#i have tags for my ocs/universes my ocs are in now. you will notice these are very recent. they are as follows

[axkirak]

The Curse of Cassandra [EP : II]

Read in Ao3 : here

Pairings:  Qimir x f!reader(SEAsians Reader)  [The Acolyte]

Content Rating : Mature 18+  Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warning (AT YOUR OWN RISK)

tags/themes : Alternate Universe - Dune & Star wars, Partners in Crime, Strangers to Lovers

Summary: your mother always reminded you, "You will never hate the desert. Your blood is the desert. The desert is your home and your tomb." but You hope desperately that your life will be different.

Status: finished writing this fic! (It will end in Episode 14)

A/N : Previously, I changed the story from a reader-insert to an OC due to backlash for specifying that the reader is SEA. I didn't enjoy writing it and nearly deleted it. However, support from AO3 readers encouraged me to stay true to my original style and affirmed that specifying the reader's ethnicity is not wrong (especially since Manny is also SEA). I’ll stick with the reader-insert style. If you don’t like that the reader is SEA, feel free to find other fics.

Also, today is my birthday. so I decided to give a gift to others by releasing a new chapter of my fanfic. I hope you like it.

➡  Intro // EP : 1 // EP : 3 // EP : 4 // EP : 5 // EP : 6 // EP : 7 // EP : 8 // EP : 9 // EP : 10 // EP : 11 // EP : 12 // EP : 13 // EP : 14 (Completed)

Special OS : Phantom Thread // My mother is my enemy

[Episodes 2] You will never hate the desert. Your blood is the desert. The desert is your home and your tomb

You realize how quickly your life has changed, as your feet tread on the wet sand of Pabu, a small planet far from your birthplace.

Tatooine—where you were born and raised, is almost at the edge of the galaxy. There's nothing pleasant to see except for vast stretches of dry sand. The air is scorching hot because there are two suns in the sky. The cities are teeming with thieves, thugs, and smugglers. You hate your home planet so much, but your mother always reminded you, "You will never hate the desert. Your blood is the desert. The desert is your home and your tomb."

You know that the desert your mother spoke of isn't Tatooine, but another similar planet. An ancient world that disappeared from galactic records along with the death of your ancestors.

It's funny how your family's fate has always been the same: born in the desert and dying in the desert.

You hope desperately that your life will be different.

"Stop daydreaming; we still have a lot of work to do."

Qimir's voice comes from behind. His elbow gently nudges your arm, urging you to hurry off the beach. You turn and glare at him in annoyance, but obediently comply. You lift the cargo box to your side and turn onto the old stone-paved road, the only path leading to the upper town, the main trading hub of this island.

After reluctantly living together for more than two years, you've finally been given an additional role beyond being a prisoner. You're now Qimir's temporary assistant, helping him transport contraband to sell on small planets outside the watchful eyes of the Empire's law enforcers.

Qimir is tall with long legs. It only takes him a few strides to reach your side. "Haven't you ever seen the sea before?" the man asks, noticing that you keep turning to look at the blue ocean.

You nod. The faint, fresh, salty smell of the sea and the strong wind blowing across your face make you feel better than usual. "I grew up on Tatooine. There's only desert there. I've never seen this much water before."

You fall silent, suddenly realizing you've said too much.

No matter what, you always stay cautious. You try to speak as little as possible when you're near this man. But Qimir is the opposite—he talks incessantly, which is annoying. The more you show your irritation, the more he keeps talking. It's obvious he's deliberately trying to provoke you.

And this time is no different. Once he notices you're avoiding further conversation, he takes over, telling you about Pabu and other planets without you asking. You want to pretend not to listen, but deep down, you can't help but be interested. You've never had the chance to travel or learn about life on other planets, having spent most of your time after your mother's death quietly hiding. Until you met Qimir,. He's traveled everywhere, and he seems to know everything. Many things sound nonsensical, but many are too interesting to ignore. Like the story of Mon Cala, a planet that's entirely ocean, with a grand capital city standing tall underwater, and most of its population looking like fish. Or the fact that black holes aren't empty as many believe, but home to strange and dangerous creatures. However, they remain an unsolvable mystery because no one who has gotten close to a black hole has ever survived to tell the tale.

"I’d love to see fish people," you mutter to yourself, but Qimir’s keen ears catch it.

There's an inexplicable sadness in those words, he thinks as he turns to look at your profile, half-hidden by hair blowing in the sea breeze. "If our ship passes by there, I might take you to see them," he says, his words unexpectedly gentle.

You press your lips tightly, not responding. Perhaps you would feel a bit more appreciative if you didn't already know that what he said would never happen.

You've seen it in your dreams. Prophetic dreams foretell the future. In about four months, Qimir will have to deliver his last expensive cargo—which is you—to his client.

But beyond that... a shadow of doom completely obscured the future. You don't even know what this dream means. It's too dark to see, too terrifying, and too mysterious to understand. But one thing you're sure of, that day will be a day of death. And the clearest path is your own demise.

You frown. For a moment, you suddenly feel something—not in the form of a vision, but a deep premonition hiding beneath your consciousness.

A revelation is approaching.

But you are at a loss to determine what it could be.

Due to Pabu's highly liberal political policies, the city's population includes many immigrants from other planets, most of whom are often outlaws. This means an increase in the number of thieves and robbers, and consequently, a higher chance of being ambushed.

No place in the city was entirely safe, so Qimir decided to set up camp outside the city instead. He called it a vacation home, even though nothing about it resembles a house In reality, it's a large cave on a seaside cliff, which had been modified to resemble a living space. It's somewhat odd and out of place, but it has everything a typical home would have, all neatly organized. There are beds and desks carved from the gray stone of the cave, a small kitchen adjacent to the pantry, and even an old cleaning droid on duty.

For you, this place is much quieter than the city. There aren’t even small animals around, let alone people passing by. It’s an ideal spot for meditation or perhaps trying to use your visions again to find a way to escape.

Of course, you haven't given up on your original intention. You’re just waiting for the right moment.

But you can't use your visions recklessly. It’s not just that you don’t want to; foresight is too dangerous, It’s a trade-off that isn’t worth the risk. The future is not like the past. There are countless branching paths that can change at any moment. The further you look, the more painful it becomes, and you risk losing your sanity. You don't have the strong prophetic abilities of your ancestors. You are a weak, distant descendant. Without the training your mother forced upon you, you probably would have died before you turned fifteen.

For safety, you decide to look at the near future, roughly calculating the chances of what will happen tomorrow if you decide to escape. All the results lead to only one path: no matter how you try to escape, Qimir will still catch you.

You sigh in frustration, silently questioning yourself. which path could possibly help you avoid death?

"We are **** ******** We don't hope, we plan"

Your mother's voice echoes repeatedly in your head as you lie with your eyes closed on the hard stone bed, trying to meditate silently instead of falling asleep as you should.

You spend the whole night pondering the things your mother taught you, until the morning sunlight creeps in through the cave mouth, gradually dispelling the darkness of the night.

You hear Qimir stirring, getting up from his bed, followed by the sound of coarse fabric rubbing and footsteps as quiet as a cat sneaking out silently. He always goes out at the same time and returns later in the morning. Qimir never tells you what he does, and you never ask. You don't want to talk to him more than necessary.

...But that doesn't mean you're not curious.

You step down from the bed, feeling the stiffness that gnaws at every part of your body, especially your legs. You shake out your legs before walking outside the cave, following the earlier footprints stretching across the sandy beach. The early morning air is quite cool because the sun hasn't fully risen yet, making the sea breeze chilly. You hug yourself to ward off the cold, regretting not bringing a cloak. All you have on is a long-sleeved cotton shirt and baggy brown pants made of low-quality fabric, so thin they barely protect you from anything.

Soon you notice a pile of clothes left on the sand near a rocky outcrop by the beach. You recognize them as Qimir's clothes. You scan the area for Qimir before spotting his tall figure soaking in the water, naked and relaxed amidst the sea and the surrounding rocks of various sizes, which look like protective ramparts or a hidden place secluded from the outside world.

The sight makes you startle, almost exclaim but manage to stop yourself. Embarrassment quickly forms as a flush of heat spreads across both your cheeks. You didn't expect to intrude on his private time like this. Luckily, Qimir has his back to you; otherwise, you would have felt even more awkward if he had seen you first.

You know that the best thing to do right now is to quietly slip away before Qimir notices. However, something about him catches your eye first.

It's the large scar on his back—a terrifying long mark crossed-shaped. It definitely doesn't look like a scar from a mere accident, but more like someone intentionally tried to take his life.

You frown, confused, curious, mixed with a strange sense of apprehension towards Qimir. What could he have done to deserve this?

For the first time, you realize that you don't know anything about this man, except for the name he told you.

"If you're going to stare at me this long, I might have to start charging you."

You jump in surprise. Qimir didn't even turn to look at you when he said this.

Before you can make an excuse or hurry away, he turns back as if anticipating it, meeting your eyes openly with a mischievous, teasing smile. Those black eyes look particularly intense, contrasting with his pale skin in the water.

"Want to join in?"

His hand sweeps back the damp hair falling over his face before he swims closer to you. Water droplets cling to his tall, muscular frame, sparkling like gems in the sunlight, breathtakingly beautiful and alluring.

The sight makes you breathless, as if you're drowning underwater even though you're standing on solid ground.

It takes almost a moment before you regain your composure. Your feet quickly retreat from the shore, as if afraid he might drag you into the sea. "Don't move!" you shout at him when you see Qimir about to rise from the water while still naked, leaving you flustered and unsure of where to look.

Qimir can't help but laugh at your mix of shock and anger. "If you're not going to join me, I'd like to put my clothes back on." The man points to the pile of black clothes near your feet. "But if you want to see me naked, I don't mind," he smiles innocently, his sparkling eyes never leaving you for a second.

You feel increasingly irritated. You know he's trying to tease you again.

You want to get back at him somehow, even just a little.

Your eyes glance down at his clothes on the sand, and suddenly you have an idea.

"Your suggestion is very interesting," You nod at him before reaching down to pick up his clothes. "Seeing you walk around naked would be quite a sight indeed."

Qimir's eyes widen, only realizing what's happening when he sees you clutching his clothes and running away at full speed.

"You!! Stop right there!"

The shouting voice behind you sounds closer than you expect. You quickly glance back and see Qimir chasing after you rapidly, still naked. His bare body and flustered expression are both hilarious and amusing. The allure he had before is completely gone.

You can't stop laughing, even as he finally catches up to you.

You stand no chance against Qimir in terms of size or strength. As soon as he grabs you, the outcome is inevitable. After a brief struggle, Qimir trips you, causing you to fall onto the sand. The impact leaves you winded, but you keep laughing even while lying there. It is the first time in a year that you have the chance to laugh so heartily and for so long.

Qimir hurriedly dresses as fast as he can, glaring at you as you show no signs of stopping your laughter. He then sits down beside you, his broad chest under his clothes rising and falling with rapid breaths, exhausted from the sudden morning exercise. "You little brat," he says to you, still panting, trying to contain his anger. "I should just kill you."

He means it; he isn't joking. If anyone else had heard this, they might have been terrified, but you don't care. You are laughing so hard you can barely breathe, your cheeks flushed with a rosy glow, as vibrant as any typical teenager should be. Qimir stares at you without blinking, this time not in anger but in contemplation.

You have never smiled or laughed before, not even once. You always wear an expression as if you are carrying the weight of the entire world, like someone hiding something deep in their heart or someone who has experienced too many terrible things to mention. Many times, he senses this—you seem like someone much older, perhaps even more than him, as if an old soul is trapped in your youthful body.

Who exactly is this woman? He wonders, looking at your plain, unremarkable face. There is nothing particularly memorable about it, except for your eyes. They are the deepest, most brilliant blue he has ever seen.

There is something both captivating and unsettling about you.

"You have talent, you're cunning and quick. You'd make a good thief. Could be quite helpful in my work."

You stop laughing and look up at Qimir. His tone sounds too serious to be joking, but his lips are curved into a smile, completely different from his angry demeanor earlier. "Are you offering to teach me?" you ask, confused.

"Would you like to learn?"

You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head slowly. "What's the point, when I'm probably going to..."

You don’t finish your sentence, letting it trail off. The bright expression from moments ago is fading once more.

"When you're what?" Qimir asks, his curiosity about you growing stronger.

"Nothing," you answer his question with the same phrase you always use, while painfully swallowing the word 'die', unwilling to reveal more.

You don't realize the sharp, intense gaze from Qimir, subtly hidden beneath his friendly smile.

...and you certainly don't realize that your choice to remain silent might lead to events spiraling beyond control.

[golden-loona]

found you | chapter two

summary: jungkook finds a pink diary in his drawer that connects him to another timeline. where will it take him?

pairing: jungkook x oc

tags: slight college au, sci-fi(ish), fluff

words: 2026

no warnings needed / this is not fully proofread

this is not to be copied or translated. thank you!

the diary plagues jungkook's mind throughout his classes the next day. his professor talks but the words are muffled, the noise in his head disturbing everything else. scattered, mindless notes typed onto a word document on his open laptop, completely out of focus.

whats worse? today is september 1st. his birthday. what did he do to deserve this mess on his birthday? of ALL days. he can’t even think straight, any plan he had in mind is void. the only light on in his brain being that pink fucking diary. 

the one question that invades his mind the most, is how is this possible? how is he able to communicate through a diary? how is he seeing entries when the diary never leaves his room? it feels like the universe is playing a joke on him, if thats the case then jungkook wants out.

still, he can't help but be curious about the diary's owner. from what he's read of the other entries, she loves dawson's creek and listens to a lot of early 00's music. her most recent song on repeat apparently being "so yesterday" by hillary duff. it confuses him.

when jungkook thinks about it, but not too deeply, his mind wanders to that one marvel movie. doctor strange the multiverse of madness. because that's exactly what its feeling like. a multiverse. the concept is fun, sure. if jungkook saw all this in a movie he would eat it up, but in real life? the idea of being able to talk to someone from a different timeframe frightens him.

is the diary owner from his current time? or the past? the future? is he supposed to keep quiet about things happening in his time? what can he tell her? what can’t he? is there a chance him and this girl can meet? every question races through his mind, over and over like an anxious knocking.

the idea of a rip in time and space, that rip being a pink diary? out of everything on earth, it terrifies him and excites him at the same time. there's the potential for him to have an insight to whatever year this girl is currently living in, he just has to convince himself whether its a good idea or not.

the students around jungkook in the hall all stand up, pulling him out of his deep thought. he naturally stands with them, closing his laptop and shoving his things into his backpack without care. throwing it over his shoulder, jungkook steps to leave the lecture hall. his mind still stuck in a daydream, the endless possibilities and theories of his current situation. 

when jungkook gets home, he notices the “birthday boy” banner taped to his door. a small smile spreading on his lips, he mentally thanks his roommates and steps into his room. he can almost feel the drawer of his desk staring at him. jungkook lazily drops his bag onto his bed, trying to ignore the desk drawer. he swears its glowing in the corner of his eye but thats impossible.

he also used to think multiverses were impossible until now, so he guesses maybe anything is possible. jungkook gives in, slowly opening the drawer with a defeated exhale and of course. the diary is still there.

he knew it would be and yet he kind of hoped it wouldn’t, this just confirms everything he’s been overthinking about today. the mess of science and make-believe thats ran through his mind like its running in circles. 

opening the diary, there sits a new entry. scribbled gently in dark pink gel ink, neat and clear. nothing compared to jungkook’s rushed handwriting at all. honestly, this girl’s pen-game makes his handwriting look absolutely appalling. 

september 1st

first of all, that kiss was a dare. this is a judgement free zone, diary stealer. and i have a name, idiot. my name is yn and i’m 19, i live in itaewon with my mom and my brother. 

can you stop reading my diary now? 

jungkook can’t help but crack a smile at the sassiness written in the ink, he can almost hear it in his head. that attitude, that tone. 

this is what’s pulling him in.

this sassy, funny, mysterious stranger is who’s pulling him into all this. the one who’s magnetic. the one that’s been sitting in the back of his mind all day. 

she lives in itaewon and she’s 19, surely jungkook knows her? surely she goes to the same university as him? maybe they’ve bumped into each other? all these questions fill jungkook’s mind as he begins to daydream. 

jungkook sits comfortably on his desk chair, the wheels squeaking as he shuffles closer to the desk. he holds the diary open, grabbing a black bic pen and popping the cap open to scribble his own entry. 

september 1st 

it’s my birthday, yn. be nice! i’m jungkook, 28 (today) and i also live in itaewon. can i ask you what year it is for you? 

jungkook sighs and leaves it at that, closing the diary and placing it back into the desk drawer. an exhausted sigh leaves his lips and he spins gently on the chair. 

the concept of speaking to someone in a different timeline scares him, either he’ll be the one keeping secrets of the future or he’ll be speaking to someone who knows something he doesn’t. it sends shivers across his body.

“happy birthday to you,” jungkook’s thoughts are interrupted as his roommates step through the door, cake with lit candles in hand. they sing, out of tune of course, but it makes jungkook smile like an idiot. 

“you guys didn’t have to-” jungkook begins but his roommate, taehyung, shakes his head. he sets the cake on jungkook’s desk as their other roommate, hoseok, takes a seat on jungkook’s bed. 

“here, we got you this” hoseok says brightly, a shining smile on his face as he hands jungkook a carefully wrapped gift. jungkook opens the present with hesitancy but he can’t help but chuckle like a kid once he sees them. 

socks with his friends faces on them.

jungkook breaks into laughter, holding the socks with their faces on it. “seriously, guys?”

jungkook wakes up to a buzzing sound, its 4am and he is not in the mood. he sleepily sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes as he searches around the room for whatever is buzzing. following the sound, he’s lead to the desk drawer. an old, small clock he used to use for alarms is buzzing away. one without batteries. what the fuck.

jungkook smacks the side of the digital clock, hoping it shuts up and it does. his eyes glance for a second at the diary and he feels that pull again, his heart naturally racing. a gentle sigh leaves his lips and he grabs the pink diary. 

jungkook shuffles to his bed, clicking his bedside lamp on as he opens the diary. he flicks through the pages as he finds the last page he wrote on and of course, there is a new entry.

september 1st

happy birthday diary stealer! i hope you did something fun for your birthday, there is lots to do around here so i hope you enjoyed it. we went to the skating rink for mine! they played lots of backstreet boys and nsync songs, it was a whole party. 

its september 1st 2003! goodnight xo

jungkook feels his chest tighten and he swallows harshly. 2003? this is a fucking joke. surely it is. 

he rubs his forehead, feeling even more stressed about the situation. jungkook gets out of bed, the diary in hand as he steps out of his room and out to the hall. barging into taehyung’s room, he turns the light on and throws the pink diary onto the bed.

“enough, taehyung” jungkook says frustratedly, his exhuastion present in his tone. a sleepy taehyung stirs and covers his eyes. “i didn’t mess with the toilet, i promise” taehyung responds with a tired whine.

“no, this! this! its a sick joke, taehyung!” jungkook argues loudly, picking up the diary and holding it. he again throws it onto taehyung’s bed. “i know you love your pranks, tae” jungkook begins, rubbing his eyes, “but this is sick.”

“i’ve never seen this diary in my life,” taehyung murmurs, inspecting the diary tiredly. jungkook’s eyebrows furrow, confusion contorting his face. “who’s is it then? hobi’s?” he questions, taehyung shakes his head. 

“you really think hobi would own a pink y2k ass diary?” taehyung remarks, chuckling lowly. jungkook can feel himself going slightly more insane, his mind twisting and his chest burning. even more frustrated, he grabs the diary back and stomps back to his room. “well goodnight to you too, kook,” taehyung says dryly.

jungkook closes his bedroom door a little too hard, the walls shaking gently. tossing the diary onto his desk, he sits on the edge of his bed and clenches his fists. the irritation of having zero answers to his own questions sends surges of annoyance through his veins, an exasperated sigh coming from his chest.

then, he thinks back to the girl in the pages. the girl who loves dawson’s creek and listens to britney spears on her cd player. the innocent girl who also has no idea whats going on, the only one who currently understands him. a hint of guilt sits in his chest, its not her fault. she didn’t do anything wrong.

acting on his guilt, jungkook gets up and sits at his desk. he fumbles the pages of the diary and grabs a pen, tapping it back and forth against the page as he prepares to write a response. finally formulating the words in his brain, he rushedly writes a new entry.

september 2nd

2003? i’m in 2025. this feels surreal and my head is all over the place, diary girl. how are you feeling? are you a mess like i am? are you struggling to comprehend this too? 

from, jk. 

jungkook closes the diary, stuffing it back into his desk drawer and popping the cap back onto his pen. he exhales heavily and slumps back into bed, getting comfortable under the covers. maybe tomorrow, the diary will be gone.

it's not gone. it's not gone. jungkook feels defeated, the universe is supposed to send you signs isn't it? maybe this is meant for him. maybe this journey is meant for him. jungkook holds the diary in his hands, sitting on his bed with a sullen look.

the only person he has to talk to about this is yn herself, she's the only one who won't truly think he's crazy or going insane. jungkook gently turns the pages, one after one. he gets to last night's entry and finds a brand new one.

september 2nd

i told you i have a name, dummy. use it! you HAVE to tell me about 2025!!! are there flying cars? can we download our dreams onto cd's like movies yet? YOU NEED TO TELL ME! and yes. i am freaking out, it makes no sense. there's no science about this and i hate geeky things like that. do you have any theories?

lighten up, diary stealer. yn xo

this entry makes his heart warm, a toothy grin appearing on his face. the excitement in her written words, it makes him feel something that he can't quite name. diary stealer. jungkook kind of loves this nickname.

jungkook grabs a pen from the metal holder on his desk, clicking it and holding the diary steady. for the first time, the words come to him with ease. his hand moving as the pen moves naturally against the page. a small smile curving on his lips as he writes.

september 2nd

but i prefer your nickname, yn. 2025 isn't as futuristic as you may picture, we have ai if that counts? we have robots but they don't exactly do much. we do not have flying cars and no we cannot download our dreams. i also hate geeky science stuff, so i guess we're both screwed. the only theory i have is that the multiverse does indeed exist.

i'm lighter now, diary girl. jk.

a/n: i'm hoping that each chapter i will write more words hahaha. hope you enjoyed it!

previous chapter // next chapter // fic masterlist

golden-loona 2025

[xoxorealitygalore]

HERE COME THE LOVE

PART TWO

ROMAN REIGNS X OC

Summary: Joe and Angel are longtime best friends now in their late-30s that live in the same building in Miami. Not romantically involved, they decide to have children together. But of course, complications arise.

Tag list: @tian-monique @diamondlifeee @duhitzkay380 @itskii01 @christinabae @prettypink-princesss

Previous - Part One

639,418 likes

alwaysangel 🩵

View all 10,723 comments

April 20, 2025

The sun over Las Vegas was cruel in the way only desert heat could be, painting the sidewalks in molten gold as mid-afternoon rolled lazily over the city. It was the kind of day where time seemed to stretch out longer than it had any right to, an illusion fueled by heatwaves and half-slept nights.

The neon was less dramatic in the daylight, but even dimmed, Vegas still shimmered with a surreal sort of dazzle.

Angel shifted in her seat, one hand resting instinctively on the swell of her belly. She was propped at a small patio table outside a tucked-away restaurant just off the Strip.

The baby—their baby boy had been making his presence known all morning. And now, as Joe chuckled next to her, the kicking started again, like he wanted in on the conversation.

Sai was perched across from her, in the booster seat the waiter had reluctantly dug out of storage. The little girl was mid-pose, chin up, arms out, one leg crooked in an exaggerated model’s stance.

“Picture, Daddy,” Sai commanded in her sing-song voice, noticing Joe’s phone in his hand.

Joe, half-amused and half-exasperated, raised the phone and snapped the picture without hesitation. His smile came easily, a natural tilt of the mouth that reached his eyes. Sai beamed.

Angel smiled too, quietly watching the exchange. There was something warm about it, soft, like the edge of a dream she didn’t want to wake up from.

“She is your daughter,” Joe murmured, lowering the phone.

The words lingered for a beat, heavier than the desert air, yet not uncomfortable.

Angel’s stomach tightened again, another sharp jab from within. She placed her hand over the curve of her bump, wincing just slightly.

“You good?” Joe asked, his voice shifting immediately into something more careful.

“Yeah,” she replied, nodding. “He’s just been kicking more than usual since Friday.”

Joe leaned in, placing a large, warm hand over hers, then rubbed her belly in slow, steady circles. His fingers were gentle, careful. “He’s ready to come out,” he said with a smirk. “Thank God we’re having this baby shower soon, because I don’t think you’re making it to forty weeks.”

Angel pouted dramatically. “No, he has to stay in until my due date.”

Joe raised an eyebrow and shook his head, grinning. “You just don’t want to miss out on going to Universal Studios.”

The way he said it, so knowingly, made her laugh.

“You know me so well,” she admitted.

Joe’s smile softened again, and for a second, they just looked at each other, caught in that space between the past and the future, where the present teetered on the edge of something neither of them had named.

Angel’s phone vibrated on the table, screen lighting up. Manuel.

Joe’s eyes flicked toward it, then away with an eye-roll that was so subtle it almost wasn’t there. Angel didn’t miss it, but she also didn’t acknowledge it. She simply turned her phone face-down and picked up her water instead.

She hadn’t been that into Manuel after what happened at SmackDown between her and Joe. The connection had dulled like an old flame left out in the wind. Maybe it was the timing. Maybe it was her heart slowly rearranging itself without her permission. She had told herself that if Joe didn’t want her being more than friends with Manuel, then she had to respect that. But something about pretending she didn’t know that Joe wanted more with her was beginning to fray at the edges.

“Can I ask you something?” Angel said, turning toward Joe, her voice quieter.

He looked up from his menu, dark eyes locking on hers. “Yeah?”

“Have you dated anyone? Since, you know, we started this whole thing?” Her words were cautious, like she wasn’t sure where they might lead.

Joe leaned back slightly, giving her the kind of look that felt like a pause in time. “I tried,” he said finally. “Went out a few times. But I couldn’t really get into it. Didn’t feel right.”

Angel blinked, surprised by the honesty. “Oh.”

He nodded once. “What I said after SmackDown, I meant it. I care about you, Angel. More than I thought I would. More than I planned to. But if you’re talking to Manuel, I’m not gonna stand in your way. Even if I think he’s a clown.”

She laughed unexpectedly, caught off-guard. “You really think he’s a clown?”

Joe smirked. “Big red nose and everything.”

Angel didn’t answer right away. Part of her wanted to tell him she hadn’t responded to Manuel’s text. That he hadn’t been on her mind half as much as Joe had. But instead, she swallowed her words and looked away.

“Should we go to Night Two?” she asked instead, changing the subject. “Or head back to Miami?”

Joe hesitated for a second, then nodded. “We can at least stop by the arena. Then head home.”

They finished lunch slowly. Sai kept them entertained with her silly questions and mid-bite singing. But beneath the surface of everything was a lingering silence, the conversation they hadn’t had since Friday still casting a shadow neither of them could ignore.

They walked the Strip a little before heading back to the car. The buzz around the city was unmistakable. WrestleMania fever hung in the air like electricity. Fans in matching shirts, signs held aloft, street performers capitalizing on the foot traffic. It was loud, vibrant, almost intoxicating. Angel should have felt more excited. But she wasn’t sure what she felt.

Back at the hotel, while Sai napped, Angel sat on the edge of the bed, scrolling through her phone absentmindedly. Another text from Manuel had come in. “You free tonight?” She didn’t respond. She set the phone aside and looked out the window.

Joe knocked on the doorframe. “You okay?”

Angel nodded. “Just thinking.”

He stepped inside, sitting beside her. For a moment, neither said anything.

Then Joe broke the silence. “I didn’t mean to make things awkward.”

“It’s okay,” she said quickly.

“I was just trying to be honest,” he said. “Didn’t want to lie to you about how I felt.”

Angel bit her lip, still looking out the window. “You caught me off guard.”

“Yeah, I could tell.”

She finally turned to face him. “So what do we do with that? With what we said?”

Joe shrugged slightly. “I think we give it space. We don’t have to rush it. You’ve got enough going on without me complicating things.”

“But you’re not complicating anything,” Angel said softly. “If anything, it’s everything else that’s confusing.”

Joe reached over and took her hand. His touch was warm, steady.

“I don’t know what this looks like yet,” he admitted. “But I know I don’t want to pretend I don’t care about you.”

Angel exhaled, a shaky breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“I don’t want to pretend either.”

They sat there for a long time, hands clasped, letting silence do the talking.

Roman Reigns and Angel Blaze Share Exclusive Photos from Their 'Joyful' and 'Vibrant' Baby Shower: 'An Unforgettable Memory'

The two are also parents to 2-year-old daughter Sai

By PEOPLE Staff

Roman Reigns and Angel Blaze are joyfully preparing to welcome a new addition to their growing family.

On Tuesday, April 22, Reigns, 39, and Blaze, 38, celebrated the upcoming arrival of their baby boy with a "joyful" and "vibrant" baby shower, sharing exclusive photos of the event with PEOPLE. From the dazzling décor to their coordinated outfits, every detail was steeped in shades of blue in honor of their soon-to-be son.

Angel stunned in a floor-length light blue gown embellished with rhinestones and feathers, while Reigns looked sharp in a matching light blue suit paired with a crisp white shirt. Both completed their looks with silver shoes for an extra touch of glam.

"We dreamed beyond the usual baby shower — we wanted this to be a celebration," they told PEOPLE. "A joyful, vibrant party with the people we love, to honor our little prince on his way. Not just a gathering, but an unforgettable memory in the making."

They shared their pregnancy news on April 18, first revealing it at the WWE Hall of Fame ceremony, followed by a heartfelt Instagram post from Angel.

Reigns is also a proud father to five children from a previous relationship.

alwaysangel ✓

Joshua’s house was alive with the hum of conversation and the clink of glasses. Joe and his cousins had gathered for their monthly boys' night out, a tradition that had withstood the test of time.

The expansive living room, with its floor-to-ceiling windows, offered a panoramic view of the city skyline, the lights twinkling like distant stars. The air was thick with the scent of expensive cigars and the rich aroma of aged whiskey.

Joe leaned back in his leather chair, a glass of bourbon in hand, his eyes scanning the room. Laughter echoed off the walls as stories from the past were retold, each cousin trying to outdo the other with tales of youthful mischief and daring escapades.

But amidst the camaraderie, a tension lingered in the air, unnoticed by most but palpable to those attuned to the subtleties of human interaction.

Mige, one of Joe's cousin, sat across from him, his brow furrowed as he listened to the conversation. His gaze shifted to Joe. There was something in his eyes, a mixture of concern and skepticism that hadn't been there before.

"Joe," Mige began, his voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of something more, "I've been thinking about your situation with Angel." The room fell silent, the casual chatter dying as all eyes turned to Mige. Joe's grip on his glass tightened imperceptibly.

"What about it?" Joe replied, his tone guarded.

Mige leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "I just don't see how this arrangement is sustainable in the long run. You're both so different. How can you raise children together when your foundations are so mismatched?"

The words hung in the air, heavy and accusatory. Joe's heart rate quickened, a flush creeping up his neck. He had expected many things from this night, but not this. Not from Mige.

Jon sensing the shift in atmosphere, cleared his throat and stood up. "Mige, maybe now's not the time for this conversation." His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it that suggested he wasn't entirely comfortable with the direction things were heading. Jon pulled out his phone and texted Angel to call Joe and calm him down before he beat up Mige.

But Mige was undeterred. "No, Jon. This needs to be said. Joe, you're my family, and I care about you. But I can't stand by and watch you make a decision that could affect your life and your children's lives so drastically."

Joe stood up abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the polished hardwood floor. "I love Angel," he said, his voice rising with emotion. "I love her deeply. And I believe she's the right person for me to build a family with. You don't know her like I do."

The room was silent, the weight of Joe's words pressing down on everyone. Mige opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Joshua stood up and placed a hand on Joe's shoulder. "Joe, calm down," he said softly. "Let's not do this here."

Joe shook his head, shrugging off Joshua's hand. "No, Joshua. I won't let anyone question my choices."

The tension in the room was noticeable, the air thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. Mige stood up as well, his expression a mix of frustration and concern. "I'm not trying to attack you, Joe," he said, his voice quieter now. "I just want what's best for you."

Before Joe could respond, his phone buzzed on the coffee table. He glanced at the screen and saw Angel's name flashing.

Joshua picked up the phone and handed it to Joe. "It's Angel," he said gently.

Joe took the phone, his hands trembling slightly. "Angel?" he said, his voice hoarse.

"Joe," Angel's voice came through the speaker, calm and steady. "I know you're upset. But you need to come home. Please."

The simplicity of her words, the quiet strength in her voice, cut through the storm of emotions raging inside him. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean to let it get this far."

Angel's voice softened. "It's okay. Just come home."

Joe ended the call and stood there for a moment, gathering his thoughts. The room was silent, all eyes on him. He looked at Mige, then at Jon, Joshua, and the others. "I'm going home," he said simply.

As he made his way to the door, he paused and turned back to face his cousins. "I know you care about me," he said quietly. "But this is my life. My family. And I won't let anyone tear it apart."

With that, he left, the door closing softly behind him.

Next - Part Three

[scuttling]

Flicker in the Dark - Jacob Black/Reader

Fandom: Twilight Saga Pairings: Jacob Black/Female Reader Word Count: 12,598 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Pining, Unprotected sex, Slightly aged up (Jacob is 20), Fix it fic Summary: My take on New Moon, if all of the characters were a bit more mature and Jacob got his girl. A/N: This is a third-person story that pairs Jacob with a girl who isn't Bella but who fills her role in the story; Bella doesn't exist in this universe because I find she's not as interesting to write as an original character, for me personally. The character has no name and no physical description, so treat her as an OC or a "reader," your choice there. :)

Keep reading below or link to AO3!

Bringing the idea of fixing the bikes to Jacob was the best thing she’s ever done: the best, and one of the dumbest, by far. 

They both have adult obligations now—she has class, and a part-time job, which are thankfully both online, and Jake works full time—so when the stars align and they’re free at the same time, they spend every moment in his garage like a couple of bored kids. They listen to music on his dad’s old radio, eat pizza and tacos standing up much more often than they should; Jacob isn’t twenty-one just yet, but they’re on the rez, so they sip beers sometimes, especially on the rare warm days where the sun shines into the garage and sweat prickles at their hairlines. 

He’s taller at twenty than he was when he was younger, broader and more filled out, like he’d said back on her birthday; she notices, sometimes, things like the tightness of his t-shirts stretched across his back, the way his jeans fit just, extraordinarily well. Those kinds of things you can’t help but notice, even if you’re emotionally, physically, and mentally unavailable, the way she is. 

He pokes fun at her age—forever a sore spot, especially when Edward is and will be twenty-two forever—but she catches him noticing her, too, sometimes, so she’s not a total embarrassment at least.

It doesn’t happen right away, like magic or anything, but hanging out in his garage does make her feel better; he makes her feel better, if she’s being honest with herself. He quiets the chatter in her brain, the anxiety, the self-doubt, and she smiles more when she’s with him, laughs more, gets out of her own head. She’s happier when she’s with him, too, bikes or no bikes—though the roar of the restored motorcycle engine certainly doesn’t hurt—and he’s good for her, there’s no denying that.

She remembers her dad’s advice, even more meaningful now that she’s moved out of his house and living on her own—sometimes, you gotta learn to love what’s good for you—and she even thinks she could, some days. 

That’s easy enough to say to herself, but so, so much harder in practice. She can tell Jacob is… interested, when they go to the movies, with the way he lays his hand on the armrest, palm up, in case she wants to hold it. Part of her wants to, really wants to; part just thinks about Edward and she clams up, can’t do it. She feels guilty, like she’s doing something wrong, even though he left her and not the other way around. 

She still loves him, will always love him, but Edward made his choice; she just wishes she felt free enough to make her own.

She feels guilty when they ride, too, because the one thing he’d asked of her was not to be reckless, and now she goes out of her way to find a rush wherever she can. Anything legal, be it motorcycles, rock climbing, running, skydiving, really, really big roller coasters—you name it, she’s done it, and though none of it ever worked as well as she’d hoped it would, she never stops trying. 

She knows better than to give herself over to things like drugs or binge drinking or meaningless one-night stands, but aside from that the limits to what she will try are almost non-existent. She loves the thrill of it all, loves feeling brave, feeling strong; In the end, she may wind up with a few cuts and bruises, but as long as she’s hurting no one but herself, she doesn’t feel too bad.

When she hurts Jacob, she feels awful, terrible, and she does hurt him—he’s so hurt for a while that he doesn’t want to see her, doesn’t even return her calls. She feels weak for the first time in a long time, like if she’d just been able to be what he wanted, to hold his hand, to kiss him, to get over herself, they both would have been happier. Now she just feels sad, and selfish, hurting the one person who has always been there for her, who’s always eased her pain.

She wants to respect his space, can’t bear the thought of hurting him more than she already has, but her anxiety gets the better of her; no amount of kickboxing or rock climbing has been able to take her mind off of him since that night at the movies, when he left in such a hurry. Even Edward has shifted to the back of her mind, though she has no idea when exactly that happened.

So she goes to him. Against his wishes. In the pouring rain. 

She’s so, so stupid.

He’s so, so shredded, even more so than usual; it’s the first thing she notices only because he’s soaking wet and shirtless and that makes it pretty obvious. The second thing she notices is his hair, no longer long and pulled back with a cord of leather, but cropped short, though inky black as always. The third thing she notices is the tattoo, a large, tribal design on his shoulder that looks well-healed even though she saw him less than a week ago.

She catalogs all of that, and then she remembers he’s avoiding her and that she’s here to ask for forgiveness (she’s willing to beg, but it’s sort of a last resort.)

She calls his name, but he doesn’t turn around at first, not until she’s right in front of him, fists balled angrily at her sides.  

“Jacob, I’m sorry… I’m sorry about the movie. Can we talk about it?” He huffs an unamused laugh, takes half a step closer; that kind of thing used to be playful, but now it seems almost menacing, between the muscles and the tattoo and the deepening frown on his face. 

“This isn’t about that. You–you need to leave. Now.” The tone of his voice leaves no room for argument… but then again, that’s never stopped her before. She steps closer too, more of a challenge than anything.

“Well if it’s not about that, what is it? What happened?” He turns away as if to leave and she reaches for him, fingers latching onto his wrist. She knows right away that when she tugs, and he turns, it’s because he let it happen; there’s no way anyone could force him to do anything now, not with how big he is, how strong, how solid beneath her hand. “Is it Sam? Did he get to you too?” 

“I was wrong about Sam. He’s helping me through it—just like he helped the others,” he says, but it sounds odd to her ears. If something was wrong, if he’d needed help, he would have come to her… right? “I can’t do this right now—you have to go. Please go.” 

Before, he was stern, but this time he’s pleading for her to leave, and that’s just not Jacob—they’d hash it out before he cut her off without so much as a word, instead of ghosting her and making his father lie for him and keeping secrets with Sam Uley.

“Jake,” she pleads too, but instead of tightening her grip on his wrist she brings her hand up to the nape of his neck, to brush through the short hair that lays there, drenched in rainwater. “Please don’t do this to me.” 

He closes his eyes like it pains him, and it very well might; she knows the similarities to the night Edward left are becoming almost too much for her to bear. 

Maybe that’s why she came here, after all, because she could, because at least she still knew where she could find him. Because even if he didn’t want to talk to her, at least she’d know he was okay. 

“I’m not doing this to you, I’m doing it for you. I’m not who you thought I was, I’m not good for you. You can’t be around me anymore.” 

Fuck that, she thinks immediately, because she is so absolutely tired of people telling her what she can and can’t do, what she’s strong enough for, what’s safe. 

She doesn’t want safe. All she wants is Jacob. 

