#gripping the fabric of Mcs cloak

[certainstarfishsandwich]

And if I don't get an illustration of Kuras begging, and I mean GROVELING to Mc because Mc is going to walk into an obvious trap set up by his opps I will riot.

[osunari]

⚠︎ s i l e n t t e m p t a t i o n s ( 18+ )

— ch. 1

➤ s t a r t

Mr. crawling x MC

— h o m i c i p h e r 𒌧

“Flesh and shadows”

The first thing I felt was warmth—alien, foreign warmth that didn’t belong to me. My body, fragile and cold, seemed to ache in rebellion against the gentle heat seeping through the thin sheets draped over me. My eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the eerie gloom of the room.

Where was I?

The ceiling was unfamiliar—a pale, soothing shade of cream, with faint cracks running across it, like veins on old parchment. The last thing I remembered was the tall figure with the bright red umbrella and coat. How strange, I thought, we were indoors…

Then it hit me. I had fallen. Collapsed, more like, my legs buckling under me as dizziness overtook my senses. The white rain coat I’d been wearing, a comforting trademark of mine, was gone. Instead, I was dressed in a delicate white nightgown that barely reached past my upper thighs. Its’ fabric was soft, airy, but as I shifted, I noticed how it clung to my sickly form, revealing the bruises and cuts that painted my skin like a tragic mural.

I sat up gingerly, clutching the sheet closer to me, trying to shake off the disorientation. My throat felt parched, my head a little foggy, but I was alive—though unsure of how or why.

The room was small but cozy, with wooden floors and not a single window that let me see through the outside of the cryptic ghost apartment. The furniture was minimal: a chair, a side table with a glass of water alongside a bowl of human gut, and a faintly flickering lamp.

Where’s mr. crawling?

I reached for the glass of water, the cool surface soothing against my fingers. Taking a cautious sip, I scanned the room again. No red umbrella. No tall figure. Just me.

Just… me? The unusual feeling of having lost something—or someone struck me. Where is he? The man on all fours. He who had stuck by your side the day you gained access in this otherworldly place.

Then the sound of soft footsteps startled me. My grip on the glass tightened as the door creaked open.

There he was.

Not he whom crawled alongside me, but the tall red figure from earlier. His silhouette momentarily obscured by the light streaming in from the hall. The red umbrella was peaked from the doorframe, his presence unmistakable. He wore the same long red cloak that could be spotted from afar, his face partially hidden by the shadows and the red strands of his hair.

“ᖶᖻᘉ(you), ᕼᘿᓰᖇ(awake) ?” their voice was deep, smooth, carrying an air of calm authority.

“You…” I managed to croak in their language, my voice barely above a whisper as a raspy cough escaped from my mouth—unable to form a coherent sentence.

Without moving a muscle, he glitched closer to your laying figure, revealing more of his sinister features. His eyes were round and circle, unnervingly focused, as if they could peer into my sinful soul. Their lips quirked into a faint smile—not quite warm, but not entirely cold, either.

“匚尺(me) 丂山千ᐯ(help) ᖶᖻᘉ(you) .” they said simply, as if that answered everything.

“Help?” I repeated, my brows furrowing as I tilted my head up to face him. “Where? Why am I here? What happened to my coat? And why…” My words trailed off as I gestured vaguely to the nightgown and my battered body.

It all suddenly came to your realization. It’s possible that he had actually come to your rescue when you most needed it, or he’s one lying manipulator and that mr. crawling’s around here somewhere waiting for you to awake from your unfortunate slumber.

Seeing your threatened expression and tense body language, he realized his demeanor had become more uncomforting rather than the opposite after being around you for a moment—which was not part of his intent at all.

“卄ᐯ(afraid) ?” he said softly, his menacing voice adjusting lowly and measured. “ᗪ几(you) 乇乙尺(safe) 千卄Ҝ(here)—“

His words faltered. His head tilted, his sharp features hardening into something colder. His gaze left yours. His eyes had shifted, narrowing, as if sensing a presence that you couldn’t see.

The air grew heavy, the measly warmth of the room rapidly replaced by a biting chill that seeped into your bones. Your skin prickled with an almost instinctive dread. The shadows in the corners of the room seemed to stretch and writhe unnaturally, bending towards like living things.

“丂ᗪ尺千(someone) 丨乂几(around) .” he murmured, his voice so low it was almost a growl. His body shifted slightly, as if to shield you, his long red cloak flowing like liquid crimson.

You barely had time to process his words before you felt it—a presence behind you.

Something moved.

The hair on the back of your neck stood on end, your breath hitched as an unnatural, wet scraping sound echoed faintly in the room. Slowly, against every ounce of survival instinct screaming at you not to, you turned your head.

And there he was.

His grotesque lanky tall figure loomed in the dim light of the room, impossibly still while tilting his head as a desperate attempt to fit in the claustrophobic room, almost blending with the shadows. His hair cascaded down like an inky waterfall against yours, shrouding most of his face, yet sadly enough to conceal his nonexistent eyes. His pale skin glowed faintly against the darkness, almost too perfect, too smooth, like polished marble. Yet something was wrong—eerily wrong. His smile. It stretched too wide, sharp and cruel, curving downward in a way that sent shivers racing through your spine.

He wasn’t just tall—he seemed elongated, almost stretched, his limbs just slightly too long to be normal. The fabric of his dark attire clung to him like a second skin, emphasizing his unnatural yet pleasing physique.

His anger simmered beneath the surface, a dark, unspoken storm barely contained within the hollow depths of his unspoken mind. The moment he saw you with mr. scarletella—saw how the other man’s glitching crimson presence lingered near you—something inside him twisted. His chest rose and fell with steady, deliberate breaths, but his hands betrayed him—long, ghostly fingers curling into trembling fists, nails biting into his palms like they were trying to keep his fury from spilling out. And yet, his anger wasn’t loud or obvious; it was cold, creeping, and quiet, the kind that made the air feel like it might snap at any second.

The room felt like it had fallen into another dimension, the air heavy with tension so thick it seemed to press against your skin. They stood on opposite sides of the room—mr. scarletella, poised and calm as ever, his eyes glinting like embers in the dim light, and mr. crawling, a shadow that seemed to stretch unnaturally, his figure a dark vortex that swallowed all warmth.

Neither of them spoke a word, but the silence between them was deafening. Their gazes locked, an unspoken battle unfolding in the cold void between them. Scarletella’s crimson glow flickered like a waning candle, his calm demeanor cracking ever so slightly under the weight of crawling’s oppressive presence—his head tilted unnaturally to the side, the piercing frown on his face indicating every pinch of vexation.

Scarletella’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze steady but losing its luster. A faint crimson light sparked at his fingertips, flickering like a final attempt to push back the darkness. “丂乂(you) 乇Ҝ丂ㄩ(upset) ? 丂几尺(jealous), 丨尺ㄥ(maybe) ?”

Crawling’s head snapped forward, his body jerking like a marionette suddenly pulled taut by its strings. His looming figure took a step closer, the sound of his movement a grotesque, wet scraping that sent a shiver racing down your spine. The shadows in the room twisted and churned around him, as though they were alive and feeding off his fury.

“尺ㄚㄥ(leave) , 千匚几乃(now) .” mr. crawling’s silent voice rang with venom, his figure now inches from mr. scarletella. Despite his thin, sickly frame, his presence seemed to tower, to consume, to devour. The crimson glow around scarletella faltered, dimming as crawling leaned closer. “ﾌ几(you) ㄩ ㄖ卩(stay) , 匚ㄚ(me) Ҝㄖㄥ(hurt) . ﾌ几(you) 丂丨几(leave) , 匚ㄚ(me) ㄚ几(not) Ҝㄖㄥ(hurt) .” The corner of his grotesque mouth twitched upward, his grin widening until it threatened to split his face in two. His head tilted even further, the movement unnatural, predatory. A faint, guttural growl escaped him, reverberating in the walls, the air, my very bones.

Is this real life?

It was the first time you had ever seen him like this, standing at his full, unnatural height, his shadowed figure stretching tall enough to make the walls seem smaller, the room closing in around the trio. He had always been careful before—almost gentle, as if tiptoeing around your fear. He used to crawl, his movements deliberate and slow, his eerie smile softened by an odd attempt at kindness. But now, there was nothing restrained about him. He loomed over you, his glowing void-like eyes bearing down, his jagged smile curling wider with a hint of something sinister, something raw and unfiltered. Your heart pounded as you realized he was no longer hiding himself—no longer trying to make you feel safe. This was him, unmasked, no longer pretending to be the harmless, shadowed companion you’d grown used to. It wasn’t just surprising—it was terrifying in a way that left you breathless.

Mr. scarletella’s expression remained unreadable, but I caught the faintest flicker of tension in his clenched jaw, the slightest shift in his footing as though even he could feel the crushing inevitability of Crawling’s dominance. “ . . . ㄚㄩ(you’re) 乃乙ㄩ(becoming) 山ㄖ爪卩(softer) .”

That word… Is it perhaps to belittle mr. crawling?

Mr. scarletella’s crimson glow flickered violently, his form trembling like static on a broken screen. For a moment, his sharp features twisted with frustration, his eyes narrowing as though the very air around him was unraveling. Then, without warning, his entire figure glitched, fragments of him shattering like shards of crimson light breaking into the void. The glow dimmed in an instant, his presence vanishing into the oppressive silence that followed.

Mr. crawling didn’t move to stop him. He didn’t need to. The silent threat in his gaze, the sheer weight of his presence, had already done the work.

Even without the presence of the cryptic crimson, the room grew colder still. Crawling remained where he was, his nonexistent void-like eyes turning to you now. His jagged smile stretched impossibly wide, as though he relished the victory—not over scarletella, but over the fact that you had seen it.

And now, you were alone with him.

“ㄚﾌ几 (okay) ?” He repeated the same question again for the nth time. He crawled faster behind your feet, hearing your exasperated sigh followed by the sound of a palm to your face.

You stopped on your feet for a second. With the overwhelming headache and unstability of your body, you turned on your heel to pacify the crawler. The tired and annoyed expression on your face looked down on the guy’s curious and eager ones—his hair spilled down onto the hardwood floor of the hallways as he awaited for a positive answer.

“Me, okay. No more worry.” You responded in a motherly manner, crouching a bit to reach his height as you petted his head while he leaned closer to your touch—craving more and more of it with each passing moment. “Good?” You added, responding in their native language.

Losing focus for a bit, your hand rested on his head, gently ruffling his cold, sleek hair, his entire frame seemed to stiffen. His jagged grin faltered for the first time, twisting into something uneven and almost bashful, as though he didn’t quite know how to respond. Then, much to your surprise, a strange, silly sound escaped from him—a quiet, stuttering “Hehe… hehehe…”—as his head tilted slightly into your touch, his massive form somehow shrunk in that moment. It was absurdly out of character, and yet, seeing the eerie, imposing figure so flustered under a simple pat made my chest warm with something close to amusement.

You couldn’t help but smile, which ofcourse—grew unnoticed by the guy himself. “几ㄚ(me) 千ㄩ乙丂 (cute) ?” With a quick and stiff movement, he gently grips his long slender fingers around your much smaller wrist. “几ㄩ (you) 卄ㄖ丂几 (smiley) , 几ㄩ(you) 千ㄩ乙丂 (cute) !” he said simply, his jagged smile widening as he leaned just a fraction closer, as if savoring the reaction he knew was coming.

You froze for a moment, your fingers twitching at your sides before a faint pink dusted your cheeks. Without a word, you turned sharply on your heel, your back to him in an attempt to hide your flustered state. But your ears betrayed you—bright red against your hair, a detail mr. crawling didn’t miss. “几ㄩ(you) 千ㄩ乙丂 (cute) ! 几ㄩ(you) 千ㄩ乙丂 (cute) !” he drawled, his grin widening further, his voice teasing. “几ㄩ(you) 乙卄ㄥ(shy) ?”

“Damn you—you lizard, stop it.” you muttered, trying to sound annoyed but unable to mask the flustered tremor in your tone. He chuckled softly, a sound that was strangely warm despite his usual unsettling demeanor, as if your reaction amused him to no end.

Gathering yourself, you cleared your throat and gestured toward a door at the far end of the room—a door neither of you had explored before. “Moving on…” you said quickly, still refusing to look at him directly.

You shook off any unwanted feelings, remembering the main point of your journey. After the anxiety-ridden incident earlier, you weren’t slow enough not to notice the overbearing pain you had to overcome not long after your awakening. The strands of your hair had its’ colors almost entirely washed out, a cold tone of gray and white slowly fading in the roots of your hair until the rest had also been infected. Not only that, but you’ve come to notice the major change in your physique—more so, your skin. After staring at your hands under the faint light, the skin became thin and pale, almost see through and translucent, as if stretched too tightly over your frame. Faint blue and red lines of nerves web beneath the surface, sickly and unsettling, making you feel more fragile than human. Your breath hitches as you trace one with your finger, the sight leaving you both horrified and strangely curious.

The unsettling sight of your sickly, pale skin gnawed at your mind as you moved through the dim halls, your fingers brushing over the faintly visible nerves beneath. You’d hoped it was nothing, a fleeting illness, but the way it seemed to spread, inching further up your arms, told you otherwise. Beside you, mr. crawling followed silently, his elongated frame towering in the faint light. You weren’t sure why he was helping you—if it was pity, curiosity, or something else entirely—but he seemed intent on staying by your side.

“几ㄚ(me) ﾌ丂Ҝㄥ(help) .” he murmured suddenly, his voice low and almost soothing, though his jagged grin remained unsettling. The words were a reassurance, but the emptiness of the unfamiliar corridors only deepened your unease. Every door you opened felt like a step closer to either salvation or something far worse, and yet, with him beside you, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop. Somewhere in this labyrinth of shadows, you had to find a cure—before the lines beneath your skin consumed you entirely.

The crawler fell in step behind you, following alongside you like a puppy to its’ master while you both made your way to another new unfamiliar entrance. You reached for the doorknob, determined to shake off the embarrassment, while his gaze remained fixated on you after you checked to see behind your shoulder if he was still there—his grin never fading old.

Please let there be some useful stuff here.

The room was a stroke of luck—rows of shelves lined with medicine bottles, bandages, and dusty supplies that seemed untouched for ages. Relief flooded you as you approached a shelf, your fingers brushing over the labels, reading each one carefully. For a moment, you were lost in concentration, cataloging what might actually help your condition, when something creaked behind you. Turning quickly, you froze, only to see mr. crawling squeezed—hiding into an empty cardboard box on the floor, his long limbs contorted in ways that shouldn’t have been possible, his nonexistent eyes felt like they were peering at you mischievously.

“Boo” he said—rising his head up from the peak of the cardboard box, his high-pitched, silly giggle lighting up his face as if he were the world’s proudest prankster. “尺几ㄩ丂(funny) ?”

Your heart jumped, not from fear but from sheer surprise, though you couldn’t let him know that. Clutching your chest dramatically, you gasped, “You scared me.” His eerie chuckle filled the room, a delighted “Heh he. . .” escaping him as he hid himself once again in the box with uncanny grace. You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. It was absurd, really—this monstrous entity behaving like a playful cat.

But you didn’t have time to dwell on it. You returned your focus to the medicines, crouching to check the lower shelves and even the medkits scattered on the floor. After gathering a few promising bottles, you noticed a secluded corner of the room, its dim lighting giving it an air of mystery. A small cabinet caught your eye, and you carefully opened it, squinting to read the faded labels. Each name sounded strange, unfamiliar, and your frustration grew as you hesitated over which to choose.

The shelves loomed over you, an overwhelming array of medicines, most with faded labels, cryptic names, and dosages in languages you didn’t understand. Each bottle felt like a gamble—some promising relief, others ominously vague. You grabbed one and turned it in your hand: Aculisyn-Therex. Its description claimed to promote “cellular repair,” but the ingredients list was incomprehensible. You frowned and placed it back, reaching for another.

Crouching down, you opened a small, rusted medkit on the floor. Inside were syringes, bandages, and a vial of something that looked alarmingly red, almost like blood. You recoiled slightly, shoving the kit aside and focusing on the next set of shelves. You found another intriguing item: a sealed packet labeled Neurosol: For Nerve Integrity. It struck a chord—the nerves beneath your skin. Could this be it? You hesitated, the words “potential side effects” faintly visible in tiny print, but the rest was smudged.

While you pondered, you noticed an old instruction manual on the counter nearby. Dusting it off, you flipped through its fragile pages, desperate for guidance. The diagrams inside showed strange, almost alien anatomy— maybe another specie of humans, like neanderthals, maybe, resembling human biology. Your hands shook slightly as you set the book down. Was this place even designed for humans?

A faint draft swept through the room, making the low light flicker. Still determined, you moved toward the secluded corner, the dimmest part of the room. There, a tiny cabinet awaited, half-buried under years of neglect. The wood creaked as you opened it, revealing vials with strange glowing liquids and powders with indecipherable names: Stimulyn A+, Cryohealin, Xyntherra. The glow of one vial pulsed faintly in the darkness, a hypnotic green that drew your hand toward it. But before you could grab it, a cold pressure wrapped around your waist, pulling you back into reality.

Two large hands slid over your waist, firm and loose, pulling you back just enough that your lower body brushed against his. The contact was sensual but electric, a flush of heat rushing through you, leaving your breath shallow and uneven. His grip tightened slightly, anchoring you in place as his towering frame pressed closer, his silken hair cascading over your shoulders and brushing against your skin like a whisper as your arched back leaned closer against his. You felt the faintest graze of his chest near your back, feeling his warm puff of breath dissolve on your nape. The unspoken interaction sent a shiver down your spine, while the friction of your hips and his long slender fingers left your pulse racing and your knees threatening to give way. The space between you felt suffocating, every shift, every accidental touch igniting something in the charged silence, his fingers tightening just slightly on your waist as though daring you to move.

Flustered, you turned quickly to face him, but the movement only brought you closer, your chest almost brushing against his. His grin remained, though softer now, as if he enjoyed watching your flustered state. Before you could say anything, a faint noise broke the moment—a metallic squeak, followed by the distinct sound of a cart rolling down the hallway outside.

“D-did you hear that?” you pretended to care, your voice attempting to hide your flustered state as you stepped away, desperate for an escape. Without waiting for his response, you turned toward the door, pretending to focus on the sound, leaving him behind as you desperately tried to calm the heat rising to your cheeks.

Mr. Crawling stood there, still as ever, his hair cascading over where his eyes should be, hiding any hint of confusion. He tilted his head slightly, the ghostly glow of his form making him seem more enigmatic than anything else. The gesture had been so casual to him—an innocent moment of contact that, in his mind, was no different from a gentle pat on the head. He had no understanding of why you’d reacted so strongly, leaving him wondering if he had done something wrong—or if maybe he was just too strange for you to comprehend. His jagged grin remained, though it faltered a little in the quiet.

You stepped into the hallway, the sound of wheels creaking faintly in the distance, pulling your attention. When the cart came into view, slowly rolling toward you. You were befuddled to see someone unexpected.

Mr. chopped?!

“几ㄩ(me) 爪乇尺(need) 乙ㄩ乇ㄖ(help) !” He shifted slightly, his severed head awkward on the cart, his gaze meeting yours as the cart rolled closer to the end of the hallway.

MR. CHOPPED!!

⚠︎ s i l e n t t e m p t a t i o n s ( 18+ )

— ch. 1

➤ e n d

[dancingbirdie]

Headcanon/Potential Fanfiction Excerpt? Part 2

The second scene my little Sebastian-obsessed brain created.

I have this headcanon where my MC (Diana Ridgegrass - Slytherin she/her) spends 6th year studying abroad at Ilvermorny and returns for her final year at Hogwarts. She and Ominis remained close friends/pen pals. Sebastian has been OVERTLY distant.

Again: not sure if this has reader appeal, but at least it's out of my head.

As she exited the Room, she jumped in surprise. She was not alone in the seventh floor corridor. Across from her, Sebastian sat slouched against the stone wall, attempting to balance his wand on one finger. His long legs were crossed at the ankles. He had the look of someone who’d been waiting a while. 

“What are you doing here?” Diana bristled. After successfully avoiding him for most of the week, she was not in the mood to play the conversational equivalent to Exploding Snap with Sebastian today.

The boy in question lolled his head to the side, observing her with a slight smirk. “I always wondered where you disappeared to during fifth year. Dunno why it never occurred to me to just follow you.” he barked out a laugh. “Must be convenient having the fabled Come-and-Go Room all to yourself.”

“So you refuse to speak to me on friendly terms, but you’ll stalk me around the castle to learn of my whereabouts?”

He gave her a wry smile. “What can I say, I’m an enigma.”

“You are at that. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m due to meet Poppy for dinner before our study session.”

She made to pass him but quick as a flash, Sebastian’s hand latched onto the corner of her robe, pulling her to an abrupt halt. She glared at him and attempted to wrench the fabric from his grip, but it remained firmly in his hand.

“I would appreciate it if you would remove your hand from my robe, Sebastian,” she said impatiently. 

“Show me,” he responded, a wicked glint in his eye. 

“Show you what?” she snapped, utterly perplexed.

“The Come-and-Go Room, Diana. I want to see it.”

