide continuity, answers why Immortal was in charge, and I guess prevents a paradox, which is all probably why it was done. Mark doing that knowing what would happen though, it’s probably the most Viltrumite thing he does in the series, cold and devoid of human emotion. Mark does have a habit of disagreeing with his allies at times, and sometimes that leads to what feels like betrayal.

Even Allen got the short end of that stick, with the Viltrum Empire spreading peace at the end, Allen’s coalition fell apart. And Mark makes some good commentary there that definitely applies to Earth today. But wouldn’t you think he’d want to help Allen change the COP to make it better for those planets being exploited? That seemed to be his thing, but instead he just left them to figure it out.

Going back to immortality for a bit, let’s talk about Eve. She gets severely wounded and suddenly she becomes a god just long enough to patch herself back up. This is used a couple times, first on Eve alone, and then on herself and Mark. The first time she gives herself bigger breasts (yup, it’s a guy writing the series) and the second time Mark asks “Did you make me stronger?” while he flexes. Given that Eve was carrying their child at the time, it makes sense why he wouldn’t leave her power to kick in to replace her lost leg, but it ends up making death feel a bit cheap, the way Marvel and DC do by killing off their heroes and bringing them back. It’s really made worse when Eve dies of old age and is suddenly in her 20′s again. “Guess I’m immortal” my ass. If she’s just going to keep doing that, eventually she will outlive Mark’s thousands of years and she’ll be just as lonely as Immortal. Feels like they didn’t think the ramifications of that one through. I do enjoy the fact that Eve is always, and I do mean always, the one initiating their intimate moments though. A woman taking charge of her sexuality is nice to see.

And then there’s Marky. Poor Marky. Left alone on Earth with an adoptive human father while Mark ignored him because of his rage at Marky’s mother. Debbie steps in to help, and it’s clear Mark still has some contact with his son, but he’s definitely not going to have the support his father did growing up, even if he is the new Invincible. Why on earth would this poor half abandoned child take the name of the father that clearly doesn’t want to take much interest in him? I get it’s a carrying on the family legacy kind of thing, but it gives me weird vibes.

For all my griping though, I have to mention Cecil. Almost a perfect foil to Mark’s black and white thinking. Cecil only sees in shades of grey. No matter where someone’s actions put them in Mark’s eyes, Cecil always sees them as a force to be used to his own ends. Cecil’s need to protect people and his search for peace align so perfectly with Mark’s but because of his way of looking at the world and lack of superpowers, he contrasts so perfectly with the hero of the story. I disagree with Rudy that Cecil would have been okay dying to get the world brought about by Rudy, but I’m not really sure how to put those thoughts into words just yet.

But the ending in general, while neatly wrapping up most of the plot threads (looking at you tentacle entity from the reboot storyline), feels a bit too much like a happily ever after. Now that’s personal taste, but honestly, if they’d just ended it with Mark taking over and saying he was going to leave Earth with the Viltrumites on his mission to help the universe, I’d have been a lot happier leaving the rest up to the imagination. Instead, we get flashes of this race of near gods forcefully bringing peace to the universe and we end with another vaguely satisfying callback.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved the series and I’m honestly tempted to read it again to get a better idea of the callbacks and setups we see. The perspective on some things might be different now too, and that’s always interesting. I’m very much of the opinion that if you love something, you should be critical of it. And there’s a lot in Invincible that seems like doing something just to make the story work. I can’t tell if that’s just because of the medium or if it actually makes sense given that Mark is an alien, so maybe I would need to read it again to figure that out.