“I decide what’s good for me; I decide,” she says, voice raised and rough, jabbing a finger in his direction, and he grabs both of her forearms and holds them between them. He looks like he wants to shake her, he’s so frustrated, but his grip isn’t tight. “You think you’re going to hurt me, or something? Because look at us, Jake.” Her gaze moves to his hands on her, holding her still but doing it gently, carefully. “It’s okay. You won’t hurt me, I know it.” 

He drops her arms like she’s burned him, like he didn’t even realize he was holding them, and takes two steps back, away from her.

“You’re right, I won’t—because you can’t ever come here again.” 

He turns and runs to Sam and the other guys, leaving her standing in the rain, soaked and alone, her stomach in knots. The chatter is back, the self-doubt, louder than ever now; if they could both do this, both leave her so easily, would she ever be enough for anyone?

She’s not sitting around her house moping about this, not again. She did that with Edward and it got her absolutely nowhere, so this time she resolves to just skip to the front of the line. She packs a bag for the trail and goes hiking, plans to take a long path deep into the woods, away from the bear attacks or whatever’s going on out there. Her dad would have her head if she walked headfirst into danger, and she knows better, anyway, isn’t going to actually risk her life just to get Rocky Mountain high. 

She hadn’t planned on risking her life, anyway, but how was she to know the formerly peaceful Laurent was back in Forks, red eyes and all, and that he was working with Victoria? That wasn’t on her supernatural drama bingo card, that’s for damn sure. 

She listens to him do the villain rambling for a moment, but irritation wins out over fear and she loses her temper, slips up and says that Edward is gone and he’s not coming back, and if he wants to kill her, well no one’s stopping him! 

He looks amused by her outburst, but the smile melts off of his face when an enormous black wolf steps out of the trees, followed by several others of all shades, shapes, sizes. She doesn’t get a chance to count them, just runs like hell in the other direction, but when she risks a look back they are going after Laurent with a precision she wouldn’t expect from wild animals just looking for dinner. 

She tells no one about the wolves—who would believe her anyway?—just runs back to her truck until she’s breathless, goes home and takes a steaming hot shower to rinse away the cold clamminess of his touch. She makes a cup of tea and changes into a t-shirt, a pair of shorts, then parks herself on the couch with her laptop for the rest of the night. 

Until the knock at the door that comes around 1 AM. 

It’s Jacob, and she’s so happy to see him that she forgets all about her day up until that point and wraps her arms around him, hugs him where he stands in the doorway. He hugs back, thank god, his embrace tight and warm and comforting, and then she ushers him in, offers to make more tea while they talk. 

“About the other day,” she begins, filling the electric kettle with water and plugging it in, but he cuts her off, panicked. 

“I wish I could explain,” he says, and he’s almost got those puppy dog eyes that always get him his way; he doesn’t even do it on purpose, just looks like that, and it’s incredibly hard to resist. “But I literally can’t.” 

“No, I know, I… I mean, I think I know.” She has a box of tea in her hand and she’s gesturing a bit wildly with it, so she sets it on the counter, walks closer to him, so there’s about a foot of space between them. “First rule of fight club is you can’t talk about fight club—wait, it’s not an actual fight club, right? Because you’d dominate.” 

He laughs, a real one, with his head thrown back, and she all but grins. There he is. Her Jacob. 

“No, it’s not a fight club, but you’re right. I can’t talk about it, I can’t tell you anything.” His tone of voice hurts her, because it’s clear this is something he wants, needs to share; she moves closer, eyes on his.

“And what if I guess? Is that against the rules?” He shakes his head fervently, rests his palm on the counter beside him.

“No, no—in fact, that’s exactly what I need you to do. Sam can’t stop you, and I know you, you’re smart, won’t stop until you figure it out.”  He reaches out with his other hand, tentatively, and links their fingers together like he did at the movies; when he brings their hands up to his chest, this time, she doesn’t pull away. “It would be so much easier if you knew.”

His face is so soft but so serious, his brow furrowed, and she squeezes his hand.

“I’m going to feel really silly if I’m wrong, but I don’t think I am. I’ve been working on it all night.” With her free hand, she pulls her phone out of her pocket, shows him the same screen she has up on her laptop in the other room. It’s a list of all the facts she has, her own speculation, and finally, in size 42 font, one very important eight-letter word. “You said before that Sam was collecting disciples—a pack of them, Jacob, right?” 

“Yes. Fuck,” he breathes, and though she’s heard him say it in the garage many times, this one is special because it means she’s right. He slides down to a seat on the tile floor, looks so relieved it makes her chest feel tight, and she kneels in front of him, hands on his bare shoulders. 

“You’re a werewolf, Jake, just like the legend—your tribe is descended from wolves. Tell me I’m wrong.” 

He doesn’t say a word, and at first she’s afraid she is incorrect, but then he reaches out and pulls her close, crushes her to his body. He breathes hard into her hair, holds her tightly, and she can’t help it, she cries, hot tears leaving tracks down her cheeks.

He brings his hands there after a moment, wipes the tears away with his thumbs, then holds her face like she’s something precious, lips turning up into a half-smile.

“Thank you. I knew you could do it.” He tips forward, presses their foreheads together, moves his hands to her waist. “You don’t know how badly I wanted you to know.”

“Oh, Jake. I’m sorry—I should have caught on faster. It’s obvious, when you put everything together, when you… You know. When you’ve seen what I’ve seen.” He nods his head and swallows, presses his fingertips into her side. She shifts closer, or he does, maybe they both do, so their breath mixes between them, soft and warm.

“It’s okay, you’re here now. You’re here, it's okay,” he repeats, and she pushes fingers through his hair, softer now that it’s dry. 

“I’m here, and I don’t have to stay away.”

They don’t quite kiss, because she’s still nervous, maybe even more so now—they were so close to being separated, and now that he’s back in her life, in her house, she doesn’t want to risk breaking this delicate, fragile thing between them. His mouth just brushes over hers, more a swipe than a press of lips, and she turns her head so the rest of it catches her cheek instead. 

He sighs, but he’s not upset, and he lifts a hand to smooth through her hair before dropping it altogether. 

“I should go,” he says, but she can’t bear the thought of losing him again already. She stands when he does, takes his hand the way he did before. 

“Can you stay the night? Please?” She squeezes his fingers, tries her hand at her own version of those sad puppy eyes. “I understand if you can’t, but I’d feel… I want you to,” she’s clear to say, and eventually, he nods. 

She makes up a bed for him on the sofa, intends to head upstairs when he’s comfortable; she doesn’t know what stops her, but she stretches out on the other end of the couch instead and they put on a movie, something black and white, volume low. She couldn’t say for sure who’s the first to fall asleep.

She’s the first to wake up, so she takes a quick shower, does some work, brews some coffee. He’ll probably head out the moment his feet hit the floor, so she prepares herself for that—she just hopes that the rest of his pack knows he’s there, that they aren’t worried, or frantically searching the preserve for signs of him like she would be. 

She asks him that when he pads into the kitchen an hour later, eyes sleepy, bedhead evident, and he pours a cup of coffee and sits across from her at the table. 

“Nah, they knew I was coming,” he assures with a sip. “They know by now that if they can’t find me, I’m probably here with you.” That makes her smile, though she looks down into her mug and tries not to show it. He takes a few more quick gulps despite the temperature and sets down his empty cup with a smack of his lips. “Speaking of the pack, I think you should meet them. We gather at Emily’s—that’s Sam’s fiancee—sometimes, and they’ll be there today.”

“Will they be angry that I figured it out?” she asks, genuinely curious. She wants to meet them, wants to know more about the group of guys Jacob is now supernaturally entangled with, but she’s not so sure a house of angry werewolves is somewhere she’s ready to be so soon after her last brush with death. He breathes a laugh and shakes his head. 

“They won’t be angry. They’ll probably be irritated with me, because I couldn’t just let you go…” Their eyes meet, and she thinks of reaching out to touch his hand across the table, though she doesn’t in the end. “But as for you, they’ll probably just be impressed.”

The pack is both impressed by her and slightly irritated with Jacob, but stern glances and eye rolls quickly turn to laughter and playful shoving, as they pile into Emily’s small but cozy kitchen and make introductions around a batch of fresh muffins.

She gets official confirmation on things she’d only read about—like their ability to hear each other’s thoughts when shifted, the accelerated healing, their speed, their power—right from the wolves' mouths, and they learn from her too, everything she knows about vampires like Laurent and Victoria. She doesn’t talk much about the Cullens, mostly because their secrets are not hers to tell, but she can see Jacob’s brain working as she mentions Victoria’s vendetta, as she shows the group the pale, silvery bite mark on her arm. 

“If she’s here, she’s here for me,” she tells them, and Jake tenses, his jaw tight, veins visible, shoots Sam a look that conveys they have a lot to talk about when she’s not around. 

Later, she suggests to Jacob that he take a walk with her, because she can tell how all of those stories have put him on edge. Together they amble slowly toward the beach, close but not touching, and this time she does take his hand, leans in so their forearms brush. 

“It’ll be okay,” she murmurs, tilting her head to look up at him. “You guys are strong, fast. You took down Laurent—I have no doubts you’ll get her too.” 

“Before she hurts you?” he says, staring ahead, voice rough because he’s been mostly silent all day, listening closely to her and taking everything in. “Because if she does…” 

“She won’t. The others are watching her,” she says, hoping like hell that’s still true, “and even if she finds me… I trust you to protect me.” He stops there, on the wet sand, and she turns toward him so she can see his expression, to get a better idea of what’s on his mind. 

“If they come back, I’m not allowed to fight on their land—I’d be breaking the treaty,” he says with a pained look. She understands the words he’s not saying: if they come back, I wouldn’t be able to protect you in your own home.

“They’re not coming back,” she whispers, because she can’t say the words any louder than that, even though they’re true.  “He made his choice, and that’s—that’s okay.” 

“Is it?” Jacob asks, leaning in, and she gets it, gets why; she hasn’t exactly been positive about Edward’s departure, how his choice affected her, took his family away from her too, and now suddenly she’s okay with it?

It isn’t sudden, though, not really. It’s been a gradual acceptance, something she’s been coming to terms with since the day he left. She knows Edward’s decision wasn’t made easily; she knows he didn’t leave because he didn’t love her, but because he loved her so much he put aside his feelings for her and did what he thought was right. 

He went about it all the wrong way, removing every trace of himself from her life, banning his family from communicating with her, taking her choices away, but in the end his heart was in the right place, and she’s found a way to respect that, despite everything. 

Maybe it’s just Jacob. He brought her out of her post-breakup shell, made her smile again, laugh again, feel important and wanted and cared for. Maybe he filled in the cracks of her broken heart so she could use it again, without the need for exhilaration and adrenaline to cover up the pain of what she’s lost; maybe it’s just Jacob, bright like the sun they so seldom see, special and rare and wild. 

“It’s okay,” she assures him, voice steady with her conviction. She raises their conjoined hands and presses her lips to his knuckles, just briefly, before dropping them back to her side. 

Jake nods, accepts her answer, and they walk further along the beach until the sun goes down in a hazy blend of blue and orange and red.

He offers to drive her home, and even though it’s impractical, and she’d usually put up a fight, she wants that extra time with him. Wants to be that close to him. She sits in the middle of the bench seat, neither up against him nor really on the passenger’s side, but close enough for Jake to throw an arm across her shoulders, and they listen to the radio and talk about his pack while cruising down the road. 

“I better go,” he murmurs before she can even unlock her front door, and she tries not to let her face fall; she’d been hoping he’d stay over again, or come inside for a little bit, at least. 

She must fail at controlling her expression, because Jacob smiles softly, like he’s pleased with himself, and leans in, brushing his fingers over the line of her jaw. 

“We’re patrolling tonight—got a vampire to kill. But I’ll call you tomorrow?” 

She nods beneath his touch, and he pulls back and turns to leave, jogging down the street and toward the forest that’ll lead him back to La Push.

He does call the next day, but it’s brief; Victoria’s back, just as Sam expected, so they’re running all night, all day, trying to catch her off guard, taking breaks only to eat and sleep when they absolutely have to. Jacob promises to check in when he can, but after three days with no contact—and a voicemail from her father about locals spotting wolves in the woods—she’s on edge again, less concerned for her own safety, more worried about Jake’s. 

She’s an absolute idiot for doing it—going to the beach, to the tall cliffs that loom over it—but she needs the rush again, doesn’t feel right when it’s just her own troubled voice in her head. She needs to hear the purr of an engine, the hum of a plane, the crashing of pure, white water against rocks… or maybe Jacob’s heartbeat. But the cliffs are the simple option at the moment, and all she can think about until she’s actually there, looking out over the ocean, the gritty scents of sand and salt in her nose. 

She takes several deep, long breaths. That’s the key to these things that bring her so much excitement—using all of her senses, so she’s not just herself but everything around her too. She needs to see the sun on the horizon, taste the spray of seawater and clean, crisp air. She needs to smell the damp earth, touch the frothy bubbles that lap at the shore, hear…

She hears a wolf, actually, howling solemnly in the distance, but doesn’t register the sound until after she’s already jumped. 

The waves are choppier than they’d appeared when she was looking down at them, and it knocks the breath out of her lungs when they crash into her body, pulling her down into the dark vastness of the icy sea. Her arms and legs move instinctively, fighting to bring her back to the surface, but the water is deep and heavy and she’s already so tired of trying. 

She’s so cold all she can feel is cold, her teeth chattering, so even when she hits her head on a boulder and it starts to bleed, she doesn’t realize what’s happened until everything turns black.

She’s warmer, suddenly, that’s all she knows, though the ground beneath her back is rocky and wet, uncomfortable. She thinks maybe it’s a blanket that feels so warm, but quickly realizes it’s Jacob above her, soaked to his bones, a sigh of relief passing his lips. 

“Oh thank god. Can you hear me?” He cradles the back of her head in his palm and helps her sit up, then presses his fingers tenderly to the sore bump beneath her hair. “Your head’s not that bad, but I bet it hurts.” 

“Hmm. Hurts,” she mumbles, her throat raw, temples throbbing. She’s cold and tired and thirsty, but ashamed above all else; maybe she really does need someone making the decisions for her, if this is the kind of stupidity she gets up to when she’s alone. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” he answers quickly, and he runs his hands over her arms and legs, her neck, her face, checking for further injury. “I’m just glad you’re alright. The waves are bad today; you could have been swept away.” 

“I didn’t realize that until it was too late,” she admits sheepishly, and when he brings her closer she rests her cheek against his chest, feels tears stinging her already tired eyes. “I’m sorry, Jacob.” 

“It’s okay, I’m here. It’s okay.” His voice is as soft as his hands as they curve around her, holding her against him, and they sit like that for a couple minutes, until Sam runs over and tells him to get her home. 

He drives again, but this time she’s even more grateful, because there’s no way she could have done it herself. She feels so much at once—dumb and scared and childish, but also brave and calm, while somehow her mind races with thoughts of the wolves howling and Jacob’s hands in her hair. Her focus is shot, and even though she’s wrapped in one of Jake’s thick, fleece lined hoodies, she trembles, heavy and cold, as she peers out the passenger side window, watching the trees go by.

“Hundred and eight degrees over here,” Jacob says eventually, with a half smile, and she blinks for a moment before giving in; with a sigh, she scoots closer, wraps an arm around his waist. She can feel the heat of his body even through the layers they wear, and she shivers involuntarily at the pleasant but abrupt change in temperature.

“You still want me this close? Not afraid the bad decisions will rub off onto you?” It’s a joke, a self-deprecating one, and an apology all bundled together. “What I did was stupid, I know. I could have gotten really hurt, and you should have been out there with the pack, with Harry, not saving me.” 

He tilts his head, leans closer so his cheek rests against her hair.

“Well it wasn’t smart, but we all have our moments. And you couldn’t have known about Harry—don’t be too hard on yourself.” A long beat of silence passes, and she turns toward him, pressing her icy nose to his neck with another sigh.

“Mmm. You’re so warm. It must be nice, never getting cold.” 

“It’s a wolf thing,” he says with a shrug, but it’s not, not really, and she can’t let that stand. 

“Maybe, but trust me, it’s a Jacob thing too. You’ve always been warm.” She just sits there, breathes him in, lets him warm her hands and nose, so content she almost doesn’t notice when he pulls up in front of her house.

“This is better. Now that you know about me,” he says, tipping his face down, after he turns off the truck. She pulls back just enough to look into his eyes, to try to gauge his intent.

“But?” He swallows hard, looks away for a moment before returning to her face.

“You saw what happened to Emily. Sam got angry, lost it for a split second, and Em was standing too close. He’ll never be able to take that back.” He shakes his head, as if imagining the two of them in the same situation. What he could do to her. What she would think of him. “What if I get mad and I hurt you?” 

“You’re new to this—even if you are a natural,” she says, remembering a comment Embry had made when they’d last spoken. “You’ll learn how to control it, how to read the warning signs, and you’ll either stop yourself from turning or get somewhere safe. We’ll be okay,” she promises, resting her hand soothingly against his neck, and he sighs softly.

“Sometimes, I feel like I’m gonna disappear. Like one day it will be all wolf and no Jake.” He leans in, close enough that their noses just barely brush, and the way he looks down at her is something like… 

Yearning, she thinks to herself after a beat. It’s a powerful emotion, but she’s never seen it look quite so beautiful before. 

“You’re not going to lose yourself. I won’t let that happen.” 

“How?” he asks, bringing a hand up to cover hers, and she wets her lips, shakes her head to clear it; it’s swimming again, in this small space, so very close to him—especially when he’s looking at her like that.

“I’ll tell you all the time… how special you are to me.” She looks up, feels like she’s showing her soul to him, like this incident has stripped her down to bare bones and she’s letting him see her, once and for all. He stares into her eyes for a long moment, then leans in slowly, tentatively, and this time she doesn’t stop herself from meeting him in the middle, from pressing her mouth to his. 

She can actually feel the relief wash over him when she doesn’t reject his kiss, like he’s been tightly coiled and tense and can finally relax because she wants the same things, feels the same way.

She expects his lips to be warm, soft, but he is scorching against her skin, even more so when he moves his hand to her cheek in a gentle caress. With the palm against his hip, she pushes up his t-shirt, gets her fingers on his body, and they both gasp softly into the kiss, deepen it. 

“Jacob,” she sighs when they part for air; he seems okay, if a little shaky, but she feels flushed, eager, almost vibrating with the need to keep kissing him. She wants more, even though her throat burns like the last time his lips touched hers, when he forced the water out of her lungs and saved her life. 

That’s what he does best, her Jacob—like a flicker in the dark, he always pulls her away from the dangers of her own making and brings her back into the light.

“Is this real?” he asks, his breath a ghost on her lips; his other hand, on her lower back, pulls her closer to his body, and she turns her head and kisses the palm resting on her cheek. 

They kiss again, hands a bit less careful, hers sliding up his back, his weaving into her hair to control the tilt of her head. She gives in to it all, lets him set the pace, gripping him like a life preserver and letting his heat warm her from the inside out. She feels like she can’t get possibly close enough, wants to be pressed skin to skin, but she settles for sliding into his lap, ducking her head so she doesn’t hit it on the metal roof of the truck. 

He groans as she twists fingers into his hair, as she pulls him into her and feels the long, hard line of his body against hers. She kisses faster, harder, and he matches her fervor, wraps an arm around her waist and catches her chin with tight fingers. 

They kiss for a long time, and the cabin heats, windows fogging up as they share breath and saliva, as they murmur each other’s names like prayer. Her lips are red and raw when she finally needs to pause, and she rests her head against his chest and listens to the thunderous, wild beating of his heart. 

“Will you stay the night? Please?” she asks, voice a little broken—rough with need, and soreness from nearly drowning, and breathlessness caused by the most intense kiss of her entire life. 

Jacob nods, and he sets her carefully back on the seat, removes the keys from the ignition and climbs out of the truck. She slides out behind him, and he closes the door, takes her hand in his just like she did on the beach.

He locks the front door behind them when they’re finally inside—as if that will stop anyone we need to worry about, she teases with a soft laugh—and she takes the lead, walks up the stairs toward her bedroom with Jacob trailing behind. 

Despite his surreal body heat and the thick, warm sweatshirt he’d given her to wear, she’s still cold down to her bones, and wet like a drowned rat, so she pulls off her shoes and socks and sets them down by the radiator. Jacob watches her every move from a couple steps away, eyes lingering as she shrugs out of his hoodie, then pulls her damp sweater over her head. 

There’s nothing sexy or seductive about it, it’s not a striptease by any means, but he doesn’t look away when she’s down to her bra, and she doesn’t want him to. He bends down to take off his boots, to line them up next to hers, then bridges the distance between them and leans in for a deep, slow kiss. 

It’s not long before they both sink down onto the bed, and her fingers slip open the button of her jeans, then hesitate, wait at the button of his. She looks up at him, and the confirmation is all but written there, in the darkness of his eyes, the swipe of his tongue over his lips, but she needs to be sure. 

“I want you, all of you,” she murmurs, and then she brushes a hand through his hair, leans in to just rest her mouth against his. It’s delicate like the first time, but full of meaning, and he presses up into her kiss. “Do you want this?” 

“I want this. You. All—all of you.” He nods, licks his lips again, eyes softer but no less hungry, and she flicks open the button and kisses him like she did in the truck: hands on his body, in his hair, her breath all his. 

They don’t part, not really, just fall back against the pillows and tug at clothing, pressing kisses to throats and palms. His t-shirt drops to the bedroom floor, then her jeans and underwear, his, and the room is quiet except for the sounds of eager, wet kisses and soft, needy moans. 

She sits up, reaches back to unclasp her bra, and Jacob drags the strap down her shoulder, helps her take it off, leaving it somewhere in the bed; his mouth moves to hers, then down her neck, over her collarbone, and finally caresses each nipple with a gentle reverence that makes her ache all over.  

“You’re still sure?” he asks when she is shaking beneath his touch, strong arms wrapped around her back, and she nods and shifts up into his lap. 

When their lips meet, the kiss is hard, and she curls an arm around his shoulders, weaving a hand into his hair. They’re both panting when she leans up, guides him inside her, and when she sinks down it’s like a flash of tingling heat takes over her entire body. 

Jacob groans, holding her securely, thrusting up as she works her thighs above him. They kiss, deep and messy, graceless but passionate, her fingers tugging, his pressing hard into her skin. 

It’s not at all how she’d expected her first time to be; she’d imagined it would be with Edward, of course, and slow, but she can’t get enough of Jacob and it seems like he can’t get enough of her either. She’d imagined a cool, pale body above her, but it’s Jacob’s deep, rich, hot skin she presses her lips to, her fingernails against. She’d expected Edward’s hard, marble arms around her, and while Jacob is strong and firm he’s still soft, skin slick with sweat as they move together. 

“Jake,” she murmurs, the taste of him on her lips, his scent in her nose, woodsy, clean. “Jacob.” Her body trembles and he holds her tighter, presses his face into her neck. 

“I’ve got you.” She sighs happily at that, grabs his hair more roughly, rides him faster. 

“You’ve got me. You’ve always got me.” 

Jacob looks up at her, eyes fiery, liquid, then pulls her in with a hand on the back of her neck and kisses her like the first time—soft, nervous, sweet. The juxtaposition of that gentle kiss and his possessive grip makes her dizzy, and when he pulls back his face is all she can see, all she wants to see, all she needs.

“I’ve always got you,” he promises, his gaze tender, unflinching. “Always.”

He’s got her when he comes, holding her tightly with one thick forearm and dragging his free hand over her breasts, then lower, to rub her clit as she bounces herself to climax in his grasp. “Oh, god,” she breathes, voice like a shiver, and her fingernails dig half-moons into his biceps as they both slow, slow, slow, then stop altogether.

He eases them both down against the bed, arms around her, their legs entwined, and they catch their breath, just look at each other until the exhaustion of the day catches up to her. Her eyes flutter closed, and pressed so close to him, so warm, all she can do is sleep.

When she wakes, it’s still mostly dark, and she desperately needs to clean up in the bathroom and get a glass of water. Jacob’s t-shirt is the first piece of clothing she sees—or the first she wants to see—and she pulls it over her head and pads to the bathroom for a human moment—a very human moment indeed. 

She pauses, while washing her hands, to look over her reflection in the mirror. Rationally, she knows nothing has really changed, but at the same time everything has. 

The bathroom water is never cold enough to drink, so she treads down the stairs, across the kitchen, turns on the tap and lets it run until the water is icy and crisp. She fills a glass, takes a couple of sips, then almost drops it when a cool hand is suddenly pressed to her shoulder. 

It’s Alice, and she uses her other hand to catch the glass before it can hit the floor and shatter. 

“Relax. It’s just me.” Her eyes are soft, and it’s clear she is happy to see her, but there’s something else in her expression, something inquisitive. “You’re alright.”

“I’m fine. I’m… good, actually.” She shrugs, which bares her shoulder, in the large t-shirt she wears, that she’d forgotten she was wearing. She freezes—she knows how she must smell to Alice, like Jacob and like… Jacob—but her friend just shakes her head. 

“I couldn’t see you; well, I saw you jump off a cliff, and then you were gone. I thought you died.” 

“Alive and well,” she says with a tone that’s hoping for lighthearted, but… 

She has no regrets about being with Jacob, not one—she just hadn’t expected to be confronted with a vampire she once considered a sister almost immediately after. She doesn’t know what to say right now, how to act. Who to be.

“I was cliff jumping, recreationally. It was fun... for a minute.” Alice rolls her eyes, but it’s clear she’s happy she’s unharmed—though perhaps irritated by her tendency toward life-threatening idiocy.

“That doesn’t explain why I couldn’t see you, why your whole future went black.” Her golden eyes stare seriously, unblinking for a moment, and then she looks away. “Though maybe I owe that to the wolf in your bed.” 

Of all the nights for Alice to come back to Forks, she thinks, a suddenly uncomfortable pit in her stomach. Then she hears footsteps on the stairs.

“Not in her bed anymore,” Jacob says, voice low, from the doorway to the kitchen; he takes half a step forward, an aborted move, like he wants to put himself in between them. 

“This is Alice, Edward’s sister. Alice, this is Jacob,” she explains, trying not to focus on his shirtless torso, or the pained expression on his face. She blows out a deep breath. “It’s okay. She won’t hurt me.” 

“She’s hurt you before,” he counters, no doubt remembering every heartbroken, aching expression she’d worn in the months prior. He takes a step closer, so he is next to her, his forearm grazing hers, and Alice takes a step back. “I’d like to stick around, if it’s all the same to you.” 

He’s posturing, that much is clear, but she can't find it in herself to be irritated, because at least he’s giving her the option, letting her choose.

“I thought you couldn’t protect me here,” she says, turning her face up to look at him, and Jacob’s response makes heat pool low in her belly, just like the night before. 

“There is nowhere in this world I won’t protect you—treaty or no treaty.” 

She wants so badly to kiss him, but Alice is there, Alice, right in front of her after all this time, and she’s conflicted. Torn. He can tell, she knows, but he doesn’t take it personally, just reaches up to scratch his head, sighs. 

“So are more of you coming? Is–is he…?” 

“I came alone. And no,” Alice replies after a moment, but she’s looking at her instead, probably knows that he’s just saying what she’s too worried to ask. “He only calls in once every few months. Says he wants to be alone.” Jacob scoffs.

“Great. He wants to be alone, so you all leave her behind, unprotected? That red headed vampire is after her because of him.” 

That gets a reaction out of Alice, whose eyes darken protectively.

“Who, Victoria? I haven’t seen her.” She stares off into the distance, like she’s searching for memories, visions, sifting through what she’s seen and trying to piece together what she hasn’t. “Just like I didn’t see you get pulled out of the water. There’s a lot I haven’t seen, apparently,” she adds under her breath, and the other girl presses her lips together, sighs. 

Not the time or place for this discussion, and they both know it, but that doesn’t mean it’s avoidable for long. 

“So you can’t see around Jacob. The wolves,” she guesses. “I’ve been with them a lot lately.”

“With him a lot lately,” Alice corrects. Jacob huffs, but it’s not untrue, so she lets her think what she wants. Her silence must speak volumes, because Alice takes a deep, wholly unnecessary breath, and gestures toward the door. “Should I go?” 

“Please don’t,” she says quickly, nearly begging. It’s the first she’s seen of Alice in almost a year and she cannot let her leave as abruptly as she’d shown up. “If you could just give us a minute…” 

“Take two,” the vampire says, and it’s with a half-smile that turns into a smirk. “I’ll go Febreze the living room while I wait: it smells like wet dog.” She turns to leave, a bounce in her step that the other girl can’t help laughing at, shaking her head. 

She sobers up when Jacob turns toward her, takes a step that moves the both of them, so her back is pressed up against the kitchen counter. He looks so serious, and her heart beats for him everywhere. 

“Do you believe her? When she says she came alone?” he asks, and she tilts her head, nods softly. 

“Of course I believe her. She just had to make sure I was okay, that’s all. There’s… there’s nothing for them here.” 

Even as she says the words, she hopes they’re not true—hopes that, even if they really aren’t meant to be together, that she and Edward, she and the Cullens, can still be… Friends isn’t really a strong enough word, but she wants them in her life, potential bloody accidents be damned. 

“So if he came back,” Jacob says, leaning in closer, his lips hovering over hers, “you wouldn’t go to him?” His tone is light, but she understands the weight of his question, takes a moment to find the right words to answer it. 

“If he came back, I’d want to see him. Just like I want to see Alice.” She reaches out to touch him, his warm, bare skin, places her palm over his thumping heart. “But I wouldn’t go to him. Not like this.” 

It’s true, and she wants to say more, to promise him, reassure him, but just after she says it, the landline rings. Jacob sighs, his breath on her cheek, and reaches out a hand to answer it. “Hello?” The person on the other end speaks in a low tone she can’t make out, but she can see the tick in Jacob’s jaw, a hard set to his eyes. “He isn’t here right now, but that’s not who you really want, is it?” 

There’s another moment of conversation she can’t hear, and Alice walks into the room looking stunned; Jacob hands the other girl the receiver, and she looks from him to Alice and then speaks into the phone. “Hello?” 

“You’re alright.” 

It’s Edward, his voice cool and smooth but thick with emotion. It makes butterflies flutter around in her stomach, just like it used to. 

“I’m alright.” She doesn’t give him more than he asks for, doesn’t take more than he offers. She’s aware of two sets of eyes on her, feels more nervous than before, in her oversized t-shirt and sleep-mussed hair.

She’s glad he can’t see her and wonders exactly what that means.

“Good. Rosalie said Alice had a vision…” He trails off, but they both know what he’s not saying: everyone thought she’d given up and killed herself. She crosses her arms.

“The vision was incomplete. I’m fine. Stupid, but fine.” Edward huffs a laugh down the line, and she can imagine the exact cant of his mouth, the glimmer in his eye that always seemed to be reserved for her.

“You are many things, but stupid is not one of them.” There’s more he wants to say, she can tell; as a man of few words, many of their conversations were punctuated with heavy, meaningful silence. Part of her wishes she could see his face, at least. That always helped. “Who answered the phone? Jacob?”

She looks up at him involuntarily, notes the tightness of his mouth, his arms folded in front of his bare chest. 

“Yes, Jacob. He’s the one who pulled me out of the water, the one Alice didn’t see.” 

“Hmm. He still doesn’t seem to like me much.” Her lips turn up at that—understatement of the century—and she wonders if Jake can hear him too. Based on the stoic expression he wears, he either can’t, or he’s not paying attention. 

“No he does not.” A beat passes, then two. “You should call your family more often, go see them. They miss you.” 

“It’s difficult,” he says, swallowing, and she nods at no one. 

“I know, but don’t punish them. Please.” She knows how it feels, to be totally cut off from people she loves, to constantly wonder, always fear the worst; she doesn’t say it because she knows he knows.

“I’ll consider it, if you don’t go jumping off those cliffs any time soon.” She laughs softly, surprised at his humor; this was not how she would have ever anticipated a call like this to go, but she likes it. Likes them, like this. 

“Deal. Alice is looking at me like she’s going to steal the phone any moment,” she warns, which is putting it mildly. “So I’m going to put her on. You can call when it’s not life or death, you know,” she adds quietly. “It would be nice to hear from you. If you ever want to talk.” 

She doesn’t know if he responds, because Alice takes the receiver, winds the cord around her arm, and scolds her brother with love in the way only a sister can manage. 

While they talk, she walks toward Jacob, then past him, toward the staircase, but she takes hold of his hand as she goes, and he follows just like the night before. This time, he closes the bedroom door behind them. 

“I’m sorry this happened like this,” she says, sitting down on the bed, one leg beneath her and the other hanging over the edge. “I’m not sorry Alice is here, but I’m sorry that’s what you woke up to. If you were… worried.” Jacob takes the space next to her atop the rumpled duvet. 

“I was worried when I smelled a bloodsu- vampire,” he corrects quickly, “and you weren’t beside me.”

“I’m sorry,” she says again, this time leaning closer. “But thank you for giving me the phone, letting me talk to him. I’m sure that wasn’t easy.” He shrugs, like it was no big deal, even though she remembers how angry he’d looked at the sound of Edward’s voice. 

“I almost didn’t. I mean, technically, he didn’t ask for you.” She rolls her eyes—definitely guy logic—then stands up, scoops his jeans off the floor and hands them over to him. Her face heats at the memory of removing them in the first place, but she snaps out of that for her own sake and grabs fresh clothes, steps into the bathroom to make herself presentable.

When she’s done, she heads back to her bedroom, where Jacob is now clad in jeans and boots, sitting shirtless on her bed. She deposits the borrowed t-shirt onto his lap, and when he thinks she’s not looking he brings it to his nose, inhales long and slow, before pulling it over his head.

That action does things to her, and she wishes for a moment that she had his senses, so she could smell the two of them the same way he does, their scents deeply saturated and blended together.

They head downstairs when they’re both dressed, and while he rummages in the refrigerator for something to make them for breakfast, she treads into the living room and sits down next to Alice on the couch. 

“So,” Alice says, and then she gestures to a cup of tea. The other girl picks up the mug and thanks her, brings it to her lips. “How long has that been going on?” 

She feels her cheeks heat, and she hides behind another sip of tea. 

“Really? I haven’t seen you in almost a year and that’s what you want to talk about?” 

“Oh, forgive me for being curious about what it’s like to date a werewolf when last I saw you were grieving the loss of my brother.” Alice’s tone is more playful than it would seem, and her eyes smile even if her lips don’t. 

She always knew that Edward wasn’t telling the truth when he said he didn’t want her. He just couldn’t bear it, knowing that being with him put her in so much danger, caused her so much pain. She knew it was worth it, but if he didn’t… there’s nothing she could have done to change his mind, she knows that now. She can’t feel guilty for moving on when it’s exactly what he’d wanted her to do in the first place. 

“Okay, you’re right. Let’s talk about how I’m going to comb the woods, find Victoria, and rip her into confetti for threatening to hurt you.” 

“You don’t have to do that,” Jacob says, walking into the room with… a cup of tea. He looks over at the mug in her hand, then sets the one he brought her down on the table without a word. “The pack’s got it covered.” 

“All due respect, but if the pack had it covered, she wouldn’t be a threat anymore, would she?” Alice tosses over her shoulder. The other girl sets her tea down and sighs. 

“Alright, can we not do this? The age-old vampires versus werewolves thing? Especially if I’m in the middle of it. Maybe you guys could work together for a change; Alice can’t protect this part of the territory all by herself.” She picks up her drink—a drink, the one Jacob made, this time—and takes a long sip, looks up at them over the rim of the mug. 

“The pack could help, if you give us the authority to amend the treaty,” Jacob says to Alice, though he’s kind of looking at the ceiling, his arms crossed. “But wherever she is, I’ll be.” 

“You can’t be with her every second,” Alice counters, and her exasperation makes it  sound like an argument she’s had before. “It’s not good for either of you and could put her in danger; if Victoria picks up on it, she’ll be able to use your scent to track her anywhere. Trust me, yours is a lot stronger than hers is, and it’s all over her.” 

She thinks Jacob makes some kind of noise, like a low growl in the very back of his throat, but it’s hard to hear. Alice raises her eyebrows like she’s trying not to roll her eyes. 

The three of them discuss potential ways to coordinate with the pack, and Alice mentions calling in Emmett and Jasper to see if they could help with the search; the sooner Victoria is gone, the better, is the general consensus, and Jacob thinks he can get Sam on board with that as well, even if it means more Cullens coming back to town. 

She finishes both cups of tea, then a plate of eggs and toast Jacob put together from the bare-bones contents of her kitchen—she reminds herself to make a shopping list, then absently wonders if she’ll have a grand escort to Trader Joe’s. 

“I’ll make some calls while you’re gone,” Alice says as she is taking her last bite; she looks up from her plate, confused, and Alice waves a hand. “I saw a glimpse of you at the grocery store, but then it went dark; I assume that means he’s going with you.”

“I thought about it for a split second, as a joke,” she clarifies with a huff of laughter. “I don’t think I need a bodyguard in the produce aisle at eight AM.”

“Better safe than sorry,” Alice and Jacob say, at the same time, and her lips twitch in amusement. 

Looks like they’re not so different, in the end.

She gives in and allows Jacob to drive her to the supermarket, though not without a long look from Alice as he walks her to the truck with his hand on the small of her back. 

They breeze through the store thanks to the list in her head—she buys a little more than she usually would, because it seems like Jacob plans to be around. She likes the thought of that even more than she’d expected, likes choosing things solely because she knows he’ll enjoy them.

“I think we should talk about last night,” Jacob says, voice low, when they’re nearly back to her house. She cringes internally, because that’s never a sentence a girl wants to hear after a night like that, and he clears his throat. “I know cliff jumping ended up being kind of traumatic for you, and it didn’t feel like it last night, but if I took advantage…”

He looks over at her, his expression pained, and she shifts closer and wraps her hand around his forearm.

“God, no, Jake—that’s not what happened.” He brings the truck to a stop in her driveway, puts it in park, and she presses her palm to his cheek so he’ll focus on her instead of fixing his gaze out the window. “I wanted everything, every moment. I still want it,” she murmurs, and he looks over her face like he’s still not quite sure he believes it.

“You do? Even after… after you spoke to him, and everything?” It’s a fair question, and again, one she answers very carefully.

“I think we needed to talk, he and I, but it didn’t change anything. You’re the one who changed everything,” she admits softly, tentatively, wetting her lips. She hopes her eyes convey the certainty her voice can’t seem to. “Do you want to kiss me?” she breathes, leaning closer, her fingers winding a path through his hair, and he nods his head and presses his mouth to hers. 

She gets up on her knees so she can be closer to him, but she doesn’t climb into his lap like before—she does have some self-restraint, despite what it may seem. She curls one arm around the muscles of his back, pulls him in for more contact with the hand in his hair, and it’s a few minutes later when she remembers they’ve got bags of perishable groceries in the back and a vampire with excellent acoustic abilities just inside her home. 

She pulls back, smiles a little at the soft, unfocused look on his face, then runs her hand down his chest before lifting it away entirely.

“I know we’re kind of at DEFCON 1 right now, but more of that a little later would be nice.” 

“Hmm. Very nice,” he agrees with a nod, his voice slightly rough, and he turns off the ignition and carries all of her groceries into the kitchen with one strong arm. 

Emmett and Jasper do come back, with Rosalie and Esme, to her delight and Jacob’s discomfort. Between the pack, who comes to get the vampires’ scents so there’s no friendly fire, and the family, who split time between her house and the one they left behind, the place is a revolving door of the supernatural for the next few days. 

All of them take turns watching over her house at night, while the others patrol the woods. She catches up with everyone she’s been separated from—even Jasper gives her a crushing hug, so at least the time away was good for something—and it’s wonderful, but it means there’s not much time to be with Jacob aside from planning sessions and the occasional quick check in. The most time she spends with him is when they attend Harry’s funeral, something somber and intimate, with ethereal music and a glowing campfire and endless stories about the Clearwater line. 

She is introduced to Leah and Seth, Harry’s children, and while Seth seems welcoming and friendly his sister is cold, standoffish—though not without reason, she soon learns from the pack. 

