#i hear they both came back now that ash is retired

[britcision]

Anyway everyone go thank brothebro on AO3 for the mental image I am about to bestow

*ahem*

Dead and Loving It Pokemon AU, Killer Croc is Jessie from Team Rocket, the Riddler is James, and Two Face can be their Meowth because he’s here too I guess

You know it works

You know it’s perfect

Croc will run around in dashing costumes while Riddler clasps a rose between his teeth

Bruce can be Ash and the batkids are his pokemon but let’s not lie we’re hear for Team Croc-ket

[ladystarksneedle]

Running for the hills

Aemond x niece reader

A/N: For @hotd-bigbang

Prompt: Fire | Furs | Forest (December 4th)

This can be read in continuation to "A fool for you" or as a standalone too.

Word count: 1k

Dividers by @saradika

Next>

The stench of charred flesh wafts up to her nose, covered in soot, as she recoils in disgust. There are flames all around her, licking at the dense forests below, smoke hissing through the steaming waters of the Riverlands as she soars above. Dragons of red and brown circle each other in agitation as they continue forwards, frustration coursing through them all, over yet another day of failure. She knows the outcome of their defeat when they return. Daemon will retire with his young mistress to conquer yet another night while she's left alone to stew with her thoughts, wallowing in misery. She had promised her mother so much before she left, vowing to keep an eye on him, praying to be given leave to be of use to their war. She feels the familiar ache of emptiness in her chest as they descend, the orange of the horizon mocking her in its wake. Naerax roars in discontent as she pats her goodbye, knowing her cries at night shall keep them both company. She can sense him near, like a shadow still clinging to her, a shroud of the past they both share. His betrayal stings even more with the blood on his hands and she wishes nothing more than to stain hers with his own.

The castle before them looms in white stone, a stark contrast to the ash they're covered in as they trek back together. She sees them bump their shoulders as they walk ahead with her jumping up to reach his height as he chuckles, lingering behind to give them space.

“I do not wish to lose you” her mother had said when she'd requested to be sent for the task at hand.

“I want to make you proud, kostilus muña” (please mother)

“It isn't safe and with what happened with-” She doesn't need to finish before she moves to hold her hands. They feel cold to touch, clammy with the burden of gold on her head.

“I'd be with Daemon. Besides there'll be three of us, Vhagar won't stand a chance” she assured her, unable to utter his name.

“Why do you wish to do this?” her mother had asked in resignation.

“This war is mine to end. He needs to pay for what he's done"

The words left unsaid linger on, as she looks back at the sky, "to me" haunts her still.

She hears their laughter at dinner, sees the girl her age flick a few grapes off her plate, teasing the man before her jovially. The word father rings in her head, rotten as it has always felt. The burden of not knowing who to address by the title and learning it was actually someone she came to love far too late, dawns on her as they continue, oblivious to her sulking. The man before her is her father in name, more farcial than the ones preceding him, yet loved by her mother the most. She remembers their wedding, how the wind howled as they spoke their vows and spilt their blood for each other. She had watched in awe and fear wishing for it to be her someday with the boy she yearned for having already spilt his the night before. Perhaps their fate was always sealed in blood, meant to be mourned rather than delighted in.

The years following the incident passed in anticipation and doubt. She felt it creep into her being as she learnt and flew, pushing herself to be her very best, thinking of him doing the same across the bay. She willed herself to sleep each night, praying to see him again if only to say she was sorry. She wondered if he thought of her just as she did of him.

Her nights now feel just as futile, mind racing as the bed above her chambers creaks and groans rhythmically, her words of promise to her queen one with the wind.

She's haunted by new ones at dawn with a scroll arriving, detailing his activities. He seems to have taken a bedmate, a witch they call her, bewitching and insidious, who can cast spells and control flames. Daemon laughs with mirth as he dismisses the maester “Let him have his fun, he'll not evade us for long”

The pit of dread in her belly deepens as he crumples the scroll in his hands. For once the girl ahead of her shares her apprehension.

Their scouring lessens for a while, with her choosing to go out on her own. It doesn't take much to convince her guardian who waves her off with a flick of his wrist. “Do not stray too far, zaldrītsos. I'll know if you do” he warns her as she takes off with the rising sun. It bathes her in its warmth as she tries to hide from the heat below fueling her need for blood. She feels the need to see him again, to see his eye before she plunges her dagger in his heart and feels his essence on her fingers. “Look at what you've done to me” she screams as she flies, the word “why” echoing through the dark clouds as she weeps.

“What are you reading?” she quipped secretly watching him from behind the bookshelves.

She remembers him hastily shutting his tome as he scrambled to get away, the furs around him pooling at his feet, a gift from a northern lord as a token for his siblings’ wedding.