“Oh you do, do you. Well, apologies but I’m not in the tour guide business today, I’m afraid,” she replied, attempting once again to remove her robe from his grip. “Now, if you’ll so kindly excuse me.” 

“I won’t.” 

She blew out a breath, exasperated. “Come off it, Sebastian. Either have the bloody decency to tell me outright what your grievance is, or bugger off. I don’t –”

“Why should I show you any manner of decency when you decided, after everything that happened to us fifth year, to just bloody sail away and spend the next year in America?” he snarled, finally relinquishing her cloak and rising to his full height.

He was so much taller than her now. A good five inches at least. His shoulders were broader, his jawline defined. He was imposing. Confident in his posture. Handsome, in a devil-may-care sort of way. He was no longer the boyish 16-year-old she had known. 

Diana steeled her resolve. “It was a once in a lifetime learning opportunity, Sebastian. You of all people should understand my desire to gain what knowledge I could from Ilvermony. And if that pursuit could help Anne then–”

“Don’t you fucking dare speak of Anne,” he interrupted, his voice dangerously low. He took a step closer to her. There was barely any space between them. She felt his warm breath dance across her face. “Don’t use her as an excuse.” 

But despite his proximity causing her stomach to flip (in excitement? fear?), Diana was undeterred. She met his glare with equal intensity. “Anne is my friend, and I will speak of her if I wish to. I daresay I’ve earned that right, seeing as I’ve engaged in enough morally grey behavior to help her.”

“You’ve barely scratched the surface,” Sebastian retorted.

Diana scoffed in his face. “I guess you would know then, wouldn’t you? Resident expert on morally grey behavior, Sebastian Sallow.”

It was there but for a brief moment, but she registered the hint of hurt in his eyes. Her words had found their mark. A small, selfish part of her basked in the victory. 

“Someone sharpened their claws while they were away,” he murmured finally, eyes still boring into hers. 

“Indeed. It’s a shame to have to use them on someone who meant so much to me,” came her immediate reply. They had gravitated even closer to one another. Had Sebastian moved, or had she? Their chests were nearly pressed against each other. 

“I meant so much to you…” he turned the words over in his mouth, considering them. “And yet you left. You left me, Diana,” his words a whisper. He raised a hand to carefully, so carefully, brush a wisp of her hair that had fallen from her braided updo. His fingers left a hot trail across her cheek and brow.

In that instant, the energy around them shifted. Diana’s breath caught in her throat. She no longer felt like she was in the midst of an enemy standoff. Now this moment, whatever dance they were doing, was something much headier, more passionate. Her stomach flipped low once again. 

“I never wished for you to see it that way,” she whispered regretfully, tears traitorously stinging her eyes. Her eyelids fluttered shut. 

“And how else should I have seen it? Hmm?” Sebastian murmured. She felt his breath ghost across her face. He hadn’t removed his hand from her hair. 

The moment felt altogether too real and too dreamlike for Diana to maintain her bearings. Over a year had passed between them, and yet he still had the ability to turn her senses upside down, inside out. How many times had she thought of him, imagined how it would feel to be this close? Or closer? Her mind couldn’t stop reeling from the reality of it, right now, in this moment, in this corridor, of all places.

“Diana,” he spoke softly. She realized she hadn’t actually given him a reply. 

[jessiec-writes-fantasy]

A short with Madga, one of the MCs. She was initially meant to be the main character, but now I'm not sure 🤔

She is short, with long back, curly hair. She's immortal 🤫, but she has remained both mentally and physically at 14yrs old, the age she became immortal. She may have been the one to kill the sun 👀 🤫.

She has gone through a lot in the last 500yrs, and this is one of those stories.

Synopsis: A snow storm catches Madga off guard. Quickly seeking shelter, she runs into a group of Suuroo warriors... just before something comes out of the snows to attack them.

Other Posts: Maps Main post

Also on Royal Road: Lost Roads

Title: I Don't Want To Fight

Madga sniffed and wiped her nose for the ninth and ninth time on her wool cloak, wrapped around her like a huge blanket and held by a wooden broach. The moisture from her breath melted and quickly froze again on the fabric surrounding her lower face.

The cold rushed into her lungs and caught her off guard. She coughed and a big cloud of fog puffed into the air.

Her boots crunched across the snow between the trees and brush. Something tugged on her pack and she inhaled and turned, only to see that a thorny bush had snagged on a cord of rope. She breathed out with another cough. She shifted the spear in her arms to free up one hand, and then twisted and carefully lifted the thin, prickly branch with her big mitt. The thorns caught on the mitt but let go after some gentle coaxing.

From somewhere above her the full moon shone through the pine branches here and there, setting the odd flake on the ground to sparkle. Every breath released a puff of fog. When nothing jumped out at her from the dark, silent forest she hugged the spear again and moved on, walking by the light of the moon and stars filtering between the trees.

There was only the sound of her feet and breath, until eventually a rustling caught her ears and she looked up. The lower branches around and above her were quiet, but a wind had begun blowing across the tops of the trees. It hissed through the needles as it grew stronger and stronger.

Finally the branches above her swayed and snow flew between them. Her eyes widened and she searched for shelter.

The wind howled through the forest without a clear voice or direction. The blowing snow thickened until only nearby trees could be seen.

The moon and stars disappeared. The cold nipped around her skin and the flying snow poked at her eyes. She squinted and walked with her hands holding the spear out in front of her. The bushes and branches scrapped against it, but eventually it gave way.

She took a few more careful steps but felt nothing. She shifted her grip on the spear and slowly waved it around, but still she felt nothing.

The little clouds of fog came faster. She turned around and walked with the spear pointed outward again, but after a handful of steps she still hadn’t returned to the forest.

She lowered the spear. She stood silent in the endless whirl of wind and snow, whimpering and hugging the spear tight in her arms. She had made a grave error by walking too close to the open plains.

Her knees trembled. She wanted to fall to the ground but a firm, and not unkindly feeling kept her upright. She shivered as the unruly winds pushed the cold through her clothes. The winds tugged and tore at her hood, flinging it off to reveal the hat and black curls underneath. She fixed it but seconds later it was ripped off again.

She reached up to fix it a second time but froze when something pricked at her ears. She heard it again and focused on the sound, trying to parse it from the howling wind.

An irritated voice shouted and was quickly followed by others. Another one responded. The wind seemed to relax, lightening the veil of snow just enough to reveal a warm light.

The snow rushed in again and the welcoming sight was lost. But she took a breath and headed toward it, hoping she wouldn’t stray in the dark. Strands of wind pushed and pulled at her once or twice but this time it was gentle, as though trying to nudge her in the right direction.

The voices grew and she breathed in relief, but still her heart sped up at their tone of voice.

“We protect people like you from the Tasoragh and angry spirits!” a woman shouted.

An elderly man shot back, “I wouldn’t need protecting if you ceased fighting each other! Then there wouldn’t be angry spirits!”

The others erupted in anger.

“What!”

“Are you really going to leave us in this blizzard!?” one cried.

“It’s your responsibility to house us warriors,” another snarled. The elderly man scowled and stepped back but one of the warriors kept the door open.

Madga slowed to a stop some distance behind them. They didn’t seem to notice. They were blond Suuroo warriors, dressed in thick wool and fur clothes, with long wool cloaks and sturdy fur and leather boots. Spears and packs were strapped to the backs of half of them, and all had small round shields. Strangely there were no horses or a chariot in sight.

She tensed and took a step back when their voices rose again.

Her boot crunched in the snow at the same time a low growl rumbled through the storm. She froze. The warriors went quiet and turned. Their eyes acknowledged her presence, but moved on and quickly searched for the source of the noise.

“What was that?” the elderly man asked, shattering the silence.

Another growl erupted and angry, unnatural red eyes swivelled toward them in the dark. Madga stiffly looked over her shoulder and the snow thinned, giving them all a view of a very large plains lion.

The great cat glared at them. Its pale fur rose high on the back of its neck. Its tail dragged across the snow. The wind brushed the fur on its back, which briefly shifted into unkept, artistic swirls and wedges before reforming into animal fur.

It snarled with sharp teeth. A thick and muscled limb covered in spots took a step toward them.

“In. Now,” one of the women firmly said.

The warriors slowly backed up. The man argued and the cat growled again. The warriors piled into his house, effectively silencing him. Madga slowly turned and backed toward them, watching as the spirit-animal advanced.

Her heart hammered at her ribs, and her breath quickened against her will. The lion matched each step, before slowly lowering into a crouch.

Her mind went blank as her body shouted at her to run. She turned and at the same time someone grabbed her shoulder and effortlessly pulled her into the house.

The woman slammed the door behind them and the lion roared from the other side. A loud, hard thump on the wood followed, and the woman and a man pushed against the door. Two other warriors ran past the elderly man to grab his cot and shove it against the door. Then his cauldron.

“Hey! That’s my bed! And my supper!!”

The lion snarled deep and loud.

“Shut up,” one of the warriors spat at him.

“How-how dare you?!” The old man barely recovered from his shock as he said, “I am your elder.”

“You are,” the man hissed back. “But you’re also agitating the spirit outside!”

“Me?!”

A yowl sliced through the air and everyone stared at the door. A deep growl followed.

“Enough,” said the woman who had pulled Madga to safety. She was tall and thin. Muscles strained against her clothes. “Ready yourselves.”

She removed her pack and cloak, revealing bone daggers attached to her hips and legs.

She took her round shield from her pack, and calmly said, “Since the spirit isn’t giving up we’ll have to defeat it. Otherwise it will be a danger to not only him, but to travellers like her.”

Madga had stepped farther into the rectangular Suuroo-style house. At the mention of her she swallowed and shrunk into herself.

The rest of the warriors began shucking their packs and travelling gear much like their leader had. Soon they were carrying spears, daggers, and shields at the ready. They nodded at the woman with respect, trust, and readiness.

The old man grumbled, “You had better not bring your fight in here.”

The man that had been arguing with him scowled and gestured about the room. “It’s our fight. Do you really think it’ll leave you alone? It nearly knocked down your door.”

Despite his heavy wrinkles the elder straightened and puffed out his thin chest. “And as I said it would have no interest in me if you weren’t here in the first place. If you would cease your squabbling with the Tasoragh-”

The man’s eyes flew wide. “‘Squabbling’!? Centuries of war and the things they’ve pulled you call squabbling!?”

A roar shook the air and the fire itself seemed to flicker. Heavy thumps sounded on the snow-covered roof. After a pause, the faint sound of scratching reached their ears. Both men paled as dust rained down from the ceiling.

The gaze of one of the other women shifted downward to Madga. The woman’s blond hair had been tightly tied in braids around her head. Woven in were painted bone beads and a few ribbons.

“Can you use that?” she asked.

Madga’s terrified gaze left the ceiling and stared in wide-eyed confusion. The woman’s eyes flickered to the spear she hugged in her arms. Madga’s mouth opened in a silent ‘Oh’. She shook her head.

The spirit-lion roared again in frustration.

The woman nodded and stepped closer.

She said, “Then you’re going to learn today, because we might need everyone on hand. I’m Sena.”

Her words squeaked out. “Ma-ma-Madga- but I- I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to kill it.”

Sena shook her head. “It’s not just about killing. It’s about protecting people who can’t protect themselves.”

“And ourselves,” the second man added dryly.

The old man glanced at them but his gaze was curiously focused on Sena.

Sena shook her head ruefully at the other warrior. “Yes, in this case you’re right, Owes, but only this time. Okay, Madga, pack off, please, arms up. That spear is a little long for you but I think we can make it work.”

Madga reluctantly did as she was told under Sena’s expectant gaze. Once again, hand’s trembling, she held the spear with both hands.

“Spread your hands at one end, it’s not a twirly druid’s staff.”

One of the women snorted, temporarily distracted from their strategy meeting.

Madga glanced at her. “Sorry,” she mumbled to Sena and did as she was told.

Sena reached for her left hand and Madga instinctively stepped back.

Sena raised her hands in an apology. “I wanted to place your hands properly. Can I?”

Madga mumbled and nodded. Her muscles relaxed as Sena positioned her right hand at the end of the staff. She quickly walked her through some thrusting maneuvers. Madga’s hands shook at first but to her surprise they slowly relaxed with each move.

A great thump sounded through the house and her hands trembled again. Everyone paused to listen for more sounds through the howling of snow and wind.

A loud bang sounded on the door and Madga jumped. The stew in the cauldron sloshed.

“What about you? Can you fight?” asked the other woman.

The elderly man shook his head.

One of the men quietly swore. “Telling us what to do but you can’t even defend yourself,” he muttered.

The old man’s eyes narrowed and his mouth thinned under his thick white beard. “I don’t need to know how to fight to know that it accomplishes nothing.”

Another yowl set Madga’s teeth on edge. Another bang and she again clutched the spear tight to her chest.

Sena looked at her. “Hold it properly. Hopefully you won’t need to use it but keep the head up just in case.” She turned to her leader. “Oiesuu, what’s the plan?”

Oiesuu nodded once and repeated to her what she and the other warriors had discussed.

While they spoke, Madga’s eyes travelled to the door. A low growl snuck in through the crack between it and the wall. A snowflake drifted in, accompanied by the sound of claws scratching on wood.

She swallowed. She nearly brought the spear close to her chest again but stopped herself. Her right hand anxiously turned the staff. A design had once been carved into it, but the wood was incredibly smooth. The craftwork didn’t catch on her skin as it spun in her left hand. Gnarled branches, or bolts of lightning, ran from one end of the spear to the other. And long, smoothed bone had been affixed to the top as the point. Other than the design, the weapon largely resembled any ordinary spear.

Sena nodded regarding Oiesuu’s plan of action, and the other warriors nodded again. Oiesuu returned it and faced the door. She glanced at Madga and the elder. She waved for them to back away and they followed her instruction. The older man watched, his expression a mix of frustration, fear, and worry. His eyes flashed to Madga as she neared but he said nothing.

With a quick look from Oiesuu, Sena and Owes moved the cauldron as quietly as possible. They went to the cot next, just as a growl came from outside. They paused for a long moment, glancing at each other, before moving it. Oiesuu and the others slid into its place as it was taken away, weapons and shields at the ready. Sena and Owes joined them at the rear.

Madga’s heart trembled in her chest. At some point she had stopped breathing and she forced herself to inhale.

The house was silent except for the crackling fire and the wild winds. Oiesuu gestured and Owes slipped around with quiet steps. He shifted the bone dagger to his other hand and grabbed the door handle. He waited for the order.

Oiesuu nodded and Owes yanked it open.

Outside the lion jerked around, interrupted in its anxious pacing. Its lips twitched up in a snarl.

Step after step, Oiesuu walked out the door, her spear raised in one hand with a small round shield in the other. She didn’t look away as she began to circle her adversary, allowing the others to follower her outside. The lion snarled again, its red eyes twitching from one warrior to the next.

Madga kept well within the house, spear held up in her hands, which were shaking once again.

Snow distorted Oiesuu’s figure as she made it to the opposite side of the lion. Her hood fell down and her braided hair whipped around her in the wind, but she didn’t move to fix it. A few of the other warriors’ hoods were ripped off but their focus too remained on their opponent.

Sena gave a test jab and the lion snarled. It took a step back, but Oiesuu jabbed from the other side and its head whipped around with a growl.

Something moved out of the corner of her eye and Madga tensed. She minutely as she realized it was the elder. He slowly neared the door for a better look. Madga bit her lip. Her feet shifted, unsure, but she followed him with the tip of the spear held out in front like Sena had taught her.

The lion’s form shifted. The swirls were tense, jagged. Its tail lashed in agitation and it suddenly leapt for the third woman. She twisted, jabbed, and the lion roared. It shuffled away from her, droplets of blood speckling the white snow. At the same time swirls and wedges floated away from the body to dissipate in the wind.

Its head lowered, body tense for fight or flight. Ears flattened back as the warriors yelled and jabbed at it. It growled, and the noise rumbled through their chests.

The old man shook his head. “Can’t they see its just frightened. Exactly like a cornered animal, and all because of this fighting.” Madga glanced at him, and to her horror he flung out his hand and shouted, “You’re just making the spirit angrier!”

The man he had been arguing with earlier clenched his teeth and his head spun toward him. Owes glanced at them.

“Shut up! Do you really think if we left it alone like this it would-”

The lion yowled as though someone hit it and it lunged for Owes. His eyes flashed in surprise but he held his spear firm. However the lion weaved past it and smacked him with a heavy paw. The claws tore through his clothes and bit into his shoulder. He cried out and blood arched in the air to scatter on the snow and the lion.

Madga stepped back as the fight truly began, as though the attack on Owes had suddenly cut a cord of tension. Shouts and growls intermingled with the howling of the wind and blows were exchanged. Distressed and frozen in helplessness, the elder’s eyes flickered from one fighter to the next.

The lion turned and its eyes landed on them. Madga stepped back again but the elder was still frozen with his hands pressed against the side of the doorway. Blood dripped from the lion’s shoulder and face, and swirls curled up from both wounds.

The spirit-animal tensed and snarled as the man who the elder had argued with shuffled to stand between them. A thin line of blood was soaking through his leggings.

Without looking back, he said, “Get in and shut the door.”

The elder didn’t respond.

“Hey, get moving,” he said louder. The lion growled. Sena jabbed at its flank but it snarled and jumped at her.

The man turned and snarled, “Move!”

The elder seemed to snap out of his frozen state. He blinked. His lips curled. “I-”

The lion shook its head, fog puffing from its nostrils. A low voice moaned through the wind, Stop.

The warriors froze. The two men turned to stare. Madga’s eyes widened.

The spirit’s tail lashed. It spoke without moving its mouth.

It yowled and its head shook again. Stoooooop!

The younger man breathed, “What-?”

STOOOP! It blindly charged and bowled him over before knocking the old man to the side against the door and running into the house. Madga scrambled back, dropping the spear and tripping over her feet to fall on her rear.

The lion ran through the fire and stumbled over the spear that the man had accidentally lodged in its chest. It crashed hard against the opposite wall and cracked the wood, but as the house was partially buried the wall refused to give.

It stopped where it lay. Blood trickled to the floor, and more swirls drifted into the air to fade like smoke.

The warriors returned to the house. Oiesuu helped up the man the lion had ran over, and Sena wrapped the elder’s arm around her shoulder before pulling him to his feet.

The third woman only had a few scratches. She took careful steps toward the spirit-animal with her spear at the ready. Madga held her breath as her spear’s tip neared the body.

The lion shifted. Madga squeaked and the woman jumped back.

Stop… fight…. The moan weakened and turned into a whisper. At the same time its entire body faded into the swirls and wedges and mist before disappearing completely.

There was a brief pause. With no body to keep it upright, the spear fell to the floor with two thunks.

Madga took a breath, not realizing she had held onto it.

Owes groaned from where he leaned against the door frame.

Oiesuu quietly inhaled and turned to the third woman. “Ruucu, lay Owes down. Reeara, are you alright?”

The man straightened and stepped out of her care. He nodded. “Just a few bruises and this cut on my leg. I can look after Owes, but… from what I can see, he’ll need a better healer than me.”

“Do you best. Keep him alive. We can’t leave until the storm passes.”

A scowl twitched on Reeara’s face. “Whenever that’ll be.” He sighed. “Alright, elder, I’ll need-”

“I’ll do it.” The old man straightened and removed his arm from around Sena’s shoulders. She eyed him but he remained firmly on his feet.

He coughed and winced from some pain. He explained, “My father was a bit of a healer.” He travelled to a wooden box. “Once I was older I learned an unfair amount from a druid-healer.”

“What about yourself?” Sena asked as she joined him. She kneeled and opened the box for him.

He grunted. “Thank you. If you could use the lid and bring everything, I’d be grateful,” he muttered. “I’m fine. You’re friend there took most of the damage from the spirit’s charge.”

Reeara snorted. The tips of his long beard caught between his arms as he crossed them but he didn’t bother fixing it. He shifted, keeping some weight off his injured leg. “And who’s fault is that?”

The elder’s eyes flashed at him as he passed on his way to Owes. The anger dimmed when he looked away. “It’s everyone’s fault, if what just happened means what I think it means.”

Reeara paused to look at the place the spirit had been.

“If you can at least wrap your leg I suggest you get a move on,” the elder said.

Reeara scowled but went to his pack.

Madga’s eyes lingered on the cracked wood at the end of the house. The dirt on the other side remained there, frozen and dark.

Her head turned as Sena kneeled in front of her with her spear. “Did you get hurt?”

Madga shook her head.

Sena smiled. “Good.” She held out her spear. Reluctantly, Madga took it and followed Sena to her feet.

Sena’s gaze turned to her black hair. Her smile slowly faded as it lingered there. Madga glanced away, her heart beating too loud.

But Owes groaned and stole Sena’s attention. Madga quietly breathed out.

Ruucu was helping Owes out of the last tunic layering his chest. The blood had already begun hardening with the tunic stuck to it, and removing the shirt tore the sealed blood away. Fresh blood began running down his shoulder and onto the cot. He hissed, his skin already pale from blood loss.

Once the tunic was gone, the elder man kneeled on the floor by Owes with a grunt. He tutted at the state of the man’s shoulder.

