#i am nothing if not filled with a burning desire to think about my ocs and love for turkish songs

[cynopoe]

Oh cruel one!

Skin pale, hair red as roses,

In his laugh, nightingales sing.

His lashes are a tulle of charcoal,

I was struck by that beauty.

Those are not eyes but embroidery,

Mine is not love but worship.

He loved strangers, in the end

I was banished from eternal happiness.

Took my shadow with me,

Hit to the path of longing,

I am not unlike ill-fated Majnun,

I took refuge in the almighty God.

Watch my wretched state as dawn falls over my figure,

Allies are scarce, futile talk fills the passing time.

I am left drifting, vagrant in this abandonment.

Oh cruel one! Don’t you have no God?

Lover cast his gaze up to sky, all I have is an arid passion.

Enemy is defiant, beware, my beloved with a blackened heart!

In my young age, flaking snow fell into my hair.

Oh cruel one! Don’t you know no God?

..

Please note that the Turkish language have no gendered pronouns, so the gender of the muse of this song us unknown. I decided to use masculine pronouns for this translation. However, it would work better with feminine, as the singer likens herself to Majnun and it would make the lover, Layla.

“Enemy is defiant” line is written as it is the singer who has those enemies, not the lover. But I decided to leave it vague.

Cheated a bit with the first two verses, as my focus is on the last two. Hope to convey my love for this song!

[pagiecakewritesstuff]

2. MORPHEUS|DREAM OF THE ENDLESS X READER/OC

Assorodus meaning "silvery water".

Purpose may or may not exist, depending on our personal ideologies. The Endless know better though, they saw the entity prowling the lands before the beginning of history, and it was older than them. Not by much, a few eons maybe, arriving after the birth of the universe we know. For this being was strong and withered the coldness of the void until everything was created. First of Writers, the name it was given, for the inherent purpose of every breathing thing had to be formed in words. Whether we believe in it or not.

SERIES MASTERLIST

It must have been the silvery water that drew him back from time to time. The gentle waves licked at his feet as he cautiously kneeled on the silky sand of the shore. The first time he saw his reflection. I wonder if he knew how beautiful he was, even among his siblings. He used to smile a lot more back then, when he did imaginations would spring into reality and dreams were born. I used to think that the things he created were impossibly, but then he did them so effortlessly with such elegance and grace. Passion radiated off of him in waves, his purpose fulfilled tenfold as he handed out stories after storied for the world. For he was the maker of stories that later inspired people, not I. Yet again a slight difference between me and the Endless, that many like to forget.

I happened to spend days observing him playing in the sand. The individual grains obeyed him, cradling his naked body, sheltering him from cold or heat. The lake, the shore and the sand were as part of him as he was part of them. With every passing hour, the words that I gifted him bloomed inside his soul, conjuring endless fields of flowers. I was once invited to these fields before they withered and we laid side by side under the brilliant blue sky.

"Do you know if existence will always be this beautiful?" He asked me then. He was soo young, barely two centuries old, overflowing with hope and most of all, love.

"It's not my place to know such things." I turned to him, the first being to gift me with a smile after all those years in solitude, lost in the void. "Ask Destiny and he will tell you nothing."

"Is he really the only one in the universe who can perceive the future without crumbling under the weight of it?"

"I wrote him so."

He laughed, another thing that was among his customs before the beginning of history.

"I'm unsure what would have happened if you weren't here for us when we came to be."

"Nothing," I told him simply. "That would have meant that you have no need for me, for I only exist as long as I have a purpose."

Concern floods his features, pushing himself up he leans on his elbows, hovering over me. Searching my eyes for what I was about to say, his irises turned stormy and dark, filling with blinking stars. It reminded me of my first star that I wrote to.

"Am I to witness your death in the future First of Writers? Or you speak in riddles again?" He shuddered. "Tell me you speak in riddles and what you say is not set in stone."

"Dear Prince of Dreams, you shouldn't worry about such matters, not for a long while at least. This universe will proceed to exist for eons to come, I'm sure of it. However, everything will cease to exist one day, as this is how things go, as nothing is forever. Except for maybe you. Dreams don't die so easily."

He pressed his forehead against mine, sideways so his nose brushed my cheek. I could feel his breathing on my lips, his wild hair falling over my brow, tremors shaking his bones, signalling his desire to get as close as he could, but he held back. I told him to do so.

"You wrote it so?" He breathed into my mouth.

"I did."

In his containment, he is immensely mortal, to my eyes at least. I see the young entity back at the shore of the silvery lake, in a reversed, twisted state. I'm sitting aside, my skin soaking up the cold of the stone wall after the heat outside. The ward hasn't ceased burning me either, nor his gaze, intent, just shy of pouching a hole in my chest. Old passion long gone, he is on the brink of giving up so he uses me as an anchor in any way he can. I let him, I hold him without hands. He never refuses my presence, he yearns for it, even though we can't speak to each other. He doesn't smile as much anymore and I can barely remember the last time I hear him laugh. When I search for the fields of flowers in him the grass is dry and yellow, no floral wonders to be seen underneath the grey sky. As he notices me looking into his soul, reading my own prose in it, he shuts himself off and I find myself in front of two tall ivory gates. I wish to tell him that he doesn’t need to protect himself from me, but I recognise his scars, some still open and bleeding, so I leave him. He will come to me when I’m needed, as he did before. I will be there.

I only let him sense my invisible form, causing confusion amongst the guards about what their prisoner is watching so closely. When they investigate, they can't find anything. To this his eyes smile for a few passing moments, celebrating a small triumph that on paper belongs to my skills, but I lend it over to him. Everything for his short brakes of happiness. When Roderic Burgess descends into the depth of his basement he pointedly ignores the fact that he can't lock eyes with his guest. He likes to call him a guest instead of a prisoner. It probably eases his consciousness about keeping a feeling being locked up. What his usage of words makes me feel is yet another question.

Between shift changes, we have a chance to talk briefly. His mouth hangs slightly agape when he tells me that there is no air left behind the glass and breathing makes him think of a walled-up door, not giving. As his chest rises he bares his teeth, lungs straining against his ribcage. Yet again it reminds me of his mortal aspect in the waking world and of mine too. There is a certain comfort in this for me, showing that I am not all that different from actual living beings, meaning I’m still capable of writing prose that they will subconsciously listen to. For Morpheus, this is nothing but a curse as he endures the pain of suffocation and starvation with every passing second. Every time his dry tongue darts across his lips he wishes for nourishment.

Outside the world continues, trying to correct the loss of Dream, searching for an able substitute. Surely he knows this, such power shifts are to be sensed even from behind wards and glass cages. His powers wither inside him, unable to break free.

The basement is a good place for writing, I'm down there with him as often as I can afford. My words however won't distribute themselves, so on occasion, I leave. We don't say goodbye, as I disappear at the turn of the stairway. Though I can envisage his eyes following my every step as if pulling me back with carefully veiled desperation. Without uttering a sound every joint in his body tells me that my leaving is like a slap across the face for him, and I ponder if me coming down to the basement is doing any good at all.

On my way out I slow down, choosing to observe the household. It's depressing to see how much sorrow stuck under the roof of Fawney Rig, Magus' ongoing abuse of his son can't be prevented. At least not by me and I doubt any godly entity would care about these tiny mortals in this vast universe. Alex's pain troubles me, but my hands are bound. He is serving his purpose. My words written across his being tell me, it's not to free Morpheus.

An example of unwavering loyalty and patience after all these years, Jessamy waits for me by her tree. I reveal myself to her and we whisper to each other in the shade of green. The gentle afternoon breeze ruffles her feathers as her body is erect, as she balances on a thin branch. She wants to help. I can't convince her to go back to the Dreaming, instead, I warn her to give a wide berth to the manor, should the inhabitants know to whom she belongs. Her black beady eyes look towards the main door, she is disgruntled but doesn't object. She promises to stay away. I disappear from the mortal plane a bit less worried than I arrived. I’m doing what I can.

I have to be away for months due to neglecting my work, I leap between realms and realities, and I travel far and back. I pass other Endless, our exchanged glances signalling me that they know what's happening. Unable to act, all of them. I guide my diverted attention back to my task, my sentences swirl around the universe, it's remunerative to see them, young and old alike. They make me feel at home wherever I set foot.

At the same time, they are fast carriers of news. A lifeline between me and souls in need of me.

A cry for help hits me like a beam of ethereal light, tainted with such anguish that clenches my heart, forcing it to skip beats. I know who it is. His unmistakable voice calls my name in its thousands of iterations all at once and a roar escapes his mind. A roar that can tear down mountains, and split dreams in half. In me a thread among infinite snaps, an unfulfilled purpose floats back to me, but fear makes me blind to see who's it is.

Frozen, I fall into the depths of space until catching myself. The wails come in continuous waves, searching for me. What happened? What have they done to him? Shaken I gather myself and race the stars back to earth, a few left behind letters scatter then form into a draft in my wake. My spirit flies through doors uninvited until I stop myself at the top of the stairs. Behind my back there is commotion, shouting, and something heavy thrown onto the ground, it sounds like metal and wood. It clicks lightly, only I can hear it, it’s a gun. Before me, the tangible smell of blood forms a thick wall, red and swirling. Death was here, she already left. I secretly proceed down and arrive at the iron gate. It's open, with no guards in sight.

The trail of blood drips down from the sphere, smeared across the glass, mixed with feathers, black and white. A rat sips on it, delighted in its feast, pawing after remains of tissue. I tug on the severed thread in me, bringing it forward. With tenderly curling letters it writes Jessamy. Now the gun makes sense, and I’m angry at first, I told her not to get close, they did know who she was. For a moment I think of running after Death, showing her the thread of purpose unfulfilled, explaining to her that this is a mere mistake. Then I hear him calling out, louder than before.

In his cage, Morpheus tries to sob, but he can’t really. The air ran out long ago. His exterior emotions are obscured by his palms fisting his hair. His maintained, defiant posture is no more, lost in his grief and he folds over himself crumpled and broken. He is facing away from what’s left of his raven. He had to see all of it, didn’t he? How could they be so cruel to shoot her in front of his eyes? I rein in my rage over what I can’t mend, this is not why I’m here.

As I approach the rat runs to hide, stealing a feather between its teeth. The edge of the circle is like a tightrope, I balance on it, uncertain if I should step down and reach out for the creature in the depths. The last thing I want to do is hurt him more, he requested my support and he shall receive it, I’m not to overstep his boundaries. I attempt to say his name, but it’s hard to find my voice. He doesn’t seem like himself anymore, does he still have a name at all? Is he defeated now, shivering and alone?

Not if I have a say in it.

“Lord Morpheus.” The whine escaping his lips is the only sign that he acknowledges my presence. I sink to my knees, leaning into the barrier. “Hear me Morpheus, open the gates, let me into your fields.”

His head raises, a teardrop clings to the tip of his nose, then falls onto the glass.

“I have my fields no more.” He mutters. “All of it… It’s rotten.”

“I like it all the same.” I place my hand on the sphere, ignoring the burn. “I have just enough power, please, let me in. Let me ease your sorrow.”

Desperation exploding in his soul like an unstable bomb, suddenly he lugs me in without a warning. My bare feet hit ashy, dark ground, he dressed me in my old robes. So he still remembers. Ahead he stands, his back towards me, naked, this time not by choice, robbed of his dignity. Without facing me, he speaks.

“You were never supposed to see this.”

“You think I didn’t know?” I get in front of him while he looks over my shoulders. “I’m not angry for it.”

“I have spoiled your gift.”

“You never did such a thing.”

He sobs, ugly and heaving, free of the boundaries torturing him on the mortal plane. I cup his cheeks, turning his eyes on me. The stars are blinking in them, weakened.

“There you are, love. What happened?”

It takes a few moments until he calms down. He savours my touch, his fingers holding onto mine. I offer more contact and our foreheads find each other, his lashes brush my eyelids, and we breathe in and out together.

“In front of me. They killed her in front of me.”

“I hear you. Come, join me in the grass.”

Following my invitation his body mirrors mine. I guide his head over my stomach and I begin to undo the knots in his hair, his locks lost their shine. Like a heavy blanket, partial unconsciousness settles over him, he stops shivering, still reaching for me, locking my arm into his hold.

“Do you still remember?”

“I couldn’t forget.” I can see his beautiful flowers dancing in front of my eyes, branded into my memory. “Existence is not what we hoped for.”

“It never is.”

He travels up my body settling in the crook of my neck, his lips rubbing against my skin as he parts them when he asks;

“Do you yearn for me as much as I do?” He hopes. I hate to kill it.

“I yearn for your freedom. For the balance regained by it.”

“Nothing more?” I wish I could make him feel better by saying what he longs for, but I can’t. I forbade myself a long time ago.

“No.”

He grips me tighter even though he knew the answer ahead.

“Even after these years?”

“It would only bring us pain.” The celestial sphere cracks above us, voices and footsteps are coming through. “Jessamy will be in good hands, trust your sister in this, she loves you very much. To me, you have to promise that you won't give up, Morpheus. Can you do that? Just a little while longer?”

His nose shifts across my collarbone, and he nods.

“Just a little while longer.” I kiss his hairline, pouring all the strength into him that I can give. I peel away his fingers. “I love you too.”

I leave, he stays on the ground enduring the piercing of the thorns of grass. Reluctantly he lets me go and remains silent as his tremors start again.

“Come back for me.”

“I will.”

When the guards return the splash of blood is removed, nowhere to be seen.

[mayraki]

✧ let me make your night better - bucky barnes

-> asterie’s gif

summary: it all starts as a fun girls night out with your friends but when you get the unwanted attention from a man, your mood completely changes so you decide to call your boyfriend bucky to take you home. which leads to him wanting to make your night better.

masterlist

check out my bucky barnes x oc series let’s play fire with fire

a/n: there’s something about bucky riding that motorcycle........

warnings: creepy guy at the bar. oral (female receiving) +18!!

“Do you actually have to go?” Bucky asked as his eyes were glued to your body while you were checking the outfit you picked for the night. You turned around to see the poor man giving you puppy eyes as he was sitting on the bed behind you. “I mean, you can stay with me and we can watch a movie or something-”

“Bucky, I haven’t seen my friends in person in a long time. And I see you everyday... c’mon, it’s just for tonight.” You left the mirror to get closer to him and stand in front of him to grab his cheeks with your hands and make him lock eyes with you, as his eyes didn’t seem to want to leave your body. “My eyes are up here, baby.” You bit your lower lip as he let out a little laugh and grabbed the back of your thighs to pull your body even closer to him.

“I’m sorry, doll, but the way you look on that dress... what I would give for you to stay tonight here with me.” He said softly while gently caressing your skin. You let out a little smile getting closer to his face to feel his breathing against your skin.

“Maybe when I get back.... someone has to take this dress off..” you said with the intention to tease Bucky and leave him with wild thoughts on his mind, but as soon as you tried to take a step back he quickly grabbed your waist and pulled you up to sit you down on his lap with your legs between his body.

“So you’re teasing me and now you want to leave? That’s kinda rude, doll.” Bucky said softly against your lips before pulling in closer to touch yours with his. You immediately felt the hotness of his skin against yours, feeling your body with that desire you would love to feel so much. But you needed to keep your head up and not give him what he wanted, after all, that was your favorite game.

You pulled away and bit your lower lip seeing how his eyes were filled with lust. “Save it for later, Bucky. We don’t want you to get tired now, do we?”

Before he could make any other movement you left his lap and gave yourself a last look in the mirror. That tight red dress fitted your body like a glove. Ending right in the middle of your thighs and those tall black shoes making your legs more longer. You felt hot... and for the way Bucky was checking you, made you feel even more sexy.

You turned around to face Bucky once again and noticed how his eyes were slowly going down on your body, making the butterflies on your stomach go wild. But no wanting to show any weakness under his eyes, you walked closer to him and grabbed his chin to make his eyes look at yours, once again. “Time for me to leave, baby. See you later?” You asked softly before leaving a simple yet hot kiss on his lips.

“You count on that, doll.” He said when you pulled away. You smiled at him and then turned around ready to leave Bucky and your apartment behind. But not before feeling those blue eyes on your body just one more time.

>>>

“Cheers, cheers, cheers girls!” Your friend Kelly said as the sound of the glasses clinching together hit your ears. “For a wonderful night, for a wonderful life filled with love, money and success!” Those words were followed with yours and your friends happy laughs before taking your shot to your mouth, feeling the burning sensation on your throat as soon as the liquid was going down your body.

“Another round, please!” Your other friend, Jessica said loudly to the bartender which nodded quickly.

“I’m not going to black out tonight, girls.” You said as a little laugh escaped your lips. Immediately, you had your two friends looking at you disappointed.

“What?! Why not baby?” Kelley asked while shaking your arm playfully.

“C’mon! We haven’t party like this for a while! Let’s bring back those nights Y/n!”

You let out another laugh as you were shaking your head the moment the bartender pulled another round of shots for you and your friends. “I’m not ready to wake up with a horrible headache and throw up everything I ate today. Not happening. I need more night outs to finally get to that point.”

“Alright, seems fair! But we’re dancing until your feet can’t no more.” You and Jessica quickly nodded as Kelly let out those words. You all grabbed your shots and lifted them up ready to toast again. “For a hot and sexy guy to take me home because I haven’t got any action for months!” Jessica said and you let out a loud laugh before taking your glass towards your mouth, feeling once again, the horrible sensation against your throat making you close your eyes and shake your head waiting for it to end.

“I feel you on that one, Jess.” Kelly said after leaving the shot glass on the table. “I haven’t had a guy on my bed for ages, I’m starting to wonder if sex changed or if I have my virginity back.”

“Definitely.” Jess agreed. “We need to look for potential guys to take home, please. Someone rich, if it’s possible.”

They both turned around to wonder around the club as you let out a smile looking at your friends being their goofy selves. But soon after, they all turned around to face you with grins all over their faces. “What?” You asked confused at their facial expressions.

“Since we don’t have any sexual encounters in our lives, we need to live through yours.” Kelly said making you let out a laugh feeling the hotness going towards your cheeks. “C’mon, tell us what that hot boyfriend of yours do.”

“Girls! I don’t kiss and tell!”

“Don’t be like that, Y/n! Help your friends out.” Jess complained shaking your arm. “I’m pretty sure that man leaves nothing to the imagination.” She lifted her eyebrows repeatedly making you shake your head while biting your lower lip as the memory of the other night came back to your head.

“Oh, am I seeing that correctly? Am I seeing Y/n remembering something? Oh, girl, c’mon tell us!”

“She’s probably thinking about her boyfriend’s huge-”

“Girls!”

“What? C’mon, Y/n, I’m such touched starved!”

You looked at your friends but your mind was somewhere else, his hands touching you, his lips against your skin, your bodies dripping with water, your back against the wall... “The other night,” you started before your brain gave you a chance to decide about telling your friends “he decided to surprise me with something that he knows I like. He prepared a bath with roses in it and chocolate sented candles. We got in and well... one thing lead to another and we ended up-” you let out a tiny laugh seeing your friends carefully listening to your words “we ended up turning on the shower and doing it against the wall.”

Your friends pulled their bodies backwards to let their backs rest on the chair as they were covering their faces with their hands. “Steamy and wet, that’s the one right there!” Kelly said as you were letting out little laughs seeing how funny their reactions were.

“Please tell me he likes to go down on you.” Jess said and then carefully waited for your reaction, and then again, once you slowly nodded they both let their bodies hit the chair as Jess was waving air with her hand towards her face and Kelly ordered another shot. “Jesus, that man keeps getting hotter and hotter the more I found out about him.”

You gently punched Jess on the arm as she shrugged her shoulders. “Hey! That’s my man you’re talking about!” You said with a smile seeing how Jess took another shot like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Yes! I know you lucky bitch!”

“I need to dance and shake my ass.” Kelly said with her eyes closed, feeling the burning from her shot. “Twerking is the only thing that’s gonna make me feel better.”

After Kelly grabbed you and Jess to take you two to the dance floor, you danced and danced until you started to feel your throat getting dry as you started to move along with the music. Your feet inside those heels were making your toes hurt so realising your defeat, you pointed at the bar to your friends and they quickly nodded, letting you know they got it.

Making your way to the chair you were sat down a half an hour ago, you let your body as well as your feet relax once your weight was on that tall chair. You let out a relaxing breath as you felt your toes getting comfortable and the cold wind that was entering the club hit your skin, making your sweat slowly fade away.

“Can I have a glass of water, please?” You asked the bartender and as soon as they nodded, you let out a tiny smile thanking them. While waiting for your drink, you pulled out your phone to check out the hour and as soon as the time ‘01:35’ appeared on your screen, you blocked it to leave it again inside your tiny black purse. “Thank you!” You said as the bartender left with a smile a glass of water in front of you.

With a quick move, you grabbed your drink and headed it towards your mouth to let it fresh your mouth and throat. Seconds later, the water was long gone and you were feeling better. So, with the intention to see your friends and check if they were still on the same spot, you turned your head around but when a strange guy walked in front of you making it impossible for you to see your friends, you slowly followed him with your eyes as he quickly made his way towards the chair by your side.

“Waiting for someone?” He asked letting his elbows rest on the counter as his face was facing you.

You let out a tiny smile after checking your friends. “No, I’m with my friends. They’re dancing right now, so-”

“Oh, don’t tell me they left you alone! They’re bad friends.”

You slowly shook your head while you locked eyes with him. “No they’re not. We were dancing together but I got thirsty so I decided to come here.”

The guy nodded as his eyes looked down to your lips. You moved in your seat uncomfortably as you felt his eyes under you. Trying to make it obvious that you didn’t want to talk you turned to the bartender and kept your focus on what they were doing. But when you still felt the guy by your side, you turned around to them once again to give them an awkward little smile.

“I’m Peter.”

“Y/n.”

“Do you want a drink?”

If guys ever approached you on the street you would usually tell them politely that you had a boyfriend of that you weren’t interested, making them to leave you alone or sometimes leaving the typical comment ‘you’re not that hot anyway’ in the processes. But for some reason, there was a feeling in your gut that this guy wasn’t good news. The way he was staring at you and after every word getting his body closer and closer to you, made you even more uncomfortable and wanting to go out of that situation as fast as possible.

“Not really. I already had a lot.” You said dryly and wanting the guy to leave you alone you faced the bartender once again, but instead, Peter touched your elbow with strength the moment he moved his body closer to yours.

“C’mon, what’s one more? Please, hey, you!” He snapped his fingers to call the bartender. “Two shots!”

“Hey, I said no.” You said shaking your head. “I’m sorry but I have a boyfriend.”

“And what about it?” Peter let out a loud as soon as the two shots were in front of you. “Can’t your boyfriend share?”

You stared at his eyes and soon felt how your heart dropped to your stomach. You looked at his hand handing you the shot but then quickly shook your head, grabbing your purse with the intention to go back with Jess and Kelly. “I better go find my friends, they must be looking for me.”

“You told me they were dancing so they’re probably having fun, Y/n! C’mon, take the shot with me.” Peter got closer the shot to your face which made you turn your head backwards. “Don’t be a party boomer!”

“I don’t want to.” You said firmly trying to take his hand out of your face’s way, but him taking it even more closer to your face made you unintentionally push his hand away, making the shot fall on his shirt.

“You little bitch! This shirt is new!” With the intention to grab your arm he lifted his now wet hand towards you but soon was stopped by the bartender grabbing his shirt and pulling him away. You quickly got up from your chair and looked how the bartender looked at you and once they noticed you were fine, they turned back to Peter.

“You better leave her alone, asshole.” They said and soon called the security guard, who grabbed Peter to take him out of the club after the bartender told him some words quickly. “Are you alright?” They asked and you quickly nodded. As they were about to say something else, you felt someone grabbing your shoulders and soon noticing your two friends standing by your sides looking at you worringly.

“Y/n! What happened?! Are you alright?” Jess asked as Kelly was looking around for Peter with anger on her eyes.

“I’m fine.” You said after gaining the control of your tongue. The realisation of what just happened hit your head so feeling annoyed at the music around you, you turned around to walk out the front door and leave the club behind, soon followed by your two friends.

“I’m gonna kill that guy!” Kelly said with anger while Jess was gently caressing your shoulder.

“Are sure you’re alright?” Jess asked softly and you slowly nodded pulling out your phone from your purse.

“I’m gonna call Bucky so he can take me home.” You said and your friends quickly nodded.

