#fortunately for me and him nothing has made it tempting enough yet

[yingren]

thinking about how i said ren has a hard time expressing his feelings. but consider when he does tell someone he loves them, their reaction means everything to him. reciprocated affection will have him so excited and he can’t even try to play it cool. he’s also awfully addicted to praise. showing someone something he did/made and them being genuinely impressed? oh yeah, he loves that. loves the reaction, gets a little kick out of it, will work harder to see it again.

[cozymoko]

Wait you write for Kamisama kiss??? OMG Tomoe's been my crush for years 😭 omg if it's okay with you then can I have general yandere headcannons about everyone's favourite fox boy?? 🌕 Anon

YANDERE TOMOE HEADCANONS

Note: I also love Tomoe. Btw this might suck because I'm bad at general anything.

Pronouns used: feminine, she/her (for convenience)

WARNING(S): yandere themes, slightly suggestive

YOKAI

Possessive, Manipulative, Violent (to others)

AS A ROUGUE YOKAI, pledging his loyalty to others never truly appealed to him; to a woman nonetheless. Being a formidable demon never called for such requirements.

You were feisty, pointing the round end of your broom in his direction. You knew not of who was there, yokai or human but you feigned confidence. The trembling of your hands gave it away, you were scared as one would be. “Who's there?”

The pale moonlight peeked through the few windows lining the walls, carefully calling attention to your features. You were easy on the eyes and yet so hard to look at. Your eyes were glassy and narrowed into thin slits. Your legs shook violently in anticipation for him to reveal himself as you hugged the broom flush against your chest. Such a look didn't suit you.

Having mercy on you, he decided to cut his fun a little short.

As one does, Tomoe made his way to a brothel which he was fairly acquainted with. All in a pitiful attempt to find solace amongst the predatory gazes of the women occupying it. But alas, he could not. With every look upon their faces twisted into one that mimicked your own. Captivating and seemingly kind, tempting him to reach out and touch it.

Tomoe is no fool. His emotions are evident, terribly so. He longs for a human woman and there's no need to deny it. Your image has been engraved in his memory down to every last detail. Women who were not you could no longer soothe his mind as they appeared lackluster in comparison.

Thus, he sought after you. In the middle of the night, he was whisked away by the chilly wind in search of the woman. Your scent was heavy on his mind, leading him back to the small cabin you resided in. His footsteps were night, almost silent as he entered your home, searching for you.

To his luck, there you were. Rolled up in a cotton futon, lulled by the chirps of noisy crickets. Yes, he's decided; You are his and no one else's. Tomoe isn't one for sharing and he'll make sure you're aware.

Akura-ou was quick to find out about your existence, which was a pain within itself. He would toy with you just to get under Tomoe's skin. It's not every day you get to see your moody "counterpart" fall so hard for someone, let alone a human. Anyhow, those who've tormented you weren't as fortunate as Akura-ou, serving a far more unpleasant demise for their actions.

If not for you, Tomoe wouldn't hesitate to massacre every man who looks your way. Having good-looking women by his side is nothing he isn't used to, yet, you are different. As his woman, he wouldn't want someone to so much as breathe the same air as you. The mere thought renders him ill.

Although, if you ask him not to he'll try his best to listen to your wishes. Keyword: try. He would never want to upset you, oh not at all! However he's only "human", even he has his limits.

No matter how he may terrify you, running is NOT an option. You will never be too far from his grasp. As long as his heart is beating, no one will ever have his heart. The fox demon is a bit too eager to show how he got his reputation in the Yokai world. As his other half, why don't you sit down and watch for a while?

“Foolish girl, when will you finally understand that your efforts are futile? Your cries may pain me but if I must tie you down to keep you. Then I shall.”

FAMILIAR

Loyal, Overprotective, Posessive

BEFORE HE MET YOU HE WAS A YOKAI, drowning in a pit of endless grief. Though not a powerful God, you held enough power to help the lost kitsune. You, determined to save him, kissed him and made Tomoe you familiar. For that, he was forever grateful.

Sure his bloodlust has been soothed over the decades, but it doesn't cease to exist. However, betrayal has never crossed his mind. His loyalty to you runs deeper than the blood that courses through veins. He is bound to you for life and he will serve you until greeted by death's embrace

He still finds you to be a subpar God in nearly every aspect. You were so uncool and lame as you lacked elegance, lazy in comparison to many, and awfully forgetful. But it made you even more charming. Tomoe found himself growing fond of your minor habits, though still trying to push healthier ones upon you, they were sweet, or even cute dare he say.

If you so choose, you can touch his ears. What can I say, the thought has plagued his mind more times than he cares to admit. Intimacy with you is not exactly scarce, you dot on the fox quite a bit, however, he yearns for more of your attention, your time. Being your familiar for some years has honestly built up his confidence. (There was no way in hell he'd ask you that and earlier than now.)

You cannot have another familiar, not a chance. Tomoe will burn them to the ground if they even try to kiss you. If you've had familiars before him, fuck them. They can die for all he cares. All you have to do is ask and he will gladly do the honors. (He knows you won't, unfortunately)

No male familiars are permitted to sleep by your side, except him of course. He must retain his superiority somehow. Allowing them to see you so vulnerable is not an option.

For you, he'd do an ything if it's within his power. As long as it doesn't put you or your reputation in danger that is.

“You reek of that wretched Tengu, must you always converse with such lowlives, mistress? If my company is not to your liking please allow me to fix myself. I am your loyal familiar and you should know I'm also the best.”

[generational-atrophy]

Let's give the East Asians some love! Japan, China, Hong Kong and Taiwan

Let's do falling asleep on top of them (Like on their shoulder or lap) (gender neutral or masculine please)

Please.

hetalia east asians when their crush falls asleep on their shoulder

1.0k words ~ gender neutral scenarios

tw: none!

a/n: guys i really like taiwan have i never mentioned that i really love taiwan

Japan

Once your head hit his shoulder, Kiku stiffened. What to others on the train presumably looked like nothing out of the regular, was to Kiku, a terror he had wished upon himself.

He'd seen movies, read plenty of books, and heard more than his fair share of music where this happened. At night, he lay awake imagining you doing this exact thing to him, yet now, here, he was panicking. What was he supposed to do?

Touching you would be a little violating, wouldn't it? So he made sure his hands were nowhere near your sleeping body. He wanted to, he wanted to brush your hair out of your face, grasping onto your perfectly placed shoulder, but NO!

He couldn't let himself do that, even as it practically seemed that you were beckoning him to. So, all he could do was watch as your chest fell and rose in sync with his. Or well, it was in sync with his at the start, but now his heart rate must be that of a man running an uphill marathon.

Every moment that you stirred, a little more blood rushed to his face. It's embarrassing, isn't it? People must think he's creepy, or that you're strangers or-

“S-Sorry...” You mumble out, your voice raspy from sleep.

“Oh!- it's uh- it was only a mistake, don't worry-”

“How long was I out?”

“Only a minute,” He stuttered, lying through his teeth.

“Wait, why is your face all red?”

“No reason!” He concluded, desperately pulling out his phone to avoid your gaze.

China

When your head fell limp against his shoulder, all Yao could do was sigh. Once again, young people had no self-control. What was he to do with you?

Although he made every effort to appear as exasperated as possible to the people sitting around you two, it was clear it was an act. After a minute passed, he loudly sighed again, before wrapping his arm around your waist.

He tried to gently pull you closer against him without you waking up, but once you stirred; he let go of your waist completely.

Instead, he covered his face with one of his hands, while the other hovered awkwardly over your body.

This was shameful, absolutely embarrassing- on your end, he means. He's an innocent party in this! You're just tempting him to hold you and cuddle with you and show you all of the pent-up affection he has for you, and in PUBLIC NO LESS!

Well, maybe he can entertain your teasing a little bit, he decides as he holds onto your hip protectively once again.

Although he internally wanted this moment to last forever, that wasn't realistic.

”Hey, hey, wake up already...“ Yao tells you quietly, his tone betraying his blunt phrasing.

”Whuh?“ You sputter out, suddenly coming to and shooting up from his shoulder.

”Don't be that embarrassed to be near me-“

”I wasn't- Yao, are you blushing?“

”No! I am a thousand-year-old man, I am beyond... BLUSHING!“ And, to prove his point, he immediately got up and ran out of the room.

Hong Kong

”This is fine,“ Chun told himself, ”This is fine and also, completely normal.“

Fortunately, his face didn't betray those thoughts in the slightest. To anyone who didn't have an encyclopaedic knowledge of his expressions, it would seem as if he hadn't even noticed your sleeping body, fallen on his lap.

It would also seem to most people that he was sitting almost completely still as he continued sipping from his soda. But to you, it was like laying on a massage chair. Somehow, his shaking was subtle and fast enough to only be noticeable to the two of you.

But when you stirred, moving close to his hips for support, he couldn't help but jump up.

You woke up, immediately groaning in pain as your head hit the table.

”Chun- wha- was I sleeping on you?“

”Maybe- ok, yeah you did, but like, it's no big deal!“ He sputtered out, looking both annoyed and embarrassed.

”Wh- ... ok?“

”Do you like, never sleep? Jeez...” He crossed his arms, refusing to sit back down with you.

You looked up at him, reading him like a book, ”Yeah, but it's no big deal right?”

“Uh, that's a big deal! How are you supposed to be healthy with no sleep?”

“Aw, do you care about my health?”

His jaw dropped for a moment, before he forced his disinterested expression back onto his face, “Whatever... you're the weird one.“

Taiwan

It would be a lie for Mei to say she wasn't enjoying herself while you napped on her shoulder. To her, the only thing making this moment any more perfect was the fact that the two of you were all alone. She didn't have to hide her blush or act shy about her hidden affections towards you.

So, the moment your limp head closed the distance, she took your hand. Her hands were soft as they intertwined with yours, and she smelled of jasmine. As you slept, she didn't hesitate to gently run her fingers up and down your arm, only sending you deeper and deeper into sleep.

Why, you could've slept like this forever, and Mei would've loved every second.

She gripped your hand a little tighter, shaking you gently.

“Time to wake up...” she whispered as your eyes began to flutter open.

“Huh... how long have I been out?”

She giggled, “A while!”

“Oh, I'm sorry!”

“No, no, it was fine!” As she smiled at you, it felt like the sun on a warm summer day.

”Really?”

“Yes, of course! I'm just glad you got some sleep,” Mei tells you softly, “Did I make a good pillow?”

“Y-Yeah, real good...“

”But does this mean I get to be the man now? Because I would love to-“

”Mei!“

”Don't worry, I'll always have you home before 7.“ She teases.

”MEI!“

[pointycorgiears]

Splinter

"Ouch!"

Mihawk raised his eyes to Talon who was frowning at his palm. He drew the pair of tweezers back and waited for the child to settle again before poking at his skin with the tiny instrument once more.

After another unsuccessful attempt, he sighed. "It seems this last shard of glass is too small for me to extract. It will have to remain until it comes out on its own."

"You're just going to leave it in there?" Talon asked, alarmed and confused.

"Yes. I can't grab on to it. It will come out in a few days. I will put a bandage around the area so it doesn't get disturbed."

Talon peered closely at his hand. "But, how will it come out?"

"Your body will push it out. New skin will grow around it and force it to move."

Talon stared at him,eyes wide. "Are you sure you can't take it out? What if you just cut it?"

"We are not going to cause anymore unnecessary damage. You will have to be patient."

"But I want it out now! All my other repairs are done! That's not fair!"

Mihawk blinked, minding his patience. "Then you should think twice about barreling into a glass window as a surprise attack next time there's a raid. You haven't yet learned Armament Haki to coat yourself. You are fortunate none got into your eyes."

Talon frowned as he turned his eyes away, glaring at the floor and grumbling "I don't need it...nothing can hurt me..."

"Except the smallest shard of glass has now given you a splinter. You need to learn to defend yourself against passive hazards and injuries."

Talon shaped his index finger on his other hand into a sharp blade. "Are you sure it won't come out?"

Mihawk quickly but gently placed an adhesive bandage over the splinter before the child could be tempted to act. "Not right now, but with time it will," he said softly. He took Talon's other hand in his own and the blade disappeared. "Things such as splinters are a fact of life. If we're not careful, they can become embedded in us, and even though most of the time they are just an annoyance, sometimes they can be painful. So you must be vigilant. You were made to be near invincible, but none of us can ever truly know what lies ahead in this vast world."

Mihawk squeezed Talon's hand, then let go and stood to begin putting the rest of the medical supplies away. Talon watched him, Mihawk's words turning over in his head. He began to wonder...

"Do you have a splinter, Dad?"

Mihawk paused in what he was doing and looked at the boy. "Not presently," he simply replied.

"Oh, I thought you had one of the painful ones. Did it come out already?"

Mihawk raised his brow. "I haven't been unlucky enough to receive one in a very long while. Why do you ask, Talon?"

"Well, you've been frowning a lot lately. Like something is hurting you?"

Silence, as Mihawk shut the first aid kit and a realization dawned on him. So, he hadn't been concealing his emotions over the past few days as well as he thought.

"I'm sorry if I alarmed you, Talon," he sighed, kneeling back down in front of the child and gazing at him softly. "There was something in the newspaper the other day that...upset me, and I haven't been able to get it out of my mind."

Talon perked up. "What was it? Was someone captured? Did something bad happen!?"

Mihawk raised his hand in a calming manner and taking the child's again. "No, no. Nothing bad has happened. There was an article recently that mentioned a name I hadn't heard in a very long time. Someone I thought I would never see again."

"Who was it? Was it someone mean to you?"