“All this fighting, and look where it’s got you,” he muttered. Reeara stopped in wrapping his injury. Wide-eyed, incredulous, he opened his mouth but the man continued, “But I… I suppose I owe you all an, erm, an apology.”

Reeara’s mouth snapped shut.

The elder man cleared his throat. “Now see, I won’t apologize for my stance on the matter, I won’t. But… I see that I’m not entirely correct either. I see now that your type of fighting is also about protecting others, not just attacking an enemy for the sake of it.”

Several expressions flickered over Reeara’s face. He glanced at Ruucu, who shrugged, surprised.

Returning to his injury, Reeara asked, “Well, uh, I guess I’m glad you see it that way…? What’s your name?”

The elder didn’t answer right away. Oiesuu placed a bowl of water next to him. It had been snow that she had melted and boiled next to the fire as he and Reeara spoke. He muttered thanks and dipped a cloth into the warm water. Owes inhaled but otherwise didn’t react as the man began wiping the gashes on his shoulder.

“I am Dseeisret.”

Owes’ eyes flashed up to him. Sena, Ruucu, and Reeara froze. Oiesuu remained still. Madga’s eyes widened. They flickered from one person to the next. She shuffled back.

“What?” Ruucu asked in a tight voice.

Dseeisret continued working. He confirmed, “My mother was Suuroo. My father—the healer—was Tasoragh.” He made a quiet noise, like a sound between a huff and a chuckle. “You can’t tell now, but my hair wasn’t quite as bright as yours. Some called it the colour of dirty straw. Not my favourite description, but I suppose it could have been worse.”

Ruucu said, “You lied to us.”

He didn’t bother looking at her. “I did no such thing. You forced yourselves into my home, the home of a Tasoragh-Suuroo, when I said I didn’t want you here.”

“But-”

“Leave it,” Oiesuu said. Her gaze lingered on the elder. “There is no one here to help him. One Tasoragh isn’t a danger to us.”

Ruucu stared at her like she wanted to protest. Instead she turned her head and glared at the wall.

Oiesuu slowly turned and kicked charcoal and rocks into place, roughly repairing the fire, before sitting next to it. Sena’s gaze travelled over Madga one last time before joining her leader.

Madga swallowed.

Reeara stared down at his leg in thought. He slowly finished wrapping it and cut the cloth with a bone knife. Madga hugged her spear as she watched him return everything to his pack and stand with a wince. He brought the pack by the cot and knelt next to Dseeisret.

The old man raised a brow. Owes’ tired but wide eyes glanced from the potential threat to his fellow warrior. Reeara nodded at him, which seemed to reassure him a little. He relaxed, although his gaze remained on Dseeisret.

“Alright,” Reeara said in a clear voice, nearly in challenge, “Show me what a Tasoragh healer can do.”

Dseeisret smiled from under his long white beard. He cleared his throat. “Well, first….”

Madga looked at the women around the fire. She hesitated.

There was movement out of the corner of her eyes and she gasped and turned. Ruucu paused, looking at her. Madga didn’t say anything, and so Ruucu continued to sit down on the floor. Ruucu turned to the mens’ work, curious but wary as she straightened to get a better look.

Madga breathed out. She shifted on her feet before choosing to take a seat at the end of the cot, not sure where else to go until the storm could die down.

Her ears pricked as Reeara whispered, “I’m… you might have been right… about our fighting bothering the spirits.”

“Ah,” Dseeisret’s shoulder twitched upward in a weak shrug. “I’m not a druid, but in my life I’ve seen things like that. I know it affects them. Affects humans too. I hate seeing it altogether.”

“Not sure I can completely agree with you. My cousin was killed by… the Tasoragh.” He glanced at Dseeisret before looking down. “I’m not sure I could ever walk away.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I’ve also seen people cut down by Suuroo. I hope I’ll live to see tomorrow.”

“Of course you will,” Reeara promised.

Dseeisret nodded his thanks. After a moment, he said, “I accept your apology, by the way. About my being right about the spirits.”

Reeara’s eyebrows rose in surprise. He huffed a laugh and shook his head. “Just keep working, elder.”

Dseeisret chuckled quietly.

Madga huddled against the wall, hugging the spear and listening to their voices and their work. Her eyes grew heavy, and though she tried to fight it, eventually she drifted off to sleep.

[theotheroccassionalfanficwriter]

hi! this is just a request but feel free to ignore if you don’t have time or any ideas but could you expend on “between love and lust” mc seducing foul legacy. it can be like a side story or a prequel since it happened before the current timeline.

sorry it took so long lmao law school started already and i'm drowning in cases. Thanks for this ask anon, i forgot about this series even though i already drafter the last chapter lmao, thanks for reminding me it existed hahaha. Anyways here you go, enjoy this unhinged couple lmao.

Prequel to The Consequences of Fucking in Front of the Geo Archon Statue Series: 1, 2, 3

In Love and Lust

Summary: Seeing Foul Legacy for the first time had awakened something in you, in a desperate attempt to hide how inappropriately horny you were, Tartaglia misunderstands your insatiable lust for him as fear.

--

You had always been aware that whatever happened during Tartaglia’s disappearance was life changing. You were prepared for whatever it was when you had pursued this relationship with him, just as you had reassured him you didn’t mind what his job asked of him, you were quite ready to reassure him you didn’t mind his Foul Legacy.

Seeing it for yourself however was another matter entirely.

It changed him. That much you were right.

You just weren’t prepared to see how it changed him.

So there you stood, blinking rapidly in front of your boyfriend who had laid waste to the battlefield amidst Snezhnaya’s white snow. Everything about him was big. His arms, his height,

‘His dic-’

You exhaled, trying to steady your heart and not blurt out something stupid like,

‘Bet I can take you in that form.’

You nodded, your eyes closed as you tried to convince yourself and stop your shaking legs as you took a step forward to your boyfriend’s personal space. All the while chanting inwardly for him to not notice what he just awakened in you.

“Didn’t expect to see you here” You told him, faking calm as you laugh nervously.

‘And wow, his muscles are so close and he’s so warm-’

“Is that so?” He spoke, voice deep, sultry and rumbly that it made your mouth drop and your panties wet.

His face came close to you, your wide eyes and flushed face reflecting on the large white bead on the center. His clawed hands pulled you close, resting gently on the curve of your ass.

You swallowed your saliva as you gently laid your hands on his chest, mind reeling and melting from the sheer force of your horniness for your boyfriend.

“Da-darling?” You gently called him, slight panic in your voice when you felt your warm cloak lifted and the unmistakable sound of your thick stockings being teared.

“Liar.”

In a blink of an eye you found yourself back in your shared apartment. Stockings ripped and panties soaked. Tartaglia was nowhere to be found and you swore loudly,

“At least let me suck your cock!”

You cried into your pillow with frustration as you furiously masturbated and repeatedly came with only your left hand and the vivid image of his Foul Legacy ringing in your mind. You moaned and drooled into the pillow, his lingering scent only fueling your desire and making you blind to Tartaglia’s arrival.

He watched as you fingered yourself, your legs spread wide and exposing your sopping cunt. You were moaning his name, while your free hand played with your nipples. It was a lovely sight that made him hard, it was almost enough to break his reason and make him stuff you full with his cock. Up until he remembered how scared you were earlier when you saw his foul legacy for the first time.

Instead he makes his way to the bathroom, furiously masturbating to the sounds of your moan and wet pussy echoing in the silent apartment. His hand moved up and down his throbbing cock as he imagined your squirming body as you moaned loudly, crying out his name.

He knew your go-to fantasies when masturbating to him, knew the intimate details of your deepest fantasies. So he faps to that, he imagines fucking you in that snow, ripping your clothes and exposing your pliable tits and sopping wet cunt. His cock plunging into your wet pussy, slamming it in and out and stretching it until the sensation left you drooling.

He’d gripped your tits, squeezing it and pinching its perk nipples until your moans are nothing but lewd pants of breath. He’d fuck you from behind, fucking you on all fours like a beast and biting your neck until the skin broke and he tasted blood.

He knew you’d begged for him to stop, even when you’d push your ass towards him, moving your hips in time to the thrusting of his cock. He’d fuck you until you babbled about getting pregnant, your pussy clenching to keep his dick inside. He wouldn’t stop thrusting his cock in and out of you, not even when you would orgasm.

Instead he’d fuck you harder once you told him you were about to come, hands gripping your waist tight as he controlled your body, moving it like a life sized fuck toy meant to relieve his frustrations. He knew how that thought pleases you, the image of you acting like a wanton slut in front of him, was something that never failed to drive him crazy.

His hand, gripping his cock tightened, just as he heard you orgasm from the bedroom. Your lewd voice coupled with his imagination made him cum, thick ropes of cum staining the wall as his hands slowly came to a stop.

Tartaglia sighed, taking a few moments of rest before cleaning up the bathroom. The routine was enough to calm him down, his anger and lust fading away into manageable levels. All of it quickly disappeared when he entered the room and found you passed out on the bed, legs spread wide, pussy dripping and stuffed full with the customized dildo you had made. The dildo was the exact replica of his cock and Tartaglia allowed himself a moment, a single moment of contemplation and acceptance of what being in a relationship with you entailed.

“Nnn...Tartagli..a” You moaned in your sleep.

Then he makes his way to the bathroom he had just cleaned, unzips his pants and begins to furiously masturbate again. In any other time he’d have masturbated to you right then and there, unloading his cum unto your sleeping body, maybe fucking your mouth and spilling his load down your throat but right now the two of you are in the middle of a fight and Tartaglia is petty enough to leave you horny.

--

You woke up the next morning, disappointed that neither your ready pussy nor your mouth had Tartaglia’s cum, your body wasn’t sticky from his dried cum nor was there the pleasant ache of your pussy being used to the fullest. You pout before groaning into the mattress and curling up in sexual frustration.

Tartaglia had a month off.

And you’d rather spend most of it fucking like rabbits, riding his cock, and being stuffed full with his cum. From the sounds outside your apartment window, you knew that at this time, Tartaglia was already in the training grounds.

You sighed before getting up from the bed, not bothering to cover up. You were missing the feeling of walking around the apartment with his cum dribbling down between your thighs. You made your way to the kitchen table, breakfast kept warm and no love note.

You blinked. Searching the entire area for Tartaglia’s customary love note. You frowned, sitting in a daze as you started to realize that something was very wrong.

“Oh no, we’re fighting!” You cried in despair.

You never really liked fighting with Tartaglia, the one that involved cold shoulders and no sex, no intimacy because it was always because you accidentally sent the wrong signal, made social faux pas that even he couldn’t stand and you knew that Tartaglia was the only one who could handle your crazy, your slightly dark tendencies and obsessive personality. Which meant that fights like this always made you want to fix it quickly because you didn’t want Tartaglia to sober up and realize he could do better.

Which meant that there was a need to call up your friends and dissect what you did wrong.

You glance at Tartaglia’s homemade cooking before deciding that the meeting could wait.

While you were enjoying your brunch, Tartaglia was in the training grounds beating up the new recruits and the rest of the Fatui soldiers that were brave enough to step up to fight him. He had slept terribly, missing your comforting weight in his arms and warmth of your body and your cunt warming his cock, he’d masturbated again in the shower, made you breakfast, tempted to fuck you until you woke up while getting dressed and willed his dick down before leaving the apartment.

Tartaglia really, really hated getting into a fight with you. Because it meant that the chances of you waking up and realizing that you could have a normal life were high. His flaws and demerits would outweigh whatever fondness and love you had for him, your childhood sweetheart.

He dreads the day you’d realize you can have stability, because he’d rather not resort to cutting you off from the rest of the world just to keep you by his side. He did his best to ensure you wouldn’t even entertain thoughts of breaking up with him, he catered to your wants and needs because it meant you wouldn’t try to leave. He’d raze the world to the ground if you asked as long as it meant you stayed.

He loved you deeply, darkly, and wholly.

In the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of your familiar lovable and seductive self. And immediately decided to end the spar quickly before any of the recruits got an idea.

He covers your body with his coat, making you wear it properly and hiding the enticing look of your well-endowed body from the virgin killing sweater that you wore. You blinked at him, before you smiled sweetly and devilishly.

“Darling~” You grabbed his arm and he could feel the softness of your breast and Tartaglia knew that you weren’t wearing any bra underneath. He was also willing to bet that you didn’t wear any panties either.

“You-” his words were cut off when he saw your pout, even more so when he felt the fabric of your sweater moved, he looked down and saw that half of your areola were exposed to him.

You smiled at him sweetly, knowing that you’ve already won.

“I missed you so much~” You whined, acting pitiful and cute as you discreetly directed his hand to your lubed up and throbbing pussy.

“I prepared your lunch~” You looked at him from underneath your lashes, drawing attention to your glossed lips, colored pink, and Tartaglia gave up. In a flash, he had brought you home between one breath and the next.

And then you found yourself lying on the bed, you blinked in confusion until you found your arms tied with his jacket, the rest of the sleeves tied to the headboard and you purred in delight.

“Darling~ I’ve been such a good girl right?” You asked coyly, legs already spread and showing him your throbbing pussy, anticipating his thick and long cock fucking you stupid.

Tartaglia didn’t answer before leaving the room with agitation, you spotted his cock straining against his pants and grinned.

You were getting fucked today up until the next day. You smiled pleased at the outcome of the brainstorming you had with your friends. You were so caught up in the euphoria of your apparent success that you forgot who your opponent was. Tartaglia was a trained soldier, a genius in the battlefield and a Harbinger.

He also had the additional boon of knowing you.

Which meant that from the moment you had shown up wearing the virgin killing sweater, he knew that you were planning something. He wasn’t the type to fall for the same trick twice, you wearing the sweater that made both of you graduate from being virgins wouldn’t have the same effect on him again.

Yes, it still drove him mad but compared to the first time you had used it, Tartaglia could keep his wits with him.

So your plan of using a sex potion laced lunch fell through. Tartaglia was sure that he knew what you were planning and decided to use it for his own agenda. A quick survey of the kitchen and he was able to easily deduce where you hid the remaining stash of the potion.

He grinned once he found it and quickly made his way back to you. He whistled at the sight of you, acting like you were in heat. You fluttered your lashes at him and he grinned at you wolfishly.

“I trust that you can recognize this?” He asked as his right hand shook the bottle filled with pink liquid while his left hand deftly unbuckled his pants.

“...Oh” You gulped realizing that you were now playing in the palm of Tartaglia’s hands.

His grin grew sharp, the sight of it sending your pussy throbbing as you bit your lip in anticipation.

“Look at you, being a slut. Is my cock all you can think about?” He teased as his left hand began rubbing his dick, precum dribbling out of his head.

“I also think about your abs and your mouth” You replied, while your eyes stared at his cock, tongue peaking out of your mouth.

He wipes off his precum with his fingers and slowly wiped it on the folds of your pussy, you moaned, moving your hips up to rub against his fingers until they slipped in.

“Hngg!”

His fingers make a quick work out of you, slipping in and out, building a rhythm that had you moaning loudly, until the sound of your pussy’s squelch echoed loudly in the apartment. Your eyes were closed from the pleasure of his calloused fingers rubbing your walls, making you clench and pulsate.

“Cock-Tartagli-a” Your voice shook as you began to beg, “I need your cock inside--!”

You came loudly as his fingers curled and you squirted while his fingers didn’t stop moving inside you. Tartaglia’s fingers were drenched with your juice when he removed it from your pussy, the sheets were drenched with your squirt and you lay limply on the bed.

The top of your sweater were bunched in the middle of your breast, exposing your erect nipples to the cold air and Tartaglia’s hungry eyes. He brought the bottle on top of your twitching pussy, smiled at you and said,

“Congratulations, my beloved slut, you’ll finally be my cumdump today~”

You stared blankly as you watched him open the bottle, spreading your pussy lips and dumping the entire content of the aphrodisiac into your pussy. You struggled once you felt the foreign intrusion of the bottle’s neck, its effect was instantaneous, your protest turned into a moan as you felt your mind become clouded with pleasure.

Tartaglia watched with fascination as he saw your panic melt into euphoria, the look in your eyes was lustful and wanton as you began to loudly beg for his cock. Tears dripping from your face when he only slipped in his fingers,

“Nooo~!” You cried “Cock! I want your cock!”

Your tearful begging was all it took for him to stop teasing you and thrusting his cock inside you. There was no resistance at all from your pussy, his head went inside smoothly, hitting you all the way to your wall, you moaned in pleasure, legs automatically clamping around his waist.

Tartaglia groaned at the wonderful feeling of your heat, a night of not having your pussy warm his cock was enough to drive him insane. He was a fool to not have slept with you last night.

He kissed you fervently, drowning your moans and lustful cries while his hips moved, thrusting his cock back and forth inside your wet and hot pussy. His bare chest rubbed your sensitive nipples as his body rocked back and forth in time with his hips.

“I love you” He whispered in your ears over and over again as he fucked you senseless, like a beast while you clawed at his back, mouth drooling and eyes rolled back from the pleasure.

The aphrodisiac was affecting you both, fucking frenzily to reach new heights of pleasure. Tartaglia came inside you again and again, even so his dick didn’t turn flaccid remaining hard even after multiple orgasm until your pussy felt raw.

Adrenaline rushing to your veins made you not care, you only cared about two things, Tartaglia and his cock. Your pussy was filled to the brim, abused with Tartaglia’s thick cock that repeatedly dumped his cum on your loose pussy.

Time passed but the sounds of sex didn’t stop as day turned into night.His coat was torn and your clothes turned into rags, Tartaglia had changed your position, fucking your from behind, with your ass up, thick ropes of cum, dried and drying covered your ass and back, some of it dripping from your pussy, others coating your legs and face.

He had truly turned you into his cum dump.

“Such a good slut!” Tartaglia praised as he thrusted into you, his cock pushing out his old cum from your pussy, “so good for me!”

His praise made you so happy, your back arching to give him a better angle. You clenched on his cock as he came again, milking him of his cum.

Tartaglia slipped his cock out, shushing you gently when you whined from the empty feeling. He observed your pussy, your whole was loose enough that he could see how much cum was inside you, your clit and labias were covered with dripping cum, your asshole twitching and overflowing with his earlier cum.

He smiled, “ Looks like you can easily take my cock in foul legacy form”

“No-no! It’s too big!” You cried out in panic, covering your pussy.

Your fearful eyes, hiding the lust behind it made him hornier. He smiled and transformed.

You watched with your own eyes as he donned his armor, eyes staring at his cock that grew larger before it was covered by leather. You gulped.

‘Was that a knot?’ you thought as you felt your pussy grow wetter.

“I promise I’ll be gentle”

His monstrous cock was before your eyes, it made your mouth water and then he began with fucking your mouth. You felt him reach all the way back until he hit your throat, pleasure and pain mixing together as you tried not to gagged as he used your mouth. His cock was huge and thick, veins throbbing as you did your best to blow him.

You cried as you weakly clung to his clothes, slowly losing your mind to the pleasure. He came inside your mouth, cum pouring down your throat as he gently pulled out, you closed your eyes and tried to gather the excess that dribbled from your mouth to your palm.

“Swallow it” He ordered and you happily, greedily obeyed.

Even the cum on your hand was drunk, it was thick and delicious, sweet. You opened your mouth, tongue hanging out for him to see your obedience.

His clawed hands gently ruffled your head, the pointed tips scratching your head and awakening something in you.

“Now take my cock” He said as he lifted you up and then plunged your pussy to his erection.

You moaned loudly, your stomach bulging out from his cock.

“Too much~” You cried, even as you began to move your hips, “you’re too big! I-it won’t fit inside!”

You moaned as his clawed hands helped you move up and down, making your breasts jiggle with each motion as you begged for mercy even though your body was honestly enjoying his cock.

He slipped his cock outside of your pussy, rubbing your cum covered clit and reaching all the way to your cum drenched tits.

“Nooo! Don’t take it out!” You begged in tears.

It was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Reason was thrown out of the window and he mounted you, pushing his cock all the way in, a miracle, that had you crying out in pleasure as he fucked you raw.

His old cum was pushed out with each thrust, clawed hands pressing on your back and holding your hips like you were a living fleshlight. Your lewd voice begging him for more as he ripped away the rest of your torn clothes.

He reached out for him, drawing him close until his mask opened and a long pointed tongue came out and entangled with yours. You made out with Foul Legacy as cock fucked your pussy raw, scraping out the cum until you came over and over again. Your thighs were drenched again, the bed shaking enough for the headboard to bang against the wall loudly.

Between your numerous orgasms you passed out just as he came inside you, flooding your womb and pussy with his cum, most of it ending up on the sheets and dripping down your pussy. He pulled out and began to fuck your thighs, bedframe creaking from the sheer force of his thrust until it broke as he spurted out and covered your entire body with his cum.

He panted heavily, engraving in his mind your blissed out expressions when you fainted from the pleasure.

‘Tomorrow, we’ll talk about your reaction when you first saw me,’ He thought as he gently lifted you up from the broken bed and made his way to the living area ‘but for now I need to get all of this out of our system.’

You woke up the next morning, face down on the table as you felt your body rocking.

“Good morning, love”

Tartaglia’s voice came from behind as you arched your back and moaned from having a dick thrusted into your sore pussy.

“Ngh!”