“We better go too.” Jess said turning to an angry Kelly, who was still looking around for Peter. “Kelly?”

“Yes, you call Bucky and tell him what happened because I’m sure he’s going to be down with me to kill that guy.” Kelly said but you quickly shook your head.

“No, I’m not telling him what happened.”

“What?!” Kelly turned to you confused. “Y/n you need to tell him.”

“No, that’s going to lead the whole situation into more chaos and I just want to go home.”

Kelly was about to say something else but Jess cut her off. “Kelly, is Y/n’s decision.”

Knowing that Jess was right, Kelly let out a sigh and walked closer to you to gently caress your arm. “Alright.”

You looked at your phone and once you saw the name “Bucky” on your screen, you let out a little sigh before looking at your friends. “Not a word, ok?” They both nodded and then you clicked on his name taking your phone towards your ear, already ringing.

“Hello? Y/n? Are you alright?” Bucky asked with worry in his voice the second the call was answered.

“Bucky. Yeah, I’m fire. I just- can you pick me up?”

“Why? What happened?”

“Nothing. I just want to go home. Jess and Kelly want to stay and I don’t want them to end the night earlier because of me. That’s all.” You looked at your friends and noticed the anger still coming out Kelly’s eyes, but her mouth stayed shut.

“Doll, you don’t sound alright what happ-?”

“Can you come Bucky?” You cut him off with your voice cracked. Something about him sounding so worry about you made your throat to close up and to feel some tears wanting to come out.

“Stay there. I’m on my way.” He quickly said before ending the call. Leaving your phone back in your purse you locked eyes with your friends and tried your hardest to keep your tears inside your body.

“Are we taking an Uber?” Jess asked to Kelly but before Kelly could answer, you shook your head.

“No, you guys stay. C’mon, it’s early. I’ll be fine with Bucky. Besides, you two still need to find someone rich so they can take us on their fancy boat.”

Jess and Kelly let out a tiny laughs while you felt your throat going back to normal. “I can’t promise you the boat, but a house on a lake is enough?” Kelly asked jokingly and you quickly nodded while a little smile escaped your lips.

Soon after, the sound of a motorcycle hit your ears making your head to turn towards the noise. You got up noticing the entire attention of the people outside the club was now on your boyfriend arriving while riding his motorcycle. Seconds after pulling over, he took off his big and black helmet off and left the motorcycle to make his way towards you.

“What happened, Y/n?” He asked with anger on his voice. “Did someone touch you? Who? Y/n, please tell me.” Not getting an answer from you, Bucky immediately understood and looked around with anger. “I’m gonna kill whoever touched you.”

“That’s the fucking spirit!” You heard Kelly say behind you.

“Bucky-”

“Where is he? Is he still here? C’mon, Y/n, tell me so I can show that guy that nobody touches my girl.”

“Bucky!” You yelled loudly enough to gain Bucky’s attention. He turned to you and once seeing the tiredness on your eyes, he quickly grabbed your cheeks and left a simple kiss on your lips. “Just take me home.” You said softly once he pulled away.

You moved back ready to walk towards his motorcycle and put the extra helmet on, soon followed by Bucky. Once you were on his bike sitting behind him and wrapping your hands around his waist, you turned to your friends and let out a tiny smile.

“With a lake house?” Kelly asked with a little smile and you nodded.

“Nothing less.” You said before Bucky turned the motorcycle on and started the way towards your apartment.

As the wind was hitting your skin you started to feel cold and your body to shiver, so trying to look for warmth you touched your forehead with Bucky’s back as you tried to get your body closer to his as possible. Moving your hips to his, you noticed how Bucky did a quick look to you on the back and understood what you were doing. Being able to manage his motorcycle with just his metal arm, he let go and with his warm hand touched your naked thigh with strength, giving it a little squeeze before gently caressing your skin with his thumb.

The amount of safety he made you feel by just touching you it was unbelievable. Everything that you felt moments ago was slowly fading away, making you feel butterflies in your stomach and filling your chest with warmth. You unconsciously let out a tiny smile as the feeling of freedom hit your body, you let your chin rest on his back as his hand was still on your thigh. The way he made you feel on that situation, him riding his bike with you on the back, it couldn’t be described. You felt in movie, those things you were used to seeing in old movies where the guy is something so far off by reality that would always made you feel sad because you thought you were never going to find something like that. But there you were, with the man of your dreams driving his motorcycle while his hand was resting on your thigh, ready to protect you and make you the happiest girl in the world.

“Want something to drink?” Bucky asked softly as the door of your apartment was being closed by him and you were on the couch, taking your shoes off.

“Not really. Just want to take this dress off and go to bed.” You tossed your shoes aside and made your hair into a bun ready to head into your bathroom and take off your makeup.

As you feet touched the coldness of the floor in the bathroom, you shiver but quickly turned on the hot water to wash your hands and start with your routine. As soon as you grabbed the makeup remover, you sigh regretting going out with your friends. It made you feel so disgusting on the inside as the memory of Peter was slowly going back to your head. It was more anger right on that moment than sadness and shook, the way that some guys felt you were obligated to say yes to them just because they wanted to buy you a drink. No matter if you said no multiple times. It was sickening.

Your muscle memory made you remember his hands touching your elbow making you stop throwing with anger the makeup remover towards the counter and close your eyes to try and forget it.

“Doll?” A hand touching your elbow made you jump and quickly open your eyes. But as soon as your eyes locked up with his, your heart went down to its normal speed. “You ok?”

“Yeah.” You nodded before opening the cold water to wash your face. You opened your eyes to see the water dripping down on your skin but then your eyes went directly to the man behind you. Once you did, you slowly followed him and his lips as they were ready to kiss your bare shoulders. Feeling their warmth, you closed your eyes enjoying the feeling.

His free hand slowly traced your body until it arrived in your stomach to gently push you against him, to warm your bodies against the other. Slowly living kisses on your shoulder, he then moved his lips towards your neck. Wanting to leave him more space, you tilted your head sideways as little breaths were coming out of your mouth.

“Open your eyes, doll.” He said against your skin making you shiver the second your skin felt the air hitting you.

As he said, you slowly opened your eyes to meet his as his lips were leaving gentle kisses on your skin. Your left hand touched his, the one that was carefully resting against your stomach to gently caress it with your thumb. Without giving you the chance to do something else, Bucky turned your body to face him and quickly grabbed your cheeks to leave a simple yet full of passion kiss on your lips.

“Let me make your night better, doll.” He said softly right in front of your face making you feel the hot air leaving his mouth in your skin. His eyes were glued to your lips and his thumb was caressing your cheek. With his metal arm, moved a piece of hair that was covering your face and carefully tugged it behind your ear.

“What do you have in mind?” You asked when a grin escaped your lips. Suddenly, like Bucky was waiting for that exact answer, with his metal arm grabbed your waist and pulled you up, making you wrap your legs around his waist while he was making his way towards your bedroom.

Once inside, as he was getting closer to the bed he pulled up your dress and left it right on your stomach. He carefully dropped you and quickly positioned himself on top of you. Feeling the coldness of his metal arm it made you shiver once again, but soon it was covered by the hot kiss he left on your lips.

Leaving your lips, he started to move on your neck and then your chest while his other cold hand was slowly pulling your dress up. Soon after, you were wearing nothing but your underwear. Tossing your dress to the side, Bucky held his body up by his knees and stared at your body like he was staring at a piece of art freshly made.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, doll. You know that?” He said with a little smile and that made your stomach turn as you felt the heat going towards your cheeks. Even if he had been your boyfriend for over a year now, no matter how many times he had seen you naked or called you beautiful, it still made you feel like it was the first time.

Getting closer to your face once again, he united his lips with yours but this time he managed to make the speed faster than the ones before. His tongue touched your mouth so you opened it wider to let it play with yours. As slowly as they were moving, you could feel the heat growing in your body. He had his metal arm by the side of your head holding his body on top of yours while his other hand was slowly massaging the side of your thigh.

His fingers found themselves playing with your underwear, pulling it and twisting it while his mouth was still focused on yours. But soon leaving your lips desiring for more, he ended the kiss and looked down ready to pull your underwear down. Like he was a pro at it, with quick moved he sat down on the bed and with his metal arm lifted your waist so the thin underwear you were wearing would come off easily. Letting out a grin Bucky toss it aside and used his hand to touch your stomach and slowly move it up towards your chest.

You could feel your insides asking for more. Wanting to feel Bucky against your legs even more as his hands were tracing your body. Joining them soon his lips were now against your skin. Taking his tongue out he gently licked your bare chest around your bra. Needing to take it off, you arched your back to let his hand go under and with a quick move making it undone to take it off your body and again, toss it on the floor.

“I’m never going to get tired of watching your naked body under me, doll.” Bucky said softly making you let out a smile as his lips were already flying towards your mouth.

“Bucky-” you said against his lips.

“What, doll?” He asked leaving your mouth to slowly caress your cheek with his thumb as his eyes were staring you and your eyes full of lust. “What do you want me to do to you?” He asked with a smile and you bit your lower lips while million of ideas were flying around your mind. “What is it, doll?” He asked more with a joking tone than before. The grin on his face became even bigger as a smile appeared on your face. “Oh, you want me do the thing- I’ll do the thing, alright.”

A little laugh escaped your lips as Bucky moved his mouth towards your chest and left little kisses on it, but soon placed his body lower so his face could be closer between your legs. Ready to feel that sensation your body was desiring so much, you closed your eyes and soon felt his lips against your inner thigh. Wanting to make more space for his head Bucky grabbed your thighs and slowly separated them without taking his lips away from your skin.

He was taking his sweet time around your folds leaving little kisses making you feel the hotness and the wetness of it become even more stronger and noticeable. You moved your hips to feel his lips more strongly against your skin, noticing this Bucky let out a tiny smile and looked at the desire in your face. “Want me to move quicker, don’t we?”

“Fuck, Bucky.” You let out softly gaining a little smile from Bucky’s mouth.

Just like you wanted, soon after you felt Bucky’s lips against your inner lips making you slightly shake under his touch. He started to leave gentle kisses before taking his tongue out and slowly tracing every single angle.

You could feel the sweat starting to leave your body as Bucky was carefully moving between your legs. That burning sensation he would always make you feel it was starting to appear when he moved to the top of your inner lips, towards your clit. With the tip of his tongue he started to make circles around it making you embrace every feeling that was happening inside of you. The butterflies in your stomach seemed to have gone into riot mode as your heart was going full speed under his warm touch. It was like he was putting you under a spell, making your entire body to fall for him no matter what he did.

“Fuck, fuck.” You spitted out almost in a whisper as Bucky’s tongue started to move faster against your clit. The faster he was getting you could felt your legs starting to shake around his head. The tightness of your inner lips and lower stomach was starting to make their way into your body as his tongue was professionally moving against you. But once you felt like you were coming undone, Bucky stopped leaving you wanting for more. “Oh, fuck you.” You said softly while Bucky just grinned before going back to your clit and leaving gently kisses on it.

Taking his fingers closer to you, with his index finger started to caress your folds up and down, making you, once again, fall under his touch. You could feel the wetness of your sex becoming stronger and stronger the more he spent between your legs. Moving his index finger away and taking his thumb against your clit, he started to caress it to place his middle finger right outside your orifice.

Feeling how slowly his fingers was entering your body you slightly arched your back and let out a long breath. The combination of his thumb moving against your clit and his fingers inside of you was making you fall into such a big relaxation and lust that whatever your body did or came out of your mouth was no longer under your brain commands.

Your hand flew towards Bucky’s hair to gently caress as he moved his tongue towards your folds to trace them up and down. Now, you had him touching your folds, his thumb tracing your clit and his middle finger slowly moving inside of you. He was a damn good multitasker.

The sound of your wet vagina was now louder as Bucky entered his ring finger inside of you to accompany his middle finger and make your legs shake around his head even faster. He replaced his thumb with his mouth and started sucking on your clit with strength to help you reach that wanted orgasm.

With the tip of his tongue and with speed, he started play with your clit and moved it around making your feel everything around it turn tighter and your folds to burn.

“Fuck, Bucky, I’m close- don’t stop.” You said with your voice cracked as he was gaining speed and moving his fingers with more decision between your walls. As they started pounding he slowed down and took his fingers out to enter them once again, making you let out a loud moan in the process. “Shit.” You said as your legs were shaking and his tongue wasn’t stopping against your clit.

Seeing how close your were, Bucky removed his fingers from inside of you and took his two hands towards your thighs to spread them wider and make more space for his head once again and for you to feel his tongue even more deeper against your clit.

Faster than you could let out another moan, you felt your inner lips fill with lust and your clit to burn with passion as his tongue was slowly taking its speed down. “Fuck..” you said in a whisper and you felt the orgasm slowly fading away as Bucky was leaving gently kisses on your folds and caressing your thighs with his thumbs.

He slowly went back to your face as he was leaving multiple kisses on your skin. Once he arrived at your lips he left a simple kiss in them as you tasted yourself. As soon as he ended the kiss your heavy breathing started to mix with his, feeling how his chest was touching yours and his free hand tracing your legs up and down.

The amount of lust he made you feel under those minutes it was more than you ever felt with any other men in your entire life. The way he made you feel under his touch, under his eyes, under his presence... it was like no other. He was yours and you were his. You were his girl and he made sure you knew that, nobody was ever going to hurt you ever again.

“Feeling better?” He asked with a smile the moment you opened your eyes to meet his.

“Better than ever, Bucky.” You said softly before uniting his lips with yours one last time. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad night after all.

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@milazka @love-chx @dmonchld

[beels-burger-babe]

The Façade of the Suitor - Pt. 2

***Wow! You guys are really digging this series! Thank you so much for your support 🥰🥰🥰 I don't get to share OCs often, so it's really reassuring to see you guys take to Harlow. She's a character, that's for sure 😅😅 Thanks for all the love! - B*** Summary: MC catches the eye of Lady Harlow, a higher demoness who has had a small feud with the brothers for centuries. She's determined to steal MC from them and keep MC under her wing. The brothers, however, are determined not to let that happen. Part 1, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

After a week had passed since the ball, Lucifer had dared to hope that maybe that had been the end of things and that Harlow would just leave him and you alone. But fate had never been on his side. A letter arrived in the mail, sealed with a horrifyingly familiar purple stamp and her nauseating fragrance. It was, of course, addressed to you.

Lucifer's nose wrinkled in distaste. He'd have to dispose of this before you ever caught sight of it. He had turned to do exactly that when he bumped into Satan and dropped the letter. Satan sighed and bent down to pick it up. "I thought that you of all people would be capable of watching where you're," he stopped short as he finally looked at the letter. Satan's jaw clenched as he looked back at Lucifer. "Why in Diavolo's name are you in contact with her again?" Lucifer sighed and tried to take the letter back, Satan stepped out of his reach. He glared at the angry demon. "Not that it's any of your business-" "Not my business?!" Satan snapped before Lucifer could finish his explanation. "She turned you against all of us and nearly tore this family a part and you don't think it's my business if you're in contact with that- that- that snake again?!"

Lucifer growled at the reminder of his past failure. "If I had a choice, I would wipe her foul existence from the face of this realm, but I can't. I loath that woman as much as you do. The letter isn't addressed to me. It's to MC."

Satan's eyes widened and quickly looked down at the letter, seeing your name scrawled in her disgustingly perfect cursive font. He dropped the letter as though it had burned him. "We can't let them see this. Harlow shouldn't even know MC exists! How the fuck did this happen?"

Lucifer picked up the letter, " The exchange program ball. Near the end of the evening, MC and I were relaxing near a wall and Harlow approached us." Satan looked at his brother as though he had two heads. "And you just let her?" This quickly earned the younger demon another glare. "We were at a public event where I was representing our House and Diavolo and MC was representing the human realm. There wasn't much I could do without causing a scene." Satan rolled his eyes and threw his hands up in the air. "Of course! You'd let Harlow sink her claws into MC just so you can protect your reputation. I forgot who I was talking to for a moment." Beel stepped out of the kitchen and into the room at the sound of the yelling. "What's going on?" "Noth-" "Harlow's trying to get to MC." The "father and son" duo sneered at each other. Beel's eyes widened as his face paled. "Well, we aren't going to let her, right? We can stop her this time. Now we know her tricks. It won't be like last time?" he was staring directly at Lucifer. The eldest felt his stomach twist and churn guiltily at the desperation in Beel's stare. They all knew from experience just how cunning and manipulative Harlow could be. She had targeted Lucifer specifically, and because he let down his guard, his whole family soon became infected by the demoness venom. He refused to let the same happen to you. Lucifer turned on his heel and threw the letter into the fireplace. The three brothers watched as it slowly was consumed by the flames and turned to ash. "Tell the others about what happened. There's no doubt that Harlow will attempt to reach MC again. It's our duty to stop that from happening," Lucifer spoke up. Beel nodded right away before taking off to obey the command. Satan sighed and glanced at Lucifer, "You know this won't stop her. She'll figure out a way to get to MC." Lucifer continued watching the flames. The fire's glow reflecting in his obsidian eyes like a memory flickering in the darkness. "Maybe so, but at the very least it will give us time to come up with a plan on what to do when she does." In the end, Satan had been right. The brothers worked tirelessly together to intercept any letters, bouquets, or baskets that had been sent for you. Asmo kept a collection of the bouquets and gifts in his room, and simply told you that they were objects of admiration from his fans. You had walked in on Beel shuffling through the mail one day, and he had managed to fluster out an excuse before hurrying out of the room and shoving the most recent letter into his mouth. Mammon became even clingier than usual and was always by your side. Although he was physically with you, his mind and eyes were always looking around you for any signs of the demoness that he was trying to avoid. Satan had worked with Solomon to put an enchantment on the House's gates that caused anything that had recently touched Harlow's hands to be incinerated as it passed through the gate. Levi had been forcing you to watch the top ten anime betrayals and any anime with a manipulative or toxic antagonist in hopes that it would help you recognize them in Harlow if she ever got to you and that you would do the right thing and choose your real best friend him (and I suppose the others as well). Belphegor would purposefully fall asleep on you as much as possible to prevent you from leaving the House and therefore heightening the risk of Harlow coming to meet you personally. Lucifer had begun to do his own research on Harlow, once more, and was looking back on his own past experiences with the demoness to gain wisdom on how to outwit her. Despite all of their efforts, it wasn't enough. You came down to breakfast, looking complexed but intrigued as you held a piece of paper with a dreadfully purple broken seal on the top. The brothers froze as Harlow's familiar perfume reached their noses. Levi swallowed his food as he looked at you nervously. "M-MC, what...what do you have there?" You blinked up at them and held up the paper. "It's a letter from

Lady Harlow. A bat flew through my window this morning with this attached to its foot. According to the letter, she's tried more normal means of communication, but had no luck. Hmm, I wonder why?" you pondered out loud as you continued reading the letter. The brothers exchanged worried looks. Lucifer straightened his posture. "What else does it say?" You barely looked over at him as you responded. "Oh, she has invited me to a private luncheon at her manor. Apparently, she'd like to get to know me better." Your words caused everyone at the table to stiffen. "Seems suspicious to me," Belphie stated as he rested his head on your shoulder. "You shouldn't go. She's probably planning to kill you or something but is just pretending to be nice to get you to let your guard down." You smirked down at him. "Hmmm, sounds familiar," despite your joking tone, you noticed the room tense and Belphie looked away in shame. You frowned and placed a hand on his arm. "I...I was joking, Belphie. You know I've forgiven you for that. You've proved that you've changed. We're okay," you looked around at the others, finally picking up on the tension in the room. "What's going on? Why is everyone acting so weird?" Satan sighed and met your eyes. "Harlow is the Lady of Manipulation. She thrives off of playing with others' emotions and desires to get her own twisted wants." "She's dangerous," Lucifer added. You were shocked to see that he was seemingly unable to meet your eyes. Instead, he stared at his plate as though lost in a memory. "She's incredibly skilled at what she does and will worm her way into your thoughts before you're even aware of what's happening. She's cunning and sly," he finally lifted his head to look at you. You shivered at the intense urgency and regret in his gaze. "Lady Harlow is not one that you should give even a second of your time to. If you give her even a single inch, she will take a mile." You frowned and looked back at the letter. It was filled with so many kind words and eloquent phrasing. She had seemed nice enough at the ball, and she went through all this trouble just to send you an invitation. "Thank you for the warning," you spoke sincerely as you looked at the others. "I'll be sure to keep your words in mind and be careful." Mammon scoffed and crossed his arms. "You make it sound as if you're going." "I am." The room burst into a mix of angry proclamations, commands that you were not going, and pleas for you to listen to them. You smiled sympathetically at the brothers. "I know you're worried, but it would be extremely rude to reject a personal invitation like this from a noble, especially after all the effort she went through to have it delivered. I should at least go to see what she wants. I'll have my D.D.D. on me and you can guys can ask me all the questions you want as soon as I get back." Lucifer's eyes searched your expression in a mix of frustration and desperation. "MC did you not hear a single word I just said? One visit is all she'll need. I really must urge you not-" "Lucifer stop," the room fell silent as Lucifer's mouth snapped shut. His gaze hardened at your use of a command. You sighed and ran a hand over your face. "I'm sorry, but this isn't your choice. I know you seem to have...something going on with Harlow, and I will take caution from your words during my visit. But I'm sure I'll be fine. I live with and have befriended seven of the most powerful demons in the Devildom. What's a silly noblewoman going to do to me?" You gently lifted Belphie's head off of you and rose. "I should get ready for the school day. I'm sorry guys. I'll see you all later." As you left, a small piece of hope from within the brothers left with you. Lucifer snarled and downed a glass of wine. "Right," he said bitterly and looked over at Satan, "onto plan c."

*** I hope you guys enjoyed it! I promise you will find out exactly what went down between Harlow and the brothers later on. But for now, let the games begin 😈 Thanks again for all the support and love you've all been giving this series!***

Taglist: @cosmixbun @sufzku @simeonspebble @lovevictoire @obey-mes-treasure @kissed-by-a-dementor @yukihaie @justtiarra @mammoneybb @obeys-world @peachyeevee13 @otome-scribbles @azureusmoonie @poly-bi-mf

[madametrashbin]

Like Glass

In which I gloriously gave up resisting after reading the nth OC-included pieces from the many that have come to fruition in the SAGAU world and had decided to quietly slide my son into this (andaquicktagtoacertainsomeonehere=> @nicebonescomrade).

My son has been around for the longest time since I started writing fanfics (which has been a decade now since I took up the pen- and later on the keyboard, almost to my 11th year at this point). I love him very much and wanted to finally release him into the wilds- skjsksjksjkjs 

This is a short Imposter!AU of the Villain!SAGAU verse, feat my boi... lemme know if it’s fine like this because I rarely bring out my OCs into stories publicly (and if you wanna ask about them, feel free).  

This is so bad because it’s so late and I cannot sleep because insomnia is a bitch as always.  ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

So fragile, this light...

Such were his thoughts when he gazed down at the existence the world had revered, yet mistook quite easily. The ichor that spilled onto the snow, the gold that stained the pure white beneath his feet... He feels Teyvat’s unrestricted rage, just as he too felt the burn that threatened to boil over his entire existence with the desire to slaughter.

You have become weak... so very weak.

He loves them, the one who gave him a Reason to be something rather than an existence formed purely by the concept of Destruction. He loves them with everything that he is, with what little he could truly offer aside from unrestrained Destruction that he could only do.

He would give up everything for them, and whatever they asked, he would do it. To be a weapon to deliver their justice, to be a friend that is there to give comfort... to be a protector that grants safety to the body and soul. 

Everything is theirs.

But you are not awake to hear these prayers and vows... for you in all your love have been mistaken by the blind heathens who follow a monster wearing your skin.

He exhales softly and watches the wisp of white fly out from his lips before he gazed back into the figure soaked in gold, the divine ichor dripping upon the snow as the winds whisper to him with urgency to move.

There was no more time to think, for the heathens blinded by the embodiment of greed were on their way.

I will protect you... I will give you everything and more. 

I will be better than them... even if I am worthless as a mere thought that should not be alive.

The person who saved you, Polaris, was an odd person.

You weren’t even sure if  he was supposed to exist since you found nothing of the sorts about him in the game... granted, a lot of things that happened to you were already confusing enough.

This made you rather glad that he was willing to answer all your questions while he had “mended” you from the horrid state you were in before. The pain was undeniably gone, and any traces of the attacks done to you weren’t present either.

Is this another aspect of Destruction he was talking about?