"No, quite the opposite actually." Mihawk stared at the Seraphim boy, his clone. His son. They were a small family, but one nonetheless. Talon deserved to know about the rest of his family history. "I think it's time I told you about your uncle."

~~~~

Mihawk guided Talon to the common room in the main tent. The others were currently out and about, thankfully leaving the two of them alone in the large space. Mihawk sat on the green sofa, rummaging through a stack of newspapers on the stand next to it, and then inviting Talon to come sit next to him. Talon squished himself into Mihawk's side, excited to see what his father had to show him. Mihawk found the days old paper he was searching for and flipped to page that had sent him reeling with emotion a few mornings ago.

"This here," Mihawk pointed to an article at the bottom of the page that highlighted an art festival. Several different names were in bold letters. It was small, barely taking up four inches of space in the corner, but Talon recognized one of the names immediately.

"Dracule Harrier," Talon read aloud without prompt from Mihawk, "graciously honored at the Diamond Moon Festival for his smithing skills and supreme craftsmanship of the sword, Kingfisher, Dracule's personal weapon."

Talon then peered up at Mihawk. "That guy is your brother?"

Mihawk solemnly nodded. "Yes."

"How come I have no data about him?"

Mihawk sighed. "The last time I saw my brother was when we were just children. My parents took him away with them when they abandoned me, and I grew up with your Grandma Moro instead. I wasn't sure if he was even still alive, so I knew nothing about him. The government had no reason to believe he even existed and no need to gather information about him. Their focus was solely on me."

Talon tilted his head, confused. "So then, this is the first time you've read about him? Why did it make you upset? I thought he was nice to you?"

Mihawk hung his arm around Talon's shoulders and squeezed him closer. "He was very nice to me. I had two older siblings, who were mean to me all the time. They didn't like me. They thought I was cursed because of my eyes. However, my little brother, Harri-," Mihawk had to pause as he said the name aloud, the first time he'd done so in years, and cleared his throat, "Harrier was my only friend. We would play together and pretend to sword fight. He always shared his food and treats with me. He made sure I wouldn't get in trouble with my parents so they wouldn't be mad at me. He was a very good little brother."

"Why did they all leave you?"

"They didn't want me," Mihawk said quietly, his yellow eyes casting downward. "They did not like my eyes, and they refused to love me because of it. Except for Harrier. So they took him away from me."

"Do you miss him?"

Mihawk tilted his head, gazing at Talon. If anyone else had ever asked him that question, he would deny even knowing who they were talking about and how dare they make such sentimental assumptions about his well-kept emotions. Looking at Talon was akin to looking in a mirror though, and he couldn't hide from himself. "Yes. I do."

"Is that why you were upset?"

"...I suppose so."

Talon leaned into his side, wrapping his wings around Mihawk's midsection. "I miss my brothers and sisters too."

This was certainly a different kind of bandage, wrapped in the boy's arms and wings.

Talon lifted his head to look at his father again. "Does this mean you are going to go find him? Can I come with you?"

Mihawk shook his head, but gave a soft smile. "I do not know if that is possible, but...if I so decide to make that journey someday, I will absolutely have you by my side."

"I want to meet him! He has his own sword, so he must be good like you!"

"I'm sure he would be delighted to meet you too." Mihawk squeezed him once more, then motioned for Talon to stand. "However, right now, it's best you go get ready for bed. I will be there soon, after I find the others and lock up this place for the night."

"Okay, Dad!" Talon hopped off the couch and scampered down the staircase, muttering about how he can't wait to meet his newfound uncle.

"Brush your teeth!" Mihawk called after him as he also stood, the newspaper still in hand. Before he set the paper back on the stand, his gaze lingered on his long lost brother's name, and then fell on the title of Harrier's sword.

Kingfisher.

There was something he did not reveal to Talon, so as not to excite the boy, or worry him. When they were still together, Mihawk and his brother made it a point to look out for each other. They both knew the terrible things their parents and siblings were capable of, mostly at Mihawk's expense. So they developed their own way of communicating while under the scrutiny and oppression of their parents. They created hand signals and code words that only the two of them knew. Harrier had always been a secretive child, trusting only Mihawk with certain information since the time he learned to talk.

Even though he had lost track of his sibling after being abandoned, it wasn't a stretch for Mihawk to assume that specific personality trait had never changed.

It had been years. Not once had his brother's name appeared in papers, documents, or word of mouth since they'd been separated. Until now. And it was so blatant. Printed in bold, yet small enough that it was still hiding in plain sight. Then there was the name next to it. The name that once told the young Mihawk that his brother needed to hide from mom and dad for awhile. He could hear Harrier's then tiny voice whispering in his ear, "Brother, I want to go see the kingfishers at the river today."

Brother, I need help.

Mihawk set the paper down. His frown returned as Harrier's old words cut him like a shard that was stuck in his memory.

His brother was trying to reach out to him.

[nowitswetme]

Dirty Talk from Dean’s Magic Mouth

Word Count: ~1075

Warnings: all the dirty talk - consistent use of the f word, slight domDean, slight degradation, thigh riding, mentions of p-in-v sex and rough sex, and pure addictive heaven from Dean’s perfect lips

A/n: part of the Dean Winchester NSFW Alphabet

No one in the history of ever has been as good at dirty talk as Dean Winchester is. He’s oh so crazy good at it. Like, could-make-you-cum-with-just-his-words-in-under-two-minutes crazy good. A literal lifetime of practice in smooth talking of all sorts has made him insanely talented with his words. Which is a very good thing. Because since his mind is always going, so is his mouth.

He’s irresistible in person. You’ve routinely gone from calm and composed to completely soaked in twenty seconds. There’s nothing like hearing Dean purr his own special brand of dirty poetry in his low, lust-soaked timbre. That same deep voice and verbal talent also make him easily the best over-the-phone fuck that you can possibly imagine. Expertly coaxing you to ecstasy with his detailed descriptions and filthy fantasies. He’s made you cum while he’s on the other end of the line more times than you can count. Even from a distance, Dean never stops until he’s sent your pussy over the peak a good few times. 

You really honestly think he could make a fortune selling naughty audios. Ya think so? Shit. Maybe I missed my calling, Sweetness. Ummm yeah. He absolutely did. Anyone would pay a fortune to be blessed enough to get off to those staggeringly sexy words. How he can be so incredibly filthy and yet somehow sweet at the same time is a beautiful mystery to you. Ya know, I really think I should get to speak for myself here. Gotta give the full impression when my reputation for havin’ a tempting tongue’s at stake. Fair point. Have at it, Dean. Whatcha wanna hear, y/n? Hmmm? I know whatcha need, Sweetness. Come lean into my chest and lay your head back so I can say it right here in your ear and drive you a little nuts, yeah?

Wanna hear about how much I fuckin’ love your body? How I’ve never seen anything so mesmerizing? How I wanna lay you down and tie your hands above your head and work my mouth over every last inch of you until you’re beggin’ for my cock? I’m so thirsty for you, Sweetness. Mmmm. Always so fuckin’ thirsty. Wanna taste your sweet pussy and run my hands over your gorgeous curves and pull you apart, piece by piece, until the only thing left in that pretty little head of yours is how crazy, intensely, unbelievably good I make you feel, y/n. He pauses his skilled seduction for a few seconds to run his hands over you and give a full, wet kiss to your neck right there below the ear he’s been murmuring sin into. And a small part of you registers that you should probably be ashamed of the fact that you’re practically panting and decidedly wet already. But the rest of you doesn’t care. At all. Not when it’s at his lips. Want some more, Sweetness? Oh, fuck yes. I think about you like this when I’m strokin’ myself, ya know. About you – all strung out with that same gorgeous, lust-glazed look in your adorable eyes that they’ve got in them now. And those sexy little whimpers falling from your tasty, perfect, pillow-soft lips. Your blissed out brain lost to anything but the dizzying pleasure I’m givin’ you. Desperate for my fingers, or my mouth, or my big, thick cock. Fuck, and I wanna give ‘em to ya, Sweetness. You want that? Want me to make you feel too fuckin’ good for words? Oh fuck. Please, Dean. Mmmm, fuck. That’s it. I love it when you beg like that, y/n. Fuck. Can you feel me against your ass, Sweetness? Makes me so damn steely to hear you plead for me to take you apart. Fuck, it’s so hot. Kills me when you’re so drunk on my love and my lust that you can’t do anything but surrender to your need for me, Sweetness. Do it again, yeah? Yes, Dean. Please. Please, anything you want. He starts to tease his fingers under the edge of your panties, reveling in the way you’re so exquisitely turned on by his voice and his potent praises.

Anything I want, huh? What if I wanna keep you spread out over me, just like this? Strip you down and swirl slow, sweet circles of perfect pressure over your clit until you’re so damn achy that you’re all shaky and whiny and desperately needy. You gonna be good for me? Let me play with you all night and get you high on lust and longing? Fuck. Wanna make you feel like you’re floatin’ on a cloud of carnal pleasure and you never wanna come down, Sweetness. Or maybe I wanna flip you around. Settle my hands on your hips and help you grind yourself over my thigh while I keep spinnin’ sin in your ear. Make your swollen clit so fuckin’ achy that you beg me to let you cum, right here on my thigh like a frantic whore. Fuck, it’s addictive when you’re cravin’ me that badly, y/n. Can’t get enough of it. Mmmm. Yeah, that’s what we’re gonna do.

In a flash, he has you spun around and over his thigh, face plastered with a smug smirk and hands guiding you back and forth in slow, calculated movements. That’s it, Sweetness. Feels sooo good under your pretty pussy, doesn’t it? Fuck. You’re already seconds from spiraling, aren’t ya? I can tell. That’s my girl, y/n. Always so good for me. Mmmm. But you know you’re not cummin’ yet, right? Can’t have that, Sweetness. Gonna need you to wait for when you’re wrapped around me, all full and floaty and feeling fuckin’ amazing. Gonna make you scream, Sweetness. You’re gonna be chantin’ my name whether you want to or not. I’m gonna hit that sweet spot deep up inside you that makes you fuckin’ sing. Over and over again. And I’m not stoppin’ there, y/n. We’re goin’ until you’re hopelessly spent and I finally decide to grant mercy to your poor, sore pussy so she can rest up for tomorrow. How’s that sound, Sweetness? Should I carry you to my bed and fuck you until you can’t speak? Think you can handle it? Mmmm c’mon. You know I’ll pamper the hell outta you afterwards. Yeah? Good girl, y/n. Let’s go.

@mwitsmejk @akshi8278​ @love-jackles​

[deepdonutkid]

Kismet

Requested: No

Paring: Shelby!Sister Reader x Isaiah

Words: 5624

Summary: For a year now, you had a secret relationship with Isaiah and even when he is still in the same room with you, you can’t stop feeling lonely. It’s not that you don’t love him anymore, it more about the weight of the secret you have to carry. But with Tommy as you big brother you can’t risk, telling the truth or your man might get shot.

Note:

I was in the mood for a Shelby!Sister reader x Isaiah and it turned out to be way longer than I expected it... and I even cut out dialog... So here it is!

It’s also flavored with Junior Peaky Boys fun at the beginning. And I was inspired by my homegirl’s one shot called star and my story is an addition to hers, it’s the same night, but Bonnie has some other adventures than the reader and Isaiah.

Somehow I feel like everybody is a little ooc, but I couldn’t correct it.

Requests and tag list are still open, feel free to dm me or send me an ask.

tagging: @bonniesgoldengirl​ @justalonelyslytherin​ @theshelbyclan​ 

Warning: swear words, drinking, binge drinking, gambling, a hinted smut and a sweet ending

It was one of those nights, nothing special, just the usual fellows around the same table in the Garrison.  You had fun nevertheless. All your friends were right there, you had enough to drink and you had a luck hand today. The cards seemed to work in your fortune.

Deviously smiling you revealed your hand. You just had won this round and it gave you unholy amounts of satisfactions. “Ha”, you cheered: “Suck it up.”

Your friend shrugged and shoved his coins in your direction. All he said was a very grumpy “There you go”, but it pleased you.

You took the money and peaked around the corner. Where was Michael with the drinks? He was like a brother to you, but he was just your cousin. Maybe it was because you were born just two months before his older sister, Anna. Even though, she was gone Michael came back to his real family and now you were closer than ever. You cared for him, more than your siblings did.

But that didn’t mean you wouldn’t hit him, if he just left the bar to fuck with some random girl. It was not about him having sex, more about leaving without telling anybody. Especially when he was supposed to get drinks for the table. You moaned and said: “Where is Michael?”

“Probably doing somebody”, Isaiah joked and lit a cigarette. Then he offered you one and you took it gladly. Actually, you bit your lip and gave him the side-eye, but you had to hide your smile in front of the others. Bonnie and Finny weren’t the smartest boys in Small Heath, but you wouldn’t risk it.

You had so much fun with Isaiah that you didn’t even know when it started. Months passed by, while you were completely caught up in your little game with him. Nobody knew it. That was mainly Isaiah’s fault. At first it amused you to keep your relationship with him secret, but now you were ready to tell your family about it. Your boyfriend didn’t like the idea.

Somehow you thought Michael started to notice. He gave you the glace, which said: “I know, dear”, but maybe you were just getting crazy. You just had to be more careful around others now and everything was fine.

The night was still young and you were keen to make Bonnie lose all his money today. He had won the boxing match earlier and the bruises were still visible, but unfortunately for him, he couldn’t win against you. It was just a card game, but it filled you with gleeful joy. This and the fact that Isaiah was sitting next to you. Sometimes he would brush your thigh with his fingers, which made you giggle even more.

“There he is”, yelled Finny while being so fucking drunk, like you never had seen him before. Michael arrived with messy hair and his tie was undone, but he had your drink and that was all that you care for. “Finally”, you fluted and ripped the glass of his hand: “Thank you, babe.”

And the whiskey was still cold, which meant he fucked the girl first and ordered the drinks afterwards. “How was she? Good?” you asked before you took a sip from your whiskey. You weren’t a lightweight when it came to drinking, maybe not as well as Arthur and John, but you could tolerate much more than Ada and Finny. Your little brother was so drunk, he looked like his head was all empty and yet filled with bullshit.

Michael sat down next to you and answered: “Mhh, she was okay, but she talked too much.” Then you felt the weight of a hand on your thigh again. A shiver rushed down your spine, but it was the wrong side. Your cousin had put his hand on your knee. “Everything alright, Y/N?”

You nodded. “Yeah, everything is perfect”, you blabbered hoping he wouldn’t keep asking questions, but he did. “Don’t be so worried, every time I’m with a girl. I know you’re still a virgin, but you can get some too. Tommy wouldn’t be against it.”

How wonderfully wrong he was. Neither were you a virgin nor would Tommy be okay with this. After all, you were his little sister and he wouldn’t accept the guy, you were sleeping with. Of course, Isaiah was a friend of the family, but after the whole thing with Ada and Freddie you had something to worry about.

The best snarky comeback was right on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t say it without letting something slip. ‘What gives you the idea I’m still a virgin?’ And yet you were silent as the guy who fucked you, sat right next to you. You felt trapped and decided to go straight forward. “Yes, he would. You know it and everybody in Small Heath knows it.”

“Oh whatever”, Michael mumbled: “Just drink enough and you eventually forget about it.”

You grinned and emptied your drink. “Fuck it, let’s play some cards. I’m not done with Mr. Gold over here.”  Then you took the cards and dealt them to start the next round.

Much later that night when you brought Finn back home and went straight back to the pub, in front of the entrance, you stumbled into Bonnie. “Is there a reason why you’re smirking?” you asked him. He was gleaming red and smiling like an idiot.

Then you remembered. “The singer, right?” Bonnie nodded and his grin got even wider. “You talked to her?” Again he gave you a silent answer. You grabbed his arm and pulled him back inside. He was a lot heavier than you thought, but then again, you were just a girl and he was a boxer.

Sometime it was weird to only have male friends, it just happened. Maybe it was because of your brothers. Maybe that’s why you never acted like a proper girl. Of course you felt like a woman and you liked your body, but in your eyes it was so much easier to talk to guys.

“Eyy, where did you found him?” Michael slurred and helped you to put your friend on a chair again. With your hands finally free you had the chance to explain. “Found him outside. I don’t know what he did there, but he talked to the singer.”

Both, Isiah and Michael nodded. It was only logical for Bonnie to freak out after it talking to her. He was there every Friday night looking for the singer and now his brain seemed to melt, just because she said something to him. But neither of you knew, what she said exactly. Maybe this was a problem for another night. It didn’t look like Bonnie was able to answer.

So you ordered some more drinks and sat back down again. In this separate room, which was reserved for your family, it was almost too tempting to get close to your boyfriend again. Isiah looked so good that night and it hurt to be unable to touch him… or to kiss him. But you would be satisfied with just holding his hand now.

It was a curse; you knew it soon after you realized that you loved him. He was handsome, charming and a loyal friend. There was no better man for you, even though you wished you could be together in public. And again you bit your lip and moved your chair away from him.

But you couldn’t think about this anymore, it was too frustrating and luckily somebody else caught your attention. It was Bonnie who mumbled very quietly: “I think she kissed me, but it could be a dream as well. It felt so surreal.”  You padded his shoulder and nodded to underline your compassion.

It was just the same with Isaiah. Whenever you two were alone, it was amazing and beautiful. He was so soft and romantic and he just made you happy. But every time you woke up and he was gone, the sweet scenery shattered. And out in public it was getting annoying to find excuses to be with him or getting away, so you could spend some time alone with him and you had to lie to your whole family about your whereabouts. Slowly it became exhausting.

There was nothing you could do about it, so you just drank your whiskey and talked with the boys about Bonnie’s singer and the girl Michael had. It was so easy for them to display their relationship in the public, but of course you didn’t have this privilege as a girl. Apparently, you needed to be protected. Or so it has been explained to you. You wasn’t concerned for your safety but for your freedom. Tommy said it was his job as your big brother to care for you, even if it felt like he was controlling you. You have always been the wild one among your siblings and everything was fine, until your mum died and your dad left. Then Tommy was in charge and sometimes his opinions would vary from yours, which led to fights. And yet you feared what he might do, if he found out about your secret.

All the sudden Bonnie fell from his chair and you groaned. Now somebody had to bring him home as well. First Finn and now him… but why they couldn’t take the whiskey today? You weren’t nearly as drunk as them, but still.

Isaiah stood up and picked his friend up. “I’m taking him home. I’ll be right back”, he said, before leaving.

Now Michael and you were alone. It wasn’t what you wanted. The only thing you could think of was smooching the sweet lips of your boyfriend. You were caught up in your little fantasy, when your cousin woke you up again. “Isaiah is acting weird lately.”

“Oh… really? I didn’t notice”, you replied: “He seemed normal to me.” Your hand grabbed the fringe of your dress. Talking about him made you nervous.

Michael moaned and fumbled for his cigarettes. He put them out, you took one and he turned his between his fingers, when he added: “I don’t know, maybe I’m getting paranoid, but I think he is hiding something from us.” Then he lit his cigarette and took a drag from it.

You inhaled sharply and stared into the void for a second, before answering: “Don’t be silly, he is just as loyal as ever.” Then you laughed and Michael joined in. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I just needed to get this off my chest.”

The rest of the conversation went just like usual. You chatted, you bickered and you had fun. While the bell already announced the new day, Isaiah came back.

In this tiny glimpse of a moment you couldn’t hide your smile and he reciprocated. Actually, you were just waiting for Michael to leave now. It was your plan all along, but patience has never been your strong suit.

It took three more rounds for Michael to say goodnight. “Take care of her, will you?” Isaiah nodded. When Michael finally grabbed his jacket and headed to the door, you felt unbelievably excited. Your fingertips slapped a melody on the table, while you watched him leaving. The door shut and now you had what you longed for all night.

You turned around and looked at him. Gosh, waiting felt like an eternity. Now you were the one smiling like an idiot. Slowly Isaiah came closer and his hand pulled you to him for a kiss. “Finally”, you whispered against his lips, before giving him what he wanted.

After you two parted you rested your head on his shoulder. Now you were getting tired as well, but you didn’t want to go to your bed. “I was waiting the whole evening for this”, he moaned and stroked your hair.

The smell of his perfume made you realized how much you missed him too, even though he was with you since you went to Garrison tonight. You moved closer to him and wrapped your arms around him to give him a tight squeeze. Then you signed: “I wish we didn’t have to hide” and buried your face in his shirt.

“Babe”, he replied: “We already had this conversation. It wouldn’t end well. Let’s just enjoy what we have as long as we can.” It hurt, but Isaiah was right. There was no chance Tommy was getting you off the hook, once he knew about it. And no matter how you explained it to him, he would still be against it. You were too young for stuff like that, as if he didn’t fucked Greta, when he was the same age.

You leaned back to see his beautiful face again. There was something in his eyes, a twinkle or something like that, but it always made you feel comfortable. A lick of your lip was enough to purpose the idea of doing something nasty. He knew you since you were children and it was like he could read your thoughts, especially the dirty ones.

Isaiah started giggling and asked: “Hey, babe, I still can cheer you up, right?”

Maybe it was time for some fun, different to the fun you had before with your friends. The word pleasure would describe it well and with his knowing look he gave you so many ideas. You laughed and nodded. “I think it might help when you do the thing with your tongue.”

“Oh”, he responded amused: “Like this?” And then grabbed you for a kiss and god, what a kiss it was. His tongue brushed your upper lip just to enter your mouth and explore it as if it was your first kiss. He even bit your lip playfully and kept going until you couldn’t breathe no more. Your knees started shaking and it was needless to say, he was the best kisser you ever had.

It took you a while to catch a breath again, but then you answered: “Yeah, just like this… But maybe we could go to your place and do a little more?”

He didn’t seem to be so sure about this suggestion. His thumb stroked your shoulder as he held you in his arm. Because he was so quiet for a second, you knew, he thought about this backwards and forwards. “But right when the sun comes up, you have to go back home”, he argued.

Again, Isaiah was right. You should take too many risks. Otherwise you might get caught and neither of you wanted that. All you could do was to shrug and agree: “Just don’t shoo me after we fucked.” There was bitterness in your voice. What wouldn’t you give to wake up next to him every morning?

The pub was almost empty, when you left. You couldn’t hold his hand on the way out. Everybody in Small Heath was Tommy’s spy. Back on the streets a cold wind blew. Now you had an excuse to go near him and he shared his coat with you. Isaiah was always so sweet and caring. You knew you wanted to spend your future with him. There was no other man and you wouldn’t get over him, not now and not in five years.

You even took off your shoes before entering the Jesus household and followed him on your tiptoes to his room. It was completely dark in the house and the silence was haunting, but good for you, you knew the way by now. The excitement made your fingers tremble.

Finally you arrived where you wanted to be the whole day, in his room. Isaiah closed the door as quietly as possible and started smiling. You walked up to him and started to unbutton his shirt. Now you didn’t want to waste any time.

And neither did Isaiah. He was ripping down your dress, which only worked because the straps were so thin. His hands were all over your body and you couldn’t stop kissing every inch of his skin. It felt like magic whenever he touched you. You moaned, when he played with your bare breasts. To silence you he put his thumb on your lips, which you took as an invitation to suck it. Maybe it was mean to tease him like that, but you were desperate for his affection.

An hour later you laid next to him, your head on his chest as he stroked your hair. “You should leave, before we both fall asleep, babe”, he whispered, which caused you to sign. Leaving now was draining, even exhausting. After this wonderful sex, you were too tired to move anywhere, not to the bathroom and certainly not back to your cold bed.

You pouted your lips and tilted your head, so you could give him your puppy eyes and a pretty please with cream and a cherry on top. “Just ten more minutes. Your bed is way comfier than mine.”

He laughed and kissed your forehead. “That’s just because I’m in this bed and you like to use me as your personal giant pillow.” Your fingers hovered about his belly. Even though his muscles weren’t tense now, you could still feel the strength lying beneath his skin.

While your index finger drew circles around his bellybutton, you whined: “Maybe… just maybe that is true, but I still want to lay here for a bit. Otherwise I start to feel like a whore, who only comes for sex and leaves silently afterwards.”  It wasn’t a knock against Lizzie or her job, but you didn’t like the feeling, when you got home and had to find sleep in your own bed. Even though you had a relationship with him, you still felt lonely. Especially when the sun was rising and nobody was by your side.

“You’re not a whore and you know that”, he argued looking a little concerned.

Then you turned on your back and stared at the ceiling. “No, I’m a Shelby and that is probably worse”, you scoffed.

Now Isaiah was silent and had no witty comeback for that. Maybe, because it was true. If you weren’t part of the family, you could be with anyone, whoever you wanted. Carrying the name Shelby was the only reason, why you had to hide your relationship with Isaiah.

After a while he mumbled: “Okay, stay for a while, but you should be back before they open the shop.” By that time you were already half asleep and yet his words made you smile. He wrapped his arms around you, the little spoon and purred like a cat. Just in this position the both of you fell asleep.

Loud steps were coming near the door, but they wouldn’t wake you up. The screaming of Isaiah’s name did. It was a familiar voice and it took you a couple of minutes to notice, it was your brother Finn who shouted and ran down the hall. Suddenly you were wide awake. You startled up and looked around the room. The sun was already up and shining through the window. Then you saw Isaiah, who was just as frightened as you were.

If Finn came rushing through that door, your secret relationship was no longer secret. “I locked the door last night”, he whispered, which was relieving to you, but still no perfect solution for this problem.

Now Finn arrived at the other side of the door and was knocking on it like crazy. “Isaiah, wake up! Y/N is gone. Nobody can find her and Michael said you were the last one with her in the bar”, your brother yelled. You could hear the panic in his voice, but you couldn’t get caught. Not now.

You stumbled out of the bed and collected your clothes, when you heard Isaiah ask: “What are you going to do? You can’t go out there. He will find out.” And you knew your boyfriend wasn’t concerned about Finn, more about Tommy.

The tension in the room was immense. You had to come up with a plan or your brothers would shoot your lover in front of your eyes.

Suddenly you knew what to do. You pushed the pile of clothing to your chest and squeeze it thigh, when you explained in a lower tone: “I’m gonna hide in the wardrobe and then you open the door and go with Finn away. Afterwards I can come out and then I go to the betting shop and tell the others I have fallen asleep on a bench or something.” It was not the best plan, but yet your only option.

Isaiah nodded and you climbed into the cabinet where he stored his shirt and jackets. The second you entered the small wooden space, you knew it was all going down. Call it intuition, call it divination, call it whatever power Polly owned, but you felt it rushing through your body. He closed the door behind you and then you could hear him stumble into his pants.

Only half clothed he unlocked the door to let Finn in. Isaiah was still sleepy. He wasn’t the morning type of person and before he hadn’t had his breakfast he wasn’t really available. Finn strode up and down. You heard is nervous steps. “Everybody is freaking out right now. Polly thinks somebody kidnapped her or worse. I mean, she has always been unratable in her doings, but this time my sister is really going of the edge. It’s already past lunch and nobody has seen her”, Finn explained: “This morning her bed was empty and I thought I shouldn’t worry, but now I’m afraid I should have said something sooner.”

The cabinet was very uncomfortable and yet you tried not to move or to make a noise, which would cause Finn’s attention. However, being in Isaiah’s position didn’t seem to be pleasant as well. He had to lie to his best friend about the whereabouts of his missing sister, knowing she was sitting right here. Isaiah patted his friends shoulder and said nothing.

Finn didn’t calm down and seemed to be upset, Isaiah wasn’t panicking like him. “C’mon, get dressed. We have to look for her. She might be lying somewhere in the dirt. We shouldn’t waste even more time, standing around.” Then he walked to the closet and opened just the door where you had been hiding.

Butt-naked you fell down to the floor and looked up to your younger brother, who had the same face expression as the one time you told him where the babies were coming from. Some when later you would look back at this moment and would have a good laugh about this, but right now it felt like your world was collapsing.

He should have seen you like this and it took you a whole minute to gather the mental energy to get back up at your feet and greet him like it was the normal thing to do in a situation like this. “Hey, Finny, there I am.”

Your brother froze mid movement and stared at you as if you were the first pink elephant the world has seen or a bear riding a bike. Then he broke the silence. “What?”, he winced. There was no anger in his voice, just total confusion.

Finn looked to Isaiah and then back to you. “You screwed my sister?!”

There was no answer to this question.

“How long?” Finn asked: “How long did you hide that from me?”

You glared over to you boyfriend as if you were asking him for permission to say something. Isaiah signed and nodded. There was no point in denying this anymore. It was over.

Now you had to tell the truth. “A couple of months, maybe a year or so”, you croaked and your voice sounded strange. Like it was not your own and even though you dreamt about finally opening up, it shouldn’t have been like this.

Your brother yelled: “A year?! A whole fucking year? Damn, I should be proud because apparently you two are excellent liars with no moral issues… you two deserve each other.” You heard the disgust and disappointment, when he spoke and it broke your heart. Back then, when the whole thing started you though he might be the only one of your brothers to understand you. How wonderfully wrong you were.