“She’s not always like that… mostly just when she’s around Sam,” Embry says where they stand on the edge of the forest, away from the thick smoke that burns her very human eyes. She looks over at the pack leader at the mention of his name. “Now that she’s part of the pack, we have to live the Leah/Sam/Emily painfest all over again.” 

She turns back to him, to Quil, who’s standing beside him, and tilts her head, curious.

“I don’t think I follow—Sam left Leah for Emily?”

“Well, yeah, but it’s not what you think. He hates himself for hurting her, but he couldn’t help it. Emily was ‘the one.’” Quil says it almost sarcastically, with air quotes for emphasis, and she frowns.

“The one?” She doesn’t mean to sound skeptical, but these days she’s not as big a fan of providence and destiny as she used to be.

“Sam imprinted on Emily. It’s kind of like… soulmates, but bigger. Cosmic. They were literally meant to be together.”

“Like fate,” she says, filling in that blank, and then a large, warm hand is splayed across her back, fingertips pressing into the fabric of her dress. 

“We make our own fate around here,” Jacob says tightly, and she looks up, regards him curiously. He’s not just upset about Harry, or Victoria… there’s got to be something else making his jaw tense, his eyes hard. “And I think that’s more than enough of the pack soap opera for tonight. Are you ready to go home?” 

He turns his gaze to her, and it softens, for which she is grateful; he is her guardian on duty tonight, and despite the solemn evening—or maybe because of it—she wants to spend the night as close to him as she possibly can.

She nods, and after they say their goodbyes he walks her to the truck, opens the door for her, closing it carefully when she’s safely inside. He takes the spot behind the driver’s seat—his usual, now—but doesn’t drive straight to her house like she expects. 

“Ice cream?” she asks when he turns off the engine outside of a mom and pop shop selling sundaes, cones, and shakes. She exits the car at his indication, and the two of them walk hand in hand up to the illuminated window that says Order Here. An older couple is ahead of them, pointing at the chalk menu board, and Jacob leans in to speak in a hushed tone. 

“This place was Harry’s favorite. You like chocolate, right?” 

“Has anyone ever answered ‘no’ to that question?” she asks softly, playfully, and it works as intended, lightens the mood just enough to bring a brilliant smile to his painfully beautiful face. “I think this is a wonderful way to remember him, Jake.” She wraps a comforting arm around his, and Jacob nods, lips pressed together, eyes sad.

“Just kind of feels right.” 

He orders for them when it’s their turn, two waffle cones with two scoops of chocolate ice cream each, and they sit at a picnic table on the side of the building, eating their tributes with heavy hearts and looking up at the stars.

The ride home is quiet, contemplative, at least for her; by the time they arrive she has been running through thoughts of mortality, finality, how short life is and how very precious. 

These are all normal thoughts for a person to have, and certainly after a celebration of life like the one on the reservation tonight, but she thinks seriously for the first time about Jacob and his desperate need to protect her, the way he puts himself in danger—stupidly, recklessly, completely—every day to keep her safe.

When they’ve made it inside, she exhales deeply, looks up into earnest, curious eyes, and wraps her arms around him, presses close so she can bury her nose in his clothing.

She breathes him in long and slow, his usual scent of crisp air and rain and oak dulled by the smoke of the bonfire, and then his hands are in her hair, tipping her face up for a decadent, passionate kiss. 

God, how is he so good at this? she thinks as he sips at her lips, glides his own down the tender line of her throat. She sighs and grabs for his arms, something to ground her as her desire threatens to take over, to leave her a whimpering, begging mess beneath his hands. 

Jacob turns them so she’s got her back to the kitchen table, sets her on top of it, and she parts her knees for him, pulls him closer. Her fingers itch with the need to touch his skin, so she tugs at the hem of his shirt and gets her hands beneath it, skims them over the taut muscles of his bare back. 

“I can take it off,” he murmurs against her neck, and she nods breathlessly and helps him pull it over his head. His hands bracket her hips, palms flat on the table, and her arms curve up around his back, bringing him closer; she kisses him eagerly anywhere she can reach—his throat, shoulders, face, everywhere.

She whispers his name into his own skin, presses her lips to his biceps, scrapes her teeth over the lobe of his ear, and he shudders at her touch, tilts his head to look up at her, his eyes dark and almost… dangerous.

What does it say about her, that she finds that look so goddamn attractive?

“I’m sorry, I—I need a minute,” he says, panting through gritted teeth, and she lets her hands fall away, leaning back a little to give him space to breathe.

“Take all the time you need,” she assures him calmly, patiently. It’s the first time she’s ever seen his wolf so close to the surface, and she’s completely unafraid, would hold him and help him ride out the tension in his body if she thought he would let her. “It’s just us, Jake, just me and you.” 

“Just us,” he repeats, his fists clenching and unclenching, taking a long breath with his eyes closed. She breathes with him, has always found that helpful when she herself is overwhelmed, and after a few moments he presses closer and she runs a soothing hand over his chest. “I’m okay,” he says eventually, leaning in slowly for a kiss as though he’s afraid it will be rejected. She brings her hands to his face, deepens it, so it’s still soft and easy but with enough meaning behind it to convey her thoughts. 

“I know,” she murmurs, just to be certain he believes her. “You did so good; so good, Jake.” He nods, pulls back a little so he can look into her eyes. 

“It’s not that I can’t control it, I can, but…” He looks away for a moment, swipes his tongue over his lips. “The instincts are so strong and I don’t always want to fight them. Sometimes when I’m with you, I want to let the wolf win.” He says it like he’s ashamed, and she puts her arm around his shoulders and brings him down for another kiss, this one just a gentle press of mouths.

“I understand that more than you think I do.” His breath on her lips makes her crave more of his heat, but she knows it has to be slow now, or he’ll get too in his head and never let himself enjoy their night together. “I may not be supernaturally inclined, but sometimes making decisions with my body is all I want to do. Especially with you,” she adds, just a sigh between them, then touches their foreheads together. 

They stay like that for a moment, embracing in their own way, until he initiates a kiss that is so thorough it makes her toes curl. She brings her hands to his waist, guides him closer, and he rests a broad palm at the base of her throat and kisses her, again, and again, and again. 

Her arms curl around his body the second they separate for air, and he lifts her from the table, carries her up the stairs with an ease that makes her long for more frequent displays of his strength. 

Getting his clothes off is quick enough, since he’s already shirtless, and his hands are tender and gentle as he sweeps her hair away from her neck, pulls down the zipper of her dress, slides it off her bare shoulders. 

Neither of them bother to pull back the covers, simply lay back on the bed, her knees apart again, Jacob hovering between them and letting his eyes move over her like he’s committing her body to memory. It makes a wave of heat rush through her, and since tonight is less hurried she does the same, lingers over every curve of muscle, every sharp line of bone. He leans in, lays an arm behind her head, glides his lips over her jaw, her cheek, her mouth.

“I was right, before,” she says after another satisfying kiss, letting her fingers press into the flesh of his hips. He looks into her eyes, tilts his head curiously, and she smiles a little, can’t help herself. “You really are beautiful.” 

Jake breathes a laugh, even blushes a little, then kisses her until they’re both panting; her fingertips press harder when he pushes inside, then glide up his back to keep him close while the two of them move together. 

Jacob feels so different this way, is so much deeper, filling her in a way that makes it so she really can’t tell where she ends and he begins. He is heavy on top of her, but not uncomfortably so, and when her body shifts up the bed with every thrust it’s thrilling, incredible—she’s never felt so much in her life.

His face is serious, eyes focused, and she weaves her fingers into his hair and catches his lips in a kiss, moans into the end of it when he finds a spot inside of her that takes her breath away. 

“Oh, god, Jake.” He leans in for another kiss, deep and wet, nods against her lips. 

“You’re perfect—so perfect,” he huffs, breathless; he moves his hand to her hip, runs it over her stomach, then presses his palms to the bed and repeats his previous motion, over and over, her body coiling tight with pleasure. “Can’t believe I get this.” 

“We get this,” she corrects in a whisper, won’t let him think for one second that she’s not as completely in awe of him as he seems to be of her. She skims her nails over his lower back, his ass, tightens her thighs on either side of him and tips her head back just as he makes her come. “Don’t stop, Jake, please,” she whines, shaking, holding him so tightly with her entire body—she never wants it to end, never wants to be separated from him again, and he agrees, if the way his body presses down on hers is any indication. 

“Can’t stop… need you,” he groans, pushing her leg up further, so he feels almost impossibly thick and deep. Her arms wrap around his back, pulling him closer, holding him there as he ruts into her, scorching flesh pressed against flesh. 

“Yes, oh—”

Before she knows it she’s quaking again, gasping when he brings his teeth to her throat, scrapes them over her throbbing pulse. He growls in her ear, a deep, low, animalistic rumble she can feel in her stomach, then comes inside, claiming her with a broken, raspy, “mine.”

He lays half on top of her, half on the bed, after, their skin soft and damp with cooling sweat. She can’t stop looking at his face, his dark eyes, sharp jaw, and he cups her cheek with a gentle palm and gazes just as intently at her. 

“Come here,” she murmurs, a soft smile on her lips, and he kisses her slowly, makes her sigh with a pleasure so complete—mentally, physically, spiritually—it feels like she’ll never be the same. 

He gets up after a moment, comes back with a glass of water and a towel, and helps her clean up well enough to hold her over until she’s ready to get out of bed. She pulls the covers back while he’s gone, slides in between the cool sheets, and he follows her lead, pressing close to her beneath them.

“Are you upset you didn’t imprint on me?” she asks carefully, propping herself up on her elbow and using the other hand to run fingers through his hair. “I noticed that when the guys were talking about it, you got kind of tense.” He shrugs slightly before shaking his head.

“No, not upset… I was just so sure you were meant for me; I really thought it would happen sooner or later.” She understands that, can picture him wishing and waiting for something that would never come to pass. So patient, her Jacob.

“Do you wish it had? Do you think it would make this more real?” Her hand moves from his hair to his collarbone, down his chest, over his stomach, so very low. “Because when I’m touching you like this… nothing has ever felt so real.” 

He presses her against the bed, hovers over her, kisses her breathless, and it goes without saying that he agrees with every word she says. She softens beneath him, tired and pleased, and he shifts into a more comfortable position, laying behind her, that she knows means sleep for the both of them. He drapes an arm over her, and she draws circles into his skin with her fingertips, feels his warm breath on her neck, closes her eyes and revels in the weight of him at her back.

“Anyway,” she whispers, one last thought on her mind before she succumbs to sleep, “I almost think it’s better like this, that we have to fight for each other. No help from fate—just your will and mine.”

A/N: I got my start in fandom spaces by writing Twilight fanfic fifteen years ago, but I never posted it because it was... bad. Last week was a crummy week for me, so I found comfort in watching New Moon, and I literally couldn't help myself from re-writing it in Jacob's favor. There's no Edward hate here, and he'll play a bigger role in the next part I have planned, but Jake took hold of me in this one and didn't let go.

[arzen9]

Can I Be Good? Chapter 12: Beating of Wings - Astarion/Lark

pairing: Astarion/f!Tav | Astarion/f!OC 18+ MDNI word count: 9.6k tags/warnings: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Not Canon Compliant, Vampire Ascendant Astarion, Redemption, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Mystery, Romance, Drama, Angst, Fluff, Smut, Original Female Character, Mentions of Trauma, Mentions of Past Trauma, Mentions of Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Masturbation, Blood, Blood Drinking, Alcohol summary: Centuries of pain, a ritual, (not) hunger, (not) desire, a lost soul, a search, a yearning, bodies, bodies... And a heart that changes everything.

For those of you that do not know, Lark is largely a self insert, and the conversations she has with Astarion about her mother have been very healing for me. I hope that this story makes you smile, even when Lark and Astarion are going through it lol.

On a different note- HERE COMES THE SMUT!

And on yet another different note: I will need to take a break starting next Thursday, because I have a vacation planned. Thank you for understanding! I will be back with more on around May 15th!

Here's some lyrics from the song I listened to on repeat while writing this chapter: And nothing fuels a good flirtation Like need and anger and desperation -The Moth & The Flame by Les Deux Love Orchestra

Thanks for reading, and as always, if you want to chat, my ask box & dm's are always open<3 Thank you @nerdallwritey for reading these over, always helping out, and being an amazing friend, ILY!!!

Can I Be Good? spotify playlist

Astarion’s name has never sounded so precious as it does now falling from Lark’s lips in a moan.

If only he was the one causing it.

He should not be here. Not after what she said to him in the garden.

No— not after what he said to her.

For all his powers as the ascendant, though, he can’t turn back time.

So, he’s here— Lark might not know, but this is an olive branch. The way Astarion understands it, of course: one offered in secret.

But one thing about Astarion is that centuries have not been able to chip away at his avoidant nature, and when he sees Lark writhe and squirm under the covers, with his pen in her hand (he wishes she’d get rid of the covers so that he could see) and his name falling from her lips at the height of her ecstasy, all he can think of doing is to run away.

It’s too much— her scent. Her blood is something (everything) on its own already, but mixed with the unique aroma of her arousal, that slightly sweet tinge, how it grows stronger as she breathes out his name (it’s enough to make him forget his own name) is more than he can take. His pants feel way too tight all of a sudden, and if he sticks around, he knows he’ll end up doing something reckless.

So, Astarion runs away.

He can’t return to the palace fast enough. He breathes quick, moves even quicker, when he gets to the entrance and comes out of his mist form.

If he’s lucky, the others will have retreated to their chambers for the night, and he won’t have to deal with them in his current state.

But when has Astarion ever been lucky?

Karlach, Gale and Shadowheart are all up, standing around the bar with concerned expressions they’re doing nothing to hide. Noticing his arrival, they all turn towards the palace entrance, but it’s Karlach who speaks first, her worried expression quickly replaced by one of dangerous fury.

“Where in the hells were you?”

Gods, not now. “Excuse me?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Astarion? I know you can be an absolute prick, but to Lark?” Karlach’s voice booms as she walks closer to him, and Gale and Shadowheart move with her, albeit slower, more careful.

“She came running to you to complain, did she?”

Karlach looks ready to punch him. “She did no such thing, but you probably know that. I’m not an idiot, Astarion. She came back here after talking to you all teary eyed.”

Ah, yes. He was aware of that, of course.

Lark’s beautiful, pearly tears adorning the creases of her beautiful, rose-like eyes. He could smell the salt, even if she tried to hide from him that she was crying.

“And what is it that you want me to say, Karlach?”

“Oh, stop acting like a fool! I want to see that you know you hurt her! That you’ll do something about it! Anything!”

“Perhaps yelling at each other is not the best way of—” Gale tries to interject, but Shadowheart silences him by placing her hand on his arm.

Karlach ignores them entirely and continues, “I want to know that you’re not just an asshole. That you’re more than what has been done to you. More than what you’ve done.”

The room goes silent while the tiefling looks down at Astarion, searching his face. Gale and Shadowheart keep their gazes fixed straight on the floor, seemingly to avoid getting caught in the middle of whatever this is.

Astarion knows that Karlach is right, of course. He did hurt Lark— quite purposefully so. But being cornered like this is not going to produce the results Karlach might be hoping for.

“If you’re not happy with my ways, darling, you’re more than welcome to leave.”

He shouldn’t have said that. He knows it. Because he, better than anyone, knows what would happen if they left.

Karlach looks at him, and Astarion expects anger, but there’s only disappointment in her amber eyes. Glowing resin that holds only kindness. It infuriates him, how sensitive she can be.

“You never lost your cruelty, Astarion,” she says. She doesn’t move. He’s locked in her gaze, unable to look away. “You know that? Even before the ritual, you were like this. So when you go around moping about how you regret what you did, think about that.”

After looking over his face one last time, Karlach turns and leaves— without hitting him, cursing at him, nothing. As she walks away, her shoulders slump down a little, and she shakes her head side to side. Silent. Defeated.

Astarion looks at the other two of his friends, his companions from another lifetime— so long ago now. They’re still avoiding his gaze, but there’s a somber sadness to their expressions that weren’t there a moment ago.

“A little rest will do all of us wonders,” Gale says, ever the peacekeeper. Astarion thinks perhaps Lark could be happy with someone like Gale— someone who is stable, someone who faces all adversities with the same calm and collected façade, a protection from the storm of one’s own mind. Not someone like him who more often than not causes those very storms.

But he’d be damned if he let anyone even come close to her— someone other than him, that is. Is this possessiveness the curse of a vampire lord, or is it something else entirely?

Without saying anything to Shadowheart and Gale, Astarion leaves, stomping all the way to his room. Although Karlach is usually quick tempered, it’s a rare occasion for her to lose her cool— especially these days. A few centuries ago, things were different, but life is a lot more… Mundane now, and besides, Wyll seems to bring out something even softer than usual in her. If she gets this mad at Astarion on behalf of someone who is virtually a stranger, well— he must truly have struck gold at choosing someone to join his ragtag little group.

He's taking all of the credit unfairly, of course. It’s Lark who has earned the care and protection of everyone at the Crimson Palace on her own right— as painful as it is to admit. She has not left Astarion’s mind ever since that first time he saw her among the crowd, standing on the balcony. It’s no surprise that the others would be just as enamored with her— albeit in different senses.

Once in his room, all he can do is rub his face with his hands and sigh at the sight of that wretched thing still atop his pillow. Horseradish.

Still, it’s not all bad— he has something of hers with him. That will have to do, for the time being.

----

Rest has a way of avoiding Astarion— it’s been like this for a very long time. It has only gotten worse, though, now that his mind is riddled with thoughts of Lark whether he’s awake or not.

In the morning, after hours of useless tossing and turning, he finally gives up and opens his eyes. Sometimes he thinks he’s in a weird sort of dream or hallucination, that he’ll wake up with a jolt and realize he’s still being tortured by Godey in the kennels or entertaining guests in the bedroom. In these moments, he’ll tell himself— it was worth it, what I did. I deserved it. But then, it’ll just keep hurting, all the godsdamned time.

What Karlach said is true. The ritual didn’t make him cruel. If anything, it only brought out the worst parts of him and laid them under the blazing sun, and the more he tries to find a shadow to veil them under, the clock just ticks noon over and over again, in a vicious cycle. The darkest thoughts he harbors, he does his best to keep to himself, but every day that passes it gets harder, and Lark’s presence has been… Less than helpful. Because every time he’s near her, he feels weak— as if he never stopped being a mere spawn. She brings out that side of him he thought lost to the ascension— and sometimes he thinks that might be a good thing, but then the anger bubbles up to the surface and…

It's getting harder and harder to control himself.

Pushing himself up to a sitting position, Astarion glances at himself in the mirror— he looks tired. Horseradish sits on top of his pillow behind him, and if he didn’t know it was an inanimate object, Astarion would say it was almost curious, watching him look at his reflection as he has done the same way every morning for centuries— but now, there’s something different about him.

He grabs his phone from the bedside table and taps on the screen to check if he has any notifications— some e-mails that he’ll need to forward to Lark, articles from various news apps, funny videos Karlach keeps sending him (although she hasn’t sent him anything yesterday, perhaps a little predictably). Nothing from the one person he wanted a notification from.

With a sigh, he puts his phone back and stands up, stretching his limbs and walking towards the bathroom to take a shower. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, really. What was she supposed to do, send him a selfie after what happened? Ask him to apologize? He knows Lark would never do that— because he wouldn’t, either.

As hot water clouds the wide mirror in his bathroom, Astarion fantasizes about drinking from Lark again. Invite her into his room, tell her he knows what she did with his pen. He looks at the separate bathtub that sits in the middle of the room, haunted by visions of her laid bare in the water, her blood flowing like a stream over the tiles, and he would feel more like a king licking every drop from the floor than he ever did in all his immortality as the only vampire who doesn’t need to miss the sun anymore.

He’d be willing to trap himself in the shadows again, if only it meant for her to crane her neck to him and tell him that he is good.

Astarion steps into the shower and shuts the glass door behind him, and he’s so hard it hurts. He thinks of her again, how she looked under her bedsheets, eyes closed, covered only beneath her pelvic bone— it’s almost funny, how that’s where she draws the line. Even in her own home, her own room, she’s not comfortable enough to shed her layers. But Astarion can see behind his closed eyelids vividly, how her small breasts heaved with every stifled moan as she touched herself, pebbled nipples a few shades darker than her skin begging to be taken care of. But she never touched them— maybe it’s not her favorite sensation. Or maybe—

Astarion thinks it’s highly possible that Lark is right— he knew she was right in the moment she said it, but his anger is a quick, destructive thing. He knows there’s truth to her admission that she knows intimacy can be tainted. He knows, perhaps worst of all, that she understands. Maybe touching herself for the sake of her own, unbridled pleasure is an entirely new thing to her, just as it is to him, as he starts pumping himself, slowly, almost torturously— imagining what it would be like if it was her hand, instead.

He can’t stifle his moans (or doesn’t bother to) as well as Lark did, but when he comes, there’s only one image in his mind, her voice, repeating to him over and over again—

“You are good, Astarion. You are good.”

----

Astarion would be lying if he said he wasn’t at all worried about Lark simply not showing up, after their lovely little conversation from the previous day.

And he’d also be lying if he said the sigh of relief that falls from his lips was anything but genuine when, even before hearing the knock at his door, her scent filled his nostrils.

It’s an especially cold day, and her dark red sweater compliments the burgundy of her eyes. Astarion waits for her to speak— only slightly worried about the possibility of her simply… Quitting. But, if he has come to know her a little bit in the past few weeks, he senses that, if Lark was going to quit, she wouldn’t have bothered showing up in his office. It would have been her right, too— Astarion never was known for his ability to bite his tongue and swallow his especially cruel words and yesterday had been no different.

“Good morning,” she says, but doesn’t look at him. Perhaps she’s just mad at him. Or maybe, she’s thinking of what she did. Something warm and electric passes through Astarion’s body, but he doesn’t move, sitting behind his desk with the air of someone who definitely doesn’t know how the person standing in front of him used his pen to pleasure herself mere hours ago.

“Good morning,” he responds, mirroring her. He keeps his voice level, letting her take control of where the conversation will go.

“I assume you’ll want this back,” Lark says and steps closer to his desk with an extended hand— and there it is, the silver shine of the pen he gave her. Immediately he can smell a few different scents on it— her. That’s a given. Even when it’s to be expected, though, it doesn’t fail to light his nerves on fire. But something else is covering her scent, much to his dismay— did she try to wash it with soap?

Astarion holds out his hand to grab the pen from her, but Lark drops it on the desk instead. So, she’s still mad. Not mad enough, he thinks to himself. Although— anger can be a powerful fuel for desire.

“Thank you,” he says, taking the pen and sliding a finger over his initials engraved on it. Lark swallows.

“Yesterday was… Difficult for both of us, yeah?”

She’s trying to apologize. Cute.

“That’s one word for it,” he says, not unkindly. “Difficult conversations bring about difficult feelings.”

Lark nods. “I’m sorry, for what I said. Those difficult feelings got the best of me, I guess.”

Even when he’s the one in the wrong, she apologizes first.

“I should be the one extending an apology, should I not?”

She fiddles with the hem of her sweater. “You shouldn’t ask me if I deserve an apology or not.”

Because she will say no, is that it?

“I’m sorry,” he finally says. It’s been a very long time since he last apologized to someone sincerely, and it comes out weaker than he thought it would— almost as if he’s confessing a secret.

Lark just stands there, looking at him. Is she expecting something more? What can Astarion even offer her, if not his body, or—

No. She’s made it clear that she’s willing to understand. That she has used herself, too; two sides of a coin, they stand staring at each other and Astarion decides to offer her— honesty.

“I can be… Quick to get lost in the darker corners of my past,” he says, then pauses to clear his throat. “They tend to bring out the worst version of me.”

That finally earns him a small, careful smile from Lark. “We all have that, don’t we? The worst version of ourselves.”

Astarion tilts his head at her, listening.

“I can never understand everything that you’ve been through, Astarion,” she says, locking her soft gaze to his questioning one. “Just like how you won’t understand everything I’ve been through. But, I can still be there for you. Help you. If you let me.”

He shouldn’t let her, because that will make him weak.

Is that really what he thinks?

“We both have been hurt, but that doesn't mean we have to hurt each other,” Lark says, and her voice is so soft, as if she’s talking to an animal, trying to coax it out of hiding; it angers Astarion to no end, but also makes something in his chest sting.

We don’t have to hurt each other, she says. But he’s already hurt her— not just with his words, but with his teeth. He has taken her life essence, and he wants it again and again and again; she doesn’t know what she’s saying, to let him in is to invite pain. But if that’s what she wants, how could he ever deny her?

“Astarion?”

Lark’s voice brings him back to reality, and Astarion isn’t surprised to find her concerned gaze fixed on him. She has a way of saying his name that makes everything else vanish— only her voice remains in his mind, asking him to come back to the present, to stay there, with her.

“Yes, darling?”

“You seem so… Lost in thought sometimes. I always wonder where you go to. But then… Whenever I’m lost in thought, I usually don’t go anywhere good.”

“A kindred spirit,” he jokes. More truth than he would have wanted.

“Don’t hide from me,” she says.

Come out, a part of him growls. Come out of hiding, ravish her. Make her regret her softness.

If you let the right one in, Shadowheart had said.

“How can you be so sure you’ll like what you see?” he asks, and he hates that he even has to ask.

Astarion has spent centuries cultivating what he is, but he has failed to go beyond what he looks like.

“Because it’s you,” Lark says, and she’s so chirpy and cheerful as she says it that it almost makes Astarion smile.

“You don’t even know what I am.”

“A vampire. An elf. A man. What does it matter? You’re just Astarion to me.”

Just Astarion. How perfect would that be?

“You always know just what to say, don’t you?”

She smiles— she remembers how she had asked him the same thing. “A kindred spirit.”

Astarion plays with the dent his initials make on the pen with his nail, pushing in over and over again.

“Am I forgiven?” Lark asks. It makes him giggle.

“I should be the one asking you that question.”

She taps the tip of her manicured finger to her chin repeatedly. “I’ll have to think about it.”

“Don’t push yourself too hard.”

They laugh. Together. It’s easy. Almost… Natural.

“What will you have me work on today, boss?”

Astarion frowns. “What am I, a ship captain?”

“I would have called you captain, then.”

Damned poet. He rolls his eyes, which makes her grin wide. If that’s what it takes— he’s okay with acting annoyed more.

“Shadowheart will probably need you with her cocktails again.”

“Uh-oh,” Lark says, but her smile betrays her. She takes a few steps back, but doesn’t fully turn to leave. Maybe she doesn’t want to.

Astarion surely doesn’t want her to leave.

“Guess I should go,” she says. Her eyes shift over to the pen in his hands, if only for a second.

He’d never forgive himself if he didn’t take the opportunity.

“You got good use out of it, I presume?”

“Hmm?”

“My pen.”

“I— Yes. I’ll see you later.”

She’s running away, and amusement bubbles in Astarion’s chest.

“Use unscented soap next time, will you? You know how much I adore your scent.”

Lark’s eyes widen, and she turns the exact same color as her sweater. Without a word, she turns and leaves, letting Astarion enjoy the satisfaction of teasing her.

He could never get bored of this.

----

Astarion spends the day in his office, being intentionally slow with responding to people’s e-mails— as revenge, of course; if people dare to make him wait, he’ll make them wait in return.

In truth, he’s just distracted.

How can he not be, when he can hear Lark and Shadowheart get drunker and drunker in the name of “work”?

He’s not angry that they’re slacking off or anything— he’s envious, perhaps, of the time Shadowheart gets to have with Lark.

So, he decides to do something about it.

He keeps a few bottles of wine here in his office, away from the others they keep in storage— his private collection, so to speak. He gets up from his desk and saunters over to one of the cupboards in the left corner of the room, and takes out a bottle of red, blowing off the dust that has collected on the shoulder. He’s never really had an excuse to drink one of these before. Not that he needs an excuse— immortality renders special occasions almost mute. It does feel better to hope, however.

Taking the bottle back to his desk, he retrieves a wine opener from one of the drawers and uncorks it. The wine smells rich and full, top quality. One of the good things about his office is that he has everything he needs right here— including wine glasses. He takes two out of one of the cupboards under his desk, and places them next to the bottle.

Now, the important part.

As he walks out of his office, Astarion hesitates— what does he hope to get from offering a drink to Lark? For the first time in centuries, the answer to that question comes almost instantly but not without surprise.

Nothing. He hopes to get nothing at all. Just more time with her.

This is… Most unusual. But he’ll have to deal with the complicated questions that riddle his mind later.

He makes his way downstairs in his usual gait— relaxed, nonchalant. He has both hands in his pockets as he approaches the bar. Lark and Shadowheart are trying out drinks and laughing and talking, and neither of them notice him at first.

Clearing his throat, Astarion interrupts, “Why are you testing out your creations? I thought that was Lark’s job.” To everyone’s surprise, Astarion included, there’s no annoyance in his voice.

Lark turns and her eyes crinkle with a goopy smile when he sees him. Sensing the ease between them, Shadowheart raises an amused eyebrow.

“I thought you guys weren’t playing together anymore.”

“What can I say? It’s hard not to forgive him,” Lark tries to joke, but it’s more honest than she intended, apparent from the way she blushes and looks away, earning an eye roll from Shadowheart.

“I hope that’s the drinks I’ve been piling on you talking.”

“How is that going, by the way?” Astarion asks. “The actual choosing the drinks part, of course. Everything else seems… Entertaining, to say the least.”

Lark snorts. “Ah, yes. We are thoroughly entertained.”

Shadowheart swats at her arm, but misses. “I think we might have our final menu picked out.”

“Wonderful,” he says. One less task to worry about. “If that’s taken care of, I’d like you to join me in my office, Lark, if you will.”

“And leave me to clean up all this mess by myself?” Shadowheart whines.

“Call Lae’zel to help you out,” Lark snorts again, as if imagining her friend helping out with dishes is too funny to think about. Astarion doesn’t know much about Lae’zel, but from what he’s seen, he’s inclined to agree.

“You know what,” Shadowheart says, hiding her giddiness behind the act of dramatically reaching for her phone in her back pocket. “I might just do that.”

“We’ll leave you to it,” Astarion tells her, and gestures at Lark to lead the way.

On the way back to his office, they’re relatively silent, and their silence makes the distance feel more substantial than it actually is. Perhaps it’s because she’s tipsy, but there’s a new, unfamiliar energy in her. Astarion can feel her magic, almost a separate entity; alive, right under her skin.

“You’re not going to blow me up, are you?”

She turns to look at him, a little startled. “Why, are you afraid of me?”

“Ha!” he laughs, louder than he intended. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“No, actually,” she says, barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t push.

When they reach his office, he holds the door open for Lark, and she laughs when she sees the wine bottle, and the glasses.

“Am I getting paid to just drink for you guys?”

Astarion laughs with her. “Sounds like a great job to me.”

He pours wine for them as she watches. Instead of taking a seat behind his desk, he sits on one of the chairs placed in front of it, and Lark sits on the other. Astarion hands one of the glasses to her, and she clinks it to his.

“To forgiveness,” she says. He cocks a brow at her. Her dark burgundy eyes go wide when she takes her first sip.

“Are we celebrating something? This wine tastes way too expensive.”

It’s not like Astarion to get flustered, but he looks away nonetheless. “Oh, you know.”

“Is this your way of apologizing?” She leans forward, placing her arm on her knee and resting her chin on top of her open palm.

No, he wants to say. My way of apologizing would be to make myself useful. But that’s not what either of them wants, is it?

Sensing his thoughts starting to wonder, Lark leans back in her chair again, saying, “Thank you, Astarion. It’s good.”

That makes him preen. “I’m glad it’s to your liking.”

She rests her head on the back of the chair, looking at the ceiling. “Sometimes I think none of this is real.”

“You’re not completely drunk, are you?”

She snickers. “No, I’m not. I just never had a lot of people around me that made me feel… Happy. Valued. Wyll and Lae’zel are like family to me, don’t get me wrong. But since I’ve started working for you, I feel like I’ve found a place for myself in this city, finally.”

Astarion doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s never given anyone a sense of belonging before. “Where are you from, originally?”

“Hartlands…” she intonated dramatically.

“Ah, the fawn,” Astarion says, and takes a sip from his wine. “A bit vague, though.”

“I’m from Athkatla. Although, if I never go there again, I wouldn’t miss it.”

“On account of your mother, I assume.”

Lark nods. “You’re stronger than I am. I left her house, and the city as soon as I could. But you’re… Here. You’ve made this place into something of your own.”

Speaking of his past has never been easy for Astarion— proven to even him, once again, by the argument he had with Lark the day prior. But she’s not judging him— in fact, she’s complimenting his strength, even.

“Did you ever think of staying? Not with her, necessarily. Just… There.”

She sips her wine and swishes it around her mouth before answering, as if prepping her words with the liquid. “Maybe, at one point. It’s a little weird now that I know she’s killed herself in there.”

“How do you feel about that? The fact that she killed herself?” It surprises Astarion how easily these questions come out of him— it surprises him even more, that he finds himself caring about the answers.

Lark shrugs. “She’d always say she wanted to die. She tried, once before. I was in college.” She sips her wine again. Her soft lips take on the dark red color of it. “I filtered out most of what she said. How she wanted to die, how she wanted me to die, how she wanted my dad to die… It just became white noise after a while.”

“Did you ever want to kill her?”

She smiles a little. “I most certainly did. I was never as brave as you, though. How did you feel, when you finally got rid of your master?”

It was glorious, Astarion wants to say. The power he felt surging into him during the ritual. But he looks away and swallows.

“Time has taken most of its joy away, if I’m honest. But I don’t regret killing him, of course. The bastard got what was coming for him.”

“I know you absolutely despise being praised, but,” Lark interjects, sarcasm dripping from her deep voice, “I’m really fucking proud of you. You took matters into your own hands and saved yourself. That’s huge.”

And doomed a few thousand others. Not as huge.

“Yes,” he purrs, surveying his nails. “Who needs praise when you know you look this good?”

That makes her laugh. A high-pitched, strong sound. Astarion wants to hear it again, and again.

“Right, I’ve seen the mirror in your room. I bet you watch yourself fall asleep in that thing.” Lark lowers her gaze to her glass, perhaps suddenly shy with the mention of his room. The last time she was there, he was deeply lost in her neck, after all.

“It can come in handy.”

She tilts her head and stops right as she’s about to take a sip of her wine. Narrowing her eyes, she asks, “Does it? What do your veritable list of lovers think of it?”

“My veritable list of lovers?”

“I assume, of course.”

“Of course.”

Lark leans forward in her chair, bringing her face closer to him. “Do you have that, then? A veritable list of lovers?”

Astarion mirrors her and leans forward— it’s worth doing if only to hear how her heart speeds up. “I thought you didn’t want to be one of them.”

“I said I didn’t want to be one of your toys. I didn’t say anything about lovers.”

He likes it when she gets bold like this. If it’s the alcohol, or their closeness, he can’t be sure. They’re so close to each other now, Astarion can feel the warmth of her short breaths, hear her pulse, louder and louder—

His voice is a growly whisper when he says, “You want to be my lover?”

The corner of her lip tugs upward, and it’s hard for him to not return the expression. It’s easy, with her— having fun. He moves just a bit more forward, pulling the chair with him, just an inch, to graze her lips with his, when he hears the sound of something crackling—

Lark pulls away suddenly with a lurch, and it’s right on time as her wine glass shatters in her hand. She’s breathless, and Astarion can feel the heat that vibrates from her body. Smell her desire, mixed in with frustration— at her magic, at herself, he doesn’t know.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, defeated. Then, a different smell—

“You’ve cut yourself.”

She looks down at her hand, a little pinprick in her palm, nothing bad. It’s enough to make Astarion dizzy.

“Well, that explains the wild look in your eyes.”

He tries to look away. It’s harder said than done.

“I should go,” she blurts out, closing her hand and holding it to her chest, bending down to pick up pieces of the wine glass.

“I can do it,” he says, and reaching out, brushes against her.

Electricity. This must be how it’s produced.

Lark’s a scared, flighty little thing— a cornered fawn, away from its mother. She must have felt it too, the electricity. As she stands up, Astarion sees her tremble.

“I— I’d offer you some, but—”

“What?”

“My blood. I’m just— I’m afraid I’m going to hurt you. I’m sorry,” she keeps mumbling as she leaves his office with quick steps.

Astarion takes a deep breath when she’s gone. There’s a drop of her blood on the floor, by a few pieces of broken glass. He reaches out and collects it on the tip of his finger, then brings it to his mouth, enveloping it with his tongue, slowly and deliberately, trying to hold on to the taste as long as possible.

Everything in him aches.

----

Lark

Everything in Lark is aching. Burning and aching. Aching and burning.

She paces her living room, tapping at the band aid on her palm. It’s a delicious pain. Her skin is ablaze, hairs on the back of her neck standing up, her heart beating like she’s been running a marathon.

She wants him. There’s no use denying it anymore.

Judging by him almost kissing her, he just might want her too.

And that’s terrifying.

Because Lark knows that this is not just about sex, for her. She longs to just be with him, and sex is certainly part of it, but they’re both wounded in that department, and she’s afraid.

She’s afraid that this might be just sex for him. Or blood and sex. If it’s only that— She doesn’t want to think about it.

Her magic has never felt so… Strong before. Granted, she’s never been so aware of her powers before practicing with Gale, and she definitely has more control over them now.

And yet, every time she’s with Astarion, she feels unpredictable. Contrary to what he might believe, she does not want to blow him up.

Maybe just blow him.

“Ha ha,” she rolls her eyes to herself. A comedic genius even in the face of adversity.

Desperate, she grabs her phone and finds Lae’zel’s number from her Favorites tab. It rings and rings, but she doesn’t pick up. She tries Wyll, too, but his line goes straight to voicemail.

“Damn you both,” she mumbles. “And Shadowheart and Karlach too.”

Lark looks at her phone.

If she’s honest, she’s just scared. Scared of hurting him, yes; but scared of getting hurt as well, not physically— she’s scared that Astarion will break her heart.

It’s highly probable.

But…

Opening up their text chain, she types:

Can you come over?

“That sounds too serious,” she says, and deletes the message.

Do you want to come over?

Slightly better.

She hits send.

Almost immediately, two checkmarks appear under her message, signaling that he’s read it.

Lark waits for about two minutes, never looking away from the screen, but he doesn’t respond.

Maybe it’s better that he doesn’t. Maybe this is his way of saving her from himself. Or saving himself from her.

She keeps pacing the length of the room for a few more minutes but finally decides to try and calm down a little. From the kitchen, she pours herself a glass of water, and swishing a big gulp around her mouth, sits down on her couch, folding her legs underneath herself.

Maybe it’s not too late to change her name a second time and find a new city to move to.

Wyll would laugh his ass off at her right now. Probably. Lae’zel would do worse.

Looking at her phone is out of question. Calling him? A death sentence. She should toss the damn thing in the toilet and flush it.

Where’s Horseradish when you need it?

Lark wonders what her dad would say. In the past, whenever she’s told him about potential lovers, he’s always said the same thing: “Let them deserve you, my sun. Don’t open up your heart so easily.”

She imagines how the conversation would go— both of them hate phone calls, so it would probably be over text, and would probably look something like:

Hi, dad, I think I’m in love

Lark, are you sure? With whom?

Oh, you know. Some guy. My boss. A vampire.

But then— there’s a knock on her door.

Did he fly over here?

Lark wouldn’t be surprised.

Not that it was gone in the first place, but that thumping in her chest is back. The cut on her hand stings under the band-aid.

Lowering her eyes, she looks at herself to see if there’s anything out of place. She likes keeping her place cozy, so the heater is on, which makes it possible for her to wear her favorite outfits to lounge in— right now, that’s a pair of knee-length shorts that say Baldur’s Gate on the hem of one leg, and a black tank top with spaghetti straps. She sighs. Whatever she wears, she will never be as gorgeous as Astarion is.

Remembering the presence waiting at the door, she almost leaps toward it— she feels like she could tear it right off of its hinges if she really tried.