You cannot help but wonder just what rules he could twist with that unique ability of his that put the Archons and Celestia to shame. 

As much as you want to know more about that power of his, you were still fairly exhausted from the week before... you barely survived, after all and you weren’t sure whether to be thankful to live another day with someone by your side at last or be angry that you are alive in this hellhole of a world.

But when the hand as pale as snow gently take your own like glass, you quickly dismiss the feelings of anger as the man who gave you everything he could give quietly settles by your side.

With this small space filled with only comfort and silence, the safety you feel knowing Teyvat itself was protecting you alongside him... it fills you with warmth that makes you forget the cruel world outside.

(And you know the length they are willing to go for your sake, as you ignore the noises that sometimes became too loud outside during the darkest hours of the night. You ignore them, if only because it is no longer your problem.)

[legolasbadass]

A Lifetime Apart [1/3]

Artwork by the lovely @gwen-ever​

Relationship: Thorin x OC

Summary: Thorin meets his One while still a young prince in Erebor, but their lives are torn apart by their families and the arrival of Smaug. 

Based on Alice Tynan’s interview with Richard Armitage in ‘The Vine,’ this fic was inspired by @gwen-ever’s wonderful art for the @tolkienrsb 2021! 

Warnings: Angst. Seriously guys, this is really angsty, get your tissues ready. (gwen and I are not sorry lol)

Rating: T

As always, the fic can be read on AO3. 

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 

There is a room in Erebor, a secret place where once their love bloomed in peace. All the memories of that place, where he held her and worshipped her with his lips, were forever engraved in his mind. It was there that, after months of struggling with his feelings, he had realized she was his One.

All Dwarves know that Mahal sometimes creates two of his children from the same stone, bonding them for life. Of course, not all Dwarves marry. Even those granted this honour by their Maker do not always choose to marry, for some value friendship above all other bonds, while others devote themselves to their craft. Still, as a young boy, Thorin had hoped Mahal would deem him worthy, and every night he had dreamt of the moment he would meet his One, conjuring their likeness like an artist who paints a picture and gives it life.

He had also wondered what it would feel like to meet his One. Would he know immediately? And how would he know? Perhaps it would be like in those romance novels his sister liked so much. A tender, all-consuming look from across the room, silently reassuring the other that they had found each other at last.

Perhaps due to long hours in the council chamber, Thorin had become more of a realist as the years went on. He always had to be on his guard, and he learned quickly that he could not trust his desires, for they could be manipulated by advisors and enemies alike. Romanticism was fine for artists but not for princes. The idea of a destined love became no more than a child’s fanciful dream, and Thorin grew gradually less opposed to the concept of an arranged marriage until the thought of it did not bother him at all. After all, his parents had been married for a political alliance and had still grown to care for each other. Thorin knew he would do the same.

At least, that was what he had told himself before he met Rúna, his dear Rúna.

He did not know immediately that she was his One, but from the moment their gazes met, he knew he would never again be the same. Her presence had so bewitched him that he had not realized he was walking toward her until she stood right in front of him. Then, stumbling over his every word, he had thought himself defeated, oblivious to the fact that she felt the same indescribable pull toward him.

“Thorin, at your service,” had been his first words to her.

“Rúna, daughter of Ragni, your highness,” she had replied with a curtsy, enchanting him all the more with her melodious voice.

“I hope you are having a pleasant time, Lady Rúna.” Already, he had loved the way her name rolled off his tongue.

“More pleasant than you, at least, seeing as you have found nothing better to do than stare at me from across the room,” she had replied teasingly.

Blushing furiously, he had attempted to remain formal and composed but, ultimately, had failed miserably. “I had hoped that would go unnoticed, or at the very least, that you would humour me and pretend like nothing had transpired. And just because I was watching you does not mean I am not having a pleasant time. On the contrary, my spirits were lifted by the sight of your fairness.”

Thorin could still remember the beautiful blush that had painted her cheeks. “Forgive me,” he had said hastily. “I did not mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“I did not say I did not enjoy it,” she had replied with the most enchanting smirk.

That was how their conversations usually unfolded. Thorin, who always prided himself on being in control and always knowing what to say, would find himself barely able to think. He blamed her low-cut gowns and the redness of her lips for that.

They soon became inseparable. Every day, they would meet in their secret room, a haven where they shared stolen kisses and soft caresses. Âzyungel, she would call him, for she, too, had accepted Mahal’s will. She had accepted Thorin as hers, and in those moments, both of them had believed nothing would ever separate them, for they were destined to be together.

Deep in the caverns of his mind, a voice called out to Thorin, warning him against the intensity of his passion, but he did not listen. He found himself thinking of her at the most inappropriate times, and she haunted the nights he wished he could spend with her. When he closed his eyes, he saw her smile and heard her laughter, clearer than the soft splashing of water against limestone rocks.

What would it be like to spend his whole life with her, his Rúna?

Thorin thought with utter surety that he would soon know when they announced to their families their intent to wed. At first, everyone was overjoyed. Rúna came from a wealthy and respectable family, so the king had no objections to his grandson’s choice — not that any of that mattered to the couple. Ale and Dorwinion wine flowed freely as the news travelled through the mountain. The prince had chosen his princess.

Thorin and Rúna welcomed their families’ approval, but they secretly longed to be alone once more. When at last they found themselves in the comfort of Thorin’s chambers, they drank some more wine between languid kisses, committing the moment to memory. Fingers braided hair then caressed the skin they hastily revealed, their cheeks tainted with the soft glow of love.

That night, like their hearts forever bound, their bodies became one. Thorin was gentle, attentive to her every need, and even afterwards, he continued to bathe her in tenderness, scattering kisses all over her skin as they murmured promises of eternal love to each other, bodies entangled.

Rúna fell asleep to the soft lullaby of his heartbeat beneath her cheek, and though she never doubted for a second his sincerity and devotion, those promises were never fulfilled.

Rúna knew they should have been patient, and although she was usually very sensible, she had not known how to resist her handsome prince, especially not when his body had promised her glorious passion, now and for the rest of their lives. Besides, it was not as though premarital relations were unheard of. However, princes had to follow much stricter rules. And these rules had been carelessly ignored. And as the days went on, Rúna knew she would not have the luxury of keeping their transgression a secret, for inside her bloomed the product of her and Thorin’s love, but also the cause of their demise.

Even if it had not been for her growing belly, her morning sickness and alarmingly fluctuating moods would have given her away. And they did. She had never seen her parents so furious, and their disappointment pierced her heart. Her father shouted about her stained reputation and their ruined bloodline, leaving her in tears as she tried to scramble away in search of Thorin even as she knew it was hopeless.

She knew they would separate them.

King Thror, with the support of Thorin’s parents, banished Rúna from Erebor, never to see her beloved again. She tried to fight them, indignation festered inside her like a poisoned wound, the unattainable promise of Thorin’s love shattering her heart into a million pieces, but it was hopeless.

They did not inform Thorin of this, for it was their firm intention never to let him know about the bastard child. Instead, they told him she was bedridden while they conjured up a more permanent plan. And so, unaware that his One had been taken from him, Thorin brought flowers to Rúna’s door every day. He hated every moment he was forced to spend away from her — it felt unnatural — but he consoled himself by thinking that they would spend their whole lives together.

Then the dragon came.

Thorin had been out hunting in the woods with his siblings when a strong wind began to rattle the treetops. Then a roar like thunder split the sky, and the blood of Thorin’s veins froze when he heard a shout from afar.

“Dragon!”

Rúna.

Without so much as a glance at his companions, Thorin bolted toward the mountain, fear clogging his throat.

Refusing to believe this was real, he did not even stop when the gates loomed above him, riddled in flames, but the screams piercing his ears grounded him to the bitterness of reality. The air was wrought with the stench of burning flesh and the sorrow of a broken people. All around him, children cried in fright, and mothers wept while the distant ringing of useless steel announced their defeat.

No help came from the Elves that day, nor any day since; a betrayal Thorin never forgot. Even if there had been survivors still clawing for breath inside the mountain, they had no means to reach them.

Rúna.

Thorin searched for her everywhere, shouting her name until his lungs burned, but when the moon appeared, and she was still nowhere to be found, Thorin knew it was hopeless. Grief crashed over him like a hurricane.

He had lost her.

He wanted to tear the sky open and demand retribution from Mahal himself, but all his remaining strength he used to remain on his feet. He had to be strong for his people — what remained of them. His family had miraculously survived, but even that could not have filled the gaping hole where his heart had once beat.

Rúna, his dear Rúna. The memory of her lips against his turned to ash in his mouth. When he had last kissed her and held her, he had done so thinking he would have a lifetime to keep loving her. But she was now no more than a memory.

He forced himself not to think of that, for his people needed him now more than ever. Only once he was finally alone did he let his tears run free, and all through the night, he sobbed into his pillow, his only comfort the memories of their secret room, untouched by fire and blood. Thorin held onto those memories all through the years, never forgetting, never forgiving.

—

Khuzdul translations:

Âzyungêl: Love of Loves (used here to refer to the Dwarven belief in a single, destined soulmate)

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[solinarimoon]

Fields of Wildflowers, Chapter 4

Fields of Wildflowers - a Sihtric x OC story.

Chapter 4

A/N: This chapter is pretty heavy. I really tried to work on having the dialogue along with the imagery of each scene flow well. Constructive, but respectful criticism is always welcome. 

Warnings: Discussion of rape and trauma surrounding rape

Word Count: 2,749

If you would like to read the earlier chapters of this story, find them here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cwen sat still. Very still. Her eyes bearing down on Eadith across the flickering flames. 

The faces around the fire were frozen as well, none knowing what next to say or how to handle such a shocking admission. 

Cwen had not meant to allow her companions to know this secret pain she bore. But after being in such close proximity to Eardwulf’s sister, a constant reminder of his roaming hands and lingering bruises, Cwen’s nerves had been a coiled snake ready to strike.  And then Sihtric… then Sihtric and his watching eyes.  It had been a long time since she had felt seen. Truly seen. And he saw her. 

Cwen’s face didn’t hold hostility. It didn’t hold anger or resentment. 

There was pain. And loss. 

After many moments of shocked silence, Finan spoke up asking “Cwen, are you saying…”

Eadith spoke over top of Finan’s words. She didn’t need confirmation. She knew what Cwen was saying her brother had done. And she knew her words held the truth. 

“I didn’t know…” she spoke softly. Her words trailed off not knowing what else to say. 

“Of course not,” Cwen sighed, finally dropping her gaze from Eadith’s face. She stared at her fingers twisting and tangling in the tie of her brocade. 

After a heartbeat, she brought her eyes up once more to find Sihtric’s stare.  His mouth was a firm set line and his jaw flexed as he met her gaze. 

The fire reflected in his eyes mirrored the rage swelling in his heart, knowing that his suspicions had been right. 

He saw the unshed tears brimming on Cwen’s eyes. He saw the panic set in on her face as she realized now that they knew. That he knew. 

She spoke in a frenzied haste, “I am sorry… Excuse me,” and she rose with her cheeks burning red and the tears she had tried to hold back finally slipping down her face, “I am sorry…” 

With that Cwen stepped past Young Uhtred, Stiorra, and Finan and walked away from the light of the fire. 

Sihtric took a breath then began to rise but Uhtred placed his hand on his brother’s arm.

“Give her a moment,” he spoke quietly but firm. 

“She has carried this weight alone,” he paused.

Uhtred stared into the flames. His memories bringing him back to the night Isuelt had rescued Hild from such a violation. 

“And now she has bared her soul. Give her a moment.” 

At this Uhtred turned to Sihtric, “but then go to her. I see your eyes watching her. And I see her smiles when she sees you watching. Be strong for her and be gentle with her.”

Uhtred shifted his gaze back to the fire and continued, “but first give her a moment alone.”

Sihtric nodded his understanding. 

As he rose he said “I will, lord.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sihtric took his time finding her. She had walked back past the tree where the children slumbered. When he did find her, she was crouched down, knees up, and back resting against a large elm tree. Her cheeks were streaked and her eyes red and swollen. 

But her tears had dried.  She looked up as he approached. No words, no smile, no sigh, or grimace. Just a look. 

Sihtric sat next to her, close but not touching her. He did not want to do anything to make her more uncomfortable than she might be already. 

He sat with his legs crossed and watched the trees ahead of them. The breeze blew leaves up in small gusts and brought Cwen’s hair to drift across her face in gentle waves. 

She brought her hand up and ran her finger behind her ear bringing the tendrils that had escaped her braid to rest out of her face.

They sat in gentle and soothing silence for a long time. 

“I suppose I owe you an explanation,”

But Sihtric cut her words off, “No, Cwen, you owe us nothing. Me nothing. Your pain is yours to share or not share with the world.”

Cwen turned her face just a fraction to be better able to see him. His face was still watching the trees. His jaw firm and his arms, resting on his knees were clearly tense. 

My pain brought him this anger, Cwen realized.

“I simply wanted to sit with you if you wanted company.” He added while bringing his eyes to meet hers. 

The truth was that Sihtric did want to see her pain.  To help her heal or cope or come apart and be lost.  He meant it when he told her it was her pain to share or not share, but he wanted to be there for her for any and all of it.  He had never felt such a need come over him before.  The need to be everything for this woman.  He saw her in all her strength.  And he knew even the strongest person could fall apart.  

“Thank you, Sihtric.” Cwen didn’t know if she had ever meant those words more in her life. 

The pair sat like that for a long while. Sihtric could feel Cwen’s body begin to relax and unwind next to him. He had so many questions and wanted to share her pain. But just as she did with him, he would not ask. If she wanted to share her past with him, he would let her do it on her own terms. His own childhood and past were not filled with joys. And he had plenty he had thought of sharing with her. But he still held back. He respected her entirely too much to not give her the same courtesy. 

But he did watch her. While they sat in silence, he found his face turned to hers and watching as she breathed and returned to the same calm and gentle spirit with whom he had become completely captivated. 

Eventually, Cwen lay her head back against the tree and let her knees fall to the ground. 

She took another of her deep and calming breaths.  

She takes those steadying breaths often, Sihtric pondered.

“Rape is not about sex.” She said quietly. And with a calm and firm voice. 

“It is about exerting power. About control. And those are two things that Eardwulf craves yet does not possess.” 

She looked at him. His face was watching her. Waiting for her to continue. Sihtric knew she needed to speak more.  He could feel it in her, ready to breath it into the world.

“I have spoken of this to no one before tonight.” Cwen admitted, turning her face back towards the forest. 

After several moments, Sihtric asked, “The Lady Aethelflaed does not know?” His words held no judgements. There is no blame laid upon her. He just wished to give her an avenue to talk if she so desired. 

“No. No one.” She said again. 

“I have had a lot of time to think on this. And at first I was ashamed and scared and in pain. Mostly scared. But the more I thought about him and the things he would say to me, the things he would...do to me…” Cwen paused and looked down at her hand again. She took a breath and continued. 

“I was of two separate minds. One was that if I spoke about it then it would make it true. It would make it real. And I desperately wanted to believe it was not real. That this agony was not being forced upon me. And the second was to keep the power from him. If I spoke of it and allowed myself to try and find solace and comfort from a friend, it would be giving him even more power. Power over me outside of the moments when he was violating me. So I chose to bear the pain in silence. And find my own peace elsewhere.”

She finished speaking and kept her eyes trained on the trees ahead.

They sat together quiet and still.  And the wind whispered through the leaves. 

An owl cried somewhere in the distance.  

Cwen dropped her head to look at the forest floor.

“I do not wish for pity.  I am scared now that things will have changed.  I will not be looked at the same.  You will not look at me the same.”

Sihtric took his time in replying to Cwen’s fears.  Gathered himself.  He shifted his weight a bit and picked up a fallen leaf near his boot.  

“I told you once that I abandoned my father to swear my loyalty to Uhtred.” 

Cwen shifts her eyes to find his, but he is now the one staring off into the trees.  Seeing images that are not really there.

“The truth is that my father abandoned the thought of me before I was ever born.  Maybe there was never any feeling to abandon in the first place.  My father was Kjartan the Cruel.  A feared and infamous Dane.  My mother was a kitchen slave in his hall.  She, like you, was treated with no regard by a man who lived to exert power.  As an object for his lusts and I was the result,” Sihtric paused  and looked down to the leaf in his hand.  There was nothing left but tatters after he had picked it apart.

“He tolerated my existence and when I grew he allowed me to train and be a warrior for him. And at one time, I wanted his approval. I put up with his abuses. The slaps and the name calling. And the way he continued to treat my mother. But  I wanted for him to call me son.  It was the misguided desire of a wayward bastard.  I look back on that boy now, as a man and feel disgust that I ever wished for anything from Kjartan.  Knowing that he abused my mother and countless others.  I feel shame.”

Cwen reached out and grasped his hand to still his fingers still trying to find pieces of the leaf to tear.  She interlaced her fingers with his and shifted her body to lay her head on his shoulder.

“A few months before I found Uhtred, Kjartan had my mother killed.  He burned her alive.”

Cwen gasped and lifted her head to look at him. He had his eyes squinted. An effort to keep his tears at bay. 

“ He claimed it was because she was found to be stealing food from the kitchens.  It was true.  She used to give it to the other bastards and orphans.  The urchins of Dunholm. And he killed her for it. And my heart was broken. My mother was the only person in my life who showed me real and true love. I had been slowly losing my desire to be counted among Kjartan’s favored sons but that was like a knife to my heart. But I had to continue on as his whipped puppy if I was ever to find my escape. And I found that in Uhtred. Someone worthy of my oath.”

Cwen began, “Sihtric, I …”

But her words were cut off when Sihtric said “I do not tell you for your pity. I tell you this because we all have a past. And most of us in this group have a pretty bad one. The others’ stories are not mine to tell you. But trust me that there is pain behind them as well. And I also tell you because it is possible to share your pain and still be seen as strong. I will share your pain, if you desire.”

They were looking into each other’s eyes now. Faces merely inches apart. 

“I do not pity you or find you weak, Cwen. I feel rage over what you have been forced to endure. We all have pain. But knowing that does not make me want to take yours away any less. And I will do all in my power to see you are never put in that pain or danger again. But know that this does not define you. You have not given him that power.”

With that final declaration, Sihtric brought his forehead to rest on Cwen’s own. 

The pair rested like this. In each other’s solace until Cwen finally declared that she needed sleep and to check on the children. 

They walked back to find the others nestled in the roots of the tree. All except Uhtred, on watch for the early part of the evening. 

When he saw them approaching, Sihtric’s arm wrapped protectively around Cwen’s shoulders, he spoke. 

“Are you alright, Lady?”

“No. But I will be, Lord. I am sorry to have caused..”

Uhtred raised his hand and gently hissed for her to be quiet. “Nothing to forgive. You spoke truths and shared your soul. We value that. And we value you. As I know Aethelflaed does. Rest now.”

“Thank you, Lord.”

Cwen nestled herself between the sleeping children and exhausted from reliving and sharing such trauma, she was asleep within minutes. 

Sihtric watched her for a while longer. He had meant all he had confessed to her. He would do anything in his power to keep her from harm. But he also knew all too well that sometimes harm came regardless of someone’s desires and efforts to avoid it. 

It was this thought plaguing him as he drifted to sleep. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Upon waking in the morning, the group made ready for their departure. 

“Where is Ealfwin?” Cwen asked when she realized the girl was not still laying under the tree as she had been moments before. 

“She had wandered that way last I saw her,” Stiorra replied. “She was still in sight. But she must have just gone over that ridge.”

“We will find her, come on,” Finan said as the group spread out in the direction Stiorra had seen Ealfwin wander. 

Uhtred found her. Along with the sleeping forms of Mercian soldiers. And Eardwulf. 

Quickly and quietly, the warriors returned and found the others. Cwen wrapped Ealfwin in her arms as Sihtric rushed to her sidetaking her arm. 

“Eardwulf is here. Ealfwin nearly walked right into them sleeping. We must run.”

And they did. They ran as their lives depended on it stopping only for short minutes to catch their breath and check on the children. 

Ealfwin’s energy continued to fade. Her complexion grew paler and there was no denying that she felt warm to the touch. 

Afternoon found them at a slow moving river bed. Here they stopped to properly rest. 

Cwen sat cradling Ealfwin in her arms as Osferth and Eadith approached to offer the child some water and check on her well-being. 

“Thank you. Both of you.” Cwen said while meeting Eadith’s stare. 

“Osferth, will you sit with her a moment. I would like a word with Eadith.”

“Of course, Cwen.” Osferth replied. 

The two ladies walked several paces down the riverbed, near to a slow trickling waterfall. 

“I owe you an apology,” Eadith said with a start as Cwen slowed her pace to trim and look at her. 

“You do not.” Cwen sated plainly and gently. 

“It is not you who forced themselves on me. You are not your brother. And I am sorry that I have told you an ugly truth about him. But it is the truth.”

The two women looked at one another until Eadith turned her gaze to the water, “I know. I mean I did not know about this before last night. But I do know who he is. I am seeing him for who he really is more and more. And I know you speak truly. And I am still sorry. I did not rape you but I am sorry that you have been preyed upon. I am not unfamiliar with sexual coercion.”

Eadith turned her face back to Cwen. 

“You are tired of being controlled.” Cwen echoed her Eadith’s own words back to her. 

“Yes. And we deserve better.”

“You are right. And I believe we will find it.” Cwen stated. 

In that small moment at the stream’s edge, the women found kindred spirits in one another. It was a welcome thing. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To be continued….

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[marabrosca]

[REUPLOAD] - What You Seek Will Find You (Cullen x Lavellan)

a commission for @cullenvhenan with her OC immy 

words: 3k

summary: Cullen reflects on his heart's desires, and comes to the one thing he wants the most. (Cullen’s pov fic and his falling in love with Imryll Lavellan)

tags: pining, soft, romance, kissing

warning: contains mentions of racism/colorism but is never directly said to any poc

Read it on AO3

It was uncomfortable to see a chantry half full, Cullen decided. He couldn’t remember a time where he and his family would attend a sermon, and be joined by only a dozen people. The chantry in his youth accommodated with every seat and then some, as many late arrivals would continue to listen to the Revered Mother’s litany whilst standing in the back by the front door. Having the room be so scarce, having so many pews be empty, made the ceremony feel far more serious and intimidating than intended.

It was here that Cullen would be fulfilling his dream of joining the Templar Order, taking his vows and swearing to protect Thedas at the behest of the Andraste Herself. He peered over at the towering statue of the prophet, Her pyre burning brightly but expanding no more light into the room than a few candles. He felt himself shrink into his armor, picking nervously at his embroidered skirt as Andraste’s stone eyes bore into him. It was a dull service he had to admit. A withered old chantry Sister recited the Chant Of Light in an almost monotone voice, pausing every few lines to include the sacred blessings given to those joining the Order.

Cullen had practiced his vows more times than he could count. There were formal promises to make, but they came strictly with a list. When he had been given the list, the scroll lay heavy in his hands. The gold ribbon around it had made it seem as resplendent as the Chantry’s interior, and no less important than the impression it made. Each Templar was to choose their own vows, their own honest promises to the Maker.

Everyone is different, and we are all here for different reasons. But now we join as one, and must do what is expected of us. Therefore, it is the responsibility of one who chooses to walk the path of sacrifice, to pave the road they walk on.

It was something that was repeated to him in the upcoming weeks of the ceremony. There were many ways, as it turned out, to prove one’s faithfulness to the Maker. There was fasting, sacrificing of material goods (not that Templars had many personal items to begin with), excessive prayer, public preaching, and at least ten other things that Cullen could remember. There was only one that gave him pause: chastity, and the detachment to romantic relations, even within marriage. Cullen felt weak for admitting it, but the idea of a future in solitude wasn’t exactly appealing. Not that it was supposed to be. The idea was that a Templar-to-be would set aside personal desire and focus solely on duty, devoting themselves entirely to their service.

But Cullen saw no reason why he couldn’t do both. A part of him, a part he hid from others, was enamored with the idea of marriage. He’d caught himself many times dreaming of the day his soul-mate would enter his life, accepting the promise to live in each other’s hearts. It was indulgent and juvenile, but he wondered if perhaps one day he’d be in chantry taking entirely different vows than the ones he would proclaim that day. As far as Cullen could see, there were no obstacles in finding someone who was Andrastian. They’d have to be, wouldn’t they? Followers of the chantry and the Maker filled every space in Ferelden, and certainly he wouldn’t be traveling far from Kinloch Hold after the ceremony. Frankly, there was no reason to worry.