[mattelektras]

Hey what are your favourite + least fav x men characters and why im curious i love seeing ur thoughts (also, to make it easier hopefully???, i mean specifically X-Men you do not need to include like the 100+ teams connected to them like new mutants or Excalibur etc)

tbh these are just from. everywhere. a lot of my favs are xforce and sub teams. just mutants in general really

least favs

xavier. hes just a dick like. objectively. hes got no business mentoring young kids with the way he went about treating young scott and young jean. also mr i would never invade someone's thoughts without there permission. and then he DID

beast. just kinda boring like. we get it youre smart and patronizing and blue and furry, what else is there. kurt is the only blue man

havok. i dont like. hate him. i just think he should be made fun of more. mr all lives matter avengers stan. bully him more

deadpool because i hate that some people think he’s a mutant n it irritates me idk

brian braddock sorry betsy ur brother is dull as all fuck. he barely has anything to do w mutants as a whole and it’s like why do we even claim him as one when he ran around calling himself captain britain for so long like. cringe, sir braddock

favs:

storm. like objectively i think if anyone doesnt favour ororo in some kind of way then theyre insane. she has a lot of wonder woman isms in that a lot of people see her as this. ethereal above reproach goddess but shes ironically a very human character. like just the little facts that shes into botany and is claustrophobic etc. and the fact that everyone loves her is because shes a good person, not because she’s beautiful or powerful or perfect in anyway. like she’s loved because she’s earned it and she deserves it. she’s a good friend and a GREAT leader without needing to physically be in charge. shes very open and loving and loyal but is also someone u really only get one chance with?? she has a much smaller circle of incredibly close friends than people would think. idk i love that shes allowed to be both kind and flawed AND hugely powerful

domino. ive gone on about how i love neena a lot before so i wont bore u but she is. genuinely one of my favourite characters of all time from anywhere. she has a persona that she puts up but there's so much in her backstory that no one would expect if theyd only read recent domino stuff. like she really shines in her solos more than anywhere else i cant stress that enough

magneto. if i had to like. objectively pick a best character ever i think it would be magneto. i think superhero comics are best when they SAY something. like not to be all We Live In a Society but if youre not making some kind of commentary on the real world with your good vs evil media concept then what are you doing. and we all know the mutant metaphor doesnt hold up like. ever. but its as close as it gets with magneto because his fictional mutanthood is linked w his real jewishness and its never like. a replacement or one or the other. and one fuels his activism in the other? idk im not sure how to phrase it but i think he embodies what being a MUTANT is about, in universe, not what being an xmen is about. hes so REGAL and smart and so powerful just in the way he carries himself, even when he was depowered. they simply do not make characters like magneto other than magneto. and YES the dilfery of it all

kwannon. i love where her story is going and how much attention theyre giving her since the body divorce. just that shes being allowed to be bitter and resentful of betsy about having years of her life stolen. her learning how to be her own self again and what's her own. also i like betsy just fine but my first intro to ~~~psylocke was the betsy/kwannon mash up and like. for ME. with what i like in characters??? pretty much all of what i liked was kwannon's. the assassin stuff, the sword stuff, her brutality and harder attitude. like u all know my taste in female characters and shes IT. and theres a lot of potential in exploring her backstory

wolverine. unfortunately. i love a little weasel man. He Is My Dad. i think he has such a rich variation of relationships with other people whether it be as a rivalry, romance, friendship, parent etc etc. this bitch contains multitudes!!! i think he as a character has so much bought to him by the other characters around him. likes YES he is a grmupy old man who probably hasnt showered today but hes a very loving person despite everything

angel. this might seem like a wild pick for me but. the concept of a rich pretty boy with seemingly everything going for him being turned into this monstrous apocalyptic razor bird with varying self control is SO GOOD TO ME IDK IDK. like hes very gentle and atypical for a male character in a lot of ways and i enjoy that a lot??? just the contrast of it all. i think there should be more horrific pretty boys

monet. forever obsessed wither attitude and her confidence even when so much of her story is wrapped up in people stealing her identity and the betrayal in that and being controlled by others physically w the penance stuff like. shes been through all of that and is STILL probably one of the most sure of themselves characters out there. her yes i AM the shit actually, better than you attitude, not afraid to be a bitch superiority. ladies i think we should all be more like monet as a rule. her powers just being that shes pretty much better than everyone at everything. also shes just funny as fuck

im allowed to say this because shes in x books on the regular now but selene. i think shes so fuckin cool and maybe this is the wannabe goth death witch from my teenage years possessing my body right now but i LOVE an insanely powerful woman. shes like 20000 years old, shes physically incapable of dying, shes the FIRST mutant and has a very rich backstory. shes a great villain but i think now shes more vaguely xmen aligned with the krakoa situation theres huge amounts of potential with her to be on heroic teams as the untrustworthy but begrudgingly helps out kind of addition. with everyone being like. remember that time you resurrected half of us as zombies and traumatised us all for life and she’s just like. god don’t you people ever move on