You turned around and found yourself staring at Tartaglia’s maskless Foul Legacy form, his eyes were slanted, and hair spiked up in soft waves.

He laughed at you softly, “Have you fallen for me again?”

“Darling~ You’ve ruined me for everyone else!” You cried as you let him see how much he affected you.

He grinned and you moaned in pleasure, when his head hit your g-spot.

“We broke the bed, so the table would have to do” He explained as he began to fuck you over the table, you were too lost in the pleasure to hear his explanation.

But he was in the same predicament as well, all thoughts of talking were gone, the moment he began fucking you as he slept. At this point, the entire apartment reeked of sex and yet neither of you remembered or cared.

Other things could wait.

[obesericewrites]

Ooo, Arachnophobia, I got one

Mc is walking outside with the Ros and it begins to rain and the Ros know Mc has Ombrophobia (fear of rain) and Mc looks like they are going to pass out.

(Ombrophobia can cause high stress levels and a high heart rate, some people feel better or safer inside, while others are still anxious inside. Severe cases of Ombrophobia can make someone faint or pass out from the stress) <- hope that helps

Also if you could make Dawns reaction or Quad, Thank you for your time My Queen 👑

Interesting, I’ve never heard of ombrophobia. So, thank you for the context, my gremlin! This is going to be a good practice for my new writing style.

As I’m focusing more on chapter one, I’m not posting as much. So, because of that I’m trying to write more in the RO asks! So that everyone has a bit more to read while I work ^^ I look forward to everyone’s feedback on this new style~

M: You honestly didn’t notice. You were to busy shopping with M. Buying them thicker cloaks and some nicer things, ignoring their complaints. When you noticed the clouds hanging over you, it was to late.

The second you feel water touch your head, you whole body becomes tense. Inhaling sharply, you slowly look up. Staring up at the clouds that slowly began to pour down onto your face. You can feel your body begin to shake as you feel like your legs are glued to the ground.

Just as panic begins to set in, your vision becomes black. Blinking, you quickly turn to M. Who was by your side, holding their cloak above you. Pulling you into their grasp, scooping you into their arms. Hunching over your form as they quickly move towards your shop.

They barely give you time to panic before they start making random noises in an attempt to comfort you. They vary from loud rumbles that sound like thunder, to a low; almost purr like sound. When the rain gets heavier. They speed up and begin to talk.

“Almost there. Almost.” They chant under their breath.

As soon as you enter your shop, M places you on your feet and quickly makes worried noises. Hovering over you like a worried hen. As you take a moment to calm yourself, you give them a shaky smile. Your glad they acted so quickly. You have no doubt that if they weren’t there, you would’ve froze.

The two of you spend time together. You waste no time brewing a warm cup of tea for the both of you to share, just taking a moment to collect the liquids warmth. Though, you two aren’t alone for long as Dawn slams open the door with a wicked smile on her mud covered face. Now you have a messy wolf pup to keep you distracted.

S: You shouldn’t have ignored the signs. The scent of rain was strong this morning, along with the sight of the heavy clouds just above the horizon. You just assumed you’d be finished with this by the time it started raining. You were wrong.

S had come with you. Poking and teasing you the entire way towards your shop. They had found you making a large purchase and immediately became suspicious on were you got the money. Like you were the sneaky assassin and not some tailor. Now, they were just bickering with you. “Can’t believe you out of everyone is making a dress for a lords wife!”

You were about to let out a scolding remark, when a drop of rain splattered over the top of your head. You freeze. Stopping in the middle of the street as the grip on the fabrics in your arms tightened. You felt your heart stop the second more water began to scatter all over your body.

You distantly hear a loud and viscous line of curses before your roughly yanked by your hand. You barley have time to squeak in surprise before you are following after S. Your footsteps thundering against the pavement as S races towards the direction of your shop. Just as it come into view, you thrown yourself forward and run.

Wasting no time to shove yourself into the shop, nearly throwing yourself to the floor with the amount of force you use to get through the door. You wouldn’t be surprised if you needed to replace the door.

You take a second to catch yourself up. Breathing heavily, you place the fabrics down and quickly turn back towards S. A thanks dancing on your tongue until you see them….face first on the cobblestone floor. Just laying there. Turns out, the force you used to push yourself forward, pulled the forward as well.

Though they didn’t catch themselves. You can’t help the laughter that crawls up your throat. As soon as the noise escapes you, S is on their feet charging at you. A look of faux anger on their face as they collide with you. You quickly become distracted from the incident as your to busy wrestling with S.

B: You just thought you had more time. The scent of rain along with seeing the heavy clouds in the distance should've been enough. But no, you ignored all those signs and just assumed you'd...have more time.

Your heart dropped to the ground the second you felt a few drops of water hit your scalp. Your mouth going dry as you snap your mouth shut with a loud click of your teeth. Inhaling sharply, you slowly hold out your hand in front of you. Watching it begin to tremble the second your whole hand is covered in water droplets.

The abrupt silence made you realize that you had cut off whatever conversation you had with B. You dully feel a hand on your shoulder, shaking you lightly. But all your senses seem to narrow down to your bare skin, as you feel every cold drop of rain against you.

Distantly, you heard B let out a sharp curse before the grip on your shoulder swiftly slid all the way down to your wrist. You barely had enough time to pick your own feet up before you were roughly yanked forward. “Focus on moving your feet!”

You trusted B. This isn’t the first time this had happened to you with them. They practically knew everything like the back of their hand. When your pushed into a small dry space inside a small shop, B is hovering over you for a few seconds. You wasted no time quickly drying yourself off, eyes racing across your own body. Cringing at the sight of your mud covered shoes.

After a moment or two, B comes closer to you. Pushing you deeper into the shop, face aimed outside for a second before turning back towards you. “It’s alright now. Come on, let’s go get something to snack on while we wait for the rain to stop.”

Turns out that shop you are in is Bs bakery. They have plenty of sweets fit for your tastes to help calm you down, along with a hot cup of tea of sweets aren’t your fancy.

Dawn: You should’ve said no. Dawn would’ve understood. You knew she would. But the expression on her face was one of pure innocence and an alarming amount of expectation. So, you caved. You thought that since the clouds where far over the mountains, miles away from your village; you assumed you could make it.

As you reached out to grasp a small shiny rock that you immediately knew Dawn would absolutely adore, you felt water droplets fall onto the nape of your neck. You could feel your entire body shudder as your froze, hand still outstretched towards the small item.

You barely have enough time to sink into the panicking feeling before a sudden presence is in front of you. Dawn. She roughly grasps you by your outstretched hand and yanks you to your feet. “Danger! You smell fearful! Hide! Let’s hide!” She barked, glowering up at the sky. Nearly dragging you, which gives you barley enough time to stumble after her.

In the small of the thicket, there were plenty of trees hiding you from the rain. Dawns rapid zigzagging along with hopping over fallen logs or scattered stones distracted your from the water that was starting to become heavy on your back.

Just as you are sure, that you are going to fall flat on your face and get your teeth caved in. Dawn stops, causing you to nearly trample over her if she didn’t sidestep and shove you on your side. You do, indeed end up face first into the ground. Though luckily, as you slide your tongue over your teeth, none of them are caved in.

You groan as you attempt to sit up. Only to realize your in a hole of a wooden tree. Looking up with wide eyes, you stare up at Dawns beaming face. Her entire body covered in dirt and grass, along with her curly hair damped by the heavy rain. “Hide, hide like little fox! Little foxes hide.” She giggled, joining you swiftly.

Her babbles about small foxes along with her pointing at the wooden carvings inside of the tree was more than enough to keep you distracted from the rain that didn’t even seem to bother getting near the large tree.

By the time the raining ends, you know every foxes name along with their lineage in the forest.

[amistytown]

Power Over Me (Leviathan x GN!MC)

Leviathan x GN!MC as Lord of Shadow and Henry; MC is referred to as Henry but remains gender-neutral. I enjoy the TSL lore in Obey Me and wanted to write a bit for it. I initially had an alternate ending in mind, but I decided to save it for another idea I might write at some point. Tried to keep Levi in character while giving him and the story a slightly different feel since it takes place in a fantasy world. Also listened to Power Over Me by Dermot Kennedy on repeat while I wrote this so chose to title it accordingly. Hopefully, it turned out all right. Trigger warning for mentions of blood and self-deprecating thoughts. Mostly some angst with fluff. As always, sorry for the typos that I may have missed, and thank you to everyone who takes the time to read. I appreciate it!

Lightning illuminates the throne room, the Lord of Shadow watching the rain batter the windows, gaze sullen. A storm rages outside, mirroring the flood of emotion bursting forth to drown him in misery. Though he can only hold himself accountable, allowing his envy to fester and take possession of his heart in a moment of weakness. He regrets the letters he frantically wrote in his jealously, the heated words exchanged between you, and your pain forever engrained into the parchment, the ink smudged by your tears, which now lay in pieces at his feet. He considered to make the journey to you, begging for your forgiveness, but he knows he’s undeserving. Instead, he mourns the loss of your friendship, the loneliness left in its wake burning him from the inside out as he cries into his hands, his tortured sobs lost to the thunder roaring above.

The doors swing open, light spilling in from the hall. He recoils at the intrusion, anger welling and threatening to spill over, his patience worn thin. A growl dies in his throat, eyes widening at the vision before him, so beautiful and precious his entire being aches with longing. Slowly, he takes in the sight of you, engraving every detail into his memory. Your windswept hair and the raindrops trickling down your face, clinging to your lashes and following the curve of your lips as you smile sweetly at him, staggering into his arms.

“Henry,” he whispers into the nape of your neck, daring to embrace you and revel in the feel of your body against his; your skin cool and soft, and your scent rich, intoxicating him. He’s certain he’s not worthy of your compassion, yet he can’t bear to turn you away, selfishly clinging to you and delighting in the fact you lean into him, your arms winding around his waist to pull him closer. My Henry, he thinks, tightening his grip, afraid he’ll lose you again if he’s not careful. “I’m sorry. I’m so so—”

You grow limp, legs buckling under your weight.

Fear engulfs him, heart lurching as he supports you, catching your hand in his. “Henry?” he whimpers, noticing how your chest heaves with each breath, and the way your brows knit in discomfort, a low groan slipping past clenched teeth. “Henry! What’s wrong? Tell me, please.”

“I ran into a bit of trouble on the way here,” you manage, laughing pitifully. “I didn’t realize . . .” Your fingers fumble to unclasp your cloak, and he swallows thickly at way lay beneath. Blood soaks your blouse—a sickening shade of red—the fabric sticking to your back.

“You didn’t realize?” he cries, incredulous. “Henry—”

“I just wanted to see you.” Your voice wavers, head lolling to the side. He calls to you, shaking you by the shoulders, desperate to keep you beside him. However, your eyes close, grief overtaking him when they don’t reopen.

“You’ll be okay,” he reassures, robes billowing around his ankles as he rushes down the corridor, gently cradling you to him. Guilt plagues him, reminding him how pathetic he is, especially for hurting you and putting your life at risk; how could he act so recklessly. You’re the light to his darkness, breathing life into his world, and he can’t accept losing you—his happiness—your love dispelling the shadows that once consumed him. He never knew a truer friend, and he’s positive there’s no one else who could play such an important role—you’re irreplaceable. There’s plenty of time to atone for his sins, tonight he needs to make sure you live to see the morning.

“I’ll take care of you, Henry. I promise.”

Time comes to an agonizing standstill.

The Lord of Shadow remains at your side, hoping and praying you don’t succumb to your wounds. He watches you closely, frequently checking your pulse and finding comfort in the steady beat of your heart while you sleep, looking deceivingly peaceful in his bed. His focus is on you, never straying from his true friend’s wellbeing despite his inner turmoil, which threatens to tear him apart at the seams. You keep him together, and again he’s at your mercy, owing you his life for all you’ve given him—his hero—his Henry. He hurt you, but you came to him and offered him forgiveness, willing to sacrifice yourself to save your friendship. How can you care about him with such ferocity, a brooding reclusive lord who’s unworthy of his title? No matter the days spent apart, you return to him, accepting him into your life without hesitance, and he can’t help welcoming you back with open arms.

“I’m so sorry,” he mutters. “I’m terrible. A worthless—”

“You’re not.”

For an excruciating second, he wonders if he imagined the glorious sound of your voice, and an anguished sob escapes him, tears clouding his vision. You stare up at him, eyes heavy with sleep, and a lazy smile on your lips. He’s dreaming, he reasons, shaking his head in disbelief. Then your hand is in his, familiar and warm; he shivers at your touch.

Gasping, he pulls away. “Y-you . . .”

“Forgive me,” you say, so understanding—so sweet—your kindness unfathomable. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“N-no,” he stammers, head spinning. “I’m sorry.” Tentatively, he reaches for your hand, fingers quivering as he entwines them with yours. “I’m sorry.” His tears come faster and harder, shamefully hot on his cheeks. He’s unable to articulate how sorry he is or how his very soul painfully throbs at the thought of hurting you—losing you—wishing he could turn back the clock. “For everything.”

You give his hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay,” you soothe. “I’m sorry, too.” Sitting upright, the blanket bunches at your waist, and he can see where the bandages peek out from beneath your shirt, the skin bruised, making him wince. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“I’m the reason you’re hurt,” he chokes out, averting his gaze. “It’s the least I can do.”

“It’s not your fault.”

You’re wrong, he wants to say; however, he refrains.

“I don’t blame you,” you continue. “Look at me, please?”

He shouldn’t. Surely, he looks foolish, a mere hostage to his emotions. Nevertheless, he spares you a glance, wondering why you regard him so kindly—lovingly even—causing his heart to flutter.

“It’s not your fault.”

Not his fault? His mind tells him differently; it’s a sea of dread and uncertainty that washes over him in waves, dragging him under. The sincerity of your words is difficult to ignore, and, in that instance, he decides to trust you, finally breaking the surface. “Henry,” he murmurs, hugging you to him, arms wrapping around you protectively as if to shield you from the world. His tears wet your hair, body trembling, and you hold him, letting him come undone in your embrace.

“I wanted to see you,” you say, setting him alight. “I couldn’t bear the thought of you suffering on your own.”

“Henry—”

“I know you’re struggling. It’s okay. I’m here.” You rub his back, resting your head on his chest. “I’ll always come when you call.”

“You’re the truest of friends, Henry. I fear I’m not worthy . . .”

“Of course, you are. I’ve never known a truer friend than you, my lord.”

“I can’t help worrying someone will steal you away. It’s selfish of me, I know. Though I feel so inferior in comparison. Sometimes I think you’re better off without me.” When he learned you met with the Lord of Corruption, his insecurities grew, fanning the flames of his envy. Why choose him over his brother? The Lord of Corruption could provide you with more than he can give. The rest of his brothers, too; they could care for you—protect you—unlike him. You’re here with him though, leaving his brother behind at a moment’s notice, and you did come when he called, eager to please. He wants to return the sentiment. “I can’t articulate how important you are to me. I . . . you’re so special, Henry.”

“No. No one compares to you.” Your praise captivates him. “All I ask is for you to trust me. Talk to me so I can help you. I accept you, all of you, and that’s not going to change. I love you as you are.”

“Love me?” he breathes.

“Yes, I love you.”

A simple but genuine vow of love. He stills, terrified he’ll faint in your arms as he hides his face, heart racing. The cynical part of him says it’s too good to be true, but he knows better—he knows you. He’s envisioned this moment, and it’s far sweeter than his fantasies, your love a beautiful feeling that sweeps him off his feet.

“Have you slept?”

He sighs, mouth unbearably dry. “No.”

“Come to bed. You should rest.”

“Henry! W-with you?”

“You say that as if it’s the first time we’ve shared a bed,” you tease.

“You’ll be the death of me.” Although he complains, the bed dips beneath his weight as he settles beside you, reaching for your hand. “Is this, okay?”

“It is.” Shifting onto your side, your hand tightens around his, a flicker of pain twisting your features.

He tenses, frowning. “Are you okay?”

“I’m all right. Better, thanks to you.”

He can see the exhaustion in your eyes, the dark circles beneath them, and the stiffness of your movements, betraying the smile you wear for him.

“Who hurt you?” he asks.

“No one you need to worry about. Not now.”

Unsurprising. You’re his Henry, besting him and his brothers on multiple occasions; anyone who chose to challenge you is a fool. Yet, your blood flowing freely, covering his hands—the ungodly stench—stayed with him. He clearly recalls your lifeless body, and how the color drained from your face, the heaviness of his heart breaking when he believed he lost you twice in one day. You looked so fragile then and do now, trusting him at your most vulnerable. Hatred for the one who dared to harm you runs deep and for himself for not protecting the one he loves.

“I thought I lost you,” he admits, inhaling sharply. “I-I . . .”

“You didn’t. You won’t.” You catch his tears as they fall. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“I love you, too.” His declaration is quick and clumsy but true; he’s loved you for so long.

Caging you in his arms, he hovers over you, peering down at you shyly. His body shakes with every beat of his heart, ears ringing, but he admires you, gaze affectionate and a light blush dusting your cheeks. He’s scared. He’s scared of losing you most of all, trying to muster half the courage he knows you possess. “I love you, Henry,” he says softly, clutching your hand, his lifeline. Closing the distance between you, he catches your lips in a tender kiss, the magnificence of it sending a rush of blood to his head. He forgets how to breathe, dizzy on the taste of your love, and collapses next to you, questioning if he died and ascended to the heavens. With you by his side the future is much brighter, and, for once, he looks forward to what it brings.

[symphonicmetal101]

Babysitting in the Devildom

Chapter Six: Beel- Dinner Indifference

"Beel n-"

Solomon had to cast a teleportation spell before he could even finish his sentence. Beel's wings fluttered furiously as he burst through a portal and into Solomons arms instead. He immediatly clamped down on Solomons shoulder and started to chew. Solomon sighed as he watched his cloak get drooled on, big violet eyes watching him back as more of the cloth disappeared into his mouth.

Solomon paused. Should he take Beel to you? You seemed to know what you were doing but you also already had Asmo and portioning out food for the rest of the kids...Beel would be in the presence of food either way. He glanced back down and the chipmunk-cheeked Beel and considered trying to take the cloak out of his mouth.  Buuuuut if Beel cried again it was his fault, again...but he really shouldnt be eating fabric...not that it would ruin his appetite but-

He was running out of time to make a decision as the delivery person made their way back to the door. Beel seemed content eating his cloak for now. Beel would be fine, right? Yeah- its Beel. Solomon tightened his grip just slightly on the baby as he approached the front door again, ready to take the bags.

He should have taken Beel to you.

It was like fighting Taz from Looney Toons as Solomon stumbled about, half eaten cloak and a blur of movement around him as he used small portals to keep the bag of food away from Beel.

Barbatos had walked into the kitchen with Luke, wondering if he could help somehow. You had taken Luke from him and used one hand while also sometimes directing him on how to help you while Asmo followed behind him to make sure each plate "looked pretty". Everything was going really well....until the other bag of food appeared suddenly in your free hand and you heard a demonic screech come from the hallway and a loud buzzing noise which was curiously silenced soon after, though Asmo had given you wide berth after hearing that. You sighed and asked Barb to continue portioning things and to go tell the rest of the kids that if they had to go to the bathroom, the time was now. You held Luke close to you as you ventured just outside the kitchen doors and nearly bumped into Solomon.

".....I can expl-"

"Why is Beel eating your clothes?"

You didnt really want to laugh for fear of waking Luke up, but a wide silly smile bloomed on your face as you watched Beel use both his tiny fists to stuff more of Solomons cloak into his mouth, wide eyes staring at you as he cooed a bit and continued to stuff his face, Solomons cloak almost gone.

Solomon had a combination of exasperation and amusement on his face. "Uh...well I didnt want him to cry or attack the food- o-or you so I.....I fed him my cloak."

"....wHY? Earlier you were summoning food for him- you could have done that again right- or multiplied the food we already have even if he ate the bags worth of food-"

You were still smiling, the whole situation a little ridiculous as Beel finished Solomons cloak and started to sniffle, pouting and making grabby hands to the air for more.

Solomon paused before a goofy smile spread across his face as he summoned a popsicle to give to Beel. "I. Dont. Know." He laughed a bit before smiling fondly at you. "This is why you're the one in charge." He started to walk past you into the kitchen, but not before a quick kiss was planted on your temple and a small smirk at your expression was given to you. You gave yourself a moment before joining him and Barb, and a slightly startled looking Asmo.

".....can I have a posicle before dinner too?"

Asmo looked up at Solomon, pleading who just shrugged. "Thats not up to me." He looked at you and smirked a bit. *Motherfucker*

Asmo gasped and skipped his way to you, big, pleading amber eyes as he batted his eyelashes. "May I have a posicle before dinner too please? Pretty please with a cherry on top?"

It was too much. From the way he asked politely, to the way he said popsicle, to his little pose and big ole eyes-

You looked around the table of happy faces as all the kids destroyed popsicles that Solomon had summoned for them, all save for Beel, Barb, Diavolo, and Lucifer untouched food in front of them.

"POPSICLES FOR DINNNNNERRRRR!"

"They said we still have to eat our food if we want to have dessert tomorrow."

"But I'm not hungry anymore..."