The young man heard his name and he stood, almost too quickly, and shuffled out of the pew, making his way to the Revered Mother. She looked at him with a kind smile, and he bowed his head in response. The woman’s hand hovered above him, pausing.

“Have you prepared your promises to the Maker, accepting His blessing as a holy child and servant of Andraste?” “Yes.” He replied firmly, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

-

Decades had passed since that day, disappearing like a dream interrupted by daylight. At no point would Cullen expect anything he had experienced, or where he was now. Snow crunched under his boots as he surveyed twenty new recruits to the Inquisitor’s forces- the DalishInquisitor – yet they served just as devout to the chantry as he had once been. An uncomfortable, heavy force weighed on him at the thought; a reminder of his skewed mind from the past. It was a part of him he didn’t want to forget, so that he would never become that man again. He didn’t, however, want it to swallow him whole. That part was harder.

Two of the newest recruits, George and Elliott, were sent to fetch a requisition officer that had been surveying the Storm Coast for some time. The men seemed eager, and promising, and gave off an air of charisma that delivered a boost in morale. Soon enough they returned with the aforementioned officer. She was a tall, lanky elf with pale skin and large, striking emerald eyes. Her black hair fell to her mid-back, lips pink and puffy in the cold. Cullen greeted her politely, taking the missives from her hands as she smiled pleasantly at him. The officer followed Cullen to the desk planked beside the staircase extending from the ramparts. He didn’t miss the almost pungent smell of perfume on her, but made no comment. The commander settled the forms into a neat pile, getting ready to turn to his scouts, when he looked up and noticed that she was still standing there. He cleared his throat when she did not have anything to say. “Thank you, Deanna, for going out of your way.”

“No problem at all, Commander.” The elf smiled at him, folding her hands behind her back.

“Ah…was there something else you needed?” Deanna twirled a finger through a lock of hair, her cheeks turning pinker than before.

“Actually, I was wondering if you were busy tonight.” She replied, eyeing the desk quickly before settling her sights on his face. George and Elliott watched the sight, impressed with their Commander’s obliviousness to her body language.

“As it happens, I am very busy tonight,” Cullen answered, turning and handing the papers over to a scout without pause. “There is still much work to be done if Skyhold is to ever be inhabitable. And I fear the most difficult challenges are yet to come. Why? Does something require my attention?” Deanna’s smile sunk to her knees with her shoulders following suit. “Um, no, it was nothing. Thank for your time, Commander.” “And you, as well.” Cullen responded with a nod, watching the elf turn and make her way up the stairs.

-

As busy as the ex-Templar seemed to be, he had set some time aside that evening to have a walk down the ramparts with Inquisitor Imryll. Soon the easy stride had turned to a pause, then to a conversation, then to a kiss. It was clearly unplanned and unexpected- quite the opposite of how Cullen had always carried himself- but there was no doubt in the way Imryll held onto his back and caressed his hair, that she didn’t object to it.

Gossip spread like the Blight within Skyhold regarding the Inquisitor’s supposed “dalliance” with the Commander. A couple of messengers and guards that had been making their way by wasted no time sharing the tale of what they had witnessed, or exaggerating it.

“It was a sweep of passion! He grabbed her and they nearly dipped as if they were dancing!” “I wasn’t that close, so I couldn’t really tell, but Ser Rutherford appeared very harsh with our Lady Inquisitor. Do you think he treats all his women that way?” “She hypnotized him with blood magic, I swear!” The only things the tales had in common was that a kiss was involved, anything else could not be answered, much to the disappointment of the staff who were almost growing bored of the mundane. When the news reached Elliott, he was quick to share what he heard over a drink on the grass with George, who turned his nose up in disgust. “See that, I just don’t get.” “What’s not to get? You don’t know what a kiss is? Do you revolt women that much?” “No, smartass.” George took a swig from his flask before continuing. “I don’t get how someone would, ya know, go for an elf. Does he seem like the type? And that elf on top of it- what’s next, a Qunari?”

Elliott let out a cackling laugh, almost catching his lip between his browning teeth. “Not your type, eh?” “Not anybody’s type.” George tried to adjust himself on the ground, reaffirming his seat in the same spot once the dizziness ceased his actions. “At least you got- at least you got some lookers here, right? Like that one from before…that, uh, Deanna. Them ones with the big eyes and the curves and all- and have you ever seen an elf that was so dark?” “Not before the Inquisitor. Her eyes are black, did you notice? Do you think she’s blind?” “I thought all elves were ivory and lanky and- where did she even come from?” “Somewhere up north.” “Up north, bah.” George, not heeding the warning his body gave him before, took another large gulp. “If you asked me, I’d kiss an ogre any day before I’d even think about kissin’ her. She wouldn’t-”

Before he could finish his ramblings, a pair of hands grabbed them both from behind, lifting them by the collars and onto their feet. George almost vomited, feeling the searing burn shoot up his throat at the assault. Both men turned sharply to be met with the fiery eyes of their Commander. The men could feel their faces turn numb and a pulse beat in the back of their skulls. Elliott dropped his mug without thinking, licking his lips in an attempt to speak.

“Commander-”

“I don’t want to hear another word.” “But-” “Not. One. Word.” Cullen’s teeth stuck out starkly against his reddening face.

The recruits gulped, bugged-eyed as George swayed slightly from the alcohol. Cullen’s gaze locked onto the mug spilling yellow liquid onto the grass. “I see that your night of leisure has given you loose tongues.”

Cullen pondered what kind of punishment should bestow them. Perhaps they were to be bound and brought to the Inquisitor on her throne, and beg at her feet for mercy after confessing their crimes? The idea was enticing, but it was likely the display would embarrass Imryll, and he needn’t put more on her shoulders regarding her reputation. Besides, she hadn’t heard the words herself, so why hurt her feelings? No, that simply wouldn’t do. They needed to learn a lesson…a long-term lesson. Without warning Cullen grabbed them by the collar again and pushed them both face-first into the dirt. “You will clean this mess, and then pack your things. At dawn, you will be deployed to the Hissing Wastes, where you will remain until the hole in the sky is welded shut.” The Hissing Wastes was the most miserable landscape in Thedas Imryll had ventured to that he could think of. It was a constant scorching mass of dry air and sand, flipping the coin completely when all was frozen over at night. Only the most hardened travelers could tolerate its climate. It was a long-lasting punishment for a crime that could permanently scar having landed in Imryll’s ears.

Without another word Cullen turned on his heel and walked back to the fortress, ignoring the groaning coming from behind him. As he moved out of sight, Elliott wobbled down to pick his mug off the ground, and George let go of all the liquid courage in his stomach that had sealed their fates.

-

Days had passed since the new blood of the Inquisition seemingly vanished overnight, but Cullen’s hands still upturned into fists at the memory. He hadn’t been there when they were carted off, but it was reported right before that they wished to beg forgiveness. Cullen dismissed the messenger with a wave of his hand and went back to his business like he was the only one in the room. He scowled, eyeing the ground with intensity as not to scream, a look that caught the eye of the curly-haired elf standing across from him. She walked up to him before he could react, kissing the knot between his eyebrows. All at once he melted, tense muscles going loose for a brief moment as he looked up. Her smile was concerned, and he felt his face relaxing as not to worry her further. “Are you alright?” she asked, grazing the back of her fingers along the side of his face, leaving goose bumps in her wake.

“Yes…I’m fine.” He let out a breath, willing himself to calm down. His hand reached up to grasp hers, bringing it to his lips for a soft kiss. It made them both blush, and Imryll’s fingers curled in his grasp.

“I had been wondering this for a while,” she started, not pulling away from his hold.

“That day you kissed me on the battlements…how long had you wanted to do that?”

Cullen couldn’t help but let out a laugh, smiling despite the heat in his cheeks. Her tone wasn’t mischievous, merely curious. A part of him advised against telling her; it was unprofessional at the very least to admit that he had wanted his lips on hers not too long after meeting, before Skyhold, even. Despite not being the best of friends at the time, Cullen found himself gravitating towards her, and desired her approval for more than just reasons regarding their duty.

He smiled sheepishly before finally answering her query.

“Longer than I should admit.”

-

Springtime scarcely differed from winter when it came to living on a mountain. Everyone still wore furs up to their noses and the courtyard was rarely full. Merchant deliverers unloaded their cargo as quickly as they could before ducking into the tavern. Orlesian noblewomen paraded their flower-adorned shifts about, calling attention to their “eye to detail”, modeling their appearance after the Skyhold garden. This, in reality, was meant to turn attention away from their unseemly reddening noses each time they needed to lift their mask and cough into a handkerchief.

Despite this -and despite her own hatred for the cold- Imryll could still be found tending to her plants- the ones that would survive the elements. She frowned as she lifted a limp stem with her finger, disappointed she wouldn’t be able to expand her alchemy skills just yet. Vivienne had warned her it was too early to start studying potions that required foliage, but in an effort to impress her, Imryll had tried it anyway. And now she was thinking of a way to dispose of the dead roots without embarrassing herself.

The sound of familiar footsteps behind her turned her attention away from the frozen soil, lifting her mood in an instant. “There you are. I was worried you’d still be out here.” Cullen sighed.

“Oh, yes. I was seeing how things were going,” she replied, gesturing to the frozen soil “Don’t tell Vivienne.” Cullen chuckled and removed his cloak, draping it over her shoulders.

“You’ll catch cold out here.” His touched his forehead with hers, watching as she scrunched her nose at the tickle of the wind.

“Walk me back?” Imryll guided them the long way around, entwining her arm with Cullen’s. Halfway there her legs had “gone completely numb from the cold”, and their only solution was to duck into an archway that housed a small stone bench. The elf laid her cheek on the part of his armor still covered by cloth, and sighed as his fingers glided down her arm.

“Feeling better?” “Not yet,” she replied, moving ever closer into his arms. Cullen held her tighter, making the Inquisitor smile. Her soft, round cheek was squished up against his chest, and he had to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing. The atmosphere was too serene to believe. The moon now overshadowed the sun, leaving the walkway empty aside from them. Imryll gazed out at the greenery that still grew around them. But Cullen’s eyes were transfixed on her. In these escaping moments of peace, he found himself wondering what he would do in the future. If she survived- when she survived the impending battle with Corypheus- what would he do? He had been only a child the last time he lead a normal life, even though nothing for him would be truly normal again. Would she go with him? Would she go back to her clan? His stomach coiled at the thought, as selfish as it was. He wouldn’t blame her for returning to her people when this was all over, but surly he could not join her. The Dalish didn’t welcome humans as passersby, let alone a human lover. What if she left him? Did she not feel as strongly about their relationship as he did? Would she have to choose?

And more importantly, how would he declare the choice he’s made?

He couldn’t imagine a life without her. Despite the hardships and horrors he’s endured, having Imryll walk out of his life would be the breaking point. His gaze solemnly drifted to the bare blackness of the sky, subconsciously tightening his grip on Imryll.  

“Cullen? Is something wrong?” she asked, lifting her head.

“Oh- I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” “No…” the Inquisitor waited for an answer to her question.

“I think we should go back inside. I’m sure you’d be far more comfortable with warm tea in your bed, wouldn’t you say?” Imryll perked up at the thought and reluctantly sat up to stretch.

“Will you be joining me?” Imryll asked over her shoulder, half flirtatiously. “If my lady wishes so.” Cullen responded, chuckling and standing to join her on the walk back to her quarters.

“I do. But is that what you want?”

What I want… Without warning the commander hoisted her up into his arms, leaning his head down to kiss her lips. She let out a yelp before laughing, slapping lightly at his chest as he carried her through the garden. Wind brushed roughly against the pathway flowers, sending a few white petals into the air, catching onto Imryll’s curls. Their white littered the stone, creating an almost snowy effect as he walked. They went unnoticed by Imryll, who was too distracted reaching up to playfully peck at her lover’s chin.

What he wanted…

He knew now more than ever.

-

Imryll had taken some time to teach Cullen threads of Dalish before, but nothing like this.

“Sylaise enaste var aravel…”

The sound of her native tongue caressed his ears. Everything in that moment disappeared except for her; and although he couldn’t understand the words, he felt them in his heart. He wanted her promise to be true, and he trusted that it was.

“I swear unto the Maker and The Holy Andraste to love this woman the rest of my days.”

As the words left his lips, they connected with hers. Perhaps he should have waited until Mother Giselle made the official decree, but he couldn’t wait another moment.

The kiss ended with the faint tickle of Cullen’s breath against her lips. His nose stayed atop hers, soft chestnut eyes barely open beneath his lashes. It was their first kiss as a married couple, a term they could barely comprehend. Cullen sighed blissfully, capturing the moment in his mind down to every detail as the setting sun painted them in golden light, as if the world turned just for them. Imryll’s skin blended with the rays. Her eyes reflected, but were not illuminated by the shine, creating a stark clear surrounding of white around the onyx that seduced him so many times.

Imryll took but a single step before she was whisked off her feet. A surprised yelp quickly turned to giggles as her husband hoisted her into his arms in a true bridal-fashion. Mushy bounced excitedly at Cullen’s feet and wagged his tail, attempting to angle himself so that he could leap up to join Imryll.

“Blasted-get down! I can’t hold the both of you.”

Imryll laughed joyously, taking her lover’s face into her hands.

“How long have you wanted to do that?”

Cullen smiled down at her.

“Longer than I should admit.”

[wallgirl]

The Little Nereid Part 12

Record of Ragnarok fanfiction

Poseidon x OC

Word count: 2,200

Dynamene, youngest of the 50 Nereids, has lived most of her adolescence as a servant alongside her sisters at Poseidon’s palace. But with her coming-of-age birthday and other developments, what she initially thought was just admiration of her master blossoms into something stronger and more passionate… and painful. Loving someone like Poseidon is not easy period, let alone as your first love. But Dynamene is young and naïve, and all she wants is a chance to be at the sea god’s side.

Categories and warnings: Romance, angst, unrequited love, coming-of-age, earn-your-happy-ending, slow-burn (ish); no sexual content. There will be some graphic violence in the future.

Updated regularly; will have about 18 parts total.

—

It was still dark out when Dynamene arrived at the temple. Dawn was just breaking over the horizon, the ocean calm. Still soaking wet from head to toe, she left puddles of water with each trudge up the sizable hill where the temple overlooked the sea. She had never been to a human temple before. It was less grand than she had imagined, though still tall and stately. It was impressive as far as human architecture went, she supposed.

She entered hesitantly, feeling almost embarrassed to be tracking water into a sacred, if humble, place. In the room at the center of the temple stood Aphrodite's cult image. It was roughly life-sized and hewn from wood, with a delicate cloth draping it modestly. Dynamene suppressed a smile when she saw it; it was much less curvaceous and delicate looking than the real goddess. She approached it gingerly, not sure what to do next.

Most humans that came to temples to ask something of the gods brought an offering, she knew, but she hadn't the faintest idea what to present. She was entirely empty-handed, save for the thin chiton she wore and her treasured bracelet, neither of which she was about to part with.

After a few minutes of pondering, the answer came to her - Aphrodite was the goddess of beauty, too, not just love. Dynamene's hands went to her two braids. Would she accept her hair as an offering...? Surely there was little more a woman could give in way of sacrificing her beauty.

She picked up a sharp seashell from the altar and aligned it with the base of the first braid, against her neck, and took a deep breath. Her hair had been long her whole life, but it would grow back, right?

Before she could even make the first cut, there was a deafening clap, and she was surrounded by white light.

When the light cleared, she was no longer standing in the dim inner room of the temple. A strange burning sensation lingered on her skin before quickly subsiding. Dynamene hesitantly lifted her head.

She was in a vast room with golden floors and roses of every color climbing the frescoed walls. A giant fountain, several times her height, stood ahead to her right. It bubbled and gurgled merrily, the white foam so bright that she could hardly look at it. A handful of small cherubs tended to bunches of pristine lilies that floated serenely in the bottom pool. And to her left, reclining on a golden couch inlaid with diamonds and pearls, was a statuesque woman with golden waves and wide eyes.

"My, you weren't really going to cut your hair, were you?" Aphrodite cried, staring at Dynamene with alarm. "I may be the goddess of love as well as beauty, but I'll let you in on a secret - no woman should sacrifice her looks for a man."

Dynamene immediately turned red. "I... I apologize." She tucked the shell away awkwardly into the fold of her chiton. "Um, where am I?"

"You're at my palace, on Mount Olympus," Aphrodite proclaimed. She smiled at Dynamene and tilted her head. "I've been waiting so long to speak with you. Come, sit!"

Mount Olympus?! Dynamene had been here before on a few occasions to accompany Poseidon as part of his court, but only to the common grounds. Each of the twelve Olympians had their own estate and palace that they designed and furnished to their liking, most filled with opulence and treasure that lesser beings could barely dream of. To think that she should now find herself in one was incredible.

Aphrodite snapped her fingers. A couch that matched her own appeared next to Dynamene, as well as a table with cups and a jug of some mysterious liquid. "You must be famished. You've had quite the journey; sit, sit!"

How could she know that? Dynamene settled nervously onto the couch and smoothed the bottom of her dress. She was all too aware of how bedraggled she must look, especially in such an exquisite place. The upholstery became dotted with dark spots of water from her damp hair.

Aphrodite snapped her fingers, and Dynamene's clothes and hair dried in an instant. "There we are. More comfortable?"

"Um, yes, thank you." Dynamene touched the bottom of her braid in amazement. The jug on the table before her poured itself into her cup, and she brought it to her mouth with both hands. Something incredibly sweet and steaming hot flowed into her lips.

"That's nectar. Careful you don't drink too much, it'll cause indigestion. Now then, you've called upon me for help," Aphrodite beamed and moved upright, crossing her legs. "I'm overjoyed, to say the least." She rested her chin elegantly on the thumb and pointer finger of one hand.

"You are?" Dynamene felt completely lost.

"Yes! I've been following your adventure ever since things began to really heat up a few weeks ago. Your birthday, to be precise. How exciting! I haven't seen a love story this gripping in centuries."

Dynamene almost dropped her cup. "Following me?! Do you mean you've seen everything that's happened since then?"

"Well, the juicy bits, yes. As the goddess of love, I can tune in on any love affair or infatuation I desire. Most are a bit boring, nowadays. But you... Your feelings for Poseidon... It's such a delight! What a turn of events! I'm quite invested." Aphrodite giggled.

Dynamene's face continued to burn red. "I... I don't understand."

Aphrodite sighed and leaned back once more. "Ah, Poseidon... such an enigma. Such a tall, dark, and handsome man... Such an incredible body... But such a wretched personality."

Dynamene flinched.

"He really is a delight to look at, though, isn't he?" Aphrodite sighed, her gaze turning dreamy. "There was a time when I thought I might add him to my body count... But his stifling demeanor quickly dispersed that idea from my head. Such a foul attitude."

Dynamene felt a different kind of heat rise up from her neck to her ears, and her gaze narrowed before she could hide her feelings. Aphrodite laughed in response.

"Oh, don't worry! I'd never touch him now; such a cold fish. Not the type to be a considerate lover, at any rate. An ice statue of a man," she scoffed. Her gaze moved back to Dynamene with curiosity. "But you love him anyway!" Aphrodite leaned forward once more, her eyes wide.

Dynamene stared at her lap, completely overwhelmed. "I... I do." Her voice sounded so small, even to herself.

"Tell me about it! How did it happen? What was it that made you fall for him? I want to know everything!"

"Um..." Dynamene swallowed hard. She could see him clearly in her mind's eye; that piercing gaze and chiseled body. She remembered the way his body had shadowed hers in the dark on the beach. What was it...

Aphrodite smirked, as if she knew exactly what Dynamene was thinking. "Yes, handsome, that much is a give-in. But what else? There has to be something drawing you to him."

"Well..." Dynamene racked her brain. "He's incredibly powerful, and smart. He knows his realm so well..."

"That's a start, I suppose," Aphrodite clicked her tongue. "But men like that are a dime-a-dozen. And that won't keep you warm at night."

"What?" Although Dynamene had no idea what she was getting at, she had the feeling it was something rather uncouth.

"Oh, I apologize. You're a virgin, right? You're inexperienced in these matters." Aphrodite took a dainty sip from her own cup. "Those qualities are all nice and fine, but there's nothing romantic or passionate about them. Not things that really light the flame of love, as it were."

Dynamene was silent for a moment, staring at her hands. She thought of the way he'd spoken with her on the beach, and the way he'd gone out of his way to show her the wonderful things he saw underwater. "He shared his power with me... He used it to show me all the things he could sense in the ocean. It was amazing, and so nice. He held my hand... and I didn't want him to let go."

"So that's it!" Aphrodite said triumphantly. "He made you feel special. He gave you a glimpse of something he's never shown anyone else."

Dynamene smiled wistfully. "And then, he promised me another bracelet... He's never given me anything besides on my birthday. It must mean something. He's never done that for anyone before."

"The frigid tyrant is finally thawing," Aphrodite pondered, swishing her cup. "Maybe he won't spend eternity a virgin, after all," she snickered.

Wait... Does she mean me and him...? Dynamene hid her face in her hands. Oh, no. This is too much. What am I doing here?!

"So he is getting sweet on you, then." Aphrodite threw her head back in laughter. "Oh, I can't believe it; that a day like this would come! It's too much."

"Well... not sweet, exactly, but..." Dynamene rubbed her arm.

"Not sweet?" Aphrodite rose one eyebrow. "He didn't kill you when he had the opportunity. That's quite the gesture of fondness for him, really."

Dynamene blinked, struck speechless.

"Now, then," Aphrodite continued, her voice taking on a more business-like tone. "As far as directly helping you, there's little I can offer. Poseidon would have my head if he ever found out I was interfering in his love life, and that wouldn't do." She sighed rather theatrically.

"Oh." Dynamene's shoulders sank. Then it was all for nothing.

"But..." Aphrodite continued with a mischievous smile. "That doesn't mean I can't point you in the direction of someone who can help you. I've heard through the grapevine that there's a witch not far from Poseidon's estate who does spell work for those who are willing to pay the price. She lives in one of the deepest undersea trenches. I'm sure she'd be happy to strike a deal with you."

"A witch?" Dynamene had misgivings about this immediately. Witches didn't exactly enjoy the highest of praises within the Greek pantheon's society. "Aren't a lot of them shady?"

"They are. But you're clever enough, and there's no guarantee that this witch will be as seedy as the rest. Just keep your wits about you. All you need is something to convince him to make a commitment to you. I understand Hera gave you a blessing during her latest visit."

Dynamene remembered the gilded pomegranate. "She did."

"Something about a guaranteed happy union, correct? She told me about it. There's your ticket to a happy ending; you just need to secure the union in the first place."

Dynamene smiled. "You're right. It was very kind of Hera to give me a blessing. I was so surprised."

"She didn't do it out of the kindness of her heart," Aphrodite sighed, giving her curls a shake.

Dynamene's smile froze. "What do you mean?"

"Hmm..." Aphrodite puffed her cheeks, weighing her next words. "I'll let you in on a little insider's secret: she wants Poseidon married to force a crack in his armor."

Dynamene stared at her. "Pardon? His armor?"

"If Poseidon gets married and has a family, he'll have a weak spot. Hera knows that Poseidon is feared more than Zeus, and she loathes the possibility of him holding more influence. She wants to have a way to keep Poseidon in line. That's why she gave you that pomegranate." Aphrodite shook her head, wrapping a curl of hair idly about one finger.

Dynamene's head was spinning as she tried to put two and two together. "But... the blessing would be useless to her purpose unless she knew that one of us liked the other. So how...?"

Aphrodite giggled mischievously and gave Dynamene a wink. "I guess I'm not always the best secret keeper myself."

Dynamene stared at her, aghast. Hera would use me as a tool to get to Poseidon? Her eyes darted back and forth anxiously. I'm so stupid. Of course she wouldn't give a random blessing like that out of kindness; that's not how the Olympians usually function.

"Don't fret too much, dear Dynamene." Aphrodite's eyes darkened above her smile. "It doesn't really matter what the future after your union holds; not how miserable of a man Poseidon is, or what your relationship turns out to be. If you marry him while holding that blessing, you'll be happy no matter what your situation is."

Dynamene's gaze searched the goddess's face. Why did it seem like Aphrodite's expression was almost one of pity?

Happy... even if I shouldn't be?