“No”, you said under your breath: “Don’t fucking do this to me. I would have told you, if you wouldn’t have run straight to Tommy after you knew. Everybody knows you can’t keep a secret. So don’t act like it was my fault or my mistake, because it’s not. I would have gladly told everybody, I’m like him very much, but you and Tommy and Arthur and John made it impossible for me to even talk with a guy who is not part of the gang. You can’t turn this around and act like you are the victim in all this.”

It was time for you to stand up for yourself and your decisions… and time for you to get dressed. You didn’t seem as responsible as you were when you were still naked and in front of the closed you have been hiding in. Now you knew how wrong it was to lie and hide your relationship, because it wasn’t their concern. It was your life, your body and your choice. Nobody could take that from you and certainly not your brothers. You weren’t afraid of them. All your life you saw how your brothers treated women and you said nothing about it, but this should change right now.

So you stood there, furious and filled with rage, put on your dress and your shoes and said one last thing, before leaving: “This madness has to end.”

You stormed out of the room- not caring for Isaiah or Finn- and heading for the King of Small Heath to throw him out of his high throne. Your hair was a nest and you smelled like a bar after a dirty old night, when you entered the betting shop. Nobody was there, just the regular family members.

Everybody seemed to be relieved to see you again and then came close to hug you. Ada was right next to the door and the first to greet you. “Oh my god, you’re back, sweetie”, she muttered.

Next was Polly who examined your appearance for cuts and other injuries. Of course you had none, besides the hickeys Isaiah gave you. She tried to take a closer look of your neck, but you pulled away, which caused her to ask: “What happened? Where were you all night?”

Now Tommy was coming up to you. His steps were slow, but fierce and the glare in his eyes was pinching. “Just from the smell I would guess, she was with a guy this night”, he scoffed: “She probably had a lot of fun, but now she should say, who that guy was, so we can take actions.” You knew he was addressing you, even though he didn’t phrase it like that.

“I don’t think, this is your business”, you replied with a grin on your face. You wouldn’t back down. Not this time. “But yes, I was with a guy tonight. So you don’t need to worry. I’m completely fine.”

Your older brother led out a little laugh, pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “Well, well, well, I don’t care what you think. I’m your brother and it’s my job to make sure you’re safe”, he explained: “And now you tell me who he was.” Ah, past tense, a hint of what was going to happen.

You crossed your arms and tiled your head to give him a dismissive look. “Who said it was your job?” was your comeback, but your brother wasn’t remotely impressed. Neither of you would let the other win. You were too stubborn for this gesture of insight.

Others, including Arthur and John, were somehow intimidated by Tommy’s behavior, but not you. Actually, you learned too much from him to take his shit.  He taught you to help your head up high and how to outsmart your enemies.  Now you could use the same strategies against him.

“Ever since our father left and mom died, you act like you are in charge, but you’re not. We are your siblings, not your pawn, waiting for your command”, you hissed: “I have my own life and I make my own decisions and who I meet shouldn’t concern you.” Slowly your anger grew. It was a boiling feeling in your gut, like you were fueled with fire.

Tommy was getting gleaming red. You had hit the right spot and you knew you would hurt him with your words, but otherwise he wouldn’t understand. The words were stuck in his throat as he killed you with his looks.

Patiently, you waited for his answer. He wouldn’t give you the satisfaction, but silencing your brother was the best thing ever, since he was the reason why you felt miserable lately. “No comeback? No arguments, dear?” You loved to poke his wounds and you did it with a huge smile on your face.

“As if you would listen to me… You even said it yourself. You wouldn’t take my advice”, he responded and bid his lip. “But I don’t need to talk to you to teach you a lesson. You’re too young to fuck around town and I’m going to find the bastard who did this and kill him.”

The door was opened behind you and soon Finn entered the room. You gave your little brother the death glare you were known for. He shouldn’t get the idea he was allowed to talk about what he found out.

You should be raging right now, but all you could do was laugh. His empty threats weren’t as daunting as he thought. With nothing but spite you whistled: “I would love to see you try. I kept this a secret for over a year now and you noticed nothing. And now I can wait another year for you to find him… or I could run away… whatever you prefer.”

Now you’re pushing your luck. Finn could ruin everything, if he just said one wrong word. The palms of your hands were sweaty. It was a dangerous game you played there, but it was not like you could back out of it now. This was road of no return.

Tommy seemed to be more surprised than fuming, when he asked: “You slept with some geezers for a year now?” He respected your talent to keep it under the radar. Everybody who could shirk his rules deserved acknowledgement for putting up with this risk. Maybe he was finally realizing how much you had grown. You weren’t his little kitten anymore.

“No, not geezers, just one guy”, you corrected him: “But yes, that is true.”

You watched Tommy as he walked around the table, heading for the whiskey, while he nodded understandingly. “Mh, so you would say it’s love?”

A sign came from your lips. You already knew the answer, but you weren’t so sure, if you should say this out loud. After all, you didn’t even have a proper talk about this with Isaiah. Silence was filling the room, while you calculated your risks. If you said, you loved him and Isaiah wasn’t as serious about the relationship, you would look like an idiot. Good for you, he didn’t come to the betting shop to witness the fight between you and your brother. Finally you decided to tell everybody: “Yes, I do.”

“Good”, Tommy mumbled while he poured his whiskey: “Then you should have my blessing. Just give us the name now.” He took a sip and seemed to be amused by your embarrassment.

Talking about Isaiah, while he wasn’t present, was weird, but you knew why he stayed in the comfort of his own room. You weren’t mad at him for not running after you. This was your fight and not his. And after all your brothers were a little scary, when it comes to stuff like this.

But you had Tommy’s word now and nothing should happen to your man. You shrugged and rolled with your eyes. The fuss they made about this was still annoying.

Ada patted your shoulder and encouraged you to speak. “Do we know him?” The answer was yes, but it was also the reason, why you struggled to say it out loud.

Even John chimed in and kept pushing: “Yeah, what’s up with this fella?” He was smiling to let you know the mood had changed. Nobody was against you anymore.

“It’s…”, you started and fumbled for the seam of your dress: “It’s Isaiah.”

At first it was dead silence, while the others processed the information, then Arthur and John burst out in laughter. Finn seemed to be relieved, because he would have hated it to keep a secret like this. Your older sister was hugging you a little too tight and even Polly was smiling.

Tommy had a smug on his face when he muttered: “If that’s the case, then you should have your happiness.”

“Isaiah is a fine fella. You will be alright”, hummed Arthur. Apparently everybody was happy with your choice. You just had to stand up for yourself.

It felt like a huge weight was lifted off your shoulders and then you could laugh about it too. But suddenly you remember that Isaiah was still waiting for his death in his room. “I should go and let him of the hook”, you fluted and already went to the door when you heard Tommy said: “Don’t get pregnant or he has to marry you.”

[blzzrdstryr]

Reveries of turmoil

Yandere!Childe x fatui!reader

[Previous chapter]

Just as you predicted that short and stifled conversation was a portent of future changes. Childe stopped trying to talk to you outside the business, he even avoided your eyes in those rare moments when you looked at him first. Normally obnoxious and persistent Harbinger seemed to deflate in your presence, as his swaggering and blustering attitude disappeared within mere moments.

You would be overjoyed for this turn of events, if you didn’t have any experience of dealing with and tolerating Tartaglia. Childe, as you already established, is a chaos personified, an erratic whirlwind that twists and ruins everything in its way wrapped in human skin and caged by human bones. It wouldn’t be a surprise if some nasty complications arose out of this faux armistice and sneaked upon your unsuspecting self.

Ajax wont do anything drastic, you reassure yourself - the Rite of Descension gets closer and closer with each passing day, he just can't afford to fail this, meaning that he will have to keep you on-field. It would be logical to do so, let you work, but logical sometimes means predictable and nothing about Ajax is predictable.

Fortunately he continued to keep this strange distance as days passed. Was your little episode and words you said to him enough to stop him in his pursuit? Maybe it truly hurt him, maybe it made him see how miserable he was making you, maybe his obsession with you ceased to exist, it’s flames fizzling and going out just as fast as they ignited. You doubt all of it, yet continue to hope for the better, despite the evidence of the opposite shoved in your face.

Ajax will never let go of you, not in the way you want. He killed and tortured people right before your eyes, sometimes had you assist him in doing so. Most of the time this was done in Tsaritsa’s name, for the future of Snezhnaya and her people, just another working assignment regardless of the blood curdling screams and alien agony.

However, in some rare cases the torment of others isn’t something that is totally impersonal to you, sometimes you’re the main cause. Childe is possessive, terribly so. He watches over you like a dragon guarding his gold, scaring away other possible admirers. And if his title and reputation wasn’t enough to keep away whatever poor sod who decided to tempt the dragon, well, other way more grim methods were used.

You never personally witnessed these kinds of torture, but you heard rumours and sometimes saw the bodies after, images that keep reappearing in your nightmares. Maybe this lull is nothing but a quiet before the storm, a short breather after he commits some unforgettable atrocity again.

He personally summons you the day before the Descension. You brace yourself for incoming nonsense, except nothing comes. “Agent [Last]”, he says, his voice tense and restrained.”I need you to attend the Rite of Descension with me. You will be disguised as a civilian", and then he dismisses you, no hint of mind games he likes to play in sight.

You want to hope that he changed, you succeed and fail at the same time - this new Ajax is pleasant, he’s cold and disinterested, just like any boss should be, yet you just can’t relax and focus wholly on doing the job - it’s a privilege only those who haven’t met Tartaglia can afford.

He’s a sea, treacherous and ever changing, calm and serene in one moment, yet violent and crushing in the other.

You spend the day torn between the anxious thoughts of Tartaglia and what he might do and the preparation for upcoming ceremony - it's a once in a lifetime event, it's Tsaritsa’s will and hope, it's Ajax’s eyes focused on you. You can’t afford to fail, you have no right to do so.

Wearing a simple Snezhnayan overcoat with nothing hiding your face is surely strange after years of donning a fatui uniform. Tourists and Liyuens alike pass by, not paying you any attention. Both vision and delusion glow under the thick fabric, asking you to use them.

You walk faster.

The top of the Yujing Terrace is lit with sunlight and full of human sounds, as merchants and other workers haste to finish their tasks and join the people at the top. You look around, quickly noticing the familiar ginger - he stays half-turned to you, his eyes focused on the figure of Tianquan. You quickly avert your gaze, as if not recognizing him, and shift it towards other people - you spot two vision holders among the crowd too - an electro and geo one, and a strange person cladded in the exotic clothes with some sort of flying fairy(?) floating around.

You walk to the altar placing Liyuen flowers nearby the multiple offerings of food, wine and gold, their simple white petals contrasting against the gaudy luxury of the rest.

"Qingxin flowers?", someone suddenly says, a speck of genuine surprise evident in the phrase. Their voice is too close for your comfort - you quickly turn on the heels, alarmed by a person somehow sneaking up on you only to be met with a pair of the golden eyes.

It’s a nicely dressed Liyuen gentleman, with the air of wisdom and elegance surrounding him, an inner dignity shining from beneath, and most importantly the one you saw wearing a vision at the back of the coat. You try to look as calm as possible, despite the senses telling you otherwise - after years of service any vision holder unadorned by the Fatui colors is perceived as a threat.

“Yes, it is”, you quip back, not wanting to look suspicious: “Is this improper? Qingxin as an offering?”, you mimic a light concern - something that would be appropriate for the foreign merchant who might have offended the god of commerce.

“No, not at all”, Liyuen laughs: “just in all of my years, I have never seen anyone offer these flowers”.

“Huh”, you smile, looking at the man before you. Is he a simple liyuen you thought of him at first? He has Geo vision - the symbol of Archaic Lord’s recognition - and the way he said “all of my years” carry more weight than usual, a mark of something hidden beneath the mundane phrase.

“Something tells me, you must have attended every rite of Descension”, you continue, the starter vague and innocent enough - a perfect way to fish out more information. For some reason, his golden eyes widen a bit, it’s subtle and quick enough to go unnoticed by most people, but you’re not the most people - all Fatui agents are trained to catch even the smallest changes and educated in multiple fields, physiognomy included.

What could have caused such a reaction and why did he react the way he did? The Rite of Descension is a prominent event in the life of every Liyuen, even if it’s annual, as thousands of thousands of people traverse great distances to see their god fly down from the heavens and grace his subjects with the wisdom of countless years. You remember seeing Liyuens living in Snezhnaya consistently take a leave every year for a week, when the prominent date showed on the horizon, missing working days and no doubt a lot of nerves, only to see the archon of their homeland.

So why did that man looks so surprised?

“You’re quite perceptive, aren’t you?”, he responds, voice calm and pleasant, despite the masterfully hidden surprise: “And yes, I have always tried my best to be at every Rite to this day. Rex Lapis shares his experience with his people, so it’s an incredibly important day. And what about you? What brings a foreigner here?”, he makes a gesture at your obviously snezhnayan clothes.

“Well, I am a travelling merchant as you can see”, you raise your hands, showing him more of the coat: “Having blessing from the God of Commerce won't hurt, right?". He, again, reacts in the way you haven't anticipated, a handsome face adopting a contemplating expression for a short second.

"Rex Lapis rewards diligent people, work hard and he shall bless you too", he says with an air of wisdom around him, like an old enlightened monk passing his knowledge to the disciples surrounding him: "And you shouldn't keep your vision beneath the layers of cloth. I feel its chill just standing here, who knows what it will do to your body?".

Then he simply turns away and goes to the exit of Yujing terrace, and it’s your turn to suppress the rising agitation - how did he know, where’s he heading now?

“Wait”, you say: “why are you leaving?”

“I dedicated my whole life to my job, which consists of a collection of small and incredibly repetitive tasks, they took up most of my attention and I slowly, but surely became a creature of habit, deaf and blind outside its limited field of experience and comfort zone. Time never stops, so I decided to leave the work I’ve been entrusted with, and I want to start it by breaking my strongest habit - religiously attending every Rite of Descension”.

“Ah”, you reply, equally impressed by his speech, and feeling that you are talking about two completely different and unrelated topics: “well, good luck on that”.

More and more people flood the terrace as one of the main threats to your plans finally arrives - stern and ambitious, Ningguang looks as elegant and intimidating as ever, geo vision and the tassel attached to it, shaking with every graceful step. She throws a short glance at Tartaglia - he stands surrounded by the rest of the agents - yet her face doesn’t change even a bit, whatever hostility she may hold for your faction masterfully suppressed.

You quickly look around - tourists and citizens arrive at the last minutes and milleliths come with them. Soon, all of the exits are heavily guarded by at least four soldiers, all carrying spears and clad in armour - surely a necessary precaution, given the presence of Fatui and their Harbinger.

There are no milleliths among the crowd though, not in the on-duty uniform at least. You study the group again, this time looking for anyone with weapons, as someone lightly pushes you away - it’s that foreigner again. “I am sorry, we need to go closer”, the pixie-like creature apologizes, as it flies after the stranger, and you conclude that there are no armed people, except you, Tartaglia, milleliths, Ningguang and that strange person.

“The hour is upon us”, Tianquan starts, after looking at the bright sun above, two women around her slightly bowing down, as she invokes the power of geo. The gold glow surrounds and illuminates her whole figure, before condensing into hard rocks of the same shade. They shine and fly around her for a bit, leaving the yellow trails behind before starting to spin around the shrine in the middle of the rock table.

Soon the golden inscriptions on the shrine start to glow too, before it sends a bright orange beam into the blue sky. The crowd "Oh!"s and "Ah!"s as the clouds deform around the pillar of light.

Tension, so thick it can be tasted, descends in the waves upon the Terrace as some - carefree and ignorant - hold their breaths in excitement and anticipation, whilst the rest focus in caution - Fatui and Qingxin alike. You shift, taking out both vision and delusion out of your coat, as your eyes frantically shift between Tianquan, Tartaglia and the spiraling clouds above, your whole being ready to aid Childe in his mission.

And then something unexpected happens: a majestic dragon does descend to his people. By falling straight to the ground. Serpentine body slumps around the crushed offerings, elongated tongue escaping the confines of the maw.

A long second of absolute silence passes before Ningguang collects herself, checks the body and orders milleliths to close off all the exits, as the crowd erupts into turmoil and chaos realizing what exactly has happened. You disguise amongst the panicking masses, hiding two glowing orbs in the deep pockets of your coat,before looking at Tartaglia again - he in turn intently stares at the blonde foreigner, who quite clumsily tries to sneak past the soldiers.

Milleliths catch onto that running after the stranger and you use this opportunity, turning invisible in the same second. People around you are too panicked to question your sudden disappearance or the unnaturally cold breeze swaying past them, as you make your way - Childe has already departed, chasing after the group of soldiers, and Ningguang is seen leaving too, giving the last orders, before turning to the Yuehai pavillion.

You contemplate for a second, unsure what to do - Tartaglia has ordered you to aid him in case of Qixing intervention, there was nothing about the death of your target and the glimpse into Tianquan’s actions might be a key to solving the mystery of said departure. The thing that you plan to do is opportunistic, reckless even - who would have known that Ajax will rub off onto you? You chase after Ningguang, careful to keep yourself invisible.

Who is Rex Lapis’ murderer?

She goes up to the aged man standing at the stairs of the pavilion, they exchange a couple of words before Ningguang steps up on the little floating island and it starts to levitate! You run after her, still unsure what to do - the platform is too small, Tianquan will no doubt feel the chill coming from you, but the opportunity to learn what Qixing are planning is too good to miss.

In the end, you come to compromise, jumping after the rising platform, as your hands clutch into its rough protrusions and you grit your teeth, enduring the pain and cold from the vision overuse. The little island rises higher and higher, as people and buildings underneath turn into small dots. Your fingers start to slide off a couple of times, yet you grab onto the island with a renewed strength everytime that happens, asking Tsaritsa to let fortune favour you.

The platform finally stops moving, and you pull up, once you hear her heels clicking away.

Jade chamber, as it turns out, exceeds all rumours, luxurious and opulent, shining above the prosperous city, it glows under the sunlight with a golden radiance. You would have stopped to admire it if it wasn’t for your goal. You sneak after Ningguang, following her to the office as she takes out papers and folders from the shelves. She focuses on them, as you carefully step near her, glancing at what she’s reading - it’s reports of fatui activity throughout the months, leading to this day, thankfully vague and very far from reality.

Does it mean that she also has no idea of what or who caused Rex Lapis’ death and tries to find his killer? Or does it mean that she looks for a way to deduct Fatui's next actions?

You don’t have time to contemplate, as the frost worsens and you feel cryo energy exhausting from the overuse - one more minute and you’ll become visible. You quickly walk away - you don’t have enough time to reach that platform, so you do the most logical thing - fling yourself out of the window, opening the wings of the glider halfway the jump.

You push the most of your invisibility, letting go of the cryo powers once you're only a couple of meters above the ground. In the end you find yourself tired and frozen to the very bones, slowly coming back to the Northland bank.

***

You approach the building as the Sun begins to set - its pink-orange rays dying everything in the warm glow. The bank looks glorious like that, sinking in the reddish tones, it looks like an illustration out of children’s books - a place of something miraculous, a place of something hopeful.

“Hi”, you throw to the tired Vlad and he nods, after suppressing an escaping yawn: “Is boss here?”

“Yeah”, he croaks, drowsiness evident in his speech: “came back like an hour or two ago. Can’t really remember”.

“Huh.. Well, thanks”, and with these words you enter the bank, pushing the doors and preparing yourself for the confrontation to come.

After chatting with Ekaterina and confirming that yes, he is in his office, you head for the staircase, all of the information you learned today buzzing inside your head.

Childe sits, hunched over the papers, as you enter, not paying you even the sliver of attention. For some reason he’s in a different clothes.

“Eleventh Harbinger”, you start the standard greeting, all formal and stiff: “this subordinate has finished the task”.

This finally prompts him to raise his head, cold blue eyes look at you, no hint of the usual obsessiveness in sight: "you may speak, agent" he succinctly says, putting the writing feather aside. You quickly report to him all you have seen today, without your own thoughts involved - they’re just baseless theories, after all.

“So you say, Tianquan was reading the reports about Fatui activity. Haven’t you destroyed those reports earlier?”

“Those papers contained nothing about the current situation, they were actually far from reality, I doubt that any of those reports survived the fire”.

“Seems, I’ll have to take your word for it”, a sigh, he leans closer in his seat, propping left cheek on the palm: “Why did Tianquan look at them? What was she trying to do? Pin her crime on us?”, he glances at you again, gesturing that you can speak your mind and you do.

“Highly unlikely, sir. From the short time I spent watching her and her reputation, I have an impression that Qixing Tianquan is a person who prefers to plan her every action. If she or any other Qixing higher up, were the one who murdered our target, then every needed preparation would be done months, if not even years in advance. She would somehow cast us as the killers right at the ceremony, in front of thousands of Liyuens, making us a scapegoat for public outrage and creating alibi for herself”.

“So, that’s how you think”, he hums, blue eyes deep in thought: “Your entire conclusion is based on the mere impression. With Tianquan’s ambition I wouldn’t be surprised if she was the one behind this...”, a vague hand gesture: “catastrophic situation”.

“When I sneaked inside the Jade chamber, she looked very frantic, it didn’t show on her face, but her movements were harsh and quick, lacking any of her elegance. She looked like she tried to keep herself together”.

“Anyone would try to do that, especially after killing a god”, he looks somewhere to the left, no doubt imagining battling the dead archon: “Well, my conclusion isn’t based on anything solid either. We don’t know who killed Rex Lapis, but we still need to somehow obtain his gnosis”, the last part isn’t addressed directly to you, it seems that Ajax just decided to voice out his worries.

“You can go”, he says, standing up from the table. You are touching the door handle, when you hear him asking:”what’s with your hand?”. The tone is nothing like that time, yet shivers still go up your spine when you remember what happened that day.

"Frostbite, from my vision", he comes closer to you, hand outstretched to yours: “Can I?”, he asks and waits for your faint nod, before gently pulling it closer to his face.

“It’s a second degree”, he mumbles, inspecting the white-blue discolorations and small angry blisters - the skin throbs and aches at his touch, yet most of it remains numb, muffled, like sounds underwater: “You should get it treated”.

“I should”, you agree, eager to leave this room and situation: “I will ask medics for some..”

“I already discharged them”, his hand suddenly shifts, now resting atop of the door handle, his frame suddenly looming over you: “I have a medkit here, with the ointments and balms. Maybe you should stay here and let me patch you up?”

Why did you even think that Childe could change?

***

Ajax has you sitting on his chair, with sleeves rolled up to the very elbows, as he frets around you - checking the temperature, pulling the warm water closer to you and taking out needed medicine out of the kit. It’s mostly silent, except the tune he quietly hums - Childe looks peaceful and content like this, maybe he likes caring for you.

“Does it hurt?”, he takes a discolored finger, probing around the blister, as the warm hydro energy engulfs your damaged hand. The burst of sensation explodes at this action - pain, tingling, throbbing, even relief.

“Bearable”.

“Understood”, Childe gets back to his task, continuing to rewarm your hands, still humming that tune as he does so. He takes out the healing ointment, when the healthy color and warmth returns to your limbs and spreads it on the skin, bitter herbal scent filling the room in an instant.

“[First]”, he says, as he rubs the place between the index and middle fingers: “I think we need to talk. About that day and your reaction”.

“And what about it?”, you respond, too quickly and snappy for the calm-facade - the memories of that day, of what you thought he will do to you, of how he witnessed you falling apart - all of these are too much, a maelstrom of conflicted feelings rising every time your thoughts stray to this topic. He finishes applying the balm and now switches to the bandanges, wrapping treated hands in them.

“Don’t you think you treat me too harshly, [First]? I understand I may have been… unpleasant in the Past, but I thought we moved past that. What have I done to warrant such ire?”, he says it with his usual smile, but there's a tense, heavy tinge in his words. It’s subtle enough to miss, but you knew Ajax since you both were fourteen, so the strain doesn’t go unnoticed.

Everything, you want to coldly respond, but you stop yourself again - Ajax is still a Harbinger, even if he trailed your steps at the training camp like an overeager and highly murderous puppy not even a decade ago, no matter your own feelings or sentiments or even experiences he still holds that power over you, whether he realizes it or not.

“There were.. things”, broken bones, coppery scent of blood, someone else screams: “training with you wasn’t pleasant for sure”. Childe laughs at the last part, yet the tension clouding in the air doesn’t dissipate, turning more tangible instead.

“I see”, a long pause: “I want to prove you're wrong, I want to prove you that I will never do something against your will”.

You already did. You stay silent at that, anger and fury and frustration boiling underneath, burning and scorching your insides like a magma moments before the eruption. His hands finally wrap the last layer of bandage, tying the ends into a neat little bow, yet he doesn’t let your palm out of your hold, as his lips hover over it, breath burning the skin even through the fabric. And then he releases it, not doing anything.

“Good luck with that”, you finally suppress the inner storm, and stand up from the chair, quickly heading to the door. The place where he almost kissed your tingles and throbs with a renewed strength. Your cheeks burn for some reason.

[xiaomoxu]

Lucien - Intimate Date

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT!! ⚠️

A date from CN server which hasn’t been released on EN server yet. Might contains some spoiler. Happy Qixi Festival~

Translations under the cut~

-

Whistle: Speaking of which, Mr. Lucien...

When the "whistle" spoke, I did not hear him clearly. He had to knock the steering wheel twice before I came back to my senses.

MC: Yes, what are you talking about?

Whistle: I said that this mission goal is rare to invite you to travel with. You must seize the opportunity and strive to completely gain his trust.

Whistle: You must record his destination, what he ordered on the train, and who he met.

MC: Yes, I remembered it.

My answer seemed to make him dissatisfied, and he looked at me warily through the rearview mirror.

Whistle: MC, It can't be... Are you tempted by that Mr. Lucien?

With a stern expression only face, I sat up straight up steeply.

MC: What are you kidding about, how can I be tempted by that kind of person?

Whistle: Hmm, you just have to know it.

There was no more words in the carriage, and the car continued to drive towards the train station. Looking at the bustling city outside the window, I tightened my lips.

How could I be tempted by Lucien?

If there is someone who fascinates me, it should...

I lowered my head and glanced at the book in my arms.

"Awakening" Snow fox.

ㅡThis "Snow Fox" who can guide me and give me strength first.

The first time I read Mr. Snow Fox's article, I seemed to be drunk, and all the confusion and perplexity I had been dispelled.

He used his pen as a knife to attack injustice and pave the way for peace.

He is a lonely walker with a torch in his hand, walking in the long dark night.

I am a small streamed firefly attracted by the hot flame, chasing this light silently.

Finally, with all efforts, I joined the organization of Mr. Snow Fox

Although I haven't seen his true face yet, but he once asked someone to forward me a book to encourage me.

MC: You are shimmer, you want to hide under the darkness.

I opened "The Awakening" and mumbled out a line of text on the title page—this was also a personal message from Mr. Snow Fox to me.

MC: I will never disappoint Mr. Snow Fox.

The car stopped by the train station, I put the book back in the secret compartment of the suitcase, and carefully sorted out my cheongsam.

The Whistle opened the door for me.

Whistle: For the last, check the mission target situation again.

MC: Okay.

Whistle: Who is your goal?

MC: Lucien.

Whistle: Who are you?

MC: Lucien’s blind date, which is a rich lady who has lived abroad since she was a child and returned to China for less than half a year.

Whistle: Your task.

MC: Monitor Lucien and find out his purpose of leaving Loveland City this time.

Whistle: Very good. One more thing, if there is a suitable opportunity in this trip...

Whistle: Kill him.

MC: Assassinate Lucien?!

This order was a little unexpected, and I couldn't help being taken aback.

Didn't the previous organization say that Lucien maintains the balance of the Loveland market and asks me to focus on surveillance and not to move?

MC: Why did you suddenly kill Lucien? Was it a temporary decision by the organization?

Whistle: What do you ask this for?

MC: Because this is contrary to my previous actions, so I want to confirm again...

Whistle: This is a private order from Mr. Snow Fox.

MC: Mr. Snow Fox...will give me a private order?!

My eyes widened in surprise, and when I wanted to ask a few more questions, a horn suddenly interrupted our conversation.

At the intersection not far away, three black cars approached us one after another.

The black goat logo on the front of the car was plated with a dazzling silver in the sun, like the cold light on the tip of a knife.

The original noisy street became extremely quiet, and only the tires made a slight rubbing sound on the ground.

The convoy drove slowly across the road, and after such a long distance, I still saw the clear profile face of the mission target in the car window at first glance.

It’s Lucien.

Whistle turned his face and saw Lucien's motorcade, and he frowned.