“Go back to the feast. You don't belong here” he had said as he left, shutting the door to her broken heart.

The black ahead clogs her mind as she flies through it, descending near a clearing shrouded in smoke. Naerax roars in warning, restless as she tries to soothe her before a flash of blue strikes her eye. Near a rivulet, glinting through the haze she sees the figure of her dreams take shape, her lips sealing with horror as he comes to life.

“Byka nūmio, how fitting to have found you by the water” he croons. “I've been waiting for you” (little pearl)

The ground around her feels soft as she remembers the furs in her chambers at last, tucked away with the forgotten tome bearing his mark.

“I could never forget you”

Taglist: @witheredoffherwitch @arcielee @chompchompluke @barbieaemond @watercolorskyy

[katsus-world]

Comfort.

Genre: angst (kinda) and fluff

Warnings: cussing and lots of crying 😭 also bakugou may be slightly out of character (?) I’m not sure

“You know I love you right?” Those words shook your heart as you looked at katsuki with glossy eyes. The feeling of your stomach dropping, his hand caressing your cheek. The calloused digits buring your already tear-stained face as he removes his hand.

All day you’ve been avoiding katsuki, all day you haven’t said a word to him. Or anyone else for that matter.

He was worried to say the least. You didn’t even answer his Goodmorning text or walk up to him during breakfast. His own head rushing through millions of thoughts as to why you haven’t uttered a peep to him, or any of your friends.

You sigh, nodding as that’s really the only thing you can do at the moment, not wanting to say anything because if you do, sobs will escape.

Katsuki’s frown deepens at you not responding. He knows that he didn’t do anything wrong at this point. Seeing you walk to your bed, looking at him expectingly. The blankets pushed to the side, welcoming him in onto the mattress.

Walking over, the ash blonde lays down. His arms caging you in as you bury your head into his chest.

The overwhelming feeling of everything that’s been stressing you out came crashing the second his muscular arms wrapped around your figure.

Sobs filled Katsuki’s ears as you let everything out. Shaking as fat hot tears rolled down your cheek once again.

Your fits balling up the backside of his shirt as you weep. His hands rubbing circles on your back, knowing that you’ve been having this pent up.

Katsuki knows you all too well, one of the things he’s found most comforting about you is that you both are very similar on how you handle your emotions.

Always keeping things bottled in, always staying quiet when something is bothering you. Only speaking up when necessary, there are days where you just don’t feel like conversing with people and that’s totally fine with the both of you.

He understands how you feel, reminding him of when he blew up on deku, after All Might retiring.

He didn’t like the fact that you were in pain right now though. And he knew that he couldn’t do anything but be there for you, letting you bawl all over his shirt, and pull him closer as your sobs grew louder.

“It’s ok baby, I got you.” The blonde looked down to you. Feeling his heart ache as he saw your eyes. Red with exhaustion and worry. The sounds of your wails are something he never wants to hear, burning his ears as his chest tightens.

“M’ so sorry Kat!” You let out through sobs. You didn’t mean to ignore him all day. Or anyone for that matter. But everything has been so overwhelming, the feeling of not being able to breath followed you everywhere today.

Being engulfed in a dark empty and cold mindset as you couldn’t pay attention in class. Having to excuse yourself and sprint down the hall to the restroom, shutting the stall and taking deep breaths like if you were about to be submerged into the deep ocean.

All of this being ticked off from the agency you were supposed to be training with. The pro hero giving you harsh comments and criticism on something that wasn’t your fault. His words crushing your self esteem as he said you were never going to make it onto the pro hero’s charts.

“That’s your stance? Are you trying get killed on your first day?”

“The hell was that fighting?! You can’t do that and expect everything to be fine!” All you could do was be quiet and nod. Frustration and anger bubbling up inside you as you look at the “mess” you apparently made.

There was a rock on a fire extinguisher. One that you didn’t even throw, it was his side kick.

On your last day there, the pro hero came up to your desk. Knocking rudely on the wood to get your attention.

“You know when I saw you at the sports festival, I thought you were so much better than this.. turns out you’re just another pretty face. You’ll never make it out in the real world l/n. I expected better from you. Goodbye and don’t let the door hit you out!” Walking away, his hand was in the air signaling you to get the hell out already.

All you could do was stand up and grab your things, quickly leaving the stupid building as you bit down on your lip. Trying to stop the tears that were spilling out.

That was two days ago. When you came back to the dorms, you made your way straight to your room. Not bothering to stay down with everyone else to share about the agency. Or to talk to your teacher, Mr. Aizawa about the pro hero and his unprofessionalism.

Instead you locked yourself in, finally letting your feelings out, dropping onto your bed until you passed out.

At least now you were with your boyfriend, in his arms as he comforted you, in his own way.