It’s weird. The moment she opens the door and sees Astarion’s suave smirk, fangs and all— it’s like something slots into place in her chest.

“Hello, darling,” he says. He’s changed into one of his black shirts and a pair of jeans that sit on him snugly. Even with just a pair of jeans, he manages to look like the king of a faraway land.

Lark tries not to ogle. “I’m sorry for… Well. Inviting you on such short notice,” she gestures at him to come inside. “And for freaking out on you. And for bleeding in your office. Again.”

He scoffs. “I want to be notified at least two business days in advance, next time.” He pauses as he passes the threshold, then looking back at her over his shoulder he says, “For when you invite me over, and for when you bleed.”

What a freak. Lark smiles.

Astarion holds up the bottle of wine he’s been carrying. “I brought the rest of our wine. You do owe me a wine glass, though.”

She takes the bottle from him and walks toward the kitchen. “Can’t you deduct it from my paycheck or something?”

He laughs at that. “True, I can do that. I forget that you work for me.”

“Astarion! And here I thought, we were going to prepare for the masquerade.”

“Hmm. What a diligent worker you are.”

“Of course,” she grins, pouring wine for them both. “Why else would I invite you over?”

Astarion comes to stand next to her by the kitchen counter and taps a finger on the laminated surface. “Let me guess— you didn’t invite me here to have sex.”

She hands him his glass of wine. He remembers what she told him the first time she asked him to come upstairs.

“Of course not,” she says, and it’s partly true— she didn’t invite him just for that. “But it’s not totally off the table.”

He raises both eyebrows in surprise, wrinkling his forehead— it makes Lark want to caress his face. “Lark Promise, are you flirting with me?”

She just laughs and walks over to her couch, and he follows her. There’s something hungry in his gaze when they sit on opposite ends, and he looks at her— all over her. It doesn’t make her feel vulnerable, though— just seen. Just as she wants to be.

“Thank you,” she says, maintaining eye contact.

He leans his head on one hand, swirling the wine in his glass with the other. “What for?”

“For coming.”

“A bit early to say that, isn’t it?”

They both chortle at his innuendo— like two teenagers. Lark has to cover her mouth to stop herself from snorting. “You’re sweet. And sillier than I thought.”

He hums an approving sound, then turns to look at the ceiling. “How drunk are you?”

“Not at all. Why?”

“I’d much rather if you remember the first time I kiss you.”

Lark’s breath catches, and she has to look away from him for a moment.

Then— “I just… I want to say something.”

He turns to face her again. Those crimson eyes. Lark worries her bottom lip with the blunt of her teeth. “I… If my magic— if I do something to hurt you, you should stop me.”

Astarion’s face falls, suddenly somber. He takes a sip of wine, then places the glass in front of him on the coffee table. “I’ve had my fangs buried in your neck. You’re worried about hurting me?”

“You saw in my memories, when you drank my blood,” she says. “I’ve hurt people before.”

“Yes. People who were abusing you, torturing you, taking advantage of you. Give your powers a little more credit, darling. Perhaps all this time, they were just trying to protect you.”

Before Lark has time to grapple with that, he takes her glass out of her hand, and places it on the table, next to his. Moving closer to her, he grabs her chin and lifts gently, to make her meet his gaze. “You’ll be good for me, Lark Promise, won’t you?”

She could cry. Her voice is a whimper when she says, “I’ll be good for you.”

And then, Astarion kisses her.

Almost immediately, Lark sighs a sigh of relief, and he takes a deep breath before giving a lick at the parting of her mouth, tentative, careful. She parts her lips further, an invitation. Come in, taste me. Let me taste you.

Astarion tastes like wine, cold and expensive— but his tongue is soft as it enters Lark’s mouth, exploring, discovering. She does the same— hesitant at first. When her tongue grazes at the tip of one of his fangs, an almost-moan rips itself out of his throat.

He moves his hand grabbing her chin, and places it on the side of her face instead, and she melts into his touch. Meanwhile, Lark buries her hand in his curls, and they’re just as soft as she remembers. And his scent, oh, his scent— she can almost taste it now, sharp and herbaceous, surrounding all of her senses.

There it is— the crackling, right beneath her fingers. She tries to pull away, but Astarion holds her and doesn’t let her, kissing her more feverishly, as if to test her. It’s under her hands, her fingertips, that electric feeling, if she doesn’t move—

In her panic, as she tries to move her hand away, she lands on his bare forearm instead, and her magic connects, but opening her eyes to see the damage, she only finds Astarion looking at her with a smirk.

“I— Did I hurt you?”

He breathes deep, once, then twice. His pupils are blown out, face glistening with warmth.

If Lark was to die now, she’d be ecstatic that this was the last thing she saw.

“No,” he says. “That— It felt good. Unique.”

“I don’t think I understand.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” he says, and places a kiss on the corner of her lips. He moves on to the other corner, to her chin, and she lifts it for him, revealing her neck. He mouths at the column of her throat, and she whines.

Placing one hand on the small of her back, Astarion guides her to lay down, and straddling her hips, he lowers himself down to continue kissing her, each one more passionate, desperate, until both of them are reduced to whines and moans that fill Lark’s apartment.

Astarion pulls back to look at her, and Lark feels breathless. He places his thumb on her lower lip, pressing down just slightly, opening her up. She gives a kitten lick at the coolness of it and he smiles. His teeth glint in the dark. A threat. Or a promise.

Lark tries to rub her thighs together, to relieve the wetness at her center. Astarion must sense her neediness as he moves one of his legs between hers, angling it just right so that it presses at her core. It almost makes her eyes roll back.

“I can smell how soaked you are,” he says, and there’s no disgust in his voice, no trace of bad memories climbing up to the surface. Just pure, unadulterated desire.

He pushes his thumb further into her mouth, and she gladly takes it, welcoming it by sucking in her cheeks. He moves his leg away from her core, and Lark mourns the contact, but he’s quick to replace it— he places a hand under her thigh, and she lifts it up so that he can wrap it around his waist, granting him access.

When he rolls his hips, they moan in unison at the sensation. Lark can feel how hard he is against the thin fabric of her shorts and through his pants. Her moan vibrates against his thumb, and he removes it from her mouth slowly just to bring it to his own, as if to taste her on his skin. Then, he takes her hand up to his face, the one with the band-aid on— and inhales.

Everything he does sets Lark aflame.

“Please,” she says, not knowing what she’s begging for.

“Please what, sweet girl?” Astarion asks with another roll of his hips and without his thumb in her mouth, Lark moans even louder— stopping herself by biting down on her lip. Bending down over her, Astarion grabs her chin again, a little more forceful this time. “None of that. Let me hear you.”

She nods, hypnotized by his unrelenting gaze, his desire for her.

She’s never felt every inch of her skin on fire like this. It makes her want him more— to touch him, however way possible.

Moving her leg a little, she pulls him against herself more, and he laughs. Lark smiles, too— their desires for each other mingling, combining into one thing, so separate from the world that contains them, as if only a dream.

Lark clumsily paws at the buttons of his shirt, and he lets her— with a hesitant eye. Noticing his expression, Lark pauses. “Is this okay?”

“It’s… Hard to explain. Better to show you, perhaps,” he says, taking over and unbuttoning his shirt quickly.

Lark’s not sure yet of what he means, but she can’t help watching him take his shirt off, how perfect his body is laid out in front of her, strong and smooth, as if carved out of marble.

There’s a look in his eye that he’s not sure about something— it softens when Lark reaches her hand out to him, without touching, only reminding. He takes her hand, and suddenly pulls away a little, making Lark’s leg unwrap itself from his waist. Once he’s a bit further away, he turns his back to Lark, never letting go of her hand.

“You’re a poet, aren’t you?” he says, voice dripping with hostile sarcasm— not aimed at her. “Here’s a poem for you.”

Lark doesn’t speak infernal, but she’s seen it before, studying poetry in college. She recognizes the etched script on Astarion’s ivory skin, even though she doesn’t know what it means.

She squeezes his hand with hers, and he returns the gesture. “Astarion,” she says.

He turns back to face her. “Lark.”

“Did he do this to you?”

“I might have mentioned him to be a rather cruel master.”

“What does it say?”

His voice is not as distant as his eyes are, when he says, “It’s one part of a contract with the devil Mephistopheles.”

Lark doesn’t know what to say. Instead, she sits up, bringing the hand that isn’t holding Astarion’s to his face, always pausing before touching, asking. Reminding. He cranes his neck and brings himself closer to her touch.

“You said it yourself, but just to reiterate,” she says. “The bastard got what was coming to him.”

Astarion smiles. It’s a slightly pained one, but a smile, nonetheless. “Yes. I’m glad you agree.”

As she softly caresses his cheekbone with her thumb, Lark says, “We don’t have to have sex.”

“Of course we don’t,” he says, and laughs. “But I want to.”

His admission makes Lark’s heart flutter. She reaches forward to cover his mouth with hers, and he drinks her in.

“Thank you for showing me,” she says between kisses. Astarion’s jaw clenches— only for a second. He hums but doesn’t say anything.

Lark climbs into his lap, and he stretches his legs to make room for her. “He can’t hurt you anymore,” she says before lowering her mouth to him again. Astarion sucks her bottom lip, eliciting a raspy whine.

“Will you protect me from the big bad wolves, Lark Promise?”

She laughs, but it’s cut short when he places both hands over her ass and gives it a squeeze. “I’ll— I’ll do anything for you.”

“Hmm. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I promise.”

“I’m sure you do,” he says, and one of his fangs pricks the inside of Lark’s mouth. She tastes the irony tang of blood.

Astarion does too, judging by the way his eyes roll back and his hands forcefully pull at her shorts. He sucks at the small cut, moaning that beautiful way that he does— Lark doesn’t think she’s ever heard of a sound so beautiful.

Once he removes himself from her, Lark asks, “Are you hungry, Astarion?”

“Yes.” His answer is quick. “But not just for your blood.” He tugs at her shorts, asking for permission. She nods, and he pulls them down. She wiggles and helps him out so that the fabric is done away with, leaving her with just her absolutely soaked through panties.

“Please touch me,” she whines, a moth beating its wings by the fire.

“Show me where.”

Lark takes his hand and guides it to her core, closing her eyes at his touch.

“Keep looking at me,” he says, and Lark can tell his control is dwindling. It would be a wondrous sight, she thinks, to see an unrestrained Astarion.

She knows she won’t last long— unraveling to Astarion’s touch is a wholly new experience, one that Lark will never be able to tire of.

Pulling her panties to the side, he dips a finger between her folds, and chuckles darkly when he feels her slick. “All for me,” he says, and brings his finger to his mouth, never taking his eyes away from hers.

Lark could come right then and there, as he tastes her, closing his eyes and moaning.

But he doesn’t leave her untouched for long. This time he pushes a finger in, slowly at first. She has to hold on to his broad, strong shoulders to not topple over.

“Good girl,” he praises. Lark moans. “Will you take my cock this well too?”

He certainly has a way with words. “I will,” she whimpers. “I’ll be good for you, Astarion.”

Just as she’s at the precipice of exploding, he removes his finger, and Lark whines at the emptiness.

“Don’t worry,” Astarion whispers. He pulls her down, so that she sits facing him, and hooks a finger under the straps of her tank top. “Let’s get rid of this, shall we?”

He could ask her to melt the whole entire universe, and she would do it for him.

Lark lifts her arms up so that Astarion can remove her top. Now she’s fully exposed to him— interestingly, though, she doesn’t feel embarrassed under his gaze. His beautiful ruby eyes drink her form in, and she only wants more.

“Can I?” she asks, placing a hand on his knee, gesturing at his pants.

His gaze is soft when he nods. He helps her unbuckle his belt and undo his zipper, then moves his hands away to let her pull the pants down, leaning back to make it easy for her. Lark pulls down his boxers along with them, and Astarion sucks air through his teeth with a sharp sound.

“You’re beautiful,” she says, but to Astarion’s surprise, she’s looking just at his face when she says it.

He narrows his eyes at her. “I know. Now will you please get over here?”

They laugh. Lark climbs over his body, skin over skin, her magic crackling and fizzing each time she comes into contact with him. As she kisses him, she wraps one hand around his cock, and he moans into her mouth. His skin is cool to her warm touch, full of contrasts— he’s impossibly hard in her palm, but his skin is so smooth, like velvet. She pumps him, once, twice— then feels the familiar humming vibration of magic again, and instinctively goes to pull away, but just like before Astarion stops her, placing his hand on top of hers.

“Don’t be scared,” he says against her lips.

She presses her forehead to his, and looking at his eyes, lets him guide her movements. Her fingertips ache with magic, threatening to pour over—

Astarion moans again, louder this time. “That— do that again,” he whines.

Oh, she could listen to him forever.

This time, it’s Lark who calls her magic to the surface— because she wants to make him feel good. His back arches off of the couch, Lark presses her chest to his, as he thrusts his hips forward.

She presses another soft kiss to his lips, moaning in tandem, and he suddenly turns them around so that he’s on top of her instead. She looks at him breathlessly, how perfect he is— from head to toe. She can feel her chest heaving with each breath, newfound strength in her magic buzzing through her blood and making her dizzy.

Astarion flicks her nipple with one finger, pulling a wanton moan out of her. He watches her reactions like he’s god, and she’s his one and only creation— with reverence, with devotion, with something close to… Love.

“Perfect,” he whispers. With one swift move, he lifts one of her legs up over his shoulder, pulling her down towards him. His length rests on the soft hairs of her mound, leaking precum on her belly. Lark runs a finger over his tip and brings it to her mouth to taste him, and he bites his lip, one fang sticking out, sharp and glinting.

Taking himself in his hand, Astarion gathers her wetness and rubs against her clit a couple of times— it’s enough to make Lark lose all logical thought.

“Do you want it?” he asks.

She thinks it’s obvious. But under his Casanova smile and quirked eyebrow, she hears a different question— Do you want me, even though I hurt you? Do you want me even though I will hurt you again?

“Yes,” she says. “Please, Astarion.”

He’s slow and gentle at first— but the more he pushes himself inside her warmth, the more intense their pleasure grows. Lark digs her nails on the pillow under her head, while Astarion places sloppy kisses on the sole of her feet, resting on his shoulder.

It makes her shudder.

Once he’s filled her to the hilt, he starts pushing her leg back towards herself, and the stretch is delicious, as his body comes to cover hers, and he presses a kiss on her forehead, then—

Astarion pulls his hips back, just to drive into her again, setting a rhythm that fills her up with each thrust. She moans each time his cock grazes her walls, and it’s perfect, the fit of him, like a—

“You fit me like a glove,” he says with a soft, innocent chuckle. She joins him.

It’s perfect. They’re perfect.

With his next thrust, Astarion hits that spot inside her that makes her see stars, and she whimpers in his ear—

“I’m— Astarion, I’m so close, please—”

“Wait,” he says, seizing all movement. She clenches on his cock, making him hiss.

“What— What is it?”

“Let me taste you,” he says, lips pressed to her ear, her temple, anywhere he can find. “Please.”

Lark nods. He starts moving again— She’s about to—

“Where do you want me to bite you?”

She can’t push the words out of her mouth, so she tilts her head to the side instead, revealing the same spot he had bitten just days before. What she wants to say is: I want you to reopen my wounds.

And he does.

As soon as Astarion bites her, Lark flutters, writhing under him like a dying star, coming, coming, coming—

Her magic, thrumming right at the edge of every single nerve in her body, the almost transparent glow that first showed itself as Astarion stood next to her in this very room enveloping them, taking them higher, where heaven is supposed to be.

Her moans get louder, with each pull of her blood that he takes, and he fucks her through her earth-shattering orgasm, placing one of his hands on her waist. She can feel his cock throb and swell inside her, as he nears his end, and he digs his hand into her skin hard enough to bruise.

Lark buries her hands in his hair, kissing and nibbling on his ear, listening to his growly moans as he drinks from her, she whispers to him: “You’re so good, Astarion, ah—”

With that, he comes inside her, spilling himself and pushing in with as much force as he can.

He retracts his fangs, lapping at the remaining blood on her neck as Lark continues to scrape his scalp softly with her nails.

Astarion pulls away slightly, letting go of her waist and steadying himself on that hand, cock still buried inside her cunt.

“You’re a messy eater,” she says, dizzy with ecstasy.

He lowers himself down to kiss her, and Lark tastes herself in his mouth. All of her— her blood, her arousal, the wine they drank.

Astarion breaks the kiss first, looking at her with something wholly new in his eyes. He looks pensive but blissed out. “You… You’re a surprise. A gift.”

Lark feels like she could cry— she’s heard that this is something that could happen due to hormones. A voice inside tells her, though— this is more than that.

“I could say the same thing for you, Astarion.”

“Say it again.”

“What?”

“My name.”

“Astarion,” she says, and feels him twitch inside her. “Astarion. Astarion.”

“Hmm,” he hums, and lays down on her naked chest, both of their breathing slowing down. Lark places absent-minded kisses on his head, his hair, playing with his curls with her fingers, thinking—

“Will you stay?”

He doesn’t respond— only draws lazy circles on the top of her thigh, right where the worst of her scars reside.

She takes that as a yes.

He doesn’t know yet— or maybe he does— but Lark doesn’t mean just for the night.

Lying there, on top of her, is the star that brought the sun to life.

tag list: @nerdalmighty @preciouslittlebhaalbae @aristenfromwarsaw @angelicwolf98

If you would like to be added to my taglist, please send me a message or reply here!<3

[obbystars]

⋆˙⟡ PINNED . . .

ALL DIVIDERS USED ARE BY @cafekitsune

Attempting to connect to MOON CHILD OBERON . . .

Success. Retrieving Information . . .

⟢ NAME: OBERON SOL

⟢ ALTERNATIVE DESIGNATIONS: OBBY / ORBY / ORB

⟢ PREFERABLE PRONOUNS: He / They

⟢ CONFIRMED AGE: 20 EARTH YEARS

INTERFERENCE FOUND . . .

CONNECTION DISRUPTED . . .

“Oh? Interested in my works, are we? Very well. Go and have a look.”

“Please note, I am currently not accepting requests.”

ROBLOX: PRESSURE

🌑 // THE MOON PROVIDES (NON-REQUESTS)

Z-13 [ SEBASTIAN SOLACE ]

⟢ DROWN IN THE DEEP

⟢ IT’S YOU!

⟢ WHEN LIGHT FADES

⟢ ENCOUNTER NIHILISM

⟢ WHEN MOTHER WAS HERE

⟢ SAFE HAVEN

🌑 // A GIFT BESTOWED UPON YOU (REQUESTS)

⟢ A special find brings peace

⟢ Aquarium date

⟢ General Headcanons

HONKAI STAR RAIL

🌑 // THE MOON PROVIDES (NON-REQUESTS)

BOOTHILL

⟢ PROMISE

⟢ SOMETHING STUPID

⟢ GENERAL HCS

🌑 // WRITTEN IN THE STARS (SERIES)

⟢ BLOOD N’ BONES (CANON X OC)

LEAGUE OF LEGENDS

🌑 // THE MOON PROVIDES (NON-REQUESTS)

SHIEDA KAYN

COSMIC PRISON - Odyssey universe

“All works have their notes, including what to expect and warnings. Do read them as it may save you some trouble.”

“If you’re interested in lore related details concerning me, I will provide those to you. I have no reason to be so secretive about who I am. My time at the Hadal Blacksite is…quite interesting.”

⟢ Z-222 Document

⟢ Arrival and containment breach

⟢ A Walk with Angels

“These are just written works that go well into detail. If you’re interested, considering checking the “listen to his story” tag. As of right now, there isn’t too much.”

“Hm, if those did strike an interest and you have an idea in mind… Please. Hold onto that thought, or perhaps there is someone else who may be able to get to your idea as I am unfortunately unable to do so at the moment. However, I believe I’ll have to set some rules.”

“Your request will be ignored and possibly deleted if…”

⟢ It contains topics such as rape, incest, pedophilia, and abuse. While I do love making things a bit dark, I do not touch those topics and WILL NEVER make something with those topics. Please note, yandere content will also count as abuse content.

⟢ I noticed you have made a VERY similar request to another user. Personally, I find this to be rude and disrespectful. It just doesn’t sit right with me.

⟢ I am NOT accepting any NSFW requests as I am not confident in writing that sort of content. It’s not that I am uncomfortable with it, I just cannot write it.

“Please note, I work better when the reader is gender neutral. It allows me to leave many aspects of the readers in my works up to you so you could properly insert yourself or an OC into it. If this is overlooked, your request won’t be deleted and will still be considered. I cannot do every request I receive, but I’ll do my best.”

“Now that that’s out of the way, how about some quick blog rules in general?”

⟢ DO NOT INTERACT IF: BASIC CRITERIA (racist, any sort of LGBT+phobe, proship), USE AI ART/CHARACTER AI

⟢ DO NOT try and purposely cause arguments. And do not try to bring up drama currently in any fandom whether I’m in it or not.

“I believe it is mandatory that I mention should the drama of Zerum be brought up, I will ignore you. I’ve already said what I wanted to say concerning the situation, and it is exhausting having to talk about it. If you persist, do know there will be no response from me and you are simply wasting your time.”

“You will be blocked should you show you fit into one of those categories.”

“Now, I must take my leave as the operators are probably scrambling in trying to reconnect their systems. As fun as it is to watch them struggle, I have much to do. I will see you on the other side.”

[anamericangirl]

As a Furry AND a Warhammer 40k fan, there is tragedy in both walks when it comes to the encroachment of LGBT.

For 40k it's been less profound but still VERY noticeable. Factions like the Adeptus Mechanicus, for example, are constantly being dragged into the Identity Politics Mud by midwit tourists who just discovered the hobby and can't think of any other lens to observe the media through. I remember somebody who painted her Tyrannids - TYRANNIDS - Giant Insect-Lizard Beast aliens that, ironically, invade planets to assimilate everything into their biomass in an all-consuming hive that leaves planets nothing but rock by the time they leave - in Trans Pride Colors because she herself is Trans and wanted to express her gender.

I get that it's her plastic, but it's so creatively bankrupt and narcissistic how these people take the communities and twist them to no longer be about the media itself but "How I can project myself into it."

It's one thing to have an OC in the universe that just so happens to be male/female/trans/gay/etc, but it's another when the first thing you say about them has to do with their special pairing of genitals and what they do with them.

As for the Furries, because so many of them fall into that spectrum (I'll admit I do too but I reject being called "LGBT"), the "Community" has largely been consumed by it. I went to my first Furry Convention and half of it was about Pride, which, if anything, felt even more arbitrary in its sheer propagation in the community.

Going to a furry convention and saying "I'm Gay" and expecting that to be your unique feature when you're surrounded by Gay Furries is ridiculous - but they encourage it anyway! HALF of the panels were about LGBT and PRIDE. They just jump into the collective without a second thought because it gives them validation kudos and backpats without ever talking about the thought process behind their Sona or what media they enjoy - heck, it's at the forefront of so many of them to wear Pronoun Tags or have Pride Pins or just outright put a pride symbol ON their fursona to express how "Important it is to them."

But WHY is it important? Is it really important or are you compensating for the reactionaries in your life by BEING a reactionary and quadrupling down on it to try and seek validation?

It's so redundant and takes away so much from any real "Community" as it just becomes a monotonous sludge of rainbow flags.

I feel you dude it sucks when your hobby or anything you enjoy becomes all about lgbt activism and just focuses on diversity and pride more than anything else.

I never delved into the furry community but with the way it’s portrayed it pretty much comes across as another letter in the alphabet soup because it focuses so strongly on who’s gay and what you want to identify as more than it is about the actual hobby, which sucks for people aren’t invested in it for those reasons.

I remember going to a Broadway convention a while back because I’ve always loved Broadway musicals and while a big portion of Broadway lovers are lgbt it certainly is not about gender and sexuality but if feels like it is now. Everyone had pride pins and there were so many panels on diversity and sexuality and being an lgbt musical fan and representation and it was like um hello can this just be about musicals again? Why we are we focusing so much on one group of fans? This is something we can all come together on and appreciate together and instead you’re making it about you yet again.

[ashkhol]

I think it's time that redacted tumblr learns about one of my most insane headcanons

It's regarding vampires, and it kinda has huge implications on the universe, and yet there's no evidence thus far that would disprove it

CW for mild body horror, killing, and fantasy drug use. I really want to go fully indepth here because as of right now I haven't collected all of this information into one place ever. The content warnings make it sound far worse than it actually is, but it can be a lot and I would rather play it safe than sorry, so keep reading at your own discretion.

So I'll start with a little bit of backstory about where this headcanon came from. If you look at the tags, you'll notice that I've listed some very specific characters. Aside from Sam and William, what they all have in common is the fact that they've acted in really strange, often destructive ways. What I find interesting is the ways they've acted are eerily similar to each other. Am I picking at straws to make connections here? Am I matpat from game theory? Possibly, but I love this headcanon way too much.

The things that each of them did were all violent, impulsive, and obsessive. Adam and Quinn are pretty obvious in that regard, but Alexis chose to turn Sam on an impulse, completely disregarding his protests, and Sam does describe the situation rather violently (she literally dug her nails in to snap his eyes open to trance him, etc. etc.).

What I believe is that the similarities aren't a mere coincidence, but are a result of a magical "parasite" that attaches to, and directly attacks the magical core of a person. It spreads through blood, making vampires incredibly susceptible because of their weaker magical cores. Additionally, it has a chance of being dormant, so a maker could pass it to their progeny without knowing it. Once it's been passed on though, it's passed on. Any damage done to the person's magical core still remains though. And because a person's magical core is linked to their emotions, it causes long term psychological harm.

So, William would've had a dormant form of the parasite, which then got passed down to Alexis. It would have a weaker effect on her, partially because it was dormant, and William is old blood, but it would still have enough of an effect on her that she would have outbursts. Then, she would pass it to Sam in 2008, where it mostly appears dormant, but he does legitimately show some signs of being a little bit impulsive and obsessive in canon (I'm not crazy I swear, also yes the year is relevant, you'll find out if you read this whole thing).

That's really the extent of the canon stuff though, so from this point on, I'm delving into OC stuff that I've created around this headcanon.

The parasite was first discovered in 1523, in Vesper, a "state" located in the southwest of England. Vesper is basically the vampire capital at this time, so it's not really all that surprising that there would eventually be disease breaking out. William would've fled to Vesper after being turned in 1519, which is how he would've gotten the parasite. (Just for clarity, the parasite can affect any empowered person, vampires are just the most likely to have it, and also outwardly express it. Non-vampires are far more likely to have a dormant form if it latches to them at all, which is part of why it's so dangerous, since vampires have to feed, but they have no way of knowing if the person they're feeding on is infected or not.)

The whole of Vesper is ruled by a monarch, and it this time, that monarch was the young vampire Vyvian Achlys, who was turned by the previous king in 1501, and then became ruler after that king died from "mysterious circumstances" (if it isn't obvious, Vyvian killed the king).

So, Vyvian was left on his own to figure out a way to deal with the outbreak, and because it wasn't like any other disease, which led him to the conclusion that the only way to deal with it would be to kill those who showed symptoms of being infected. Even after that, it took two years to find someone who was willing to actually do this, because most people considered it to be a death wish to even attempt, and they would just stay isolated and hope the problem would take care of itself.

But after two years (1525), an empowered human, Scarle Rosina was sent by her family, because they needed money and food, and were willing to essentially use her as a sacrifice. Around this same time, William had also left the home where he was staying, as the others living there were showing symptoms. He actually asked if there was other ways that he could help the cause, so he wasn't on the "frontlines", but he was living in cohorts with Scarle.

Scarle's efforts were strong, but two years of her trying to execute those infected, to little relief, proved that her being human meant she wasn't really powerful enough. So she agreed to be turned by Vyvian. She took to her new abilities very well, and by 1530, the parasite, while still being around, was not an immediate threat anymore.

Over time, Vyvian took quite a liking to Scarle, and with Vesper once again prospering, in the 1600s he was able to employ demon forces, which meant that Scarle didn't have to be diligently fighting all the time. She starts helping William with the efforts behind the scenes, doing research and such. The two of them discover that a possible origin for the parasite was a magical plant resembling a mushroom that began growing after the cacophony due to the 'explosion' of magic that occurred. It was a white mushroom, and its main distinguishing factor was the crystal structure underneath its cap, which resembles the crystal structure arcana takes if it's not given any other form to exist in (this is another headcanon of mine, mostly regarding d(a)emons, if you were to break off one of their horns, or somehow rip one of their bones out, it would resemble a geode). People would often take this mushroom and use the crystals to basically get high, because it would affect their magical core, and therefore, their emotions. However, it could easily cause adverse effects if a person didn't take extra care when preparing it. Any part of the mushroom other than the crystals was "alive" with lingering magic, and different magic users had different reactions to the different types of crystals that the plant had, so if you couldn't tell the crystals apart, there was a level of danger there as well.

Further research spanning into the 1800s, after William had left for America, proved that the source of the parasite was definitely the plant, though it wouldn't actually be banned until 1932, where it was uprooted from most of the world, and was only allowed to be grown in Vesper.

Vyvian stepped down from his role as king in 1940, giving the crown to Scarle.

Following WWII, Vesper makes an agreement with the European department in 1948 to become an isolated state in order to further curb the parasite from spreading further as they begin to have less and less control over places outside of their borders. Scarle is the official head of state, and they get imports from (mainly) England, with promises to provide new technology as it's created so that Vesper will be able to stay on track with the current society for when they reopen their borders. Knowledge of the parasite is kept hidden to avoid panic.

In 2001, it's discovered that the roots of the mushroom can be synthesized to make a "cure" that kills the parasite. The first person to be cured is a 3 year old named Cecilia, who was a freelancer born with the parasite, and given up to Scarle and Vyvian to "deal with".

By 2011, the cure is able to be distributed by departments worldwide, and the murican' department decides to distribute it through blood bags, which ends up making a lot of vampires mysteriously sick, because those who didn't have the parasite had adverse reactions to the cure. Additionally, any vampires who were infected were likely hiding in the shadows, and not taking blood bags from the department. The only good part about it was that those who didn't have the parasite were now immune from it, so can't spread to most clan vampires.

The parasite is slowly dying out on its own because of that, if someone's acting crazy they're probably going to get found by the department, or someone else, and get killed, or they can get cured if they're showing signs and get reported.

alright this post is long enough, I will end my yapping here, if you actually made it to the end, I commend you because this took me a good couple hours to write, but I will probably elaborate on other things like this about the extended universe I've basically created, so I made the tag "ashkhols redacted universe" that I'll put on these posts for y'alls reading pleasure

[ford-pines-lover]

Sweet Dreams

stanford pines x oc

tags: fluff, college!stanford, sfw

word count: 1389

the summary: Ford and Celeste meet in college. Friends since first meeting. They travel to Gravity Falls together to study the anomalies there. Ford and Bill get too serious about the portal, Ford gets sucked away forever. Celeste has to learn how to live with Stan and try to get her fiancé back. Is that even remotely possible? What would be the cost? Would it be as dangerous as Ford always said it would be?

Prologue

College. A new beginning. Well. Kind of. I am sitting in the auditorium of a small school on the east coast. There’s creaky floorboards every time the speaker walks, the microphone is screechy every few words, and there is some less-than-motivational signage up. “Not your first choice!” and “We’re number two!” are the ones that stand out. The smell in this room is almost comforting in a way. It smells like an old library, but mustier. Not bad. 

Backupsmore University. The only school that wanted me (and a full ride) after I tried to get a full ride scholarship to Harvard or Berkeley, but my sob story wasn’t enough, clearly. Now I am stuck with people that don’t have the same aspirations as I do, but hey, there is at least one in a crowd that has big dreams. Not everyone here is here just for “the experience.”

I notice a boy in the crowd looking bored and restless. He was just like me. The boy had nice brown hair and glasses that made him look like a nerd. Well, I can’t say much; I also have glasses. 

“We’re number two!” The speaker ends his speech, and the freshmen are released to their respective areas. I sigh and attempt to hurry out of the auditorium, but I bump into someone. I stumble and regain my posture.

“Oh, um, I’m so sorry,” I say to the boy—oh, wait, it’s the boy I noticed in the auditorium. He stopped and looked at me, examining all my features before saying anything.

“No, no, you’re alright.” He smiled and kept walking. He had an intriguing energy about him that I couldn’t quite place. I watched as he walked down the hall, towards the library on this side of campus. Ah, so he is a nerd. It was so obvious. I chuckle to myself as I stride back to my dorm. I decided to room by myself. Something was telling me that I shouldn’t share my space with another student. They would be subject to my horrible sleep schedule and nightly romance reading. No, being serious, I just have bad study habits that I wouldn’t want to subject another person to. 

***

“The DNA of one organism is being split apart by helicase…” I mutter as I am jotting down notes for my Biology I class. I decided to study in the library today due to my wanting to explore the library. The amount of books is remarkable due to this being a school on the smaller side. 

I notice someone sitting on the other side of the library with a stack of books on quantum physics. Huh. Wait. No, that was the guy that I bumped into earlier. He looked so calm and focused on his subject. I wonder why he is at this school and not at some fancy science school. Well, perhaps people are thinking the same about me. Probably not, honestly. 

I get up to get another book and “accidentally” bump into him again. 

"Oh, whoops, so sorry,” I nervously chuckle. 

“No worries. It seems like we are seeing a lot of each other today.” The boy put his hand on the back of his neck.

“Yeah, no, it seems so.” I look up at him curiously. “I’m Celeste, by the way.” 

“Ford, Stanford Pines,” he smiles. We share a smile before he begins to speak again. “What are you studying?”

“Paranormal biology, you?”

“No way! I am working towards my PhD in the study of the paranormal.”

“That’s so cool! Would you want to be study partners? I don’t really have anyone else here.” 

“I don’t really either. My roommate seems like an interesting specimen, though.” 

“I’m sure. Everyone here at BMU is odd to say the least.” I think back to when we were being greeted at the door and there was a giant “BMU” mascot greeting us with some less-than-motivational words. “Why have more when you can settle for less?” The mascot would shout as we were walking in. It was a constant reminder that I could have been destined for more. There was something pulling me to greater things. 

“Oh, yeah, for sure.” Ford sighs and moves his books over. I took that as my cue to ask:

“Well, can I sit with you?”

Ford smiles, and I sit down next to him. His body language is tense, and he seems a bit sweaty. His mannerisms were very hesitant. He seemed to be hiding his hands. He was wearing a nice light blue button-down and some khakis. Ford seems too proper for this school, too... smart. 

“So…” I start, deciding I don’t want the awkward silence, “Why are you going to BMU? Clearly you’re worthy of more.”

Ford’s pupils shrank, and he gulped. Did I strike a nerve? Did I say something wrong? I start playing with my hair, occasionally pulling a strand out. 

“I-” Ford sighs and looks to the window. “Yeah, no, I know, it just didn’t work out that way, unfortunately.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” I try to comfort him, but I’m unsure of what to do. “I didn’t realize it was a sore subject.” 

He lightly smiles and goes back to studying. His notebook was full of equations and drawings. So was his textbook. Let’s hope he didn’t borrow that from the school; otherwise, he will have a field day. I chuckle to myself, going back to my biology 1 assignment. All of this is a review from my senior year biology class. My teacher was a professor before deciding she wanted to teach high school. She went super in depth, and right then I knew I needed to study biology. Everything about life and cells and the expansion of “what is life exactly?” was something I needed to be answered. That’s where the “paranormal/anamolous” studies came in. Our thoughts on “life” are too Earth-centric. What if life forms out there aren’t carbon-based? What if life forms don’t need oxygen to survive?

“You seem lost in thought, Celeste.” Ford speaks again, giving me a warm smile. 

“Yeah, I’m just thinking about how weird it is that I am a freshman in college,” Lies, “but you know life keeps moving.” I play with my hair, not really wanting to expand on the monotonous reason why I was lost in thought. I don’t want to bore him too quickly.

He chuckles, “I think about that all the time. One day I was the “King of New Jersey," and the next I’m sitting in a college library studying like hell for my PhD. Where did the time go?” 

We both simultaneously go back to our studies in silence and peace. 

A year passes by. I grow closer with Ford while still maintaining my studies. This college isn’t so bad. Just a couple more years.

Another two years pass. 

Knock knock

I know that signature knock. Ford always does two short knocks before entering my dorm. 

“Ah Celeste! There you are. I have some very exciting news to share with you!” Ford walks into my dorm with a winning smile. The light in his eyes could light a thousand rooms. “I just got granted 100,000 dollars to research! Isn’t that awesome?” 

I gasp and smile. “No way, Ford! That’s incredible!” I raise my hand to give him a high-five. Now that I think of it, I’ve never given him one. He hesitantly raises his hand and high-fives me. Or high-six? Why not a high-eleven? “So, whats next?”

He gives me a warm smile while also showing some nerves. “Celeste, you mean a lot to me as a research partner and as a friend. I bargained with the grant money people, and" Ford pulls out another 100,000 dollar check. “This is for you.”

I am dumbfounded. A check? For what? “I– Ford, what are you trying to say?”

“Would you want to join me in research of the unknown?”

I beam. “I would love to! Where would we go?”

His face lights up with excitement. “Well, I have been researching where the most anomalous things happen in the United States.” Ford reaches into his pocket to reveal a map with dots on it. Oddly enough, one dot is in my hometown. Interesting. “It’s all centralized in this one town in Roadkill County, Oregon. Gravity Falls.”

Sweet Dreams

here it is in ao3 for the ones that like to read it there :)

[lucksea]

I quite like your Astra design it’s very interesting, I would like to know more about it if you would not mind sharing!

YES ID LOVE TO SHARE!! first of all i wrote the very beginning of his AU here and he has a very newly finished plot-based spotify playlist here if you're interested ! and ill explain a bit of said plot below:

Mad Prince Astra is the result of me wanting a foil for Tregear in my bigger oc-based AU and also wanting astra to be more relevant bc i like him. so in some ways hes kind of the opposite of tregear? prince astra is very prideful, arrogant, and intentionally hypocritical, doing whatever he wants and usually killing anyone who tries to stop him. leaning a lot on the prince title here. but he doesnt just deal in destruction-- he still has morals that he follows, and is still compelled to help people at times. he wanders around, enacting himself on any situation he likes (or dislikes). hes aware that he is no hero, but he doesn't care. the difference between his own justice and that of the ultra warriors is just a matter of perspective, anyways.

astra is desperate for control of his life, and for meaning in a universe where his home was burned to the ground and he could do nothing to stop it. now, he has literally infinite power, and infinite knowledge of the multiverse, granted to him by the shadowy being using its own body to bandage him.

this creature is sapient, but uncaring of the world. it knows everything, but it lacks understanding. it attached itself to astra because it could sense powerful emotions inside him that it didnt understand. it responds to his every wish, whether he notices or not; the powers astra thinks of as his own are simply the being acting on his behalf. it is so deeply intwined with him that he has never noticed the difference. essentially, it's holding him in a constant state of undeath-- if it were to be forced out of astra, he would die in minutes. it COULS heal the wounds that would kill him, but it hasnt thought to do that. they have something of a symbiotic nature. astra thinks of the creature as his friend and companion. technically, he's named it Nous, but i have yet to draw or write anything in which he acknowledges its presence or name... i don't know if you're familiar with The Golden Compass, but Nous was inspired by the alethiometer. specifically, a scene in The Subtle Knife:

although when astra had asked who tregear was, Nous had replied, "He is a liar." which began a streak of fascination that would forever change the world

astras relationship with tregear is a lot of fun to play with and is impossible for me to not bring up . one of the reasons for that is because astra knew tregear Twice ! he encountered the tregear from his own universe at some point before the events of taiga took place there. he was originally just intrigued by a handsome stranger (as my astra is a bit more promiscuous than his canon counterpart as well just to add to the Entitled Prince attitude), but upon talking to tregear, astra was instantly fascinated by him. tregear is made of contradictions, and astra wants to rip them out of him, straighten them up, and see what's left of tregear when he's done. there are plenty of points that they genuinely disagree on, and plenty more that astra argues simply to infuriate tregear.

after the tregear of his original universe died, astra got bored and discovered he could travel through the multiverse. after some wandering around, he encountered the showtime universe just to find another tregear about to die. so astra pulled some strings and twisted space and mixed a little bit of Grimdo into tregear's fading soul, just enough to send him falling down to earth rather than disappear entirely........ and that's how ember's key starts

astra has his own dedicated tag both here [#per astra ad coronam] and on my showtime blog, @ultrashowtime under #Astra <3

[aplgy-girl]

THE QUARRY — bloodline ᝰ.ᐟ

~ fem!oc x jacob custos — fem!oc x max brinly 𝜗𝜚

CHAPTER ONE — prologue

TAGS ༉‧₊˚.