Whistle: You don't need to be too nervous, I will pretend to be an ordinary tourist at the next stop and sneak into the third-class carriage to meet you.

Whistle: Remember what I just said, once you find the opportunity to do it, use the transmitter in your suitcase to contact me.

Whistle: Okay, it's time to play, Miss MC.

MC: Mmhm.

I took a deep breath and got out of the car with a small suitcase.

The door of the middle car across the street also stopped at the same time. A group of black subordinates lined up, and one of them opened the door.

The first thing that catches my eye is a hand holding a cane. The fingers are white and slender, and the nails are neatly trimmed, like the hands of a literati.

Only the thin calluses at the knuckles indicate that this hand can hold a pen or a gun.

The owner of the hand, leaning on a jade cane, stepped out of his right leg first.

With his figure, it may be more suitable to wear a slim dress, but even if the gown is tightly wrapped, you can still see the straight and slender legs.

The silk gown bends like flowing wrinkles between his knees, and the dark lines on the satin surface reflect the shimmering light as he moves.

He raised his other hand again, took a trilby from the hand of his respectful subordinate and put it on his head.

In the silence, Lucien got out of the car slowly.

It was so quiet all around, it seemed that he was the only protagonist of this silent film.

And after Lucien's gaze slowly looked around, he finally stopped at my face across the street at this moment.

In an instant, his indifferent eyebrows were stained with the temperature of the early morning, and the lip line also bends in a pleasing arc.

Lucien: MC.

MC: Mr. Lucien

Obviously his appearance is so harmless, three points gentler than the teacher in the school.

But when I think of the rumors about this "Mr. Lucien" in the market, I still can't help but feel a palpitation.

He held back his subordinates and walked towards me with a smile.

Lucien: Sorry, did you wait for a long time?

MC: Fortunately, I also just arrived.

I took a step forward, trying to maintain my innocence and asked

MC: Mr. Lucien, where are we going this time, why would you think of inviting me with you?

Lucien: What we are going to is a very beautiful place. As for why I brought you...

Lucien: I think a smart girl like you shouldn't be surprised.

MC: You praise me like this, I'm so embarrassed.

MC: Now that Mr. Lucien decides to keep the sense of mystery, I will keep looking forward to it.

I reddened my cheeks pretending to be shy, but my heart was beating wildly because of the other party.

Whistle hurried to the trunk to help me take out the luggage, and Lucien also leaned down and naturally took the suitcase from me.

Then he straightened up, smiled and stretched out his other arm to me.

Lucien: Let's go.

MC: Okay.

I happily wrapped his arms, leaned my body against him-and walked towards the train station.

There is still a short distance from the start of the train. As VIPs, Lucien and I have already arrived in the luxury carriage in advance.

And after the whistle sent my luggage onto the train, he left immediately. Before leaving, he didn't forget to wink me a warning.

Lucien leaned on the sofa. He glanced at the back of the whistle through the window and whispered.

Lucien: Miss MC, your driver...

Subordinate: Mr. Lucien.

The subordinate's knock on the door interrupted Lucien's words, and he frowned slightly.

Lucien: Come in.

The subordinate walked in quickly and whispered something in Lucien's ear.

I tried to prick my ears, but I could only hear a few scattered words-"clue", "check", "eradication"....

While listening, I calmly poured myself a cup of scented tea.

As Lucien listened to the report of his subordinates, the corner of his mouth moved.

Lucien: Don't worry, continue to follow him.

Subordinate: Did you mean...

I don't know if it was my illusion, Lucien's eyes seemed to turn to me.

Lucien: If you want to do it, do it thoroughly.

Lucien: After all, an excellent hunter wants to lure the "Snow Fox" out of the hole, and it can't do without enough delicious bait.

Snow Fox!

Suddenly hearing these two words, my fingers trembled, and the scented tea almost spilled from the cup.

Lucien: Miss MC, what's wrong?

MC: No, nothing, my finger was accidentally scalded by the teacup for a moment.

Lucien: Let me see.

MC: It's okay, it's just hot.

But Lucien had already held my hand, his strength was very light but I couldn't refuse it.

The cool fingertips rubbed my red fingertips, bringing out an ambiguous itching.

He observed it carefully for a while and saw that there was nothing serious, so he pulled a white silk kerchief from his arms and wrapped it around my finger.

Lucien: The walls of this porcelain cup are relatively thin, so you will remember to put something on your hand next time you drink hot tea.

MC: Alright, I remembered it.

Lucien smiled at me, and lightly shook my fingers wrapped in the kerchief.

When he spoke again, his words were directed to his subordinates.

Lucien: Follow the previous plan. I hope to hear some good news when I get to the station.

Subordinate: Yes Sir.

At this time, the sharp siren finally sounded, steam gushing out, and the steel wheels began to move forward steadily.

The people on the platform waved their hands, saying their last blessings and goodbyes to their loved ones, lovers, and friends.

Amidst the hustle and bustle, there is also the persevering cries of newsboys, one after another, like cicadas in the late summer, so ear-piercing.

News Boy: Sell ​​newspapers! Take a look! Mr. Snow Fox's new work "Dark Night Flame" is on the market!

--

Before I knew it, I had been on this train for three days.

During these three days, I was not restrained and could walk around in the train at will. The scenery on both sides of the train was beautiful, and the companion accompanying me was considerate and gentle.

If it is said that the only flaw is that there is still no intelligence.

MC: Lucien...

This man is indeed too perfect and too tricky.

I sighed and looked at the figure on the platform unconsciously from the gap between the curtains.

The train will stop next to a small station, and Lucien is talking to the owner of the food stall, he looked gentle and humble.

He paid the money and was about to return to the car with the paper bag. Suddenly, a boy with a cart next to him slammed his feet and slammed forward, exclaiming.

Seeing that the cargo is about to collapseㅡ

Lucien's eyes were quick, and he held the cargo box with one hand and the boy with the other.

Lucien: You all right?

Boy: You are?! sorry! sorry!

When the boy saw that he almost hit a noble person, he trembled with fear and apologized again and again.

Lucien: Don't be so nervous, you didn't hit me either. Go ahead.

Boy: Thank you sir, thank you sir!

The cargo boy ran away without looking back, pushing the front of the car.

-It seemed like a small accident, but from my perspective, I clearly saw the cargo boy quickly stuffing a note into Lucien's hand when he left.

Why did Lucien use this method to deliver messages?

I watched Lucien's calm and composed face, and suspicions gathered in my heart. I raised my head  and met his gaze.

MC: ...!

I drew back abruptly, avoiding his sight.

Subordinate: Mr. Lucien?

Lucien: Nothing, go up, don't let the kids wait in a hurry.

After a while, Lucien appeared at the entrance of the carriage. He smiled and raised the paper bag to me as if nothing happened just now.

Lucien: Today is Chinese Valentine's Day, there happens to be a fruit seller in the station, wanna try it?

MC: Huh, today is Qixi Festival?

I couldn't help but froze. The spirit has been tense recently, but even the days have been somewhat forgotten.

Lucien: No wonder you forgot, it was my fault that kept you in the train for too long.

Lucien: But it doesn't matter if you forget these festivals, I will help you remember them.

When he made a promise, his brows were dazzling and his tone was solemn, as if he really was a caring beloved.

Lucien sat next to me and handed me the paper bag.

The small and lovely fruit inside exudes a fragrance, I picked up one and said with a smile to Lucien.

MC: "Begging every year is a coincidence in the world, and there are too many inhumanity in the world", my pleasure.

MC: Hmm... delicious!

MC: Mr. Lucien, do you want to taste it?

With a smile, I picked up another dessert and handed it to Lucien's mouth. He fixedly stared at me for a moment and bit it with a smile.

MC: How is it, isn't it delicious?

Lucien: Well, this is the first time I have eaten this kind of dessert. It is sweet and slightly salty, with a crunchy texture, and it tastes really good.

Lucien: What makes me even more happy is... You really like the taste of this hometown.

He just bit the word "hometown" a little bit harder, and it made my breath stagnate.

MC: I don't understand what Mr. Lucien's words mean.

Lucien: I remember that Miss MC who came back from studying abroad. Both your parents are abroad, right?

Lucien: It just so happened that my subordinates went to a country where Miss MC's parents, so I asked him to inquire a little bit.

Every time Lucien said a word, he leaned forward by a point, and the distance between us was closer.

His breath was burning, with the sweet fragrance of fruit, but it caused a chill in the back of my neck.

Lucien: In his reply to my telegram, he said...in the local area, there has never been such a family.

Lucien: So, Miss MC.

His hands are still cold, and when it touch me, it's like touching rare fragile objects.

His fingertips went from my brow bones, to eyelashes, to cheeks, and finally gently twisted away the fruit crumbs from the corners of my lips.

Lucien: Can you tell me who you are?

Silence flows between us. The train has not started yet. What can be heard is the shouting of the platform not far away, as well as the breathing and heartbeat close at hand.

As Lucien's breath enveloped me, there seemed to be a flame igniting in the place where he had just touched. I bit my lower lip and tried not to shift my sight.

MC: Is the answer to this question important to Mr. Lucien?

Lucien: Of course it is important.

MC: Why?

My question made Lucien raised his eyebrows in surprise.

Lucien: Haven't you noticed MC? You are a very important person to me.

MC: Haha, Mr. Lucien's words really flatter me.

tugged at the corners of my mouth stiffly, but my mind was spinning.

What does Lucien mean by "not found"? What does "very important" mean?

How much did he find out about my identity?

With Lucien's ability, as long as he catches any slight loophole in my words, it will be enough to destroy everything.

No, I can no longer answer any questions from Lucien.

It just so happened that the train whistle sounded again, and I put my hands behind me and pretended to pull the tablecloth inadvertently at the moment the train started.

The tea cup on the table swayed twice and poured in response. The remaining tea in the cup was spilled on me and Lucien.

I took the opportunity to sit up, lowered my head to help Lucien wipe his clothes, and apologized to him again and again.

MC: Oh, Mr. Lucien, I am sorry!

Lucien looked down at the tea stains on his silk shirt and smiled.

MC: I'm okay, but you have water stains on your body, so go back and clean it up.

As a pardon, I nodded and left immediately.

Lucien: By the way, I asked the train restaurant to prepare a candlelight dinner tonight, and I hope Miss MC will appreciate it.

MC: With Mr. Lucien's invitation, I will definitely be present in full dress.

Lucien: I believe MC, no matter how you dress it up, it will look good.

Lucien lifted the teacup on the table, seemingly inadvertently added another sentence.

Lucien: After all, such a good day as Qixi Festival cannot be easily let down.

I was sent back to my car by Lucien's subordinates. The moment I closed the door, I felt my strength slip away and plunged into the mattress.

MC: (sighed)

Being vigilant all the time makes me exhausted physically and mentally. Only when I’m in my car, I can breathe a sigh of relief.

My identity will be revealed sooner or later, and once exposed, would Lucien behave like a merchandiser who is pushing goods, showing me a touch of kindness?

Do I really have a fluke with Lucien like the whistle said?

I opened my eyes and slowly spread out my palms.

In the palm of my hand is the little note I just stole from Lucien.

There was a line written on it: Snow Fox is in the car, be careful.

At the moment when I saw these words, all kinds of scenes flashed past my eyes quickly.

Lucien: After all, an excellent hunter wants to lure the "snow fox" out of the hole, and it can't do without enough delicious bait.

Lucien: Haven't you noticed that you like ink? You are a very important person to me.

Could it be that... Lucien discovered that I was an organizer and wanted to use me as a bait to draw out the "Snow Fox"?!

Since this is the case, should I act first to be the best-obey Mr. Snow Fox's order and kill Lucien.

Snow Fox , Lucien...All the emotions in my heart are like a tangled mess. I can't help but reach out to the suitcase by the bed.

Across the wall of the box, the "Awakening" lay quietly there.

After a long time, I took a deep breath, sat up from the bed, and started preparing for the action tonight.

I first took out the wireless transmitter hidden in the suitcase and told the whistle that Lucien and I would have dinner in the dining car tonight.

Then quickly took off the pink dress and put on a purple cheongsam. Opened the secret compartment of the suitcase, took out a pistol from the inside and tied it to my thigh.

While putting on makeup, there was a knock from a subordinate outside the door.

Subordinate: Miss MC, Mr. Lucien is already waiting for you in the restaurant.

MC: Got it, tell Mr. Lucien that I will be there soon.

I put the lipstick back in the box and was about to get up when the light from the corner of my eye suddenly swept over something on the table.

It was the white handkerchief Lucien wrapped around my finger when I lied about being scalded.

When I returned to the car, I put it on the dressing table and didn't move it again.

Lucien's handkerchief is as simple as his clothes, and there is no other pattern except for the embroidered mark of his name on the corner of the handkerchief.

The moment I saw the handkerchief, Lucien's abrupt eyes suddenly appeared in my mind.

Why does a rumored "Mr. Lucien" who is obsessed with power and cruel, has such a pair of calm and sober eyes?

Obviously in my imagination countless times, only the "Mr. Snow Fox" in my mind would have such eyes.

MC: Mr. Lucien... is it really just Mr. Lucien?

I was shocked by the nonsense that I blurted out, and I took a step back abruptly.

I was a little flustered inexplicably. Just about to put away the handkerchief, my fingers suddenly felt strange bumps on the silk surface.

MC: Hmm??

I looked down and found that beside Lucien's name, there was a Morse code embroidered with silk threads of the same color.

I held my breath and fumbled for the code with my fingers, and finally found that they formed a words.

MC: My shimmer?

The setting sun outside the window was sinking, and the fluent sunset glow was gradually replaced by the night.

The lights are lit on each train, and the train shuttles through the mountains and forests like a golden dragon.

When I arrived in the restaurant, Lucien was still writing a letter at the table by the window.

When he saw me, he put away the half-written letter and smiled at me.

Tonight, instead of wearing the daytime gown, he changed into a slim-fitting suit, and his temperament became more capable and chic.

MC: Sorry to let Mr. Lucien wait for a long time.

Lucien: Compared to Cowherd who can solve the pain of lovesickness only once a year, I only waited a while for "Little Weaver Girl", considered to be very lucky.

Lucien: Have a seat

He opened the table seat for me, and I took a seat happily.

Lucien: How have you been on the train these days?

MC: Mr. Lucien seems to ask me this every day.

Lucien: Do you think I'm long-winded?

MC: No, this is your thoughtfulness, I like it very much, and I have had a good time these days.

MC: Even too comfortable, I don't want to get out of the train

Lucien: This is bad.

MC: What's wrong?

Lucien: After eating this dinner, we are almost arrived at the station. If MC don't want to get off the train, I can only use other methods to get you off.

I quickly glanced at the closed door of the dining car, settled, poured a glass of wine, and continued to laugh with Lucien

MC: What other method does Mr. Lucien want to use?

Lucien: It depends on what approach Miss MC likes.

MC: Me, of course I want more....

Before I finished speaking, the ground suddenly shook! A hot air wave overturned the railroad tracks and hit the carriage!

Before I had time to react, I felt like the sky was spinning.

The next second, I fell into a warm embrace.

Lucien: Ugh...!

Lucien held me firmly in his arms, but his whole body was knocked to the ground by the air wave.

The world in the carriage was upside down, and Lucien's letters and official documents on the table were scattered all over the

The ornate decorations turned into fragments, and the wine in the glass was spilled on the brocade like drips of red blood.

The disaster came without warning, and the steel giant leaned on the rails, uttering a heavy mournful cry.

I turned my face to look at the mess on the ground. The crying and screams from the front and rear carriages made my brain go blank.

MC: What exactly is going on...

Lucien: The train was blown up. It should be coming for me.

Lucien took me up with one hand, and with the other hand drew the pistol from his back.

The explosion plunged the train into chaos, and Lucien's subordinates was at the other carriages and it was too late to arrive.

He turned around and looked at the exit of the carriage warily, while admonishing me.

Lucien: MC, If the other party wants to cut the grass and roots, it is estimated that they will take the opportunity to return to the restaurant to confirm my life and death, you have to be careful....

The words after were swallowed back, because a gun was hitting his abdomen at the moment.

MC: Don't move.

Lucien's gaze moved up from the muzzle a little bit, fell to the hand of my gun, and finally stopped on my face.

For the first time, his eternally calm eyes rippled, and his lips opened slightly, and then he pressed tightly again.

In the next second, a smile suddenly appeared at the corner of his mouth.

Lucien: Miss MC wants to kill me.

Lucien's somewhat helpless expression made me feel embarrassed, as if I was just a little girl making trouble with her lover unreasonably.

MC: Why are you laughing?

Lucien: Nothing, the other side of MC really surprised me and couldn't help but laugh.

I glanced at him and opened his tie with the muzzle of my gun.

Then freed his other hand and groped his waist and chest roughly to make sure that there were no other weapons or wiretapping on him.

And Lucien opened his hands very cooperatively, as if he was at my disposal.

After searching, I glanced at the door again before turning my gaze back to Lucien.

MC: Mr. Lucien, before killing you, I want to ask you a question.

My fingers slowly touched his heart, and said word by word with an voice that only the two of us could hear.

MC: (Do you believe I will be shimmer?)

Lucien's eyes were suddenly bright, and he also answered me with his mouth.

Lucien: (From beginning to end.)

Bang!!

The moment his voice fell to the ground, I shot.

Lucien also slowly fell to the ground under the gunshot.

MC: ....

Holding the gun tightly, I kept my eyes locked on the doorway of the squeezed carriage.

Finally, after a while, a figure appeared at the door.

MC: Whistle..

Whistle: MC? You didn't...

MC: I was lucky, and it happened to be blocked by the sofa when it exploded.

Whistle: Y-Yes...what about Lucien?

MC: Didn't you hear the gunshot just now, I've finished him.

MC: Whistle, You seem to have expected this explosion?

The whistle glanced at Lucien, who was motionless, then glanced at me, his mouth suddenly grinned from an arrogant angle.

Whistle: Of course, this is my plan.

As he said, the hand of the whistle rose sharply, and the black hole pointed straight at me.

Whistle: Because you and "Snow Fox" both have to die.

However, before he had time to pull the triggerㅡ bang! A gunshot sounded faster!

Lucien: Finally bit the bait.

Lucien, who was lying on the ground, opened his eyes. He slowly sat up with a gun in one hand, looking at the whistle for an instant.

Whistle: You..

The man's eyes were full of things, his shrunken pupils were printed with the figure of me and Lucien standing side by side.

When he was about to attack again, the sound of footsteps came from both ends of the dining car. Lucien's subordinates who had survived the explosion finally rushed over and subdued him to the ground.

Subordinate: Mr. Lucien, are you okay!

Lucien: I'm fine.

Lucien: Apart from this person, there must be other pests in this train. Clean it up immediately.

Lucien: Also, immediately contact the headquarters and the nearest hospital, check the conditions of the front and rear carriages, and take all passengers out of here.

Subordinate: But you...

Lucien: Hurry up.

The subordinates' throats stagnated, and they didn't dare to defy him, dragging the seriously injured whistles towards the two carriages.

There were only two of us in the carriage at this moment, and Lucien turned his eyes back to me after watching the last subordinate leave.

Lucien: I just saw, Miss MC's acting is a little bit flamboyant, and she still needs a lot of polishing.

I didn't reply immediately, just stared at Lucien firmly.

At this moment, Lucien's face was strangely clear in the twilight, eyebrows, lips, cheeks... finally merged with "Snow Fox".

MC: ...Mr. Snow Fox's acting skills are outstanding, and the little girl is deeply impressed.

Lucien smiled deeper, and he carefully helped me straighten my temples.

Lucien: When did you discover that the whistle had a problem?

MC: From the beginning. When he faked "Snow Fox" orders and asked me to assassinate you, I began to doubt him.

MC: But at that time I was still not sure about his motives, then...

I took out the handkerchief, and picked up the letters scattered on the ground—the writing on it was exactly the same as the writing in "The Awakening" message.

MC: Did you also find out that there is a problem with the whistle from the beginning?

Lucien shook his head.

Lucien: No. I only found out that he had betrayed the organization and he also found out that I was Snow Fox.

MC: Then when you first got in the car, you said you wanted to get rid of "Snow Fox"....

Lucien: In addition to the whistle, there are other inner ghosts.

Lucien: I arranged this train and wanted to use this excuse to catch them all.

Lucien: But I didn't expect these people to blow up the train in order to get rid of me.

This is a journey of life and death. In the confrontation between righteousness and evil, everyone's identities are constantly changing.

Everyone feels that he is a hunter and the other is a prey. Lucien the Snow Fox. Whistle the traitor.

ㅡOnce Lucien dies on the train, the entire Loveland City may face a bloody storm.

When Lucien said this, his voice became more and more apologetic.

Lucien: I insisted on taking you in the train, because I was afraid that you would be silenced by the whistle while I was away. As a result, I almost made you fall into danger with me. Sorry.

MC: I am not afraid of danger, darkness must accompany danger, I just... a little angry.

Lucien: Why are you angry?

I blushed, and finally threw the gun to him, hold my breath to say the words.

MC: You... the big liar who always talks around the bush!

Lucien laughed loudly. The first time I heard him smile so clear, it was like the early morning when the clouds saw the sun.

He took me to the side of the carriage, supported the window with one hand, and dexterously take off from the carriage.

MC: What are we going to do?

Lucien: There is much more to be done.

Lucien: "Snow Fox" can disappear, but Lucien still has to exist.

Lucien: We have to continue this scene until the darkness fades.

He stretched out his hand to me outside the train. I held his hand and felt the solid strength of his arm.

MC: You are talking around the bush again.

Lucien: Hmm... Would you like to hear me say something less convoluted?

MC: Of course I do.

The glow in the distant mountains has long since faded, and the long night is approaching, and the wilderness will rise from the starting point of the firefly.

Lucien's eyes are brighter than stars and fluorescent lights.

He smiled and took me out of the trainㅡ

Lucien: It happens MC for me, it is indeed a very important person

Lucien: I am very satisfied with the result of this blind date, how about you?

--

Notes from me: You’ve done reading~ thank you for always read Lucien’s date~ I really love the interaction between MC and Lucien in this date, the way Lucien always want to protect MC and MC who wants Lucien’s kindness, is really make my heart fluttered. Again, thanks a bunch for everyone, HAPPY QIXI FESTIVAL!  (*≧ω≦*)

[rainydaydream-gal18]

(The Hobbit) Thorin x Reader: Dragonsickness and the Heart

(Author’s Note:  Well, it’s spring, and usually spring gets me in a hobbit/LotR mood, so here we are.  I actually wrote a shameless OC self-insert a few years ago, and decided to just take a section of it an make it a reader-insert.  

Warnings: Thorin acts like a lil creep, but in the end he wouldn’t do anything to hurt reader.  

While under the effects of the dragon sickness, Thorin says some things... You wonder if it’s the sickness talking, or perhaps it is his true feelings coming out.

Enjoy!)

   You struggled with the dwarvish armor, finally letting it fall to the ground. It was much too big and clunky: you could barely stand in it! Thorin had given the order for the Company to armor up, but it didn’t look like it would be possible for you. The clank of metal sounded in the armory around the corner, and you let out an exasperated sigh. You had taken your chosen armor to an empty room to avoid the humiliation as you attempted to try the foreign material on. Even after you managed to finally figure it out, the weight of the metal was too much. You weren’t exactly in the mood for endless teasing on Fili and Kili’s part. Dwalin might even find it humorous and would never let you live it down.

   Footsteps sounded around the corner, and you whirled around to come up with an excuse or explanation of some sort as to why you were hiding away like this. To your surprise, it was Thorin, all armored-up and looking…well…looking pretty good.

   Even with everything that had happened, after how crappy of a person he had become since the dragon sickness took its hold, you were surprised to feel your heartbeat pick up at the sight of him. He entered the dimly-lit room, eyes flickering from you to the bulky armor lying on the floor. He flashed an amused smile that made you feel weak.

   “Trouble?” he asked, pacing over with a raised brow.

   “Uh, y-yes,” you mumbled back, unable to meet his intense gaze. You tried to remind yourself that this wasn’t him. He wasn’t himself, yet it didn’t stop your heart from doing flips in your ribcage. “It obviously wasn’t going to fit. I don’t know why I tried anyways.

   “Because you’re you,” he responded with a chuckle, prompting a nervous laugh from you. He was being friendly, but there was still something off about him. His voice. He spoke in such a low and silky tone, practically laced with dragon sickness. It made you feel uneasy and not necessarily in a good way.

    As Thorin took a step forward, you caught movement in the corner of your eye and flinched out of instinct from being on the road. He noticed and paused, holding his hands up to show that he meant no harm. He only meant to give you something, he said. When you nodded, he rounded the corner until he was out of sight.  Moments later, he returned with a bundle of armor in his hands though these were different from the weighty pieces you had already tried. He handed you the iron shoulder plates first, and you marveled at the simple designs cast into them.  They looked as if they’d been made just for you.  Judging by the warmth in Thorin’s eyes, they had been.

   “These should suit you better.”

   You tentatively accepted the shoulder plates, fiddling with the leather straps that would hold them in place. You tried putting your arm through one loop as if it was a sleeve, but it felt wrong, so you tried a different angle, a different loop…

   As if reading your mind, Thorin took and unbuckled it. “Here.” 

   You gulped as he carefully took your arm and put it through the correct loop. Each movement he made was slow and drawn out, and you wondered for a minute if he was doing it on purpose just to make your heart race. It wasn’t doing anything to help the situations of your one-sided love towards him. You resolved to accept the rest of the armor politely and go find another hidden room to figure it out on your own, but as soon as the shoulder plates were secure, Thorin proceeded to strap on a chestplate.  Then he continued with a sort of metal shin guard.

   “There,” he said finally, checking some of the straps to ensure they were in place. “You will be much better protected.”

   “Yeah,” you murmured, releasing a breath.  “Thank you.”

   He gazed at you, placing a hand on each of your shoulders. “I will do all in my power to make sure you are safe.” Your eyes widened as he leaned in to whisper in your ear. “You should know I have grown rather fond of you, _________.”

   You remained still, absolutely shocked at the unexpected statement. It felt as if your body wouldn’t respond.  Surely, he doesn’t actually mean what he says? It must have been some strange effect of the dragon sickness, right?  

   You had joined the Company early in the journey in hopes of changing the ending.  You and Gandalf had an understanding that you would gain the Company’s trust and use your knowledge of Middle-Earth to ensure the line of Durin survived.  From the moment you appeared on the dirt path in front of the Company in your modern clothes feeling lost and uncertain, Thorin hadn’t taken much interest other than to bark orders to you or spare a disdained glance at you and Bilbo at your “softness” when it came to life on the road. 

   Over time, you learned to place your trust in the Company and to do your part so they’d trust you- including Thorin.  He and you had started to bond, especially in Lake-Town when you’d spoken to each other outside in the snow during the celebration of the dwarves’ return to the mountain.  You even managed to make him smile a few times.  You realized that as Thorin had begun to trust you, you trusted him not only as a leader but as a friend, and your affection grew beyond what you’d originally thought.

   Still, you wondered if perhaps it was all in your head.  Thorin had seen you as young and naive early on, but that was only because of your inexperience in the world of Middle-Earth.  Things had changed.  Perhaps they had changed more than you thought?

   Thorin’s breath disappeared from your ear as he pulled away to circle aroundyou, the armor clanking with every step. You were frozen to the spot, but your lips managed to form words.

   “What about Balin? You told him that you felt nothing for me and that you were focused on the quest.”

   An eerie chuckle echoed from behind. “I told Balin what he wanted to hear. I told him that so he would not question me any further on the matter, but the truth remains…” His voice sounded right behind you. “I care about you.”

   He was saying what you wanted to hear all along, and yet it felt so wrong now. This wasn’t the real Thorin, right? You could not possibly accept this declaration of feelings knowing that he would snap out of it soon enough.

   “W-we should go join the others…”

   His arm snaked around your waist, earning a gasp from you. “I love you, ________, and I want you to say you feel the same.”

   “Thorin, I can’t. You’re not yourself. The stress of the Arkenstone and the battle must be affecting you.”

   “My own kin has betrayed me. One of them has taken the Arkenstone. Please, do not  turn away from me as well. Say you love me. Be my queen.”

   You were left breathless by his words. He had released you from his hold and circled back around to stand in front of you. Thorin leaned in, eyes flickering to your lips briefly. It was beyond tempting. All you had to do was lean in a few mere inches, and you would feel his lips on yours. It was what he wanted, and it was what you wanted…

   “I have to go,” you stated, putting some distance between the two of you. Thorin’s lips pulled down in a frown as you stepped around him.

   “You’re making a mistake,” he called over his shoulder.  “An offer such as this will not come again.”

   You hesitated at the doorway, shaking your head. “Then so be it.” And then you left. You didn’t dare look back as you hurried down the halls to get as far away from him as possible. He was crazy. Insane.

   And so are you for turning him down, a small voice screamed from within your mind. You could have been his, even for a short time. You could have had his love, even if it was twisted.  His kiss. His embrace… It could all have been yours if you had just said so.

   But it was wrong, and you knew it, to take advantage of his situation.

   “Bilbo!” You halted when you rounded a corner and almost collided with him. “Where are you off to?”

   He glanced around to make sure no one was near, holding a long rope coiled up in his hand. “I can’t just stand by and do nothing. I am taking the Arkenstone to Bard to use for bargaining. It’s the only way the people of Lake-Town will get their fair share.  Hopefully, we will avoid war.”

   “That’s a great idea. I’ll cover for you while you’re gone.”

   “Thank you, ________,” he whispered gratefully. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

   You pulled him into a quick hug. “Be careful. I’ll see you later!” You parted ways with the hobbit once more, him heading for the front gate while you lingered in the corridor. You felt so alone, standing there. None of the dwarves could understand the situation.

   It wasn’t the time to tell Bilbo what had occurred with Thorin.   It would be yet another dark secret to weigh on you for now, along with the possible fate of the journey.