"....I guess I can try to eat some food but Im full from the popsicle..."

"LOOKIT IM PUTTING MY FRIES IN MY ICE CREAM!  But I aint havin the green stuff, thats yucky."

"You're yucky Mammon."

"HEY-"

"My father would NEVER let me do this!! Thank you MC!!!!"

A chorus of thank yous came from all of the kids, luckily before another fight. You sighed softly and forced a small smile as you said "youre welcome". You figured they wouldnt eat their food if they had popsicles. The bigger kids had eaten their food, and Beel had no problem eating his portion and Belphies who....oh. Belphie was sleeping in his mashed potatoes. You glanced around the table again, noting all the sticky faces and hands and...bodies in Satan and Luke's case. Solomon looked exhausted as he summoned another piece of food for Beel. Asmo was trying so hard to eat some more of his food but only ate a few more bites and looked a little upset. Mammon had eaten his fries, at least.

".....if youre full, give your food to Beel. Dont make yourself eat anymore, its ok. I just need to talk to Sol for a minute, ok?" You smiled as you walked to take Belphie out of his highchair and gestured to Solomon to put Beel in. He was a little confused but did so as you wiped some of the potatoes off Belphies face.

Levi spoke up very quietly. "Can we still have dessert tomorrow if we didnt finish our food for dinner?" The sound of plates being pushed towards Beel paused as the kids all looked at you, waiting for an answer.

".....it depends on how well you eat your breakfast tomorrow.." you smiled as the kids thanked you again as you asked Barb and Lucifer to make sure Beel didnt eat the actual plates as you took Solomon and Belphie into the kitchen.

"How are you feeling...you look exhausted.." geniune concern on your face once you had Solomon basically alone. His face twisted slightly and he sighed. "I had hoped the rejuevenating spell I casted would re-energize me more than it did...why? Are you worried?~" he smirked slightly, though it fell just short of smug. You rolled your eyes a bit and ruffled is hair, your turn to smirk as his face turned light pink and started to protest, pouting when you stopped, though you werent sure if it was because you stopped or because you ruffled his hair in the first place. You stopped his protesting by asking your next question, also avoiding answering his question. "Do you have enough energy to clean all of them or am I going to bathe them in an actual bath..."

"....I? It should be we..."

"Well if you're tired you should rest...I'll need your help tomorrow too..."

"I can sleep after the baths..."

"But if we're doing the baths then I need you to cast one last spell to keep the water in the tubs..."

"So I'll sleep after that spell...maybe..."

You gave him a withering look before sighing, though appreciative of his stubborness....for once. You smiled a bit.

"Alright then. Bath time. Especially for the babies. The bigger ones can probably just shower.... Belphie, Luke and Satan need baths the most. Beel made sure his food ended up *in* his mouth....the others..." you chuckled as you peeked back into the dining room, seeing only Barbatos' face clean, and Lucifer and Asmo both fussing over the little mess they had on themselves, Lucifer using Asmos mirror, and Asmo following Lucifers every action to get clean. You brought your attention back to the sleeping Belphie in your arms.

"....do you think he'll stay asleep for bath time?"

"Its Belphie. He could sleep through anything."

"Dont jinx it." You sighed softly and looked out at the kids again, some playing tag, others just watching. Satan continued to mash his food onto the platter in front of him, Luke giggling and copying in glee. Solomon tapped your shoulder to get your attention again.

"Are you ok? The bags under ypur eyes could hold all my potions-"

"Shut up- maybe if a certain sorceror had been more careful I wouldnt be as tired....not to mention the popsicle before dinner was a bad mov-" you were interrupted by Barb lightly tapping your arm.

"Sorry to interrupt, but I was just wondering if you want me to wash the dishes or just leave them in water in the sink....or if you have a dishwasher..." you were a little surprised when you turned and saw him carrying all the dishes from the table, and Lucifer behind him with garbage. Simeon was wiping down the table with a cloth, but gave the younger ones in high chairs some room. Diavolo was trying to talk to Lucifer, who just kinda kept nodding and saying "oh thats cool" before looking at you almost desperately. His look brought you back to your senses as you nodded at Barb.

"Just in the sink with water is fine, thank you Barbatos. Thank you for cleaning up Lucifer, Simeon. It makes a huge difference to me."

Barb and Simeon beamed, and Lucifer managed a small smile before shooting Diavolo a dirty look, but the other boy didnt notice, too busy rambling on about how this was so much better than home for the upteenth time. Ypu ruffled Lucifers hair as he walked by, and noted Diavolo's slight stumble in words as he eyed you a bit, but rushed past to go talk to Barb, glancing back at you, almost pleading, though your attention was divided again as you felt Levi hug you and snuggle into your side wordlessly. You patted his head softly and turned back to Solomon.

"I'll answer that question later. For now lets clean up. Then bath time."

Levi squeezed you a bit and beamed. "I love bath time!! I can do it myself! I promise, I can! I can!"

Though Levi couldnt see it, Mammon was mocking him from behind. You gave him a bit of a "look" before the hem of your shirt was being tugged at and you were met with those same amber eyes that had persuaded you into giving everyone treats for dinner. "I love bath time too! Me too! But you have to watch me. I make great bubble hair dos! A-and guess what? In the water, it might look like I have legs, but really Im a mermaid!"

"And Im a sea dragon!!" Levi cried out, still wanting your attention. "And Asmo, you're not really a mermaid-"

"Am too!"

"Are no-"

"Everyone can be who or whatever they want to be, in the water or otherwise. Fooooor example, I'm actually a sheep, see I go baaaaa" you smiled softly, and winked at Levi before turning to Asmo again who was practically dancing at your side, bursting to ask you a question. "Whats the prettiest animal you like mc?!!!"

"....whats your favourite sea animal mc?"

"Whats the coolest animal mc! No wait- whats your favourite animal?!"

"Yeah, whats your favourite animal?!"

"Oi, I asked em first!"

"Guys its ok, you can all be my or your favourite animal. Theres more than one of each." You chuckled, listing off animals as more questions were asked, meowing at Satan as you handed Belphie to Sol and took him out of his chair, who happily meowed back as you lead your noisy little zoo to the communal bathroom.

Masterlist

[sugarandspice-games]

Lucifer comforts an abused MC with a PTSD flashback

Wooo! Our first ever imagine! This one ended up being really long, so I’m sorry about that. If anyone else would like to request one, please read here!

[TW: PTSD, depression, allusions and mentions to past emotional and physical abuse plus quotes from abusers]

The week was... rough, to say the least. The blustering cold of winter started to encroach on the crisp air of fall, which meant that midterm exams were creeping closer. The lessons, which you had once found fun, started to get tiring since it was an endless slog of reviewing for the big test coming up.

Furthermore... you missed everyone. The brothers, Solomon, Simeon, Luke... Lucifer. It seemed that, because everyone was either studying (or preparing for the post-exam party) nobody had any time for you. You were lonely and depressed.

So, even though you wanted to do well on the test, your heart just wasn’t in your studies. It got to the point where you spent more and more time alone in your room, sleeping until you couldn’t sleep anymore. You even started zoning out during classes, which resulted in one or two teachers snapping at you. Some students also remarked that you were useless, as the only human student with no magic... a lot of them gossipped that you were only there because Lucifer liked you, which got back to him.

Eventually, enough was enough. The rumors compounded upon his worry, and he decided it was time to pay you a visit in your room on Saturday night.

You didn’t have any classes that day, so you were laying in your bed, scrolling on your phone, when you heard the knock at your door. It sounded... rather harsh compared to the usual rapping on your door, so you tensed. Something was wrong.

“Come in.”

The door creaked open. Lucifer stood in the doorway, his eyebrows knit together in a stern expression, and he sighed.

“Sit up.”

You groaned, pushing yourself away from the comforting warmth of your mattress, the heat tempting you to flop back down... but you managed, the blankets falling off of your shoulders.

“We need to have a serious discussion about your... lack of effort.”

Your heart and your eyes burned at his words, your face going pale. Luckily, your cheeks still felt dry, but you trembled as you spoke.

“I’m... sorry. I know I haven’t been trying as hard as I could have.” You fall silent, not able to say much more.

“Then why aren’t you making more of an effort?” He paused, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Really, MC. I don’t want you to be unprepared for your midterms, but it seems that I’m alone in that desire. You’ve barely left your room or touched your textbooks. You should study in the library instead of your room if you get distracted by the urge to sleep. I already have enough trouble trying to get my brothers to pay attention. I don’t want to have to worry about you as well.”

“I’m...”

“I don’t want you to apologize again, I want you to work harder. I’m very disappointed in you.”

You were already zoning out again, but that final comment was the nail in your coffin. Your grip on reality finally snapping as your eyes lost focus, your mind drifted off to a dark place from your past, and before you could understand what was happening, you could no longer sense Lucifer or your current surroundings, only the cruel words from others you loathed to remember-- the ones you couldn’t help but remember:

“You’re such a useless, clumsy moron! This is why nobody wants to be around you!”

“I wish you would just die.”

“Why can’t you pay attention to anything? Is your brain broken or something? Nobody likes broken people.”

“You disgust me. You make me want to hit you. Do you want that?! Do you want me to hurt you?!”

But the worst echoed in your head over, and over, and over again.

“I’m disappointed in you. I can’t believe I made the mistake of thinking you were better than that.”

Your lip trembled as you finally managed to speak, in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

“P-please... st...stop...”

Lucifer rambled for awhile, mostly giving you advice on how you could improve in your studies, but he finally paused when he heard you whimper. He came closer, but you didn’t react to his towering presence. Your eyes looked wild and unfocused, and he cleared his throat.

“Excuse me? I didn’t hear what you said.”

You didn’t respond, still caught up in the painful memories.

“MC? Are you paying attention?”

Still nothing. And that’s when he saw it-- your skin losing its normal healthy hue, looking slightly grey and your quivering fingertips digging into your biceps.

“Oh... what have I done?”

Lucifer’s mind screamed at him to do something, anything, berated him for being so harsh to you. He knew you had a history with abuse before you came to the Devildom; he took you to one of the counselors at RAD when you experienced a similar flashback before. What he failed to notice was how on-edge you had been the whole week.

And oh, he could understand. The harsh environment that his ‘Father’ provided him, the pressure to be heaven’s perfect angel... he had experienced similar, though not quite the same. But he often fell back into old habits, pressuring everyone else to be perfect as well so that they wouldn’t be punished, even if there was no risk of that here.

Finally making himself focus on the situation at hand, he tried to remember what humans needed to ground themselves. Since you couldn’t see or hear him, he’d need something you could touch, or possibly smell. He took his cloak from his shoulders and draped it over yours, placing some of the soft, velvety fabric over your fingers and letting the fur collar tickle your cheek. The spicy scent from his cologne drifted over your nose, and you could feel the comforting, warm weight against you.

You blinked. And for a second that seemed to last an hour, you stared blankly ahead, finally getting a grasp of your surroundings before your gaze drifted down to Lucifer, who knelt at your bedside. His hand clasped around your thigh to steady you in case you were dizzy.

“I...” you began, but he cut you off.

“Please, do not apologize,” he said, “I am the one who is sorry. I was the one who was not paying attention... to you, or anything else. I was... worried that you would fail, and irrational as it may be to fear that, I was afraid you would get hurt if you did. I should not have been so harsh.”

Your eyes finally filled with tears, and you sobbed. Lucifer pushed himself onto your bed, holding you tightly in his arms.

“I-I just... I was doing the best I could, but I can’t focus and I-I... everyone is too busy, and I can’t talk to anyone! A-a-and then you said you were disappointed... Do you hate me?” you cried, clinging to him and soaking his shirt with tears and snot.

He ignored the mess and gently stroked your hair, cuddling you against him.

“Of course I don’t hate you, and I’ll tell you that as many times as you need to hear it. I could never hate someone that I love, no... someone I adore so much. My heart belongs to you, as yours does to me.” He placed a sweet kiss to the top of your head, trying to stifle his own tears. He had really hurt you, hadn’t he? And yet, you were the one worrying if he hated you... “I am sorry. I love you so much. I will try to spend more time with you if you are lonely, and perhaps I can help you if you cannot focus on your studies. We could review together, if you would like.”

You nod, too teary and shaky to form words as you snuggle against him. You both stay like that for a long time, tangled around each other in your bed, before you spent the rest of the night in his room, listening to music together and relaxing while he stroked and kissed you.

Tomorrow, he would help you get caught up on your studies, but tonight, he cared about nothing but showing you how much he loved you, even if people in your life before you came to the Devildom failed to do so.

[thefallendivine]

Everly: Lost and Found

As I have already written the scenes where the MC and the Guardian companion met, I saw it fit to finally post the introductory shorts for the Guardians. This is for the first one.

WARNING: Minor spoilers ahead. If you want to keep your surprise about the Guardians for when the game releases in the distant future, then scroll past this post. 

--

Rain and an abandoned road: a depressing combination for a teamster.  Made worse by the slow pace of the pair of arcane oxen that pulls on the train of carts— ychen bannog, the Giants call them. They are a large, hairy, and long-horned bovine with a boulder-like hump between its shoulders that is magically bred to be a food source for the Giantkind of Rhal Vahald. As their meat is too tough for the tastes of other races, they instead use the ychen bannog as draft animals for their formidable strength and ability to traverse both dry and wet terrain.

Hitting bumps along the trail that cuts through a field of reed, the chains that secure the interlinked carts rattle as the cages teeter on top of the wheeled wood rafts. Along with the downpour and the occasional whimpers from the children gagged and hog-tied inside the canvased cages, they are the only tether the carter, Riegel, has to reality. Driving through the Secret Road is otherwise monotonous when the visibility is too poor that it truly shrouds its “secrets”.

People who use the road and the vast field embraced by its rain and mist know to look but never to tell, as legends proven true in the past hold a tight grip in the minds of those who hear them. Clandestine dealings, forbidden meetings, escapees in hiding, disposal of high profile bodies or unwanted children, all of these are common in the Secret Road. For slave traders, it is the perfect road to move their goods; it keeps their business afloat and away from attention during transport. It is a blessing. And it is a gold mine.

And today, Riegel has struck a vein.

From his elevated seat, Riegel can see a child in a black and white dress walking ahead, going in the same direction as his wagon train. He perks up, surprised at the quality of the girl’s attire. Whether lost or abandoned, there is no reason not to add such a find in the pile.

Tugging at the reins, Riegel halts the huge beasts of burden ways away from the child. A couple of snorts and a few clip-clops of hooves later, he is signaling to his co-workers in the carts to keep the children quiet before proceeding to approach the little girl, who has now turned around in apparent notice of the conspicuous large beasts, sleepy brown eyes watching as Riegel plants a practiced smile on his lips. Supplying a smooth wave of the hand, he calls out loudly to be heard in the rain yet friendly to match the expression he adopted.

“Hey, little girl, where did you come from?” Riegel proceeds to look around, a show of confusion despite having none. “What are you doing in the middle of the road? In the rain?”

The girl does not reply.

Riegel takes of his cloak before squatting down, encircling his arms to put the damp fabric around the girl. “Here,” he says, pulling the hood over her light blonde head. “I can take you home if you want.”

Still no reply.

Such a thing is not unusual when it comes to children who have been thrust into such misfortune. Uncontrollable sobs and fear usually keep them from even uttering something remotely discernible. The girl is overcome by neither, yet she does not speak.

Stranger still for Riegel is that the girl has not a trace of any kind of reaction on her face. Much like a doll, both physically and emotionally.

All alone up until now, in the dark, in the cold, and the young child is unafraid. Faced with a stranger brought by large beasts and she does not even bat an eye.

A sudden shudder creeps up his back but Riegel brushes it off as nothing more than a bodily reaction to exposure.

“Do you see my wagons?” Riegel asks, jerking his head back, at which the girl’s eyes finally moves to look. “It’s much warmer over there. Come on.”

His hand presented in invitation, Riegel gives the girl the chance to come amicably. For any bruise on such a fair skin will diminish the value that Riegel sees in her.

After what feels like a long wait under the heavy rain, the girl’s gaze trains back on Riegel’s. Her hand lifts slowly, the man's smile growing wider as it inches closer to his.

But her small hand moves higher, past Riegel’s laid out hand and stopping right in front of his face. The last thing he sees is the two overlapping squares on her palm before the scenery before him changes.

Riegel sees a house on a backdrop of a sweeping pasture. He stares up at the windmill that stands tall beside the Pasturian-style cabin. The door opens, and out comes a girl of eight twin moons.

It’s her birthday today.

There is an excited smile that lights up her face as she runs up to Riegel and screams out, “Dad!”

Stooping down, Riegel catches the child and spins her around as he does, legs swinging in the air as her giggles warms his chest. Riegel ends his welcome with an embrace, clutching the girl close to him. “Wow! I was gone for a day and you’ve grown this much? My little girl’s not so little anymore.”

Stretching her arms up, she replies proudly, “Yup! I’m a grown up!”

Riegel laughs, eyes shifting ahead to his approaching wife. A serious look on her face as she looks past him; to someone behind him.

Riegel turns to find three men, familiar ones. People he has worked with in the past.

“It’s time, Riegel,” the one ahead of the trio says. “Hand the girl over.”

“What?” Riegel asks, searching the faces in front of him. “What do you mean hand her over?”

The men do not reply, but their expressions tell everything Riegel needs to know about their intentions. He looks to his wife. “Take her inside,” he tells her as he hands over his daughter.

However, instead of doing what he asked her to, Riegel’s wife walks towards the men and gives their daughter willingly.

“What are you doing?!” Riegel lunges forward, but the other two men grab hold of his arms before pinning him to the ground. “Let me— Get your filthy hands off her! Give her back!”

Riegel’s frantic sputtering is matched by his daughter’s crying, confused and afraid of what is happening. The man who holds her looks down on Riegel with pity. “She doesn’t belong to you, Riegel.”

“She’s my daughter! She—“

Riegel freezes.

She’s my daughter. But… what’s her name?

Riegel’s eyes turn manic, disgusted at himself for forgetting his daughter’s name. He forces himself to remember, the times he calls to her to do some light chores, when he first started teaching her how to say her name, or the day she was born. But there is nothing there.

Riegel looks up, only to find the people who surrounded him to be all faceless. The men, his wife, and even his daughter.

But before Riegel can question what he is seeing, the gaps in his memory start to rebuild themselves, like pieces affixing into a broken puzzle to create a big picture, one that depicts his entire life.

From his time as a boy, when he met his wife, and when they had their daughter.

Just then, Riegel finally remembers her name.

He speaks it hurriedly.

It is certain that Riegel said the name.

However, Everly does not linger long to find out what the imaginary mortal girl is called. Despite her life of eternity, she does not have the time to waste on falsities. Even if in the fantasies she crafted, the karmic punishment of the trapped individual's hallucinatory future is quite satisfying to watch.

Everly looks back at Riegel, the slaver’s head is enclosed in her cube of illusions, one that contains a whole world and a whole life she concocted for him. There were a few complications, but in the end, Everly managed to use her Rune well.

She looks up ahead, to the other insects who feed on blooming flowers. It does not hurt to get a few practices in, the road will keep her secret. After all, Everly has a lot to live up to, a lot to prove, plenty of lost time to make up for, as the Goddess of Vision and Creation.

[writer-ish]

hopeful hearts, part two

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!MC (Brooke Spiers)

Word Count: 3,750 

Rating: E (NSFW 18+)

Summary:  During the Gala, Ethan and Brooke sneak off for a more private encounter. 

This is a more detailed version of the office scene in Chapter 17, from Ethan’s POV.

PART ONE HERE. 

once again, special thanks to: @openheartthot for providing the script that started this all ♥️

Dr. Ethan Ramsey doesn’t care.

It’s a point of pride for him. He does his job - and he does it damn well - but that chip that most people have, the one that makes them ache and burn and torment themselves over the thoughts and feelings of others—no.

That he does not have.

Which is why he finds himself unable to explain—unable to reconcile with his own perceptions of himself, why the woman beside him in this moment makes him ache and burn and torment himself, day in and day out. Why the only thing he finds himself caring about is her thoughts. Her feelings.

Why the feel of her hand in his, gripping him tightly, the trust that’s imbued in that simple gesture as they walk recklessly through the corridors of the quiet hospital, is enough to knock the breath out of his lungs.

Ethan Ramsey finds himself realizing that, for someone who had never cared, this seems to matter a whole lot.

His heart pounds a steady rhythm as they swiftly and silently approach the doors of his office. He lets them both in and then closes the door resoundly behind him.

“Here we are,” he says, hearing the gruffness in his tone and unable to utter the words any differently. “Alone at last.”

She looks up at him and, once again, breathing seems out of reach. It’s a feeling in his chest—one that he can’t explain away with logic or reason, the two tenets with which he’s structured his life.

“Any idea what we could get up to with such a rare moment of privacy?” She’s disarmingly contradictory—provocative and bashful, sincere and flirtatious. Every contradiction stirs his blood in unprecedented ways. He wants her, needs her—not just now, but always.

“I have a few,” he murmurs in response to her question, stepping forward and linking his fingers with hers, drawing her hands around his torso before leaning forward and touching her lips with his.