17+ !! suggestive, gorey, NOT PROOFREAD, cancellation of characters and/or dialogues, no caps friendly, lore is semi changed to fit into my characters plots! <3

no schedule — chapters might be short ྀི

────୨ৎ────

THE MOONLIGHT SHONE through the cracks of the van max borrowed from his mother, four young adults sat on the cushioned seats of it. all met from college classes, turned to study group, made into close friends. laura sat in the back with a veterinarian technician textbook in her sleep, whilst the purple haired woman, valerie, on her right side with her eyes closed, head bobbing softly to the soft music coming from her vintage ipod thrumming in her hand.

“okay, but seriously, max.. you shouldn’t be so stubborn and listen to me about directions.” a dark haired brunette cooed towards max, her hand holding onto max’s free hand, rubbing delicate circles on top his soft knuckles. max was noticeably anxious, driving into circles for what feels like eternity.

“sammie, hun, i tried. you told me two signs ago that we should go left… we are at the same sign.” he sighs, glancing towards his lover with adoration and agitation. they all decided to volunteer at a children’s summer camp over the season, to allow themselves “peace and tranquility” through the upcoming hardships they will have to encounter at university. it was also a farewell vacation for max and sammie, since they were moving universities to study abroad, or so what sammie said. max didn’t seem too keen on the plan, moving away from his childhood bestfriend, laura. sammie reasoned they will return to visit soon, since she would also be leaving her bestfriend, valerie.

valerie understood though, shes always supported samantha through everything. if you were a stranger to them, you would think they’re dating, but its quite the opposite. sammie and val always were like two peas in a pod, her mother being the sister to val’s, causing them to be close from the get-go.

they met max and laura in middle school, after sammie talked max’s ear off in aquatic science that she adored sharks, she introduced max to val, who then introduced laura to the bestfriends.

“i—ouch!-” val yelped when laura kicked her in a sleepy haze, causing val to lightly kick the girl in retort. the blonde stirred awake, eyebrows furrowed as she glares at val, in which she shrugs, kicking the blondes feet down from the seat to make more room for herself.

“whatever, whats going on guys? do you need a map, max?” she yawned out, stretching as much as she could in the confined car. she looked around the area to find the map, causing max’s attention to deviate to the movement.

sammie turned back to address max about what an offline book just experienced, before realizing he wasn’t paying attention. “max! road!” she groaned, lightly tapping his head as to signal it to turn.

he mutters a sorry, quickly turning to the road but sees a…. he doesn’t know exactly what he sees, but it’s big and most importantly, in their path. sammie’s eyes widen in realization as time feels to freeze, her hands flying to swerve the car to keep them from running over whatever that was.

the sudden movements pick up the attention of the two other women. the car thrashed wildly as you can hear sammie panicking while max tries to maintain the cars balance.

“ohmygodohmygodohmygod-” sammie rambled, one hand holding onto max’s shirt tightly, his once free hand now on the wheel to offer extra support, and the other hand holding the grab handles at the top of the car.

after what feels like forever for them, but in reality was 20 seconds, the tires screech to a pit stop. the only sound made was the panicked breathing of the group, eyes wide as saucers staring at each other.

“can somebody tell me what the fuck just happened?”

[filamentlights]

Cage Fights, and Pipe Bombs, and Diners, Oh My!

Clone x OC Week - Day 6, What if...the Clone Were a Mafia? || Fox x OC

Event Masterlist

SUMMARY: Struggling to make ends meet, aspiring Olympic gymnast and part time cage fighter Sakki is forced to take a match that might end with her hunted down by the most notorious gang on Coruscant. 

Word count: 4.3k

Tags & warnings: mafia AU, cage fighting AU, cyberpunk AU, too many AUs, cage fighter OC, cursing, violence, blood, injury, gang fights, mafia!Fox, the biggest plot twist of this story is that the clones actually have money, aspiring gymnast part time cage fighter OC, cyberpunk setting, body modifications, graphic violence, Darth Maul is His Own Warning

“Ah shit.”

“You okay?” Ahsoka looked over in concern as Sakki hissed. She tried to smile, but it became more of a grimace as her leg throbbed.

“Yeah, ‘soka. I’ve just been a bit sore lately.” Sakki massaged her aching thighs, carefully avoiding putting pressure on the fresh bruises from last night.

Is it…” Ahsoka glanced around to make sure no one was nearby. Luckily they sat in a pretty secluded corner of the gym, behind the uneven bars. Ahsoka leaned in. “Was it a you know.”

Sakki grimaced. Last night’s match had been pretty brutal.

“Yeah. Some guy clipped me in the thigh when I was pinning him. Had a ring on that hurt like a bitch.”

Ahsoka patted her consolingly. The two had gone to academy together and then made it into Coruscant University with their joint dream of being Olympic gymnasts. Ahsoka, being self-aware nepo baby, came from a long line of legacy athletes: the infamously short tempered lacrosse player Anakin Skywalker being her older brother and legendary fencer Obi-Wan Kenobi being an older cousin of hers. Sakki had been lucky enough to catch the eye of Shmi Skywalker and be sponsored through her academy years and now in university. And though she couldn’t adopt Sakki like Ahsoka, the woman had always made Sakki feel welcomed among her family. That being said, only Ahsoka knew what she did in her nightly activities.

“And your,” Ahsoka cleared her throat delicately, “manager?”

Sakki snorted. Manager. Asajj would shit bricks if she heard her get called that.

“Did nothing, said nothing, probably didn’t even notice me limping outta there.” Sakki commented. Asajj was good at many things, mostly illegal, but caring? She’d sooner drink oil. Ahsoka bumped her shoulder comfortingly.

“Try to hang in there. If you win this competition then you can secure your scholarship for the rest of uni. Then you’ll be home free and you can never see Ass-ajj again.” Ahsoka pumped her fists, her voice deliberately cheerful. Sakki huffed and smiled.

“Yeah. It’ll be alright.”

Sakki slammed into the mat with a ringing thud. Pain lanced through her back.

“You’re more shit than usual, rat.” A cold voice from above commented lightly.

“Fuck off,” Sakki muttered.

“What was that?”

Sakki bit her lip to avoid saying something they’d both regret.

“You’re distracted.” Asajj commented, leaning down into Sami’s grimacing face. The older woman sneered.

1,000 credits. The fucking fee to even enter the goddamn competition that would decide her entire future cost 1,000 credits. Sakki snarled. Since leaving the gym, Coach Windu had sent out an email in his usual impersonal monotone about competition specifics. But what had caught Sakki’s eye was not the logistics of leaving at 3AM on a bus towards the venue, but a bright red text that read: 1,000 credit entry fee, due Sunday. No late fees accepted.

It wasn’t enough that she trained like a dog day and night just for the chance to participate. She’d scrimped and saved the past three months, and even swallowed her pride to ask Shmi to borrow some money for her competition leotard. Her apartment still hadn’t regained electricity.

Sakki screamed. She twisted and hooked her leg behind Asajj’s knee and lunged. Ever eager for a scrap, the older woman grappled against her. The two tussled on the ground a bit before Asajj eventually kicked her off.

“Get some water. I got a new job for you.”

Sakki took a swig from her bottle.

“What’s the job?”

“Saturday night. The Crimson. You’ll be fighting their home champion and defender.”

“What.”

“Fight starts at 8. Be there.”

Sakki couldn’t believe her ears.

“Again,” she stared at Asajj incredulously, “what. Are you insane? That’s the heart of Nightbrother territory. And you want me to fight their champion? Are you out of your mind, or do you finally have it out for me? Do you want me to actually die?”

“Don’t be stupid. I didn’t train you to get killed.”

“It’s the fucking Nightbrothers. Their home champion is the gang leader’s brother. Win or lose, I’ll get eviscerated.”

“It’s a 5,000 credit job.”

Sakki stared at Asajj. Five thousand credits for a job was obscene. She was lucky to make that in a month. Not only would it more than cover her competition fee, she could get new sheets for her mattress, pay her overdraft fees, replace her air filter after the smog flare up had rendered her old one useless, and she was tired of waking up coughing-

Sakki paused.

Five thousand was a lot. The rings never really paid that much because, not unless you were extremely high profile, because there’s always people desperate to fight for less and less. More and more young people being pushed onto the streets with no way forward except their fists. That amount of money was dangerous. Inhaling, Sakki narrowed her eyes at Asajj. The stony woman held an impressive poker face, but Sakki’s gut told her something was fishy.

“Asajj. I trust you. For better or worse, you still helped me out when no one else would. That being said, I think I deserve some truth. Exactly what are you getting me into?” She held Asajj’s flinty glare.

“It’s a personal job.” Asajj sighed, looked decades older. “I never explicitly told you, but I trust you’re smart enough to guess that I used to run in certain circles.”

“Yeah, you were something of a gangster. Did you scrap with the Nightbrothers?”

“Don’t interrupt, listen.” She ordered, making Sakki roll her eyes. “But, yes. I have quite a history with the Nightbrothers, especially their loath-to-exist leadership. Back in the day, we actually worked together a couple jobs. They were a lesser, subsidiary group of us. The Sisterhood.”

“You were in the Witches?” Sakki’s mind reeled. Asajj nodded sharply.

“Yes. I was going to be the next Matriarch. But they got too big for their own boots. Too arrogant so they staged a coup. There was a shoot out. We were killed.” Asajj was heaving by the end of it, but her eyes blazed. Sakki caught a flash of green in the woman’s blue eyes. A body mod. Various modifications were common, prevalent, in the galaxy. Even more so among the Coruscanti underworld. Cybernetic implants to enhance senses, a metal arm, hell someone probably got one to make their dick bigger. But the eyes were tricky. Delicate, almost filigree-like muscles that are so easy to screw up in one movement; it made it an obscenely expensive procedure. Only old, well-established families still used eye mods as marks of allegiance.

“I want you to fight their champion. Win. But not only win, you need to cripple Savage. Utterly humiliate him.”

“His brother will kill me.” They were notorious for their close brotherhood.

“No. Maul likes strength. He may rough you up for it, but you’ll be intriguing enough a mystery for him to take interest in you.”

“So?”

“So, he’ll call you up to his pretentious little office. Give a dramatic monologue. And you plant this in his office. They check all their patrons for any weapons or other prohibited items, so put it in your bra at the entrance.”

Asajj pulled out a device.

“That’s all you have to do. Do that, and I’ll give you the five thousand in addition to whatever earnings you get from the match.”

Sakki stared at the small listening device. She grabbed it.

“Fine.”

The crowd was roaring. Sakki’s head hurt.

Her opponent flared his nostrils. They circled. Lights, blinding white lights flashed in their faces. Her heart thudded from the combined energy of adrenaline and the screaming crowd. She grinned meanly.

“Give up,” her opponent rumbled. One thing Asajj failed to mention was that her opponent was fucking huge. A hulking seven foot something, he towered over her usually respectable 5’8, and was probably twice as broad as her. He was also an intimidating motherfucker for the crazy amount of body mods he had. Prosthetic horns grew from his head, full body tattoos that ran jaggedly down his sweaty torso, cybernetic eyes that glowed and probably helped his vision, fingers that extended into bionic claws, fresh snakebites along his bottom lip. It was par for the course for a Nightbrother to have an insane amount of mods, it was basically their calling card, but this man had an obscene amount even by their standards.

So yeah, she kinda fucked.

Sakki snarled, and lunged for his eyes. It was laughably easy for him to grab her arm, twist, and send her slamming onto the floor with his claws digging into her collarbone. The crowd surged with a deafening roar. Lucky for her, this brought her close enough to slam her leg behind his knee, making him buckle. She used this momentum to flip them and land two clean hits on his face before he threw her off. Her body flew until it hit the metal cage, and she thumped to the ground. Stars, everything hurt.

She looked around blearily. Her whole body ached from all the abuse. One thing that put her at a major disadvantage was that as an aspiring gymnast, she was forbidden from any sort of strength-enhancing mods. It was one of her draws as a fighter, being able to beat modded up opponents with only “pure human strength,” but that was for opponents who weren’t built like fucking trains.

Sakki picked herself off the ground. Wobbling a bit, with blue strands of hair falling out of her bun, she watched Savage get up as well. Grim satisfaction filled her, watching him clutch his cybernetic eyes and groan. She watched them twitch and crackle.

The sounds of the crowd faded away as Sakki refocused.

“Give. Up.” Savage gritted his teeth. Even though he could probably take her down now easily, he just stayed put. “You’ll lose anyways.”

He’s been letting her off easy this whole fight; not punching first, letting them circle to give her time to recover, telling her to give up, and in general pissing her the fuck off. She slapped the feeling back into her arms and readied to lunge again. His gaze hardened.

A spark flew from his cybernetic eye.

She lunged.

He caught her, of course, but that was fine. Using all her strength, Sakki slammed an elbow across his face until she heard something crack. The man roared in pain, echoed by the screaming crowd when they realized what she’d done. Sparks flew madly from his eyes where a few wires could now be seen poking through. After that, all she could remember was blinding pain as Savage thrashed her madly—barely even cognizant from the pain and sudden blindness. He sent her body flying. Sakki found herself, face pressed between the ground and the cage, staring into amused amber eyes through the crisscrossing metal.

Get up, the man mouthed.

She stumbled to her feet.

“You broke my brother’s eyes.” Sakki turned. The man seemed to neutrally observe her, but shit did she want to bolt. The door behind her slid shut, the lock automatically clicking in place.

Black tattoos travelled up in harsh, erratic lines. There was a gruesome artistry in them, that they drew your focus in to his glowing, yellow eyes. Piercing and unnatural. They flashed like Asajj’s, but they weren’t just decorative. She watched the gold flicker. There used to be talk about scientists replicating eagle-like vision in humans, but that had been shut down by the Scientific Ethics Committee.

“You get the expensive eye mods, yet both your brothers get cybernetics?”

Sakki had noticed, as she was preparing for the fight, a smaller thinner man with similar tattoos shadowing Savage. And similarly, his eyes were clinked and shifted mechanically, with only a vague pupil-like circle to indicate that it was meant to be an eye. Her bold—stupid—declaration seemed to amuse the man. Maul. The Nightbrother leader. The pocket of her bra, sandwiched under the pad weighed heavily.

He huffed, amused.

“They were not yet inducted to the Brotherhood when we stopped with the old ways.” Before they rebelled and killed the Nightsisters, is what he meant. Maul clasped his hands behind his back and strode past Sakki to look out the window.

“Sit,” he gestured at the expensive looking black couch. It wasn’t a question. “Refreshments?”

The plush leather squeaked under her weight. Beside it, a little push cart held a water pitcher and a single glass cup.

“I’ve never seen you in my club before,” he mused, in lieu of asking what he meant, which was why the hell are you here?Sakki took a gulp of cool water, soothing her raw throat. Her back and sides throbbed something fierce from being tossed around the ring. Not to mention the little gashes where Savage dug his nails into her shoulder. Sakki stared mournfully at her torn singlet, where the strap was broken from the fight.

“I’m used to fighting smaller rings. Safer for my reputation.” It wasn’t really a lie. Keeping a low profile by only taking small fights would keep her from getting too prominent, and keep the chances of her being a cage fighter from getting out.

“Why show up tonight?” His back was still facing her, but she could see his glowing eyes in the glass reflection. Below them, the cage where she’d just fought in sat.

“I need the money.”

“Yes, money is indeed a powerful motivator.” Maul went behind the desk and pulled out a small stack of credits and threw them her way. She caught the gleaming stack. With narrowed eyes, she counted them up.

“This is barely 200 credits. I was promised 700 for winning.”

He turned to her, his profile lit by the light coming in from the cage arena below them.

“Yes, well, consider it a damage fee.” Sakki’s hands tightened. He turned his back to her again. “Well, I am sure you must be busy. I have matters to attend.”

With that dismissal, Sakki slipped out the door.

She turned right.

Corridor on the right. Lay low. Asajj will do something to draw him out his office.

Out of sight from his office door, she waited. Her back pressed against the wall. She leaned closer and strained her ears, listening for any movement. A moment passed. Silence. Nothing. And then, she heard a click. Quiet footsteps. She waited until they faded.

She slipped back through the door before it slid shut. Now it was just her in this dark, creepy room overlooking the cage. Quickly, she dug through her bra and fished out the device. Running over to the desk, she searched for a discreet place to put it.

And then the door exploded.

“Where’s Jesse?” The man barked in her face, like he hadn’t just blown down a door. He had curly black hair with a few streaks of white among them, and he brandished a wicked looking pocket knife at her. Amber eyes glinted at her. He was the one watching her in the cage.

“I don’t fucking know, who the fuck is Jesse?” She snarled back. He took in her bruised up face, her torn and bloody singlet, and relaxed slightly. He looked pointedly at the device she was holding, making her scowl.

Then, two more figures burst into the room.

For a halting moment, Maul, and the other brother who’d tended to Savage, stared at her. Her, the man next to her, and the listening bug in her hands.

“You,” snarled Maul, and they lunged.

Maul’s hands extended out into claws. Like Savage, someone had extended and likely strengthened his natural nails to make sharp catlike claws that curved through the air dangerously. Unlike Savage, he didn’t share his brother’s courtesy.

Sakki ducked and came up with her own punch. Maul didn’t have his brother’s muscle, but he was fast as hell. Besides her, the man was fending off the other brother who was surprisingly vicious. Maul stalked towards her.

“You little rat. I knew there was something wrong with you. You were most suspicious. To think, you’re a little Fett spy.” He chuckled. Sakki caught the beginning of a maniacal grin. “You walk into my club, into my cage, in my territory.”

“You talk too damn much,” she spat, feeling a familiar thrill course through her veins.

He bared his teeth in a grin. “Oh yes, I will enjoy getting revenge for my brother. As they say, an eye for an eye is only fair.”

He fought like a goddamn cat. Claws first. Sakki dodged like hell, but they could both tell she was tired. Her movements lagged behind. Her back where Savage had thrown her into the cage throbbed. Maul advanced, making her jump back with each swipe. His eyes glowed. Predatory. He struck right, but she danced away. Her hip bumped against the cart with the water pitcher, and she could only step forward into his space. She went for his throat.

In her periphery, she saw the other man was exchanging blows with Maul’s brother. Something rumbled in the distance. Using the brief distraction, Sakki grabbed the push cart and slammed it into Maul, making him roar. She saw the other man bury his knife into the brother’s side. Without a second glance, they booked it.

Chaos greeted them.

People were running and fighting everywhere. A mob of people running for the exits while tattooed men brawled with identical looking tan-skinned men. One of them caught sight of her and her companion running and shouted something she couldn’t hear, but her partner did. He grabbed her.

“Shit, if Hardcase did something to the club then we better run. Now.”

They booked it for the stairs. They fought through the crowd. Sakki hit a skinny orange and black Nightbrother in the face, sending him staggering into a madly cackling girl with neon glowing green hair that was punching anyone who got near her, Nightbrother or not.

They made it up into the club that sat above, a front for the cage fighting. The scene was utter madness.

“What, why? What would he do?”

The man had his arm out, shoving past people to make room for her. The crowd surged around them. He tugged her into him, strong-arming through the crowd for the exit.

“No time, gotta go!”

She heard shouting.

“GO GO GO SCATTER-”

Something exploded.

If the odd stares were any indication, Sakki realized the two of them painted a pretty suspicious painting hobbling down the dingy streets. Maul had apparently nicked her before they escaped, and the gash in her leg squelched every time she put weight on it, so she was supported by the man with her arm around his neck and his around her waist. They had also made it out of the club right as the whole thing exploded into flames, and, while they were spared being reduced to cinders, meant they looked like they just walked out of hell. As they quietly limped away from the smoking wreckage, her mind still reeling from all the events of the night, something Maul said clicked.

“Shit, you’re a Fett.”

The man turned to her with a leery grin. His curly black hair had fallen out of their styling into his face. “Name’s Fox.”

Sakki scrunched her nose at him. Her body still felt like she was on cloud nine with the thrill of adrenaline, so her mouth moved before her brain could stop it.

“Well goddamn, you could at least keep your head down. I don’t need all these people knowing I’m with you. I got a rep to keep up.”

He pulled an offended look. “You’re a cage fighter.”

“Yeah but, I’m gonna be a gymnast. I don’t need a scandal about being involved with a kriffing Fett.” A notorious family in the Coruscant underworld. They mainly dealt in…security, but they had their fingers in almost every pie. Bomb, weapons, illegally strengthened bionics, spice, casinos; everything. And their leader? Unstable. Went off the rails and decided to clone himself with a couple crazy scientists who were shunned by the academic world for being unethical. She would know. Doctor Nala Se’s building on the Coruscant University campus was still up, though no one had used it in nearly two decades when it came out about all the disturbing research that went on there. She eyed Fox. Some of the remaining adrenaline was making her stupidly brash. “At least pop your jacket collar up to hide some of that face.”

Her hand around his neck moved to make the flap of his jacket lapel stand upright, but her movement was hindered so Fox ended up with one jacket lapel flopped on his cheek. She slapped the leather flap onto his cheek, trying to get it to stay.

“That just makes me look more suspicious.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Okay left here, and we’ve arrived!”

“This is a diner.”

“You think I’m gonna take you to my place? Buy me dinner first. Here. Now. I’m starving.”

Sakki collapsed into the red booth. A few patrons mulled about in the dark, early morning hours but they ignored the two figures. Flickering lights buzzed softly. A woman dressed skinny jeans that hugged her curves and a loose top greeted them.

“Two of my usual plus a milkshake,” Sakki smiled at the waitress. Darla frowned playfully, raising a dark eyebrow.

“Big spending? You win another match, sugar? You still got your tab running since July, Sakki.” Darla popped her hip, looking at the scruffy bleeding girl with gentle reprimand.

Sakki smiled blindingly. “No, I’m good this time. My friend,” she turned to Fox who was sat across from her, “here will be paying instead of me.”

He looked at her blankly.

“You do have money, right?” His jacket was *real leather—*real animal products these days were worth more than gold, with most leathers being synthetic—so she assumed he did. He inclined his head slightly. Sakki brightened, making her curly blue hair bounce. “Great! I can have my milkshake.”

“Oh and,” she called, “Darla, can you also get the kit for me?”

“Way ahead of you, sugar.” A bright red first aid kit appeared on the table. “And here’s some towels so you don’t get our booths all messy.”

“Thanks! You’re the best.”

“I know, sugar.”

Fox watched her leave with a sway in her hips. “You’re a regular, I’m assuming?”

“Yup,” Sakki popped the “p” sound. “Dex’s is the best place for cheap, good food. Especially after a fight, when I need the calories.” She propped her leg up on the booth, hands jittery. “Plus, they’re always super discreet since their customers are usually the unsavory kind.”

Fox eyed her tapping fingers and energetic smile.

“Are you always this hyper?”

“Nah.” She shook her head. “The adrenaline’s still running high though. I’ll come down in a bit. C’mon, help me with the stitches while I’m still up in the sky on stress hormones.”

Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Fox moved over to her side of the booth.

“You’re gonna need stitches.”

“Yes, yes, let’s do this quickly before I cry.” She shoved the first aid kit towards him.

“Alright, then.”

He searched through the bag, pulling out some isopropyl alcohol, disinfectant wipes, scissors, gauze, and some tape as Sakki pooled some towels beneath her bleeding leg. Finally, Fox pulled out a Ziplock with curved sutures needles. Spotting it, Sakki whined.

“Oh for kriff’s sake don’t tell me you’re scared.” Fox grabbed the bottle of isopropyl alcohol to disinfect the needles, also wiping down his hands.

“It’s a perfectly reasonable fear!” He took a disinfectant wipe and cleaned off her gash as best as he could.

“Again,” he drawled, “you’re a cage fighter. You should be used to this.”

“Yeah but like,” she twisted her hands nervously. “I can’t look.” He rolled his eyes.

“So you can stand getting thrashed by a seven foot giant, but not getting stitches.”

Sakki buried her face in her hands and groaned. She felt something touch the back of her hands. Opening her eyes, Fox had thrust his leather jacket towards her. He looked at her gruffly, “take it, I don’t want to get any blood on it.”

She grabbed it.

“You break it, you buy it, got it?”

“Yes sir,” Sakki snarked, and turned the piece of clothing over in her hands to examine it. The leather was beaten, but clearly had the shine of an item well-cared for. She spotted some pockets that seemed meticulously added on to the inside lining, even going as far as to find the same color thread for it. “La’anglitz Leathers. Year, 9214. Wow, this is real vintage.”

“Yup.”

Sakki put her arms through the arm holes, putting it on backwards to the jacket lay like a blanket on her. The sleeves fell down to her knuckles, the whole thing dwarfing her. She sniffed.

“What cologne is that?”

“Why are you sniffing my jacket?”

“Is that Old Spice? Seriously?”

“There’s nothing wrong with Old Spice,” he griped defensively.

“No, of course not! Hygiene should always be celebrated.” Sakki buried her nose into the collar and breathed deeply. Her eyebrows scrunched thoughtfully. She opened her mouth to make another comment when she felt the needle pierce her skin.

“OW, ow ow ow nnnneughhhhheuuuhffff.” Sakki squeezed the jacket sleeves into balls while she moaned in pain.

“Inspiring words.”

“Ffffffffffuck you.”

“Buy me dinner first.” His words were dry, but his hands were comfortably steady on her left calf. His amber eyes flicked up to meet hers for a split second, before refocusing on pulling the suture into place. His hands were warm.

She scoffed. “Okay whateve-oOOOOOHHHOHOHOHO WHY GOD.” Tears beaded the corners of her eyes. She shut them. She could feel the callouses against her shin. His left thumb began rubbing soothing circles into her ankle. “It’sokit’sokit’sok, I can get through this OH fffuck.”

“You’re doing fine.”

“How many more stitches left?”

“Do you want me to be honest or lie to you?”

Sakki paused, her face scrunched in agony.

“Hit me with the truth.”

“I’ve done one stitch.”

“Okay, progress is progress!”

“Out of fifteen.”

A/N: Unbeta’d, unedited, unbuttered; this shit is RAW. I’m already cutting it closer than I’m ok with for this entry, sooo there’s probably a million grammar mistakes. If u want actual quality, find this on AO3 where I can actually update it and clean it up lmao. I’ll leave a link once I actually post it there. Big chance I will return to this fic to clean up the ending and make her chemistry with Fox a bit better. But anywaysss, thanks for reading!

@orangez3st @clonexocweek

[chaoticcicadacryptid]

❄️ Invader Zim Amino Winter Contest 2024 ❄️

Hello, all my fellow Invaders, Extraterrestrials, and all those alike! Welcome to the Invader Zim Amino Winter contest of 2024!

I know it's been a long time since the Invader Zim Amino hosted an official event, but as we've noticed some new users on our platform, we’ve decided it was time to revive the contests and events for all the newcomers!!!

Now some might be reading this from Tumblr and wonder, “Why is this posted here when it's a contest on Amino?” Well, due to Amino not being as lively as it once was (and rather understandable as to why), the staff at IZA have decided to host the contest between both Tumblr and Amino, so we can reach as many users who may want to attend as possible! (While keeping it manageable of course.) Those who attend, will get a chance at winning the prizes and being featured as the winner for this Seasonal Contest!

This season is Winter! And the two themes all contestants will get to choose from are:

“Blizzard” and “Snowed In”!

Your entry can take many forms, whether it's writing, drawing, crafting, animation, etc! It just must follow one of the themes, and must take place in the Invader Zim universe! (OCS and AUs are welcome and encouraged!!)

All entries will be judged by a mixture of skill, appearance/structure, how it ties to the theme, and the overall effort put into it! The leader of the Invader Zim Amino, and its curators (as well as some feedback from the users and those observing the contest), will be in charge of going through and judging the entries and gathering them all together!

Now, we won't be able to find your post unless it has the special tag, #IZAWINTER2024

In Amino, all you must do is type it and place it somewhere in your post, and for Tumblr, you must make sure it is in your tags section before you post! This way the gathering process is just a tiny bit more simple! <3

The Contest will be closed on December 30th!

🎉The Winner Prizes🎉

🥇: A Fully Rendered Full body, a Fully Rendered Waist Up, and a Fully Rendered PFP piece of any characters of your choosing! Those who have an Amino account will also win 500 Amino Coins as well!

🥈: A Fully Rendered Waist Up, and a Fully Rendered PFP piece! Those who have an Amino account will also win 300 Amino Coins as well!

🥉: A fully Rendered Bust, and Fully Rendered PFP piece! Those who have an Amino account will also win 100 Amino Coins as well!

All artwork will be made by me, and it might take some time to finish but I promise I will send as many updates as possible to the winners as I work! I will finish first place’s pieces first, and then go down the line from there!

❗‼️Rules‼️❗

❗All entries must fit into, or under, a PG-13 rating.

❗-NO NSFW (excessive gore, sexual content, highly suggestive content, etc)

❗-NO COPYING OR TRACING (If an incident occurs we will do our best to get to the bottom of the situation.)

❗-NO A.I. EVER. If you are suspected of using AI, you will run the risk of being blacklisted and banned from this contest and all that will be held in the future. If you can't bother to put the effort into making something of your own, you don't deserve to attend a creative contest.

❗-If ships between aliens and humans are involved, both parties must be the same age or 18+. This way we can avoid as much drama as possible.

❗-Be Respectful towards everyone involved, including the contestants, judges, and host!

If you have read all the rules above, please add your favorite animal(s) to your comment below, along with which theme stands out to you! Thank you so much for taking the time to read, and have a wonderful winter!!!

[sandwitchstories]

The Crone of Purgatory Ch3: What Is Mine

Chapter 3 of The Crone of Purgatory is finally done! Over 10k words with at least 3k of them being full moon smut!! I have put a lot of my heart and soul into this universe, and I thank anyone who takes the time to read it! Like, comments and shares are ALWAYS appreciated!!

I have Tinkerbell syndrome - interactions from readers gives me life!

MDNI. 18+ only.

I am not responsible for what you choose to consume on the internet.

Fic Summary: In a world filled with magic where soulmates exist, newly mated Bri Tsugikuni and Kyojuro Rengoku have their new life together thrown into turmoil when a betrayal that crosses dimensions threatens to give the blood thirsty Muzan Kiutsuji the power he needs to take over the Ubuyashiki lands.

Chapter 3 Summary: A visit to Bri's grandmother ends up with something very important being returned to her. The full moon effects Kyojuro in ways that curl toes and dent walls. Muzan gives a soliloquy during his night cap.

If you prefer to read on AO3, please click here! (Please visit AO3 link for a full list of content tags)

WC: 9900+

Chapter CW: MDNI, SMUT, fem OC, witch OC, Dragonkin Kyojuro Rengoku, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, claiming bites, creampies, outdoor sex, pet names, multiple sex positions, doggy style, predator/prey, possessive Kyojuro, letting your lover chase you through a forest during a full moon as a love language, recreational drug use (they smoke a joint together), blood drinking, betrayal - For a full list of tags please see AO3!!

Crone - Banner and divider by Me

Paragraph line breaks - divider by @strangergraphics-archive

“Did you tell the kids to get packed?” Bri asked as she heard Kyojuro enter his bedroom and close the door behind him. 

“I did,” he said, his foot steps drawing closer. “Senjuro is feeding Maybe. He was very worried about his little friend going hungry.”

Bri chuckled as she folded some pants on the bed. “They seem to have become best friends. Maybe may not be so useless after all.”

Kyojuro chuckled and moved to stand behind her. He wrapped an arm across her shoulders and around her waist, pulling her close in a tight hug. Bri melted into his arms, letting his scent and his warmth surround her. He kissed the side of her head. “Tell me how your visit to the Grand Coven went.”

“You already know how it ended,” Bri sighed. “We need to get packed.”

“We need to talk for a few moments first,” he said, taking the clothing out of her hands and tossing it on the bed. 

Bri let out a dejected sigh. “It was��a lot.”

Kyojuro kissed her mate’s mark gently before letting her go and pulling her gently to sit on the bed with him. She leaned back against her ever growing mountain of pillows and let out a deep breath. “Kokushibo and I got into it, like, really bad. And he’s now got a new axe he wants to grind against my head.”

“What did you disagree about?” Koyjuro sat by her criss crossed legs and rested one of his hands on her thigh, squeezing it gently.

“He is not a fan of the fact that I told them I will no longer be living in the Crescent.”

Kyojuro gave her a little smirk. “I take it you’ve decided you wish to remain here in Hinokoku?”

“Since the moment I stepped foot through that portal 2 weeks ago. Notice I haven’t gone back once?” she said with a little smirk of her own. 

“Well, they’ll just have to get used to it.”

“Exactly what I said. And then we had words about my name.”

“I see,” Kyojuro said, hoping she would say more. “What was exchanged?”

“Basically that since the creation of our clan we have always kept and carried the Tsugikuni name. But I didn’t want to. I don’t want to. So I won’t and I’m not,” Bri shrugged, like it was that simple.

“Why did you not want to carry the name? It’s alright if you don’t wish to discuss it,” Kyojuro said, his hand running up and down her thigh in a soothing gesture.

“Because never once in my life have I felt like I was a Tsugikuni,” Bri answered bluntly. She licked her lips. “I have told you much about my mother. But I know I had not told you her name until Queen Amanae’s vision. My mother was not a witch. My mother was a Frost Elf. Hence the pointy ears and clammy skin.”

“I love your ears and I find your skin far from clammy. And if I were to find your skin clammy, do you know what I would do?” he asked, shifting slightly on the bed.

“What is that?” 

“This!”

Bri burst out laughing in surprise as his arms wrapped around her and yanked her down onto her side with him so they laid facing eachother on the bed. She grabbed one of her pillows and tried to smack him with it, getting annoyed when his quick reflexes enabled him to snatch it out of her hand. And then he had the audacity to place said pillow behind his head and wink at her. 

“You think you’re so cute,” she snickered, her eyes crinkled in amusement. “God dammit… you are… I guess I’ll let you live.”

“I do thank you for that! And for the compliment!” he grinned, leaning his head forward to kiss her gently. He wrapped an arm around her waist. “You were saying you never felt like a Tsugikuni.”

“Not once in my entire 23 years of life,” she said in a softer tone. She moved a hand to rest gently on his chest, toying with the string on his shirt. “But in 2 weeks here… I feel like I’m a Rengoku.”

“That is because you are a Rengoku,” he said with a grin, kissing her nose. “You are my wife after all!”

She smiled and had a little blush on her cheeks, showing him she was feeling at least a little better. She relaxed and opened up.  “I took my oath to sit on the High Council today and I sealed it with my true name, Bri Rengoku. Before we had left the office, my uncle had warned me that I would regret it if I went through with breaking the tradition. And then not only did I break tradition, but my cousins chose to do the same thing. I’ll be blamed for that as well, but that’s fine. Oh no, my cousins followed in my foot steps and broke that stupid fuck face’s precious little stupid traditions! I’m the worst!”

Kyojuro couldn’t help but grin at the mocking tone and string of curses she ended with. “Well, that certainly made it clear how you feel about it! Thank you for that!”

She rolled her eyes. “You and your never ending optimism.”

His eyes darkened a shade and his smile faltered a little. “But what did your uncle mean by you would regret it?”

“Hell if I know. He has made an art of making my life as difficult as possible since my conception.”

“Why is that?” Kyojuro asked.

“The first born Tsugikuni of each generation is said to wield the most power. He was upset that the youngest brother had the first born child. Top it off with that fact that in his eyes I’m not pure witch because of my mother’s heritage,” Bri shook her head sadly. “I bet he is just thrilled silly at the fact that I am mated to a Dragonkin, Kanae to a Wolfkin, and Shinobu to a Selkie.”

“That is his problem, not ours,” Kyojuro shrugged. 

“That is exactly how I feel,” she smiled and pressed their foreheads together. “But the Kokushibo incident coupled with… my mother supposedly telling Queen Amane there is something for me to get back in Vinter Tol? I don’t know what that even means, and I don’t have proof the two things are connected, but something inside of me says they are.”

“You should always trust your gut,” Kyojuro answered. “We will make sure we proceed with caution.”

“Okay,” Bri nodded.

“Do you know why Vinter Tol?” he asked.

“I have a good idea. It is where my mother was born and grew up. Bubbe, my maternal grandmother, still lives there,” Bri gave him the first genuine smile she had since she walked into the meeting. “You will love Bubbe. The kids will too. It will be good to see her and get some of her cooking.”

Kyojuro had not once heard his mate become excited about anything to do with her family until now. She loved the two dwarves that raised her, and she perked up a lot when she talked about them. But his mate was almost glowing at the thought of seeing her grandmother. He would make sure they saw her regularly, if it brought his mate this much joy. “We shall stay as long as we are able to. How does that sound?”

Bri perked up even more. “Really? Even if the thing for the vision is a quick easy thing?”

“Even if it is as simple as your grandmother giving you a hug, we will stay for as long as we can. Does that work?” Kyojuro asked, pulling her against him. 

“Yes! Thank you so much!” she smiled, cupping his cheek and kissing him several times. “Now, come on, flame brain! Let's get a move on! Bubbe is just a hop, skip and a jump away but we gotta pack!”

“When you said it was cold here, I did not think you meant a frozen hellscape!” Zenitsu whined as they trekked through the lightly snow covered ground towards Bri’s grandmother’s home the next day. 

“This is barely anything! You can see the Earth beneath the snow! Vinter Tol means Winter Valley. It’s literally in the name that it’s not going to be a tropical paradise,” Bri said, turning to look over her shoulder. “If you whine, Bubbe won’t make you hot chocolate. And trust me, Zenitsu, you do not want to miss out on that.”

“What’s hot chocolate?” Inosuke asked, still walking around shirtless even as they walked through the gentle sprinkling of fresh snow. 

“Oh! You’ve never had hot chocolate?” Tanjiro’s eyes got big. “It’s so good! Its like a hug in a mug! And when you drink it your taste buds go ping, ping, ping!”

“What the hell does that even mean?” Zenitsu cut Tanjiro a glare. 

Nezuko ran up to Bri, still preferring to be in her little form, wanting to be picked up. She grinned when Bri scooped her up in the arm that was not carrying Maybe, who refused to walk in the snow. Every time she tried to set him down he would tuck his legs completely up. If she managed to get him on the ground upright, he fell over like a dead horse. 

If she went homicidal today she would just tell the courts to spend a day with four teenagers, a useless hell hound and mate who was a painfully optimistic morning person. Said morning person turned towards her with a grin as bright as the very sun in the sky. 

“Are we getting near her village, my treasure?”

“We sure are. Have you ever seen the birth of spring? That’s what I always feel like I am doing when the town comes into view. Head that way,” Bri pointed to a ledge a short walk away. She walked to the edge and looked out with a smile. The picturesque cottage town was settled against the base of a mountain and surrounded by an orchard of cherry blossoms, willows and wisteria. Their beautiful bright colors looked even more vibrant against the snowy backdrop. “Welcome to Vinter Tol.”

“This is magnificent,” Kyojuro said, coming to stand next to her.

Bri looked at her mate and took him in. From his flame colored hair, his tanned skin and iridescent scales, to his red winter haori with the white fur collar. He stood out anywhere, but with the pure white landscape of the snow covered mountains and the setting sun behind him, he looked every bit the Dragonkin he was. He was absolutely the most handsome man she had ever seen, and she would keep this image of him in her mind for all time. “You’re right, it is.”