“About what? What’s wrong y/n?” His voice was laced with concern, pulling you out of his soaked shirt, he looked at you with heavy eyes.

Trying to calm down you sit up, chest heaving up and down as you tried catching your breath. Katsuki’s hands cupping yours, feeling his palms sweatier than usual.

“Stupid pro hero!” His words wrung through your head.

“Don’t push yourself if you ain’t ready. I can wait” a sense of relief fell on katsuki as now he knew for a fact it wasn’t his fault for you feeling like this.

“He said I wasn’t good enough to be a hero.” Your voice was quiet as you but your lips. The metallic taste making you tastebuds quiver with disgust.

“He said what?! You’re crying over that?” Widened scarlet eyes look at your still shaken up state. Worry quickly being replaced with anger.

“Who the fuck does he think he is?! He’s a nobody y/n don’t listen to that extra ass pro hero! You’re more than capable of being a hero, don’t let that nobody get to you..” Katsuki’s words were harsh but you know he didn’t mean it like that.

“Go to sleep. I know you must be tired from today, but tomorrow I’m taking you to go talk to Aizawa. That dumbass needs to watch what he says.” A low growl rumbled from the blondes chest.

You laid back down on your bed, looking at your boyfriend to join you. Taking off his shirt as it had your tears all over it, thinking about how wet it probably was right now.

You rest your head on his bare chest as he pulls youu on top of him. His arms finding home on the sides of your hips. Knowing that you’ll be snoring in no time, he gives you a peck on the forehead.

“I love you dumbass, don’t take that dumb shit to heart.” Sighing, you nod.

“I love you too katsuki, thank you for being here right now.” He lets out a grunt in response and not long after, soft snores fill his ears. His eyes drifting off, your body still in his arms as his lids close.

༶ඬ༝ඬ༶ ༶ඬ༝ඬ༶ ༶ඬ༝ඬ༶ ༶ඬ༝ඬ༶ ༶ඬ༝ඬ༶ ༶ඬ༝ඬ༶ ༶ඬ༝ඬ༶

I gave up at the end but this was a little self indulged. I was sad LMAO 😭 not proof read so sorry for any misspellings 😞🙏

[primamchorus]

(Old) Day 02: Bolt

FFXIV Write 2022 || Day Two || Bolt

Character: Estinien Varlineau + Nomin tal Kheeriin

Shortly after contending with the events of the Final Steps of Faith, Estinien is still bedridden for the time being. Nomin thinks it the best opportunity to visit him and get some of her thoughts off her chest.

Word Count: 1,423

Days in the infirmary were nigh unbearable as the elezen only tolerated the chirurgeons that came and went, wishing to administer their salves, care, and other methods of healing upon him now that he was free of Nidhogg’s thrall. He stared at the ceiling of his room for a time when he was awake -- so long as he was removed of his younger elezen companion’s nattering away. All of this would come to an end -- sooner rather than later -- and he would see to other things that he would rather have done.

“Ser Estinien?” came one of the chirurgeon’s voices that he had reluctantly come to expect in his days in the sickbed. “You have a visitor.”

A grunt came from Estinien as he laid on his bed, a halfhearted wave of his hand before it thumped against the mattress was all that he efforted in that moment. It was probably his young elezen companion -- Alphinaud Leveilluer. The boy had come to be seen as the younger brother Estinien had lost when Ferndale had been rendered nothing but cinders and ash.

“What is it, boy?” Estinien asked, already expecting Alphinaud to go off in a flurry of words, sayings, and knowledge that usually put the recently retired Azure Dragoon straight to slumber. When he received no response, he merely listened to this visitor walk near his bed and gently slide a chair to its side before he finally turned his head to look at who it was.

“... Ah… this is quite the surprise…” Estinien said, sighing after he spoke.

“For who? Last I checked, I was far from being a boy -- both in the age and gender department. I’m quite surprised to hear of my change in both!” came the witty response of the Xaela auri woman who took a seat upon the chair. Though she smiled at her own words in an attempt to keep the mood lighthearted, Estinien could see the worry evident in her eyes. Deciding against commenting on it, he instead motioned toward the bag she brought with her.

“I expected the Warrior of Light to be at Aymeric’s beck and call -- and if not him, some other part of the realm,” Estinien spoke, taking a moment to start sitting up. As he did so, the auri woman reached over to get his pillow situated so that he had support -- though this seemed to annoy the bedridden dragoon. “Are you here as a chirurgeon? If not, there’s no need for you to fuss over me as if you are.”

“Didn’t you say that you merely craved rest at this point, Estinien? By the night’s good graces, how can you still be insufferable..?” the Xaela sighed. Though the words used had a sting to their context, the tone in which she spoke them was soft. It seemed that she was tired as well, and who in their right mind could blame her?