[rhabakoli]

The Silk Thing

smut. 18+. I’m planning to leave you all hot an wanting so beware.  This takes place after @dreamwritesimagines​‘ last (i think) chapter of Beautiful & Damned, which you can find on her blog, her masterlist, etc. 

thanks to @riviawitch3r​ for proofing and not virtually punching me when my writing was.. meh. thanks, man, appreciate it. 

His hands on her were warm, even with the leather gloves on. She could still feel it seep into her skin, could feel how it affected her. Goosebumps broke out shivers wracking through her body obvious even to someone without the heightened senses of a Witcher. She grimaced at her body's reaction, wished she could have hidden it better, but Geralt didn’t comment. 

Instead he backed away, cleared his throat. 

“You can get up now, Princess.” He stood, packed away the vial. “I’ll ride out tomorrow to find that wretched witch, put an end to this. She’ll have to explain those signs to me.”

She got up, wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to appear less inappropriate. Then, a thought occurred to her, and she turned toward the man. “Geralt, if the mark’s purpose is to protect me from humans, shouldn’t I be able to touch animals?” 

He stopped in his tracks, looked up at her. “Perhaps. But I’d rather not have you walk around and test that theory. “

Those words hit her harder than she liked, the implications behind them were a punch to the gut. “Right. Wouldn’t want the monster to kill any more beings.”

As soon as his brain registered the words, he dropped his satchel and briskly walked over. “Shut up.” 

She recoiled, but he cupped her face in the most gentle manner, and tilted her face up. 

“Look at me.” 

Oh, she did. She couldn’t not. 

“You are not a monster. I don’t want you to have another death on your hands, because I think it will break your beautiful heart, princess.”

His eyes lingered on her face, taking in the color of her eyes, the shape of her eyebrows, the swoop of her nose and her lips. Fuck, her lips. Plush, inviting, wet from the way she nervously liked them. 

He found it impossible to look away. Absolutely impossible. 

“Geralt.” 

She watched him watch her, took in the way he tensed, how his massive figure hunched over slightly, and how his nostrils flared, before his eyes were set ablaze. 

Maybe people could look at others with desire in their eyes. Maybe Fin was right after all. It made her feel naked, bare. Her temperature rose, her heart sped up, she felt powerful; In a weird way. To think that she could have such an effect on a man like the witcher? On a man who was dangerous, hard to manipulate or influence, experienced and – to be wholly honest – downright hot? 

He was a tall glass of water on a stifling summer day. 

Geralt shifted, one of his hands changing position, fingers sliding along her cheek to the back of her head, into her hair. She could feel his fingers flexing, pressing harder, letting go, as if he was fighting himself. 

And he was. He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t. They both knew he couldn’t touch her. But hell and every monster in it, did he want to. To kiss those lips, feel her skin under his fingers… It was ripping him apart, it was burning him from the inside out, the need an all-consuming fire in his chest. Her scent was pulling him closer, taunting him, making him imagine how much better she’d smell if it was his own that clung to her. 

He groaned, ducked his head. “I wish I didn’t need gloves.” 

Her eyes went round, her pretty mouth parted in a surprised gasp. “What?” 

A smile stretched his lips, but it looked almost animalistic, like a wolf preying on a deer. Never had it felt so good to be prey, she thought. The hair on her arms stood, shivers rolled down her back, her focus solely on his hands on her. 

And then his voice, rough and smokey, but gentle, like thunder and honey mixed into a glass. 

“I wish I knew the touch of your hands. I wish I knew the feel of your skin. I bet it’s soft.” 

He filled all of her view, all muscle and temptation rolled into a delicious package of billowing linen and a dashing, clean cut black and silver brocade doublet. Whoever picked it for him deserved an award. 