The kiss is softer, less performative than the one he’d given her downstairs. This one doesn’t need to prove a point to anyone other than himself. And the point he’s trying to prove is how necessary it is for him to be kissing her at this moment.

Pulling away, he takes in the sight of her. The gleaming auburn curls tumbling over her shoulders, the red dress that seized him by the chest the moment he saw her in it—she incapacitated him with her beauty. 

He’d seen her at six in the morning and eleven at night (oftentimes in the same day). He’d seen her rested and exhausted. With makeup and without. He’d seen her—

He wills away the image that appears in his mind’s eye. The one of her that’s always a little blurred around the edges — as though he’s looking at her through a transparent barrier; since, of course, that’s exactly what he’d had to do. It’s the image of her unwell. Scared. 

His heart thumps painfully as the fear returns again, an old, familiar feeling now, like a cloak that shadows his mind. The moments that he thought were numbered. Panic, the likes of which he’d never before experienced—

No. He won’t think of that now.

He forces his tone to be casual, but the depths of his emotion still seem to break through.

“I looked around and it's definitive. You were the most stunning woman in that room tonight.” The statement pales in comparison to the way he truly feels.

She dimples, pleased by his compliment even as she tries not to show it, and his heart soars.

“Are you trying to flatter me, Dr. Ramsey?” she teases.

All pretence of casualness is gone as he responds, his voice husky and low: “Is it still flattery if it's an understatement?”

Her cheeks redden and suddenly she’s even more of a vision, the rosiness of her face contrasting the colour of her hair and the hue of her dress in the most incredibly charming way.

She reaches up to caress his cheek softly and he feels himself lean slightly into her touch, unable to resist the allure of her body making contact with his.

“I’m glad you did that just now. Kissed me.” He sees her vulnerability and knows that he’s at the root of it—his damned fears and pride and sense of propriety and justice all being part of what almost ruined this for him. For them.

His public declaration - that she was his and, even more importantly, he was hers - was something they’d both needed more than either of them had realized.

“Trust me, Brooke.” He leans forward, whispering the next words. “I’m just getting started.”

Their lips meet and Ethan feels a hunger in his very soul; like he could devour her whole. A frenzied heat runs through him, his entire body thrumming with the anticipation of what’s to come. Now, now, now, are the only words his pounding heart speaks as he guides her to the first available surface: his desk.

Ethan is not a man prone to fantasy.

Even in previous relationships - more like arrangements - he’d always maintained a level-headed foundation to every encounter. The exchanges were simple at their core: the satisfaction of a mutual need. An itch to be scratched. And, once they were over, he barely gave them further consideration.

But Ethan Ramsey would be a stone-cold liar if he’d ever said that he hadn’t had a recurring, relentless daydream - and occasional night dream - of taking Dr. Brooke Spiers on top of this very desk in a multitude of imaginative, creative, and depraved ways.

And now, now at the cusp of this almost two-year fantasy coming to life, it feels as though something inside of him has truly, finally been unleashed.

Keeping his lips crushed to hers, Ethan cups Brooke’s round bottom, squeezing appreciatively before dragging his hands down the sequined fabric of her thighs until he can gain enough purchase to do what he really wants: lifting her effortlessly, he defers all her weight to one arm while using the other sweep every goddamn thing off his usually-meticulous desk. Pens and paper trays clatter to the floor as Ethan lays Brook gently across the desk, with a precise calmness he doesn’t truly feel.

She lets out a disbelieving laugh as she pulls away slightly, hands carding through his hair. “What’s gotten into you tonight?” she breathes against his lips, joy and unrestrained pleasure in her tone.

“Whatever it is,” he replies, pressing his lips to hers briefly before continuing, “I think it’s long overdue.”

“True.” She shimmies her way further up the desk, before reaching for him. “Which is why you shouldn’t keep me waiting.” Grabbing his collar, she drags him on top of her, lips colliding once more in a frenzy of taste and touch. He feels her lithe fingers give his hair a sharp tug and he groans against her mouth.

“Brooke.” He’s panting now, unable to get his heart rate under control. “I need you.” 

Leaning in once more to take her again, he’s surprised when she leans away, pressing a finger to his lips. The expression on her face stops him and he finds himself stumbling back a step as she pushes him gently and climbs off the desk.

She moves a few feet away and looks at him coyly, one eyebrow and the corner of her mouth hitched slightly upwards.

“Brooke…” She’s killing him. Does she know she’s killing him?

Probably.

“Shh…” she admonishes, lightly. “Just watch.”

Slowly she turns and Ethan drinks in every curve - from the dip in her waist to her well-rounded bottom. Reaching up, her slender fingers snag the gold zipper resting at her nape and she slowly tugs it down.

Ethan swears he can hear every excruciating millisecond of that zipper’s descent, even over the thundering pulse in his ears, as he watches it go down… down… exposing the creamy white skin of her perfect back, inch by inch.

It stops just below the small of her back, right above the cleft of her bottom, two familiar dimples taunting him. The opening of her dress has gaped over her shoulders and she looks at him one last time over her shoulder, her smile luminescent, before letting the garment fall to the floor in its entirety. Turning back around, she strikes a coy pose, one hand flipped up and the other on her cocked hip, as if to say “Well?”

He takes in her pink-tipped breasts, the perfect size for the palm of his hand. The indented waist that he can span if he so chooses. The swell of her hips, hugged in black lace. Her shapely legs, long for her height.

And the heels. That she’s still wearing.

He almost swallows his tongue.

Well, indeed.

Ethan reaches her in a single stride and pulls her towards him, cupping the nape of her neck as his lips reach hers with a soft reverence. He can feel the heat of her naked body against his, warm and electric, and he steps back only for a second to tear his own clothes off, barely considering the buttons that will need to be re-buttoned, or the obscenely expensive suit jacket that probably shouldn’t be left in a heap on the floor.

All that matters, all he can consider, is his all-consuming need to feel her body against his, unimpeded by clothing.

He tilts her jaw so that she’s looking up at him. He can’t help but be pleased to see that her breathing is irregular, too, her lower lip caught between her teeth, her nipples poking sharply into his chest. When she’s this close, he can see the flecks of green in her hazel eyes. The light smattering of freckles not entirely hidden behind her concealer.

God, he loves her.

The words come to him, unbidden yet familiar. A truth he has known for much longer than he cares to admit. He hasn’t told her yet, not really. But he hopes he’s shown her in all the ways that he’s let her in - into places no one has ever reached - and in all the ways he’s tried to care for her, to protect her, to nurture her and to guide her. And soon—

Soon, the words will come, as well.

For now, he settles for speaking another truth: “You’re so beautiful, it sometimes takes my breath away.”

It’s how he’s always felt around her; like the air has gotten a little lighter. His lungs a little shallower. He sees her and the visceral response of his body to hers feels like a sucker punch.

Every.

Damn.

Time.

Her eyes spark, a light glistening that foretells the chance of tears. They cause the irises to grow brighter, greener.

“Don’t tell me,” she says finally, swallowing hard. “Show me.”

With pleasure, he thinks, navigating her towards the desk again.

As if reading his mind, she’s already halfway there, boosting herself up and pulling him with her. She scoots back again along the smooth surface and he follows her; a predator, his lovely prey trapped between his arms.

“I mean,” she says blithely, her hair fanning around her like a crimson halo, “you did such a good job cleaning it up.”

He bites back a grin at her teasing tone and dips forward to nip at her throat.

“I was hoping you’d notice,” he murmurs against her skin.

She turns her head, guiding his face to hers, and kisses him fiercely on the lips. He responds in kind, tasting and licking at the sweet fullness of her mouth.

Keeping his lips on hers and one hand braced on the desk, he glides his other hand down her smooth skin until his fingers reach the lace of her panties. Teasingly, he plays with the little bow at the front, running his fingers lower, overtop the lace-covered mound, teasing the dampness he finds below.

She moans against his lips and he brings his hand back up, tucking it under the material, touching her skin, finding the slick heat underneath it all.

Biting back a groan, he dips his middle finger down lower, finding the wet give of her body and bringing some of that essence back to the tiny nub at the top of her entrance. Rubbing in slow, deliberate circles, he pulls back to watch her face.

Her head is thrashing lightly as she moans quietly at his touch.

“Someone’s...eager…” she pants, arching against the shiny, cool mahogany, her nipples peaked and straining towards the sky.

“I’ve been dreaming of this moment for months, Brooke,” he says, unable to resist the allure of those pink nipples, beckoning for his touch. His mouth latches onto one and he runs his tongue around the dusky areola before grazing his teeth over the distended tip. She whimpers and bucks under his hand, growing wetter at each moment that passes.

“The chance to be with you without hiding from anyone,” he continues, moving to the other nipple and giving it the same treatment, his middle finger still working her in an agonizingly slow caress.

“Now that it’s here—” He shifts the finger back down to the entrance of her body, filling her with it, unable to help the groan that escapes him as he feels her clench around him.

“—I can hardly help myself,” he ends in a strangled groan. His desperation reaches a fever pitch. All he wants is for her to feel good, to shatter around him, to be brought to the brink and over the edge because of him—

“Show me what you want.” His voice sounds hoarse, pleading, even to his own ears. “What I can do to make you feel good.”

“How about,” she breathes, a slight sheen over her heated skin, “you use—” She breaks off, blushing slightly, before persevering. “How about you use your mouth instead? I’m enjoying your dexterity but—”

She breaks off with an awkward laugh, eyes going skyward as if she can’t believe her own gall. Her face is almost the same colour as her hair and if he wasn’t so worked up he would laugh, too.

“Say no more.”

He takes his time in kissing his way down her body, marking every pale freckle and scar he finds along the way. He moves over her stomach and she giggles breathlessly at the tickle of his stubble. Further down he goes, before finally he’s kissing her over the lace of her panties, breathing in the familiar scent of the most intimate part of her. Reaching up, he pulls the underwear down and off, sending them flying in the same general direction as his clothes’ heap.

He stares down at her for a beat, pink and red and perfect all over, her pale skin marred in places by the scratch of his beard, the rosy nipples beckoning him still, the neat tuft of dark auburn curls between her legs, her trembling thighs and shaky intakes of breath. Her Titian beauty strikes him once more and it’s all he can do, not to prostrate himself between her gorgeous thighs and worship at the altar of those private curls and glistening petals.

Instead, he approaches her with what he hopes is a shred of dignity, tucking his face between her legs and kissing the part of her that he covets the most. Savouring the intimate and familiar taste of her; the taste of coming home.

He feels her fingers thread through his hair, tugging almost sharply as her hips lift underneath his chin, but he’s too immersed in his task to notice. He runs his tongue over her in a measured rhythm, slipping a hand down once more to join in his ministrations, inserting one finger and then two, as she opens easily for him.

“Ohhh.” Her loud moan from above his head is nearly his undoing and he presses a hand against himself, hard, to stay his own desires for the moment.

“I love tasting you,” he murmurs against her, crooking his fingers slightly as he presses deeper inside her.

“I love the way you do it,” she pants in response. He can feel her unravelling, can feel it in the liquid heat surrounding his hands and mouth, can feel it in the increasingly erratic movement of her body beneath his.

“I want you so badly, Brooke,” he groans and, against the vibrations of his confession, she shatters.

She lets out a shout and he holds her in place as her body trembles, gooseflesh rising under his hands and on his cheek where it rests on her thigh. His own body feels shaky, tremulous, as he waits for her to come down.

“I want you to have me, Ethan,” she says finally, her voice hoarse and low. “Now.”

He almost weeps with relief.

“I was hoping you would say that. I honestly wasn’t sure I could hold off any longer—” His gratitude gets caught in his throat as she tremulously slides off of the desk and looks at him, almost bashfully, but with that familiar coyness that he’s grown to love.

She cups his face in her hands and their eyes meet, her greenish-hazel with his electric blue.  

“Then don't.”

And then she turns and leans forward, forearms on his desk, ass propped up in front of him, those sky-high heels bringing her to the perfect level for—for—

Ethan feels the air depart his lungs in full force, his knees almost giving way underneath him. He looks at her bottom blankly, before searching her face. She’s smiling at him softly, those damn perfect teeth biting that damn bottom lip, a face perfectly designed to be the death of him. She inclines her chin slightly, as if to say: Are we doing this?

It’s all the permission he needs as he takes himself in hand and positions himself at the entrance of her body. Pushing back slightly, she accepts him immediately and easily, her back arching to take him further, deeper, as her palms flatten against the desk.

The moment he’s fully seated within her, she gasps, and that slight intake in breath is enough to almost make him come on the spot. Her gasp settles into a quiet moan as they find an easy rhythm, bodies moving together in perfect synchronicity.

“Ethan,” she says breathlessly, her fingertips pressing into the mahogany. “Harder.”

Thank Christ.

“I don’t know how much longer I can last,” he admits in a strangled tone as he feels the wholehearted pleasure of their union overwhelm him, body and soul. Never before has he felt such a connection beyond the physical. When she grasps him inside her, when he feels the clutch of her body, intimately connected to his, it’s an emotion beyond reasoning.

A hefty admission, for someone who’d structured his whole life around reason and reason alone.

But now, “reasonable” is a far cry from how he feels as he moves his hands over her body, tracing the arch of her spine, the curve of her waist, before settling there, thumbs almost touching across the span of her back as he rocks into her, his pleasure building by the second.

He groans loudly, unable to control himself. “You feel incredible, Brooke.”

She whimpers in response and he quickly checks her face to ensure she’s alright. All he sees is her flushed cheek pressed to the desk, her full lips parted in a soft, perpetual moan, the imprint of her heated palms leaving streaks on the dark, shining wood as she drags her hands to the edge of the desk and holds on tight.

His vision whites out and it’s all the warning he can give her—

“Brooke… I’m—”

“Yes, Ethan—!”

The force building inside of him erupts in a blinding flash of undulating pleasure, skyrocketing through every extremity of his body.

Brooke’s own cries echo through the empty office as he feels her body rhythmically clenching his oversensitized flesh. A wave of exhausted, satiated rapture threatens to overtake him as he braces his hands on the desk, his bare chest meeting her bare back. Once he’s certain his legs can hold him, his arms shift into an embrace, wrapping around her torso and gathering her cooling body against him.

He holds her tightly against him for a beat, before lifting her up effortlessly. Her head lolls against his shoulder as he carries her to the couch in his office. He sits first, shifting her weight in his lap, and then he lays back, bringing her back with him. As she settles herself into his chest, he finds himself kissing her hair over and over again, the feeling of total adoration threatening to spill from his chest.

They stay like that, wrapped around one another, for a moment or two when he hears her mumble something indiscernible against his shoulder. Stroking her hair back from her face, he tilts his chin down to look at her.

“Hmm?” he murmurs, wondering if his own gaze reflects the same heavy-lidded contentment that he sees in her eyes.

“I said, ‘do we have to go back’?” she repeats, her voice still a replete murmur.

He chuckles softly, kissing her head again. Go back. He knows that she’s referring to the Gala, to their friends and colleagues gathered on the first floor of the decorated hospital. But in Ethan’s mind, it’s a more involved and complicated question than that.

No, they’re not going back.

They won’t be going back to the way things were.

To secrecy and shame, to denial and frustration.

They also won’t be going back to the job they knew, in the ways that they’ve known it. Before touching his lips to hers in that public display he’d performed down there, he’d known exactly which direction the Diagnostics Team would be headed in and what that meant for him, for her, and for the nature of her relationship.

It had been a long time since Ethan had felt anything resembling superiority over Brooke and now, they would both truly be at the same level, in every way that mattered.

He smiles softly as he rubs his cheek against the top of her head, listening to her even breaths.

There still isn’t much that Dr Ethan Ramsey cares about.

But there is one thing.

And he wraps his arms around it even tighter.  

[kamilah-is-queen]

Egypt and It's Assasin

This is somewhat a multi-chapter fic, where Kamilah goes back to Egypt in her dreams where she falls for an assassin out for blood.

Pairing: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Assassin)

Tagging: @ayushixo, @olivegh7, @helpconfusedpersonhere, @fundamentalromantic, @kamilahtopme

The unbearable blaze of the sun, the wind fluttering through cloths, the distant sound of the drums and sistrums, the hollers of the market men and bazaar goers, it was home.

A place she could never forget. Her dreams took her back to the place she’d once called home, a place that was only visible in her sleep. It would beckon her closer, persuading her with an illusion that she would believe to be true. Her mind illustrated the wooden stalls on each side of the sand-filled path, middle-aged men with textiles and fruits on display as they called to innocent civilians.

The pyramids of the future great pharaohs stood with blocks at the bases, awaiting for the day that would prove them worthy of claiming a being withholding such immense power, power that shaped the face of the Egyptian world. Their bricks glistened in the sunlight, the edges of the limestone, rough and harsh under her hand as the commotion of hammers and chisels worked away at the fascinating element.

Workers were ordered here and there, hurriedly pushing past the woman with handcrafted tools in their grasp as they moved to another brick. ”I’m afraid you must leave. This is no place for a woman of such authority like yourself.” The harsh voice’s sound came from behind her, a man who wore a scarf around his neck with a predatory gaze. ”I am merely inspecting the work of my brothers, Ahmed. Is such a crime?”

”You shouldn't be here, unless your body desires to be worked like a dog. For long hours on the day with minimal rest as the sun’s glance watches over you.”

His face was merely like a rock, expressionless before his eyes cast over her torso, resting on the deep plunge from her neck to her chest. The elegant material lifted in the wind, the white cloth shining in his face before she lifted his chin with her firm grasp. ”I suggest you keep those dirty eyes from preying on innocent women, unless you'd like to have your tongue cut off.” Their gazes met, her firm one battling for dominance as his eyes remained dark with desire.

”Who do you think you are Kamilah? You're nothing compared to your cousin Cleopatra.” Her grip tightened, the muscles in her jaw contracting as her free hand slid the dagger out from it's resting place around her hip. The fine tip of the knife edged into his shirt, pricking at his stomach before she spoke again. ”I would like to remind you as to who you are talking to. I am Kamilah Sayeed, the warrior, and leader who reigns beside Cleopatra. And it's needless to say that you should be wise in what comes out of that filthy mouth of yours.”

Without another word, she withdrew her blade and positioned it around her hips, striding away from the man who stood speechless. ’Filthy mutt.’ Her words were a mere whisper, not wanting to waste her breath on such folk.

Her mind wandered to the far corners of her imagination, the fear in her surging as she recalled the events of the previous night. ’A cloaked figure took out our men’....’200 dead’...’The battle has swayed it's favoring.’

The thoughts secluded her attention, unaware of the woman standing before her. ’How many people would join me in the next battle? Who of those has lost faith in my cousin's cause?’

One step..two steps..

”Forgive me, I was-”

The footprints in the sand we're repeated, as she stepped back to perceive the woman clearly. The black fabric stood out against her gleaming, tan skin. The cloth wrapped around her shoulders and face, leaving simply her glistening eyes to be revealed. The glistening color in her irises, the bright hazel shade bringing Kamilah's breath to short pants while they kept gazing at one another. With another gust of wind, the textile revealed the rest of her face to Kamilah who was admiring the woman in close proximity. Their hair was practically identical, elegant brown locks subsiding below her shoulders.

The woman’s brows creased together, her hands swiftly pushing Kamilah against the rigid frame of a nearby stall. ”For what reason are you staring?” The scent of lavender wafted through Kamilah’s nose, a similar scent to her own. ”Your beauty intoxicated me.”

Earning a small smirk, the woman proceeded to inch nearer until the warmth of her breath on the warrior’s neck sent a shiver through Kamilah’s body. ”Your beauty is one to be admired oh wonderful warrior.”

Kamilah caught the stares of intrigued civilians, her eyes turning back to the deserted area in front of her. The wind picked up it’s movement, flecks of sand sweeping into her eyes as they surveyed the market.

An elderly woman in the nearby stall called out to her, a pitiful look creasing onto her wrinkled face. ”I've heard talks of an assassin my child… dressed in black, with a resemblance close to the people of this nation. But she is not one of us. She’s out to hunt us. And so I warn you… no one is to be trusted in times of such despair.”

Could she be the mysterious figure?...

[marmolady]

Pride

Book/Series: Endless Summer

Main Pairings: Diego x Varyyn, Estela x MC

Summary: (Endless Ending– set after my longer fic, ‘Broken Chains’, if you’ve not read it, assume a happy ending).  Surrounded by a barrier of friends, Varyyn joins Diego as they march in their very first Pride parade.

Word Count: 1588

Tagging:   @saivilo, @edgydepressedchoicesthot, @sceptilemasterr,  @greengroove

Reviews and reblogs are hugely appreciated!

Cloaked in a dark hood, at odds with the popping attire of near everyone around him, Varyyn was wide-eyed with fascination as he stepped out of the Northbridge train station, Diego at his side. The streets were awash with colour, hues that were draped over countless flags, banners, even the skin of revelers.

Diego grasped his husband’s hand tightly. He was awash with emotion; anxiety at having Varyyn surrounded by so many people, but more than that, a feeling of belonging that he’d craved for as long as he could remember.

“This is it, Varyyn,” he uttered hoarsely. “Happy Pride!”

“I am always proud to be with you, my love.”