   That night, the dwarves talked and laughed by the fire as usual. Even though they had all of Erebor to go off and choose a room from, the Company still liked to gather together to share a meal and camp out just like old times. Fortunately, Thorin never participated, spending his days and nights in the throne room. You joined the group, glad to have something take your mind off of the recent events. Bofur led the group in a few songs, Fili and Kili told jokes, Nori and Dori bickered and teased each other, Ori laughed along with Bombur, Bifur, Oin, and Gloin.

   Balin and Dwalin were in a more solemn mood, but couldn’t help cracking a smile every now and then. At some point, the dwarves started sharing stories of hilarious hardship over the course of the quest.

   “But don’t you remember the time in the beginning of the journey when we had to cross that river?” Bofur asked with a grin, earning a few bursts of laughter. “Quite a few of us took a plunge that day!”

   “I lost a lot of supplies,” Bombur said with a nod.

   “And what supplies you did have left was soaked!” Bofur laughed, slapping his knee.

   “I do recall the stew being soggier than usual that night,” Gloin joked.

   “Or what about the afternoon when _________ quite literally got sick of traveling?” A teasing grin spread across Kili’s face. “She jumped off of her pony to go throw up in the bushes.”

   “Hey! I felt terrible that day!” you protested playfully. “Besides, it’s not like I had ever ridden a pony all day every day for weeks before.”

   “The best part was that Thorin scolded her anyway for holding the Company up,” Fili chuckled.

   “Well, I’m pretty sure I remember a time when you and your brother were supposed to be watching the ponies and nearly got us all eaten by trolls when we had to go find them.”

   “Ooh, that’s cold,” Kili feigned offense, unable to hide the amused grin. 

   “You don’t miss a thing, lass,” Bofur teased.

   “Whatever,” you rolled your eyes, still smiling. No one asked about Bilbo, or wondered aloud where he was. The hobbit had been spending more time alone as of late, so it wasn’t unusual for him to not join them for dinner. He would return before dawn, you knew, but as each hour passed that evening, you became a little more anxious.

   You managed to set aside your worries and let sleep overtake you. You fell into a deep sleep, and a certain dwarf king haunted your dreams that night.

[feliix]

Breaking Point ↠  Lee Minho

↠ minho x female reader

↠ genre: smut, pwp ↠ Rating: M (18+)

↠ word count: 1.9k

↠ warnings: dom!minho, sub!reader, bondage, masturbation, unprotected sex, semi-public sex (they’re in a gym idk), ruined orgasm, degradation, dirty talk, manhandling, rough sex, finger sucking, cum play, cum eating

↠ a/n: written as a request for my drabble game♡

“Minho we’ve been here for two hours, can we be done now?” You whine, plopping down onto the seat of the chest machine while Minho stands before you, chest heaving as he recovers from the circuit he’s just finished. 

“Come on. Two more sets,” he replies as he grabs the bottle of water to his right, swiftly twisting the cap off and pouring the liquid into his mouth. Your eyes draw to a stare as you examine him closely; his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows while sweat glistens in the space made from parted hair on his forehead. Damp pieces of his chocolate hair stick to the sides of his face, the perspiration making it seem darker than normal. Every part of him is enticing. 

Before you decided to come to the gym with Minho you knew it would be a bad idea. He’s far too distracting. How are you supposed to pay any attention to what comes next in the circuit as he stands beside you looking like that? It’s nearly impossible to focus on anything else but him. Dark clothes cling to his figure, every muscle of his toned stomach exposed, and you stood close enough to make out every fine detail. It’s a blessing and a curse.

“Maybe we should take a short break,” you suggest, puffing your chest forward in hopes to gain his attention. A smirk lands on your lips when you notice his eyes wander down to the cleavage exposed by your sports bra. You knew what you could be getting into by coming here, so dressing the part was an important part of the plan. 

Rolling your head back to expose more of yourself to him, you hear him force a hard breath past his lips.  “What makes you think you deserve a break?” 

Minho challenges, his defined biceps crossing over his chest. Heat shoots to your core – at this rate you won’t be able to stand looking at him like this much longer. In attempts to hold whatever shred of sanity you have left, you squeeze your thighs together, trying your best to ease the growing ache between your legs. Unfortunately your actions do not go unnoticed; though the way his tongue brushes against his bottom lip, tells you that you might be in for a treat.

“Maybe if you just did what I said in the first place and focused on the exercise, you wouldn't be squeezing your thighs together like a little whore.” Minho paces over to you, towering over your figure as he uncrosses his arms and places a hand on the bar adjacent to your head. 

“I-I’m sorry,” you stutter, eyes forcing their way to the ground to avoid eye contact with him. You swallow thickly, tempted to just reach out in front of you, but you know better. As he leans down, narrowing the distance between your bodies, you lift your eyes to meet his. The gap between you quickly vanishes as you feel his hot breath on your lips, begging to be claimed by his own. 

One hand stabilizes his body against the machine as the other grazes down the back of your neck, holding your gaze to his. So badly you want to lean forward and sweep your lips against his, but again, you know better. And you know what would happen if you act without asking. With this position he has you in now, there’s no intention of Minho giving up control.

His eyes narrow to slits once he breaks his gaze with yours. Suddenly he’s standing up to search the left side of the room for something, digging through a black crate and muttering to himself. The suspense grows in your core as you watch him tear through the equipment, but all that ends when you hear a short, sadistic chuckle pass by his lips. When he turns, two blue resistance bands rest in his palms, a smirk settled on his lips while his breathing grows heavy. Biting your lip in anticipation, you hold your eyes on him, watching his paces move towards you.  

Without a word spoken, he takes one of your hands in his, extending your arm upwards and holding it up to the cold metal of the chest machine. The smooth elastic of the blue band meets your wrist, and suddenly you know exactly what this is for. The elastic is carefully wrapped around your wrist and then tied to the machine in a firm knot.

“Pull,” Minho instructs. So you do, jerk your wrist forward as hard as you can to test the security of the band. When it doesn’t move, Minho nods in approval, reaching for your other hand to take the same measures. 

Arousal has fully taken over you, soaking through your thin panties and spandex and beginning to leak onto the bench under you. You struggle to find relief, thighs unable to squeeze together any harder to relieve the tension building in your core.

Just as your eyes are beginning to fall shut, you feel his calloused hands on each of your knees, prying your legs apart from relieving the ache. His eyes graze your form, spread so open and wide for him. It’s becoming hard to sit still, the desire racking at your nerves causing you to shift in your seat as your cunt begins clenching around nothing at all. The sight of you writhing under his control makes him feel so powerful – the stiffness pressing against the confines of his short goes to show.

Looping a finger under your waistband, he rips your leggings down your legs in one go, unable to wait or tease you any longer. His tongue grazes his lips as his eyes meet your dripping core, dragging a finger down your slit to collect your essence.

“Suck,” he seeths, holding his finger up to your parting lips as you take his finger in your mouth, darting your tongue across the digit. It’s becoming increasingly harder to keep your legs spread, unconsciously trying to find comfort as you watch the bulge form against his shorts. Your core is already aching so badly for him – and he hasn’t even properly touched you yet.

In one swift movement, he pulls down the garments of his lower half, erection springing to light as his clothing pools around his ankles. Once more he reaches forward, gathering more of your arousal to use to stroke his cock. You bite your tongue to keep yourself quiet, knowing well that your whimpers will only make Minho more upset. His head falls back in bliss once his fingers wrap around his thick member, lips parting to let out a soft moan before clenching his teeth together. Watching his hand grope his thick shaft is enough for you. You accept defeat by resting your head back against the seat, but the throbbing of your neglected cunt still pleads to be filled with him.

“Minho please,” you beg, widening your legs further in hopes it will entice him forward, “please, just fuck me now.” Words stammer past your lips unknowingly, thoughts too heavy with lust that clouds your better judgment. 

“If you want to act like a whore that's how you’ll be treated,” He challenges, gripping his hands on each of your thighs and lining his tip up at your entrance. Whimpers draw past your lips as you’re unable to hold your shaking body together. 

But all is out of your control as he wraps your legs around his waist. His member plunges into you fast and hard, bottoming out on the first stroke without giving you much time to adjust. 

“Fuck!” You catch your lip between your teeth, biting down hard to hold back a yelp. The elastic binding your wrists to the cold metal is beyond irritating, all you want is to reach out and run your hands across his toned abdomen; which is fortunately in your line of sight.  

He releases a grunt as he withdraws his cock and thrusts into you once more, just as fast and hard as last time. Back arching off the seat, you’ll do anything to get as close to him as possible. You want to scream being held like this, so frustrated that you have nothing to hold onto while he’s gripping your thighs with such fervor. There will definitely be small bruises left behind from the pads of his fingers pushing deeply into your skin – that’s without a doubt. But you’ve never paid them much mind before, it’ll be a nice reminder of how good he made you feel when you wake up tomorrow. 

His hands rake up your legs to grip your hips, steadying your body so he can thrust into you more rhythmically. Your core clenches tightly around his length each time he sinks into you; the knot in your stomach becoming tighter and tighter each time he presses against the sweet spot deep inside you. 

“Stop moving you fucking slut,” he gripes. You didn’t even notice that you’ve been bucking your hips up to meet each of his thrusts. Before you’re able to continue he is pushing you back onto the bench with an annoyed growl. The unconscious chase of your release is chomping at the bit. 

Sounds of his balls slapping hard against your ass fills the room as his pace quickens. The force of his thrusts doesn't ease up as his grip on your waist grows harsher, forcing your body down harder onto his cock. Moans fly past your lips, the band in your stomach threatening to snap with each sharp movement of his hips.

“Minho,” you whine, “I’m so close.” Looking up at him past your eyelashes, you pray that he decides to be nice and let you finish. The dark and focused look in his stare tells you he’s close there too. His jaw clenches, eager to meet his release as he fucks deeply into you.

“Hold it,” Minho orders, earning an exhausted sigh from you in response. You’re sure you’ve never wanted to cum so badly in your life, but if you lose control now he’ll never let you live it down. 

Quickly his hands tighten around your thighs, squeezing your legs around his waist and forcing your pussy to clench harder around his member. A wail escapes your lips, unable to hold back any longer, and he knows you’re about to disobey his orders.

Just as the tension is reaching a breaking point, he removes his shaft from your core, leaving you completely empty and throbbing around nothing. Your jaw drops in dismay, unable to form a coherent thought as his hands drop your legs to the ground. Before you can figure out how to speak, his hand is already wrapped around his cock, pumping it until white-hot spurts of cum are landing on your stomach. Eyes widening in shock, you watch as each drop falls from his member and onto your supple skin.

“Next time listen when I tell you not to come yet, slut,” Minho sneers, cock softening as he stands proudly over the mess he’s made on your body.

‘Breaking Point’ is copyright 2020-2021 @chaangbin, all rights reserved. Please do not repost on any platform or translate without permission.

↠ A/N this fic has been rewritten from my BTS fic Unresolved Tension

[jasontoddiefor]

Title: would you be so kind Ship: obikin Second: Ten years ago, Obi-Wan Kenobi met Anakin Skywalker, a charming young mage from Naboo, but as fate willed, they could not be together. A decade and thousands dead later, Alderaan’s High Court Sorcerer meets a Forger and his excited apprentice. AN: I forgot to post this on tumblr apparently, but here’s the first chapter of my second long WIP I am working on!

Then

The ship was crammed, filled to the brim with people clinging to one another, staring either at the home they’d lost or the home they hoped to be sailing to. Hundreds of ships had left Dromund Kaas already, carrying refugees across the ocean to safer harbors. The tension was high and sharp enough to cut as they sailed away from the doomed country and only relaxed when the pressure of the country’s shields finally left their shoulders.

“An awful sight, isn’t it?”

Anakin startled, instinctually pulled his coat around himself. Were he in a better shape, he would have lashed out immediately, winds, bindings, blood—

But the power flowing through his veins was too constricted, caged like a wild beast. Instead, Anakin just turned to look at the person who’d addressed him. An old woman with snow-white markings and long lekku stared at the dying country just as he had moments before, grief and resignation painting a sorrowful picture. “I never thought I’d leave this place. Did you?”

Wordlessly, Anakin shook his head. No, he certainly hadn’t thought he’d ever leave this place again. He’d been ready to be buried under the ashes of marble altars, not see this new dawn.

“I was born here, married too. All my children were born within the boundaries of this country and perhaps that is the reason they all left,” the woman continued. “I am glad that they weren’t here. If I think about what could have happened to them were they anywhere near the capital… I apologize; I hope you don’t mind my rambling. You looked like you needed company. Are you traveling to Naboo?”

He opened his mouth to reply, to give an affirmation, but stopped. He hadn’t quite thought where he’d go, except as far away from this place as he could. Naboo was certainly an option; Padmé would be glad to see him, he was sure. She’d take him in without asking a single question and defend him against the storms that were sure to come.

But Padmé was his friend and Anakin couldn’t allow her to shoulder his burden.

“No,” Anakin heard himself saying. “I’m not traveling to Naboo.”

“They are quite defenseless right now, yes, you are right. The fact that it’s the first stop of this ship is tempting enough for most to disregard what troubles might find them there.” The woman nodded in understanding. “I’ll be going to Alderaan myself. My eldest lives there, and in a country as strong as that, a tragedy like this can’t strike.”

She turned to look at the remains of Dromund Kaas again. The coastline used to be covered by beautiful large trees; his Master used to tell him how vital they were for its defense.

Now there was nothing but ash and darkness. Even here on the outskirts, where it had taken the longest for the remains of the catastrophe to reach, nobody was safe from it. Dromund Kaas had been in a pitiful state after the last war, which had made it an easy place to hideaway in. Alderaan might be stronger, the blooming center of magical education, but Anakin doubted they’d be able to defend against an attack like this. Nothing could save them from an attack such as this.

But Alderaan’s distance to this cesspit of disease was enough to provide a different kind of security.

Thousands of refugees would search for safety there, and Queen Breha was as cunning as she was kind. No one would be turned away and Anakin could slip in just right with them.

“I’m going to Alderaan as well,” Anakin replied.

The woman looked him over, then she beamed as if she were a young child and not already among the older members of her species.

Her smile was the first Anakin had seen in weeks. “Looks like we’ll be traveling companions then! You must tell me your name, young friend. I’m Raya Tano.”

She held out her hand and Anakin awkwardly shook it with his own left.

“My name is—”

Now

“Anakin Skywalker! Your automaton is ruining my kitchen!”

Sighing, Anakin let the spell sink back into the metal and settle into it. So much for working on his commissions today. A quick glance around the workshop told him that it was not one of his automatons running wild. Artoo was currently charging up and Threepio was keeping himself busy cleaning up. All the other small automatons Anakin crafted when he was bored were either asleep and charging or hurrying around the workshop, washing up the floors and putting away the tools Anakin had been using.

Anakin tugged off his gloves and threw them to a tiny and eager little automaton before picking up his softer everyday gloves. The leather was still quite resistant and had more runes stitched into it than most people dared to weave into one cloth, but they were nowhere near as excellently crafted as his work gloves. The dragonhide gloves were worth a fortune and so they never left his workshop unless Anakin had to. Anakin watched the little automaton put the gloves in their usual compartment until he could hear the click reassuring that the lock was in place. At first, that had only been a measure against thieves as he hadn’t had much to his name, but by now, it was a habit.

And it discouraged Ahsoka from stealing them for her own projects.

Anakin walked out of his workshop and crossed the courtyard to the small cottage he called his home, finding a kitchen in disarray, Raya standing on a chair with a small red automaton attempting to clean the floors.

“Look what a mess it’s making!” Raya said accusingly. “Instead of polishing my floors, it’s dirtying them!”

“I can see that,” Anakin hummed. He waited until the small automaton had reached his feet, then he bent down and pressed his hand flat on its small back, stopping it. Ahsoka’s handiwork was getting better; this little guy had kept moving for a while despite her absence. Anakin had no idea what the formal apprenticeship for forgers entailed, when they ought to hit what milestone, but he was willing to bet that Ahsoka was years ahead of her peers. Her spells were strong, her rune work fantastic, and very few actual weaknesses were left to explore in her automatons.

But Anakin was still a Master and Ahsoka only an Apprentice. Her work was not yet good enough to keep out foreign interference. Without much thought, he deactivated the automaton completely.

“This was your granddaughter’s handiwork,” Anakin commented. “She’s improving in leaps and bounds.”

Raya huffed and stepped from her chair. “I’m glad to hear that, but weren’t you meant to teach her control?”

“I am,” Anakin said, the argument an old and fond one. They returned to it frequently, mostly to annoy the young Apprentice. “And were she still as much of a mess as three years ago, she hardly would be able to craft such a fine automaton. Can’t do anything about her manners.”

Especially since she’d become a teenager. Anakin didn’t remember being as much of a pain as Ahsoka could be.

“And here I was thinking Masters were supposed to teach their Apprentices a medium of decorum.”

Anakin snorted. “Yeah, well, that’s what she has you for, doesn’t she?”

Raya’s expression softened. “That she does.”

Anakin sometimes wondered how Raya managed to stay so kind and calm when the world had taken so much from her. Her husband, country, her children— and yet she still stood straight, caring for the fellow traveler she’d never allowed to leave and the granddaughter that had been dumped on her with just a warning for Ahsoka’s generally explosive tendencies.

“Where is Ahsoka anyway?” Anakin asked, looking around the kitchen as if she would jump out in the open any moment. “I sent her on an errand earlier this morning, but she hasn’t returned yet.”

Unfortunately, Raya couldn’t tell him either. “I have no idea where that girl is running around—”

“Anakin!”

Speak of the dark and it shall appear. The door was thrown open and Ahsoka rushed inside, tracking even more dirt all over the floor, causing Raya to throw up her arms in defeat in a way Anakin knew meant Ahsoka would be left with all her favorite chores for the next week.

“Welcome back, Ahsoka,” Anakin said. “You’re late.”

“Yes, yes,” Ahsoka replied and rolled her eyes, obviously disinterested in what he had to say. “I got all you asked for and ordered the new metals, but look at this!”

Ahsoka raised her hand, revealing a ripped-off poster. It was tasteful in design, fine cursive writing on light blues, gold ornaments in the corners and, of course, the royal crest right in the middle of it.

Her Majesty the Queen of the Kingdom of Alderaan, Breha Organa, invites all Alderaani Practitioners of the Mythic Arts to attend the festivities in the capital of Aldera—

“Absolutely not,” Anakin said before he could even read the rest of the text. “We’re not going to Aldera to some festival.”

“Why not?” Ahsoka shot back. “It’s no summit, but it would at least be something.”

Her bitterness did not go unnoticed. Ahsoka had begged for months to attend this year’s summit. Every five, all magic practitioners gathered on Tython to exchange notes on their craft and pretend they were not also discussing the politics of their respective countries, forging alliances and the like. Anakin hadn’t been to the last summit, it having been just after Dromund Kaas, and the one before were tainted by the memories that followed, no matter how sweet the time had been. Ahsoka, of course, had begged to attend this year’s one, but it would only be foolish and reckless. He couldn’t just walk into the biggest gathering of mages in the whole continent and expect to get out of it without anyone realizing who he was, asking questions, concluding what he’d done.

Anakin had too much to hide, too much to lose, and he wasn’t going to risk his little Apprentice for it.

Not that Ahsoka knew any of that and wasn’t in the least satisfied with Anakin’s reply and immediately made her displeasure known.

“What would you even want to see there?” Anakin asked, trying to downplay how entertaining such an event was. “It’ll just be all the posh court sorcerers showing off with their fancy focusing crystals. It’s utterly boring and uncreative.”

“Like you wouldn’t use a focusing crystal if you had one,” Ahsoka muttered, arms crossed. “It’s just— there’s nobody else around here who can do magic. And all you ever do is work on machines.”

“Which requires a lot of concentration as it’s not just the manipulation of one aspect, but—”

“—but many, yes, yes, I know the speech,” Ahsoka said and dutifully listed all elements that went into their craft. There was a reason why not many forgers existed. Most mages lacked the talent, patience, and education to learn this craft, or were just plain afraid that they’d permanently damage their ability to use magic at all.

And with the speed technology was evolving and magic weaponized to terrifying new heights, not too many people still had use for forgers. Where two-hundred-years ago, you wouldn’t have gone out to hunt a dragon with a simple sword, but only with one crafted by a Master forger, nowadays you didn’t necessarily need one. Battle magic was on the rise again, especially with more and more countries growing uneasy, peace treaties falling apart. Combined with the threats from the northern continents, it was no wonder people cared less and less about expensive forgers when they could mass-produce and enchant simpler items.

“I just hoped you’d allow at least this,” Ahsoka finished. Her shoulders dropped. “Should have known better. I’ll go finish my readings.”

Ahsoka turned around, her shoulders still hanging, her head low.

Damn it.

Anakin knew that she was doing it on purpose. His Apprentice was cunning and had learned how to play into his every weakness. Slowly she marched into the direction of the door, dragging her feet behind her for effect and dramatics.

Raya raised a brow at him. She usually stayed out of Ahsoka’s tutelage, knowing next to nothing about magic herself, but even with his past being little more than a mystery to her, she could read him better than anyone else.

“Urgh, fine,” Anakin heard himself say. “Fine, we can go to the festival.”

Ahsoka turned around quicker than light and jumped up. “Yes!”

“But that means you’re not going to bring up the summit again!”

“Yes! Of course!” A moment later, Anakin had an armful of an apprentice. “Thank you so much, Master, you’re the best!”

Once she let go of him, she went to hug Raya and hug even her dirty automaton to her chest, still radiating happiness. “I need to go pack my bags immediately!”

“The festival is not for another week—”

Ahsoka obviously didn’t care. So caught up in her joy, she rushed upstairs, heading to her room to start packing. It shouldn’t surprise Anakin that she was so motivated. Ahsoka was a person who thrived on interaction, being surrounded by other people. While the people of their village were friendly, none of them were mages or even just sensitive to magic. It was one of the reasons Anakin had decided to stay without too much fight. But growing up so far removed from other mages had made Ahsoka twice as curious to meet others.

The thought made his stomach churn. He’d have to give Ahsoka formal lessons about their trade now, just if somebody asked questions that were too pointed. She’d also need a bit of the know-how on how you usually interacted with other mages and which pretentious bastards to call sorcerers before they threw a hissy fit. All these capital folks were much too sensitive about terminology after all. Anakin had never bothered to tell her the differences before, but Ahsoka would kill him if she accidentally embarrassed herself because he hadn’t seen it fit to instruct her properly. Forget teaching Ahsoka how to improve her automaton, the next week would be full of etiquette lessons. Skies, there’d be people trying to steal their spellwork too. Had he even mentioned that kind of theft before? Anakin honestly couldn’t recall.

“Already regretting it?” Raya asked, her voice just a touch amused.

“Just a bit,” Anakin replied.

“It’ll be good for her,” Raya said, convinced and confident enough for the both of them. “And good for you as well. I’ve known you for years now and you’ve never even brought a friend over. I’m not going to be young forever, you know. I do expect to be introduced to your future spouse at some point.”

“And this is my cue to go packing as well,” Anakin announced and followed Ahsoka up the stairs with Raya’s laughter following him.

He had no intention of being with anyone, ever, unless he could find glamours that held up even when majorly distracted. On his way up the stairs, Anakin caught a look of himself in the window, saw black vines curling around his neck, inviting someone to take a closer look.

It was better this way.

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Love, fear, peace.

My Masterlist  

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: “I wanted to request an imagine where the reader and Ivar have a 4-5 year old daughter. And while Ivar is usually very cruel, he'll do anything for his little princess. And she asks to paint his nails and have him join her for a tea party, so he does, as long as it's a secret between them but the reader ends up seeing them and her thoughts on it? I'm in a big mood to read Ivar fluff”

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: A lil bit of angst, my best attempt at fluff, just soft stuff all around, probably ooc

A/N: My friends, may I interest you in an AU where all five sons of Ragnar are alive and happy? We call it ‘denial’ where I’m from, but yeah, in this universe they’re all alive, Sigurd married off to some Saxon Princess, Ubbe in Dublin, Ivar King of Kattegat and Hvitserk with him with a family of his own goddamit, Björn fuck-knows-where avoiding commitment like he was born to do, and that’s it. Ta-da.

Ástríðr is a name derived from the Old Norse elements áss "god" and fríðr "beautiful, beloved"

Taglist: (If you wanna be added or removed lemme know!) @youbloodymadgenius​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @1950schick​ @ietss​   @peachyboneless​ @encounterthepast​ @maggiescarborough​   @chibisgotovalhalla​ @receptionistfromhell​​ 

Hvitserk greets you with a kiss on your cheek, and you thank the gesture with a smile, though your eyes are scanning the main hall.

“Where’s Ivar?” You ask as he walks at your side, greeting a few people with false smiles and courteous nods.

Hvitserk only shrugs, “I thought he was with you.”

“No, we were supposed to talk with one of the earls about the effect of a high tide, but he wasn’t there.”

“And how was it?”

“Dull,” You reply sincerely, “But I have an idea of where my husband is.”

The other man betrays a smile, “Can you blame him? It is hard to say no to her.”

Oh, you know that. She has him -and you- powerless to deny her anything since she first came to this world.

Try as he might to deny it, to keep the idea of the ruthless king that loves nothing alive, to mantain the façade of how nothing makes Ivar the Boneless falter; your daughter is an adorable force to be reckoned with, capable of making even the King of Kattegat surrender.

It is no secret, for you or any soul that encounters your husband, that Ivar loves his family, his wife and daughter, like nothing else.

The world will never forget the battles he’s won and lost, the wars he started, the kingdoms he reduced to ash, the lands he conquered. The world will never forget of all he did in the name of his ambition, in the name of his fame.

But the world will never forget what he did in the name of love either. Countless deals made, countless fights, countless plans devised and even more sacrifices made so that he could grant his daughter the safeties she deserved; so that he can give her the world and, when time comes, have her step sure, knowing the very earth and the very skies are hers.

You don’t know how much time has passed when you blink past the sleep that weighs on your lids. You find yourself as you were, resting comfortably on a seat that has progressively become just a pile of pillows and furs since the start of winter.

You still feel the comfortable weight of Ivar’s head on your lap, and you can make out his voice speaking quietly. Looking down you find him talking to the small bump on your stomach, the evidence of your child growing inside of you.

At the feeling of your fingers running through his hair, Ivar looks up and offers you a smile, before scooting even closer to your stomach.

“Tell your mother to go back to sleep. You and I aren’t done talking, Princess.”

A part of you is tempted to taunt him about how the might Ivar the Boneless is so smitten by a child not even born yet, but you choose instead to bask in the softness in his expression, in the happiness that curves his mouth.

Still, after a few moments, you offer, “They could be a Prince. Ivarsson.”

Your husband hums, presses a kiss against your stomach and settles again on his back with his head on your lap.

“We will have sons, I know,” He tells you, smile faint as he closes his eyes, “But first, we will have a daughter.

He speaks with such certainty that you cannot help but huff a laugh. Still, it is a nice thought, to have a Princess to call your own, a little girl, blessed by the Gods.

“She will be just like her mother, and she will be ours to spoil and take care of.”

“You speak as if you wouldn’t spoil our sons, Ivar. Someone else might believe that lie, but not me.” You tease, eyebrows lifted.

“Mhm, but a father grows jealous of his sons, and their fame, their triumphs.”

“No daughter of mine, or of yours, will be content without her own triumphs and conquests.”

“I know,” He replies without hesitation, proud smile widening and eyes opening to gaze up at you, “Like I said, she’ll be just like her mother.”

It was never a secret, a surprise, for you to witness Ivar love your child before she was even born; to feel his joy and his anticipation and his love in the way he spoke of that daughter you’d have, and all the sons and daughters that would come after.

You learned to love him years ago, and found beneath the cruelty and venom and bloodthirst a man that loves intensely, that willingly gave his heart to you to keep safe the day he made you his wife. So his love doesn’t surprise you, his devotion to his family doesn’t make you falter.

There were still many things that made you falter, that made you see everything with new eyes, during those months while you carried Ástríðr and in the years you’ve been fortunate enough to have her.

One of them was how the sons of Aslaug, much to your surprise and despite all their other failings, had been raised to be utterly devoted to their families. Hvitserk was almost giddy at the possibility of a niece or nephew that he could keep close to him, unlike Ubbe’s children all the way in Dublin. Ubbe, always the father figure, visited more than once and kept watchful eyes not only on you and his brother, but on everything, as if from Dublin he could look over all of you like he did while growing up. To your surprise, even Sigurd, past the animosity between him and Ivar -and all the disagreements he has had with you over the years, of course- sent word from Northumbria wishing you three the protection of the Gods.