"Rest assured, I am rooting for you, little Nereid. Now go; I'll send you near the witch's home. Or, at least where I think it is." The goddess of beauty shrugged her delicate shoulders.

White light enveloped Dynamene once more, and she braced herself. Before Aphrodite's palace disappeared, she heard the goddess call out one last time: "In exchange, I expect to be the first to know about your wedding night!"

---

Author’s notes:

Did you know, when I started this fanfiction, I planned it to be 4 parts and about 9000 words?

I am now past 32000. Help me.

Things are coming to a head, stay tuned.

[honeysidesarchived]

WHERE THERE IS NO TEMPTATION, THERE IS NO GLORY.

⊱ a santino d'antonio / oc short-fic

pt. ii: they whose lives do not taste of evil ( read on ao3 ) ( masterlist )

words: 2.7k

warnings: none that are chapter specific.

rating: m/t

notes: thank you to everyone who has loved on me and supported me after posting the first part of this! it really makes me so warm and fuzzy inside and i cannot express in words how grateful i am. ♡

as always, thank you to my love @starcrier for being my most wonderful beta. ♡♡

Morning light filters through the curtains in the bedroom. The air conditioning had clicked off moons ago, having decided that the room was at its sufficient temperature; now just a few rays of the sun are warming the carpet on her side, cutting across the cream-colored knit blanket at the foot of the bed. Through the windows, she can hear the bustle of New York—churning, grinding, a beast of its own as it laboriously beneath their own feet.

Sometimes, Euphemia thinks that she hates New York—that she misses the countryside in Italy, that she misses bare feet on grass and warm, dark earth and the sticky-wet of pulling fruit straight from the vine. Sometimes, Euphemia thinks that New York is a beast waiting for her, to swallow her up, teeth ripping through pavement and concrete and brick to bite bite bite until it reaches her.

But not today. Today, Euphemia is not thinking about the Beast. She is thinking only about the fact that Santino’s spot beside her is empty, and then she’s reminded that today he will be wandering out into the world under the Table to ask a man who doesn’t want anything to do with Santino to grant him a favor. To grant Santino what he is owed, as he would prefer it framed.

Euphemia sits up in bed. She’s not sure when it is that she finally fell asleep, but if the drag of exhaustion in her mind is any indication, it wasn’t very long ago. She can’t recall if she dreamt, or if she rested even at all—if she had to guess, she’d think she spent the entire night tossing and turning, restless, with the burning itch of John Wick’s threatening presence looming in her future.

She can hear Santino out in the kitchen; the smell of coffee drifts in through the open door. The blonde slips out of bed to wander out, her footfalls quiet on the plush carpet, and she sees him—dressed, polished up, as though he got a perfect eight hours of sleep. An old song hums through the speakers of the sound system on the entertainment stand.

So much for keeping him distracted, Euphemia thinks ruefully.

“Good morning,” Santino greets, pouring a cup of coffee and setting it on the island counter to scoot it in her direction. “You were sleeping so soundly that I didn’t want to wake you.”

“You could have,” Euphie replies, taking the cup in her hands and using it to warm her fingers rather than drinking the coffee. “It wouldn’t have mattered. I don’t feel like I have slept at all.”

“Yes,” he agrees somberly, “you were restless.” His hand reaches up, the pad of his thumb tracing the slope of her jaw. “My little worrier.”

She crinkles her nose at him, finally relenting and taking a sip of her coffee. He’s made it just the way that he knows she likes—strong, rich, cream and no sugar. Santino winds his arms around her and laces his fingers against the small of her back, leaning so that he can get a long, good look at her.

“Well, go on,” he prompts her, eyes glittering playfully. “I know you want to say something to keep me home.”

Euphie’s chest tightens. It’s a little cruel of him; he wants to hear her ask, even though they both know there’s nothing she could say to change his mind. He likes to have her ask just so he can tell her no, and usually, she won’t bite. Not for his ego.

But this is different.

She sets the coffee aside, her hands instead finding his chest, holding on to the lapel of his jacket. She says, “I don’t want you to go, Santi. Please don’t go. We can stay in bed all day, or—what if we went back to Italy? Just for a little while? My mother would like to see you, I know.” Swallowing, Euphie feels her lashes flutter, the desire to let her voice wobble with emotion almost overwhelming. I won’t, she thinks, I won’t cry. “We can do anything you want, but—not this.”

“Sweet Euphie,” Santi sighs, taking her face in his hands. “Così dolce, just for me, aren’t you?” He leans in and kisses her temple; for a split second, she thinks that he might acquiesce, that he might set it aside, even for one day—indulge her, the way that he likes to do. Santino has always wanted her to be selfish with him. When they’d started dating, it took her months to get used to the way he’d buy her anything, cook her anything, give and get her anything, and for a girl who’d had so very little for so long, it had almost been nauseating. She would eat her fill, and Santino would say, more, cara mia? Would you like more? As if he had known that allowing her to indulge herself in the fruits of his world under the Table would curse her to stay, forever.

And here she was. Stuck. Blissfully, dreadfully, wretchedly, sickeningly and wonderfully stuck.

“But no,” he continues, pulling back and tilting her chin up with his fingers. “Business needs to be taken care of before I can relax.”

Euphemia releases a breath that she hadn’t realized she was holding. It’s not an unexpected response, but she won’t kick herself for trying—not considering the circumstances, considering what he is leaving to do. In anything else, she might have been too proud to say please.

Her fiancé plants a kiss on both of her cheeks. “Drink your coffee,” he commands, his voice light as he grabs his phone and tucks it into his pocket, heading for the door. “What time is the engagement party?”

“Seven,” Euphie replies tiredly. She does as he bids like it’s second nature to her now, taking a drink of the coffee. “Be back by five, Santi.”

His hand is on the handle to the door outside. She thinks she might be sick. He says, “Wear the red dress I like.”

“Maybe. If you behave.”

Santino flashes her a grin from the doorway. She wonders if anyone else is comfortable ordering him around, or if she’s just so accustomed to living with an apex predator that she’s become numb to his dangers.

“Yes, cara mia,” he purrs. “Anything you say.”

Except that isn’t true, she thinks, watching him open the door and greet Ares, who has been waiting—lurking, in the hall to the elevator, like the shadows cut across the floor from the chandelier lights. There is a tiny moment where their eyes meet over Santino’s shoulder, and Euphemia hopes that she might see pity; she’s miserable, after all, knowing that Santino is walking into a slaughterhouse.

As ever, Ares is unreadable. There is only the tiny, almost imperceptible quirk of the corner of her mouth, and then door is closed and Euphemia is alone. And there is a tiny, vicious part of her that says, we ought to get used to being alone. We never should have forgotten it in the first place.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

Santino is late, and when he shows up, he doesn’t say whether things went well or not.

They must have gone well enough, because he’s alive and in one piece and in a fine enough mood. But that is the problem—his mood is fine. He arrives at his own engagement party in a fine mood, and Euphemia can’t decide what’s more irritating: that he’s late, that he won’t tell her how it went, or that he can’t fake being delighted for a few hours.

“Ah, there’s your man,” Winston says, a smile lifting his expression. The older man had been keeping her company as the hour ticked by and she had to say hello and hi and thank you to every guest attending at Santino’s behest—yet another frustrating detail, Euphemia mentally notes, that he’d bothered all of these folks to show up and didn’t have the decency to arrive on time himself. She’s very certain that Winston did not intend to stay as long as he has, and for that, she feels poorly.

But she’s too irritated to express it properly. “Is that one mine?” Euphie asks lightly, turning her gaze away from Santino striding into the room and getting stopped by guests on his way to her. She twists her untouched champagne flute in her fingers, fixing her gaze back on Winston. “No man of mine would come late to his own party. Not if he wanted to walk out in one piece.”

Winston laughs at her words and gives her hand a pat. “You are a woman after my own heart, Euphemia Volpe.”

“I’ll be accepting applications for the position of my husband shortly, I think.”

She feels Santino’s hand on her waist just before he leans into kiss her cheek; the movement is so quick that she doesn’t have the time to properly avoid his affection, and he almost certainly does that on purpose.

“I am so glad you could come, Winston!” Santino announces, reaching and shaking the older man’s hand. “And that you got to spend some time with my own personal star.” He turns to her now, finally, reaching up to take her face in his hands. “Mi dispiace, Euphie, I did try to hurry.”

She tilts her head a little, lifting her chin out of his grasp. “Don’t apologize to me,” Euphemia replies. “Winston is the one you kept waiting.”

Santino grins. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes—or rather, it doesn’t look like the kind of grin that you make when you’re happy. Nothing about him screams happy, future wedded-bliss. Everything looks strained, like someone’s pissed him off and he’s just had to do something about it.

He looks at Winston, dropping his hands. “I’m sorry, truly.”

The man waves his hand, as though it isn’t a big deal—but it is, Euphie knows, at the very least to her; Winston has always treated her kindly, regardless of whose arm she was on-and he puts a hand on Santino’s shoulder. “I only came to say congratulations and see this fine lady, and then I was going to be off. So—congratulations...” His gaze turns to Euphemia. “Miss Volpe.” He kisses both of her cheeks. “Here I have seen you. And I will be on my way.”

Euphie says, “Thank you for coming, Winston. You did not need to wait around for this idiot.”

“I never say no to time with a beautiful lady,” he admonishes, making to leave. “Santino just happens to be here.”

“I will walk you out,” Santino declares. He’s only just arrived, and he smells a little bit like smoke, and he’s carrying with him a strange, frantic energy; but before Euphemia can think to say anything, he’s kissing her—hard, and a little desperate, and she can feel an eerie tremble in his hands before he pulls away and takes her drink out of her hand and swallows the entire thing in one go.

And then he’s off. Walking away with Winston, who looks calm and unbothered by the erratic display (though Winston always looks that way, so it’s no good gauge for Euphemia to tell when something is off). But something is off. As they’re walking, Santino is talking to Winston with a frenetic urgency that translates only in ways she can recognize. To the outside eye, her fiancé is composed, and perhaps a little stressed, his strides collected and tight and his lopsided grin to sharp to be pleasant.

His kiss tastes of ash. She can feel it in her mouth, still, gunpowder and smoke lingering in the palette, but she will not bring herself to think about where it came from.

By the time Santino returns from “walking Winston out”—which probably means talking to Winston about something he doesn’t want Euphie to hear—she has decided to bring it up. She doesn’t know how, yet, but she’s going to do it.

He slides his arms around her as she visits with some of their friends, burying his face into the crook of her neck, like he just can’t stand not to be touching for a second longer. The conversation carries on blithely without her; Euphie reaches up and cradles the side of Santino’s face with her hand, fingers brushing the dark, honeyed curls at his temple. She’s decided to be sweet about it.

“You seem stressed,” she murmurs.

“Not stressed,” Santino replies, speaking the words into her neck. He sways a little, turning her in his arms and pulling her against him so that he can sway her with him. The movements are leisurely in comparison to the energy that he’s carrying; pushing and pulling with the lull of the delicate music playing overhead. It should be a dream, this engagement party. It’s all golden light and warmth billowing from an ornate fireplace, the people that she cares the most about celebrating her and Santino’s love.

Euphemia says, “You smell like smoke.”

It’s not a question, and Santino knows it. He holds one of her hands in his and presses their foreheads together.

“You are so beautiful, Euphie,” he sighs dreamily. He kisses her again—less urgent this time—and she knows what it means: it’s better if she doesn’t ask. She’s going to be a D’Antonio, which means that problems get taken care of for her, and she doesn’t have to worry about following up.

Still, while the warmth of his kiss is distracting and lovely, and the feel of his hands pressing into the base of her spine where the plunging back of the red silk dress he likes the best on her makes her skin break out in delighted goosebumps, she cannot help but think, I should know. I have a right to know what’s going on.

“Santi,” she begins, lower her voice even more, “if something has happened—”

“Nothing has happened,” Santino insists, turning her slowly before drawing her back against him. “Mia piccola volpe, stop fussing. I promised you, didn’t I?”

Her lips press into a thin line. “Yes,” she replies after a minute, “you did.” But if something has happened, she wants to say, and can’t bring herself to because Santino is kissing her again, pleased with her concise and obedient answer; he kisses her again and again, between breaths, funneling all of his frenzied energy into her instead. He gives it to her to hold, but won’t tell her where it’s come from or why it’s there. Just shoves it into her for safekeeping.

People cat-call and holler and whoop and laugh, and he grins against her mouth, lifting her up against him playfully—just far enough off the ground that she loops her arms around his neck to steady herself, unable to focus on how frustrating it is to be worried, and not know why.

“Ti amo,” Santino rumbles against her collarbone, kissing there reverently. “What do you think about leaving, hm? Sneak out of our own engagement party early, so I can take you home and enjoy you properly?”

It sounds too good, to go home. It sounds too good, because just that morning, she was begging him not to leave.

“I don’t know,” she ventures, smoothing her hand absently over the lapel of his suit jacket once he’s set her back down. “I don’t know, Santi, I...”

Her voice trails off. Ares is by the door. Once, the woman had been a comfort to her; now, she’s a reminder of this traitorous thing Santino has done, this thing that sits between them but only he can see and touch and feel, and Euphie just has to suffer the consequences of it one way or another.

“Come on, cara mia,” he coaxes, drawing her eyes back to him, twisting a strand of her hair around his finger. “We can do whatever you want.”

There must be something he isn’t telling me, she thinks. Something that’s blown his pupils wide until the black at them is eating away at the gorgeous jade green of his irises. Something dreadful, that he knows she’ll hate. That she’ll fuss about.

The question sits there, just on the tip of her tongue. What about Wick? she wants to ask. But she already knows that he won’t tell her, and she is learning quickly not to ask.

Ignorance is bliss, anyway.

[dumbdemonslayertexts]

random excerpts from black girl time travel kny au

Pairing: rengoku / oc

note: lots of angst mostly. forgive me for this not being y/n format i have to work up the chops to be graceful enough to write that

tagging @dudeandduchess and @adoriable and @tengens-bunny bc they sparked the greatest muse i’ve ever had to write fictions since i was like 14 literally wtf you are my queens???!?!

even with her mind working double overtime to secure her discomfort, the serenity if the rengoku estate could not be diminished. imene tried her hardest to remember any time prior to her time shift where she saw the moon so brilliantly illuminating the earth below it. each blade of grass, every stone in the garden reflected its glow; the whole of her surroundings were accented with such a pure silvery lining, giving a beauty distinctive to the night alone. it was tranquil enough for her to eventually draw a cleansing breath through her lungs, which finally released some of the staleness of doubt and second guessing that had filled her self image lately.

“you are awake still, imene-chan?”

that voice struck her in her chest, shooting sparks of heat and flutters in her stomach. and the fact that she was hearing it meant he was home. safe. and home.

“imene,” she softly insisted, making him smile as though he were being teased.

“imene.” his voice was warmer when he said her name, she would swear to it. and it stirred in her heart almost painfully with the need to hold him forever.

“i couldn’t sleep,” she shrugged off her dilemma, far more preoccupied in the happiness of seeing him, falling into those gorgeously untamed eyes and sweet smile again… “i’m happy to see you!”

“kyojuro.”

when the depth of his rich tone interjected his name, it caught her by surprise. and, true to form, he hadn’t needed her to say a word before reading her thoughts and emotions with complete accuracy.

“wh–?”

he lessened the distance between them, tucking his chin to sustain her eye contact where she sat, “imene… would you say it for me?”

the shadow of pessimism in her brain was shouting. he was easing the lines of formality as a kindness—-it was his vibrant character and nothing more. why was she so dense as to not even understand that? why did a simple name make her world feel brighter, and have her smiling to him, lovestruck?

“kyojuro.”

he smiled. with utter bliss, he smiled at her, exhaling like she’d lifted a weight from him. “ah… i prefer that, i think… don’t you?" 

just like that, the playfulness was back in his voice and eyes. though, another element felt as though it had been added unto it. one she was far too daunted to even hope to name. so she changed the subject. 

"how’re you feeling..?” she asked, lifting herself to stand, “you’re not hurt anywhere, are you? did you get any sleep or did you come right–”

she’d closed the remaining space between them as she fretted over him. ginger, worrying hands grazed butterfly touches up his chest, and the moment she’d made the mistake of tenderly cupping his face, his grin vanished… along with the delusion of pleasant standing she had dared hoped for with anyone there. it took so very little, but reality struck her like frozen lead. 

the subtlest way she could, imene lowered her touch away from him, even as she felt stony ice fill her stomach at his reaction. she could feel how he’d stiffened just before she took her hands away. so then, at that very second with how clear things had become, finality settled into her. still, she wished he would have just lunged his blade through her gut instead; the pain would have been so much less. 

“i–” kyojuro tried his best to play off the disgust, to turn the awkwardness in any other emotional direction. the poor thing even had the courtesy to look remorseful—-very convincingly, at that. god, how noble could one man be to still be kind and gentlemanly even now, trying to play off repulsion as he so obviously was? “no, i am not injured, i am feeling well! but i wished to return home as quickly as i could once i’d fulfilled my assignment. so, yes, i made the decision to return directly. i hope you haven’t been up out of worry for me.”

he was even back to beaming a smile by then, close-eyed and cheerful. she could only give half the heart in her attempt to smile back, barely nodding to acknowledge his answer. the bolt of dejection was still scalding in her chest, trying its best to well tears into her eyes.

“what is it?”

he asked after she’d broken eye contact with him for a time. imene had needed the privacy to blink down the urge to cry. 

“i’m …ready to go back to oyakata-sama’s estate. but i was kind of worried of how much trouble it would be to ask if he would take me in a second time… i didn’t know if it would be rude to him,” she tried to sound as casual as she possibly could, asking softly, like it were nothing more than a passing thought over an inevitable eventuality instead of a conscious decision of hers. but from the look on kyojuro’s face, she may as well has torn a hole through him.

“has something happened?”

he was so concerned. kyojuro sounded so hurt and concerned that the prickling of tears threatened her lashes again. even with his aversion to her, she could not stand to see someone so sweet and kind be hurt. “no…”

“please, imene, if you were upset by anything that happened while i was away–”

“i wasn’t, kyojuro,” she insisted, pleading.

“are you unhappy?” he asked. and it broke her heart to hear just how willing he was to remedy whatever issue she may have experienced just by the tone of his voice, especially after just returning from a mission, “you don’t have to hesitate to tell me if I have failed to host you well.”

“you haven’t failed anything. i’m not unhappy. but I can–” dread made the words catch in her throat, but it was too late for her to retract anything now, “feel that I’m making everyone uncomfortable." 

she waited for him to say something, but the flame hashira only looked at her in pained confusion, stunned and churning his brain to unravel her meaning.

"your father does not want me in your home, kyojuro. i’m a stranger to him—-in fact, I’m pretty sure he can sense that i don’t belong here,” she explained. he was faintly shaking his head, but even with the urge to protest, kyojuro could not deny that truth. “and senjuro–”

“he adores you,” kyojuro desperately interjected. her lips parted to negate it, but he continued before she could. and suddenly, there was a visible glimmering in his sunborn eyes, “he’s told me. many times, everyday we spend together. you…” his face softened from the accosted state she’d frozen it into earlier, and he paused his hurried explanations, “ease him. from our father. even though it is nowhere in your responsibility, you comfort him.”

“him liking me is just going to strain things between the two of them even more,” she shook her head, trying physically to mash the stress out of her temples, “that can’t be worth it, i don’t know how long I’ll even be in this time!”

“you would be surprised at its worth, imene." 

her conscience screamed at her to look at him, and she refused for as long as she could… just for knowing how gutting it would be to do. decency prevailed over her to finally grant him enough to at least meet his eyes, though. and the way his soul cried out to her through them left her destroyed. 

"i’m so sorry to have made you uncomfortable in my home. you needn’t worry about speaking with oyakata-sama, that is my responsibility, i will take care of it.”

he was resigned and sullen. It was almost impossible to tell with how genuinely he retained a positive outlook despite anything, but imene could see the sadness shining in his fiery stare, even with how radiant his grin was. she could also note how the sure grip of his sword had lessened to self-soothing strokes with his thumb at its hilt. “In the morning, I’ll make the arrangements for you. …I hope you believe me, imene, about senjuro. It’s been some time since he’s had …a loving woman around him. he isn’t likely to remember our mother well. what you’ve given with your presence is precious to him. priceless, I would say.”

he gave her an elegiac curve of his lips, and the water blurring her sight conquered her at last, dripping tears so heavy they fell straight to the ground, without a trace left on her cheeks.

“as for our father… he has been this way for a while. it is him. or, it’s what he has become, not a result of your being here. his callousness falls onto senjuro and myself normally, but I suppose you provided a new outlet for it …” he sighed, “it doesn’t excuse my negligence, but i will speak to him, you have my word.”

when she swept her eyes free of more accumulating tears, she felt kyojuro’s palms encircling her arms. it was a touch she had been desiring from the moment these feelings for him had begun to surface, yet when she felt it, she recoiled as if she were burned.

“imene,” he begged quietly. she still tried to keep her tone even.

“but you, kyojuro.”

confusion seeped into the misery soaking his expression, and his brow curled again to search for some hidden meaning in her words. his hands were away from her, though, the instant she showed discomfort.

“you’re the most uncomfortable around me of the three of you. you’re disgusted when i come close to touching you, you can’t even stand to be near me, in the same room, you’re always double checking to see if i’m up to something down every hall and in every room, and around your brother—-i can’t stay here and make you feel like that in your own home! especially when you’re out saving people and risking your life constantly! why would you even want me here if i make you so ill at ease—why would you want to come home to that kind of feeling after all you do!”

she hated how much heat she could feel under her skin–behind her eyes, in her cheeks and nose, at her ears. even more, she hated the pinched and congested whine her emotive state rendered her voice to, like some indignant child. it was humiliating to say aloud to him—-to verbalize just how awfully her self-regard had been eaten away, and to at last face it herself. now her cheeks and chin lay adorned with sheening wet streaks. she couldn’t hide any of it any longer. stillness followed after. not a word spoken, only the amplification of her breaths rattling and struggling to calm against rengoku’s measured silence. 

when she could bear to raise her head again, imene could see him in what looked to be a deep epiphany. a terrible one. like his actions had only know processed into awareness for him, and had left him reflecting in horror. 

“imene.”

he lifted his eyes enough for her to come into view, and his own lashes were starry now, blacker with the moisture accumulating at their base, in spite of the soft grin he wore, “i’m afraid i have to correct you. you said i haven’t failed in caring for you well. but i have done exactly that.

"would you come and sit with me,” he propositioned when she said no more. he’d expected nothing less when she could only look away from him with clenched, leaking eyes, so clearly pained that it ripped his heart to shreds. kyojuro was patient to await her answer, and held out his arm for her when she surprisingly accepted. imene had assumed that they would both share the space on the engawa she’d taken before his return. instead, he lead them to a more secluded area of the estate’s garden, on a stone bench that provided ample view of the night time, and allowed an unstifled breeze to cool them both that she greatly appreciated. 

“i must apologize.”

“you did already.”

kyojuro glanced over his shoulder, hearing her delicate assurance. it surged through him, littering his skin in goosebumps. 

out of consideration of how small their shared seat would be, he had crowded himself at the corner by her side. it allowed them both room for their legs, considering how widely his sat apart, but he could admit there there was a high element of shame that made it more difficult to face her. “yes, and it is not at all adequate for how i’ve hurt you.”

every time he spoke, sounding like he cared, she could do nothing but weep more. somehow, in spite of everything, his sympathy hurt more than anything else. and made her feel horrible for not being acceptable. “you can’t help how you feel, rengoku-s–”

“kyojuro." 

his eyes met hers with stone solid conviction that she couldn’t understand. for someone who disliked her so palpably, he was intent on establishing friendly casualness between them that gave her a migraine trying to comprehend. his next words went far enough to bring a knot to her brow. "you’re right, i can’t. but to have acted on those feelings so poorly is shameful." 

"acted on them poorly?”

“you were manifested in oyakata-sama’s estate. a refugee he deemed to have been brought here for divine reason. he is our leader in this fight we have undertaken against evil. he is the head of our organization, to be honored and respected.”

“it seemed that way,” her faint voice commented.

“yes. for that reason, and more i can’t explain now. understand, if my master says to me that you are precious, to be cared for, i wouldn’t ever dishonor that, nor you.”

now he’d given her her own shocking epiphany. it was slow to unravel itself with how meticulously he explained, frustratingly peeling away with the more he revealed to her in this less than receptive state that her mortification left her in.