Kyojuro turned his head and found his mate staring at him, he arched an eyebrow at her. He was unsure why her cheeks were blushed, but something told him not to ask. “Are you ready to go down, my treasure?”

“Yeah, lets go.”

They walked down the path into the town. Bri waved to some people she knew as their group passed through. This was a sleepy mountain village. They did not get many visitors, let alone a large group like theirs. Bri was sure the town would be buzzing soon that Bubbe had visitors. 

Bri led them up a cobblestone walkway to her grandmother’s log cottage. “Zayde, my grandfather, built this cottage with his own two hands for Bubbe.”

“He did a wonderful job. It’s beautiful,” Kyojuro replied, taking in the carefully chosen wooden logs. 

“Zayde died when I was young, but Bubbe wanted to stay here in the home she had built with him. When my mother was alive I came often, but after she died, my father only brought me a few times a year, if that,” Bri shared.

“Well, now you can visit her whenever you want! And maybe we can come too! Nezuko seemed to really like the snow,” Tanjiro said happily as they followed.

The door opened and out came a small woman with her white hair in a bun on top of her head, making her longer, pointed ears very noticeable. She bowed her head before she looked up at her granddaughter and spoke. “You work fast. It has only been three months since we last met and now you have a mate and four children.”

“Mate, yes. Four kids? Absolutely not. They are my mate’s… students,” Bri said.

“Ah, his Tsuguko.”

“How did you know that term?” Bri asked.

“Introduce your mate to me, Bubbeleh,” Bubbe ignored her question. 

“Bubbe, this is my mate, Kyojuro Rengoku,” Bri gestured to him. “Kyojuro, this is my Bubbe, Hisa.”

He came forward and bowed before her. “It is an honor to meet you, Lady Hisa.”

“Quite the charmer, Flame Hashira. But you can just call me Bubbe,” she smiled, reaching out to pinch his cheek.

Bri had to give her husband kudos. She knew first hand just how much those Bubbe cheek pinches sucked. Kyojuro took it like a champ with a big smile on his face and a completely blank slate look in his eyes. Bri hoped that she had not just witnessed her grandmother cheek pinching the soul out of her beloved’s body.

Why didn’t you warn me?

Bri bit back a laugh at Kyojuro’s question in her mind. It’s better when you experience it by surprise.

I would beg to differ.

It’s better for me, far more entertaining. Bri watched the 3 boys introduce themselves. They all took the pinch with gritted teeth. Inosuke even took his boar head all the way off to copy what the other two did. They’re good kids.

They are. All of them have been through hell but continue to have brave, kind hearts.

Bubbe’s gonna spoil the shit out of them.

“And this, is Nezuko,” Bri gestured to the girl in her arms.

“What a pretty little one,” Bubbe reached up and gave Nezuko’s hand a squeeze as her cheek was out of reach. Bubbe gestured for them to follow her, “Come inside, I’ll make some hot chocolates!”

“So how does she put the hug in a mug?” Inosuke asked Tanjiro.

“Just wait and see!” Tanjiro said. 

Bri set Nezuko and Maybe down on the ground. Maybe barked and took off after Bubbe who Bri could hear chiding him to use his ‘indoor voice.’ “So, Welcome to Bubbe’s House!”

“I like it very much so far!” He grinned. “What does bubbelelele mean?”

“Bubbeleh,” she chuckled and correct his pronunciation. “It means like… sweetie.”

With the four kids all now well fed and sleeping on various pieces of furniture, Bri and Kyojuro sat down at the table with her grandmother. Bri took her hands in hers, just wanting to touch the old woman who was some of the only warmth she had ever had in her life. “How funny it is that the warmest, sunniest parts of my childhood were spent right here in a town of perpetual winter.”

Bubbe grinned and moved her hands more into Bri’s, holding them. “I am glad you feel that way. You are always the sun in my sky, bubbeleh. Just like your mother was.”

“Bubbe, I’m… I’m actually here about Mama,” Bri said licking her lips. Kyojuro rubbed her back with a large warm hand, steadying her anxiety. He knew this was hard for her. 

“I figured as much,” Bubbe replied. 

“Queen Amane had a vision and Mama was in it and gave her a message for me.”

“I see,” the old woman said, her pointed ears twitching. “What was the message?”

“She said there was something here that I needed to retrieve something from here,” Bri said.

“Retrieve something?” Bubbe thought for a moment. 

“Her exact words were there was something here I needed to get back,” Bri offered, wondering if the wording was significant. Judging by the look of wide eyed surprise on her grandmother’s face, she was going to guess that was a yes. “What do you know?”

“Give me just a moment,” Bubbe patted her hands and stood, heading down the hallway to her room.

“That old hag knows something,” Bri glared down the hallway after her. “If she goes in there and lays down and ‘goes to sleep’ over this, I’m going to lose it.”

“Has she done this before?” Kyojuro had discovered her grandmother was quite the character.

“So many times,” Bri huffed like an angry boar. Kyojuro wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kissed her forehead with a smile on his face. 

“Patience is just not your virtue, my love. But that’s okay, because there are many other things you are wonderful at!” Kyojuro proclaimed.

“Thanks…” She was not sure if she should be offended or not, but she let it go. She didn’t have a good comeback, anyway.

“There’s no need to get your knickers in a twist, bubbeleh, I’m right here,” Bubbe said as she shuffled back into the room with a beautiful ornately carved box in her hands and a letter on top. 

“What’s this?” Bri asked as it was set down in front of her.

“Read the letter first,” Bubbe urged.

Bri reached for the parchment and leaned into Kyojuro as she unfolded it. She held it so they could both easily see to read it. Bri teared up as she saw her mother’s handwriting. She touched the beautiful script as she read it.

My Little Wish- 

If you are reading this then my worst fears have come true, and I have passed on. I am so sorry to have left you, Bri. All I ever wanted was to be your mother. You were all I ever wanted.

I have become suspicious of several people within the Coven. I suspect them of betrayal. Your father is not involved, but the walls have eyes and ears, and I fear for all of our safety.

As such, I have taken drastic measures to try to protect you, my little wish. You are truthfully a child of two worlds in every way. You were born with not only those markings on your hand, but frost in your veins. I have bound your frost powers to the necklace within this box. Only your blood can restore them to you. Ragnar made sure of that.

I did this to protect you, not punish you. I hope you will forgive me, but I fear time is short. 

I love you, my little wish. You will always be my wish that came true.

Mama

Bri did not realize tears had begun to fall from her eyes until Kyojuro reached over and brushed them off of her cheeks with the pads of his thumb. Bri sucked her teeth and cleared her throat. “I have frost abilities?”

“You do. But your mother suspected strongly that betrayal was lurking in the shadows of that god forsaken keep. And she was right,” Bubbe said with venom in her voice, the room dropped several degrees, signaling that her grandmother was struggling to control her anger.

“Okay, lets see what we’ve got,” Bri inspected the box. She noticed that it’s lock was a heart of thorns, with one particularly sharp thorn sticking straight down from the top over the ‘key hole.’

“My blood alone can unlock it,” Bri repeated. The pressed her thumb into the spike, wincing as it pierced her finger deep enough to draw blood. She put her thumb over the key hole and squeezed. The lock popped open. The box began to emit a cold mist and a blue glow. Bri used her powers to sense the box, and truly the only energy she felt was in fact her own, but… different. There were traces of Ragnar, in it from the time he spent making it, which made it even more special.

She licked her lips and opened the box. Inside the box was lined with a lush blue velvet. At the very center sat a shining silver necklace, which was the source of the blue light. Bri took it in her hands and looked at the design in awe. She recognized Ragnar’s work. It was incredible. 

It was a seven pointed snowflake and in the center was a carved septagram. Each of the snowflake’s 7 points and the center of the septagram contained a small glowing blue stone.

Bri could see her breath as she held the necklace in her hands. She undid the clasp and put it around her neck. She pressed on the small wound on her thumb again, making the red bed along the puncture. 

She pressed her bleeding thumb to the back of the pendant around her neck. She had no idea what she was supposed to say so she went with the first thing that came to mind. “Return to me what is mine.”

Power flowed into Bri’s body in a rush of ice shooting through her veins. She gasped and her eyes went large, shaking as if she were hyperthermic.

“Bri!” Kyojuro grabbed her shoulders, concern hardening his usually gentle features.

“Just… cold,” she said, her voice trembling.

“It will take some time for your body to learn how to regulate the elemental magic’s naturally cold state. When you wake up in the morning, you will feel better and we will begin your training. Elemental magic is far different from your usual aspect magic,” Bubbe said, coming around the table to cup the back of Bri’s head and press a gentle kiss her granddaughter’s forehead. She ambled off towards her bedroom, turning her head to leave some parting words in her wake. “Keep her warm, Flame Hashira. I’d like some great grandchildren before I’m dead. Though these four will do for now, I suppose.”

Bri awoke feeling more like herself and not quite as death warmed over cold. She assumed a lot of that was due to sleeping in the arms of her own personal furnace all night long. She rolled onto her other side to face him, She felt warmth spread within her as her mate’s strong arm wrapped around her waist to hold her. She spent a moment taking in the beauty of Kyojuro sleeping beside her.

His features were defined, wholly masculine and yet beautiful at the same time. His scales complimented his large, sunset eyes, warm complexion and flaxen locks. His plentiful and impossibly long and thick black eyelashes were something she almost envied. Strong jaw, wide broad shoulders, body that would make Adonis himself ask for work out tips, and sexy thick thighs was his big fat cock, currently hard and pressing into her stomach.

Her eyes roamed back up to his shoulder, a small smile spreading across her lips. She touched her fingers to the mate’s mark and softly whispered, “Mine.”

“Yours,” came the sleepy reply, startling her as a large hand slid from the middle of her lower back to cupping her ass and pressing her closer against him. 

“I didn’t know you were awake,” she smiled as his eyes fluttered open.

“I’m working on it,” he gave her a sleepy smile. He leaned forward to give her a little kiss. “Good morning, my treasure.”

“Good morning, beloved,” she leaned forward and kissed him again, giving a teasing little nip at his lip as she pressed more firmly into his erection. “Want to make it an even better one?”

“I certainly wo-”

“Mister and Missus Rengoku! Are you awake in there? Bubbe said to tell you breakfast is ready!” Tanjiro knocked on the door and then proceeded to yell to be heard over his own knocking.

“There may not be dragonkin here, Kyojuro, but there are plenty of things I can feed your tsuguko to,” Bri snarled softly in annoyance. Dammit, that was just getting good…

“It sounds like you would have to feed them Bubbe too.” Kyojuro grunted when Bri’s elbow collided with his ribs and she glared at him. Apparently we are definitely not going to have sex now. 

I heard that. 

Kyojuro winced a little, he sometimes still forgot that she could hear thoughts he projected. She was guilty of the same, but it was still a bit humbling when it happened. He felt her amusement as she turned away and sat up, stretching. 

She looked back over her shoulder at him and smiled. “Come on, Bubbe doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“You’re too tense, Agatsuma,” Kyojuro told the blonde haired boy as he watched him training.

“That’s because I’m freezing to death!” Zenitsu replied from between gritted teeth.

“It’s not that bad, Zenitsu!” Tanjiro said cheerfully from next to him. He took off his scarf and wrapped it around the blonde’s neck. “There! That should help!”

“Back at it!” Kyojuro told them, knowing they easily got distracted. 

He glanced over to where Bri was training with her grandmother. Judging by the frustration he could feel within his mate, her grandmother had not exaggerated when she said elemental magic was very different from the aspect magic Bri usually wielded. Her aspect was control over things that flowed. Time, blood, life, air - if it had a flow to it, she could influence or control it. In aspect magic, one had to feel the aspect they controlled within something and then control it. 

Elemental magic required one to truly meld with the element they were wielding. They had to feel it in their veins, in their soul and think of their moves and spells in terms of the element. What were the elements' properties? What were its strengths and weaknesses? How do you use those with your fighting style? He did not cast spells, so he was unsure how one would cast an elemental spell but he was sure it was similar. 

Kyojuro turned back to his tsuguko, watching them for a moment before he decided to grab a bokken and do some sparring with them. Maybe in helping them train he could figure out a way to help his mate as well. It was worth a shot.

Three days had passed since they had returned home to Hinokoku from Vinter Tol. Bri was frustrated, she felt like she was never going to get the hang of frost magic. She understood frost magic included ice and snow, but she just couldn’t seem to feel the element as everyone seemed to think she should be able to. 

She sat on a rock in the woods, not too far out from the Rengoku estate. She closed her eyes, trying to meditate and feel this magic within her veins, trying to summon it upwards to the surface. She could feel it start to swell within her but then it was gone. 

She let out a frustrated grunt and laid back on the rock. Thinking herself alone, she vented her frustrations aloud. “Why do I suck at this? Why the fuck can I not do this?”

“Did you think you would be able to wield it with perfection the first time you tried?”

“Maybe…” Bri groaned, of course her mate would show up when she decided to whine out loud. She sat up, bracing on her palms to look at him. He was leaning against a tree not far from her, arms crossed over his chest, one foot resting on the tree, the other on the ground. “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough,” he chuckled, coming forward to look up at her on the large boulder she was sitting atop. “You’ve been at this for days, my treasure. You need to give yourself a break,” he said, reaching up his hands slightly to touch her dangling legs, massaging her calves in a comforting manner. He kissed her knee that hung and looked up at her with eyes filled with interest as he nuzzled the inside of her knee. “Why don’t you take a break? We could do something far more enjoyable.”

Bri sucked in her bottom lip as she eyed her husband. “You’re being awfully lenient about me not training compared to your tsuguko.”

“Different situations entirely,” he said, kissing up her inner thigh as his hands moved up the outsides, fingers gripping her flesh.

“What’s got you so worked up?” Bri asked, running fingers through his hair. She had not realized just how tall the boulder was when she chose it but as he pulled her hips to the edge so he could keep kissing up her thigh, she was grateful she had chosen this one.

“Do you know what tonight is, my little witch?” he asked, nipping her thigh and smirking when she tapped his forehead in retaliation with a pinched face.

“Wednesday?” she asked.

“Tsk, tsk,” he said, kissing in further. Bri instinctively spread her legs wider, making him grin. “It’s tuesday.”

“Damn it!” 

“But I had been referring to the fact that tonight is a full moon, my treasure,” he said, pulling her hips to the very edge of the rock.

“Oh,” she said, feeling startled that she had not even realized it. Things had been a blur lately. Then she realized what he mean. “Oh!” 

He chuckled and grinned up at her as his hands slid under her thighs and over her hips. One hand pushed her shorts to the side, showing him her red lace covered pussy. He ran the thumb from his other hand over the thin cloth. “I love the way red looks on you. And I love how your pussy is already wet for me.”

Bri blushed a little at his bluntness but she did not shy away. She whimpered a little as his thumb pressed between her lips, rubbing the lace gently against her swelling clit. “You do have that effect on me. But Kyo, someone could catch us…”

“Very well, then…” he said with a small sigh before smirking up at her. “I’ll just have a little taste then.”

Before Bri could say another word he had her hips yanked forward off the rock and his face buried between her legs. Bri bit the back of her hand as his tongue traced over the seam of the panties, using their texture to his advantage as he tongued at her clit. She arched her hips and buried a hand in his hair when his tongue slid under the lace to prod into her center. 

Kyojuro moaned against her at the flavor of her honey coating his tongue. He looked up at her with eyes far more reptilian than usual. He licked his lips as he fixed her panties and shorts. He helped her down and pinned her against the rock. 

“You taste like heaven,” he purred, rubbing his nose against her affectionately. 

“Is that so?” she said back, wanting desperately to jump her husband’s bones. All that had done was wet her own appetite. 

“It is. Taste for yourself,” he said, a hand burying in her hair and pulling her close into a passionate kiss.

Bri clung to Kyojuro as he kissed her until they were both panting for air. The taste of her own passion on her lover’s tongue turned her on more than she had thought it would. She arched against him. “Wanna go home and finish this?”

“You’ll just have to wait for tonight, my treasure,” he grinned, pressing his erection against her as he kept her pinned. He ducked his head to mouth at her neck, dragging his teeth down the sensitive skin and growling softly at the way she shivered in his arms.

I am struggling very hard to control my dragon side, my treasure. 

What do you mean?

I mean that tonight, my beloved little witch, I will show you how a dragonkin claims their mate. I have always spent my ruts alone up at my parents cabin. You smell intoxicating, my treasure.

Easy, lizard boy, You have Tsuguko who are going to start looking for you any minute now.

We can feed them to the dragons. He sucked a mark into her neck and moved his hands down to her ass, gripping and lifting the globes as he pressed her against him. 

“You would miss them,” Bri said out loud, breaking her mate’s trance and making him blink back to reality.  “You with me, beloved?”

“You called me lizard boy,” he gaped at her.

Bri burst out laughing, she cupped his face and kissed him. “That’s what you have to say?”

“Why, yes it is!” he said, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her again. He rested their foreheads together, one hand moving to cup her face and chin, he kissed her again. “I’m thinking that we should head up to my parents cabin, what do you say?”

“It might be a good idea,” Bri said with a little giggle, turning to a full laugh when his hands squeezed her ass. “Alright! Fine! Yes, it is a good idea. Lets go!”

It started with a romantic walk under the light of the moon. They held hands, stopped for kisses, exchanged stories about the legends of the constellations, soaked in each other’s presence. But once the moon had risen, instincts took over. 

Bri had let go of Kyojuro’s hand to run to a clearing, kicking off her shoes and standing on the soft ground. She loved the feel of the forest floor beneath her bare feet, the soft moss and moist ground. She loved the feel of the wind on her face, playing with her hair. She felt the very magic of the earth and stars flowing through her veins. Her body tingled with power.

She spun in a circle with her arms spread, basking in the rays of the lunar glow. As she spun around she found her mate once again leaning against a tree watching her with a powerful hunger in his eyes. She wet her suddenly dry lips as she took him in and contemplated her next move. She could clearly see he was starting to lose control of the urges within him. The dragon side of his soul was becoming alive as the moon moved to its full rise.

Kyojuro’s eyes were almost glowing and his pupils had become draconic in appearance. His horns were more pronounced, his scales were darker, and when he smiled at her she could see his fangs had begun to extend.

Bri felt her hunger for her mate increase as she approached her mate with a sway in her hips. She slid her fingers through the hair at the base of his neck and pulled his head down to hers, wanting desperately to taste him. 

His arms uncrossed immediately, one hand moved to her lower back, pressing her against him and the other buried in her hair as he took control of the kiss. His fingers stiffened and dug into her more firmly as he deepened it.

Kyojuro growled into the kiss as Bri’s free hand moved to boldly cup and squeeze his cock through his pants. He broke the kiss abruptly, his hand in her hair moved to grip her chin firmly. He gazed into her eyes intently for a moment before he kissed her long, hard, and thoroughly. Kissed her until they broke apart gasping for air. 

“You have awoken your dragon, my treasure.” He nipped her bottom lip. He grabbed onto her and spun them around so she was pressed between him and the tree. His hands slid under her shirt starting to pull at it. 

“Is there anyone else out this far?” she asked, moaning as his hands cupped her tits and his thumbs fanned across her nipples. 

“Worried about someone seeing us even now, precious?” Kyojuro chuckled, pinching and pulling on her nipples under her shirt. He dipped his head and kissed her again before his hands slid away from her flesh.  “I’ll give you a head start.”

“For what?” Bri asked, confused but intrigued. She worked on getting a hold of her breathing and gathering her thoughts. Kyojuro had kissed the brain functions out of her.

“To escape from your dragon, my treasure,” he grinned. He eyed her like a predator sizing up their dinner. He ran his thumb over her lip before he dropped his arms to his sides. 

“We could literally portal there right now,” she chuckled at her mate

“We could… but that’s not nearly as fun nor as thrilling as chase, now is it,” he grinned at her, leaning down to nip her lip.

“Are you serious, Kyo?”

“Certainly!” He turned her away from him and then pulled her hips back harshly against him, pressing his erection into her lower back. One of his hands went to her throat and the other between her legs, both squeezing lightly. His chuckle was dark, his breath light against her ear. “I will devour you wherever I catch you, sweet thing. So you better start running if you wish to make it back to the cabin before I am buried inside of you.”

And that was how Bri now found herself running through the forest under the light of the full moon with her mate in pursuit. She was struggling to remember the path back to her in-law’s cabin with her mate on her heels.

She could feel Kyojuro getting close and laughed as she began to zig zag as she ran. She knew he was faster than her, but that did not mean she was going to give in easily. She was enjoying the thrill of the hunt just as much as her dragonkin husband, allowing her own thrill to be enhanced by what she could feel within her husband’s mind.

“You’re going to have to do better than that to escape me, sweet thing,” Kyojuro’s baritone was just slightly deeper than normal as he projected his voice after her. 

Sensing he was closing in she decided to use her portal ability to take her right into the cabin itself. Luckily for her mate, he had predicted this was exactly what she would do and before she could get through her portal he was wrapped around her and falling out the other side of the portal with her.

He pinned her under him on the floor of the cabin, a devious grin on his face. “It appears I caught you, my love.”

“It appears that you did,” she said with a grin, working to catch her breath. She laid her head lazily on the floor and looked up at him through her thick lashes, desire in her gaze. “And what will you do to me now that you caught me, my beloved?”

He pressed his groin against her center, rocking the hardness against her.

“I think you know exactly what I am going to do to you,” he purred, leaning down to kiss her passionately, dominating the kiss from the start. One of his hands buried in her hair holding her head in place with a firm grip as he kissed her. She whimpered into the kiss and nibbled at his bottom lip. 

“I’m going to fuck you all night long, and all over this cabin. “ He moved his mouth back to the crook of her neck, kissing and sucking at the sensitive skin harshly, enjoying the way she wiggled and mewled beneath him “Tell me, sweet thing, how does that sound to you? Letting me claim you and fill you up with my seed over and over and oooover again,” he ground his throbbing cock more firmly against her as he dragged out the word.

The little game of cat and mouse that he had decided to play had made him feel even more feral than before. As if that were possible… Yet, he truly felt like the dragon who had caught his princess. And like the legend, he fully intended to gobble her up. Gobble her up until his name was the only word she knew and then fuck her brains out until neither of them could walk. 

“Yomoya!” The word was whispered against her now exposed mate’s mark. He kissed it right before he sank his teeth into it, giving a hard roll of his his against her at the same time

“Oh, fuck, Kyojuro!” She whined loudly, the want in her voice tangible. She rocked against him, her pussy desperately seeking friction to help with the tingling throb going straight to her clit.

Kyojuro hungrily claimed her mouth, his tongue sweeping in and demanding hers to move with him. His hands bunched up her shirt, thumbs catching her bra and shoving it up to the tops of her breasts, freeing the swells to his assault. His hands immediately squeezed the large globes, fingers moving to pinch and pull at the hard nubs until she whimpered into the kiss. 

He broke the kiss to move down her neck, nuzzling into the crook and sucking a mark. He ran his tongue over it teasingly before he bit down the same spot. He growled against her skin at the way her hips bucked up, searching for more. He let go, ducking his head to suck and bite at her breasts as he helped her pull her shirt over her head, tossing it aside. 

His hands roughly undid her shorts. He looked up at her as he licked her stomach. She was braced on her elbows watching him. Her breasts were heaving and she was already showing his marks on her skin. He felt his cock twitch in his pants. Beautiful. 

Kyojuro pulled at her shorts, smirking at the eager way she lifted her hips. It seemed she wanted the damn things off and out of the way almost as badly as he did. He left that skimpy red lace thong on her, licking his lips at the sight as he knelt between her legs and pressed them wide apart, his large hands cupping her inner thighs.

He slid his hands closer to her center, rubbing his thumbs up and down over her pussy lips. He smirked at the way her hips twitched and she chewed at her bottom lip, getting wetter by the second. He spread her pussy lips wider, bunching the lace between her folds. He braced on one hand and leaned over her. The other hand hooked two fingers on the lace and began to give it little tugs against her swollen clit. 

Bri whimpered, her hips and fingers twitching, she tilted her head back obediently when he moved to hover over her. She cried out when he gave the panties a little more forceful tug, her body trembling in pleasure. 

“That’s it, my treasure,” he dipped his head down to nip and pull at her bottom lip. “Let me hear you! There’s no need to hold back tonight.”

He dipped his head down to mouth, suck and bite at her breasts again as he continued to toy with her panties against the sensitive bead. He could feel how wet and sticky the material was getting and it made him throb. But he needed more. He needed her bare before him. He yanked at the material and tore the panties off her body. 

“Hey!”  Bri grumped at him, she had liked those panties! Before she could complain, Kyojuro pressed two fingers into her mouth, pressing down slightly on her tongue. Eyes wide she licked at them, coating them in her spit.

“Good girl,” he grinned, looking almost drunk as he watched her. His spit covered fingers went straight to her pussy rubbing her saliva over her folds before shoving the same two thick calloused fingers into her weeping cunt.  He curled them just right to hit that perfect spot that had her crying out. “Oh, fuck, Kyo!”

Bri arched her back, crying out as his fingers pumped in and out of her at a steady pace and he mouthed a hungry trail down her body. Her fingers locked around his horns as her beloved husband rolled her hips back, spreading her wider. He began finger fucking her in a hard and fast. His mouth worked her clit with sucks and flicks as his fingers pounded into her slick heat.

“Oh, gods! Kyojuro! I’m cumming!” Bri cried out as her orgasm washed over her sending electricity in pulses throughout her entire being. 

“That’s it, my love!” Kyojuro moved his head to be able to licking and fuck her creamy hole with his tongue, thrusting it in as deep as his tongue could go. His hungry groans against her cunt prolonged her orgasm and left her twitching until she was so oversensitized she was panting and she was pushing him away with a firm pressure on his horns. 

He knew what the gesture meant, he stopped his mouth’s assault, opting instead to just place several kisses on her mound. His large hands remained on her thighs, keeping her open and massaging them as he pulled back his face from between her legs, smirking up at her.

“Holy shit,” she panted, cupping his face. She chuckled as she wiped her hand down his chin, trying to wipe her pleasure off of his face as she tried to catch her breath. 

He grinned at her before he leaned over her, kissing her, again letting her taste herself on his tongue. He pulled back from her to remove his clothes. She watched his every move as he pulled his shirt over his head and undid his belt and pants, shoving them down and tossing them aside. 

Bri licked her lips at the sight of his hard cock, tip already leaking for her. His hand wrapped around his cock, giving it a few pumps with a smirk on his face. She didn’t look away, instead she let her eyes take their time traveling back up to his face. The hard, chiseled and scarred plains of her mate’s muscular body made her mouth water. The gods had seen fit to give him the face of an angel and the cock of a god to go with that ridiculously sexy body of his. I am such a lucky woman.

I am glad to know you feel that way, as it is entirely mutual.

He crawled back up her body, licking, kissing, biting his way up to her head. He kissed along her jaw, nuzzling the skin as he dragged his cock back and forth between her sensitive, slick folds. When the head finally caught on her opening he wasted no time shoving his cock into her warmth, splitting her open, bottoming out on the first thrust.

She cried out his name, a broken sob that sounded so beautiful to his ears as he began to pound into her. His arms curled under her shoulders, holding her close as his hips pistoned his cock into her hard and fast. 

“You feel so good inside of me! Oh gods,” Bri moaned, her nails digging into Kyojuro’s tanned flesh, hanging on for dear life as he fucked into her cunt hard and fast. Her legs were locked around his hips, holding him close, forbidding him from even thinking of leaving her embrace.  

“You feel incredible around my cock. You’re so warm and tight,” he groaned, grinding his hips for emphasis before picking back up his hard pace. He slid a hand down her spine, pressing against her mid back, helping her arch off the bed to meet his thrusts as his cock pounded into her cunt over and over again.

He pulled out and smacked her pussy several times with his cock, smirking at how she twitched every time the head of his cock smacked against her clit. He grabbed onto her hips, rolling her onto her stomach. “Up on your knees, mate. Present yourself to me.”

Bri blushed a little but did as he said, limbs a little shaky. She moved onto her fours, spreading her legs and arching her back, her pussy on open display for him. She threw a look over her shoulder and bit her lip. “Like that?”

“Just like that,” Kyojuro said, licking his lips. His hands cupped the globes of her ass and spread them apart admiring the sight of her holes just waiting for him. He spit on her ass, watching it slide down into her spread folds. He did it again, his cock twitching when he watched her cunt clench around nothing.

He went up on his knees, rubbing his cock back and forth, smearing his spit before pressing into her waiting hole. He groaned as his hips came flush with her ass, buried deep inside of her. “Gods. You’re so hot, so tight around me, sweet thing. Such a perfect little pussy.”

Bri whimpered at his words of praise.  She felt so full, feeling his big, thick cock all the way into her stomach. “You’re so big, Kyo! You’re so fucking deep inside of me like this!”

He began to move, opening his mind to his mate and feeling her do the same. He moaned and dug his fingers into her hips as the feelings of pleasure she was experiencing washed through him as he fucked into her. He pressed a hand between her shoulders, pressing her upper body down into the mattress as he went up onto one foot, bending the leg to give himself a deeper angle. He could feel himself bottoming out on every thrust. 

Kyjuro’s hand left her hip to dive between her legs, fingers deftly delving through her slick folds to find her clit and fanning it with pressure as his hips slammed into her ass hard enough the fat of her cheeks recoiled with every thrust. He could feel his balls getting tighter and an electric feeling starting to pulse throughout him. “I’m gonna cum, sweet thing!”

“Fill me up, Kyo!” Bri moaned under him, trying desperately to move against him as he held her down and fucked into her hard, fast and rough. Tears of pleasure leaked from her watering eyes and drool was sneaking out from the corner of her lips. She was almost delirious with pleasure. 

Kyojuro adjust his angle just slightly and hit that hidden spot inside of her, making her cry out in pleasure. 

“There, baby? RIght there? Right fucking there?” he growled, the hand from her shoulders now tangled in her hair and guiding her up onto her hands again.

“Yeah! Fuck! Shit! Nghhhh!! Don’t stop, Kyo! Don’t stop, baby!” She begged, crying out on each thrust, her fingers tangling in the sheets of the bed.

“Who’s are you?” he asked, giving a particularly hard thrust.

“Yours!” she cried out, back arching even more, trying to give him even more access, trying to let him go even deeper within her. “I’m yours! Yours and only yours, Kyojuro! Let your dragon claim!”

The growl he let out was far more dragon than human. He moved quickly to be leaning over her back pinning her down, fucking her down into the mattress. “You are my beloved. My treasure. My mate. You are mine.”

He moved her hair to one side of her neck and sank his teeth into the back of her neck.

“Fuck!! Kyojuro!! I’m cumming!” Bri cried out, her cunt clamping down on him as her pleasure made a mess of their groins and thighs. She felt when his orgasm hit, the tightening of his muscles, the hot splash of his seed filling her and dripping out of her as he continued to fuck into her. She felt the pleasure coursing through his veins, only rivaled by the love she felt flowing as freely and plentifully next to it. 

They collapsed forward onto the bed together, panting and sweaty. Kyojuro slid off of her back to rest next to her. He turned her face towards him so he could pepper her lips gently. He brushed hair back behind her ear that had become glued to her forehead with sweat.

“Are you alright, my treasure? Was I too rough?”

She smiled at him, lifting one hand to caress his cheek and pull him in for a gentle kiss. “You were perfect, as always. Kyojuro.”

"What is that?”

Bri turned as Kyojuro came out onto the porch at his parents cabin. Bri had stepped outside, wanting to cool off and feel the moonlight on her skin. She took a slow puff of the joint she had in her hand, inhaling deeply before letting the smoke out slowly. She held the rolled joint up between two fingers as she turned to face him, leaning against the guard rail.

“Troll’s blood leaf. It works wonders for pain, anxiety, migraines, and inflammation. It depends on the strain what it is good for,” Bri answered. “I smoke it for all of the above. Tonight, however, I am smoking it for sheer enjoyment of the high. This is the best strain of it that exists.”

“Where did you get it from? I thought it was illegal, ” Kyojuro asked, taking the rolled, smoking flower from her fingers and holding it closer to his nose to sniff at. He accidentally inhaled some and ended up coughing, making her smile at the grossed out look he gave the joint and then her.

“It is illegal. Even though it should not be. And as for where I acquire it from - Bubbe grows it, actually,” Bri chuckled. “That old battle axe is such a rebel.”

Kyojuro chuckled, he should not have been surprised Bubbe was Bri’s supplier. He had never partaken of anything like this before, but he figured what the hell. 

“Don’t inhale too deep or you’ll cough so hard you end up puking,” Bri cautioned her husband. 

Kyojuro tried to do as she said, accidentally inhaling too much and too fast. He ended up coughing until he sat down on the wooden floor beneath them, holding his head for a moment. He smiled at her when she squatted down in front of him to check on him. She had a hand on either of his legs, concern in her eyes and the joint dangling from between her pretty lips. His head swum slightly, but it was not an unpleasant feeling. It was more pleasurable than the feelings he got from alcohol, that was for sure. 

“I’m alright,” he reassured her before he reached up and took the joint from between her lips, taking a smaller more careful drag of it. He closed his eyes as he slowly exhaled, letting the feeling of the plant settle as he held out the joint for her again. “It is not unpleasant.”

“That’s a fact,” Bri chuckled, sitting down on her knees still between his legs. She handed him back the joint, leaning into him until he rested back against the railing on the side of the porch. She kissed down his neck, nipping over his pulse before leaning back and taking another hit of the herb. She inhaled deeply, holding it.

“Open your mouth,” she said, leaning closer. Kyojuro did as she asked, surprised when her lips met his to part and blow the smoke into his mouth. He inhaled it directly from her lips and groaned as she pressed against him. He tipped his head back and exhaled, eyes closing as she mouthed at his adams apple. 

She handed him back the joint and began to kiss down his body. He caught her chin, pausing her and turning her face up. He held her gaze as he took a deep inhale, smirking as she turned her chin up even more to meet his lips, letting him blow the smoke into her mouth this time, breathing it in deeply. She took it from his fingers as he leaned in, taking his turn to mouth at her neck, his hands sliding under her silk robe, pulling the tie open so he could part her robe and have full access to her body. 

He latched onto her nipple, his hands on her back supporting her as she arched into his mouth. She tilted her head back and took the last hit off the joint, putting it out in a little ashtray she had found. Her hands moved to his jaw, tilting his head back and meeting his lips to blow the last of the smoke into his waiting mouth.

She adjusted her position to again be over him, mouthing and marking his neck, licking over his mate’s mark before sinking her teeth into it as she raked her nails lightly over the front of his body. Kyojuro groaned, his fingers digging into her skin as he groped the flesh he could reach. His cock was hard and leaking beneath his robe and he needed to be inside of her again. The full moon was far from setting. 

“Do you want to take this back inside?” he asked, hands threading through her hair as she licked at his skin.

“No…No, I don’t think I do,” she smirked up at him as she undid his belt.

“Ah fuck,” Kyojuro groaned as Bri wasted no time straddling his lap. He helped her line up and guided her down the length of his shaft until she was fully seated on top of him. 

With his cock fully sheathed inside of her, she began rocking, lifting and dropping. Her hands held onto his broad shoulders as his hands on her hips helped support her efforts. She leaned forward, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. She buried her hands in his hair and began to ride him harder and faster.

Kyojuro’s hands moved to grip her ass cheeks. He squeezed and kneaded the meat of them before spreading them slightly to give himself more access. He used his hold on her to guide her speed and movements. He bit his lip at the sight of her riding him. Her head was thrown back, eyes closed as she moan and whimpered so beautifully above him. Her breasts bounced and swayed as she moved and her nails dug in to his scalp as she held him close. 

He licked over her mates mark, nuzzling against it before kissing up her throat. She tilted her head down to kiss him again. She gasped and jerked her head back when he grabbed under her thighs and lifted her with ease. Her back hit the cool logs of the cabin as she was pressed firmly against it. Kyojuro’s hands remained on her thighs, keeping them spread and pushed back. Thanking the universe for her flexibility, Bri held onto her mate’s shoulders as his hips began to thrust at a steady pace, fucking into her as his mouth laid kisses and nips on her ear, neck and shoulders. 

She could have lived in this moment forever. The words of love and filth falling from her husband’s lips against her skin… the feel of her beloved mate inside of her, making love to her with the light of the full moon on her skin and the buzz of the herb in her brain was everything a witch could ever dream of having. 

So why did she feel a tingle of impending doom slithering in the back corner of her mind? Why now? Kyojuro’s teeth sank down into her mate’s mark, tearing her mind from its stray thoughts and thrusting her back into the moment with him. The tingle of foreboding and awareness of it happening was gone from her mind, far from the reaches of her conscious thoughts, but the ripples still continued in the waters of time and fate. For at that very moment, the pieces on a gameboard she didn’t even know were set to match, had begun to move into their final positions. 

Muzan took a long sip of the blood in his goblet. He grimaced as he glanced down into the cup to see it was empty, yet again. He walked towards his fireplace, where to the right of the mantle hung one of the slayers from Ubuyashiki’s pesky followers. The man’s hands and feet were shackled and his body showed bruising from where Muzan’s guards had beaten him. 

He paced back and forth in front of the man clinging to life. “I have waited a long time for these pieces to fall into place, did you know that?”

“What… do you mean?” the man asked, his voice scratchy from all of the screaming he had done over the last 2 days as Muzan had fed from him. 

“For the time to be right, the stars to align, however you pesky human vermin put it,” Muzan said, cup still empty in his hand, stem held between two fingers as he gestured with it while he spoke. “I have an ally in the Tsugikuni Keep. I have gained unfettered access to the Crystal Chambers. I have strong, loyal, blood thirsty generals that are about to become even stronger thanks to a deal made by the Betrayer. Soon I will command the most powerful forces in the land and I will take the Wisteria Empire in a show of bloody, brutal force. After centuries of waiting, I will end the Ubuyashiki line and I will take what is mine!”

“You will never win,” the man said, coughing up blood as he raised his head and met Muzan’s eyes. “We will never-”

Muzan cut the man’s diatribe off with a quick movement of his hand, slicing open the man’s throat. As the flickering light died in the man’s eyes, Muzan let his life’s blood fill his cup. He smirked as he brought it to his lips, “What was that you were saying about I will never win? Oh, that’s right. You can’t speak since you’re dead. For the record, little victories, just like your blood, taste quite delicious, a perfect little appetizer before the full feast that is the big battle to come.”

Muzan walked to his balcony, looking up at the full moon and toasting towards it, the blood in his cup slushing and rising against the edges. “Can you feel it, Ubuyashiki? Can you feel the whisper of death’s breath caressing your skin? The beginning of the end is drawing near. Where will you run when I leave you nowhere left to go but your death? Enjoy this time, Ubuyashiki, for soon it will be your blood that runneth over my cup. Both by the mountain path and as the crow flies, just around the corner, the end is nigh. And in the end, Ubuyahiki, you will die.” 

[dovithedarklord]

Age of Monsters - Chapter Seventeen

Pairing: OFC x Simon "Ghost" Riley, OFC x König

Tags: Slow Burn, Slow Build, Enemies to Lovers, Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, POV First Person, Not Beta Read, Medical Inaccuracies, Military Inaccuracies, AFAB OC

Trigger Warning: The story will contain violance, blood and smut in detail. Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

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Author's Note

Leona and the team travel again, and more and more interesting situations arise.

Hello!

I noticed that with all the upheavals in my life, I can safely upload approx. every two weeks, so I'll stick to that! :D

I don't have a separate Trigger Warning for today's chapter!

Have fun! :D

I.M.L. – Infected Mammal Lifeorm I.H.L. – Infected Humanoid Lifeorm

if you're interested you can find the story on AO3: Chapter Seventeen

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The small room is enveloped in motionless semi-darkness, and only the flickering lights of the machines resting next to the bed paint the two figures clinging to each other on the patient's bed into a neon-colored rainbow. And although their faces now finally radiate peaceful calmness, as they rest in the whiteness of the sterile bedding, they look more like plants floating on the edge of death, intertwined with their dry branches as a last refuge. Yet, despite their almost painful weakness, the aura mixed with terror that reigned over them seems to be easing at last, which was ingrained in each of their cells like an ineradicable illness.