Another of those discoveries, sadly not as heartwarming, was to witness the burden your husband carried and not being able to do anything about it. The more easily-soothed fears, like what your daughter would think of him, or whether she would be born healthy, were quietened by your voice promising him over and over that any child of yours would love him like no other, or by the soft kicks of your daughter against where his palm rested on your stomach, making tears shine in Ivar’s eyes every time.

There were deeper fears, and fears that plagued you too, that you couldn’t so easily soothe. The whisper in the back of his mind that happiness is nothing, that everything you love eventually you lose, that all his cruel ways and his mistakes would one day cost him what he holds dear. The blue eyes of the man you love, so used to seeing what others cannot, so used to planning ahead and seeing the world like his enemy does, seeing a world where at any time his fame and his conquests could cost him your life or your daughter’s.

For a man as cruel and vicious as Ivar, it is easy to forget he is not something otherworldly, some demon like the Christians say, some beast like your own countrymen claim. Sometimes, in all his rage and all his chaos, it is easy to forget he is a husband, a father, a man.

And like any man with a beating heart, especially a heart so wholly owned by his wife and daughter; Ivar fears.

Ástríðr blinks big and strikingly blue eyes, and you smile widely, unable to keep yourself from bringing your daughter closer and pressing a kiss on her head, delighting yourself in the familiar and comforting smell of your baby.

“Good morning, little one.” You whisper, and she coos in response, as if she understands.

“Is she…is she alright?” Ivar asks, moving closer to you and looking at her over your shoulder.

“Of course she is,” You smile down at your daughter, your finger tapping the tip of her tiny nose. “Our beautiful girl, she’s more than alright. She’s perfect.”

“She was…coughing.”

“That’s something babies do, Ivar, she’s fine.” You reassure him, only slightly bothered by the fact that he woke you up because your daughter coughed. You adjust your grip on Ástríðr, let her nuzzle against the column of your throat and find her sleep again.

Ivar drops his head to your shoulder, sighing against your skin and laying quite a bit of his weight on you. You sit there, your daughter against you and your husband letting you hold him up as he releases a tension you didn’t realize was there, and feel a pang of something in your heart.

After a few moments, you hold back a sigh, you try biting back your worry, and whisper, “You should sleep, love.”

“Mhm,” Ivar mumbles, but it is an argument, even if he doesn’t find the words to voice it yet. “Later.”

He has taken the awful habit of not sleeping at night. Each night when you settle in bed with Ástríðr nestled close to you, and Ivar holds you both close in his embrace; he remains awake, vigilant and expectant, watching the shadows for ghosts and enemies. You’ve noticed him faltering during the day, worsening his pain by not letting himself rest like should.

And it has only been worse since Hvitserk has been gone.

You know there are few people Ivar trusts fully, even fewer he entrusts the safety of his wife and daughter to. With just being here, Hvitserk granted his brother a peace nothing else can, a certainty that there was someone’s back to lean his own against, a promise that he could lower his guard and rest assured he wasn’t alone.

It is just a matter of days before Hvitserk returns, but you refuse to let Ivar run himself ragged.

So, you use your and not holding Ástrídr to wrap around his waist, and slowly move the three of you, as well as you can manage, back to lay on the bed.

With a slightly startled breath Ivar opens his eyes, focuses almost frantically on you and Ástríðr. You sigh again, but make use of the loss of his weight against you to settle against the pillows, holding your daughter better against your chest, your hand covering her back and holding her gently.

When you’re certain she’s comfortable, you lift your free arm and run your fingers through Ivar’s hair.

“You’ll rest.” You order, your eyes on your husband’s. He wants to argue, you know he does, a war between exhaustion and stubbornness, but it seems the pull is strong enough to even make him cave.

Ivar settles on your opposite shoulder from your daughter, his hand warm and rough as it settles over yours on her back. You chase tension off his back by running your hand up and down his back, and as both he and your daughter sleep safe and warm against you, you allow yourself a whisper of gratitude to the Gods.

You never knew what the Seer had meant when he told you so many years ago that ‘he can only use one hand and chooses to hold the sword, and for that you’ll need to hold the shield’, but now, as you hold your world close against you, you dare think that you understand the Ancient One’s words.

Eventually, the fear of something stealing her in the middle of the night passes. It always returns, that irrational fear he has that he will lose it all, that frantic paranoia that if he doesn’t plan, if he doesn’t prepare, they will take you both from him.

But as Ástríðr grows healthy and lively, the fears dwindle, or maybe they just change. And for a man that scorned the very uttering of the word, Ivar finds peace.

Through the halls, you follow the familiar sound of Ivar’s war cry, though quieter, and the adorable giggles of your daughter. Walking into your rooms, you make sure to remain hidden as you watch Ivar on the floor, holding himself up on his arms, mocking a taunt towards your daughter, daring the little shieldmaiden to attack.

A part of you is glad that this is a secret, a side of your husband, of your family, that the world will never know of. The world needn’t know of how easily Ástríðr makes her mother and father cave to her every wish, the world needn’t know of how fiercely and uncondicionally she is loved; only she needs to know of it, andn you and Ivar have made sure she lives a life knowing how loved she is.

You lean your shoulder on a pillar near the door, arms crossed over your chest but still betraying a smile.

Ástríðr brandishes a wooden sword at her father, big eyes strikingly alike Ivar’s when she focuses and finds her determination.

“I will defeat you!” She exclaims, the seriousness in her expression making your chest warm.

“You’re just a shieldmaiden, you can’t defeat me!” Ivar replies without missing a beat, faking a monster’s swipe with a hand that tries grabbing at her small foot.

Your daughter jumps out of the way with a squeal, but quickly furrows her brow adorably and lifts her chin, stubborn and arrogant.

Gods, Ivar is right, she looks so much like you.

“I am Ástríðr Ivarsdottir, I’ll always win!”

“Ah, you will, won’t you?” Ivar teases, letting go of the role of whatever beast he was supposed to be, grabbing onto your daughter and falling on his back with her in his arms, lifting the girl up and making her giggle. “Mighty shieldmaiden you’ll be, my sweet.”

“I know.” She replies without hesitation, startling a laugh out of you.

Two pairs of blue eyes turn to you, and Ástríðr wastes no time in calling out for you, squirming her way out of her father’s grasp and skipping towards you.

You kneel on the ground and welcome your daughter’s enthusiastic embrace, even if it was only this morning you last saw her.

“Did you defeat him, little one?” You ask her, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Of course I did, mama.” She replies, almost offended. Of course, look whose daughter you’re asking about a victory in battle, imaginary or not.

You catch Ivar’s eyes and whatever intent you had on chastising him for leaving you to deal with the earl alone vanishes at the softness in his gaze at he looks at you both.

Not many know of Ivar the Boneless’ love. Even fewer know of his fear.

But there’s only a few lucky ones that have seen his happiness, his peace.

You two share a look, a look that speaks not only of gratefulness for one another, but of gratefulness for this perfect blend of the two of you, of your stubbornness and his drive, of his eyes and your hair.

Ivar betrays a small smile and his eyes go to the discarded wooden sword at his side.

“Oi, shieldmaiden!” He calls out, and Ástríðr turns to him without hesitation. “You never leave your weapon behind. It is the one thing, besides your mother and me, that you can trust blindly in this world.”

Ivar motions for the sword, and your daughter dutifully goes to pick it up, only to be ambushed on the way, Ivar’s eyes trapping her to his chest.

She is startled, and lets out a loud and adorable laugh as her father once again drops to the furs at his back, his smile blinding.

“You see? If you’d had your sword, no monster would have gotten you.”

Ástríðr grumbles an argument, but Ivar only snorts a laugh. His eyes lift to yours, and he lifts his hand, calling for the touch of yours, calling for you to join them.

You sigh, but still walk to them and stretch on the furs near the fire, accepting the embrace Ivar offers you when he lifts his free arm.

You nuzzle your nose against his throat, reaching with your hand and taming Ástríðr’s wild hair.

“Do you think one day I could defeat a dragon, like the warriors you tell me about?”

“Mhm, of course. You’ll be the most famous shieldmaiden who has ever lived.” He promises her, pressing a kiss against her hair, his arm tightening and trying to bring you closer even if it is impossible.

___

I struggled a lot writing this, I don’t really know why bc it was a lovely request. I tried my best :)

I hope you liked this, lovely anon! And I’m sorry it took me so long to get it done! I love you!!

[melanielocke]

Lost in the Shadows - Epilogue

AO3

Taglist: @alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer @foxglove-airmid @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @justanormaldemon @styxdrawings @ipromiseiwillwrite @a-dream-dirty-and-bruised

Previous Chapter: Chapter 35

This is the epilogue and final chapter. While there are some loose ends and I might write a sequel one day, I have currently have no plans for one so it would take some time. As it is I'm working on a Frozen TLH story (chapter 1-3 are currently published), and one post CoI story titled "We bury the sunlight" so look out for those.

Alastair decided to move in with Jem at the end of the summer. He had managed to finish decorating his bedroom just in time for the first week of university, which he was excited about starting. He wasn’t sure why, but he’d expected Jem to be overbearing and constantly worrying about his mental health. He’d always thought that was what a psychiatrist did, he guessed, just like his father had always feared Jem would know about his alcoholism from just looking at him.

He’d learnt that wasn’t the case. Jem was a doctor, he couldn’t read minds, and although he was there for Alastair when he needed him, he was family and not his doctor, which was an important distinction. Jem gave him lots of space, and the ground rules were mainly about keeping everything clean, which was no problem. Jem also preferred it to know if someone he didn’t know was visiting, but that rarely happened since Alastair only had a few friends and the only one who hadn’t known Jem before was Kamala.

It was nice, having so much space to himself. Jem had changed a lot about the house, it didn’t look like an exact copy of the house he’d lived in when he was very young. Cordelia and his mother still lived with Risa, with him gone it fit a bit better, but they were in the process of getting the house back.

He saw Thomas regularly, and they had sleep overs once a week. Alastair had bought a new double bed for his room mainly so they could share the bed. Thomas was currently adapting to student life, but had vowed to Alastair that he would not drink any alcohol. Alastair worried that would severely limit Thomas’ social life, but secretly he was very happy Thomas would do that for him. Lucie had also decided they would all start playing DnD with her, and although Alastair still didn’t understand much of the game, they had fun. Thomas, who had been in Lucie’s previous campaign as well, had helped him with his character. Right now, the group consisted of Lucie as the story teller, or dungeon master as the game called it, and Thomas, Cordelia, Kamala, Eugenia and him as the players. Alastair played a warlock, which he felt suited him. Warlocks also got nightmares they never asked for all the time and were constantly exhausted, not to mention they made deals with otherworldly beings. Perhaps it fit a little too well.

He’d also decided to take lessons in ballroom dancing, with Kamala as his dance partner at the student dance association. He almost had something that resembled a social life, which was both very new and very weird. As it was, they both were quite good at dancing. Kamala had taken two years of dance classes too, although it had been years, and together they could figure out what they remembered and how to do it. Both had been forced by their father at the time and it was much more enjoyable now that they’d chosen to pick it up again, not to mention it was nice having a dance partner he matched well with.

Thomas was still considering starting dancing, but finding a partner who was tall enough for him would be a struggle. Alastair could follow decently and dance with Thomas, although he still noticed the height difference, but with the lack of men in dancing most teachers would rather pair Thomas with the tallest girl available.

He felt like for the first time in years, he was sort of happy? Happier than he used to be at least. He still had nightmares, flashbacks, all that, and didn’t think it was going away anytime soon. If anything, EMDR made it harder, but that was to be expected. He’d known that during EMDR he’d have to talk about everything, and although in time that would make it better, at first it just brought everything to the surface. He’d learnt not to plan anything else on days he had EMDR, except maybe cuddling with Thomas.

Although relationships were still new to him, any relationships really, he was getting more accustomed to having people around who cared about him. Not just Thomas, but Lucie and Cordelia, who had just started their last year of school and came to him for help with their math homework, Kamala and Eugenia, who he’d been spending time with at the dance studio. He often visited the Lightwoods too, and he felt welcome there. Gideon and Sophie had made a habit out of inviting him along with any family outings. He’d never felt so welcome before, it had taken some time to work through that.

‘You’re going to love my gift, I promise.’

Tomorrow was Alastair’s nineteenth birthday, and Thomas was sleeping over the night before.

‘What is it?’ Alastair asked.

‘A surprise.’

‘It was worth a try,’ Alastair said. ‘How was your visit at Matthew today?’

Alastair had spoken to Matthew once. He didn’t think the two of them would ever be good friends, but they could move past school and tolerate each other’s presence. Thomas had spent the day with him today, shopping. Matthew apparently loved clothes even more than Alastair did, and had an unusual and extravagant taste.

‘Awkward,’ Thomas said.

Alastair frowned. ‘Why was it awkward?’

‘Well, he’s the only other man I know who is interested in men and has previous, uh, experience. So I figured I’d ask what to expect and what to do. It was a very uncomfortable conversation.’

Alastair started laughing. ‘You could have just asked me.’

‘I know, but I thought it would be nicer for you if I had some idea of what I’m supposed to be doing,’ Thomas said.

Alastair put his hand in Thomas’ hair. ‘That’s sweet.’

‘From now on I’ll be asking you my questions,’ Thomas said. ‘Of course, the internet has also been helpful.’

‘As long as you know where to get your information,’ Alastair said. ‘Porn isn’t real and not a good source. But I don’t mind if there’s things you don’t know yet, because I know enough.’

They had sex for the first time that night. Alastair felt it was the right time. Of course, having sex the night before his birthday wasn’t new to him. The previous years he’d spend with Charles ever since he’d turned sixteen. It was far better with Thomas. Not because of experience or anything like that, but because Alastair felt comfortable, because he was absolutely sure he wanted it and felt like he could ask Thomas to stop if he wasn’t comfortable anymore. Thomas was a little clumsy, but Alastair didn’t mind. He would get better at it with some practice.

The next morning, they went to the Victoria and Albert museum. It was early on a week day and neither of them had classes today. Thomas had been surprised at first by how empty his schedule was but had ultimately discovered much of his free time was spent on assignments and preparing for lectures and classes. Fortunately, it did mean they could easily plan such trips on times it wouldn’t be crowded. Alastair still didn’t like crowds and didn’t think he ever would. Thomas had grown over his fear of them, but he also preferred the quiet. It was much nicer this way, taking his time to let a piece of art wash over him, undisturbed by other visitors. Thomas made the occasional comment. He’d taken art history in school and could name the different styles and put works in the context of the time period. Alastair didn’t say much in response, just nodded. He felt he didn’t have to.

Thomas had promised him his gift after coming back from the museum, and Alastair was starting to get curious. Thomas had hidden the gift somewhere in Jem’s house, so Alastair wouldn’t even be able to guess from the shape. He hadn’t bothered to look for it, but had been tempted. As much as he liked the small smile on Thomas’ lips as he said ‘not yet, mi Cielo,’ Alastair was not fond of surprises. He liked to know what to expect with a three to five workdays advance notice for anything out of the usual.

‘You’d think no one has ever given you a birthday gift before,’ Thomas said. He paused. ‘Wait, is that it? Did you not usually receive gifts?’

‘No, I did, from my mother and sometimes Cordelia.’

Charles too, Charles had had a habit of giving him expensive gifts. Or gifts he’d found among his mother’s things, he guessed. Alastair had not seen him again now that he was back in London, for which he was grateful. Gideon had spoken with Charles and told him he knew what he’d done and wasn’t welcome at his house anymore. Apparently Charles had been very angry about that, but Gideon had told Alastair he was welcome anytime and it was his responsibility to guarantee his safety. Alastair appreciated that.

‘Have you been asking them about it all this time too?’ Thomas asked.

‘No just you. But you made a big deal out of it by hiding it someplace here,’ Alastair said.

‘Alright, I guess you can open it,’ Thomas said, who left and came back to the living room carrying a very big box.

Alastair carefully opened the wrapping paper, making sure nothing tore. He wasn’t sure why exactly, but he’d always opened gifts this way, as if he intended to reuse the paper, something he’d never done.

‘I thought, with how impatient you were, you’d rip it all apart,’ Thomas said.

‘No,’ Alastair said.

‘You can rip it, it’s no problem,’ Thomas said as Alastair was struggling to get a piece of sticky tape off without damaging anything.

‘No,’ Alastair said, even more determined to get everything off properly.

Once he’d gotten it open and folded away the colorful wrapping paper, Alastair revealed something that resembled a hamster cage, but bigger. There were two floors, the top open and the bottom offering a little more darkness with a little home in there an animal could hide in. There was a wheel, several balls, and a little hedgehog plushie.

‘I know you were planning to get a pet hedgehog, so I researched what it needs. This has most things it needs to live in, you just might need to add a heat lamp because hedgehogs need a warm environment.’

‘I’d been looking into what I’d need too,’ Alastair said. ‘Jem is alright with me getting a hedgehog as long as I make sure to keep Church away from him. That shouldn’t be a problem, as I would put the hedgehog in my bedroom and Church doesn’t go there.’

‘How is Church?’ Thomas asked.

‘Usually, he is wherever I’m not. He doesn’t come into my bedroom. In the living room it can be a bit more of a struggle, as he likes to claim his space, and no matter where I sit, he gets upset because that’s the spot he wanted for himself. The only moment he tolerates me is when I’m accompanying Jem on the piano.’

Alastair had picked up playing music again after years and he tried to practice for half an hour daily. Sometimes with Thomas, singing his songs and playing more modern music. But he also played classical music with Jem, who was exceptional at the violin. Jem could probably have been a concert violinist if he hadn’t chosen to become a doctor instead.

‘Sounds like Church,’ Thomas said. ‘He won’t be a danger to your hedgehog, will he?’

‘I will keep my hedgehog in my bedroom,’ Alastair said. ‘If I make sure to keep the door closed when I’m not there, I think it’s unlikely Church will even go there. Even then there’s a cover for this hedgehog home and a little house for him to hide, and of course a hedgehog can roll into a little ball of quills. I think it’ll be fine. And my therapist thought it might be good for me to get a pet, as long as I am confident I can care for it of course. Now, can you help me think of a name? I’m not great with names.’

‘You and Cordelia have been arguing about baby names for weeks now,’ Thomas pointed out.

‘Yes, the baby should have a beautiful Persian name,’ Alastair said. ‘For pets it’s different.’

‘Or dnd characters,’ Thomas added.

‘So what if my character has my middle name?’

‘No, I like it,’ Thomas said. ‘Esfandiyar. It’s a beautiful name. For a pet I think a shorter name is better. I think your plushie hedgehog is called Mr. Prickly?’

‘I named him when I was a child,’ Alastair said. ‘I’m not naming my pet something stupid.’

‘No little pipsqueak?’ Thomas said with a grin.

Alastair rolled his eyes. ‘Absolutely not.’

***

‘You mean to say you forgot to buy Alastair a gift for his birthday?’ Lucie asked.

‘I didn’t forget,’ Cordelia said. ‘I planned to do it today, after school. How was I supposed to know I was going to get detention?’

They entered the bookstore, certain she could find something Alastair would like here.

‘Sorry I couldn’t get you out,’ Lucie said. ‘Even my dad can’t do that, but he knows it was completely unfair.’

Cordelia shrugged. ‘I finished my homework. But I’m still pissed.’

She knew teachers tended to be harsher on her, Alastair had always had the same problem, and she usually made a point to behave but she also wasn’t going to let people just walk over her girlfriend. So what if she’d gotten into a fight with a bully? He’d started it, but that’s not how the teacher who’d broken them apart saw it.

‘Alastair will understand,’ Cordelia added. ‘He was often sent to detention unfairly too. Now, which of these books do you think he’ll like?’

‘Both seem pretty good,’ Lucie said. ‘What are they about?’

‘This one’s called Malice, and is a Sleeping Beauty retelling focused on Alyce, the dark grace with powers similar to the original evil witch who cursed the princesses, and she might be the villain but she might also fall in love with Aurora. I haven’t read it, but it sounds awesome. The other is Girl, Serpent, Thorn.’

‘Oh, didn’t I lend you that one last year?’

‘Yes,’ Cordelia said. ‘It was awesome and the cover is so beautiful I wanted my own copy. I think Alastair will like it too, the world is inspired by Persian culture and the Shahnameh, which he loves, and the story is very good too.’

Girl, Serpent, Thorn was probably one of her favorite books, and Cordelia ultimately decided to buy it for herself while buying Malice for Alastair. He could always borrow the other book from her, she just wanted to reread it several times and have the gorgeous cover on display.

‘I doubt Alastair minds we’re late,’ Cordelia said. ‘He’s been spending the day with Thomas.’

Cordelia sometimes envied the amount of free time Alastair had compared to her. She hoped it would be the same once she went to university. Of course, Alastair had his memory, he only had to read everything once and he would remember forever. He could save so much time that way.

It still struck her as odd how they didn’t understand Alastair’s memory. Lucie was the way she was because her grandfather was the thief of souls. Same for Tessa, who’d gotten some of her power back after his death. Thomas had the sight because his mother did, and Kamala had healing powers because a fairy had given them to her. But no one knew why Alastair was the way he was. Cordelia knew it still frustrated him, not understanding.

‘I can’t wait until I can go to university,’ Lucie said. ‘I am so done with physics.’

‘Why did you take physics?’ Cordelia asked.

‘No clue,’ Lucie said. ‘I’ll survive another year. Then it’s English literature and creative writing.’

Cordelia wished she knew what she was going to study. Half her biology class was already working on their med school applications, but Cordelia had no clue yet. At least she couldn’t really picture herself as a doctor. Part of her still wanted to be a hero, but what if like Jem she decided to retire early? Being a hero didn’t exactly pay, and it was good to have some education. She just didn’t know what. She knew, of course, it was fine to choose wrong at first. Alastair had realized being a politician wasn’t for him, and was again starting in his first year.

‘At least Alastair promised to help me with my math homework,’ Cordelia said.

Cordelia and Lucie took the metro and arrived at Jem’s house. She’d been here frequently since the summer, and it already felt like Alastair’s house. She’d considered moving in herself too, but felt like she was still too young to move away from her mother and would rather stay for now.

Alastair and Thomas were in the living room, where an animal home was standing on the table next to a bit of neatly folded wrapping paper, not a tear in sight. Alastair had always been a little obsessive in the way he opened gifts. The wrapping paper would be thrown away, yet he always opened it with such a care and he never ripped anything.

‘Happy birthday,’ she said, hugging her brother.

He’d grown more comfortable with physical affection lately, and for Cordelia it felt like it had become easier to reach him. She’d had to get used to not living in the same house as him at first, but Alastair seemed happier here.

‘Thank you,’ Alastair said. ‘I’m officially on the waiting list for a pet hedgehog. It might take some time, but I have some of the supplies I need now. I am open to name suggestions as I have not thought of anything yet.’

‘Pipsqueak!’ Lucie called out.

‘Oddly, you’re not the first person to suggest that,’ Alastair said. ‘No, I am not naming my pet Pipsqueak.’

‘That’s because I already call Alastair that,’ Thomas said.

Alastair rolled his eyes. ‘My hedgehog will have a serious name, not something a toddler would have chosen.’

They didn’t settle on a name yet that evening. Lucie kept suggesting the kind of names Alastair meant to avoid as a joke, and Eugenia did the same when she and Kamala arrived. Kamala had a few good suggestions, and Alastair decided to look into Persian pet names.

Cordelia started feeling like things would be alright again, like things would be normal. Of course, she could never be sure. Tatiana had not turned up again, Gideon had reported her missing and so far the police had no leads. Cordelia didn’t think they’d find her, and she wondered if Tatiana would come back. There was no chance she could bring back her son, not anymore, but Cordelia feared she might want revenge. Right now, she tried not to worry. She would be prepared, yes, but she would also continue to live her life, go to school, worry about things normal girls her age should be worried about. Alastair seemed to be doing a little better as well, although she knew his EMDR days were hard. He was playing music again, and Cordelia loved to listen to him play the piano while she was here.

‘Do you want to play something?’ Cordelia asked at some point, gesturing to the piano.

‘Of course,’ Alastair said. ‘Thomas, I need your help.’

‘I didn’t bring my guitar,’ Thomas said nervously.

‘I don’t need you to play, I need you to turn the page of the sheet music. One of these days I’m going to make a copy and tape this piece together, but it’s 5 pages long.’

Cordelia would always be impressed at how fast Alastair could move his fingers over the keys. He’d tried to teach her when she was younger and she could play some simple melodies with her right hand only, but she’d never gotten the hang of playing with two hands.

‘I recognize this,’ Lucie said when Alastair was finished. ‘I think it’s in Pride and Prejudice. The one with Colin Firth.’

‘That’s possible, it’s well known. The Turkish March by Mozart,’ Alastair said. ‘I’ve been practicing this for the past week.’

‘It’s lovely,’ Cordelia said. ‘I missed hearing you play.’

‘And now you only get to listen when you’re here,’ Alastair said apologetically.

‘I’m here several days a week anyway,’ Cordelia said. ‘I’m glad you’re playing again.’

‘I forgot how much I loved it,’ Alastair said. ‘But I’m happy too. Even Church likes it when I play.’

Cordelia noticed the cat was sitting up from his spot on the couch, listening intently as Alastair started playing something else. Church might hate everyone and everything, but he loved Jem and he loved music.

Thomas continued to do his job as page turner and Cordelia could see the adoration in his eyes as he watched Alastair play. She was glad they’d been able to work it out and were still together, Alastair deserved that.

When Alastair was finished, Lucie decided to present her gift, which was a story she’d written herself in an insanely short time. Cordelia had read it and helped her edit, but the premise was that it was Frozen but with Alastair and Cordelia as the main characters.

‘I’m going to read it as soon as I have the time,’ Alastair promised. ‘This sounds brilliant.’

[thehangeddemon]

Waiting for a Tuesday || Self Para || September 14, 2021

☠ WARNING ☠

This work contains graphic descriptions of violence, gore, and torture

Reader discretion is advised

“More tea, sir?”

Xavier glanced up from his newspaper and gave the waiter a pleasant smile. He shook his head. “I’m fine, John, thank you. You can bring me the check as soon as y—”

“Actually, John. Why don’t you go ahead and bring us another pot of tea? Anything but English breakfast,” he added with a chuckle that almost sounded condescending. “I don’t share my son’s fondness for it.”

The waiter watched as a man, who had seemed to appear out of nowhere and was dressed head to toe in black, invited himself to sit opposite Mr. Rossmara. He’d said ‘son’, but he didn’t really look old enough to have a son Mr. Rossmara’s age. He didn’t really resemble him either but that seemed less strange somehow.

What was strange was the way Mr. Rossmara was looking at the man across from him. He looked…stunned, like he’d seen a ghost or something. But beneath the surprise was an indiscernible emotion on Mr. Rossmara’s face that John thought looked just a little like fear.

At the stranger’s expectant look, John collected himself and cleared his throat, addressing Mr. Rossmara. “…Sir…?”

Xavier seemed to collect himself as well, though far more subtly. He folded up his newspaper and put the pleasant smile back on his face, determined to make it seem like nothing was wrong. Only someone who looked very closely would see how forced the smile was, or how measured his movements were.

“Yes, of course. Does earl grey meet with your approval?”

The man smiled like the proverbial cat who ate the canary. “It does.”

“Very well. A pot of earl grey then, John.”

The waiter nodded. “Right away, sir.”

Xavier waited until John was well out of earshot before he spoke again. “Hello, Father. I didn’t expect you.”

Zagan let out another of those condescending laughs that set Xavier’s teeth on edge and dragged him right back to all his memories of Hell. “No, I’m quite certain you did not.”

“How did you know I was here?”

“My dear boy, it was hardly a mystery worthy of Sherlock Holmes. For as long as you’ve had your shipping business, you’ve come to San Francisco every Tuesday without fail to check in. And without fail, you finish your work just before teatime. By your own admission, this hotel has the best afternoon tea in the city. All I had to do was remember the name of the hotel and wait for a Tuesday.”

Zagan helped himself to one of the cucumber sandwiches that remained on the tray. “You’ve become predictable in your old age, my boy.”

Xavier had to fight to keep from shifting in his seat. Not any-bloody-more. He’d be changing that particular habit immediately. It didn’t suit him at all for someone outside his household to have such intimate knowledge of his movements, especially if that someone was his father. Such information was dangerous in the hands of a man like Zagan. It didn’t matter if it was only the day and location of a standing reservation for tea and cake, Xavier knew from experience that the less his father knew, the better.

Which was largely why he didn’t take any great pains to see him. Unless, of course, he was forced to.

“I see,” Xavier said, settling for an amused smile since a laugh was impossible. “I suppose I am becoming a bit predictable. Anyhow, it’s nice to see you, Father. Have you been well?”

“Well enough.” Zagan was watching him carefully, studying every nuance in his expression, listening to the tone and inflection of every word. Becoming familiar with anything that had changed since the last time he’d seen his demonic progeny.

Thankfully Xavier didn’t have to endure it for very long. John soon returned with their tea, giving him a reprieve from paternal scrutiny as it was poured. It was the only thing that would for the next little while.

This time it was Zagan who waited until they were alone again before he spoke. “So. Tell me. How is that shipping business of yours doing? And your myriad other ventures?”

The next hour or so was spent in what one could call easy conversation. They spoke of Xavier’s businesses, the sights he’d seen, the things he’d collected, the weather, the state of the world. Perfectly light, perfectly casual. At least from an outsider’s perspective.

From Xavier’s point of view things were far more fraught. Everything he said had to be carefully weighed, and there was a desperately thin line between revealing too much and appearing withholding, between looking at ease and projecting discomfort.