“i wished to fulfill the role of your caretaker as best as i could. but as a hashira, i am frequently called away for extensive periods,” he gradually began to turn himself round, now diagonally beside her rather than perpendicular, “you are out of my direct sight for so long that i force you to tolerate my overcompensating once i return. i want you adjusted well, to not be overwhelmed or confused, or grieved with being alone. i wished to watch over you closely in case you were to need me.”

“oh…”

“and your nearness…” he began again, “imene, you were brought here under my protection. not only for me to oversee your healing wounds, but for your safe keeping all together. you are my charge. but i took this upon myself before knowing you—-i was not prepared for you to be so gentle and loving, and to possess warmth that i have not felt in so many years. you emanate affection–your spirit could even bring out playfulness in tokito-san. and your strength is one i have only seen in one other in my life." 

she wanted to cry again, now. and was well on her way, hearing this perfect man speak of her so glowingly. out of nowhere. 

"your peculiar beauty was something i was prepared to disregard. i am from a family of uncommon features; i willed myself to overlook the uniqueness of your eyes as many do mine, and to not be stricken with the comeliness of your hair, or with the beauty of your delicate complexion—-one i have never seen, and that i now will never forget. i convinced myself of it only being the allure of one sent from the heavens. i was mistaken, and then overcome." 

"you—-” her voice broke, weighted with the sobs fighting to bubble out of her chest, “i don’t understand…”

“you are the most beautiful woman i have ever set eyes on, imene. my dreams could not even create anyone nearly as bewitching. and i swore to ignore it, until you showed yourself equally as beautiful in your soul.”

▷▷ part 2

[lubdubsworld]

Dangerously Beautiful. (Seokjin x oc)

Kim Seokjin x OC!!

 Genre : Organized Crime AU ! 

Warnings : AU related violence . Explicit Content. Blood , Gore but not too bad. I’ll see how it goes. Extremely Dubious Consent. Abusive relationships. Unhealthy power dynamics. 

Summary : When you’re caught in a war that has no end, the only goal is to survive. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Prologue

“Been a while, huh baby? You’re too fucking tight....” Seokjin grunted, fingers crushing my wrists together with a bruising grip , eyes narrowed as he smirked right into my face as he fucked into me, his hips slamming into mine with a force that made my bones rattle and I had to bite my lips to keep from crying out, tears spilling over my eyes and soaking the fabric of his tie , knotted and stuffed in my mouth. 

“But that’s good...at least it tells me you haven’t been spreading your thighs for anyone else, right baby? Not that you would dare....you know you’re mine, don’t you ? Your sexy little body....all mine, huh darling?” He leaned down and made to kiss me and i panicked. I didn’t want him to kiss me. 

I closed my eyes, turning my face away but he brought one hand up to grip my jaw, yanking my face back to stare at him. He tightened the grip on my chin and I whimpered when his thumb dug into my skin . 

“Open your fucking eyes and look at me.” He demanded. “ What are you afraid of huh? Afraid to admit how much you like this? How much you like having my cock in your cunt?”

I glared at him, hoping he could read all the hatred, all the disdain and scorn and fury I felt for him. He merely laughed shaking his head, his movements speeding up. He stared at me like I was the most precious thing in the world and yet he treated me like I was something he wanted to destroy. 

“So you’ve been hanging out with Jihoon again...imagine my surprise doll... Me .... one of the most powerful in the country, “ He punctuated each pause with a thrust that left me wincing in pain, “one of the most feared men in the country and yet....my beautiful wife...out flaunting a relationship with another man.... Don’t make me put a bullet in my own brother’s head, Renae....” He growled, thumb slipping into my mouth, alongside the tie. I closed my eyes, , exhausted as my body went limp to fight the pain.

 I hated him. Hated him . Hated him.  

“Gonna fuck you all night. Gonna fuck you so hard you’ll be sore for days.....Heard you made plans with him? Let’s see how you run around the city with my brother if you can’t fucking walk tomorrow.” he snarled and I choked on my tears.

The knock on the door made him pause and he swore. 

“What the fuck do you want?” He roared and I held my breath. 

 Please... Please leave... Just, Please.

“Wang’s here, hyung.” Jungkook’s voice carried through the thick mahogany door. “ He’s got the Lee kid. “ 

Seokjin groaned . 

He glared at the door for a second , taking deep breaths to calm himself down and I could see the anger swelling inside him. i held my breath because I did not want to be the outlet for all that rage. I stared , watching his eyes shift to mine, cold and unfeeling. 

I winced when he brought his clenched fist down on the sheet with enough force to rattle the whole bed. I exhaled shakily as his fingers came up to brush the sweat slicked bangs off my face, thumb pressing into my lips with force.

“Looks like we’re gonna have to reschedule, princess.” he grunted pulling out, and relief flooded my body so hard, i sagged. He made to move away but stopped when I shuddered.

“What? “ He snapped and I froze. 

His fingers reached for the knot at the back of my head and he yanked on it till the tie came undone. I gasped when he pulled the fabric out of my mouth , swallowing to sooth by bruised throat. 

“You look entirely too glad that I’m leaving.” He tilted his head thoughtfully and my gaze snapped to his. 

“I.. I..” My voice broke, rusty from disuse. 

“On your hands and knees.” 

I sobbed in disbelief, shaking my head and trying to move away but he gripped my waist, turning me over and lifting my hips till I was on all fours.

“Grab the fucking headboard.” He whispered , sounding unnaturally calm and I felt a chill spread all over my skin. 

With Seokjin, the calmer he was, the more reason you had to be afraid. 

“I’m gonna fuck you till I cum and then I’m supposed to go kill Lee Jae Hwan’s son. If you stay quiet , let me do my thing... I may consider letting him live. What say, princess? He’s only twenty three years old....  “ He smiled eerily, the sheer beauty of his face a complete contrast to the things he did. 

I closed my eyes. 

It wasn’t really a fucking choice was it? 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You didn’t come to the cafe.” Jihoon’s voice came from the shadows , just as I left the library on the east wing. I felt my heart race, eyes darting up and down the length of the corridor, anxiety spiking as I tried to listen for footsteps or voices. It was mid afternoon and the sun spilled into the open hallways through the open windows, and there was no one in sight. 

 No one visited the East wing that often especially in the middle of the day but you could never be too careful. The servants , guards and the housekeeper were all loyal to Seokjin. And last night... Seokjin had made it clear that he was watching. I couldn’t do this. Couldn’t put handsome, kind Jihoon’s life in danger for my own selfish desires. 

I ignored him, walking a bit faster to get away but he moved faster, stopping in front of me and holding both hands up to stop me. 

“Renae....what’s wrong?” He asked softly , eyes warm and worried and brimming with concern and i wanted to sob.

“We shouldn’t be doing this , “ i whispered, shaking my head. “ I can’t convince Seokjin to let me go if he thinks it is  you  I’m leaving with. Right now I hold no value to him but if you keep following me around..acting like a fool....he will keep me chained to his side.!!!” 

Jihoon growled , eyes flashing with frustration and anger.

“He doesn’t deserve you!”

“I know.” I whispered, glancing back up and down the corridor. I was so terrified in my own home and it was so unfair. “ I know but you must remember.... he did not force me into anything. I came here of my own volition. I let him court me and marry me and I am his wife now. He owns me. Unless he lets me go, I cannot escape.” 

“Its been five years. How much longer? How much longer must I wait for you to-”

“I never asked you to wait. Your waiting is your own doing. Don’t pin that on my head, Master Kim.” I said coldly. 

He flushed at that. 

“I just.. i love you. I care for you deeply and I want to give you the life you deserve...does that count for nothing?” He asked, desperately and I looked away, laughing at his naivety. 

At twenty five, Jihoon was as naive as they came. He had been raised, sheltered. Away from the family business. He did not know how ruthless his brother was. 

How little Seokjin valued  human life? How fiercely possessive he was of the things he owned. 

How little he cared about what anyone else wanted? 

“No..matter what any of us wants,  because only the king gets to have what he wants “ I said sharply, “ and Kim Seokjin is the King. This is his empire. You and I , we are pawn in his court, only here to serve him as he asks us to....to give him what he wants...... And as long as he wants me , in his house and in his bed, I am bound to him. You’re risking your life , for something that may not even be real” 

“Don’t say that... Don’t you dare say that.. What we have is real... it  is  real.” He said softly. 

I stared at him, shaking my head. 

“After four years with your brother I no longer know what is real and what isn’t. “  

He stared at his feet.

“You love him. “ I said softly.

He didn’t deny it. 

“I love you more.” He said hoarsely.

I laughed a little.

“I’m sure you believe that. But the truth is he  will  kill you. He told me as much. I can’t have that on my head, Jihoon.” 

I turned away, clutching my book to my chest , as I walked away from the only person who had ever shown me any kindness. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“She is in love with Jihoon.” Seokjin said casually, taking a sip of his whiskey, eyes trained on the sunset, lavishly beautiful from their position up on one the tallest towers in the estate. 

Yoongi hummed thoughtfully.

“not surprising considering you treat her like dirt.”

Seokjin grimaced.

“I don’t have time to indulge all her fairytale fantasies. She is my wife , she is honor bound to serve me and me alone.” He growled. 

Yoongi laughed.

“This isn’t the dark ages. You married her. You didn’t buy her love....” 

“then why am I still fucking paying for it. “ He snapped. “ Why am I still here, four years later, chained to her but nowhere closer to being what she wants. Why am I here, contemplating killing my own brother....? “

Yoongi shook his head. 

“Because you wasted the years when you should’ve been there for her. You left her alone in a sprawling mansion with no one to lean on and it was your brother who offered her the companionship she craved...” 

“My father had died!” Seokjin shouted, fists clenched in frustration. “ He died and he left me a crumbling, burning mess of an organization filled with traitors and opportunists. None of them were loyal to me , I had an attempt on my life every day of the fucking week...so forgive me if I couldn’t take time off to play house with a nineteen year old girl .......” 

“Its not too late.” Yoongi said softly. 

Seokjin sighed. 

“Yoongi...”

“ You’re not that man anymore, Seokjin.... You’ve done your part. You’ve built an empire even the Romans would envy and you are the one in control. She isn’t nineteen anymore either..... She’s twenty four. She knows the kind of life you lead, She will be more understanding. She hasn’t left yet so there’s no reason you shouldn’t try-” 

“She has been looking for divorce lawyers.” Seokjin whispered. “ She wants me to let her go.”

Yoongi stayed quiet.

Seokjin continued, voice laced with frustration. 

“I can’t do that. I... I don’t know what love is but I feel...something for her. Something that makes it impossible for me to contemplate a life without her.  So I can’t let her go but if I keep her life this, if I chain her to my side , she is only going farther away from me. i don’t.. i don’t know what to do.” he said helplessly. 

Yoongi nodded.

“I think its time to let Jungkook take over as the head of operations.” He said softly.

Seokjin’s eyes snapped to him. 

“What?! He’s not ready -”

“And he’ll never be ready if you don’t give him the chance to prove himself. He is intelligent , sharp and ruthless. He knows the in and out of this business like you do and he has stayed by your side since he was sixteen years old. He loves you like a brother and he is loyal to you in a way that I’ve never witnessed in my life. “

Seokjin sighed running a hand over his face. 

“So, what? I just hand things over to him and go sit in an armchair fiddling my thumbs?”

Yoongi laughed.

“No... you take a step back... see over everything and offer us your advice when we’re stuck. The way bosses all over the world function. The next time there’s an issue that needs to be dealt with, you trust  us  to deal with it, instead of turning up at an abandoned warehouse at two in the morning to break some poor college kid’s arm.” 

Seokjin nodded, taking another sip of his drink.

“And... Renae?”

“You tell her you want to build a relationship with her. Beg her for a chance if you have to and then you fix things  If you want her love, you earn it. “ 

“Is that how you earned your wife’s love?” Seokjin smirked. 

Yoongi grimaced.

“Let’s not talk about that ...’“ He grunted. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When I walked into the dining room that evening, the last thing I expected was my husband, dressed to the nines and leaning against the fireplace, staring off into space. 

He straightened when he saw me and i froze in place, fear choking my insides. 

“Hi.” He said softly.

I blinked, confused.

“I was hoping to have dinner with you.”

He what?

I merely stared at him, completely thrown. 

“Unless you have other plans.” 

I pinched myself discreetly. Was I having a fever dream? Had I fallen asleep in the library?

“Say something.” He snapped and I got pulled out of my reverie. 

I swallowed.

“No.. I.. no i don’t have any plans.”

“Good. Come, let’s sit.” 

He pulled a chair out for me and i stared at him in confusion, walking over and carefully lowering myself into the seat. 

“Are you going to kill me?” I blurted out when he took the seat opposite to me. 

He stared at me in shock.

“What?! Of course not..why would you think that?” he demanded. 

I swallowed. 

“What are you doing here then.??? ..you don’t do this. Ever.”

“Maybe I’ve changed.” He said casually and I laughed in disbelief.

“I don’t know what sick game you’re trying to play with me but...”

“I’ve been neglecting you.” he said gently. 

I froze.

:” I’ve not been the kind of husband I could’ve been. And I think, I need to remedy that.”

He stared at me. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” I said shakily.

“I want to make this work. “

“This?” i said, slightly hysterical.

“Our marriage. I want to make it work.”

“I.. no. I don’t want that.. I want a-”

“DON’T!!!” He shouted, fists coming down on the table with a force that made me jump. “ Don’t ask me for a divorce. I’m not giving you one. not now, not ever.” 

I stared down at my knees, tears stinging. 

“I am trying to be more ....gentle. I want to mend things between us so you wouldn’t have to look for comfort or companionship from another man. “ 

“Please stop.” I felt sick. 

“You’re my wife Renae. And i want you to enjoy it. “ 

Nausea. Anger. Disbelief. Despair. 

Everything warred inside me and my head pounded. 

“I ....am not hungry anymore.” I choked out, stumbling to my feet and moving away and for the first time, Seokjin let me leave the room when I wanted to . 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s Note : Well.... Feedback is appreciated as always.  leave a reply here if you wanna be on the taglist. 

[virgil-writes]

ash & soot

Long before the Winters come into play, a monster stalks the Forbidden Forest that surrounds the Village. Karl Heisenberg is sent to investigate, and heads deeper into darkness to find his prey, a thorn on his side and someone just like him. (Heisenberg x OC)

on AO3: chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five | chapter six | chapter seven (ao3 only) | chapter eight | chapter nine | chapter ten

chapter 10 - ashes and soot

SFW, around 4K words.

He followed her into the house while trying his hardest not to laugh. She seemed satisfied with her own answer, hoped that it would quell his questioning. Her pacing was erratic once they made their way inside, all manners of ice-breakers and harmless comments flung at him in a very obvious, desperate attempt to divert his attention. It was the first time he saw her lose her composure, fumble with her words, a bead of sweat on her brow as she tried to hide her nervousness. It was hardly a difficult question - did she mean to keep her identity a secret?

The house looked much the same as it did yesterday, perfectly tidy and beyond cozy. The dog pushed past him when he lingered on the door’s threshold, lazily walking towards his spot in front of the fireplace. It tossed and turned for a few moments, finally curling up into a ball, not at all concerned with human matters. Heisenberg approached to see there was no bubbling stew this time, no cauldron over the fire, his stomach grumbling in response. Amidst her anxiety she had taken a moment to ask him to take off his boots as he came in, a casual wave of her hand signaling when she would not face him. The weather had warmed up a bit overnight and the snow had melted some. She would prefer it if he left the mud outside, she explained as she brought over a pair of woolen slippers that were definitely too big for her feet. They looked handmade, but brand new, a sober color that wouldn’t show dirt and matched his usual color scheme. Did she… Prepare for his return?

“I meant your real name,” was his first attempt at prying the truth out of her. He obliged to her request, removed one damp boot and then the other, looking down to slide into the house slippers that, he was convinced, had been made especially for him. “Don’t much care for what the villagers like to call you.”

Heisenberg left the iron pot at the end of the table, trying his best to ignore the sensation of walking on a cloud in those fuzzy slippers. She remained quiet, watched him carefully, as if weighing her options and deciding on the best course of action. He made his way to the couch, grabbing an embroidered cushion before plopping himself down unceremoniously, toying with the stitches on the fabric with his dirty gloved hands. It was as comfortable as he had imagined, comfortable enough to make any of Alcina’s fancy chairs envious. His other arm placed on the backrest, he spread his legs to make himself at home, wiggling his butt almost imperceptibly to seal the deal. He might be having the time of his life, but she for once trembled under his watchful eye.

“I’m afraid that I cannot give you, my lord.” She said at last, her confidence building up after her momentary stumble. He caught the rise and fall of her shoulders as she took a deep breath to steady herself. “I have lost it long ago, in a faraway land whose name slips my mind.” He quite liked the hint of drama - a woman after his own heart -, but the charade would have to end sooner or later.

“So you’re telling me you’ve lived this long without a name?” There was a pregnant pause, her hands stuck midair as she made to reach for a jar high up the shelf, as if she had never once stopped to think about it in that light. Finally, she nodded, let out an embarrassed sigh as she brought the jar of spices to the kitchen counter. “Your parents never thought to give you one?”

“They did, naturally.” Naturally - even some poor family in the back of beyond had the decency of giving their child a name. “But it was never mine.” She finally turned to him, defeated, eyes pointed towards the gaps on the floor, the ones on the ceiling, the candles on the shelf. Anything to avoid his gaze, anything to get this topic over with as soon as possible. For a moment he wondered if this, too, was nothing but a clever way to manipulate him, to have him look kindly upon her. Heisenberg gestured for her to continue, cigar between his fingers, genuinely intrigued by this messed up human being that interested him so, even if she was trying to play him for a fool. “They had lost a daughter before me - Mihaela, she was called. A beautiful girl of ashen blonde hair who never came to see her tenth winter - consumption took her before then.” Her voice was velvet smooth, charming as a storyteller’s should be. “When they found a sickly girl lost in the forest, they felt like God had answered their prayers, returned their most precious gift to her rightful place. I never did look the part, much to their disappointment.” What she said next he could barely hear: “A dead girl’s name for a lifeless girl.”

If it was all a ploy, she was an actress worthy of praise. There was something about the way that her eyes seemed to lose color, her smile turn ever so slightly downwards, that told him she had opened her heart and let him in, entrusted him with knowledge she had been unwilling to part with. Heisenberg found himself averting her eyes without meaning to; not because he felt uncomfortable, not because her story brought back memories. It was a way to relieve her, to allow her breathing room. His presence seemed to burden her, compel her to say more than she ever meant to. It was a courtesy he was sure she would repay in kind.

“It was never mine, but it made them happy. It was the least I could do.” He looked around to try and find any evidence that someone had lived there with her, before her. No picture frames, no yellowed embroidered designs. No knick-knacks that looked too old for a woman her age, no shoes or clothing that hinted at anyone else having set foot inside her home. If Mihaela had truly existed, there was no trace of her left behind. “I much prefer being called what I am.”

Being called was she is, he mused, a multitude of words jumping at him within a moment’s thought. Alluring, Appealing, Beautiful; Charming, Exquisite, Fascinating; Gorgeous, Ravishing, Stunning; Sinister, Mysterious, Divine.

“Well, if you ask me,” he took one last drag of his cigar before putting it out on the ceramic ashtray that hadn’t been there the night before. “That just means we get to find you a new one. I could certainly think of a few words to describe you. I’ll even let you throw a few at me. What do you say?” The challenge in his voice seemed to revitalize her spirit, fire and defiance in her eyes when she placed her hands on the tabletop. “Doll.” Her face contorted in disgust at his first attempt, but that was not what he was looking for. No, he wanted to see her cheeks flush, her breath catch. He wanted something uniquely theirs, reserved for their little rendezvous on cold winter nights such as these. Something that would bind him forever in her mind, so that he could forge loyalty out of her with curiosity for an anvil and charm for a hammer. “Honey bun.” Nothing.

“Sweetheart.” She made her first try, eyebrow raised. Not a scratch. He had expected more of her. “Snickerdoodle.” Gross, but not close enough.

Through dears and darlings and sugarplum and buttercup she stood an impenetrable fortress, even having the gall to mock him and use the words against him in a sickeningly sugary voice. He visibly cringed when she reached a new low with stud muffin; her eyes filled up when her laughter turned to tears after she sent him reeling by calling him her cuddle bear.

They had both been struggling to catch their breath when all merriment seeped out of him, replaced by a burning feeling of disgusting, reprehensible sincerity. For once he had let go of the joe, for once he had let his guard down and the dark corners of his mind do the talking. A lapse in judgment, he would come to chastise himself later, but he could not deny he had begun to see her differently then. It had dawned on him that he had long abandoned the desire to kill or bind her, the turn of events so quick in the brief twenty-four hours they had known each other for. When he opened his eyes he did not see a tool or a weapon, a menace or nuisance; he saw a woman whose laughter brought him joy, who looked wonderful when she replaced the mask of sorrow with a candid smile. He saw someone who could sit with him by the furnace turned fireplace at his quarters in the factory, who could listen to him ramble and not understand a thing but not mind it at all. Someone who could talk away his worries, distract him from his problems. Someone who could pet his hair as he laid with his head on her lap after a long day, who could hold his hand and ground him when the worst of the nightmares came. Worst of all, someone who would, if he gave them both a chance. The word slipped unbidden, a final blow dealt to both of them:

“Liebchen.”

Liebchen, like father would call mother when they thought no one could hear them, when times were better and tragedy had not engulfed them. When he would tuck an unruly strand of hair behind her ear and pull her into a tight embrace that promised everything would be fine. It always made her smile, Karl remembered, and he wished one day he would find someone for whom he could do the same.

It frightened him to see the honesty in his voice reflected in her eyes, how it had pulled on something deep within both of their hearts. They both fell silent as they digested the tension that floated above them, his words both his declaration and his admission, her unguarded expression her own in return. They were under no illusions of what it all meant, he told himself; there were no dreams of a happily ever after together, no plans of eloping and living out their immortality while holding hands. There was no love at first sight, no uncontrollable passion, unconditional devotion. But there was an openness neither had felt in many years of solitary existence, a baring of souls in the comfort of their laughter. They would keep each other at arms’ length and never speak of it, he knew, although he felt it would be impossible to ignore the feeling that they had found the safe harbor they had long given up looking for.

Now was definitely not the time to unpack all that.

She was the first to recover, a click of her tongue too little time to prepare him for the worst that was yet to come. “Silver fox.” He mockingly heaved as he turned away, letting her have her fun, allowing her to trample on the sentimental standstill at his expense. If it had lingered any longer, he feared one of them would explode into a pile of sugary mush.

“I brought you something, pumpkin.” He said once their laughter died down, approached the dining table where she still stood, suddenly all too aware that the damn slippers were warm and comfortable. “You scratch my back, I scratch yours, right?” Heisenberg reached inside the pocket close to his chest to pull out the knife he had spent the afternoon carefully forging, the details far more delicate than the work he was used to. He slid it over to the other side of the table and she caught it a moment later, a wide smile on her face, fingers tracing over the carvings on the handle. It was made of steel, naturally, the relief of a horse and horseshoe, flowers adorning the space around it. His house’s crest, a little bauble so that she would always remember him. He doubted she would forget him anytime soon, anyway - he was quite the character. “Should be better than… Whatever it is you were using before.” He went over to the kitchen counter to fish her old knife out of a ceramic jug, inspecting it closely. The craftsmanship was admirable, masterfully done intricate designs on the burnt wood of the handle. “Bone?” She nodded, still admiring the blade in her hands. He did not imagine gifting a deadly blade to a woman could thrill her so, but she was definitely anything but common.

He just hoped his little display of goodwill was not a ritual binding of souls in marriage in the eyes of some forgotten god.

Heisenberg looked around the house more closely: witch was definitely the right way to describe her. A piece of twine hung from the ceiling, an assortment of herbs and flowers left to dry long before winter had come. The few pots and pans she owned were stacked on a shelf, next to cups and bowls, plates and saucers. Most of it ceramic, some of it wood, the odd one made of cast iron that looked ancient, but was in good shape. A basket of grains, a barrel of produce, an empty milk jug beside the wood stove. The curio was practically a fossil and had lost its glass panes, books of all sorts organized inside it, as well as mysterious flasks with drawings he couldn’t make out. Mortar and pestle made of dark gray stone containing something fragrant, half burnt candles with various motifs carved on them. The rug was a patchwork of animal pelts, visibly sewn by hand with care and precision. It made sense, he supposed, that she seemed to make everything from scratch; no one had ever seen her around the village, neither to visit nor to trade, and if she truly was as old as she claimed to be, modern life was but a distant thought for her.