Taylor was grinning like an idiot-- for her, too, this was a first, as it was for Estela with whom her fingers were entwined. “We’ve got this, Diego, the rest of us should be enough of a barrier to stop anyone from looking at you two too closely.”

Giving his best friend a warm smile, Diego nodded. That he’d been touched to have ten friends putting themselves out there to give him the kind of Pride experience he’d wistfully imagined was an understatement. They had his back. “Yeah, we got this.”

He looked around. Friends surrounded him on all sides, dressed in their colours or else proudly wearing ‘ally’ pins. To think he’d felt so alone before--

“Hey!” Craig exclaimed, “If anyone gets to close to our V-Dog, I can pull off a killer diversion. I’ve been practising my moves for weeks…”

“It’s been fucking torture to watch,” Zahra said. “But, yeah, your dancing will scare anyone off, I’ll give you that.”

As they marched on with the parade, the smile on Estela’s face just grew broader. She’d never had a chance to do anything like this in San Trobida, and probably she’d have steered clear of all the fuss anyway. Since returning from La Huerta, her sexuality, the identity that came with it, meant a whole lot more. On La Huerta, no one gave a damn, and she hadn’t bothered herself with labels. Today,though, her wrist was adorned with a pink, yellow and blue bracelet.

“I didn’t know you identified as pansexual?” Quinn queried warmly. When they’d discussed these things previously, Estela had always been vague-- which had always been accepted without hesitation; but it seemed something had changed.

Estela nodded. “I didn’t think I wanted a label, but then I thought… words have power. They can make you visible. I like who I am, how I love; a lot of people where I’m from struggle with that because for so long they had to hide. Visibility is important.”

“That’s my wife! Fighting the good fight and making the world less shit, one PDA at a time.” Taylor jumped to give Estela an enormous smooch, delighting in the happy squirm she caused.

“So, uh,” Estela tried to continue, whilst her love continued to pepper her face and neck with kisses, “basically, I just… find some people attractive. And I don’t think it would have mattered if Taylor was a guy or a girl or both or neither. She’s my person. It was a weird feeling, like something deep inside me knew.”

“Aw, ‘Stel!” Taylor gushed. “As for me? Basically, I’m gay as the day is long. Useless Lesbian: Alien Edition.”

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock,” Zahra scoffed. “You’re a walking fucking stereotype. If there were U-Hauls on La Huerta, maybe you wouldn’t have even needed to get hitched after what… how many weeks? Three? Four?”

Diego was quick to swoop to his friend’s defence. “Hey! La Huerta rules apply! Way too much wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff to untangle.”

Quinn smiled warmly. It wasn’t the first time she’d been to one of these events, nor even the third or fourth, but to be surrounded by the friends who’d become her family made for a very different experience. She was not alone, dodging pitying whispers while she tried to embrace a side of herself that was so much more than ‘the dying girl’. And now, she had Michelle.

“Life can be over so fast; if you care for someone, there’s no shame in putting yourself out there and showing it.” She gave Michelle’s hand a squeeze, and they exchanged an affectionate glance. “Being trapped at the end of the world can do a lot to put things in perspective. I can’t speak for anyone else, but I’m living without regrets. Who I am is who I am; and that includes the pieces I wished I could hide from.”

Grace looked to her friend with admiration. “That’s very brave, Quinn. Sometimes accepting yourself can be the hardest thing.” Especially when the people you love can’t look at the true you and do the same. “Honestly, you’ve helped me a lot.”

Walking beside Diego, Varyyn was beginning to see why they called it ‘Pride’; he could feel it emanating from his husband, creating a warmth that had nothing to do with the sun beating down. And the smile on Diego’s face? Varyyn was sure he’d not ever seen anything quite so beautiful. Though careful not to peer to far out from his hood, he took the time to look over each of the different coloured flags and ask about each one. A young woman jogged past, wearing a cape of black, grey, white and purple-- the same design that was plastered across Raj’s shirt.

“Raj,” he queried, “ I believe Diego told me about your colours. It is for… ‘ace’? For no romantic partners?”

“You got it! Basically, I get all the love I need from my bros. I never really felt like anything was missing, you know?”

“I understand. It’s not something my people have a word for, though I know several friends who have always felt the way you do,” he said, thoughtfully. “So much of this we don’t have words for; we just… be. I appreciate your sharing with me. And I am very grateful to be one of your bros.”

The whole experience was vastly different to anything that could exist among the Vaanti. Sexuality and gender was of so little consequence; there had never been much weight put on words and labels, there were no expectations that it be necessary. By the generally agreed upon human terms, Varyyn supposed he might call himself ‘pansexual’ as Estela did. The rainbow flag, though, was his favourite. In it he saw the jubilation of making it through a storm to something beautiful. Appropriate it was, that it meant so much to Diego, as he stepped out unafraid and loved. Varyyn looked at Diego, his husband, the love of his life; surrounded by a wall of friends, laughing on Taylor’s shoulder. He was truly radiant.

Varyyn put a hand on Raj’s shoulder. “Could I ask a great favour of you?”

“A personal favour for the elyyshar of the Vaanti? I think I can swing that….”

Taylor was chuckling as she ruffled her best friend’s hair. “So, how is it? Everything you dreamed of-- if you’d even dreamed you’d have the Knights’ bi legend Sean Gayle as part of your pride posse?”

“Pretty sure Past Diego would think you’d hit your head too hard if you’d tried to tell him this was coming. I mean, the time travel, the monsters, my best friend being some sort of knockoff ET, are unbelievable enough, but these kind of squad goals…? I…” Suddenly, he found himself choking up. If it was a life-altering adventure, he’d got it. What was left at the end of it was something that could never be truly grasped by outsiders, some bond, sacred even, that had helped him find his own strength. As he struggled to come to grips with the tatters that remained of his family life, it was that strength that would keep him afloat, and that bond that would see his heart start to heal. “I… didn’t think this feeling was possible for me.”

And Taylor hugged him tight. “You’d better get used to it, because you’re stuck with us. You deserve this. Just for being you… and also for being the world’s best wingman. The best thing that ever happened to me happened because you helped me believe in taking a leap. Diego Soto, I will never not owe you one,” she laughed.”So, for my next trick, I will pass you off to someone who wants his arms around you even more than I do. You’re welcome.

With a wink, Taylor spun Diego into Varyyn’s waiting arms, which draped an enormous rainbow flag around the two of them.

“My love,” Varyyn crooned,  “you bring my world more beauty than I believed possible. You showed me hope and light in my darkest hour. Diego, you are my rainbow.”

Cloaked in a fluttering of multicoloured fabric, they kissed, long and tender; the pounding of music and marching, the chants of ‘Variego!’ fading far into the background, beyond their own private euphoric celebration.

Varyyn came away slowly, his expression warm as he stared into a look of fierce affection. How could he ever have dreamed what had been held in store for him, when this lion-hearted storyteller was beyond anything Vaanu had yet shown him. A whispered ‘I love you’ from his beloved Diego set his heart, once again, all aflutter, dancing like the rainbow flag around their heads. “And I love you.”He quirked an eyebrow. “Best Pride ever?”

Diego gave a short laugh and pecked a kiss to his love’s gentle lips. “Best Pride ever.”

[zigtheeortega]

as good as gold

✿ pairing: mal x mc

✿ word count: 2971

✿ tags: @roguemal ; @violinet ; @nickyvalentinos ; @adrixnrxines ; @senatorraines​

✿ author’s note: okay so this is honestly the weirdest coincidence... i started working on this fic back in early march, and i abandoned it bc it was originally going to be smut, but i just never got around to finishing the actual smut because i wasn’t feeling it, and i wasn’t that confident in the plot. i totally forgot about it, until i read today’s chapter... and i saw parallels between this fic, that i’d abandoned, and the diamond scene/elite skill scene today with mal.

it made me a lot more confident in this because it made me feel like i genuinely understand mal’s character more than i ever thought? (there are parallels between his list of favorite things, stealth, the sneaking around, etc.) anyways, i wrapped it up and thought i’d post it; thank u andrew for writing one of my favorite characters ever and confirming actions and dialogue i thought he’d do ! andrew stans rise. (hope u enjoy pls lmk if u liked it!)

“Thank Gods they sent us. I’m dying to stretch my legs,” Mal said, tossing the gold coins in the air, the clinking of the metal ringing out against the walls of the abandoned safe house.

They walked towards the entrance, the fresh air hitting them, and their lungs were grateful for the relief. The mildewed stench had been unbearable, but they had to suffer through it. The bounty on their head was enough to turn anyone against them.

Their collective rations weren’t enough to keep them fed. With Tyril being the perpetrator, they agreed it was safe enough for Mal and Zilyana to visit the marketplace, as long as they laid low.

“You’re telling me,” she smiled, inhaling deeply. The scent of the damp, mossy alleyway was incredible in comparison to the moldy smell of their hideout.

She shielded her eyes, squinting at the intense light. They had not seen the sun in days, so the warm blanket was a semblance of hope. She’d rescue Kade soon enough; the warmth on her face proved that all hope wasn’t lost.

They walked in silence, weaving through the alleyways towards the marketplace. Mal stopped abruptly at the end of the alleyway, bracing his forearm against her chest to keep her from going any further.

She caught herself gaping at him as he peeked around the corner a couple of times. His windswept hair framed his face beautifully, curling around his defined jaw, the tips resting neatly against his beard.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, a smirk on his face. “Caught you staring.”

She averted her eyes, looking upwards. “Was not.”

“The blush in your cheeks betrays you.”

There was no hiding the violet heat creeping across her face and ears. She’d been drawn to his charismatic nature, his carefree, adventurous attitude one that she envied. He owed nothing to anyone, and he never thought twice about his perception to others.

But underneath the snarky, flirtatious facade, lurked layers of melancholia that she wanted so desperately to uncover.

He cocked his head towards the opening, signaling the coast was clear. “Thought I heard something. We’re safe.”

She scoffed, following closely behind him. “Your definition of safe is ‘not currently being chased’?”

He laughed breathily, and shrugged. “You hit the nail on the head. I’m like a honey trap for trouble.”

The sound of bartering shoppers hit them before the smell of fish and sweat did. “What’s the plan? They might recognize us,” she whispered in his ear, acutely aware of the proximity of their bodies.

She noticed him pocket the gold Tyril had given them for the food. “Mal, what –”

“Just trust me on this, kit. I’ve probably stolen as much food that’s in this marketplace, twice over. I can get us the food and we can keep the loot.” He tried stepping forward, but she grabbed a fistful of the back of his shirt.

“Or we could just stick to the original plan and use the gold for our food and go,” she said, tugging him backward.

“As long as we can have a quick escape route, it’ll be seamless,” he said, turning to meet her eye. “Trust me, Zilyana.”

And she did.

The mischievous look in his eye was enough to send her heart into a tailspin, but his mention of her name was what sealed the deal. It was a rarity that Mal traded in her nickname for her real name, so when he used it, she knew he was being honest for once.

She didn’t know what part of her compelled him to take her under his “wing”. Maybe he was tired of being alone. Maybe he was desperately crying out for someone to get to know the real him. Maybe he’d been calling out for so long, and she was the first to answer.

“I trust you, Mal.”

His eyes softened. She knew he hadn’t heard that in a long time. “Follow my lead.”

At the end of the last alleyway, there was a large fabric trade stand, with various cut and uncut fabrics of different colors and materials, finished garments hung from a clothesline.

He tossed a dagger into the wooden scaffolding holding up the stand, startling the old man at the booth. When he stood to inspect it, Mal snagged two black cloaks.

“These cloaks serve as both a disguise and a red herring. If we’re caught, ditch the cloaks as fast as you can. Then we can walk freely without anyone knowing what we looked like in the first place,” he said, slipping his hood on. “It’ll be a piece of cake.”

“And we’re distracting them and snagging their food? Seems cheap,” she said, putting her hood up, annoyed at her ears poking into the fabric.

“You’re distracting them, and there’s a reason old tricks still work, kit.”

----

Zilyana used her natural seduction to trap a few unsuspecting suckers, and Mal snagged the food, storing it on the roof of a taller building, just high enough to not be spotted from other rooftops if they laid down.

“I’ve never had an apple before,” she purred, stroking the vendor’s arm with the tips of her slender fingers. It was a horrible lie, but it was working.

“Y-you haven’t?” he stammered, clearly flustered.

“I’m not from around here,” she smiled, leaning forward, exposing just enough of her collarbone and the top of her breasts to reel him in.

“I don’t normally do this, but this one is on me,” he smiled timidly, handing her a bright red apple. Little did he know, Mal had been snagging item after item from his stand behind his back.

She took it from him, brushing her fingers across his knuckles. “You’re too kind. I owe you.” 

He blushed furiously, looking anywhere but her face. “I wouldn’t mind taking you out to my favorite tavern down the road––”

“Oh, I’m leaving town tomorrow,” she pouted, batting her eyes. “I wish we could’ve spent more time together.”

Mal emerged from the alleyway, watching closely. She didn’t know if he was capable of jealousy, but his nonchalance vanished when the vendor asked her on a date.

“I’m closing up shop soon, if you’re willing to wait for me.” He said, the blush still lingering on his cheeks.

“Balmed is that you? Oh my Gods, it’s been so long!” She exclaimed, looking at Mal, who still watched from the shadows.

The vendor turned quickly, noticing no one was there. He looked back at her, then double-taked, scrutinizing his stand of apples. “Hey…”

She sprinted past him, kicking the back of his knees so he crumpled, but it didn’t stop him from yelling, “Thief!” at the top of his lungs.

Mal grabbed her hand, whisking her down the dark alleyway. The sun had dipped just below the buildings, making the alleys a perfect getaway.

They rounded the corner, ready to discard their cloaks, but they spotted guards barreling towards them from both directions.

“What do we do?” She practically cried, gripping his shoulder.

“There’s two of us, and four of them, kit. You do the math,” he smirked, unsheathing his dagger.

“But that makes it sound like we should run–”

He whipped his arm forward, sending a dagger into the nearest guard’s shoulder before decking the other in the jaw.

Zilyana knew that Mal’s sheer dumb luck was part of the reason he was a notable thief. He somehow managed to survive in every situation, like a rodent.

She drew her sword and slashed the guard in front of her in one fluid sweep, kicking the other in the chest, sending him sprawling.

“That was a little too easy,” she trailed off, her senses sparking. She had no control over her elven senses, but they usually came to her when she needed them most, similar to a fight or flight response.

“I think the guards have us cornered but we haven’t met them yet. I can hear footsteps.”

Mal’s eyebrows rose. “We’re completely surrounded?”

“Yes.”

“Alright.”

“Alright? What are we gonna do?” she asked, hysteria begging to burst through her calm demeanor.

“The rooftop where we stashed the goods isn’t far away. I’d say five buildings or so over. After they pass, we’ll have to jump from roof to roof –”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I’m not even in the right garments to jump right now,” she shook her head, gesturing to her casual dress.

“You’re just gonna have to flash the entirety of Port Parnassus,” he teased, turning to the wall next to him, covered in mossy vines.

He grabbed onto a vine and started climbing, her on his heels. The footsteps were within Mal’s hearing range by the time he got to the rooftop, so he extended an arm for her to grab.

She gripped his forearm, pushing herself off of the wall. It sent her flying into Mal, the momentum too much for the short distance. They fell over, her landing on top of him, chest to chest, their noses nearly touching.

She could see a snarky quip forming on his lips, but it never came. She watched his smug grin dissolve into admiration, his gaze softening as he glanced back and forth from her eyes to mouth. The lingering rays of sunlight struck their rooftop, hitting Mal’s face, transforming his dark brown eyes into a stunning liquid pool of amber, flecks of gold she’d never noticed before reflecting the light.

He reached up, pressing a gloved hand on her face, gently stroking her jaw. She leaned into the embrace, closing her eyes and sighing just low enough for him to hear.

A low growl rumbled through his chest, the vibrations passing through her own. He watched her, transfixed, through half lidded eyes.

“Have you always been this beautiful, kit? Or have I just been too stupid to notice?” He whispered, tenderly gripping her chin with his thumb and pointer finger.

She smiled, holding back a laugh as they heard the guards clamor down an alley nearby. “I don’t know if I’d say you were stupid…”

With his eyes trained on her lips, she leaned down, closing the distance between them, her parted lips meeting his. He could’ve frozen up – he could’ve pushed her away. Instead, he tangled his gloved hand through her hair, deepening the kiss.

He snaked his arm around her waist, his grip firm and commanding. He tasted sweeter than she could’ve imagined, his scent even more intoxicating up close.

He pulled away, searching her features. She couldn’t tell if he was thinking she’d regretted it that fast, but she was determined to ease his mind. Zilyana recognized the walls he put up; they were familiar because they mirrored her own. 

“Anything we do from this point on, I won’t regret. Don’t worry,” she whispered, stroking her thumb across his beard.

He looked at her like he was truly seeing her for the first time. Like he was safe with her. Like he wanted her too. 

The guards passed through the alleyway next to them, the clanking of their armor drowning out Mal and Zilyana’s labored breaths.

He pulled her close, tucking her underneath his head, his arms circling her protectively until the guards passed.

They stayed in the same position, embracing, until the sun set, making way for the midnight skyline freckled with glimmering stars.

After the street lanterns were lit, and the residents of Parnassus were tucked into bed, they were momentarily safe enough to discard the cloaks and sneak back to the rooftop where their food was stashed.

Once they were on the rooftop, Mal gestured to her to walk towards the edge of the building. She looked out at the edge of the port city, the vast body of water rippling, the waves flicking calmly against the docks, the water reflecting the moonlight.

“I never get tired of views like these,” he sighed, snatching an apple and taking a bite. “I love gold, but I love a pretty view more.”

She eyed him, brows furrowed. “Alright, I love gold more. But scenery is a close second.”

“Mal the Magnificent is getting candid? Color me surprised,” she grinned, watching his expression match her own.

“What can I say? You’ve grown on me, kit.”

And that was all the validation she needed. She was chipping away at his facade brick-by-brick, and one day his defense would crumble. 

She’d be the only one to witness the beautiful destruction.

She crossed the distance between them, facing him while he chewed and swallowed his mouthful of apple. Juice dribbled down his beard, and she wanted so badly to taste the sweet flavor of his lips again.

“You’ve grown on me, too,” she said, reaching for his hand with her own, hooking a finger around his. She used the other hand to delicately swipe her thumb across his facial hair, drying his face of apple juice.

He watched her in awe, looking at her as if she were the only being in the world.

“We should probably get back,” she whispered, refusing to break eye contact. “They might be worried.”

“Yeah, they might be worried,” he repeated, still staring at her, squeezing her finger with his own. “But I think it’s better we stay the night.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to miss a second of seeing the moonlight on your skin,” he said, eyes roaming over her face.

Her face heated, breaking eye contact first. She knew the violet tones in her cheeks would betray her calm exterior once again.

“I could look at you for hours…” he trailed off, stepping closer towards her.

Their bodies were barely touching, their faces close enough so that the wind made the tips of his hair tickle her cheek.

He took his leather gloves off, revealing his scarred, calloused hands, likely from the years of training with blades. He cupped her face in his bare palms, the heat from his hands counteracting the chill of the sea breeze.

It was the first time he touched her with his bare hands, and she relished in the contact. It was a feeling of intimacy she hadn’t felt before.

She’d been abandoned by her birth parents and adopted by a human family. When they passed, she felt not only the tremendous loss of her parents, but the longing to be wanted by those who willingly left her before.

She saw so much of herself in Mal. The classic signs of abandonment issues were blatant in his personality. He wouldn’t admit it to her then, but he’d grow comfortable with her and come around. And she’d be there for him.

She watched as he leaned in tentatively. She closed the gap between them, pressing her mouth firmly against his, wrapping her arms around his waist.

He melted in her grip, a low groan coming from his throat at the initial kiss. She parted her lips, begging to taste him again.

She drug her hands around his torso, meeting at his belt buckle, unlatching and untying until they fell to the ground with a clank. She slid her hands underneath the tail of his tunic, pulling upwards. She was met with the firm muscles of his stomach, a soft tuft of hair from his navel to the waist of his pants.

“Zilyana, I…” he breathed, eyes half lidded.

“I want you,” she finished, pulling back just enough so that she could meet his gaze.

His hair had become unruly, whipped by the sea breeze and the momentum from running through the alleys of Parnassus. Loose strands framed his face like vines on a stone wall, begging for her hands to wrangle them.

“You sure you want this? We can pretend like it didn’t happen when we go back,” he said. She detected a twinge of uneasiness in his voice, like he didn’t know what he wanted from her.

“We can work it out later, Mal,” she whispered, running her hands farther up his chest.

He groaned, both because he was trying to maintain responsibility and his body was responding to her touch. “You’re right. Fuck it.”

He kissed her fervently, ripping at the laced-up ribbons on the back of her dress. The air between their bodies crackled, their unbridled sexual tension finally reaching its climactic end.

She tried helping him out of his clothes, but stopped after a few failed attempts. “For a simple guy, you have a complex wardrobe.”

He laughed, the deep bass of his voice barely audible over the sound of the waves. “I can be flashy when I want to be.”

He stripped his tunic off, then his boots, before helping her slide out of her dress. Her undergarments were thin, just thin enough so that he got a glimpse of her naked body underneath.