He filled all her senses, her lungs filled with his scent; leather, herbs, warm earth like the forest on a warm autumn afternoon, and underlying sweat. It was mouth watering and comforting, and it made her want to find out what he tasted like. 

“Geralt-“, she swallowed, tried to focus. “Were you serious? About your heart?” 

“Yes.” 

One hand left her face, arm wrapped around her waist to pull her closer. She was so fragile in his arms, so pure against his bloodied self. 

“And I want to heal yours.” 

She snorted at that, very unladylike, and reached to grab his hand, mindful of his thin shirt. “No need to, Geralt. It wasn’t broken. It just wasn’t with me anymore.” 

 She was an open book he wanted to spend the rest of his life reading; studying her every pore, every curve of her body, every thought of her mind. He wanted to caress her, like the soft pages of a well read book, take care of her and keep her safe from wilting and the burn of betrayal. Her face was so open, so vulnerable, it felt like the softest touch of a lover’s hand as she took in every detail of his face, while she waited for his reaction when she added the words that would inevitably lead to their downfall. 

“It was with you the whole time.”

And then it was as if a dam had broken. His grip on her tightened immediately, his face fell. He groaned, closed his eyes and tried to stomp down on the urge to just fucking ravish her on the spot. “You can’t just fucking say something like that. Not when I’m not able to touch you like I want, princess. Like you deserve to.” 

There was so much fondness and restraint in his voice, her knees grew weak. Geralt pushed back hair that fell into her eyes, tucking it back behind her ear. “I’m not good with being teased, princess.” 

How was that little head tilt so adorable? He wasn’t supposed to be adorable, what the hell. 

Especially not when he was using that voice like he did. “Even my patience has its limits.” 

A thumb traced her lower lip, his eyes burning a path into them. 

“Where’s the handkerchief? The silk one?” 

She turned her head and nodded towards her vanity. “Over there.” 

He let go of her, but his eyes never left her. She was nailed to the spot, unable to move, unable to look away from his stare; didn’t want to.She wanted him to look at her forever, never let go of her, never let her out of his sight, not when it meant to be close to him, so beloved by him, to be safe and protected. He gave her a little nudge, a sharp nod in the vanity’s direction made her move. Who could ever refuse to obey Geralt?

So she did, and almost stumbled over her own feet in her haste. She caught herself though and pretended nothing happened, which made Geralt shake his head with such a soft look in his eyes, it was confusing. 

For someone who wasn’t supposed to have feelings, he let her see quite a lot of what he felt. The moment she was within arms reach, he grabbed her and pulled her against him, hand finding her hair again and pulling carefully, gently; getting her head where he wanted it. 

The anticipation was so thick, he could taste it. It laid on his taste buds like some of the more potent spices he’d tasted on his journeys, rounded off with the sweet taste of her hopefulness. “Do it again. Let me erase that foul memory, replace it with a new one.” 

His face was so close, so. close. “Let me right my wrongs.” 

The princess cursed under her breath. So fucking smooth, so obviously adept at sweet-talking the ladies, she couldn’t believe she had fallen for him.  

But then she was reminded of his behaviour around her, his kindness, his love for a child that wasn’t even his own. How he loved Jaskier as well, even if he refused to admit it, and she realized she never even had a chance. He was everything she would ever want in a man. He would be the only one she’d ever accept at her side, if she ever got rid of this curse.

She held up the handkerchief, and Geralt didn't waste even a fraction of a second. He seized her around the waist, held her head in place and pressed his lips to hers, the thin fabric the only barrier between life and sure death. 

He straightened, lifted his princess off her feet, her front flat against his. She gasped against his lips, and not only because of the sudden change in position, but also because she could feel exactly how much she affected him. It was impossible to miss. It was...sizeable. The Effect. 

Hot want flooded her, a sudden wave of sheer, carnal lust. Nothing was more desirable than to have him naked in her bed, have her way with him, make him show her how to handle him, to make him feel good and loved and cherished. The assault of emotions left her breathless. 

Geralt grunted against her lips, as the spike in her scent hit him. His body reacted instantly, and his hips bucked against her, just one sharp thrust before he got himself under control. Fuck, was she trying to kill him? 