Having a conversation with his father hadn’t always been this difficult. In fact, just a few years ago Xavier would have been—and had been—completely comfortable not only talking to Zagan but spending entire days in his company. He’d even sought him out once or twice. But then, Xavier had had far less to lose a few years ago. He hadn’t had a child, a fiancé, staff that depended on him, friends he cared for.

He had all those things now. He had more than he’d allowed himself to have in fifty years, and the memory of how things had gone then still lived all too vividly in his mind.

Getting back to a point of comfort with Zagan after that hadn’t been easy, but he’d done it. There hadn’t been a choice. It was either swallow his pain, grief, and desire for vengeance and make nice, or tempt his father into carrying out his threats.

Sitting here now, Xavier felt much the same as he had then; trapped, resentful, and desperate to get away.

He had no illusions of being able to do that any time soon, however, even when his father finally asked for the check. After such a long absence, Zagan was sure to take up as much of his time as possible.

His suspicions were confirmed almost immediately.

“Come,” said Zagan, getting to his feet. “Let’s take a walk.”

Xavier remained at the table while his father stepped outside, indulging himself with a long, weary sigh the moment it felt safe to do so. It had only been an hour and he was ready for another five-year interlude in their relationship.

What had brought Zagan up from Hell anyway? Surely this visit hadn’t only been for tea and a walk with him. His father hated humans, hated looking at them and being amongst them. There had to be another reason and no doubt it was something Xavier really didn’t want the know the details of.

“Probably scouting his next project child,” Xavier muttered to himself as he pulled his card from his wallet.

Bill settled, he stepped out into the late summer evening and breathed deeply. There was a chill in the air that said autumn was well and truly on its way. Soon the days would grow shorter and the nights longer. His collection of coats would emerge from storage. Every hearth in the manor would roar to life with cheerful, welcoming fires.

He sighed again, longing for the comfort of home as he looked for Zagan among the crowd of people in front of the hotel. That expression of disdain was easy to spot.

“Where shall we go?” Xavier asked, approaching him.

“I don’t know how you can stand it.” His father’s tone all but dripped disgust. “Being here day in and day out among these…creatures and the stench of their cities. It’s revolting.”

“I’d rather smog than brimstone.”

“I think I prefer brimstone.”

Right. That nipped the notion of walking on the street squarely in the bud. If only that were enough to dissuade his father, but alas.

Fortunately, there was a park nearby.

Zagan didn’t say a single word as they made their way there, clearly preferring to stew in his distaste until they were well clear of anyone who might catch a snippet of their conversation. Of course, he hadn’t been nearly so averse to it back at the hotel.

Xavier would just chalk that up to the difference between a well-appointed dining room and a crowded street.

His father’s demeanor seemed marginally more pleasant as they entered the park. It wouldn’t be empty for a good while yet, but it was an improvement from the street. Hopefully it wouldn’t be enough of one to tempt him to stay much longer.

A few long minutes of not-quite-companionable silence passed before Zagan saw fit to fall into conversation again. The additional privacy meant they could discuss things that were far more relevant to his father’s interests than the weather or the goings on at a shipping company. Namely, any magic Xavier had learned, magical artifacts Xavier had acquired, and any kills Xavier had made.

The latter would perhaps prove to be a bit of a disappointment. Not only did Xavier kill less frequently these days, his choice of quarry had changed. The people that he’d once hunted were those he found interesting or amusing or intriguingly intelligent; only on the very rare occasion did he hunt someone who truly deserved it.

That was no longer the case. Lately when Xavier hunted it was only people who truly deserved it. He went for rapists and abusers. He went for people who hurt children, including and especially priests. There was immense satisfaction in knowing exactly where those people were going and what awaited them when they arrived, and even more in describing it in vivid, excruciating detail as they bled to death among the debris of a forest floor.

Hell was a far greater torment than anything he could visit upon them, and he was more than happy to send them on their way.

Zagan let out a loud, derisive laugh at that. “Are you indeed?” The old demon laughed again, putting Xavier’s back up and setting his teeth on edge. “My dear boy, you have been away from Hell too long. Who would’ve imagined? My son, the divine hand of justice for ne’er-do-well priests the world over. Never mind predictable; you’ve grown positively moral in your old age.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Xavier said softly, fighting to unclench his jaw.

His father gave him an amused look. “No?”

He shook his head. “No. I’ve merely…unearthed an intolerance I didn’t give sufficient regard to before.”

“Have you? Well.” Zagan chuckled and adjusted his sleeve, looking positively chuffed in a way that both infuriated and unsettled. “You never did like priests. Who would, having had your childhood? I suppose that particular aspect of your personality was bound to rear its head again eventually. Perhaps…it’s entirely appropriate that it should do so now.”

Xavier didn’t register the movement until it was too late. He only had a moment to feel his father grabbing his arm before he was whisked through the familiar vacuum of demonic travel, and even less to register his new surroundings before he was thrown bodily against something cold and unyielding.

“You unearthed an intolerance, did you?” Zagan’s voice, so casual and amused just seconds ago, now quivered with rage.

Xavier went flying again, this time into something that splintered beneath the force of his weight. Wood?

“And when exactly did you do that, Xavier? Was it perhaps around the time that you became a father?”

Again, back into the unyielding cold. Stone. “Father, plea—”

“Not that I can even tell, since I’ve scarcely seen the child—my grandchild—more than twice since the day he was born!”

Xavier cried out as he was flung for a fourth time, several bones breaking upon landing forcefully on a stone floor. There was something soft beneath him, but whatever it was, it hadn’t been enough to cushion his fall.

He braced for another hit, relieved when none came. He could still hear the echo of his father’s furious footsteps, however, which meant the torment wasn’t over. Far from it. The pleasant Zagan of earlier was gone, and who had remained in his place was someone Xavier was very, very familiar with.

Familiar enough to know that he had only a few precious seconds to catch his breath and orient himself.

There wasn’t much he could see from this position apart from the ceiling of whatever edifice they were in but, not wanting to draw attention to himself too soon—or move lest he worsen his breaks—he observed what he could by turning his head.

Said ceiling, high and crisscrossed with thick wooden beams, appeared to be constructed of the same stone as the walls and floor. Dusty chandeliers covered in thick cobwebs were hung every few feet, the candles in them long unlit. The same went for the metal sconces on the walls.

He appeared to be lying in the middle of an aisle bordered on either side by what he could only assume was the wooden something he’d been thrown int—

No. Not just wood. Pews.

Xavier struggled into a sitting position, heedless of his broken bones and desire for inconspicuousness in his rush to confirm his suspicions, to confirm what he already knew.

Panic rose in his chest as he saw the cross silhouetted in stark relief against the waning sunlight streaming in through the stained-glass window.

They were in a church.

Had this been any other time on any other day Zagan wouldn’t have missed the opportunity to mock and use his son’s fear against him. Xavier’s childhood memories of being harrowed and abused by his stepmother and local priest amused him to no end but on this day, he didn’t so much as comment.

He just stalked down the aisle toward Xavier and slammed him back against the floor with a flick of his hand.

“After all,” he said, voice dangerously soft as he crouched beside his son. “I can hardly drop by for a visit now, can I? Not with all those wards you have on the estate that threaten to annihilate anyone who comes in unannounced.” He almost smiled. “You’ve amassed quite the bag of tricks over the last fifty years.”

Xavier could only shake his head. “The wards aren’t—”

“Aren’t what? Aren’t meant to keep me out?” Zagan scoffed, giving Xavier a dubious look as he grabbed a handful of his hair from the back of his head and stood. “Dear boy, do you really expect me to believe that?”

He gave Xavier’s hair a good hard yank, ignoring his son’s cries of pain as he dragged him down the aisle and deposited him on the small set of stairs leading to the altar. “You didn’t ward against me fifty years ago only because you didn’t know how to. If you had, you would’ve done it in a trice to help keep that pathetic little slave of yours out of my grasp, but I’m sure that’s already occurred to you.”

Indignation fought its way in beside pain and panic, and Zagan noticed. His son’s emotions had always been pitifully easy to read, moreso when they ran as profoundly as he knew this did. The servant was still a sore spot even after all this time.

Zagan paused.

“Had you realized?” he asked, crouching again to run a single finger down Xavier’s cheek, those ancient eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. “That this year marks the fiftieth anniversary? Had you realized, my beautiful boy, that half a century had passed since you came so close to defying me?”

Fifty years of pain and rage and grief so rarely expressed churned in Xavier’s gut and pulled at his soul. That his father could speak so cavalierly of Maximus and his loss made him want to scream and be ill in equal measure.

Had he realized? How could he not, when every day for the past year and a half had been a battle against remembering? How could he not, when every day he walked halls and sat in rooms identical to those Maximus had once drawn breath in, only to remember that they had burnt to the ground?

How could he not, when dead leaves and rose petals and ash were still enough to bring him to tears?

The same tears that streamed down his face now. Xavier was powerless to stop them and even if he could have, he likely wouldn’t have. After what he’d done to Maximus, an acknowledgement of his grief was the least Xavier could give him, even if his father was the only one who witnessed it.

“Oh my, look at that.” Zagan stroked his son’s face again, collecting those tears and rubbing the moisture between his fingers. He tsked, shaking his head. “My dear, it’s been an absolute age since then. How can a measly little servant still cause all this upset, hm? There now.”

Zagan slipped one arm under Xavier’s knees and the other behind his back, lifting and carrying him the rest of the way up the steps as if he weighed absolutely nothing. He gathered Xavier close, even took care not to jostle him too much.

Such loving gestures were not uncommon for the old demon. There were times in Hell when he had been the absolute image of gentleness and paternal affection, when he had held him as he did now and given him a reprieve from the torture.

But more torture had always followed. Showing him affection was rarely meant to comfort; it was meant to torment.

“I’m sure you feel like the past few decades have been a trial, but you see, I don’t think that’s entirely accurate.” Zagan set Xavier down as carefully as he’d picked him up, petting his hair as that indignant look returned to his son’s expression. “Don’t misunderstand me. I don’t doubt you’ve suffered a great deal over your servant. I don’t see why you would when they’re so readily available, but I don’t doubt it. I just think you haven’t quite…put things in perspective.”

With of wave of his father’s hand, every sconce, chandelier, and candelabra flickered to life, allowing Xavier his first real look at the derelict church. Not that there was much to see. No one had set foot in here for a very long time, let alone used it as a place of worship.

But when he turned his head, Xavier saw something that made his blood run cold.

Until now he’d felt trepidation, resentment, emotional anguish. Only when he saw the lines of a demon trap scorched into the threadbare carpet beneath him did he finally feel fear.

“Father…?”

“You see, my dear, I don’t think you realize how easy you got off all those years ago.” Zagan shed his coat and rolled up his sleeves.

“Father, please—”

Zagan knelt beside him. “My own son considers rebelling against me, disobeying me, gives a servant pride of place over his father, and what does he have to pay for it? Absolutely nothing.” He unbuttoned Xavier’s suit jacket and shirt, undid his trousers. “My son defies his father and still he gets to keep his estate, his businesses, his treasures. His life. All these things my son gets to keep, he goes virtually without punishment for fifty years, and does he realize that? Does it occur to him how generous his father has been in his infinite mercy? No. Rather than show gratitude, he has the childish audacity to believe he is the aggrieved party!”

Xavier didn’t see Zagan move. There was just an awful squelching sound, then searing pain as his father, having pierced his torso with a bare hand, sliced it upward and gutted him like a fish from groin to sternum.

“Which doesn’t mean I haven’t noticed your efforts,” Zagan said calmly above the echoing din of his son’s screams. Casually. “You’ve been such a good boy, treating your papa to afternoon tea and accompanying him for a walk. But I have been far too lax with you. You see that, don’t you?”

He gripped the jagged edges of Xavier’s wound and forced them apart to another chorus of screams. “All those wards, the prolonged absence.” Zagan shook his head. “There comes a point where it all gets to be a bit too much. What’s that expression? Getting too big for your britches? I think you’ll agree you got too big for yours a very long time ago. What’s more, I think you’ll agree that it’s high time that you paid the piper.”

Zagan got to his feet and made his way over to the wooden table beneath the stained-glass window at the head of the altar. He retrieved a hammer, a covered metal bowl, and a set of railroad spikes and brought them over to the demon trap, kneeling again.

Xavier could only watch him, borderline delirious as his chest heaved and his wounds bled. He didn’t dare lift his head to look at the damage; he’d seen enough of his own insides in Hell.

There was a vague hope that his blood would break the demon trap and allow him to get away, but he knew it was impossible even as he thought it. Zagan had prepared for this.

There was no getting away, especially once the first spike was hammered through one of his feet, piercing shoe leather, flesh, and carpet as it was driven into the stone beneath. Xavier bit back another scream, only to give in as his father pinned his arm above his head and drove the second spike into his hand.

“A necessary precaution,” Zagan explained, moving around to repeat the process on Xavier’s other side, barely reacting to the scent of demonic flesh charred by iron. “To make things easier for both of us. Remember what I always used to tell you?”

The third and fourth spikes were driven into Xavier’s free hand and foot, rendering him not quite immobile, but significantly limiting his range of motion. He was left completely vulnerable to Zagan.

“Well?”

He turned toward his father. The demon was looking at him expectantly, warmly—a complete contrast to that cold smile on his face that never quite reached his eyes.

“The more you struggle,” Xavier began, breathing raggedly, “the more it will hurt.”

“That’s exactly right. Good boy.” Zagan bent to kiss his brow and set the hammer aside. “Now be a love and stay still for your papa while he works.”

“What are you going to do?” Asked in a voice too soft and timid to belong to a demon.

“I thought you might ask. You see, I needed to come up with an appropriate punishment.” Zagan reached into his abdominal cavity and tore out a chunk of his liver, placing it on the carpet beside him while his son howled in agony. The shock and blood loss weren’t enough to kill him, of course, but there would be a great deal of both before Zagan was done.

“It had to fit the crime, else how could the lesson be truly felt?” His stomach joined his liver, spilling its bloody contents as it hit the floor with a sickening plop.

Xavier hadn’t felt pain like this since Hell. He wondered for a moment if he was in Hell. That endless red sky and the ceiling of the church blurred together in his mind while the stone under his back became the rocky banks of that boiling river of blood. He heard a scream—or perhaps a thousand—but no longer registered it as his own.

When his father spoke, he heard it as only an echo.

“I mentioned taking your estate and your belongings but upon reflection, that wouldn’t be a practical solution to the problem. You could always acquire more, and really, what do I want with a bunch of wine and trinkets and land?” The other half of his liver followed, then his spleen and pancreas, all added to the growing pile of viscera.

Zagan turned to Xavier, whose screams had quieted to pained whimpers as he began coughing up torrents of blood. “No matter how you look at it, it would only be an inconvenience to us both. An inconvenience, not a punishment. That was when I realized that there was something I could take from you that would serve as an appropriate punishment.”

The old demon reached into Xavier’s body with both hands this time, ripping through sheet after sheet of connective tissue as he worked to tear out Xavier’s intestines. Messy work but very necessary, although he did find himself wishing he’d brought a blade to speed up the process. But that’s what happened when one was forced to move with haste; things were bound to be forgotten.

To Xavier, that process seemed to take hours. Perhaps it did. He couldn’t help but think it would’ve been kinder to just kill him.

His only comfort was that the shock setting in made his body go almost numb, a small mercy for which he gave profound thanks. It was liable to be the only one he got. He only wished he could go deaf as well, or better yet, fall into blessed unconsciousness so he wouldn’t have to listen to or feel the rending of his flesh.

More hopes he knew would be dashed.

Such was Zagan’s concentration on his task that he fell silent. Humans did have such a lot of parts, but he had gotten most of it. It would do.

He gathered the slippery mass in his hands, considering adding them to the pile before deciding to simply drop them on his son’s lap. They didn’t need to be removed entirely, just moved out of the way.

“Right,” he sighed, looking around at his handiwork while he gathered his thoughts. “Where was I? Ah, yes. Your punishment.”

Zagan scooted a bit closer and tenderly took Xavier’s face in his hands, smiling beatifically as he stroked his son’s cheeks and smeared that handsome face with blood. “I believe you’ve lived in poor dead Christian for quite long enough, my precious one. Don’t you?”

For the second time since this ordeal began, panic took hold of Xavier. Not just a trickle of it, but huge, violent waves that made his adrenaline surge and had him struggling against his restraints despite the burning pain of the iron.

Please, God, let him not have heard correctly. Surely it was the delirium, the blood loss making him think his father had said what Xavier thought he’d just said. Or if had said it, perhaps Xavier just didn’t understand his meaning. It could mean anything, everything. Too much. Was it to be his life, a return to Hell? Was it—

“Settle down, Xavier,” Zagan chided, placing his hands on his son’s shoulders. “What did we say, hm? The more you struggle the more it will hurt, and this is going to hurt quite enough without you thrashing about like a landed fish. Settle.”

“Wh-what is?” Xavier’s voice was a raspy, choked sound, devoid of its usual elegance. For all that he struggled—or tried to, before pain and fatigue forced him to stillness—it was a battle to get out every single word. “Fath…father. What are y-you going…?”

“What am I going to do?”

At his son’s jerky nod, Zagan smiled and stroked his face again. “Just what I said. You’ve been living in Christian Deidrich’s body for far too long and it’s time for a change.”

“But w-what—”

“I’m going to take you out of Christian, Xavier. You will be removed from this vessel and placed into a new one.”

Xavier looked at this father in abject horror for a few silent, eternal moments before panic and adrenaline flooded back in with a vengeance.

He began to struggle to free himself in earnest as his father’s words and their full implications sank in. Whatever he’d suffered so far—gut-wrenching reminders of the past, the sear of iron, the removal of his organs—it would be nothing compared to what he knew awaited him now.

At this very moment, even the full weight of what it meant to lose Christian as his vessel couldn’t hold a candle to Xavier’s fear.

This reaction pleased Zagan immensely, and unlike before, he was perfectly happy to let Xavier wear himself out. In this weakened state it was all he’d manage to do, which would only make things easier once the real work began.

Besides, even if by some chance Xavier did tear the wounds around the spikes and freed himself, he was still inside the trap. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Zagan hummed to himself, giving his son’s cheek one last pat before getting to his feet.

One by one, he brought candelabras over to the altar. Not many remained after so many years of the church having been abandoned, but they were enough to give him the light he needed. The larger ones were placed around the perimeter of the trap and the smallest just inside. A single candlestick was placed beside Xavier.

Had he been able to, Xavier would’ve knocked that stupid candle over and set fire to the rug. Something his father probably would’ve considered if he wasn’t so obviously confident that it wouldn’t happen.

Xavier couldn’t deny that he was right to be. Already he was exhausted to the point of giving up. Physically, at least.

“Father…” he wheezed. “Plea…please…don’t—don’t do this to me…”

“Ahhh, I see we’ve moved from anger to bargaining,” Zagan chuckled, returning to his son’s side. “I understand, of course. A new face will be an adjustment after so many decades spent looking at the same reflection in the mirror, but don’t worry, my dear one. You’ll get used it.”

Xavier shook his head, swallowing back more tears. He didn’t want to get used to it. He wanted to remain in his body. No matter how mangled it was, it was his, and leaving it would mean suffering beyond measure in more ways than one.

“The spell…”

His father nodded patiently. “Yes, yes, I know. You locked yourself in. An excellent notion, truly. After all, one can never know who does and does not know an exorcism rite. No doubt it would have spoiled your fun if in the middle of a hunt, your quarry dispatched you back to Hell.”

Zagan stroked his hair again. “Pity that your good judgement should have to hurt you now.”

Tears began to flow freely again as Xavier tugged at his restraints with all the might he had left. It was precious little. “Fat-ther, please…please d-don’t…please…”

“Hush now. Begging won’t save you, Xavier.” Zagan picked up the bowl that until now had sat untouched beside the revolting mess of entrails. “As I’m sure you’ve gathered from the very fact that you’re able to be here, the church we are currently in is no longer consecrated ground. Faith left this place…” he shrugged, “a century ago, perhaps more. But despite that, there is one thing I’m so terribly curious to know.”

He removed the lid. “I wonder…despite the decades of absent devotion…if this water is still holy enough to hurt you.”

“N-nononono wait, don’t—!”

An awful steaming hiss drowned out his protests as Zagan slowly began pouring the bowl’s contents into Xavier’s abdominal cavity.

“You’re making it worse,” he said, raising his voice to make himself heard over the cacophony of tortured screams and howls of demonic pain.

His admonishment fell on deaf ears. The moment the first drop of holy water had touched his mutilated insides, Xavier had begun thrashing about in a desperate, mindless effort to escape from the torment.

Exhaustion had no hope of stilling his movements, even if those movements caused the water to splash and slosh about and cause even more pain. This was beyond the physical, beyond the human. Short of an exorcism this was the greatest suffering that could be inflicted on a demon, and Xavier had the great misfortune of knowing that was precisely what awaited him next.

He screamed, he sobbed, he begged his father to stop. At some point he even succeeded in tearing free of two of the spikes. But still the ordeal continued and would until the bowl was empty.

It would continue even when the bowl was empty, because for all that Xavier had moved about, a good deal of holy water remained on and inside of him. As long as it did, nothing would stop the screaming.

“Shhhh, darling, shhhh,” Zagan cooed at his son, pulling out the spikes that still restrained Xavier’s limbs so he could turn him on his side and empty out the water. It had completed its intended purpose and was thus no longer required.

He eased Xavier onto his back again and picked up the candlestick. “Right. I would very much like to say that’s the worst of it over, but we both know that’s not the case. Tell me, should I bother asking where you carved it?”

Although agonized groans and broken sobs had replaced blood-curdling screams, Xavier wasn’t in any condition to listen to his father, much less respond.

“I thought not. No matter. I have a fair idea which rite you used, and I believe that particular one calls for the inscription to be placed on the spine.”

At last, the true reason for the evisceration revealed.

Zagan brought the candle close to the gaping void that was Xavier’s torso, using its light to find exactly where the spell had been carved into the bone—a slightly easier task now that the holy water had rinsed out most of the blood.

“Ah, there it is.” Zagan tried to make out the symbols to confirm his suspicions. “What did I tell you?” he chuckled, setting aside the candlestick. “Predictable.”

Xavier had been left even weaker than before. His chest barely rose. His skin, already pale from loss of blood, looked gray and lifeless. There wasn’t a part of him that wasn’t burning in agony. The dread and fear and grief he should have felt eighty-six years ago when the hangman’s noose had been placed around his neck fell upon him now, far more heavily than they would have then.

Still, he had to try just one more time.

With what little strength he had left, Xavier turned to his father. “Please,” he begged, the barely audible whisper ragged and frail. “Father. Please…please don-n’t. You don’t—don’t kn-now…” he gasped for breath, “…what you—you’re take…tak-king…”

There was a beat of silence during which Xavier thought, just for a second, his father looked apologetic.

“But I do,” Zagan murmured, taking Xavier’s bloody, tear-stained face in his hands. He stayed like that for several moments, studying his child’s features one last time. He loved this face. It gave him no pleasure to destroy it. “I know exactly what I’m taking. My beautiful, beautiful boy.”

He bent to place a tender kiss on Xavier’s forehead. “Don’t fret. The pain won’t last. You’ll still be beautiful, I promise. I could never take that from you. You’ll even look like your brother.” He kissed Xavier’s forehead again, his brow, his cheeks, allowing them both the indulgence of true affection for just a moment.

Perhaps it would offer some comfort in the days to come.

Sighing, Zagan took the candlestick again and made another examination of the spell his son had used to lock himself in. It was simple, but perfectly effective against exorcisms and other such attempts to dislodge a demon from their vessel.

The symbols themselves were spread across four vertebrae and, upon closer inspection, appeared to be burned into the bone rather than inscribed. He had no doubt the process had been rather painful; things like this always were.

He reached in and carefully tore the first vertebra from Xavier’s spine, ensuring he removed only bone and nothing else.

Painful, yes, but not as painful as its reversal. Not in his hands.

Zagan recited a small incantation under his breath, brushing his thumb back and forth over the symbols as if merely rubbing away a bit of dust. With every swipe the symbols grew fainter and fainter until they disappeared altogether, leaving behind nothing but clean, unmarred bone.

He held it up to the candlelight and examined it again. Pleased, he tossed it away and pulled out the next one.

Xavier, no longer strong enough to scream, could only groan and sob as his father ripped yet more parts out of his body, overwhelmed by fear and pain.

But there was another sensation as well; an odd, supernatural pull somewhere deep inside his being. It seemed to exist independently of the pain, and had nothing to do with what was happening to him physically.

It did, however, have everything to do with what was happening to him magically. This body, having been technically dead for so many decades, was dying again. In all reality it had already died again, and as his father methodically did away with his lock, Xavier’s hold inside his vessel began to loosen.

By the time the last vertebra was torn from his spine and the symbols on it erased, that hold was all but nonexistent.

“There we are,” said Zagan, sighing again as he smiled to himself. “Now the real work begins.”

Even if he’d been inclined to bother with an exorcism, it was no longer necessary. Given enough time Xavier would be forced to leave Christian’s body on his own, but Zagan wasn’t inclined to wait.

Instead, he reached into his son’s abdominal cavity one last time, thrusting through dead flesh and fractured bone and into the very core of him, physical and metaphysical, feeling around until his hand closed around what he sought.

Making sure to maintain an iron grip on his prize, Zagan ripped Xavier free from what remained of his moorings. When Zagan’s hand emerged, bloody and singed, it held a cloud of oily black smoke that crackled with electricity.

There were no anguished screams to mark this final parting, no sobs or desperate pleas to echo off the stone.

There was only the burnt out, mutilated husk of a body, the scent of sulfur, and a cloud of oily black smoke.

Zagan smiled at the smoke and released it, leaving it free but still stuck inside the demon trap, before pushing the husk out of the way to give himself more room to work.

What came next would require every last ounce of his will and concentration. This was magic he did not inherently possess, and if he could not see his vision clearly, if he could not believe in it wholly, it would not bear fruit.

He closed his eyes, steeling his will as he began to draw every bit of energy in the room outside his own toward him, no matter how small. The remnants of Xavier’s emotion, the electricity of a demon in true form, the lifeforce of the plants surrounding the church—all were taken and absorbed.

Even the candles were drawn in, extinguishing themselves one by one as Zagan pulled their heat and energy close, inserting his will and chanting ancient magic to manipulate the mass of energy to his whim.

And there, in the middle of the demon trap, it slowly began to take form. A single point of light that pulsed and grew as yet more light surrounded and encased it, becoming a womb for an old demon’s creation.

With every pulse, the air shimmered as it regained its charge, making Zagan’s skin prickle and burn to the point of pain. But still he did not buckle, digging even deeper and giving even more of himself as he watched the light become something at once both liquid and solid, something that elongated and molded itself until it resembled a human body.

Almost done.

He looked up at where the cloud of smoke hovered above his head. It would be cleaner to do it in one fell swoop. Faster. Even for a being as old as he was, keeping this level of concentration took its toll. Mere seconds could be the difference between success and miserable failure.

The new vessel was almost complete; the moment it was, he would draw Xavier into it and seal him inside. He had to move quickly, but gingerly, with the precision of a surgeon.

Zagan took a deep breath. Clenching one hand as tightly as he could to hold his creation in place, he used the other to draw his child down and guide him into his new vessel.

A different kind of light began emanating from the body as it was slowly given life. Zagan grit his teeth against the strain as it grew in strength, as he was pushed to the very edge of his limits by the effort of controlling so much raw energy.

No sooner had the last wisp of black smoke disappeared from view than the light burned out with enough force to shatter every window in the crumbling church.

Zagan fell back, utterly exhausted but brimming with triumphant hubris as he gazed upon his creation. His vision, made flesh.

It was perfect.

Zagan spent a few moments catching his breath and recuperating some of his strength, after which he got to his feet to gather himself. He adjusted his sleeves and went to retrieve his coat, brushing off bits of colored glass before slipping it back on. He placed the bowl and the candlestick back on their table, took a piece of glass and sliced through the carpet, breaking the demon trap.

And when he finally approached the unconscious, supine body that now belonged to Xavier, and watched as he drew his first breath, Zagan bent to place a kiss on his forehead.

“Perhaps now you’ll learn,” he whispered. “My beautiful boy.”

A rustle of wings, and Xavier was left alone in the darkness.

[enha-woodzies]