“Anything in here that you don’t make yourself?” He asked when his curiosity got the better of him, and she answered by showing him the back of her hand, the red nail polish all too apparent in contrast to her skin. There was a childish smile on her face, as if she was betraying something with that small action. The piece de resistance of modern times in her anachronistic little world.

“This is a beautiful gift, my liege.” She curtsied as she spoke, her movements slow but fluid. That, he concluded, was what amused him so, how she seemed to move without ever touching the ground. The airiness in her step made her look like the picture of happiness, of carefree living; one had but to look at her closely to see that her burdens were many, her soul tainted with poisons unknown, and the she seemed to enjoy the wickedness of it all. He could forget his problems and watch her strut forever, wish that he, too, felt willing and able to let himself be, to let his body and mind run free without a care in the world. His little witch in the woods stopped her dance-like pacing then, suddenly serious as she watched him. “But I am afraid you will have to stay for dinner.” She followed suit when he burst out laughing, throwing himself once more on the couch and resting his feet on a nearby stool.

“Planning to fatten me and eat me, you little minx?” His face turned jokingly serious, head moving left and right as he clicked his tongue in disapproval. “I don’t think I can fit in that tiny cauldron of yours.”

“Oh, please, don’t give me that look,” she began, turning her back to him to dedicate her attention to the slabs of meat that needed cutting and the pans that needed scrubbing. “Dinner time is sacred, you know. Besides,” the mischief in her eyes mingled with something else when she turned to look at him, that sense of affection foreign to him that they had shared not long ago. “You are a sturdy man.” The word had been used against him before, a reprimand when he had settled into a life of comfort after he returned from the overseas. “Have to keep the meat on those bones.” She pointed and shook the knife at him as she spoke. There was something in the tone of her voice that made him feel like an unruly child; she seemed to know how little he cared for himself, how little effort he put into keeping his body up and running from one day to another. “An empty sack can’t stand upright.” As if to finish making her point, she brought the cutting board over to the wood stove, a mountain of cut pork sliding into the pan that smelled of onions, garlic and all manner of spices he would never recognize. He certainly wouldn’t complain, he thought to himself with a snicker. “I hope the stew was to your liking.”

The best thing he had had since the summer of 1931, when his mother was allowed to splurge on ingredients and baked them a cake so delicious he would never forget it. “Jury’s still out,” was what he retorted instead. “Need to run some more tests.” She seemed happy with his response.

Dinner was quiet in the best of ways. The menu tonight was fried pork and creamy, cheesy polenta, served with a side of vegetables and fresh-baked bread. It was simple, filling, and better than anything he had tried before. He could get used to this, he caught himself thinking once more. He glanced upwards towards the mezzanine while they ate, wondering if there was room for a broad man of considerable stature in her almost dwarf-sized bedroom - the couch wouldn’t hold him. Easier than walking here every day for breakfast, lunch and dinner, like he intended to do whenever possible.

His mother had been a “mash everything together and season it with salt” kind of person, aside from the rare moments of inspiration that overtook her, and Mother never cooked for them. He had grown used to quantity over quality, his meals more of an obstacle than a moment to catch a break and enjoy himself. He has to resist the urge to gobble everything down in a couple of mouthfuls like he is used to doing, food finished within five minutes so he could return to his work. She treats dinner like time is of no concern, savors every chunk and every spoonful, but doesn’t seem bothered by his lack of manners, his clumsy way of holding the silverware. It feels awkward at first, her treating his presence like it was familiar. Familiar, that was the word, she had taken him in without question, even though she knew who he was, probably had an idea of the things he’d done. She had taken him in and he had done the same though he would not like to admit it. Was she afraid of him at all? She should be.

“So tell me, sugar plum,” Heisenberg began as she rose to put the dishes in the sink. The witch returned with a pot and two small cups, the smell of coffee filling the air. “You this friendly to everyone? Not afraid some evil monster is going to barge in here and besmirch your reputation?” She chuckled at his words; whether because she feared nothing or because she no longer had a reputation to smear he did not know.

“Not to everyone, no.” For a moment, all one could hear was the crackling of the logs in the fire, and the liquid hitting the glass. “Only to those who don’t run away.”

The coffee was bitter and brewed to perfection - that is, as far as his knowledge of coffee beans went. He always found the beverage too time consuming to make on a daily basis, especially when one-liter bottles of energy drinks were always at hand. If he ran out, he could always turn to instant coffee: cold, burnt and disgusting. He couldn’t think of a better combination for someone like him.

“Why would anyone want to run away from you, beautiful?” He offered with a charming smile, and she looked at him like he had grown a third arm. Had he lied? She was beautiful, nice and kind, to boot. How had she managed to stay hidden for so long?

“Well, I suppose it has something to do with the goat-deer hybrid monster, the quiet of the forest and the impaled heads at the tree line.” Her tone was nonchalant and sarcastic. Why yes, that made sense. Heisenberg nodded in agreement. To a random, god-fearing villager, she would be the equivalent of the Antichrist. It was surprising to know some still sought after her, often enough that tales of her were spun and shared among the locals. It was more surprising still that news of her existence had never reached dear Mother, the riffraff tight-lipped because of a witch who seemed to go against everything they stood for.

“Eh, seen worse,” was his only response. Would she still treat him as kindly if she knew he could turn into a giant metal monster with even deeper seated anger issues? Would she welcome him in with a warm smile if she knew that he dug up and dismembered the corpses of the recently deceased to perform sordid experiments? She smiled as if she did. Who, for fuck’s sake, was she? “You some kind of mythical creature?” She shook her head no, though she reminded him of legends of witches living deep within the woods, sometimes in houses made of sweets, sometimes bearing chicken legs. Or maybe she was a fairy that danced naked under the moonlight, tiny bells tied around her ankles. “Immortal entity?” Another negative, though there was a second of hesitation that did not escape his notice. “A goddess then? Oh, I would love to worship at your shrine, honey.” He finished with a wink, drank the last of his coffee. Your move, gorgeous.

“Nothing but blood and pain in this temple,” To his surprise, her expression is serious, something he had never truly seen before, as she sighed and gestured to herself. “Is it not enough for your lordship that I am your friend?” Her voice is serene but her words sharp. “What more do you need me to be? Name it, and it will be so.” Powerful, he needed her to be powerful, strong, resilient, loyal to a fault. He needed her to stand by his side as the only one he would trust, to aid him in overthrowing the tyrant he was forced to call a mother. He needed her because try as he might to keep going, he was running out of options, out of hope. He didn’t need her friendship, he reminded himself, tried to convince himself. What he needed was to enchant her and control her. “I certainly appreciate the compliment, though I would dare say we are quite incompatible, my lord.” The woman who spoke to him now was no longer the kind lass he’d had dinner with. She was poised, guarded, cold and distant. “Little blood witch in the woods, sturdy metal man in his factory. Wood and steel. Ashes and soot. What good would that be?”

“The way I see it, pumpkin,” he rose from his seat to make his way out the door, having overstayed his welcome and stepped too far. The analogy hits him like a stroke of genius, the missing puzzle piece in his plan as the curtains draw and he exits the stage. “We’d make a damn good axe.”

[yolo1650]

Surprise Date Pt. 3 (wip)

A/N: Inspired by a whole bunch of sacred romantic prompts by @screnwriter I had a lot of fun writing this! But I can imagine my execution is mediocre at best (especially with trying to write in Redd's pov) XD 

Also, if this helps, you can imagine the anthropomorphism akin to something like from Bojack Horseman. If you’re looking for some context, click here. I really wrote this to practice writing, nothing plot relevant here is permanent. 

Word Count: 1805

Warnings/Tags: Anthropomorphic characters, cross species relationship, drinking off screen, mentions of alcohol, jazzy times, make up after a fight, but i’m not exactly sure what they fought about, slow dancing, fluff, heart to heart, kissing, implied sex at the end, amateur writing, so it might get repetitive at times, i’m just so glad this is done, my oc still doesn’t have a name yet, she’s just referred to as she the whole time :’)

————-

As the level of wine in their glasses winded down, so did their surprisingly pleasant date night. In between their shared laughter and smiles, Redd could barely remember whatever fuss they had two nights before. Key word: barely. He still remembered how the sound of her yelling grated against his, and his tail bristled slightly at the thought of it.  

 Just then the CD player finished. With a tight smile, she excused herself to go and add a new one. The smooth voice of a woman's jazz ballad flowed out of the speakers, nothing at all like the soft chimes of the synth that was on before. Redd looked over to her outstretched hand.  

"Dance with me?" 

The dumb look of shock on his face probably wasn’t subtle at all, otherwise she wouldn't have shown off those shining pearly whites of her's. Rubbing the back of his neck, he chuckled. "No, no, I'm sorry darlin'. But I'm no dancer." 

But her hand remained outstretched in front of him. "I'll be the judge of that." Her tone was blunt, but her eyes however held a small plea. She then cocked her head over to the open space in front of the speakers. "Come on, we won't go too fast, I promise."

Tentatively, he placed his own leathered palm in her soft one, allowing her to guide him to the center of the living room. As she guided his right hand to her waist, he could feel his hackles rise at the nerves. He swallowed.  

"Don't say I didn't warn you now. Who knows, we might both end up on the ground 'cause of me." He hoped his voice didn't come out as hoarse because of how dry it was. She only smiled back, eyes warm with reassurance.  

"Then we'll both have something to laugh about when we look back at this moment." She placed a hand on his shoulder and slowly started moving. "Just follow my lead. I'm sure a smart fox like you can figure out a simple slow dance."

So, they danced, or rather, she slowly danced but had to pause at every step so that Redd's feet could step in time with her. He kept his head down, partly to keep watch of her feet and partly out of embarrassment. It wasn't often when he was forced in a position to admit an honest fault of his, but he'll take this case to be a delightful exception.  

"Are you familiar with Ella Fitzgerald?" Her question was let out in a single warm breath that pushed against the whiskers on the side of his muzzle. His nose involuntarily twitched at the newfound intimacy. He looked up only to see her gaze was elsewhere, supposedly lost in the swooping lows of the melody.  

"Ah, no, not really." He gently squeezed her hand as she picked up the pace. She squeezed back. "But I, uh, I don't mind. She sounds very talented."

"That she was, that she was," she drawled, her voice low. Nothing at all like how she sounded two days ago: sharp and resonant, and she had each syllable spoken with just the right amount of annunciation, perfect for scolding an employee for his unprofessionalism.  

It didn't take long before their bodies started moving together at the gentle pace of the song. His own tail couldn't help but absent-mindedly swing along to the smooth piano accompaniment. She even let him lead the dance for a few moments. Not bad you sly fox, Redd thought to himself, not bad at all. When she took over once more he looked to smile at her before saying, "This, this is kinda nice." But she only briefly returned that same half smile he'd seen all day.

Redd didn't need to be a detective to figure out what was bothering her. But, if their argument has taught him anything, it's that she wasn't really the talking type. In fact, if today has taught him anything, it was that she preferred to show how she felt, rather than say it. He squeezed her hand once more to assure her as she did for him, and her worried-filled eyes met with his attentive ones.  

She let out a sigh. "I'm sorry," she started, "about the things I said last time."

"I know." Out of the corner of his eye he could see her small frown. "The museum, fancy dinner, and now this? You'd have to admit it's all one hell of an apology."

"I still thought I should say it.”

“Apology accepted." He smiled. But it quickly dropped when she didn’t return it. He then opened his mouth. “I-

“I still have more to say, so if you could please just..." Her voice trailed off, not that she needed to finish it in the first place. The sight of her knit eyebrows alone was enough to shut his mouth up. He's never seen her so uncomfortable.  

She took another breath before continuing. "I was being a stupid, privileged ass, and you didn't deserve that. You're too good for-" She stopped herself, trying to find the right words. "You, you're just." She sighed and briefly glanced at him only to look away once again. “You’re extraordinary."

"I'm extraordinary?" The comment stopped him in his tracks, but he didn't even notice until she stumbled into him, the sweet, floral smell of her hair wash stronger than ever. Her arms grabbed onto his shoulders and he steadied her with his hands on her waist. He let out an embarrassed chuckle against her ear. "Sorry about that. Now remind me, who's the one making more figures here?"

"This isn't about that," she replied, their faces were so close she only needed to whisper. "I'm only able to do what I do because of my mom and she always knows best. But you-" Her piercing eyes met his own. "You didn't have any of that and you still made your way here because you wanted to be. You have this drive, this determination-and I see it in your eyes-you just go for it and take what you want, no matter what.”  

He leaned into her when she placed her forehead against his. “I've never seen that before so yeah, that's extraordinary."

He smirked. "Well, you are right about that."

She rolled her eyes. "You know I can easily take back all the nice things I said about you." The corners of her eyes crinkled as her mouth lifted to a beautiful smile. Redd's been waiting all night to see that one.  

"Alight, alright," he conceded, "bad timing I know, I'm sorry."  

She leaned in, pressing her whole body against him in a total embrace. Redd could tell that she'd said and done her piece, and was now melting into his touch. He could hear her quietly sing along to the music against his neck, another thing he'd never seen her do before. Their swaying has slowed tremendously since they started, but he decided that he actually liked it better this way.  

He cleared his throat and she pulled away to hear what he had to say. "I'm sorry 'bout gettin’ under your skin the other day. I should've known better than to pry like that." Seeing the earnest look in her eyes made him pause, and he found his jaw slacked trying to find his thoughts again.  

"I, uh, you're an amazing woman, you know that right?" She only responded with a small smile, a gentle request to continue. "You're a smart, beautiful, and busy woman who's got a lot on her plate. I'm sorry if I just ended up makin' your life harder and more stressful."

"Apology accepted," she said with a wide smile.

"And did I mention you've got a spine of steel? She shook her head and chuckled into his chest, now he was overdoing it. "I'm serious! Have you seen yourself at the office? There's nothing stopping you, whatever you want, you've got it. You're the whole package babe, life's just that easy for you."

Their slow dance has come to a crawling stop by now. As they held onto each other, the long, soaring melody from the trumpet flowed in between them, carrying away their troubles and leaving them together, hearts beating in time with each other. Redd didn't think he'd ever want to let go of her at all.  

"Nothing about this is easy right now," she mumbled into his neck.  

"I know." There was still so much he didn't tell her yet, and the longer he waited, the harder it became to even bring it up.  

His sensitive ears picked up the huffiness of a short laugh coming from her. "You certainly don't make it very easy. Here I am, twenty-one, thinking I already have everything together. I knew who I was, and I knew what my future held, but then -" She paused. What she said next came out slow, as if she was processing each word as it left her. "But then I met you, and for the first time, I just don't know anymore. I don't even-" Her hands balled up into fists against his back. "What if I-" He started rubbing slow circles against hers. "Maybe." Her shoulders relaxed. "Maybe I don’t want my future anymore because whenever I look at you-"

Their eyes met, and as they gazed deeply into each other, Redd couldn't help but feel an urge, a pull towards her. Did her eyes always look like a fox's? Bright with excitement and simmering with a deep burn of desire and certainty?

"-I see a whole different future, and I want it." Her eyes were already halfway closed at their close proximity, eagerly inviting him to close the gap. Right before he did, he heard her utter one four more words that made this wait all the more worth it. "I want you, Redd."

This kiss was the best one they had yet. It was slow and tender, and he indulged himself fully to the taste of her perfect lips. They were soft, and still had the lingering taste of the wine they shared moments before.  

When she reached up to hold his face against his own, his ears perked at the sound of a new vocalist, male this time, and although his gravelly voice sounded far away, the truth of the words he sang rang loud and true. Heaven, he was in heaven. He felt a slice of it with every gasp of breath they shared in between kisses, with every fleeting touch of her slender fingers on his body, with every soft moan of pleasure she let out underneath him. Heaven was tender kisses that were given like a promise. Heaven was when neither of them wanted to leave the gentle and firm embrace of the other, deep into the night.  

————-

Here’s the song that featured at the end

Let me know what you guys think, constructive criticism is especially welcome here :D

-(･ω･)v

[dramaqueeenamby]

𝐑𝐞𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬 ♦︎ 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐷𝑎𝑟𝑘𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔

Summary: He’d searched for centuries to find the sun summoner. What he never expected was for someone to uncover the sun within him. In which the darkling finds himself on a journey with a powerful Grisha who may just uncover the humanity trapped within.

A/N: I am terrible with updating regularly, but here is the second part! If you're actually interested in this hodgepodge of a story, I've updated six parts/chapters on ArchiveOFOurOwn.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC and the non-canon parts.

Words: 2.8K // Pairings: The Darkling x OC // Warnings: None, yet.

Functions weren’t Milena’s thing. To be honest, any type of public outing ranked on the not so pleasurable side of the scale. And it wasn’t due to introversion or shyness but rather discomfort and unease for other reasons. As someone who’d spent their entire life moving from place to place and keeping their head down as to avoid garnering attention, being the subject of a setting created unease.

So, when Milena learned that the Grisha were holding a somewhat “party” in the Little Palace and she was expected to attend, she was less than pleased. For one, people. For two, Zoya. They hadn’t exactly hit it off upon their first meeting. In fact, the only hitting occurred when Zoya sent Milena flying into a stack of logs in what was supposed to be a hand-to-hand combat training session.

Milena, of course, returned the favor, despite the scolding she received from Botkin

Third, she just….didn’t want to.

Too many people had already asked her too many questions. Questions about her power, her parents, where she’d been, was she the sun summoner. It was just all too much, hence her sneaking away to find solace in the palace gardens.

Everyone seemed eager to be at the party, so it was a safe place of solitude and silence.

Some of her favorite things.

“I believe the banquet is inside, is it not?”

Naturally, Milena jumped and had her arms up, ready to attack, only to be met with the smug expression of General Kirigan.

She relaxed, slightly, enough to lower her arms. Milena bowed her head and mustered a low, “sir.”

He clasped his hands behind his back. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Be respectful. Milena didn’t know if it was the fact that she hadn’t made the best first impression or his frustration with her lack of progress in their training, but she sensed the edge in his voice. After all, he seemed convinced that she was afraid of something, which was hindering her growth.

Whatever.

Regardless, it didn’t escape her how he seemed to take pleasure in toying with her, or maybe being a prick was just something he enjoyed having as a defining trait. Whatever the case, it was getting old. Real old.

“I prefer being alone,” was all she said, eager, though not hopeful, that he would understand the underlying meaning. Leave me be.

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” she answered, confidently, looking at him head on. Gone were the days of staring at the ground. She refused to do that any longer. “And as this is your palace, shouldn’t you be at your own banquet?”

He smiled, and Milena nearly doubled back. For as long as she’d known him, the only two emotions and expressions she’d known him to emote were irritation and anger. Perhaps, maybe, amusement, but even that was cleverly hidden behind narrowed eyes and closed lips. And now, the bastard was smiling?

“Fair enough.” She wasn’t expecting that. What exactly she was expecting, she didn’t know, but she knew it wasn’t that. “May I?”

He gestured to the seat near the fountain where she stood. Hesitantly, she nodded, watching him take a seat. Milena decided to occupy herself, searching the garden beds for a petal or something else that could be taken without issue.

“How are you adjusting to life in the Little Palace?”

She couldn’t help the snort that left her mouth at that question. Milena considered lying. Would it be disrespectful to tell him that she contemplated running away at least once a week?

“Well, aside from Zoya trying to kill me, Baghra hating me, and being gawked at like some object by everyone else, I must say, it has been quite the adventure.” Rolling her eyes, she looked over at him to see that he was no longer smiling, the familiar scowl returning.

“You do not have to worry about Zoya anymore.”

Milena spun around, eyes widening. “Is she…”

“Taking time off to reevaluate her priorities,” he finished. Milena wanted to know more but she decided not to push. “And pay Baghra no mind, she cares for few—”

“I didn’t know she could care.” He looked at her, prompting Milena to drop her gaze and apologize. “Sorry.”

He said nothing, skipping to his next question. “Is your room satisfactory?”

At that, her eyebrow quipped. Out of everything, having such luxurious rooming accommodations ranked at the top of her list of reasons to stay. “Well, I’ve never had warming stones put in my bed before, so that’s been a nice change.” She located a three-leaf clover, twisting it in her hands as she leaned back against the stone edging so that she was facing him. “It’s nice having Genya. She doesn’t gawk or probe. I like that.”

“I thought you preferred being alone.”

“I do,” she affirmed, sighing and shaking her head. “I’ve-I’ve always been alone. It’s...it’s all I know.”

Why she was saying that, to him of all people, she hadn’t a clue. In fact, Milena suddenly realized just how strange the nature of this conversation was. Never had he inquired about sentiments toward trivial manners such as her enjoyment, or lack thereof, of her time at the palace. And now, she was divulging beyond surface level feelings.

Milena opened her mouth to change the subject when she realized that he was no longer sitting down but standing up just a few mere inches away. “You are Grisha, Milena.” A beat. “You are not alone.”

She swallowed. Milena didn’t know what to say to that. Did she believe him? Not necessarily. Having gifts in common with others did not equate undying loyalty. She’d never been able to trust and depend on anyone, so how could he expect his mere words to reverse a lifetime of trauma?

Milena relaxed ever so slightly when he moved back, turning to leave. Without thinking, she called after him, prompting him to turn around.

“Why are you training me?” She didn’t intend to ask him anything else, especially since he was leaving her to her much desired solitude. And yet, the sight of him walking away irked her to a certain degree. For what reason, she hadn’t a clue. “You don’t train anyone else.”

“You are not like anyone else.”

She scoffed and looked away. “So, I’ve been told.”

He studied her. “Tell me, are you so anxious to be like everybody else?”

She laughed bitterly. “It would be nice to know how that feels someday...general.”

He continued to examine her, as if he was trying to figure something out. Figure her out. “Well, that day is not today.”

“Nor will it be any other day,” she chucked sadly, turning back around to stare at her reflection in the pond. Milena frowned. Another day of seeing a stranger.

Eyes falling to the side, she made out the General’s reflection. He was now beside her. “What do you see?”

She sighed, fingers dancing in the water, creating waves of ripples. “Someone’s reflection of me.”

“Or perhaps the real you is finally emerging.”

She turned to look at him, discovering that he was already staring at her. Suddenly, self-conscious, she turned away with an awkward smile. “If this is the real me, why do you push me so much?”

His answer surprised her. “Because I can see it. You can’t.”

“Are you familiar with disappointment?”

“In all my years, I’ve never seen a Grisha who can do what you can.” He informed, honestly, and again, Milena suspected no subterfuge. He was being genuine. “You are special, Milena, but it will mean nothing if you don’t stop holding back.”

“You keep saying that, but I’m n—”

“What happened to your parents?”

Her mouth dried and stomach immediately knotted. What reason did he have to go there or to even ask what he already knew? Again, she was reminded how awful the Black General could be.

“You kno—”

“Tell me.”

She pursued her lips as her jaw clenched. “They were killed. Betrayed by friends who found out they were Grisha. Burned alive.”

His gaze was so intense, she should have looked away, but she didn’t. She maintained eye contact.

“And you’ve been hiding ever since, hiding who you are, hiding what you can do—”

“So I could stay alive—”

“So what is your reason now, Ms. Belarus?”

At that, her stomach settled, and defensiveness waned. He had her there.

His words replayed in her mind for the rest of the evening, even as she laid in bed, unable to sleep, her mind a vast bat of conflicting feelings.

She never considered that she was holding back. She was able to utilize all three of her gifts, so how could she be holding back? Then she thought, really thought about what not only the General had been telling her, but Baghra said as well.

And gradually, it started coming to her. The quickness in which she put out the flames, she way she would rush and hide when using her squaller abilities, the terror that filled her being when she sped up or stopped someone’s heart.

She lived in a constant state of anxious panic, fear that she would meet the same fate of her parents.

“Who are you holding back for?”

“My parents,” she whispered, grasping at her eyes, wetness pooling at her fingertips.

Frustrated, she sat up, pulling her legs to her chest. This wasn’t how she expected to spend her night, encountering and swallowing hard truths that she’d managed to dodge up until now. The reason she continued to doubt herself was because she feared the same judgment and persecution as her parents. Even more, there was a difference between choosing to be alone because of feared rejection, and solitude out of necessity. Along the way, those two ends had meshed, and she’d lost where the truth lied.