“You know-“ another peck to his lips, kerchief safe between them. “- there’s a silk sheet on my bed.” 

Her purposefully innocent tone did nothing to soften this blow. 

“Princess-“ 

His brain was more than eager to deliver visions of what could be, and he grew ever harder, painfully so. He needed to get either out of this situation, or out of these breeches. He’d prefer the later, but there was also a not inconsiderable risk. “Your mother will kill me.” 

She loved how pained his voice was, how obvious the struggle with himself was, with his righteousness and the need to protect her. But she wanted this, and if he was willing, nothing would be able to make her regret this. She was done trying to deny herself. And so was Geralt. 

“I’d like to see her try.” 

She bit her lip, lowered the handkerchief. “If you’re willing to risk it, I won’t regret anything. Not when it involves you.” 

Fucking- yes. Fuck yes. He’d make her happy, and if it meant to break his own heart, so be it. Witchers didn’t feel anyway, right?

He shifted, bit at her lip, before rearranging his hands on her, made her wrap her legs around his waist, and walked them over to her bed.

“I am able to walk, you know?”, she chuckled, but didn’t make any attempts to escape his hold. 

“Don’t deny me this, princess.” He hitched her a bit higher, pressed a kiss to her covered shoulder. “I have to watch you all day, every day, unable to touch or even talk to you like I want to. Please, don’t deny me this.” 

Her heart squeezed, and so did her legs around his waist. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

The air left him in a heavy sigh when he sat her down on her mattress. “Undress.” 

Her room wasn’t particularly cold, but she was so hot, the air felt cooler than it was. Her nipples pebbled, sensitive to the contrast and the thin nightdress she wore hid nothing at all. His eyes fell to her chest, heaving as she swallowed down any doubts – was he expecting her to be experienced? Did he think she was even worth it? Would he drop her afterwards? –, and he licked his lips. She looked like a present, a sweet surprise wrapped into a fabric so soft and light, it covered her every curve like water, silky and shimmering and hiding nothing.

“You will have to reserve your first night after the curse is lifted for yourself.” 

“What do you mean?” 

His knees knocked against hers as he bent down, his hands to either side of her and his face close enough to make her fear accidental touch. “Because I will spend all night doing what I can’t right now. I will make you come on my tongue until you have screamed yourself sore, my princess.” 

There had to be a wet spot now, good fuck. 

Her lungs refused to work, her breathing grew laboured and irregular.

He straightened and started unbuttoning his doublet. When she didn’t move, he nodded at her, his chin stuck out. “I said undress, princess.” 

She took a deep breath, the air filling her lungs, providing enough oxygen to clear her head just a bit. “But, Geralt. You wear more layers than me. Don’t you think that’s unfair? Not to mention, what little I am wearing isn’t even closed properly.” 

His hands stilled halfway down the line of buttons, his eyes tightened to slits, his nostrils flared and his chest expanded as he took a deep breath. When he let out the previously taken breath, he opened his mouth and licked his lips; then he smiled. “You think? Well, I’ll go first then.”

Doublet about halfway open, his linen underneath not hiding all that much either, he looked like any other noble out there, but with a much better personality. He let his hands fall to his sides, his fingertips skimmed along the waistband of his pants. “I can smell you, princess. I know that you’re practically leaking.” 

His hand cupped his groin, a breathy groan and a chuckle fell from his lips. “I know how desperate you are for my touch. How wet you are.” 

A forceful stroke up and down, then he went back to the buttons of his doublet. His voice had dropped a couple octaves; it was so heavy in bass, she could feel it vibrate through her chest and down to the apex of her thighs. “And it’s all for me. All mine."

His pupils were blown, the gold of his irises almost gone. He looked like he was about to pounce at her and oh, did she want him to.

The look on his face was a mix of want and awe, desire and adoration; the amount of trust he showed her was breathtaking. It was exhilarating, freeing, terrific. She could be herself with him, and he still wanted her. Wanted her even with her overbearing parents breathing down his back, with her lethal touch, her duties and responsibilities. He still wanted her, still was naked with her. Which- why? 