He rested his hands on her waist, pulling him towards her. She grazed her fingers across his stomach and lower back, lightly touching the dozens of scars. He had a story behind each scar, and she wanted to hear every one.

He eased her onto the stone, gently, like she was as fragile as a priceless heirloom.

“Look at you, Zilyana… so beautiful,” he whispered, a hint of a smirk on his lips. “I told you I like a pretty view.”

She searched his eyes, the trace of golden flecks gone with the sunlight, and she smiled internally. She was learning to love gold, too, as greedy as it sounded.

----

[ghostsofruefell]

Hi Sammy! Hope you're doing better and staying safe! How would the characters react to finding out MC covered them with a blanket if they fell asleep like on the couch? Or if they cuddled up to them?

And I hope the same for all of you! I did a mix of both and sorry, I couldn’t get all the characters! I couldn’t think of anything for some of them.

Seven: When his mind stirs to the cusp of wakefulness, he feels something on his chest, warm and a bit heavy. It feels... nice, actually. Luring him to want to go back to sleep, but he pushes past that because wait a second.

When he rubs the sleep from his eyes, grunting with his body’s protesting to his waking up, he’s relieved to see it’s only you lying on his chest like you’ve done many times before. He lets out a breath and lays his large hand on your head, gently, to stroke your hair.

“Don’t startle me like that,” he quietly chastises you, the sleeping person, then lays his pounding head back down. Well, maybe a little extended nap won’t be so bad.

Teddy: It takes him too long to push through the fog of sleep, confusion twisting his cognizance as he struggle to make sense of the fact his eyes have opened and he still can’t see.

It’s only when his hands search his face but find only the soft feel of cloth that the puzzle piece clicks. He yanks the fabric off, surely making a lion’s mane of his hair but that’s not what he cares about as he sits up. Well... It’s certainly not the first time he’s covered his face with his cloak in his sleep.

Except... Wait, this isn’t his cloak. His fingers bunch the blanket. Was it you...? His mind ponders as he takes a deep breath of the familiar scent lingering on the blanket. Yeah, it was.

He clicks his tongue, running a hand through his hair. “...Stop being so sweet to me...” he grumbles to no one in the room.

Voca: They almost roll right over, their ancient mind yearning for a longer sleep - a century maybe? Another fall of a civilization before they can drag themself out of the tomb again.

But their body is stopped by a weight, sinking them back into a soft cushiness. Huh...?

They crack a blacked out eye open.

Oh... they’re just on a sofa. It’s not Hellwrath anymore. They’re not a guardian anymore. And that weight on their chest is you. Immediately a smile finds their lips. Right... How could they be so forgetful?

You whimper in your sleep as a thin pair of arms wrap around you and squeeze a little too tight. Their grip eases but doesn’t release. Well, they haven’t any responsibilities now, so they can nap a little longer.

Their wings glitter in the setting sunlight cast through the window as they stretch out from beneath your two bodies, only to wrap around the both of you, creating a cocoon of slumber.

Reiya: When she stirs to wakefulness, she doesn’t find the present but rather a warm memory of the past with the soft, fluffy feeling surrounding her petite body; a blanket, laid over her sleeping form with care and love.

She tenderly rubs the sleep from her eyes. Was it Papa..,? When was the last time he put a blanket over her, let alone noticed she’d fallen asleep somewhere she shouldn’t have?

But as she sits up, lets the blanket fall and gather around her waist, her mind catches up to her reality. Oh right, it wasn’t him.

Her fingers pick gently at a piece of fuzz as a soft smile graces her face. It was you, wasn’t it? It’s not a real question, she knows the answers as she presses the tips of her fingers to her lips in a kiss she’ll deliver to you later.

[fantasyoverreality98]

Fight the Darkness Pt. 4

Masterlist

Pairing: Gaius x MC

Summary: The fight against the darkness grows harder as Amy discovers she can walk in the daylight.

Word Count: 3,884

----------

For so long, the hope of walking in the sunlight had been a mere dream. Amy had no idea what possessed her to even try it, but she had a feeling that it would all be okay. And so, once she had dressed, she had stepped out of the hotel room and into the sun.

A minute passed. Then two. Fighting back a grin, she started to walk further away from the safety of the hotel room. There was a park nearby, and a bench that was under direct sunlight. Amy took a seat and watched the people around her go about their day. Once it had been an hour, she knew she had been right.

She could walk in the daylight.

Amy laughed, throwing her arms out as she basked in the warmth that hadn’t touched her skin in twenty-five years. She closed her eyes and reared her head back, grinning wider than she had in months. The energy that coursed through her was intoxicating. After a few minutes, she stood and made her way toward the center of the town. She smiled and nodded at the people she passed by, feeling normal for the first time in forever.

“Excuse me, do you know where the nearest clothing store is?” Amy stopped a random man to ask for directions, and once more she found herself holding back hysterical laughter when he pointed a shop out to her, all the while never knowing who, or rather, what she was.

The woman behind the counter smiled at her, and Amy stopped to have a long conversation. Life had never felt so normal. She’d never realized how much she missed being human until this very moment.

“Thank you,” she said with a final wave as she left the clothing shop with new outfits for both her and Gaius. No more cloak for him.

This wasn’t darkness. No, it was light. She had been foolish to fight it off for so long. Rheya’s powers wouldn’t corrupt her. Amy would use them for good. To live the life she had been robbed of when Rheya twisted Gaius’ mind thousands of years ago. Now they could be happy together. They could live an almost normal life. It was going to be okay.

Gaius was still asleep when she got back to the hotel. With a smile, she made sure he was safely out of harm’s way before throwing a curtain open, bathing in the sunlight once more. A quarter of a century without this warmth had been what caused her grief. She knew that now.

Rustling from the bed drew her attention, and Amy turned to Gaius, grinning. “Good afternoon,” she said in a sing-song voice. “Have a good sleep?”

“I—You—What—” There was no mistaking the fear written across his face.

“Who would’ve guessed, huh?” She held an arm out, watching as the sun bounced harmlessly off the smooth skin. “I went outside today. The world sure isn’t the same at night. I’ve forgotten how it feels to interact with people.”

Gaius sat frozen in place. Thinking he was scared of the sun, Amy pulled the blinds shut, walking across the room toward him once the light vanished. He kept his eyes on her as she took a seat at the foot of the bed, wariness clear in his eyes.

When she crawled further into the bed, he recoiled. Amy frowned, sitting back on her knees. “What’s wrong?”

“You can walk in the sunlight.” He studied her face, awe mixed with horror. “Should I be concerned?”

Laughing, she shook her head, trying to move close again. “No! I feel greater than I have in a long time. There’s no more darkness. It’s only light.” Amy dropped beside him, running her fingers across the hotel sheets. She felt unstoppable.

“Amy, that means the power is growing stronger.” Gaius did not share her enthusiasm. He watched her the way her friends in New York had before she left. She did not like that.

“It’s fine. I’m in control.” Amy rolled onto her stomach, moving closer to him. She smiled and leaned in, reveling in the surge of power that flowed through her. Gaius hesitated for a moment before he pulled back, shaking his head.

Anger flared inside her, but Amy controlled it. “We need to talk,” Gaius said, the worry in his eyes extinguishing the fear she had that he did not want her.

With a sigh, she pulled away, standing from the bed to walk to the window again. Amy kept the blinds shut, but she already missed the sun. It was a small luxury that meant everything to her.

“Are you sure that you feel fine?” Gaius asked, throwing the covers back as he slowly got out of the bed. “Last night it seemed like you had no control over anything.”

Amy kept her back turned to him, remembering the fear that had coursed through her when she nearly killed the young driver. She hoped he was okay. “For the first time in months, I’m certain that I’m fine,” she said, not wishing to have this conversation right now. “I fed until I was fully satisfied, and that seemed to help. It was like…” She had no idea how to describe it.

“Like you grew stronger from feeding?” Gaius was now standing a few feet behind her.

“Yes.” Amy stared at the wall, feeling how close Gaius stood, his body so close all she had to do was lean back and they would touch. Desperate to change the subject, she glanced back at him. “Have you taken a shower yet?” she asked, smelling the swamp that still lingered on his clothes.

He took a deep breath, and she closed her eyes when his lips brushed against her neck. “I know you’re trying to change the subject.” She felt his lips curve up in a smile against her neck, his hands moving down to grip her hips. “But I’ll play along. Is that what you want me to do?”

She nodded, knowing her voice would shake if she spoke. God, did she want him more than ever. The entire night before felt like a fever dream. It still felt like she was trapped inside a dream world, as though she would wake to find herself still unable to walk in the sun. Like maybe she had never made it out of New York. Perhaps she had died all those years ago, and was stuck in some strange dream world of her own making. Nothing felt real anymore.

Gaius stepped back, and Amy didn’t move from her spot at the window until she heard the shower start. Breathing heavily, she turned to examine the hotel room. The bag of clothes sat on the floor near the door. Her eyes were drawn to the bed, and, desperate to distract herself, she started to make it. Anything to stop the darkness from creeping back in.

Five minutes later, Gaius emerged from the bathroom, raising an eyebrow when he saw that she’d made the bed. “Trying to distract yourself?” He’d returned to his usual self, the hint of fear gone.

“Mhhm.” Amy sat down, dragging her eyes up and down his body. “Sadly, it didn’t work very well.” The voice that spoke no longer sounded like hers, a certain undertone in it that startled her.

The initial feelings of excitement were starting to fade, replaced by something else entirely. She tried to keep her composure, shoving the alarm aside.

Embrace it.

No, she had to keep fighting the darkness.

Stop resisting.

The tendrils of darkness swept over her, slowly wrapping around her heart and her mind. Amy ignored it, latching onto the pleasant feelings of when she’d walked in the sun. One moment of pure joy in the sea of hopelessness was all she needed.

She sat up and watched Gaius, smirking to hide the silent war going on within.

“I got you some new clothes. It might be a nice change for you.” Amy pushed herself off the bed and grabbed the bag from near the door. “Hopefully they’ll fit.”

He didn’t look thrilled about the idea of wearing new clothes. The mild irritation was obvious, though he kept quiet. Amy held the bag out to him with a smile. She couldn’t wait to see what the outfit would look like.

Resigning to the fact there was no getting out of it, Gaius grabbed the bag from her and walked back into the bathroom. While he changed, she pulled the blinds back and held her hand out to the sun again. This was what true power felt like. She could hear the people pass by outside, sense the shift of the gentle breeze, feel the air that surrounded her. And all of it belonged to her if she so chose.

Amy looked at the pot of fertilizer again, envisioning a garden sprouting from the barren dirt. Nothing happened. The world outside grew quieter again, and her attention shifted to the sounds that came from the bathroom. She heard fabric brush against skin as Gaius pulled on the new outfit.

“Do they fit?” Amy cleared her throat, shaking her head in an attempt to snap out of the hazy sensation that swept over her mind. “I had to guess.”

Gaius didn’t answer, instead tugging the door open to reveal himself. She crossed her arms and hid her mouth with one hand as she grinned. It really was something else, seeing him in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.

“Well, at least you’ll blend in better,” she said, studying the clothing. After seeing him with a cloak for so long, it almost seemed a pity to say goodbye to the iconic outfit. “Welcome to the twenty-first century.”

“You are enjoying this way too much.” Still, despite his obvious annoyance, he broke out in a smile. “The things I do to entertain you.”

Amy stepped away from the window and crossed the room to him. “I really appreciate it.” Her senses were still heightened, the sound of his heavy breathing like music to her ears. “What else would you do to entertain me, Gaius Augustine?”

“Anything you want.” He leaned closer to her, studying her face as if waiting for a command. “I’m yours.”

She grinned at the words, something deep inside stirring. “Take off your clothes.”

Amy had no idea what had come over her, but it felt good. The thought of having someone at her complete mercy turned her on. It had been so long since she felt like the one in control of anything.

Gaius stepped back, pulling the shirt over his head. He stared into her eyes as he finished getting undressed. Thoughts of their first time together on the boat ran through her mind. It had been a moment of pure recklessness, of ignoring every rational thought screaming at her not to do it, but she’d never regretted it. She’d spent most of their time apart wishing for another opportunity.

“Are you certain that you’re okay?” He watched her struggle to get her jacket off, her breathing growing ragged as the world came alive around her.

It had taken her a while to get used to her heightened senses as a vampire, but they felt even stronger now. The once distant buzz of electricity that hovered all around had grown deafening. Amy shut her eyes, willing herself to focus. She let out a frustrated groan and sat on the bed when it didn’t help.

The room was quiet as Gaius stood nearby, watching with concern in his eyes. Neither of them had to say what the problem was.

“I need to go for a walk,” Amy mumbled, not bothering to glance back as she stood and hurried toward the door. Without thinking, she threw it open, slamming it shut behind her when she remembered it would likely hurt Gaius if the sunlight hit him.

The sound of traffic roared around her, and she began to pant, shoving her way through the crowd. People stopped to shoot glares at her, but Amy didn’t care. She needed to get away. Now.

After walking for nearly half an hour, she walked to the top of a hill to rest underneath a large tree. A gentle breeze blew across her face, and Amy rested her forehead on her knees. She could still hear people moving about in the town below. Their energy called out to her, the desire to pull all their energy in almost overwhelming.

“It’s nothing,” Amy mumbled to herself, closing her eyes. “You’re fine. Ignore it.”

Talking to herself was hardly going to help, but she didn’t care. All she had to do was hold on just a little longer. Mydiea held the answer to overcoming Rheya’s power. She just knew it.

Her phone started to ring, and Amy pulled it out of her pocket, tears filling her eyes when she saw Adrian’s name. She took a shaky breath, debating whether she should continue to ignore him, before ultimately deciding to answer.

“Hello?”

“Amy, thank God!” Adrian’s panic was clear in his tone. “Where are you? Why haven’t you been answering my calls?”

Amy leaned back against the tree, biting hard on her bottom lip as she closed her eyes. She took a minute to answer. “I’m with Gaius.”

Silence. She only knew Adrian hadn’t hung up because she could hear him breathing on the other end. Finally, after what felt like ten minutes, he answered. “Please come home. We can help you.”

“I don’t think you can.” She held her arm out in the sun, examining the blue veins underneath the beige skin. “Adrian, I can walk in the daylight now.”

It took even longer than the first time for him to answer. “Amy, please, you need to come home. We can all figure this out together. You don’t have to do this alone.”

“I’m not alone.” She thought about the moments spent with Gaius, and for a moment, she felt like it would all be okay. Maybe he could help her overcome this. “I have Gaius.”

Adrian sighed. “He won’t help you. Have you forgotten all the horrible things he did? I know you think that he’s worthy of forgiveness, but what if he encourages it? I can help you. I’m here for you.”

“I’m sorry, Adrian, but I have to go.” Amy stood, looking out at the town. She could sense the darkness moving in again, and tried to shut it out. The next words were meant as a goodbye, as if she knew it would be a long time, perhaps the last time, she ever talked to him. “I’m sorry.”

The desperation in Adrian’s voice almost made her stop, but she knew what had to be done. “Wait, I—” She ended the call, shaking as she turned her phone off and shoved it back in her pocket.

Gaius was pacing the room when she entered the hotel room again, rushing to her when she stepped inside. “Where have you been? I was worried that something had happened.” Worry shone in his face as he studied her, though she noted the way he kept some distance between them.

“I just went for a walk. I feel better now.” It was a lie, and she knew that he could tell, but she no longer cared about trying to hide it. “We still have a few hours before the sun sets,” she said, staring at the planter of dead flowers.

“Amy—” Gaius reached out to grab her by the shoulder, turning her around to look at him. He was frowning, his eyes searching her face. For what, she did not know. “What happened in New York?”

The question felt like a blow to her stomach, the thought of that night rushing back, and she stumbled. She struggled to breathe, aware that if she said the words out loud, it would make it more real, and yet knowing there was no way to avoid the question. Not anymore.

The room seemed to close in as Amy took a seat on the bed, staring at a tiny blood stain on the floor from her frenzied feeding hours earlier. She couldn’t stand to look at Gaius as she said the truth she had been avoiding for two weeks. But it was time. There was no holding off any longer.

“I killed someone.”

  Two Weeks Earlier

“Twenty-five years of superhero movies, and I’m still obsessed.” Lily walked a few feet ahead, excitedly talking about the latest Marvel movie they’d just seen.

Yes, they were still watching Marvel movies.

Amy laughed, her face sore from smiling so much. “You know what? Me too. The special effects don’t hurt, either.” Her grin faltered when they passed a familiar building.

Jax Matsuo Youth Center.

“He would’ve loved that movie,” Amy whispered, the ache in her heart that she was able to ignore most days returning with full force. “Lil, do you ever think about how it would be if Jax were still here?”

Lily looked like she was holding back tears, her movements slow as she made her way to Amy. “I miss him too, Ames. So, so much. But he would be happy knowing we made it. You defeated Rheya. That’s what he wanted.”

“I just can’t stop wondering what could have been. Wishing that he was still here.” She knew the grief bordered on obsession, that her inability to let Jax go was getting in the way of everyday life, but she couldn’t bring herself to forget.

She looked away from the sign when Lily placed a hand on her arm. “We all do. But there’s nothing you or I could have done. The best way to honor Jax’s memory is to go on, and to live a happy life. That’s what he’d want for you.”

Amy shook her head, the strange feeling that had been appearing every few months returning. She ignored it and continued to walk down the street with Lily by her side. “You’re right. I just need to stop—” The image of Jax turning to ash flashed in her mind and she had to lean against the wall of the building, struggling to bring air into her lungs. She had no idea why the guilt was so strong, but it had never fully gone away.

“You okay?”

But Lily’s words fell on deaf ears. Suddenly, Amy felt a need to feed. It was stronger than ever before, even worse than when she’d first been Turned. She could sense a human nearby. Their heart pounded in a steady rhythm. Their blood coursed through their veins. Her mouth watered and she felt her fangs emerge.

“Uh, Amy, when’s the last time you fed?” Lily looked worried, her lips turned down in a frown. “You don’t look so good.”

Amy tried to shake the feeling off, pushing herself off the wall as she attempted to continue the walk back to their apartment. “I’m fine. It’s okay, I just—” But the desire was growing stronger. “I’ll be fine. It’s nothing. Let’s—” She gasped, feeling the world fade away until all she could hear, feel, taste was the blood pumping through the arteries of whoever was nearby. If she didn’t feed, she would die. The need for that blood consumed her.

Before she took the time to think about what she was doing, she took off at a sprint, heading in the direction where she could hear a beating heart. Lily tried to grab her, but she was too slow.

Something about this felt different. It was almost as if she hadn’t fed in years. The desire to feed was stronger than ever before. Amy ignored the calls from Lily and weaved her way through some alleys, locating the human within seconds.

The young man jumped when she appeared out of the shadows, a voice inside her telling her to feed. She wanted to ignore it, wanted to turn around and go back to Lily. Instead, she pounced, silencing his screams before they could properly begin.

By the time Lily caught up, it was too late.

Power surged through Amy as she drained the human’s blood. She closed her eyes and clung to the young man’s body, only letting go when Lily grabbed her from behind. Her best friend staggered back when Amy opened her eyes.

“Your eyes. They’re glowing.” Fear shone in Lily’s eyes as she stuck a shaking hand in her pocket, pulling her phone out to call someone. She only looked away for a moment before focusing back on Amy, as if to make sure she didn’t go anywhere. “Adrian? We have a problem.”

Amy finally snapped out of her bloodlust after a few minutes, looking at the body in horror. She shoved the darkness inside back down, praying that she hadn’t killed the human.

Less than five minutes later, Adrian and Kamilah arrived, not bothering to hide their shock when they saw what she had done. Amy tried to think of something to say, but she knew there were no words that would make this better. She had crossed a line there was no going back from.

“How did this happen?” She thought she saw disgust in Adrian’s face, and took a step back. “Amy, this isn’t like you! You killed someone!”

She tried to speak, but words failed her. Seeing no other option, she turned and ran, knowing that her friends would never leave her alone after this. They had sensed that she was struggling to control herself for years, but this situation confirmed it. There was no way to control her urges anymore. The darkness crept its way back up, and she knew without a doubt that Rheya’s power still lived inside her.

After running for a few more minutes, the apartment building she lived in with Lily appeared. Amy didn’t think. She just grabbed whatever she could, feeling the heaviness in her chest when she strapped Jax’s sword to her back and ran back into the night.

As she made her way to the airport, she could think of only one person who might understand. It was someone who she hadn’t seen since the night she’d decided to spare his life two and a half decades ago. Maybe the person she found—if she found him at all—was nothing like the one who’d left her behind in New York. Twenty-five years was still a long time for her, even if she was immortal. A large part of her wanted to believe that he really was trying to redeem himself, but another small part worried that maybe he’d gone back to his old ways.

It didn’t matter. There was only one other person who had been under Rheya’s control for an extended period of time. And while this might not be mind control, she could still feel her mind withering away, picking at who she was throughout the years, until she would no longer recognize herself. Amy knew that if she didn’t try to stop it, the darkness would consume her. So, seeing no other way, she boarded a flight to Europe, not knowing where to go, but knowing that this was the only chance.

She had to find Gaius Augustine.