➸ CHAPTER 9 | " THE SPACE BETWEEN US "

starring: enhypen ft. i-land daniel

pairing: jungwon x fem!reader x sunghoon

genres: royal au, romance, angst, slowburn, 18th century setting

warnings: very mild swearing; brief arguments

word count: 2.5k

taglist: @serendipitysung (betareader) @en-sun @affectionaterainoflove @renkiv @softforjungwoo @jislix @gyeraniee @fluffi @stxrryemxlys @jungwon-luv-bot-pt3 @lost-lepord-beanie @hyunsunge @hooniecore @thenoceurgirl @thonkingdeepo

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START OF PARK SUNGHOON'S POV

I stood there at the side, leaning against the arched entrance. I never meant to eavesdrop in the conversation you were having with the firstborn of the Yang family. It piqued my interest upon hearing your troubles and impulsively decided to help you. To pass time, I guess… or to stall my father into giving me his magnificent title of a duke and have me marry some lady I don’t even desire to have.

Without any significant bargain in the offer, I suggested anyway with the thought that maybe this could help me look at myself the way everyone did before I made history with your brother. The physical bruises and scars we both afflicted on each other faded with time, but the torturous memory continues to haunt us. I may look fine around his presence, but he never had the slightest idea of how I curse myself every single night knowing I not only ruined him and his tender affections with Yena, but our budding and steadfast friendship as well.

I was heinous then. But I swear with my whole heart, I don’t ever intend to hurt you now the way I did with your brother. The moment I let myself drown in your alluring gaze under that brightly lit moonlight, I told myself I won’t take another girl for granted. Not just because I owe it to Niki, but because you were the first person who looked at me without judgment despite knowing your brothers detest me with the entirety of their souls.

I’ve been courting you for over a month now and I’m completely aware of the things we’ve agreed upon about the ruse; needless to say, one might catch feelings in the aftermath. I know this was all a show to give Jungwon a headstart for his own game, but why am I gravely pained every time his name slips out of your lips? Why do I keep myself up on most nights thinking about this lingering question of who do you love? Why do I want to hold you even closer to my side every time he looks at us in dismay?

I’ve come to know that I had myself caught in the middle of whatever this is between you and him; that I’m just the fuel to the fire that’s already been there, left neglected within time. But I can’t help but feel like I need to protect you from him; from whatever hurt he might cause you over time. Although I know my place in all of this and where I stand, it still stings thinking that it isn’t in your heart.

Why would it be, anyway? I’m only just a page you couldn’t keep; a filler in your romantic novel who had the part of the villain origin story but couldn’t fight your hopeless hero. Sadly, Jungwon’s five steps ahead of me. So much for telling the ton there was us in the making, but you weren’t even mine to begin with.

Your mother invited me and the Yang family for dinner a sennight ago. She said it was to properly introduce me as your husband-to-be to your family, that includes your lover’s sitting across the table discussing the recent blow from the Daily Tattle, which was, of course, us.

“Jungwon, dear, have you wished your friend, Y/n, luck on her future wedding with the duke-to-be? Need I remind you that she’s going to need some of it from her best friends.” Lady Yang gently nudged her son who was busy tapping his spoon and fork upon the table. “Jungwon here is finally courting someone, have you heard of that, dear? Lady Choi, daughter of the-”

“The ever famous cheese merchant of our city, Viscount Choi, whom without, we wouldn’t be eating this opulent cheese on the table right this very moment.” I finished, which made the two mothers impressively smile in my direction. Realizing how uncomfortable you become at the very slightest mention of Jungwon’s new lover, I figured butting in could end your agony; seeing that your man is stupid enough to not read the situation in front of him. He seemed more occupied with the utensils than your disheartened state.

As predicted, you excused yourself, and it went without saying that Jungwon followed after you as you rushed out the dining hall and out to your garden. Your brothers and his soon left the hall and went with their casual discourse on the parlor, leaving his and your mother exchanging wedding plans with the company of champagne bottles and cheese. I held my head up high as I walked into the library to reflect on matters that kept me wondering at night. Until Niki strode in, with a pocket watch in hand.

“Riki, I’m-”

“Save your breath, Your Grace. You’re going to need it in case you piss the hell out of Jungwon and he lands his knuckles on your pretty face again.”

“Why don’t you do it then? Can’t get your hands dirty for your sister yet you can for Yena?”

“Do not fucking tempt me, Sunghoon.”

“Too bad. I’d love to see you try, though.”

“And I’d love to see your little mouth shut, Your Grace. You’re impressive, but I’m sure you’ve always been told that. For a moment there you really had me thinking you were about to apologize to my brother. Turns out you’re still the coward that you’ve always been.” Jay walked in unannounced, slightly scaring me. He’s like a lion ready to hunt for prey, even though he’d just sit there looking unbothered. I’ve always deemed your eldest brother with veneration. All I did was drop my head low when he threw me those harsh words, though I completely agree as they embody me in so many ways possible. I hate it.

“A wedding, huh? Don’t you think you’re going too far, already? This ruse is nothing but a shame to both our families. Heed me while I’m asking you nicely to end this foolishness you’ve invoked on our sister.”

“Forgive me… but I’m afraid I can’t.”

Fortunately, Niki was quick enough to grab a hold of Jay when he was about to come at me. I must say this now before it’s too late, and better be in front of your brothers than your lover.

“I will take full responsibility for Y/n. I will be a man of worth to her and a word of honor, I will end any future causes of grievances upon us both. I will protect her from it, just as I’m doing now.”

“You’re doing nothing but stall her from her fate with Jungwon!”

“And how do you know she still cares for him? Haven’t you seen the look on your dear sister’s face whenever Jungwon’s name is brought up? Haven’t you seen that man strolling around the town with a fancy girl in hand a week after breaking your sister’s heart? I thought so. But you just want things to go your way. I’ll respect that. For now.”

I dashed out of the library after giving them a piece of my mind. Though I had planned to apologize to Niki, Jay’s words got the best of me. I headed towards the garden to look for you, but before I could have your attention, Jungwon already did.

END OF PARK SUNGHOON���S POV

 Jungwon rushed to the garden, following Y/n’s quick pace in an attempt to block out any possible thoughts about her lover. Basking under the bright moonlight, Jungwon grabbed her by the wrist, making her turn and crash against his jabot-clad chest.

“Y/n, please-”

“Really, Jung? God! You totally had me fooled that day when I thought we were having a moment!”

“We did! But-”

“But what? You can’t hold yourself accountable for the things you left me with so you squander your way with another lady? Tough blow, don’t you think?”

“Please, Y/n, I just need you to listen to me and-”

“I’m tired, Jung. All these years, you let me wait for you for five years just to have you run back and hurt me again. I’m tired of you making a fool out of me, and I’m dumb enough to always let you. Because I love you. I love you so much, it fucking hurts. I have so much love for you yet here you are, always welcoming me with fleeting bliss and leaving me with endless torment. But the damage has been done and I’m out. I love you, but I guess I’m going to have to leave it like this.”

“You still do?”

“God! I poured out my heart for you and all you could say was that? Jung, how can you be so dense?! I wouldn’t have let you hold me that day in the forest if I don’t love you! I asked you for a new start but you ran off and a week later you’re traipsing around Northumberland with Lady Choi! Right in front of me!”

“You were with that man that day too, in front of me! You look at him with so much admiration with your hand hanging on his arm. How do you think that made me feel?!”

“More than the damage you did to me? What a load of nonsense, Jung! And here I thought you already knew that Sunghoon and I were just fooling around to get to you.”

“Well, I’m here now, Y/n! I’m all yours now!”

“No, you’re not. You just can’t bear the truth that you lost me to him. At the end of the day, it will always be your pride. It always has been. I’m sorry. I don’t even know why I’m apologizing but I still will. This ends here, Jung. I wish you well.”

The entire time that Y/n and the young lord were arguing out the garden, Jay and Niki were carefully listening from the library’s window; Niki figured it was finally time to spill the truth to his sister.

Niki followed Y/n to her room, taking note of the soft sobs and sniffles she emitted. She turned around when she felt her brother’s footsteps trailing after her.

“Riki…” Niki was suddenly enclosed by Y/n’s tight embrace, dampening his jabot shirt with her tears. He returned the warm hug as he gently rubs her corseted back, feeling the constant huffs from her crying.

“I’m sorry about Jungwon.”

“He doesn’t deserve me.” The lady muffled against her brother’s chest.

“Maybe you’re right. And neither does Sunghoon. Listen, Sister. There’s something I need to get off my chest. Come.” The two entered the lady’s room and Niki carefully shut the door tight, locking it in the process. He sat atop the neatly arranged bed while patting the space next to him, gesturing Y/n to sit closer to his side.

“Jay isn’t happy with the sudden announcement of your engagement, and neither am I. But always know that I will always have your back, just like how you always have mine. I’ve seen how Sunghoon made you smile and laugh like how you used to with Jungwon back in the day. This day feared me but we’re here now, and I must tell you the reason why we’re all against him courting you in the first place.”

“Remember Yena? The girl I told you about in the letters? Sunghoon… he deceived her. He made her cheat against me, fed her with lies, and tricked her into thinking our love was nothing but a hoax. I saw them one day in his father’s garden, I followed them, curious enough to see how he made her happier than when she was with me. Until he kissed her. He took her first kiss when I thought we’d be sharing it with each other. And she kissed him back... like I wasn’t even someone to reckon with. Needless to say, I attacked him. The boys went against him afterward. Jungwon was there too. With all the lies he wired into her brain, Yena never looked at me the same after that day. And the many days that followed. She and Sunghoon just suddenly stopped seeing after the fight that erupted between us.”

“The thing was, sister, Sunghoon never loved her. He was young and didn’t want to let the opportunity pass, that’s what he told us when I had his collar by my clutch. That was the only excuse he could ever give us. The asshole that he is.” Niki clicks his tongue while dropping his head low, gaze fixed on the carpeted area on the floor across them. “Fuck. I would still have Yena if he didn’t try to treat things like we were playing a game of who could get the girl first. Thinking about the time he wasted on nothing genuine, Yena could have spent it on me instead and I would have had her here, introduced to Mother and the ton.”

Y/n placed a hand on her brother’s closed, shaky fists. Niki let out soft sniffles, trying his best to keep himself from cracking. “I’m sorry, Riki, I didn’t know. He told me it was all in the past and that he desires to make amends now.” Niki jerks up, eyes fixed on his sister’s eyes. “You’ve only heard his point of view, you never heard mine. Sunghoon’s made a whole record in university, Y/n. He goes around the grounds breaking hearts like he owns them. Girls would swoon over him and he would gladly oblige. What an ambitious, cunning little prick. And now he has you wrapped around his fingers, the same way he did to Yena.”

“I’m sure he means no harm now, brother. He’s been nothing but kind and gentle to me. He makes me utterly happy; the part of my romantic story where I used to want Jungwon to be consistent of.”

“You know, I’ve always been considerate of your choices and aspirations, sister. But I will not lose you to Sunghoon like this. I’m afraid Jay and I will have to be very uptight with you seeing him from now on. I’m sure by now you’ve come to understand why Jungwon’s scared of surrendering you to him. He means well, sis, Jungwon…”

“I will not settle for someone whom I have to spend a lifetime second-guessing whether he wants me in his life or not.”

“But he’s been missing you a lot lately, hasn’t he?”

“I’m afraid him missing me is far too different from him wanting to marry me.”

Niki only sighs before planting a soft kiss on his sister’s temple and fixing his fit to present himself back to the lobby. Y/n was left in her room, fidgeting with her fingers while anxiously biting her bottom lip in deep contemplation.

Sunghoon may have stolen her attention from Jungwon, but she had to admit, she never regretted it. She has felt safe with Sunghoon the past months they’ve been together. Jungwon did nothing but torture her constantly with every chance he got. Although they hadn’t been sticking around their ruse’s ground rules lately, she feared the time between her and Sunghoon would be up soon and she wouldn’t feel his comforting presence around her anymore.

Sunghoon may have gotten her used to their dilly-dallying that time apart from each other could make her feel miserable. Not to mention the embarrassment that would come with it considering she is foretold to be Northumberland’s next duchess after all.

*send me an ask or a message if you wish to be added on this series' taglist!

ㅡ © ENHA-WOODZIES, 2021

[aph-honk-kong]

Sylfiden - Akt I

Alastair should be grateful that his future is secure - he has a large house, bountiful crops and will soon be married to the prettiest girl in the village. But on the morning of his wedding day, a sylph appears in his living room and dismantles every aspect of his perfectly-planned life.

[Written for day three of @aphrarepairweek2021​ with the prompt “culture” - granted, this is kind of inaccurate since the source this was based on was produced by a Dane in 1836, but I guess it still kind of shows Scottish culture]

This fic was based on the Romantic ballet Sylfiden, choreographed by August Bournonville of the Royal Danish Ballet. 

Here’s what Alastair should look like:

(This is Jon Axel Fransson, photographed by Per Morten Abrahamsen)

And here is the sylph, though you can always imagine them wearing something else:

(This is Ida Praetorius, also photographed by Per Morten Abrahamsen)

...

  Alastair awoke to whiteness.

  At first he thought it was another of Dillon’s pranks, and there was cotton over his face again, but he looked longer and found the tint before his eyes resembling fabric a little more. Had he somehow fallen asleep over Marianne’s wedding dress? No, that couldn’t be, for was it not bad luck to see the bride’s gown before the ceremony? Then Alastair looked up and saw a face.

  He was as regal as he was pale, snowy cheeks dusted with the faintest pink that mirrored the shade of his lips. He was not smiling, at least not with his mouth, but his eyes — blue eyes, Alastair noticed — held laughter. And he was so close that his white-gold hair was tickling his cheek.

  He jolted to his feet. The man moved backwards, too, and stopped by the living room window with his arms poised delicately. “Good morning.”

  “I — ” Alastair looked him up and down again. The white he saw turned out to not be from a gown, but a thin white blouse that floated whenever he moved. “What are you doing here?”

  “To visit you,” he replied. Then he turned around, and he saw on his back a pair of small, translucent wings. A sylph, he realised. A wind spirit was in his house. “I hear you are getting married today, and I wanted to wish you luck.” 

  “Oh.” The sylph moved away when he tried to get close; well, “moved” was hardly the right word for it. He glided across the floor, it seemed, wings fluttering softly each time he evaded Alastair’s grasp. “Thank you, er…?”

  “Stellan.” The sylph leapt away once more. “That is my name.”

  And a peculiar one too, Alastair was tempted to say. But he kept his mouth shut and merely watched, entranced, as Stellan drifted past the chair he had fallen asleep on. He did not seem entirely real. 

  “I wanted to look at you, I suppose,” he sing-songed, “before you got married. Some say that the hours before a wedding are a man’s last moments of freedom. Do you agree?”

  For some reason, the question made his ears prickle with heat. Was he implying that he did not want to get married? Indignantly, Alastair opened his mouth to reply when Stellan elegantly hopped away from the chair. “I must go now. I will see you again soon.”

  He stepped backwards into the fireplace, and the flames rose higher. When they faded, Stellan was gone.

  Not a minute after Stellan disappeared, Dillon stamped into the room with a grin. “My, you’re already awake!” He exclaimed. “After all the planning last night I expected you to be out ‘til noon.” He lowered his voice. “Best look presentable, now. Marianne will be here to get ready soon.”

  “Wait, really?” His hands flew to his head and began trying to flatten his hair, which was probably a rat’s nest after just waking up. “Goodness, I’m still in my clothes from yesterday.” Something white flashed in his vision, and he started. Had Stellan returned?

  “You alright there?”

  “Just thought I saw something,” Alastair said tiredly. “Did you see a sylph last night? I swore one came to visit me when I first awoke.”

  Dillon stared at him as though he had grown another head. “Have you been drinking already?”

  “No?”

  “Of course I haven’t seen a sylph!” With a bark of laughter, he clapped Alastair on the back. “And neither should you. It’s probably just cold feet. Have some breakfast and warm yourself up, and you ought to be alright.”

  He glanced at the window once more. Nothing. “Yes,” he settled, “I was probably just a bit delirious.”

  His cottage door opened again and in flowed distant giggles. Breaking away from her mother, Marianne swept into the living room and into his arms. “Good morning, dear.”

  “Good morning.” Alastair kissed her forehead. She smelled like heather. “How did you sleep?”

  “Very well.” Marianne rested her head against his chest, smiling contentedly. “Dreamt of you all night long.”

  He leant down, ready to kiss her, when a shadow moved near the fireplace. He broke away and ran towards it, ignoring his bride-to-be’s indignant huff, and bent down. Had Stellan returned to offer more blessings? Would he wish him luck again with his soft, sweet voice? Alastair searched the figure, ready to look into blue eyes —

  They were green.

  “What the Hell are you doing here?”

  Dressed slightly less odiously, scowling as usual, Arthur glared back at him. “Ah, it’s the inattentive groom. Are you leaving lovely Marianne for me?”

  Dillon snorted behind him.

  “I am not, and I find it insulting that you would even think I would,” he replied furiously. “And you are not attending my wedding. I don’t need somebody to perform magic tricks.”

  Arthur scowled even deeper in response. He was constantly trying to convince the village that he was, in fact, a witch with the ability to do magic, but everyone had come to the conclusion that he was probably a raving fool who had been exiled from England for some reason, hence his name. “I wouldn’t disrespect my craft, if I were you.”

  “It isn’t disrespectful if it’s true.” Alastair rolled his eyes. “As if you can really cast spells. Will you leave, please?”

  Now he looked positively murderous. “Don’t you dare talk to — ”

  Marianne reached the fireplace before Arthur could finish his sentence. “Why don’t you predict our fortunes?” She asked with a pacifying smile. “If your predictions are good enough, we’ll let you stay.“

  Arthur stared at her for a moment, then rolled his eyes. “All right. Gather your ladies.”

  The first of Marianne’s friends came forward, and the witch took her hand roughly. After peering at her palm for a moment, he proclaimed, “you will find love soon.”

  “You will lose something dear to you,” he informed another. 

  The third fortune he whispered in the girl’s ear, and when she turned away she had tears in her eyes. Arthur watched her leave with a smug smile forming.

  “Hey!” A little boy Alastair recognised as Dillon’s nephew ran forward. “Look at mine next!”

  He had barely touched the boy’s hand when Dillon reached them, scooping him cleanly off his feet and carrying him away. “Don’t you talk to him, Peter! You will take part in none of this nonsense!”

  Marianne went to Arthur next. He took one look at her palm, and his smile grew. “There is love in your future.”

  She stretched her other hand to hold Alastair’s, and he leant down to kiss her once more. “I already know that.”

  “But!” And now he looked positively gleeful. “That love will have nought to do with your dear fiancé. He will leave you for someone else!”

  He frowned. “That isn’t true, and you know it.”

  “Say, look at my palm.” Dillon strode forward, having deposited Peter as far away from Arthur as possible. He winked at Alastair. “Maybe I’ll turn into a frog tomorrow.”

  Arthur took one look at his hand and gave a short laugh. “You will find love very soon, too,” he cackled. “In fact, you will marry lovely Marianne!”

  Irritation flickered deep within him, only growing as Dillon stared at Marianne in shock, pink creeping across his cheeks. “I will what?”

  “You will not fall for Marianne, that’s what you’ll do.” Alastair pulled her into his arms, glowering first at Arthur then at Dillon. “I’m the one getting married to her.”

  “Or so it is now,” Arthur mused. “Who knows what will happen at the end of today?”

  The tiny sparks of annoyance turned into mild anger and he left Marianne’s side, leaning down to grab Arthur by the arm. “You are going to get out,” he retorted, voice growing in volume, “and you are going to stay out. First for slandering me by implying that I am — that I am attracted to men, and more so for accusing my best friend of stealing my bride!” He ignored his yelp of pain, dragged him out of the living room, opened the door and quite literally threw him out of the house. 

  He slammed the door before he could get back in, and stamped back into the living room. “Well then.” He announced, trying to sound cheerful, “shall we continue preparing?”

…

  Once Marianne had left to get dressed and her bridesmaids had finished preparing, Alastair was once again left alone. He stared at his wedding suit, which he had yet to change into, and sighed. Today was supposed to be the happiest day of his life, the day he had been poised for since childhood, and that wretched witch had to try and ruin it.

  The whole village had known that he and Marianne would be wed for practically a decade. She was one of his closest, dearest friends, and he couldn’t imagine himself getting married to anyone else. Alastair ran his thumb over his engagement ring. This was his duty, and he would stick to it, no matter what Arthur’s idiotic palm-reading had predicted.

  The window creaked open.

  Feather-light, Stellan hopped from his perch on the windowsill onto the floor. He was smiling now, if one could call that tiny curve of his lips a smile. “Nervous?”

  “A little bit.”

  “I hope you considered my question.”

  He sighed; why were these strange magical fellows so determined to aggravate him on his wedding day? “I find it rather insulting that you think I’m being forcibly chained to Marianne.”

  Soft eyelashes fluttered. Stellan leapt again; he seemed incapable of staying in one place for long. “That was not what I meant. I simply want you to consider this question: are you getting married because you truly love the lady, or because you feel obligated to?”

  “Are you accusing me of not loving her?”

  His eyes flashed; his wings fluttered. Something about him, ethereal and soft, made Alastair feel warm. “No, not at all. I can see that Marianne is very dear to you, as a friend. But is she really somebody you wish to be wed to?”

  “Y-Yes,” he said instinctively.

  Stellan raised an eyebrow. “Can you imagine yourself kissing her in the years to come? Waking up every morning next to her? Raising children with her? With her?”

  With her?

  And suddenly Alastair was six years old again, playing family with Dillon. “I’m going to marry you when we grow up,” he’d declared. “I’ll put a ring on your finger and we’ll have lots of children!”

  He had not understood why his mother had run to shush him, informing him with a tight smile that he ought to marry a lady instead.

  Then he was fourteen, learning to dance for a festival. His friend had laughed, watching him blunder, and grabbed his hands to place them in the right positions. His skin had tingled, and his heart raced in a way that had nothing to do with his performance.

  And then he was nineteen, running to the market to sell the week’s produce when he bowled into somebody — a newcomer to the village, supposedly an Englishman. He’d looked into grass-green eyes and pouting lips and pushed him away with a shout, but his gaze burned into him forevermore.

  “No!” Alastair said aloud, a strange heat pricking at his eyes. “That is not the man I am anymore. This marriage is proof of that.”

  Stellan was quiet for a while, and he saw a tear roll down his cheek.

  His heart sank. “Why are you crying?”

  He breathed out shakily; a delicate white hand moved to wipe the tear away. “I am reminded, once again, how little freedom humans have,” he whispered. “How can you live knowing that you cannot truly be yourself?”

  “I am myself,” Alastair insisted. “I know who I want to be, and it is not —” He could not even say that word — “Not whatever you think I am.”

  Those lovely blue eyes glimmered, as though there were more tears to shed. Stellan blinked hard, approaching a chair and scooping up a scarf that was resting upon it. “Will you be truly happy hiding who you are for the rest of your life?” He unfolded the scarf and draped it over himself, blue tartan over ghostly pale tulle. Alastair realised that it was Marianne’s scarf, which made it a strange sight indeed — here was a beautiful, knowing man who had fluttered his way into his life just this morning dressed in his betrothed’s clothing.

  “Today’s marriage is my duty.” He could not tear his eyes away from Stellan, who was pacing around the room, snuggling into the scarf. “I have known this would happen for many years now.”

  Those beguiling eyes caught him then; triumph shimmered in them. “So it is something you must do, but not something you want to do.”

  “Why do you care?” Alastair questioned brusquely. “It is not as though you are jealous of Marianne, and would marry her instead.”

  Stellan glided towards him once more. His cheeks were slightly more flushed now, making him look more like an actual human being rather than a fleeting spirit. “Because, as the winds blow past the fields you work in, I have watched you. Day in, day out, you live as dictated.” Stellan’s blush deepened more so, and he pursed his lips. “And I came to grow fond of you.” He gently twisted the scarf. “Very fond.

  “How could I bear to see somebody I am fond of so caged in?”

  Suddenly, Alastair’s ears felt rather warm. So that was why Stellan was so against all of this. “So you have that sort of feeling for me. What makes you so sure that I am like you?”

  Stellan neared Alastair, though he dodged playfully when he reached out to try and touch him. “Because,” he said, voice much lighter now, “I saw your face when you first laid eyes on me. I doubt you have ever looked at Marianne that way. At the very least, I have never seen you do so.”

  His breath caught. “Did I really look… lovestruck, or something-or-other?”

  “Yes, you did.”

  Now the heat had spread from his ears to his entire face, and Alastair prayed that his cheeks were not as red as his hair. “I don’t think I meant it.” Then Stellan neared, and he leant forward to try and catch him once more, suddenly wondering what his touch felt like. 

  The door creaked open, and from the doorway came, “Alastair?”

  The shock cut through the rest of his battling thoughts, and he ran towards Stellan. “You have to go.”

  He tugged the scarf off himself, glancing at the door. “What is happening?”

  “They cannot see you!” Alastair nudged him to the window. “Go now, please, I will meet you again soon.”

  Dillon burst into the room, seeing Stellan in all his beauty by the window, and froze. 

  Before he could stop him, he rushed out of the room, and Alastair whirled to Stellan. “Please. I don’t know what they will do to you, I don’t want you to get hurt — ”

  “There!”

  He spun to see Dillon back in the room, alongside Marianne and her mother. “I saw him there, with a man in white.”

  “Don’t be silly now.” Marianne sailed to the window. “All I see is my scarf. I think you’re just taking Arthur’s fortunes a bit too seriously.”

  Alastair’s shoulders sagged in relief, realising that Stellan had flown away just in time. “I do hope you do not actually believe that lunatic’s words.”

  Marianne’s mother laughed. “I think he’s just jealous that his best friend got the loveliest girl in the village.”

  “Mother!” She laughed, high and sweet, though it did not warm Alastair’s heart the way he thought it would. “Dillon will find a wife of his own soon, I just know it. There is no need to fight over me.”

  “I wasn’t planning to,” Dillon said gruffly.

  Marianne wrapped her scarf around her neck and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek. “Come on, now. Let Alastair get changed. Go outside and wait for everyone else to show up.”

  Bride-to-be and mother-in-law watched him like a hawk as he changed into his wedding suit, then led him outside where the many wedding guests were assembled. Standing aside was a cluster of bards, bagpipes at the ready. Dillon came up to him, all shock and envy from before gone, and grabbed his shoulder. “It’s your last hour as an unmarried man. We ought to celebrate!”

  The bards began their playing, Marianne pulled him into the crowd and he began to dance.

  It was freeing, for a while, to lose himself in the wild blur of limbs and laughter and simply move without thinking. Alastair had danced this way before, and it would never stop being exciting to him. He laughed, hooking an arm around Marianne’s waist and spinning her ‘round. Little Peter danced in front of him and nearly tripped over his uncle’s shoes.

  They danced, carefree and jolly, and Alastair nearly felt ready for the wedding. But then he saw white again.

  Once more he released her, searching the crowd of people for the one man he knew would stand out. He saw nothing. She took hold of him again, and they continued dancing.

  The next time he slipped away, it was a pair of gossamer wings he saw. Stellan glanced back at him, cheeks pink once more as he sailed elegantly past the partygoers. Unthinking, Alastair reached a hand out, a part of him perhaps hoping to touch his soft hair, but Marianne grabbed his wrist and he was tugged back.

  Throughout the song they played their silent, musical game of cat-and-mouse. Stellan wove in between the dancers, somehow evading notice, while Alastair tried to catch glimpses of him without arousing any more suspicion. Occasionally, when he got bored of spinning and gliding, Stellan flapped his wings a few times to make his jumps higher. His slender arms stretched out in front of him, flowing like a scarf in the wind. In his white clothes, dancing something entirely different, Alastair had never seen someone so graceful.

  When the dancing ended, and Stellan had vanished once more, he was given the ring that would adorn Marianne’s fingers during the ceremony and left alone once more. Alastair ran his fingers over the bronze band, watching it glint in the faint sunlight. Less than an hour later, he would slip this ring on her fourth finger, and she would do the same to him, and that would be it. They would be bound to each other for as long as they lived, and what was left of his nameless, forbidden love would be stamped out for good. But that was what he wanted, wasn’t it? For his desire to finally be suppressed? In that case, the rings would be less like rings and more like shackles.

  Dillon and Marianne’s mother were keeping an eye on him from his spot by the hedges, though they didn’t know he could see them. With his parents no longer with him and her father gone too, her mother was the one who had held fast to the arranged marriage. She wanted security for her daughter, and how better to achieve that than marrying a young, well-off farmer? Alastair clenched his fist around the ring, Stellan’s words were really getting to him.

  A white-clothed figure was lingering behind a tree, peering out at him.

  Speak of the devil.

  Stellan poked his head out, looking so sweet and curious that Alastair nearly laughed. He had woven himself a circlet of white heather, as though fancying himself the one to marry him. He nodded at his hand and tilted his head.

  Oh. Alastair pinched the ring between his thumb and index finger and lifted it up. The sylph raised an eyebrow and pointed at his ring finger in question.

  He nodded.

  Quicker than he had ever seen him before, Stellan leapt out from behind his tree towards him, wings spurring him forward so he was nearly a blur. He grabbed the ring, admired it for a moment, then swiftly fled before he could catch him. “Hey!”

  He slipped the ring on his own finger, glanced back at him and smiled teasingly. Hopping lithely onto his garden fence, he perched on top of it for a moment, winked, then tumbled off and made his escape. Alastair could hear someone yelling at him from behind, but did not turn back. Before he could stop himself, he raced after Stellan into the forest beyond.