What was in it for him? Why didn’t he just go and fuck someone else in her stead, to get it out of his system, like he had done before? 

“Princess.” He had come over, his knees between her legs. He towered over her, bent down to cup her face and get her attention. “Don’t leave me.” 

She watched his face, looked for hints of malice or dishonesty, but- all she found was… she couldn’t articulate it. But it made her chest burn, her heart throb and her hips shift, seeking friction, a smidge of relief. 

It was all too slow. It took too long. She got up, pulled her legs up onto the bed and knelt, and slapped his hands away. It would be faster if she undid the buttons herself, she was sure. But Geralt didn’t let her. He caught her wrists, quiet chuckle on his lips. “You need gloves.” 

Right. 

“Your thinnest pair, where is it?” 

She nodded towards the small table by the fireplace. Her thinnest pair was next to her stitching work. She used them when Ciri was visiting and wanted her help with her drawings, or when the needle started to hurt her fingers; there was little loss of feeling. She watched him walk over, became aware just how big he was, how out of place he should be - but he wasn’t. He looked right here, in her room, with his clothes in disarray and his hair falling down to his shoulders, with the way he strode through her room, so at ease and comfortable. She swallowed, pushed down the nasty doubts. They had no place here. This was for her and for him, and no one or nothing else. 

When he came back, his whole figure radiated confidence, strength, hunger. “Put these on. And then I want you out of that dress.” 

He tugged at the thin fabric, eyes hungry on her. “I want to see all of you.” 

His voice. Never had she heard any man sound that wrecked talking to her, not for the same reasons anyway. He had her weak in the knees, but she obeyed, eager to please him, and get pleasured herself. 

She reached up to open the one button that held her dress together, when her eyes fell on Geralt. He was delicious. The doublet was gone, the shirt’s laces were undone and presented his chest like an artist’s best work. She wanted her hands and lips all over him, she couldn’t wait for this curse to be gone. 

He got rid of the rest of his layers, peeled his breeches down those powerful, toned legs. With every inch of skin freed, her mouth grew drier, until she felt short of dehydrated. He was a whole lot of man. Her ogling didn’t seem to bother him one bit. 

“You are ridiculous.” 

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve never seen anyone like you, you are a mountain of a man. And I can’t wait to be buried under you.”

He choked at her sudden boldness. She watched his abs contract, his shoulders shake. She grew a bit lightheaded at the thought of being with him. He recovered rather quickly though and decided enough was enough.

“Your turn.”

“But I want to look a bit longer.” 

Geralt was watching her like a hawk, eyes boring into her, stripping her of every layer of pretence she’d ever pulled on. He stripped her bare, with just a look. She froze, like a rabbit in front of a snake, her body shaking in anticipation. It only got worse when he closed the distance between them. 

“I am stripped bare, and you’re still in your nightgown. Who’s unfair now?” 

Geralt growled, and bit her shoulder, only to pull away with her dress caught in his teeth. He tugged, and when it didn’t give anymore, he released it, took a couple steps back and crossed his impressive arms in front of his wide chest. 

“Now, princess.” 

She reached up to undo the one button at her nape, the one that had kept it from slipping off her shoulders. The fabric pooled around her on the bed, still covering her lap, keeping her from his sight. He raised a single eyebrow, and she quickly bunched the fabric in her hands to pull it over her head. 

She hadn’t even let go of it, but his hands were already on her; covering her ribcage, thumbs stroking the underside of her breasts, fingers pressing into her skin. 

“So soft. I bet you bruise quickly.” 

Oh fuck. 

He hummed in the back of his throat and stroked down her sides, hands curled around her hips now. “So perfect for me, look at you.” 

She could feel his eyes on her, tracing every inch of skin, every hair standing on edge. 

“Lie back.” 

She turned, crawled further down the bed to drop onto the sheets, but Geralt behind her was groaning, loudly, and suddenly his hands were on her ass. “Ah, fuck.” 

He gave her a good squeeze, watched her cunt flutter and weight press back into his hands. “Mhhm.” 

One finger went rogue and dipped between her glistening lips, up and down and up again, and then trailing a circle around her clit. “Is that for me? Are you that wet for me?” 