And as I look at the crumpled bed on the other side of the room, I can read from the wet stains on the pillow that the boy probably woke up from a bad dream and sought solace from the woman. It's not surprising that he chose close proximity instead of comfort, because, in the many horrors he has experienced so far, his older companion has been his protector. Perhaps she anchored him in reality now as well, when he floated, writhing in tears, on the border between the bitter images of the realm of dreams and this world. And a rather bitter taste invades my tongue when it occurs to me, that it cannot be ruled out that he will suffer in this temporary nightmare for the rest of his life. Stuck in the middle of painful memories and fleeting safety.

Because I'm dead sure that the government won't let two very young Healers, whom they can squeeze out a few more years of service from, go to waste. No leader will let them take early retirement, even if they die while serving the Hunters. This system isn’t kind to anyone, especially not to those who, according to the authorities, were born to serve. And even though it's better for everyone if a Hunter stays sane and doesn't slaughter everyone in their path if they run out of energy, it doesn't change the fact that, as per the current state of the world, there isn't even time for people to mourn their traumas.

And this thought weakens the contentment purring inside me, which I experienced last night with the help of my clever ability. Because my little action seems infinitely futile as I watch them. I treated all their wounds, and all traces of the pain they suffered disappeared from the tissues, but every minute they spent in the dark little hole where they were pushed into lives just as vividly in their minds. And neither my energy, nor that bastard's pitiable death, nor time will cure this. I doubt that any of them will ever recover, and I can only hope with the utmost benevolence that they lose their sanity and wither in a lab for the rest of their lives, high on medication. That would be the slowest but most merciful death that life could give them. 

I must be quite deeply immersed in my thoughts, because I only notice that a tall figure casts a dark shadow on me, when he settles next to me in front of the window of the small ward and joins me in my silent observations. I don't need to look at Riley to know the expression on his masked face, because the barely suppressed rage that emanates from him when he glances at the pair hiding in the small, dim room almost stings my skin. And my mind, buried in resignation, has the strength to feel pleasure for a minute at his agitation, for it soothes my soul in a sick way, that, despite the fact that his kind doesn't need to fear such horrors, I still see the glint of anger in the dark eyes of his reflection. This gives me some faint relief from the gnawing doubts that snake into my bones, which have burrowed deeper and deeper since yesterday with such insidious efficiency as worms feasting on corpses. Because I can't get rid of the image of the terrified faces of the two Healers, and in those few passing hours, when I was finally able to close my eyes, I saw myself in the dirty corner instead of them.

"What did Price say?" I speak up suddenly, diverting my thoughts to safer ground, because the further development of our mission seems a much more pleasant topic than discussing the future of the two poor souls shrouded in doubt, or reviving the damned delusions of my brain. And even though I don't look away from the seemingly peaceful scene unfolding before me, I can see him examining me inquisitively, as if he would be searching for something in my expressionless features. And he must have found it, because even though I can bury my emotions expertly, even my persona created for denial cannot hide from his trained senses.

"Laswell looked the thug up." He finally answers, and whatever was going on in that mysterious mind of his, he goes into the game of ignoring my strange behavior without comment. And I'm immensely grateful for the fact that he is able to turn to duty so quickly, because no matter how much my mind is occupied by the miserable fate of my two fellow colligues, our mission is more important. Now only my subconscious and I should be on the same page about this. "We're leavin' tomorrow." He informs me, stating a certain fact, and I just glance at him curiously from the corner of my eye. Laswell works faster than the devil, and it looks like she hasn't let us down now either. Even though we only had a name and a colony in our hands, which could have been too little to be able to move on with our pursuit. But our station chief's nose is much sharper, and she picked up a hot scent again at such a pace that belies the fact that she is just a simple human. And the knowledge that tomorrow I can finally leave this cesspool, and all this dreadful moment will be an unpleasant experience lost in the mist of the past, selfishly calms my mind. Because I don't want to face why I want to leave the two Healers so enthusiastically and forget about what will happen to them.

"Are they coming with us too?" I continue to inquire, raising another important question, which, although less intensively, but with sufficient enthusiasm, strains my skull. Because the two short days I spent in the company of our new teammates helped to plant the seeds of suspicion and foreboding in my mind enough to make me prefer to part ways with them, even if that would mean the loss of their help. There wouldn't even be a problem with Horangi, but König... he's a different story. And I don't just want to keep him away from my friends, because I'm secretly afraid that they work together like a ticking time bomb, and it's only a matter of time before they have a punch-up due to their incompatible personalities with Riley. There is something inherently dangerous about the hooded Hunter that clings to his every cell like a bloodthirsty demonic presence. It was already difficult for me to decipher the masked man, but König is a completely new kind of riddle, and I'm not sure that I want to know what is hidden under the dark textile. I have a gut feeling that if I dip even one toe into this shallow, murky mystery, the monster lurking in the bottomless swamp will grab me and drag me under. But despite my vivid imagination, my rational side is perfectly aware that I need to observe just enough to be able to read him and know what he and his little companion are up to behind the scenes. Because they are most certainly not so willing because of their good heart and conscience.

"Shepherd won't let us go without his dogs." The Hunter notes curtly, and based on his tone it's clear that even without saying it, he understood whom I was aiming at so skillfully. The edge of disdain moves into his deep voice, which has been lurking under the surface ever since we were drawn here by the clues given us by Valeria. And although I know the kind of self-restraint and discipline the man possesses, it's still impressive how effectively he can rein in his temper, even though his colleague's behavior made it a difficult task for him on several occasions. They cooperate with us with perfect professionalism, but they make sure, with small and sly signs, that we know that, thanks to the old shit, we are not in control here. Our little adventure yesterday made this very clear.

"How surprising." I remark dryly, and I don't even try to make the words crawling on my tongue a little less sarcastic, because I know that my cynicism now finds a match in my partner. Shepherd wants to keep us on a short leash through the two Hunters, and I'm pretty sure it would only take one wrong move to make the kindness of our new helpers disappear like a mirage in the desert. But it's even more likely that the old bastard will wait until we smooth this little nuisance out for him, and then he will get rid of us. That would be very clever, and would give a good reason why the two mercenaries are coming with us. In light of this, we not only have to get hold of the serum and be careful with the mutants, but we also have to keep a watchful eye on when they stab us in the back. Wonderful.

"You shouldn't have come to the interrogation room." Riley deviates from the thread of our conversation, and I'd be lying if I said that I didn't expect him to bring up my little incident sooner or later. It's a fact that it would have made a much better impression on our hosts if I hadn't poked my nose into their business, and perhaps if anger hadn't burned inside me like an inferno, I would have been able to think clearly and stay away. Undoubtedly, it would have attracted less attention, and it's also likely that even without my intervention, they would have found the bloody method that would have made that scumbag want to spill every last bit of info he had. The secret of my little abilities would also have remained under wraps, which would still give me a trump card in case one of our hired babysitters decided to help me cross over to the other world. But the icy hatred that closed its teeth around my insides injected a poison into me, causing a red fog to descend on my mind that I was unable to fight against. And to be honest, I didn't want to.

"I'd argue with that." I retort dispassionately, and I still don't meet his gaze, the weight of which now almost suffocates me. Although our relationship has fallen into something quite attractively complicated, I know that when it comes to work, he knows no joke. And it occurs to me that he might want to scold me now because I wasn't able to do what was expected of me again. And I would like to warn him well in advance, before he can even delve into his disciplining, that no one forbade me to interfere even with a fucking word. Horangi's feeble attempt was more of a less-than-enthusiastic warning than an actual command. If he was serious, then he would have easily arranged it so that I could not barge into the interrogation room. Because he could have killed me with one move.

A frightened whine penetrates the noise of the chirping machines in the ward, and as I see the half-asleep boy moving closer to the woman, who just begins to draw soothing circles through the blue material of the hospital nightgown on his bony back, then the terrifying feeling that brought me to the container on swift legs rises again in me. There is no protocol or rule that could have stopped me then, even if my brain now knows that sitting on my pretty ass and waiting for the big boys to take care of the situation would have been the right thing to do. But I'm too stubborn for that.

"It was our task to find out what he knows."  The man states the truth flatly, and I only carefully divert my gaze from the Healers hugging on the sick bed to immerse myself in the inscrutable eyes of Riley's reflection. Because from someone who carries out his duties with such rigor and keeps to what is expected of him, I wouldn't exactly expect him to let my newest naughtiness pass without a word. Although I had already managed to avoid the retort that my misbehavior would have deserved once, I had saved his bosom friend by disobeying the order. But now, guided only by my own feelings, I charged into the middle of their party like a bull gone wild. Not that I mind for a minute.

"It took a long time. I sped it up." I offer the most acceptable reason, which I'm sure can soften the condemnation that might be camped in his mind. Because even though he knows that my terrible game was about much more than that, he can't argue with the fact that I forced out the answers that we were after much sooner than they could have achieved by beating him into a bloody pulp. And it's just an insignificant factor that I used specific tools, and the motivating force behind my actions is another completely negligible detail. The point is, that we got what we needed to continue our search for the serum. It's best for him and me if we leave it at that.

"You took revenge." He specifies simply, and even I'm surprised that there is no reprimanding weight behind his words. As if he had merely made a frivolous remark, rather than stating why I had so vehemently stormed in when they worked so diligently on their victim. But if his insight strikes me unexpectedly, my surprise quickly fades, because it's clear that he already knew why I was there when I crossed the threshold of the interrogation room. But instead of feeling ashamed for exposing my not-so-nice motives, the uncomfortable tightness in my stomach that hasn't really gone away since yesterday just flares up again. And as petty as it may be, I was filled with vengeance indeed when I laid my sly little hands on our prisoner, but I'm by no means such a noble soul as to refrain from it. This kind of meanness fits right into my repertoire of personality traits.

"Is it such a big deal?" I turn back to spying on the small room, because it's much easier to study the dark walls than to digest how effortlessly he can see through me. Of course, it's not that I have lost my mystery to him that bothers me, but rather the fact that I feel like a little kid caught doing mischief. Because from his tone it's like I did something completely wrong. Although I know that my approach was truly merciless, that dirtbag deserved every single moment of it. I don't care if what I have done is questionable, because as soon as I saw the desperation on that disgusting face swimming in tears and snot, my mood turned better in an instant. And if there was even a little justice left in the world, then all the wretches like this bastard would receive this punishment. What's wrong with such scum finally getting a taste of their own cruelty?

"No."  He breaks the short silence, agreeing with me almost too naturally, which is completely foreign from his mouth. Because this makes me unsure for a minute about why he brought up the whole topic in the first place. If it doesn't bother him that I took control and used my own little incentive, then what is his problem? "But you don't have to get your hands dirtier at all costs."  He adds, and I don't like the tone he puts into his voice at all, like he wanted to scold me. Which sounds bad coming from him, because we both know that while I may be a sneaky bastard, he doesn't need to go next door when it comes to brutality. We aren’t different in any way, and he shouldn't point out how unfeminine and not-so-delicate it is when I use these merciless tactics.

"There's enough blood on them anyway. A little more won't make a difference." I remark nonchalantly, keeping my eyes fixed in front of me with all my strength, because I'm afraid that if I look at the Hunter, I will glimpse something that my soul couldn't bear. I don't want to see his contempt or his superiority, because I don’t feel an iota of regret. This cruelty helped me through hardships all my life, I took what I needed to survive. If there was even a little less blood on my hands, I'd be lying there in that fucking bed right now, beaten, starved, raped and used. The only thing that kept me from this was that I immersed myself in the filth as deeply as was necessary, and my selfishness served me quite well. And if I have to drown in this infectious pool, I will.

But the movement comes completely unexpectedly, as one of his big hands finds my shoulder, and as his fingers gently tighten around the tensing muscles, I turn my head towards him with a starled shiver, because the tenderness in his touch reluctantly tears me out of the gloomy monologue going on in my head. And the way those brown eyes glance down at me makes my stomach jump instinctively, because the inscrutable flickers dancing there make the anger raging inside me fade away in a minute. The heat emanating from his palm pleasantly licks at my skin, which has cooled down due to the bitter rage, and brings my attention back to him so decisively from the chaos in my brain, as if he would be my anchor keeping me in reality.

"I know you're cruel. You don't have to prove it." He states, and his voice fades to a grumble, as he takes a small step to close the distance between the two of us. And as he leans down to me and his scent fills my nose like a familiar visitor, every nerve in my body is sharpened to what he has to say. "But you don't have to do it alone anymore." He declares, and with this one sentence, he dispels all the doubts that have nested in the hidden corners of my brain so far. And the realization that this is exactly why I wanted to leave the two Healers behind me tears into my mind. Because I saw in them the fate that could easily have found me too. I could have ended up chained and abused to the extreme, but instead, for all my selfishness and dishonesty, karma has led me to a place where I am treated much better than my background would justify.

And now here is Riley, who knows my worst side, has experienced firsthand the caustic sarcasm I can use to dig into other people's weaknesses with my words, and what evils my hands are capable of when my interests demand it. Yet knowing this, he offers that I don't have to walk this dark road alone, but willingly joins me. He doesn't expect me to leave behind my dubious methods accumulated over the years, he doesn't ask me to wash my hands clean. And because of this, something completely inexplicable awakens inside me, which simultaneously fills me with a pleasant warmth, which is followed by a hot trembling lightness that spreads through all the fibers of my being. And along with that, an icy fear creeps into the pit of my stomach, because the warning flashes in my subconscious almost immediately that I mustn't let this go. I can't waste this opportunity that fate has given me, because I'm not sure I could survive if I lost them.

And as a result of the realization, the invisible fingers of the tears spurred by the rising emotions gnaw into my eyes with almost painful force, but forcing the feelings down my dry throat, I just nod with a faint smile on my face. Because now I can see clearly. It takes shape in my head firmly that I'm willing to cling to the team, and especially to him with every drop of my blood, that this pledge almost burns into my brain.

⃰

The warm rays of the sun caress my naked arm peeking from under my shirt with deceptive peace, and as I leave the cargo deck hand in hand with my companions, and wade into the wild grass, the sweet scent of wildflowers fills my nose, and I allow myself to drink in the picturesque landscape for a minute. As if I had fallen into a dream, the meadow stretches to the edge of the horizon with such unimaginable calmness, where Nik so skilfully put down our plane, the soft noise of which is accompanied by the buzzing of bees and the chirping song of crickets as background noise. And at other times, this huge open space might make me nervous, where we are easy prey for the mutants who are stalking us, but behind the large building not far from us, the abundance of trees stretching to the sky cover us beneficially from at least one side. A real, hidden corner of paradise.

In other circumstances and in another life, this beautiful weather might even tempt me to have a little picnic in this undisturbed clearing that spreads out in front of our temporary accommodation. Of course, this would be a realistic idea if there was no chance that my idyllic pastime would be interrupted by a deformed monster or one of its humanoid friends, who would pay their respects with a slightly different kind of snack in mind. Although based on Price's information, the safe house might be located in the middle of nowhere, but it's just reassuringly close enough to the colony to be at a comfortable distance from any reckless beasts. Of course, the suspicion raging in my brain doesn't ease one bit, because, during my ever-longer mission, I already had the opportunity to experience what kind of horrors can be lurking behind such beautiful landscapes with watchful eyes. And most of the time they don't appear in the form of malformed animals, but take on a much more human face. Naturally, in this filthy place laced with death, we are still each other's greatest enemies.

"Good to see you're still alive!" A familiar voice interrupts my thoughts, and as I turn my head in the direction of its source, my dark little heart leaps with real joy. Because as soon as I see Garrick emerging from behind the battered door of the house, a definite line of a sincere smile crosses my face. And although it's barely been a while since I last had the good fortune to admire the Hunter's good features and even more pleasant aura, yet, in an almost disgusting way, my soul is relieved that amidst all the complicated misery, I finally have a familiar figure near me.

"We need more than that to bite the bullet!" MacTavish exclaims, and  he hurries forward grinning, so that when his friend is within arm's reach, he simply pulls him into a brotherly embrace enthusiastically, patting his back with the weights of the unspoken words of happiness in the small movement. It's no wonder that this meeting is so heart-warming, since every single mission is another chance for these happy moments to never happen again. And this is probably not the first party they got involved in, but in light of the fact that we are drowning deeper and deeper into unknown complications, even I can sympathize with the zeal of my two fanboys.

I don't have to wait long for the one person who is still missing from the impromptu celebration to show up, and as I recognize the well-known figure of Price marching out from the dim depths of the house, the fleeting feeling of absence that may have been present in me until now disappears. The man carefully studies us gathered in the field, and when his gaze settles on me after Riley, who is anchored next to me, and his beard-framed mouth curls up in a satisfied little smile, then my stomach jumps with excited joy with such ridiculous speed that it's downright disgusting. Still, it doesn't bother me for a minute that such crippling emotions rear their heads in my little soul, because I would be willing to do anything to never have to live without them.

"I've hoped this would be the case." Price also joins in our greeting, referring back to my Scottish friend's earlier confident statement with his small comment, as he comes close enough to welcome us. And when one of his big hands lands on my shoulder with the greatest naturalness and squeezes it gently, the pleasant warmth, that only the small team was able to revive in me for a very long time, spreads through all of my limbs following his touch. And I swear that an almost paternal pride shines in those bright eyes, as they survey my face, and I have to keep my cheeky superiority in my features with all my strength, because I don't want to get emotional in front of our audience just getting off the plane. "I've heard a lot of good things about you." He adds, and even though his praise is enough to awaken an impossible cheerfulness in me, but as his gaze meaningfully moves to the masked Hunter enveloped in silence, I understand to whom I owe this exceptional treatment. And because of this, I feel that the tremble in my stomach paints surprise on my face despite my will and all my attempts at indifference. I didn't think that it would be Riley who would so enthusiastically praise my performance to the boss, when earlier I had him to thank for the bright idea of my forest trip, due to which I almost got impaled by a mutant piggy. But this is enough for the hope in my head to push me even deeper into the embrace of my complicated feelings for him. Great.

And at that moment, Riley, who was already more wordless than usual, joins in the warm welcoming, and although he remains silent, he greets our leader with a firm nod. Others might not find his curtness particularly striking, but he cannot hide from the captain's eyes either. And I'm sure that Price also realized by reading his companion's body language that his stand-offishness is directed much more to the two mercenaries who approach us with lazy steps. Because it would be impossible not to notice the distant aura he puts on when he has to share the same space with his colleagues. And although this tense atmosphere made our plane ride excruciatingly long, considering the unique show we were treated to during our joint mission, the grumpy mood of the masked man doesn't seem exaggerated one bit.

Even though they close the distance between us with the silence of the predators lying in wait, I don't have to look back to know that our new companions have arrived at our small gathered group, because the tiny little hairs reflexively rise at my back as I feel that unmistakable gaze burning the back of my head. It was enough for me to look into those blue eyes once over the mangled body spread out on the floor of the interrogation room to know that the wisest thing to do was to ignore the existence of the hooded Hunter altogether. For although I don’t know to what, apart from his obvious interest in my kind, I owe that persistent attention with which he honors me every time we come into forced proximity, yet I'm sure that no good would come of entering into this dubious game. Whatever his purpose is by obnoxiously and shamelessly staring at me at every opportunity he gets.

Price is the one who, as a true leader, grasps the noble task of breaking the ice, and turns to the two mercenaries, straightening his back out with confidence. And although there is a diplomatic impassiveness on his face, and I might even detect a faint smile at the corner of his mouth, but my trained eyes catch the troubled wrinkles gathering on his forehead under the cover of the hat just in time before they disappear. It's rather cunning and tactical of the man to show his best face to those who might run to report to their master after his first questionable move, but despite his best efforts, the visible traces of suspicion remain in his gaze, with which he measures his colleagues up.

"Thanks for the help." The captain expresses his gratitude, and if he has doubts about the two men, it doesn't show in his voice for a minute. And although it's quite clear that he did this out of mandatory politeness, but even I'm impressed when he fixes his eyes on the hired Hunters with the keen attention of a hawk, as if he is trying to read even the smallest twitches, assessing every second how trustworthy the newcomers really are.

"We were paid well to do it." Horangi comments with complete calmness, and even though it was evident that the credits made them so willing until now, even I find it bold that he chirps out this little detail so casually. He doesn't even try to deny his motivations, and it can only happen for an infinitely simple reason, which helps my eyebrows furrow. The Korean Hunter and his no less pleasant companion are so carefree because they don't see an iota of threat in us, which would make them think it would be worth behaving more cautiously. Although under normal circumstances the goal would be for our group to be able to work together without stress, but it's quite obvious from the small, nonchalant little movement as the man cocks his head in interest that this isn’t the case. This is at least as humiliatingly belittling as it's irresponsible, and helps to spread the sparks of tension for a minute in the warm air swayed by the spring wind.

But as rapidly as the unpleasant atmosphere arrived, it dissolves as quickly, for MacTavish breaks the silence, loud with the buzzing of the beetles, that has set in, before my masked friend has time to act driven by the spark of irritation in his dark gaze. As he leaves Garrick's side and takes a few hasty steps closer to the captain, all eyes are suddenly on him, beneficially interrupting the storm that was no doubt slowly brewing.

"Did ya find out anythin' interestin'?" The Hunter with the mohawk turns the attention to the mission instead, directing our conversation in a much safer and more important direction. Despite his best efforts, no one moves for a couple of uncertain seconds, and even the blades of grass stand on guard, waiting to see if one of my buddies would like to test their skills against each other instead of working together, but in the end, it's Price who is the first to settle back into his composure with the impeccable nimbleness of years and routine.

"Maybe." The captain answers thoughtfully, and his gaze lingers on the two mercenaries before he nods toward our new shelter, inviting us inside. Whatever Laswell has dug up from the depths of yet another bottomless drawer, it's not a topic to be discussed in the open, and this sufficiently awakens my curiosity. "Let's go inside." And as he sets off towards the entrance of the safe house with quick steps, I'm the first to follow him, not only because instead of the tense atmosphere that slowly fills the peaceful meadow on the wings of the pollen blowing in the breeze, even the vague emptiness beyond the threshold is more inviting, but also because there are much more urgent problems scratching my mind than the struggle for dominance stemming from masculine vanity. The serum is what made us so beautifully wander to almost the other side of the world, and this very dangerous little vial of hell is why we crossed the ocean to visit another continent. The clever trick Shepherd will use to remove us from the uncertain variables is the problem of the future, which won't come if we don't concentrate on the task with all our focus. And it seems that after the fleeting intermezzo, the others come to this conclusion as well, because without further ado everyone heads towards our temporary headquarters too.

And despite the desolation of the building from the outside, as I cross the border of the house and the cool darkness embraces me, I'm greeted by a very well-maintained, almost homely interior. The gaudy stains on the walls preserve the old tasteful pattern of the torn wallpaper, and there is no doubt that a whole series of family photos could have rested on these eerie square patterns, which the residents might have taken with them in a hurry, in order to have a few memories frozen in the past peace, to which they can long to return to. And as I follow Price further into the uninhabited depths of the house, from the worn furniture forgotten behind and the child's toy lying in the corner, and from the curtain submitted to a slow rot I feel like I had trespassed into somewhere, where the faded ghosts of the late inhabitants still haunt, locked in the objects left behind. But I quickly suppress this short-lived unpleasant sensation, because if there is anything remaining here from the previous owners, it can only be a few bones and decaying scraps of clothing left by the victims when the beasts inevitably found them.

"What a nice place you got us." I note pulling the corner of my mouth into a grimace, and although my voice is noticeably laced with irony, considering the circumstances, the captain has managed to find a really impressive den, which is just right for us to hang out in for a few days. And even though my pretty little body is used to the puritanical comfort of the colony, but for once I'm willing to set aside the inconvenience that I might have to share my bed with ghouls.

"The credit is our helper's. The big guy gave us the coordinates." Garrick shares the information quietly as he catches up to me, and it's enough for him to nod behind with his head to let me know who he might be talking about from our new teammates. And the fact that the pleasant shack is thanks to König explains a lot. Up until now, it was obvious, based only on his rather strong German accent and even more German-sounding name, that he was not from an American colony, but the fact that he provided such accurate information about this safe house hidden in the desolate wilderness confirms that he was born somewhere in the area. And it's quite logical that a terrifying butcher like him started his later adventurous journey from one of the largest and world-famous colonies, because the mention of the name of the Hunter training center operating here fills even civilians with sufficient foreboding. And where else could such a burly giant have been trained into such an efficient killing machine than in Purgatory? It wasn't by chance that they gave it this apt nickname, because the miserable little kids who are dragged there endure such sufferings that, although they become "purified warriors", the few years they suffer there, leave a permanent mark on them. Or at least this urban legend is spread by word of mouth. But it's enough to just recall the bloodthirsty pleasure with which the hooded Hunter stomped someone to death, and it immediately becomes clear that there is perhaps a hint of truth in the rumor.

The captain finally ushers us into a spacious dining room, in the middle of which stretches an old table, where a myriad of documents and weapons are spread out, indicating that the man had just felt at home enough to get to work while he waited for us to join them. And although they got here with less than a day's lead, based on the scattered reports and papers, the two Hunters had enough time to review the important pieces of information, and perhaps even work out the beginnings of a plan to celebrate our arrival. If Laswell took swift action, then Price rivals this momentum, because as my eyes discover the map of the colony among the many pages, and the tangled chaos of streets and buildings highlighted on it in bright colors, I quickly understand that our leader wasn't lazy and must have already studied the field.

"Kate had a hard time with this. She managed to find out that the Rat is in the colony indeed and that his organization is involved in several businesses." The bearded man immediately jumps into the middle of the briefing, not wasting a minute, as we all gather around the table, and he skilfully pulls out a file, which he pushes to the center and opens in front of us. And when the picture of an unknown guy richly adorned with tattoos appears, it becomes obvious that our aforementioned criminal is staring back at us from the low-quality photo. "But he hides well, and no one finds him if he doesn't want it." He shares this not-necessarily positive development, and with this, he succeeds in planting an easily recognizable atmosphere of pessimism in the dim little room. Of course, we could guess that this bastard had to earn the nickname somehow, so it wouldn't be easy to get hold of him, but now we can't allow ourselves to start this search with uncertain assumptions. We need to find him quickly, but mostly immediately, because the clock is ticking, and with every minute we are getting closer to that damned poison finding a new owner.

"This doesn't make our job any easier." MacTavish voices some of the doubts in my head, and as his dark eyebrows meet with annoyance in a rather troubled grimace, it becomes quite evident that he had a similar train of thought in his head as I did.

"We have to get him before he sells the serum." Riley joins in as well, and although the seriousness of the situation should require my undivided attention, I can't help but acknowledge with satisfaction that he almost automatically lined up next to me, like a loyal shadow. And even this small detail can ignite excited little sparks under my skin, because his proximity is enough for all my senses to be painfully sharpened. And I have to forcibly divert my concentration back towards our discussion, because no matter how much I want to read every tiny movement of his face covered with a mask, now my useless brain has to deal with the analysis of bigger complications. Pull yourself together, Leona.

"If he doesn't come out on his own, we'll smoke him out." Horangi puts forward the rather radical idea, and leans comfortably on the table with folded hands on the other side, as casually as if we weren’t just trying to find the ever-cooling trail of a drug that leads to certain death. And I find his ease interesting, because I'm pretty sure that fat credits won't be of much use if the army of hybrids and their little minions overrun every corner of the surviving civilization. Because this tiny little suggestion would most certainly lead to that.

"It would be an irresponsible idea." I interject my comment, looking through the file that was probably dug up by Laswell, searching for anything that might narrow down where in this huge, bustling city we should start our search to find our criminal in the shortest possible time. And Price was really not exaggerating, the dude got his hands into almost everything from trading with weapons, to prostitution, to drug and human trafficking, so it's no wonder that his criminal organization weaves through the colony like a spider web full of decay. Because, except for the central sectors, where the centers of the official bodies are concentrated in each colony, areas where he has influence have been circled in bright red almost everywhere else. Fabulous.

"Scum like him is easy to catch. All it takes is force." König chimes in for the first time since our arrival, and as his voice resonates through the barren walls of the building, I also break out of my observations and shift my gaze from the piles of documents to the man with careful deliberation. And from the way he straightens up and stands out from our small group without the slightest uncertainty, it's clear that he sees nothing wrong with his idea full of violence. And although it's already quite obvious from this how they managed to find the weak link leading to the Vultures so amazingly quickly, this approach won't work now. Because it's the least of our problems that everyone is in a foreign land except him, but if our target is such an influential person that he has ears on every corner, then he will know that we are in his heels before we have a chance to touch him with a finger.

"If he finds out he's being targeted by Hunters, he'll take off before we can even get close to him." I explain this non-negligible factor, and as I firmly hold the unpleasant weight of his gaze fixed on me, I know I'm not imagining the curious glint in those ice-blue eyes. "That's why we're here now instead of the colony, I imagine." I add this detail almost as a side note, and I don't try to prevent cynicism from creeping into my voice, because I want this behemoth to know that no matter how menacingly he stares, he won't be able to force me to surrender. Especially not when I know I'm right. If it were so easy to track down that goddamn thug without being noticed, then Price would have been breathing down the dude's neck before our plane even touched the ground.

"She's right." Garrick agrees, his face involuntarily giving way to the helplessness that must have settled in his head, and which helps to plant the faint line of resigned wrinkles on his face. Without a doubt, he would have been the first to bring our target to us wrapped in a pretty bow if he had the chance to lay his deadly little hands on him. But it wasn't a coincidence that they arrived here first and waited for us, because this action requires much more caution than they can organize with their usual bloody techniques.

"But we can't just sit around and wait!" MacTavish argues, spreading his hands out passionately, thus effectively voicing the frustration that is probably slowly forming in everyone upon hearing our increasingly hopeless mission. But even though I can understand his powerless rage, we cannot run headlong into the wall, because at this point we risk the complete destruction of humanity with every wrong move.

"I agree with Woods on this. We can't act hastily. We need intel." Price affirms, his eyes scanning our small gathering meaningfully, silently signaling that although he would like to throw himself into the middle of action, even his experience cannot guarantee success right now. "Nik, can you help us?" He suddenly turns towards the entrance of the dining room, and I look back over my shoulder in confusion, because I could swear that we left our pilot at the plane. But as I see the man leaning against the doorframe with complete peace of mind, many questions arise in my mind regarding our friend, who until now was believed to be rather harmless. And judging by the fact that my companions aren't at all surprised that Nik was able to sneak up to us so unobtrusively, I have a very strong feeling that I quite misunderstood the guy. His remarkable ability to follow us without being noticed is only a negligible detail in addition to the fact that the captain turns to him to solve our predicament.

"I have a few contacts in Colony No. 2. I'll see what they know." Nik offers, with such a self-evident simplicity that deepens my suspicion that the man mostly plays pilot as a hobby, and pursues very dubious activities as a full-time job instead. Because there is no other logical explanation as to why he has contacts on another continent who hide deep enough in the underworld to help us. Very interesting.

"All right." Price gives his blessing to the proposed solution, and then immediately turns his determined attention back to our small team. "Until then, we'll wait." He shares our next step, and although I can feel that not everyone is filled with unclouded happiness by this development, he gets a nod of agreement from everyone, even from our mercenary comrades. "Let's rest. The last week has been busy." He adds in conclusion, now with a much softer tone, and the hoarseness of exhaustion settles in his voice, which he has been able to more or less successfully remove from himself so far.

As our two mercenaries take the opportunity without further comment and leave the scene of our meeting with comfortable steps, I have the opportunity to take a closer look at the face of our leader. And although for a fleeting moment, I still feel the scrutinizing gaze of the giant man on the middle of my back, I'm much more occupied by the very pale grayness that I now quite clearly discover appearing on the captain's skin. Up until now, it might have been the excitement of the trip that could divert my attention, but now I see the weariness dominating the features of the bearded Hunter, and in the semi-darkness surrounding the room, the circles under his eyes seem even darker. And as I shift my searching gaze to Garrick, I can make out the small gray veins running along his temple even from the cover of his cap, which can indicate only one thing. And after a quick calculation, my suspicion is confirmed, that I haven't been able to handle them with my clever little hands for weeks, and although they probably didn't have to use their ability extremely, stress can very effectively bring out exhaustion in them. Although my Scottish buddy and his masked bosom friend received a charge not so long ago, at the gate of our important little mission, a little boost won't hurt them either.

"By the way." I speak up suddenly, effectively drawing all eyes on me, and I take advantage of this to get around the table, strolling closer to Garrick, who looks the most worn out, and who only curiously raises one of his dark eyebrows, when I pull off the glove from one of my pretty little hands to hold it out towards him. "It would be time to regenerate you." I note, bringing a mixture of surprise and concern to the man's face.

"Won't it be a bit much?" He asks, his voice full of doubt, and I can't hold back the cheeky little smile that escapes my lips, because the way he peers at Price for help makes him look infinitely boyish. And I also know from this small confused gesture that it's only worry speaking, because there is no doubt that he doesn't want to strain my little body in the least by asking for my aid. But unfortunately, determination works much stronger in me than the dull grip of the slowly awakening hunger in my stomach, and I'm willing to go to painful ends if I can guarantee that the care with which they turn towards me won't disappear. And although this admission fills a part of me with the right amount of disgust and contempt, I just have to think about the fact they mean my safety, and I immediately manage to suppress these unwanted voices. Because thanks to the suffering of the two Healers, the motivation to feed my selfish desires with their attention lives much more vividly in my consciousness, as if I were pouring oil on an already insatiable fire.

"I'll survive it." I comment simply, and although I know that by charging four Hunters I will wake up the torturous hunger gnawing at my insides, this small nuisance seems bearable. Even knowing that it’s uncertain how I will get blood, because I'm sure, even if Price brought me a tasty treat, it won't alleviate my problems permanently. And I can only wildly hope that the power of the mouth-watering dinner given by Riley will last until I maybe manage to catch an unsuspecting fool in the colony to quench my thirst. But no matter how much these troubling thoughts arise in me, as Garrick's damp hand wraps around mine, and the first burst of my energy penetrates his body, then I feel the familiar pull of the demanding force, and I know I have made the right decision. Because my hunger is a negligible inconvenience, if I can guarantee they will be in top shape when it's needed most. Even if every single nerve in me cruelly warns me that this will have consequences.

⃰

The silence in the house echoes in my ears with painful loudness, and the creaking of the old floor under my boots screams in my skull in an almost ear-piercing way, as I drag my legs, which are growing heavier by the minute, toward the room assigned to me. I wasn't wrong in that the charging of my four companions would sufficiently flare up the well-known pangs of hunger twisting my insides, and although it doesn't besiege me nearly as strongly as last time, I feel that it's only a matter of time before the feverish agony hits me. And even though I don't regret for a minute that I was able to solve my team's problem, I have to get some food very soon, if I don't want to be the one who, weakened by hunger, hinders the mission. If I have a little luck, the captain has been kind enough to surprise me with a delicious morsel, which will be just enough to ease my suffering. And as soon as we wander into the colony, I make sure to catch some stupid criminal and refuel with nutrients, because I have a bad feeling in my mind that tells me that our deployment will take turns where it will come in handy if I'm in peak condition.

And as, lost inside the massive building, I finally reach the corridor on the floor where my temporary quarters rest, instead of being relieved, all my limbs fill with tension in a split second, because I discover someone who shouldn't be hiding here in the least. Because Price certainly planned it so that I would be given the one out of the dozen rooms which is farthest from our guests, in case they wanted to use my services. Although I don't think they would openly force me to regenerate them, in this dirty world even less deadly people are capable of horrible things, and it's even better to be careful with someone who can crush another's skull with their bare hands.

Certainly, he had already heard my steps when I was tramping up the rickety stairs, but now, as I approach him, König turns his head in my direction with leisurely calmness, and even this small movement is enough for caution to gain a foothold in my mind. I have already acknowledged the amazing size that genetics has blessed him with, but now, as he is surrounded by the faint light filtering through one of the broken windows, he looks more like a shapeshifting demon than a human being. And even though he's comfortably leaning his back against the worn wall, there's something quite unsettling about the way the fabric of his black uniform strains painfully on his arms, as his folded hands rest on his chest. Because he may seem perfectly harmless to an unsuspecting observer, but my paranoid mind warns that it's only an ephemeral illusion, and that an artificial peace resides in each and every inch of him. But I'm even more interested in why he's here, because I was sure that after our impromptu meeting, he and his friend went off to rest. And even if he has zero navigational skills, he couldn't have accidentally wandered in here, because their room is most definitely on the ground floor.

But no matter how much caution creeps into my limbs, I don't let any of it reach the surface, because it would be a mistake to show him the concerns he can arouse in me. I have just seen enough of his behavior to know that this operation is just as much about polishing his ego as material goods, and what could be a more tempting pastime for such a man, than to frighten a unique little thing like me. I saw the barely concealed fear in the eyes of his men during the mission, and it's quite easy to deduce from this what kind of respect the Hunter desires. The kind that makes the knees of the unfortunate person who stumbles in front of him tremble, and that makes him feel even more powerful. A pathetic but perfectly legitimate goal. After all, instilling fear is at least as effective a control strategy as gaining respect.

His bright eyes follow my every step with unbroken attention, as I walk closer, and from his gaze resting on me, I feel like a mistrustful small animal that approaches a larger predator in the hope that it will be merciful enough not to kill it. And although we are currently playing on the same team, nothing guarantees that this hunch of mine won't come true at some point in the not-so-distant future. Because, unfortunately, my observations and intuitions are very rarely wrong, and now every nerve fiber of mine screams that I'm dealing with a beast in the guise of a man who, if he could, would have wrapped his needle-sharp teeth around my throat a long time ago. And while in the case of Riley, I was sure that he rewarded me with his disdain for my not-so-appealing behavior, in the case of the hooded Hunter, I have no idea what could be causing this outstanding interest.

"Your team is unusual." He breaks the heavy silence that has settled between the desolate walls, and I just stop at a safe distance from him and raise one of my eyebrows curiously, because he starts the first direct conversation we have with a rather interesting remark. And with this one sentence, he succeeds in reminding me that the good life I experienced in the unit is a unique privilege, which normally my kind hardly ever gets. And while in most cases the Healers are kept away from all the nitty-gritty details of the actual deployments because they get more use out of them unharmed, it cannot be denied that the active role that my team so generously gifted me within the ranks of Unit 141 is quite unusual. And although I don't like the fact that he expresses his comments so freely, it's indisputable that as a stranger, and especially as a Hunter in a leading role, the dynamics of my team can be a real curiosity for him.

"If you think it's strange that I dare to speak in their company, then it really is." I answer with an unimpressed tone, trying with every cell to be able to keep my confidence. Although he still doesn't move from the wall, the way he stares at me with an almost abnormal immobility makes the goosebumps prickle on my back. As if every single muscle of his would be stuck in a deliberate frozen state, but my keen senses catch the tiny little movement as his fingers wrap a breath tighter around his biceps. And this simply gives the impression that he is forcing himself, against his nature, into a less threatening position than his instincts would like. Maybe my brain overthinks every little thing, but it's no coincidence that I honed my observational skills over the years. I see that something completely different lurks under the surface than what he lets on.

"This isn't common in many places." He states simply, but his remark doesn't throw me off in the slightest, because I'm also perfectly aware of this fact. That's why I'm so motivated to keep my place. "But Price seems to be a liberal leader." He notes almost only to himself, and his voice is full of fascination, as if he had just made a very profound statement. However, it bothers me much more, and it can suddenly turn my already sharpened mood into a more prickly one, when my clever little ears hear the breath of derision hidden in his tone. Others might not even notice it, or would attribute it to something completely insignificant, something that is not worth pointing out, but I have analyzed just enough people over the years to know that nothing is completely unconscious that is buried behind one's words.

And even I cannot explain the angry flame that kindles within me at the thought that this complete stranger is making such casual comments about the captain. Of course, I'm aware that Price is not an innocent virgin, nor a flawless saint who needs someone to protect his honor, but there is something viscerally infuriating about the way the hooded man turns to him with barely veiled criticism.