Up until now.

Wiping at her eyes, Milena kicked the blankets off her body and swung her legs around so that they dangled off the side of her bed. Gripping the edge of the mattress, she stared at the ground, taking a slow, deep breath before standing up. Milena walked toward the door, grabbing a silver robe along the way. She loosely tied it so that her white nightgown with the low neck was somewhat concealed, though not completely.

Where she was going, she knew not, she just allowed her feet to do the thinking for her, which may or may not have worked in her favor. She found herself outside of the General’s room, but instead of like most in the palace, his door was open and he was awake. She looked in and saw that he was standing by the war table, back toward her.

Milena could have sworn she was quiet enough to avoid detection, but he still turned around. Milena realized that he was also in his robe, stark black. Of course. He looked surprised, but not annoyed, by her presence.

“Milena.”

She straightened and laid her hand on the door, swallowing. “I’m sorry. I—am I disturbing you?”

Yes.

“Not at all.” He unfolded his arms. “Can’t sleep?” With a small smile, she shook her head and gradually started to enter his room, halfway expecting him to stop her. “Come in.”

She paused momentarily, waiting for him to change his mind, but once again, he didn’t. Instead, he reached for a small glass of what she supposed was wine and offered it to her. “Here.”

She accepted the drink, bringing it to her mouth to sniff for any unfamiliar or strange scents. She found none and took a sip, eyes falling over to the table while his attention remained on her. Milena quietly cleared her throat and gestured to the pawns. “Is this map current?”

“It is.” He followed her line of vision to see the makeup of the map only to look back at her again. “Our enemies are threatened by your mere existence.”

Milena looked away, a small sense of guilt eating at her. He was referring to her discovery. In the midst of moving from one town to another after noticing strange looks of the townsfolk, the saints were clearly not on her side as she unknowingly walked into the middle of a battle between the Second Army and the drüskelle. Initially, her plan was to lay low and avoid being killed, but she quickly realized that was not an option. She was forced to use her power, all three variations, rendering the fjerdans and the grisha nearly speechless. For the fjerdans who survived, they returned with tales of her, her abilities, and for the grisha, she was suddenly a new recruit. It was all so unexpected and sudden, and Milena often felt as though everything was happening far too quickly.

He continued. “There is talk of uprising in the West.” He began to inch away from her, nearing a poster of Zlatan, the First Army General. “Led by our….esteemed First Army General.”

Milena noticed a sudden chill in the room as patches of light became obscured by growing shadows. Confused, she quickly realized they were General Kirigan’s doing. “Our own people, turning their backs on us.”

Milena saw the anger brimming, the way he stared with quiet hate at the poster, the table, the whole thing. Unconsciously, she moved toward him. “General--”

“I have been fighting this war….alone....for so long.” With each pained statement, Milena found herself moving closer toward him as the darkness continued to fill the room. This was more than anger. It was grief. “I have buried so many good soldiers…..friends.”

She placed her glass down and realized she was merely inches away from him. Milena ignored the urge to touch him. She’d never seen him this vulnerable, his ardent anger on full display in a simmering manner which made him appear even more dangerous. Loud anger was palpable, but quiet rage was unpredictable.

“The coffers are running dry, the noose….tightens, and our own people are turning against grisha just as their kin once did.”

Milena was unsure of what to do in that moment. The room was completely dark, save for specks of light that entered through the bottom of the door. His words cut through her life a knife. For the first time, she realized just how much of a heavy weight this man carried. And she sympathized with him. Greatly.

Reacting on pure instinct rather than protocol or logic and repressing her reluctance, she placed her hand on his wrist, tugging slightly. He angled his body toward her, allowing Milena to grab both of his wrists. She looked up at him, quieting the voices in the back of her head that told her her conduct was out of line. Focusing, she detected his erratic heartbeat and worked to calm him, speaking when she realized he was relaxing.

“You are not alone,” she echoed his words from only a few hours prior. This time, Milena studied him, observing how his eyes burned into her with a plethora of emotions: confusion, irritation, peace. Gradually, the shadows receded, and the light returned.

In more than one way.

The Darkling suddenly dropped her hands. She prepared to move back, accepting whatever disciplinary action he thought necessary. Not only had she initiated contact, but she’d used her powers on him without permission. That had to be grounds for some type of punishment.

But instead, she quietly gasped when he brought his right hand to her face, his hands so large that it encompassed nearly the entire right side of her face. She almost flinched, his touch was so cold. Kirigan tugged her closer. She was tempted to lay her hands on his chest.

“I’ve never…” He seemed at a loss for words, something she found astonishing for someone who always radiated such avid confidence. Milena found herself focusing on his mouth, only to realize he was staring at hers as well. “I have been waiting a long time for you.”

Milena hadn’t a clue what to say or even how and if she could or should respond to such a thing. What exactly did he mean? From what she’d learned, the Darkling had always been in search of a Sun Summoner. She was no Sun Summoner. She was simply a grisha with above average gifts, hardly a saint. So, what exactly was the reason behind his quiet confession?

Unsure and now uncomfortable, Milena forced herself to pull away. She could not ignore the drop in her stomach when she moved so that he was so no longer cupping her face. “I should go.”

He opened his mouth to say something, prompting Milena to turn away and amble out of his room. Though the door was open when she arrived, she closed it, leaning against it as she caught her breath. She swallowed and thought about what happened, face warm and heartbeat unsteady, even if she didn’t understand it.

Milena felt overwhelmed with emotions. She’d oscillated through so many feelings in less than 24 hours. She was exhausted and only remained outside his door for a few moments before she wisely hurried away back to her room, unaware that he was also on the other side of the door, also struggling to understand what had just occurred.

[mcfreakin-bxtch]

Be Yours - Chapter One Option 2 (Knight AU)

Hey guys!

So I created this part a while ago (like it was one of my first drafts) and the only difference really is that there’s no OC, just ‘You’. 

So since there wasn’t a lot of hits with the OC so far (huge thank you that have!) but I could also be speaking way too soon. 

But either way, I wanted to get this out there and let me know which one you’d prefer if you wanted this to continue!

Be safe

Din Djarin x Reader

Rating: Explicit (Smut, Mild Dark Themes, Slow Burn, Violence, Death)

Warnings: Drinking, Pining, Mild violence

Word Count: 4k

Summary: As Princess of Riverheart, you’re thrusted into the world of dark forces that will threatened to destroy the very life you know in the midst of war and, worst of all, love. 

Be Yours Masterlist

You could smell the blood. 

It was coated all around you, in the small patch of meadow around the fields you grew up around. You looked down and saw it was on your hands as well. The stickiness and heaviness of it was distinct, dripping slowly between the cracks of your fingers. 

You heard your name being called but couldn’t decipher who it was. Everything was slow and sluggish as you started to turn around. But whatever or whomever it was, it was peace, it was home, it was – 

You awoke with a gasp, clutching your blanket. Your heart pounded heavily against your ribcage, mouth dry and temple pulsing. You frantically looked down at your hands, afraid to see them crimson.

Pale as the day you were born. 

With a sigh of relief, you inspected your room, morbidly expecting blood to be seeping from the plain dark walls. Your nightgown was sticking to you uncomfortably, hair frizzled and eyes shifting from every corner of your room. You were sure you looked utterly mad. 

The sun shined brightly through the curtains of your light blue room, rays of gold splaying across the wooden floor. Dust laid still in the air through the sun’s rays, and you could briefly taste it on your tongue. 

“Princess?” 

You jumped, still gripping the top of your blanket, knuckles white. Jules peered through, closing the door behind her and giving you a look. 

“Another nightmare?”

A nightmare. Yes, yes that’s what that was.

“Yes,” you finally croaked. You cleared your throat before continuing. “But it is nothing to fret over.”

Jules snorted as she pulled back the curtains, laughing at your grimace as you shielded your face from the blinding sun. 

“You have been having nightmares for many a night now. It is a sign.”

Jules, with her light brown, straight hair, blue eyes and slender form was not only a loyal servant, but a dear friend as well. Just at the tender age of thirteen Jules was appointed to you, who was only a year older than yourself. It was the picking of her father, Bringham, that brought the two of you together. 

“It is through my mother that I know you now,” Jules had told you once. “And I am fortunate to be here, with you and the King.”

You knew she’d rather be anywhere but under a Royal’s thumb. Jules was too kind to say it aloud, but you knew. 

But despite the position, Jules had the voice of a singer, soft and sweet and pleasing to the ears of those around her, even now in the early sets of morning. You often found yourself jealous of her gift.

“No sign,” you argued. “Foolish to dwell on when there’s wars and sickness to worry about.”

It was the same excuse every time. You had a duty to fulfill, a title to fill if your father failed to do so before his death. 

So you were the only one next in line for the crown, the responsibilities of your people, and you could not afford to waste it on pointless dreams. 

“Well the joust is today,” Jules chimed your name, throwing a gown at you. You huffed as it hit you in the face, glaring at the grinning girl. “And that guard of yours is the ever brooding Dark Knight.”

You tried to bite back the smile that wanted to desperately graze your lips. “He’s barely a friend, Jules.”

And you didn’t know what he looked like. 

“And I’m the queen,” Jules quipped back with a roll of her eyes. “Your father expects you to be in the halls after you are dressed. Please don’t keep him waiting.”

You grumbled as you stood up, shedding off your damp nightgown and throwing on the beautiful and elegant blue gown; simple with your family's crescent, a river and a lively tree, laced around the edges and forearm.

You poked at your face, grimacing at the light grey under your eyes. You would need it covered soon. 

For some odd reason, it had you thinking of your late mother. 

Your mother, who many said that you practically wore her face. 

“Take it from Adriana, and you have yourself right there.” They would follow with. 

It made your father bristle at the mention of your mother, and more so when he would study you; watching from afar with careful eyes. 

But today was not the day to dwell on such horrors and sadness. Today was a day of celebration, a day to bring everyone together. 

“Ah!” Your father, Bringham, greeted you with a warm smile. “Please, sit next to me dear.”

King Bringham of Riverhearth was still a handsome man even in his middle age, with his dark hair - turning grey with age - and crinkled brown eyes. You could never see this, but you heard the whispers among the crowds in the marketplace, all young and old and in between gushing over the widowed king. It bothered you at a young age, but you grew to just simply ignore them as you got older; you didn’t need to waste your time on their helpless dreams anyway. 

Because despite every desirable, participating and willing woman flooding the courts for one chance at his hand in marriage, Bringham would turn them away each time with a soft, apologizing smile.

“You do not need to worry of such things,” Bringham had told you.

“Of course I do,” you argued. “You’re my father, and you deserve love just as the rest of us. Why have you not given it a second chance?”

“And why not you give it a chance at all? You’re no better than I when it comes to suitors.”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, mulling over his words. 

They indeed held truth to them, but you refused to give him an answer when this night was supposed to be about him. 

“This isn’t about me,” you voiced.

He gave you a small, closed lip smile. It was in that smile that you saw that he wasn’t going to explain his reasoning's to you You liked to think that he just could not fathom or form the words left unsaid between them; the loss of you mother, the beautiful queen and a loving wife, it was too much to bear on his still heavy and sore heart.  

But never did he ever make you or anyone else believe that you were the reasoning behind Queen Adriana’s death. 

“She gave life, and she saw that as a blessing on her own.” Bringham told you. 

That night was peculiar in your memories, just only a week ago. It was warm, a slight, comfortable breeze enveloping through the ports. Your father had been drinking, and you thought do indulge yourself as well.

You weren’t queen yet. 

You did not stop until your mind and body felt sluggish, and you also felt overly bubbly and bold. You skipped through the halls of her home quietly, soft as feathers. 

You had been looking for Jules but could not find her in sight. You found this as unusual of your friend, but it was quickly dismissed when you bumped into a hard barrier, nearly falling back onto your rump when a pair of hard, strong arms caught you. 

You struggled to recall your previous lectures of etiquettes when you saw him. 

“Oh!” You gasped. “I’m t-terribly sorry.”

Din was… a complete enigma. 

Appointed at a very young age as a knight and soldier in training to one of your own guards, he had been loyal to your family since you were a teenager. You had no knowledge of his upbringings and where he originated from at all. He rarely spoke unless needed, and even then it was short and to the point. But he was a very skilled fighter and was valued by all and every in times of wars and miscellaneous, dirty jobs. He always complied with no questions, no quarrels. That’s why he was the perfect soldier. 

And in a world, in a kingdom where all royal knights could never show their faces after their creed, you were never able to see his face. 

The logic behind these oaths were always questioned, yourself included. 

“Dignity. Loyal. These men and women need to be the perfect soldiers in order to protect our people. It has worked for many years, and will continue to do so.”

You weren’t so sure of that. 

The helmet, silver with a slit for him to see through, that was staring back at you with intensity.  

“Princess,” he said gruffly. His voice, hard and yet soft even covered, never failed to send shivers through your body, and for your heart to skip several beats. “It’s late. What are you doing running about?”

His stare bore deep into your orbs, and you found herself giggling at the seemingly silly question. 

“Looking for you, my knight,” you said with a childish glee. 

“You need to be asleep. I’m sure your father is.”

You could not help it, but you rolled your eyes at him with a quirky smile. 

“Please, Din.” You sighed. “He will not be woken up. He’s had himself a few too much tonight.”

He grunted. “It seems as though you have as well, Princess.”

This caused you to frown. “Please, call me by my name. We have this talk at least once or twice a week.”

You heard the shift of his silver armor - painted with your Royal’s crescent and doing little to hide the protruding build of the man - as he twitched, moving slightly away from you. You saw this as a nervous tick, a means to hide back behind his tower and go back to silence.

You immediately regretted saying anything when you missed the warmth of his arms against you, despite the cold bite of his armor. 

He said your name cautiously. “It would be unprofessional of me to not call you by your title.”

You didn’t know why, but you found yourself giggling again, twirling around the halls as you continued to laugh. 

“Right. You’re one of the fiercest knights of Riverhearth.” Your voice grew louder as your giddiness did, and you could barely hear Din’s shushes over the rushing waves in your ears. 

“Brave, strong, healthy, and dangerous. Din Djarin of… of Nowhere’s Land! Where are you from, my precious guard? Just who are you? What is under all that armor?”

You had never seen Din freeze like he had that night. It was a guilty memory added to the growing list. 

But Din quickly shook it off, and you hated how remarkably good he was at keeping his composure, whereas you sometimes let your emotions get the best of you. 

“You do not need to know such things, Princess,” he said, walking towards you now that you had stopped moving from him. “You know enough about me to go on.”

“But I ought to know something more,” you pouted. Then you straightened up with a set jaw. “And as Princess of this court, I demand you tell me this instance!”

You swore you could hear his smile, but before you could tease him about it he sighed heavily through his nose and, again, you were sure, narrowed his eyes at you. You started to smile triumphantly before you were abruptly turned around in the spot, being pushed - gently although, like he was afraid to touch you - towards the direction of her bedroom. 

“Unfair,” you whined.

“Princesses don’t always get what they want,” he quipped. “You should start learning that.”

You should have felt a little offended by his words, but you found it to be humorous in nature. 

“I think that’s the first time you’ve ever spoken to me like that, Din.”

He must have just realized it as well, because he stopped for a millisecond before continuing his path to your door, making sure you didn’t trip or stumble along the way; it proved a lot harder than he predicted, but thank goodness you were not completely over the rails. 

“You better get used to it then if you continue this way.”

You giggled. “Aw why? Am I -” You crossed your arms over your heart, gasping in exceragation and leaning heavily against him. “A bother to you, good knight?”

He shook his head at you and eased you into your bedroom without making too much noise, helping you lie down on your bed with a gentle flop. 

“It must be a very lonely life,” you found herself rambling. “When you’re as dedicated to the Court as yourself.”

There was nothing but the rustling of your sheets as you settled into your bed, eyes already closed and feeling dizzy from your previous excursions. 

You did not expect him to respond, and he did, but not with what you wanted to hear. 

“Rest. You will feel like roadkill in the morning, and I do not want to explain to the King on why his daughter was running around drunk at such witching hours.”

Witching hours, Din worrying about you getting a pinch on the wrist by your father, the luck of trying to find Jules leading to this conversation, it all was funny to you and you actually were able to let out a tiny giggle before succumbing to sleep. 

The next morning, as Din had told you, you did in fact feel like roadkill. Your brain thrummed against her skull, and you had to pretend that everything was okay and that you could still perform your royal duties without puking your guts out. 

Just like Din had pretended that the night before never happened. You had expected at least a polite hello or a joke about your splitting headache, but all you received was an order passed through him by your father while you were in the gardens that surrounded your pretty castle, poised and stoic. 

It made your heart lurch in defeat, but you respected him enough to let it be and to move on your days without the normal teasing and failed attempts at getting him to hold a conversation with you. It hurt greatly, but the sting of it eased when he visibly grew more relaxed around you as you calmed your efforts. 

“Patience,” your instructor had taught you. “Is a virtue, and it is a hardship you must grow accustomed to if you want to do anything in this world. Especially for a future queen as yourself.”

It was a lot more easier said than done. Even at the tender age of just twenty-one, you still had such a hard time grasping the ethics of it. 

“You will be a fine queen one day,” Jules once told you. “But they are right about one thing: you are incredibly stubborn and reckless for a title.”

So what if you were. You respected and held knowledge for the duties of your kingdom, but why should you completely erase the person you were for what was rightfully yours?

“You’ll see it one day,” Jules promised you. “Once you start acting like an adult.”

“I do!” You argued. “It is not my fault that no one sees me.”

She snorted. “I’m sure you’ll be looking back at this shaking your head at your annoying, stubborn self.”

Maybe, but you didn’t see that anytime soon in your future. 

“Dear?”

The sound of your father’s voice broke you out of your thoughts, shaking your head to clear them away. 

“Sorry, in a bit of a daydream.” You murmured to Bringham. 

He chuckled. “You wouldn’t be my daughter if you weren’t.”

You let out her own forced chuckle at his jest, and you sat in comfortable silence as you broke your fast, talking occasionally about the day’s festivities. 

“And how are the ports?” You asked through a sip of your broth. 

“Good,” he nodded his head. “Shipments arrived last night on time. We have more coming in from Colefiend, and another set out for Point Valley in the morning.”

Riverhearth was one of the closest and affordable ports in the North. Surrounded by mountains of spring and summer, there lied an ocean in between. It certainly was not the wealthiest of surrounding kingdoms, but they made well with what they had, and the people were happy and taken care of as King Bringham and the people of the Court attuned to. 

“May I please be excused?”

Bringham gave you a quizzical look. “You may. What are your plans?”

You gave your father a smirk and a tap on the tip of your nose. He made a noise of affirmation and grinned. 

“Ah, I see. Well be sure to be back for the joust, and be careful.”

Your grin grew wider. “Of course, aren’t I always?”

Jules was in the kitchens, helping the cooks and other maidens clean up and prepare varieties of desserts for the upcoming feasts. 

“Hello, Princess,” one of the cooks, Peter, greeted you. “Would you like a taste of my new recipe?”

You hummed. “As always Peter. No need to ask of me.”

He laughed. “As you wish.”

Peter held a wooden spoon over an open palm, bringing up to you for you to taste. The sauce was rich with exotic spices, and was smooth on your taste buds. 

“It’s delicious!” You exclaimed. “Just add a pinch of salt and it’s perfection.”

He grinned and nodded, going back to hover over his new creation. “Always a keen one, Princess.”

You bounced through until you found Jules, and immediately grabbed her hand. You turned to Peter, hugging Jules close to you as she giggled and you lightly scrunched her cheeks in your hand. 

“May I borrow this lovely, beautiful, elegant, and most gullible being until the festivities?” You asked through a fit of laughter and a smack against the shoulder from your dear friend as you smiled. 

Peter laughed. “Yes, your highness. Do not wander off too far!”

You and Jules agreed and ran out of the gray but pleasant castle. You ran through the gardens, through the maze and fields of flowers blooming, and through the forest that littered by. 

The forest was peculiar in its nature. Twisted vines that protruded from dead trees - though surrounded by live ones, a little confusing to you by the oddity and spratics of it - with little weeds littering along the trail. 

The trail itself was wide enough for two people to walk through without the curves of the forest's slopes. Despite its initial darkness to it, the woods was nothing but life; it was the type of beauty You appreciated greatly. 

By the time You and Jules reached it they were out of breath, giggling and rushing towards the edge of the cliff that gave one of the most beautiful views of the waters. A tall, blossom tree hung above you as you plopped down onto the grass, careful not to ruin your blue gown. 

“The joust is going to start soon,” Jules said. 

You could hear the music from there, faint but distinctive all the same. Din would be preparing right now, polishing and sharpening his sword and putting on the heavy armor he wore every day and night. It all sounded exhausting to you. 

“Hmm.”

You basked in the sun, the salty smell of the water, blue and all. This is where you truly felt at peace, like you could strip naked without a care in the world and be free, in whatever sense you needed to be. You were sure Jules felt the same way, with the glazed look in her eyes and the longing. It made you ridden with guilt each time you saw it. 

It was when the music became louder you spotted a ship rounding the corner.

“I didn’t know we were expecting visitors,” Jules said quizzically. 

“We weren’t.” You said quietly, eyebrows furrowed. “And we’re not due for another shipment either.”

You both looked to each other, confusion etched on your faces. 

“It is time to head back anyways,” Jules told you, getting up and helping you to your feet. “We shall find out there.”

The way back was quicker. You departed when they reached the stands, hugging before you went to sit next to your father, smiling and greeting anyone who looked towards you. 

“Little late,” your father chastised. 

You ignored his remark, pausing as you saw something small sitting in your chair. At closer inspection, you realized it was a flower, a lily flower at that; it was your favorite.

“Not my gift I’m afraid,” Bringham answered before you could ask. “And I have no idea on who could’ve left it there either.”

You picked it up delicately, curling a hand over it as if you were going to pet it. Whoever had left this for you, they paid enough attention to know your flower of choice; the flower your mother had nearly named you after. 

“Do we have guests coming our way?” 

He tensed slightly, but was quick to brush it off. “Nothing to worry about my dear girl.”

You chewed on your lip, a nervous habit of hers; another inheritance from her mother her father would tell her. 

“And you’d tell me if I needed to know.”

“Of course.”

It was fruitless to press in front of the village people. You turned back to the stables, where the knights were preparing with their horses. But your scowl was still visible on your face, and your father sighed softly at the sight of it, knowing he was going to have to answer for it later. 

Everyone started to grow silent as the drums signalled the official start of the joust. Your eyes searched keenly for your knight, grinning when he saw him appear. 

You found it funny when Jules occasionally called Din the ‘Dark’ Knight. His armor was everything but, all silver, chain mail glittering in the sun. You supposed your friend was right in the sense that it certainly didn’t match his personality. 

And with all the horror stories that echoed across lands and valleys of his victories?

You could see why he was anything but innocent; light. 

You barely heard the announcements over the pounding of your heart as you watched the two knights mount their horses. Din’s was a white mare, and gentle despite its size. Sometimes you’d hear him talk to his horse, as if the horse understood the language; he probably wasn’t aware he was doing it anymore. 

Your heart thudded against your chest, watching the Black Knight, a swordsmith you believed to be an appointer of the Royal Guard named Robert. 

They readied their spears, sitting on their respectable sides. You unconsciously leaned in, flower still in hand. 

Din’s horse kicked at the ground, huffing as it prepared itself. You held your breath, as were the others. 

The horn blared and their horses took off, galloping at a furious speed towards each other. 

Robert was a decent fighter, that much you had seen in person. But Din, in your opinion, was better. 

The crowd cheered as a flurry of white and black clashed against each other. The scraping of metal against metal was prominent in the summer air, loud and aggravating. 

“Looks like I made the right choice in guard,” Bringham said. 

Din sat triumphantly as his horse ran back around, Robert laying on the ground next to him. Robert eventually got back up, and he without a doubt held a glare towards his opponent; Din sat back on his side of the stables, still and patient like a hunter with its prey. 

But Robert was also known for his temper, and threw his spear on the ground, pointing a finger at the White Knight. 

“You just tread carefully, churl.”

Anyone would have already been set off, brawling until knuckles were bruised and bloody. You never had any patience for these kinds of pettiness, and it seemed as though Din didn’t either, because he trudged back to his respective area on his horse, not giving Robert a second glance. 

“Yes,” You murmured. “You did.”

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