She’d dropped to her elbows, back arched and her forehead buried in the crook of her elbow. She nodded anyway, she knew he’d see. 

“Fuck, I want to taste you so bad, princess.” 

She was blushing, her cunt clenching at his words, and Geralt had to use all of his strength to not just pounce and take her. “No need to be shy. I’m here for you, and only you.” 

His finger came back around, circled around her entrance. “They’d have to kill me, if they ever want me to leave you.” 

At that she looked up. “Oh, my mother- fuck, Geralt. She’ll try, you know-” his finger pushed at her entrance, just the slightest bit and she broke off into a low moan, sentence completely forgotten. 

“Mhm. Let her.” 

His finger left her, and he gently pushed at her hip. “On your back.” She flopped down and over, none of her usual grace evident. She was a mess, and they hadn’t even started. Geralt threw the sheet over her, watched it slowly settle onto her, hiding her body, but also accentuating it. It was similar to her nightgown, but so much better. She drove him wild, absolutely animalistic. He crawled over her, lowered himself between her legs, hip to hip, core against wanting core. She let out a deep, satisfied sigh and pressed up, up, up against him. He loved her responsiveness, loved that she showed what she wanted, no fear, no distrust. He bowed his head, watched where he rubbed against her, only kept from skin by the thin piece of fabric. He was mesmerized by the sight, his dick against the bright silk, her dampness soaking through, giving him a sample of what’s to come, of what he was missing. Her gloved hands reached out to him, cupped his face, thumbs stroked over his cheekbones, a sweet smile on her face. Geralt watched her, catalogued every reaction, every little change on her beautiful face, how she pressed against him, how her hips moved with his, how her hands fluttered as she let them slide down his neck to his shoulders. She was a shining beacon of hope and love and everything he never thought he could have, and it hurt to look at her, but he had to; to remember her, to recall her face when he was alone and cold, without her touch, without her soft words in his ears, without her pulse drumming with abandon. How did he deserve this? He never left more than blood and gore in his wake, never gave more than he had to, never did anything just because. She was so good, so much better than him, so pure. She deserved someone who could love her with all his heart, and give her all she wanted and and could ever wish for. He wasn’t able to do that, he knew it, he- “Hey,” her fingers found his face once again. Her voice was soft, breathy, angelic. “Don’t leave me here like this, Geralt.” His heart clenched in his chest. Of course she knew. He smiled softly, couldn’t believe she let him close enough to even touch her, but this. “Forgive me.” He moved again, let his cock slide along her core, tease her through the sheet. She keened, raised her arms above her head and held onto the pillow, in an effort to reduce the risk of accidental touching. The change in position stretched her body, raised her breasts against the silk, pulling in his attention. “Oh, princess.” It wasn’t more than a low growl, a very soft one, but by the heavens. It made her wetter, her juices gushing out of her like she’d never experienced before. The growl grew louder, deeper, rumbled through his chest. His head lowered, his hands slid along her ribcage, around, under her to meet at her back and raise her torso towards his mouth. The sheet was now pulled taut around her, her nipples presented like fruits on a silver platter, ripe and hard, calling to him like wrapped candy. She sighed his name, when his lips found her right breast, closed around her nipple, rolled it between his teeth, carefully, teasingly. “Ah, shit-” then a soft moan when he flatted his tongue against the bud, gave a broad lick before giving her left breast the same attentions. She was going to ascend to heaven, how could she not with how heavenly this felt? His hips against hers, his cock hot and heavy at the apex of her thighs, the soaked silk a rather nice touch to it, providing another layer of friction; she needed more. Her toes prickled, her stomach tightened, and she bucked up against Geralt, who let out a breathless laugh, surprised by her sudden, well, rebellion. “Shh, princess.” He sat back up, reached for her as he went away. “Come here.” He laid back against her bed’s headboard, in all his naked glory, strong and taunt muscle, sparse hair and those seductive golden eyes locked onto her. It was as if they were connected by a string of yarn, where he went, she followed. He bunched the sheet in his hand, pulled. She watched his bicep bunch, his strong fingers bury into the fabric and she wished to be