But, as the stagnant emptiness in my stomach tightens, I decide that I shouldn't engage in this conversation when my mind is dulled by the pull of hunger slowly coming to life. Nothing good will come of this irritation taking control of my brain, because I might say something that would give him a reason to leave behind his false peace and show what secret temper lies beneath the no less dangerous exterior.

"If you came here to provoke me, then don't waste your time." I sigh tiredly, and as the exhaustion screams in every corner of my body at the same time, I set off with renewed motivation towards the door, behind which the solitude awaits that I yearn for. "It won't work."  I add, not even sparing him a last look, my eyes strictly fixed on the worn wood that hides my shelter. And once again, I have to note that he didn't come here by chance, because out of the countless possibilities, he managed to settle down right before the entrance where I'm heading, with almost measured accuracy.

"I didn't mean to insult you." He says plainly, and it's quite disturbing that there is still no obvious emotion in his tone, which makes him seem much less human than my nervous system finds comfortable. His statement doesn't seem like a lie, but my impatience grows with each passing minute, because I can't figure out what the hell is going on here. I could think that he only wanted to forge closer unity between our teams, but then I would have to be much more naive. In that case, he wouldn't have waited to catch me alone and without any witnesses to see whatever he was planning in that mysterious mind of his.

"You want to befriend me, perhaps?" I inquire with a malicious little smile on my face, and the sarcasm that nestles in my voice stings even in my ears. And I know it's not the smartest idea to taunt a guy who can tear me to pieces with his hands, but that didn't stop me even when I was mouthing back to Riley. And my sharp little tongue won't go on vacation when the starved tension working inside me rages in my head. "How nice of you." I sprinkle at the end, considering the whole tense conversation as closed, because no matter what reason he strayed here for, I don't want to talk it out with him now, when we are all too alone. And even though carefree mockery shines from every cell in me, my hands wrap around the doorknob too quickly when I finally arrive before my room. Because he may still not move from the place he has occupied until now, but the threatening aura that emanates from him like some uncontrollable, poisonous gas almost gnaws at my skin.

But before I have the chance to finally disappear into my little cave, so that I can finally be left alone with the suffering clinging to my insides with its nails, the floor behind me creaks and my fingers freeze on the metal as suddenly as if someone had poured a bucket of cold water in my neck. And for a suffocating moment, everything is shrouded in quietness, and there is such a silence between us that the crackling screams of the old house travel through the walls like an ominous melody.

"I liked what you did in the interrogation room." He utters, and it takes me a second to understand what kind of compliment he gave me due to the stress and the agony of the spasm that is slowly closing my intestines in an iron fist. And when the recognition penetrates my brain and I decode his words, I turn back to him with complete confusion, looking up at him with such shocked astonishment on my face that almost certainly paints a cartoon-like shock on my features. Because suddenly I can't find any logical explanation for how the thread of the conversation has led us to this point, and I can't discover any answers as to why he feels so comfortable around me that he can point this out to me so freely. What the hell?

"Excuse me?" The startled question breaks out of me, and I'm unable to hold back the surprise creeping into my voice, doubting for a fleeting moment whether I heard what he said correctly. But as soon as my eyes meet his, and I discover a glimmer resembling admiration in them, I’m completely dumbfounded. Because under other circumstances, my twisted little soul might even be touched by this unusual recognition, but I know all too well who is standing in front of me. And that makes the unexpected turn the situation took seem even more surreal.

"The bloodlust in your eyes was beautiful." He continues his grotesque praise, almost undisturbed, and as he takes a step towards me, I need the combined work of all my nerves in order not to back away from him, because the distrust drills itself into my brain that if I turn my back on him again, it will end very badly. Because I suddenly sense very well how unbelievably huge this man is, and as my troubled eyes reflexively run over him, I become painfully aware that if he attacks me, I won't be able to defend myself. "I doubt your friends could truly appreciate it." He claims, and now some deliberate malice creeps into his voice, which he doesn't even try to hide, thus clearly showing that he has been holding back his real thoughts until now very willingly.

But when my body breaks out of the paralyzed shock, and I get over the fact that he could crush all my bones to dust with a strong hug, then I finally have the brain capacity to understand what he shared with me so carelessly. And from this simple sentence, the alarm disappears from my mind, because it suddenly makes sense why he honored me with his presence. And as my mind realizes that this little discourse is about nothing but the rivalry that has existed since the very first moment our team met, then my little soul calms down in the blink of an eye, because no matter how terrifying the man may seem, according to this, he is driven by just as fallible and transparent motives like everyone else. And although it's very difficult for me to maintain my indifference due to the intrusion of hunger in my stomach, now that I know why he is so persistently interested in me, the doubt of the unknown disappears from my mind.

"Interesting deduction. But I'm afraid I don't care." I respond with utter disinterest, and as the line of a sardonic smile stretches across my lips, I see the first bewildered wrinkles appear around the skin covered with dark paint. And it's painfully obvious that he didn't expect this reaction, but believed that such a big and strong Hunter's kind approach would make me fall at his feet from the pleasure. But he is seriously mistaken if he thinks it's so pathetically easy to sweep me off my feet.

"You’re wasting your talent with them." He laments, and if I were a little more stupid, I would really believe the sympathy in his voice to be authentic, but even if he hadn't blown his disguise so irresponsibly, I would still see through his benevolence. Because I can tell when someone tries to manipulate me, especially if said someone does it half as skillfully as it would take to be a successful strategy against me.

And at other times, I might want to play with him verbally and continue this complicated moment, but when my stomach convulses with the pain tearing into me, then all my patience evaporates like the last sip of water in the desert. Every single one of my nerve cells is stretched to the point of breaking, and this straining ache makes my body braver than it should be, because the sooner I put an end to this extremely bizarre situation, the sooner I can collapse into my bed to finally rest a little in the embrace of the slow ache that spreads to every fiber of me. I quickly cross the distance of a few steps that are remaining between us, and my hand shoots out towards him with the speed of a venomous snake. It seems that he didn't expect my attack, because before he could react, my fingers close around the fabric covering his face, and as I pull him down to me with a movement that is perhaps more forceful than necessary, he obediently leans down to me, stumbling towards me, and I see genuine shock in his eyes.

"It's unnecessary to try to flatter me." I murmur with deceptive kindness, and it seems that I managed to stun him so much with my unexpected act that he even forgets to protest, because he almost dazedly lets me intrude into his personal space to finally have stare off with him without him towering over me. And although it seems that his spine bends in rather uncomfortable positions in order for me to do this, it only makes the contemptuous grin on my face grow wider. "I know this is all about measuring who's dick is bigger. They have something that you don't and it hurts your ego. It's sad, but you'll have to live with it." I curve my mouth downward pitifully, savoring every single emotion that flashes through his eyes. But as soon as I see one of the gloved hands moving in my periphery, I let go of his hood with nonchalant ease and dance away from him in order to return to my door and open it again. "I recommend that you focus more on the mission. A lot of credit is at stake, isn't it?" I throw my last words at him from the threshold, and as I enter the embrace of the darkness of the small room, I have one last chance to catch his gaze stopping on me as he straightens up, and I'm almost relieved when I'm hidden by the thick wood.

Because even though it was only for a few seconds, I saw something very dangerous flash in those bright eyes, and the warning voice waking up in my brain tells me that this is exactly how the predator stares at its slowly cornered prey. With curious hunger. And that makes me realize, even despite the pain that is slowly squeezing my stomach, that I have crossed an invisible border, which sooner or later will bring the trouble that I so enthusiastically sought out for myself. Wonderful.

[arzen9]

Can I Be Good? Chapter 11: End of Sanctuary - Lark

pairing: Astarion/f!Tav | Astarion/f!OC 18+ MDNI word count: 6.6k tags/warnings: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Not Canon Compliant, Vampire Ascendant Astarion, Redemption, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Mystery, Romance, Drama, Angst, Fluff, Smut, Original Female Character, Mentions of Trauma, Mentions of Past Trauma, Mentions of Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Masturbation, Blood, Blood Drinking, Alcohol summary: Centuries of pain, a ritual, (not) hunger, (not) desire, a lost soul, a search, a yearning, bodies, bodies... And a heart that changes everything.

The pen scene, anyone? It's finally here.

I'm young, I'm old And so you do what you're told I never had a willing hand And so you pack up all your bags But I'm glad I've got you here -Californian Soil by London Grammar

Thanks for reading, and as always, if you want to chat, my ask box & dm's are always open<3 Thank you @nerdallwritey for reading these over, always helping out, and being an amazing friend, ILY!!!

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Lark Promise isn’t one to wake up in strangers’ beds— bedding them is one thing, but actually falling asleep next to someone who doesn’t want to hold her heart has always felt wrong; and thus she hasn’t done it in the last five years, but opening her eyes now, she realizes that she is not exactly in a stranger’s bed, although it is certainly strange— this bed smells like rosemary, bergamot and brandy (why does it feel like it’s the only scent she wants to smell these days?) but the owner of it isn’t here and the only thing she feels is a pounding, throbbing pain on the left side of her neck.

Slowly, fragments start creeping back into the still half-asleep crevices of her mind. Her heart beating like it never has before. The hunger in Astarion’s eyes. Her hand in his hair, soft, soft, pillowy— his breath on her neck. The sharp sting of his fangs, a pain she’s never experienced before— a pain she liked. The memories of her past seeping into him— and, in turn, his, into Lark.

So much pain— from both of them. But one thing stands out to her, even in the bloodless, woozy state that she’s in now— a name, echoing through dark halls in the night.

Cazador Szarr.

Lark sits up on the bed— Astarion’s bed, her mind corrects, and the thought sends a shiver down her body— but her sudden movement proves too taxing, and she has to hold her face in her hands to stop the world from wobbling around her.

She wasn’t sure who Astarion was. Still isn’t. But now, something has changed— if the physical act of him feeding on her isn’t enough, experiencing one another’s pain in such a way has surely brought them closer. Whatever that entails.

Turning her head to the side— slowly and carefully—, she notices Horseradish on the pillow next to hers (Astarion’s. Astarion’s), sitting on top of a post-it note. She holds the note in front of her, touching the letters on it with delicate fingers. Astarion’s handwriting is, expectedly, beautiful— almost everything about him is. Even his pain is beautiful, Lark thinks; remembering how he bit her with strength, with due diligence, but also reverence too— he must have known his memories were flowing into her in that moment. She’s proud of him for pushing through them to take what he needed from her.

Join me in the gardens, when you feel like it. Shadowheart will show you the way.

“No ‘darling’,” she says, smiling to herself.

She must have been promoted.

----

As soon as she enters the bar area, Shadowheart notices Lark; and her eyes go wide almost immediately.

“Do I look that bad?” Lark asks. It’s more to test Shadowheart— the full-length mirror in Astarion’s room made it almost impossible to avoid checking herself out; and she decidedly doesn’t look that bad, for someone who passed out in the arms of her vampire boss after he drank too much of her blood.

The same vampire boss she might be developing feelings for. That part is packed and put away to be worried about later.

“No, I—” Shadowheart stammers. Her gaze falls on Lark’s neck, then to the bar counter between them. “So he bit you?”

She’s blunt, as always. Lark is getting used to it by now. Not so used to it that she doesn’t try to turn her head a little to conceal the twin puncture marks on her neck, though— it’s purely instinctual, as the white-haired woman has already seen them.

Lark nods, trying to seem natural, as if this is something that happens every day. As if it hasn’t rocked her world.

“And you let him?”

“I offered, actually. More than once.”

Shadowheart takes a deep breath. “Why?”

“Well… He was hungry,” Lark says, thinking that should have been obvious.

But evidently, it isn’t obvious— Shadowheart blinks at her, confused. “For blood?”

“Isn’t that par for the course for being a vampire?”

Something dark passes over her features, then. Lark finds Shadowheart to be beautiful— in an unobtrusive way, even with her bright white hair and green, round eyes. To say that she reminds her of the moon would be a little too on the nose, perhaps; but the purity of Shadowheart’s face is the perfect reflection of it, something healing in her gaze even when she isn’t being particularly kind.

“You are right,” Shadowheart says, but her expression betrays her. “Forgive me. I was just worried about you. But if you’re aware of what you’re getting yourself into, then I’m in no position to ruin your… Well. Fun might not be the word for it.”

“I don’t know if I would say I did it for fun,” Lark smiles. They look at each other for a brief moment; she can’t place the concern written on Shadowheart’s face. Is she worried for her, or for Astarion? “Astarion said you could show me the way to the gardens.”

Shadowheart gives her a curt nod. Without saying anything, she starts walking— not checking to see if Lark’s following her or not.

Lark is not proud of her tendency to try and fill every silent moment with something to say. It’s habitual— as if she needs constant auditory affirmation that her presence is welcome. With Shadowheart, especially now, it’s even more difficult. She worries her bottom lip with the blunt edges of her front teeth, hands clenched in fists at her sides. Maybe she could ask about Lae’zel. That would be certainly appropriate, wouldn’t it? Shadowheart should want Lark’s approval, as her love interest’s best friend. What do they even talk about when they’re together? Perhaps Lark shouldn’t assume that they talk at all. What they have might be purely physical. Although, she can’t help but sense that there is something more to it than just that— not that she would find anything wrong with Lae’zel’s more-exercise-than-romance arrangements. This time, though, her friend looks and feels different— like Shadowheart means something to her.

Lark doesn’t even dare think about Wyll and Karlach— she fears the sappiness might prove too much even for her.

“You’re deep in thought,” Shadowheart observes as they walk down the hallway to the right of the stairs that ascend to the rest of the Crimson Palace.

“Was just thinking about you and Lae’zel. And Wyll and Karlach,” she blurts out. Clears her throat. “I mean… Just about how things are going.”

The other half-elf raises her perfectly arched brow. “You’re not jealous, are you?”

“Not really,” she says, and it’s true— she would be an awful friend to find bitterness in their happiness. But— “Part of me wishes I was just as lucky, that’s all.”

“Hmm. Lae’zel can be a lot, but she surely doesn’t make me pass out from blood loss.”

Lark’s eyes widen with surprise, but then she sees the mischief in Shadowheart’s face— it’s a peace offering. She accepts it. “Give it time.”

The two women laugh together— Shadowheart’s voice sharp and high, Lark’s booming and bright.

“Lae’zel can be a lot, huh?” Lark teases. It makes Shadowheart’s cheeks tinge a pale pink— it looks beautiful on her.

She avoids looking Lark in the eye when she says, “But I like that.”

“That she’s a lot?”

Shadowheart nods, absent mindedly brushing her fingertips against her lips.  “She’s unapologetically herself.”

“Oh, you have no idea.”

They come to a stop at the end of the long corridor, in front of double doors made of glass, providing a peek out into the gardens. Lark spots Astarion sitting on a bench further into the distance, his back turned. He looks radiant under the bright sunlight.

Shadowheart gestures towards the door, but doesn’t make a move to leave.

She’s giving Lark a chance.

“You said ‘if you’re aware of what you’re getting yourself into’. What am I getting myself into?” she asks. With Astarion, the rest of her question goes— but she leaves it out.

“I guess we’ll need to wait and see,” Shadowheart says.

It’s not a satisfying answer, but it’ll have to do.

As she turns to leave, Shadowheart calls out her name.

Closing her eyes and lifting her hand, she whispers, “Te absolvo.”

Lark takes a deep breath, all the fatigued and drained-out limbs in her body easing into a comfortable warmth.

“Thanks,” she says.

“This one’s on me,” Shadowheart’s lips curl up. “Next time, you’ll have to try more drinks for me,” she says with a wink before she turns to leave, as if that’s not part of Lark’s job anyways.

Why she’s so certain of there being a next time, Lark can’t say for sure.

----

Lark braces herself against the cold as she steps out into the garden. The sun is high and bright in the sky but offers little warmth. The end of the year is getting nearer and nearer, and every day feels colder than the one before.

When she saw Astarion’s note mentioning the gardens, Lark didn’t know what to think— what’s in front of her is much more beautiful than anything she could have anticipated. She’s never been much of an expert on the outdoors, unlike her father; but she’s always loved roses, and this section of the Crimson Palace is covered with them. Taking a deep breath, Lark inhales the scent she favors over any other flower— it’s everywhere around her, crisp but welcoming in the winter chill. Different colors adorn bushes all the way up to the granite bench Astarion is perched up on. Some of the flowers are dewy with frost, and Lark reaches out to them while she walks, retracting her finger wet and cold.

She knows Astarion will be aware of her presence. When she stops next to the bench, he doesn’t turn or make a move to greet her. His gaze is firmly fixed forward; seemingly over the part of the fencing that circles around the garden, also covered in roses; the contrast against the darkly colored fence reminding Lark of a painting she must have seen at some point.

“How do you make the roses bloom in the middle of winter?” Lark asks. Astarion’s lips move in amusement, perhaps at the wording of her question.

“I don’t make them bloom,” he says. “Halsin does.”

“Who?”

“You’ll meet him sometime.” Still keeping his gaze away from her, Astarion taps on the empty spot next to him. “Good morning. How are you feeling?”

Lark looks at him, her favorite flowers already forgotten, nothing more than a backdrop against Astarion’s side profile. “I think something bit me while I was asleep. Would you be a dear and take a look at my neck for me?”

He finally turns to her, and huffs. His crimson gaze takes her breath away. “I’m glad I didn’t suck out your trademark wit.”

“Yeah, that would have been pretty horrible,” she smiles and takes a seat beside him.

“I simply would not be able to go on.”

Astarion smiles back at her. At first, it’s filled with amusement, but his eyes drop rather quickly, his expression turning somber. Lark has seen this look before— he’s deep in thought. Just like right before he revealed his vampiric nature to her.

She lets him work through it. Hopefully, Astarion will recognize the encouragement in her eyes.

Without saying anything, he turns around slightly, toward a rose bush behind him, adorned with dark burgundy flowers, the rims of the petals so dark they look almost black. He reaches out, and Lark thinks he’s going to pluck one, but he only touches the outer petals gently before turning to her again.

“They look like your eyes,” he says.

Lark tries to swallow, her mouth suddenly dry. “Roses are my favorite,” she blurts out and regrets it immediately. She sounds like a child. Like she forgot how to talk all of a sudden.

“Are they,” Astarion says, but there’s no high inflection to suggest he’s asking a question. “It’s rather cliché, isn’t it?”

“You’re the one who has a whole garden of them.”

He smirks. “Good poetry needs some cliché to work, doesn’t it?”

Lark freezes. She had that same thought, not too long ago. Can he read her mind too, now?

“I thought you hated poetry.”

“Maybe you’ll change my mind.”

She’s pensive, for a moment. Lark thinks she’s a good poet, but not that good. She has a degree in it, sure. But there are a lot of people with degrees in a lot of things they have no business claiming they’re even slightly good at.

Astarion interrupts her thoughts with a sigh. “I saw into your memories, yesterday. When I… drank from you.” He pauses, avoiding her gaze. “It was just like— I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Take your time,” she says, and he first looks at her with furrowed brows, face filled with distrust. She tilts her head at him, and his expression softens, but he doesn’t go on. “Do keep in mind that I’m still on the clock,” she continues, hoping to lighten his mood.

“You wound me, darling,” he says jokingly, and Lark knows her attempts at softening him has succeeded. For now. “I wanted you to come here and see the garden. Thought you might like it.” Astarion takes a breath, running the tip of his tongue over his lips. “But… I wanted to talk to you, too. About those… Memories I saw. The ones you saw. And possibly more.”

Lark only nods, urging him to go on. “You said seeing into my memories was just like something. Have you experienced anything similar before?”

That seems to be the right question to ask. Astarion runs a hand through his perfectly poised curls before asking, “How familiar with the city’s history are you?”

“Somewhat,” she says. “I’m no history buff.”

“Have you heard the tale of the heroes of Baldur’s Gate?”

----

Lark had no idea. She had heard of the heroes of Baldur’s Gate, of course. Centuries ago, a ragtag group of misfits (or so they say) saved the city from a heinous plot, a grand design set forth by mindflayers and tyrants. Words of the Dead Three. Making the impossible possible. All very… Heroic. And historical.

It was part of the city’s history, of course; but there were scholars now that claimed it was nothing more than a story, a legend.

Lark had no idea she was working with the heroes of the city. Or that this legend was no legend at all.

As Astarion regales the tale from his past, Lark listens to him with undivided attention and bated breath. He obviously dramatizes quite a bit, but it’s endearing.

“That’s how you met, then? The others?”

Astarion nods. “We were all victims of our own worm-like resident for a while.”

“I understand your immortality,” Lark says. “But how are they still alive?”

He narrows his eyes. Obviously, he didn’t want her to ask this question— whether he expected her to ask it or not, an entirely different matter. “I… There is something else I would like to talk about. Let’s leave that tale for another day, if that’s alright. Hmm?”

And how can she say no, when he’s so open and vulnerable about his past?

“What you saw of my memories are from before our mighty adventure, of course. You only glimpsed into my time as a spawn, here in this palace.”

Lark turns to look at it, standing high behind them. She braces herself for what comes next— if she can relate to one thing, it’s the difficulty of talking about one’s own pain. Without a cocktail or two, especially.

“I remember a name,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “Cazador Szarr.”

“Ah,” Astarion gives a pained laugh. “You and me both.”

“Was he… The previous owner of the Crimson Palace?”

“Owner, patriarch, master, cruel monster. Take your pick.” He clears his throat uncomfortably. “He tortured me and my… Six other siblings for no other reason than personal pleasure, at times. Nearly two hundred years of pain and misery.” He huffs out a laugh again. “Gods, it all seems so far away now.”

“I’m so sorry, Astarion.”

“Well, thank you. But this isn’t about sympathy, really,” he says. “I’m taking the advice of… A friend. Trying to be honest.”

Lark nods to show her encouragement. She wonders who this friend was. After a moment, she thinks she could bet that it was Gale.

Astarion continues. “I’m sure you of all people would know that these… Experiences, let’s call them, shape you. Make you into who you are. Even if that’s not what you want.” He looks away into the distance. “For those two centuries, all I was good for was using my body. For his gains. To seduce anything and everything with a pulse.”

Lark feels a bout of nausea in her stomach, hearing him talk about it— how different it is. How similar it is.

“He’s gone now. I’m here. I won,” he says, as if to reassure himself rather than open up to her. “But even then… Some wounds just don’t leave us that easily, I suppose.”

And what can she say to him? Sorry? Because she knows sorry doesn’t cut it. She hates it when she opens up to someone and all they have to tell her is an empty word. She wishes she could offer him something of value. Anything. Her blood, again. Herself, if he’s willing to take it.

“As you can see,” Astarion says, “That still feels like all I’m good for. Maybe it’s true. I’ve never been much of a romantic.”

It makes sense to Lark, now— the apprehension she sensed in him about being complimented on his appearance. The careful, diligent way he holds himself. His hatred towards those like Araj. The full-length mirror in his room, facing his bed.

Two things seem to be true at once— Astarion enjoys being beautiful. There’s no doubt about that. But he also wishes to be seen as so much more— especially after what he’s been through.

“All these roses, and you claim to not be a romantic at heart?” Lark teases with a smile. She doesn’t want to dismiss him— just comfort him. She turns to touch the same flower he had, moments ago. “I admire you, Astarion.”

His surprise quickly turns into a predatory smirk. “Aha! Is that a love confession?”

She rolls her eyes in response. “I admire your dedication to yourself.”

It seems to bother him, to be disarmed.

Lark continues, “You have endured things most people don’t even experience in nightmares, for centuries— and yet didn’t lose yourself.”

“Neither have you, it would seem.” He’s deflecting, but she’ll let him. “I never got any boon of magic out of all the horrors I tackled, unfortunately,” he jokes.

“Maybe you should have given it a few more years,” Lark jokes back, and immediately realizes it was probably not the best thing to say, judging by the shock on Astarion’s face. She thinks he might shout at her, get up and tell her to leave. He looks so soft under the sunlight, out in the cold, but sharp, too— all Astarion. After a moment, he laughs.

“Maybe,” he says. “Lark Promise, you never cease to surprise me.”

She blushes. Sees his pupils darken. It must be her heartbeat.

“What happened to him?” she asks, changing the subject.

Astarion’s features sharpen, someone different momentarily— someone kingly and cruel, cold and calculating. Gaging what to say, what to leave out. “I killed him.”

She waits, holds her breath. Lets it go. “Good for you.”

“What happened to your mom?”

“She killed herself.”

He looks at her. Assessing. She waves a hand. “It’s okay. I didn’t even cry.”

“That’s mighty cruel of you.”

“Did you cry for Cazador when he died?”

Astarion raises his brows. “Touché.”

They sit in silence, for a minute or two. A strong breeze carries the scent of roses around them, and Lark closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

“I wasn’t forced to use my body for someone else’s personal gain, but I did use my own, hoping it was what I needed to do. To get away. To be loved,” she offers. “I understand the feeling of intimacy being something… Tainted.”

To her surprise, Astarion scoffs. When she turns to him, he has irritation written all over his face.

“You think you understand me, just because you fucked some people you didn’t really want to?”

“I— Excuse me?”

“You don’t know, you can’t know, what it was like. You wanted to be loved, so you bedded a few idiots who treated you like shit, is that it?”

“That’s not— I was simply trying to show you that I understand. I’m willing to understand.”

Astarion laughs, a pained, cruel thing with a high lilt. “At least your mother had the decency to kill herself and save you from whatever would have come next. I wasn’t afforded the same grace.”

Lark is not precious about the death of her mother but can recognize redundant cruelty when she sees it. And she knows that is what this is— he’s searching for a way to bite, to hurt, to lash out. Unfortunately, she’s not above letting it anger her.

“I doubt she did it to save me, but yes. It seems you’re doing much worse, judging by your state of affairs.”

“I killed for this state of affairs,” Astarion growls. “I saved myself. And what did you do? Wallow in self-pity because you weren’t shown enough love. Pathetic.”

Tears sting in the corners of her eyes, and she looks away. “You’re one to talk, crawling the same halls, still afraid of your master.”

She’s gone too far, it’s possible. The round softness she loves to see in Astarion’s crimson eyes is nowhere to be found, when she sneaks a side-way glance at him, concealing the increasingly glassy veil over hers— his brows are knit together tight, lips parted in a snarl. His body is coiled, as if ready to strike.

“I think you should leave,” is all he says, voice cold, thousands of miles away. He’s never been so vulnerable yet so distant.

Lark stands up. Another breeze makes the dark burgundy rose bush sway delicately. They look soft. Beautiful.

“You can’t hurt people and not expect them to return the favor, Astarion,” she says, before she turns and lets her feet carry her back into the palace as quickly as they can.

----

As soon as Lark turns her back to Astarion, the tears come. She’s never been one to avoid crying, and it usually doesn’t bother her for people to know that she’s a crier. But with Astarion, it’s different.

Obviously, she’s grateful for his openness. But Astarion’s vulnerability seems to come with a price. To Lark, he’s someone who believes his pain is the only one worth talking about. Everyone else has had it easier.

Let him think that.

Secretly she hopes that he’ll just fire her. It would be easier than this— this burning in her chest. Looking down at her hand through the blur of her tears, she can see the tell—tale static glowing. “Not now,” she whimpers to herself.

She’ll have to walk past Shadowheart. Possibly Karlach. Lark promises to herself that no matter what, she won’t let them stop her and ask her what happened. She won’t. She’ll just go home, cuddle Horseradish, and—

Fuck.

No matter. She’ll go home, open a bottle of wine and watch the ceiling.

Walking into the bar area, she tries her hardest not to look anywhere but right in front of her. Holds her hands in fists, digging her nails into her palms as hard as she can, hoping to draw blood.

A pain she didn’t experience before. A pain she liked.

As she pushes away the thoughts of Astarion’s fangs deep in her neck, a familiar voice booms her name.

“Lark?”

She was determined about ignoring Shadowheart and Karlach, but Wyll? She hadn’t planned for that.

What is he even doing here?

Quickly, she tries wiping off the hot tears off her face with the back of her hand. Of course, Wyll is smarter than that. He takes one look at her, and concern paints his handsome face.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Soldier?” Karlach comes out of the storage room in the back, and her eyes are no less worried when she sees Lark and Wyll.

“Had a terrible headache, so I was going home,” she tries to lie. She doesn’t want to interrupt her friends’ time together, but she also knows Wyll will never let her go with that lame excuse. No wonder he and Karlach are so into each other.

“Do you want to talk?” the tiefling woman asks, and there’s a mother-like tone in her voice— at least, from what Lark assumes a mother would sound like.

“Not really,” she says, and Karlach shares a look with Wyll.

“What about a drink?”

Lark is close to breaking down. With a weak voice, she says, “I don’t want to be here.”

Karlach seems to blaze with anger, then— possibly assuming (rather correctly) that Astarion has done something.

“I’ll see you later?” Wyll says to her, and cups her cheek with his hand. Karlach melts into his touch, the angry tension on her face gone in an instant.

They’re cute together. It makes Lark’s heart ache. It’s an interesting feeling— to be so happy for her friend, and yet…

“Let’s go,” Wyll says as he grabs his jacket from the bar stool. He puts an arm around Lark’s shoulder and gives her a squeeze. “A drink somewhere else might help, huh?”

----

Lark and Wyll head to the Singing Lute, an itty-bitty bar-restaurant mixture overlooking the docks. She knows Wyll likes the place a lot, and doesn’t really have the energy to protest to anything. When they arrive, Wyll insists that she eat something, but she refuses. They find the middle ground and order a bowl of salted peanuts with their drinks— beer for Wyll (Karlach must really be rubbing off on him) and a dirty martini for Lark. Even seeing a Bloody Mary might make her blood boil right about now.

They take their first sips in silence. Wyll takes a whole handful of peanuts from the bowl and tosses them into his mouth one by one, watching Lark.

“Please don’t make me tell you what happened,” she says without looking at him. When she takes a heavy sip from her drink, it burns her throat. She crinkles her nose.

“I won’t, if you don’t want to. But I’m assuming it has something to do with Astarion, yes?”

“Why does it have to? Can’t I be upset about something, or someone else?”

“Shadowheart was there when I got to the palace. She said you were with Astarion. I’m just putting the pieces together.”

Of course.

“Fine. I’m upset because he’s an asshole.”

“Cheers to that.”

“He thinks he’s suffered more than anyone else in the history of… Ever.”

“Reminds me of someone I know.”

Lark looks at Wyll with wide eyes. “Me? I think I’ve suffered more than anyone else?”

He laughs at her dramatic reaction. “You’re not as big of an asshole about it as Astarion, I’m sure. We all have a worst version of ourselves, don’t we?”

“I guess.”

“You obviously care for him. Why get so upset over a conversation if you didn’t?”

“What is proving I have feelings for him going to do, exactly?”

Wyll smiles knowingly. “I said you cared for him, not that you have feelings for him.”

“Whatever.” Downing the rest of her drink, Lark gestures at the bartender for another.

“You’re not usually one to run away from feelings. What’s different this time?”

Lark takes a deep breath and rubs her face with both hands. “We’re both severely broken people.”

Wyll cocks a brow. “And?”

“He’ll hurt me, Wyll. He already has.” She takes another breath, heavier. Slower. “And I’ll hurt him. I… Already have.”

“Look at me and Karlach. Broken in our own ways, but we make do.”

Lark doesn’t know much about Karlach’s life yet, but Wyll must. And his struggles with his father are no mere stifle. But Lark is upset, and Wyll’s right— she does have her worst version, and it’s coming out more than usual today. “I’m sorry, Wyll, but I don’t think the two situations are similar,” she says, not very kindly.

“Ah, there she is!” Wyll says, but there’s a pained tinge to his playfulness. “Woe is me Lark. You can’t make that comparison. You’re doing the exact same thing as Astarion did.”

She sighs. “See? This is exactly what I’m talking about. I hurt people. I hurt you.”

“But I’m still your best friend, am I not?”

Lark searches his face as he smiles at her fondly. He’s right, of course— Wyll and Lae’zel love her despite the moments where she can be the worst version of herself: cruel, hurtful, ignorant, selfish. And Lark has done the same for them. Because love should be treated as a verb— a do word. A conscious choice, one that’s made over and over again. Filled with effort.

“It’s just—” she pauses and waits for the bartender to set her drink down, then takes another sip. “He can be insufferable, you know? And… And not to mention cruel.”

“So can you,” Wyll says and laughs, only stopping when Lark gives him a playful swat, making him drop a peanut on the counter. He picks it back up and blows on it. “He’s also very pretty.”

“Yes,” she affirms, cheeks glowing pink. “But he’s so much more than that, too. He’s been through so much but somehow kept himself intact.” The words come out of her mouth almost involuntarily. Despite her anger, she can’t deny his better qualities.

“Sort of like you, you mean? All I’m hearing is how similar you guys really are.”

Lark looks at her friend while he drinks his beer and takes another handful of peanuts from the bowl. Gentleness comes so easy to Wyll, Lark’s come to find. For her, it has taken everything. Maybe it’s like that for Astarion, too— a creature of habit when it comes to cruelty, since that’s what shaped him so violently.

“You deserve to be happy,” Wyll says, lifting his mug up. Lark does the same, and they clink their glasses together. “Hurt people don’t always have to hurt people.”

“Why are you always so good to me? A little harsh, maybe,” Lark laughs.

“Because I love you, of course. Next round is on you.”

----

When she’s back at her apartment, Lark feels a little lighter— surely from a mixture of the conversation she had with Wyll and the martinis she downed. It hardly matters. It’s harder to deny the truth now that her edges have loosened with alcohol.

There has been only one thing on her mind since she started working in the Crimson Palace: Astarion. Today is proof that he can be horrible when he wants to— but knowing that does nothing to quell the prospect of feelings; the burning in her chest, the promise of eternally-blooming roses.

She leans her head back against the door for a moment, looking over her living room. Her eyes fix instantly in front of the bookshelf, remembering how she stood right there, next to Astarion. She wants to see him there again. Part of her space. Wants to smell his telltale scent. Wants it to sink into every nook and cranny of this house; to put her head on her pillow and be able to smell him. To turn to her side, see him there—

She’s had one too many martinis, obviously.

Pushing herself off of the door, Lark slowly takes off her jacket, and when she’s about to lay the garment down on the arm of her couch, something falls out of the pocket and rolls under the furniture.

With a sigh, she kneels down, then bends over on all fours to lower her head and see underneath the couch. There it is, the silvery shine of Astarion’s pen.

With a lurch, she grabs it and stands up, surveying the pen to make sure it didn’t gather dust or get scratched. Or something. Maybe she should destroy it. As punishment.

Lark holds the pen in front of her and slowly turns it around. It’s weighty, probably expensive. The heat of her skin leaves marks on its cold surface. Near the top, his initials are engraved. Two A’s that stand strong, an inseparable pair. She thinks of Astarion under the sun. It’s almost impossible to believe he’s spent centuries without it, the way he shines in the daylight.

Although— it might not be any external light that makes him shine. The first time Lark saw him, standing on the balcony, when their eyes met—

“Fuck!” Lark yelps, the sudden surge of magic heating up the metal surface of the pen between her fingers, making it too hot to touch. She drops it on the cushions, holding her hand to her chest in pain. It’s like she hasn’t been practicing with Gale at all.

Leaving the pen on the couch, she makes her way to her room, shedding a piece of clothing with each step. Her skin is way too hot. She doesn’t bother turning on any lights, just goes straight to the bathroom and turns on the sink, splashing cold water everywhere she can— her face, her chest, the soft skin of her stomach, the tops of her thighs, her neck—

She stops when she feels the two puncture marks over her skin, the touch sending a jolt of lightning right down her body, a blooming heat in her belly. She tried not to think about it before, but she can understand why people find being bitten by a vampire to be a sexual experience. It is weirdly intimate, possibly way too much (or that’s because she’s herself and she has a warped idea of what intimacy is) and painful in an arousing way. Knowing a part of her is coursing through him is no mere trifle.

And the way they wormed into each other’s memories— while regaling the tale with the tadpoles, Astarion had told her that blood drinking normally doesn’t cause such an intrusion. What’s so special about them that something so out of ordinary would happen?

Lark looks at her naked form in the bathroom mirror. All she can see are the pinky-white marks left by the self-inflicted scars of her past. Her skin is coated in them; from the inside of her upper arms to the very top part of her soft but strong thighs. She doesn’t care much about hiding them— she hasn’t hurt herself like that in a long time and does not have any desire to again, and the scars left behind feel more like empty memories than anything that will substantially cause her pain. But she would be lying if offering her neck to Astarion didn’t have the same delicious thrill— a craving she doesn’t have a name for. The difference is that the pain has meaning, now— what better way of offering up herself than to nurture, to feed?

She can feel the heat between her legs grow, and it almost doesn’t have anything to do with her nakedness. It’s the impossible (and impeccable) closeness she felt to Astarion.

He’s done something to her. What it exactly is, she’s not sure of yet.

He’s an asshole. He could probably say much worse things to her, break her heart, ruin the semblance of stability she has built after so long of knowing only fear and survival and breathless days. It’s scary, but she thinks she would let him ruin her.

It’s an easy thought in the privacy of her apartment.

There is no shame on her face, only the blush of her cheeks in the color of want when she dips a finger between her folds to find herself soaking wet. She hasn’t been this wet in a long time.

What’s the harm? She’s all alone. Isn’t she deserving of a little bit of pleasure?

“I’ll be good,” she mumbles to herself. This time it’s not the age-old mantra she repeats to herself in fear— rather, her vision is clouded with a glint of silver curls and sharp edges. She can be very good for him.

Backtracking to the living room almost breathlessly, Lark retrieves Astarion’s pen from where she left it on the couch cushions and goes to her room to get under the blanket. She gathers her wetness on two fingers and curses, curses, curses herself for it— this is unprofessional, surely— not to mention inappropriate.

She thinks of the dark burgundy roses and Astarion’s voice— They look like your eyes.

A faint moan rips itself out of her throat into the darkness of her bedroom. More. She needs more.

What Lark wants right now isn’t slow and gentle, it’s feral and relentless. Maybe this is good— she’ll get it out of her system. She pushes a finger inside herself with no difficulty.

What if he can smell her? The evidence of what she’s done? How strong is a vampire’s sense of smell, anyway? He’d be so smug about it, too. Lark adds a second finger. Another moan, almost a cry, parts her tightly pursed together lips, setting itself free. She can see it so clearly— him bragging about making her mad with desire even after he’s made her cry. If she wasn’t two fingers deep her own cunt she probably would have rolled her eyes.

Part of her wonders— how would he look straddling her chest with his length buried down her throat?

But she feels so empty, empty, empty.

He could fill her up so well, so much better than her fingers ever can. If only she had something that would—

Lark snaps her head to her right, where Astarion’s pen sits on top of the blanket. Shimmying a little, she grabs it and holds it in her hand, the one that’s not drawing quick circles at the center of her desire. She feels the sting of guilt as she touches the cool surface of it. But he did give the pen to her, didn’t he? Probably not for her to take home though— definitely not so she could hold on to it while she touches herself to thoughts of him.

There is, also, the shame— she hasn’t done this in a while. Felt no desire to. No desire for anyone. And now he knows her past— some of it, at the very least— and as much as he might chastise her for comparing her sexual trauma to his, Lark knows that deep down he understands. There is something tainted about this, and yet…

It’s not tainted, when she’s thinking of him.

Lark looks over to the pen in her hand. It almost looks like it’s daring her to be more wild, more unhinged. The only sound in her room is her own voice. Her own moans. The ever-so silent Lark. The bird that hides its voice.

No. The fawn that has finally come out of hiding.

He has to have put a spell on her.

She takes the pen— everything, everything is burning. She presses it down to her clit, only for a second— and she cums.

A cry rips itself out of her throat, and the shape of it is scarily similar to his name.

Then the sound of her window closing makes her immediately sit up, all indecent thoughts replaced with something that resembles fear— or curiosity. Astarion’s pen falls on the bed, shinier than it was a few moments ago. Covered in Lark Promise.

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