the one touched like that, with his fingers buried in her, stroking her to completion. But Geralt had other plans. He spread it over his lap, made sure they were safe. “I want you on top.” “What?” She sat there, legs crossed and her hands on her thighs. He’d interrupted her in the process of closing in on him, but his words froze her right where she was. His cock twitched, tented the silk. She looked amazing like that. Disheveled, needy, flushed, her hair a birds nest, falling around her in a fuzzy halo; he never wanted to look away. He wanted this sight to be burned into his retina forever, to never see anything else the moment he closed his eyes, to dream of nothing else than her body and her smile and her laugh and her eyes. He patted his thigh, smirked when she scrambled to close the distance between them, almost falling on her face. “You stole my grace, Geralt.”, she pouted, when she settled upon him, astride his lap. “You stole it all.” He groaned at her weight on his cock, her center pressed right onto it, wonderful friction, wonderful dampness. His hands came up to grip her thighs, smooth up and down her legs, and then curl around her hips. “Ah, fuck.” His mouth fell open, his tongue peeked out when he wetted his lips. He looked amazing like this, she thought. She could worship this man all day long and never get tired of him. “My heart, my grace, my mind. You name it, you have it.” She cupped his jaw with her hand, barely able to span the width. “You, kind sir, are a thief.” He marveled at her words, couldn’t believe them to be true. But here she was. In his lap, naked as the day she was born, giving herself to him and expecting nothing of him. No coin, no stories, not a piece of his fame. “I’ll have and keep whatever you’re willing to give me, princess.” She never failed to be mesmerized by the way he said her title, more like a pet name than a royal title. He said it as if he loved her, tender and fond, and oh- his voice deep and growling; never had anyone talked to her in that way. She trailed a path down his neck, to his chest, ran her fingers through the sparse hair on it, and, in a bout of boldness, flicked one of his nipples, then soothing it with a touch of her thumb. “Ah-” He caught her hand, pulled it up to his face and pressed his lips to her fingers. “Cheeky.” His eyes glinted with humor and mischief. She wondered if this was what he’d be like if his life had taken another path, one where he wasn’t subjected to murder and hate and doubt. She decided to bring this side out of him as often as she could. Maybe, if others saw him like this - softer, open, loving - they’d be less afraid and less disgusted. His hand came around to her behind, squeezed one cheek and gave it a good smack. “Are you dreaming?”, he asked, silent laughter in the lines of his face, in the way he tippy-tapped his fingertips over her skin. She faked offence and bit her lip, aware of his eyes on them. “Indeed I am. I’m dreaming of the end of my curse. I’m dreaming of the days, where this stupid sheet isn’t needed.” “Fuck, princess.” She moved, her hips rolled, slid along his length, drawing groans and curses out of him with every thrust. His fingers surely left bruises on her hips, with how tight he squeezed her when she hit a particularly delicious spot. Their moans and groans mingled, their scents and the smell of sex heavy in the air; anyone who had just half the sense of smell Geralt had, would know of their joining just by walking by. The thought delighted Geralt in a way he wasn’t ready to explore just yet. They didn’t hold on for long after that. She chanted his name when he seized control and held her down to rut against her harsher and faster than humanly possible, and she loved it. Her body locked, her head thrown back and her scream stuck in her throat; she came hard, with her knees locked at his sides, her hips undulating. The spike of her scent and her leaking all over him and onto the sheet had him there soon enough. His nostrils flared as he breathed in their combined spent and he had to buck up once more with his head thudding against the headboard and a deep, animalistic growl echoing through the room. They sat like that for a couple of moments, her perched on his lap, hair falling down onto his thighs. His eyes were falling closed, he couldn’t remember the last time he was this relaxed. Probably never. Her weight shifting brought him back, his eyes flew open, his hands reached for her. “Calm, Geralt. I’m just laying down.” Oh. She straightened the sheet, pulled it further up his chest and ignored the mess they made in favour of laying her head onto his chest. “I’ll need to take a bath.” “Mhhm.” “You wanna watch?” He huffed a laugh, let his fingers tangle with her hair, play with it. “Is that really a question?” “I guess not.”