She had lost two friends in such a short time between one another… and here was one now who almost shared the same fate.

In a bed.

Still alive.

“Hard to rest when I have the boy and yourself coming in to check on me,” Estinien responded.

“He does have a name, you know. You can call him Alphinaud. Would it really kill you to say that instead of ‘boy’? I know for a fact you have the capacity,” The woman then brought her hand back, furrowing her brow somewhat at Estinien as she did. “And as for me, you can start remembering my name, too. Not ‘Warrior of Light’ this, or ‘Warrior of Light’ that…. My name is Nomin, and you better not let me catch you saying otherwise!”

Estinien gave Nomin an exasperated sigh, shaking his head.

“... And yet you call me insufferable.” Estinien gave another sigh. “Where is he, anyroad? Where is Alphinaud?”

Nomin rolled her eyes with a silent sigh of her own before reaching into the bag and taking out some of its contents.

“... Alphinaud wanted to be here, but… he’s currently busy helping Father Fortemps and both Brothers Emmanellain and Artoirel with… with…” Nomin trailed off, her expression growing distant as she rested a box of tea on her lap. She then shook her head and placed the box on the bedside table. “Just… with some clearing out some stuff.”

Estinien kept silent, for Ishgard lost not one, but two heroes in recent history. The one that surely lingered in Nomin’s mind being the one that Ishgard would remember, whereas the mad woman that gave her life to their cause would likely be remembered as a villain to many. It was a thought that made him give a slight grimace to the fact. Much as he clashed with Ysayle, he had to admit that what she did for them -- for them all -- was noble. He could not be more fortunate to have made her acquaintance.

Silence hung thick in the air between the two of them. Estinien would have been inwardly elated for the fact if he did not know that the Warrior of Light -- Nomin -- had a tendency to be a thorn in his side when it came to her words. Her silence and distant gaze were unsettling, to have said the least.

“What have you brought?” Estinien asked, his tone curt as he looked at the items Nomin had retrieved.

“Huh? Oh… uh…” Nomin seemed to have been brought back to reality at Estinien’s question. “Camellia tea… an import from Thavnair. A-and I got some jerked meats with some spices I’ve come to like using from my homeland on the Azim Steppe. Oh, and samples I’ve gotten from both Ul’dah and Thavnairian traders. I asked the vendor to use aldgoat meat since I had teleported back to Ul’dah for a bit to find some stuff you might enjoy.”

“Hmpf…” Estinien folded his arms over his chest. “You needn’t have gone out of your way for such… amenities. I hate being fawned over and coddled like this.”

“... Right… well…” Nomin started, standing from her chair after she had set her gifts for Estinien on his bedside table. “Then I’ll be on my way. I wish you a swift recovery, Estinien.”

Nomin slung the emptied bag on her shoulder and started for the door. She paused and looked over her shoulder at the dragoon. She seemed hesitant, but she finally spoke despite whatever might have been on her mind: “... It might not have been what you wanted, Estinien… but… for Alphinaud’s sake, I’m glad neither of us had the heart to do what Aymeric did without hesitation. And… I’m sorry that our hesitance -- nay, our refusal to bring you death -- brought you further suffering while in Nidhogg’s command. My own, soured feelings for you aside, I could not bear to watch Alphinaud suffer the loss of one he holds so dear. So… I’m… I’m glad you’re alive. I’m glad you’re still here.”

Nomin placed her hand on the handle of the door. She turned the knob before pausing once more. Looking over her shoulder, Nomin pointed her gaze back at Estinien.

“... I hope we can be friends, Estinien,” she smiled at him, that sad and distant look still in her eyes. “Because while I know we both care for Alphinaud like he is a brother to us both… I know not where we find ourselves at the end of this chapter of our lives in putting an end to the Dragonsong War. I do know one thing, however… and it is that I know I’d be sad if I lost you, too.”

Then she simply left… Estinien could only look at the door after it closed behind the Xaelic woman. Her words gave him something to think about, and he sighed with irritation at the fact.

Turning his attention toward the gifts left behind, Estinien knit his brow in annoyance. Nomin could have at least called for a portable kettle and stove to warm up water for the tea. Sighing through his nose and pinching the bridge of it, he reached over and took up the packaged jerky, starting on it at the very least. And was he glad he did. The flavor nearly made the elezen man bolt upright in gratitude that it tasted much better and more exciting than the kaiser rolls and bland soups that he had been given from the chirurgeons.

“... Damned insufferable woman,” Estinien murmured to himself with no hint of malice, and instead more of a softer tone as he continued snacking on the jerked meats.

[wendyeve24]

Up To Heaven and Down To Hell

Chapter 2: Dreams

(Smut galore in this chapter! This fic belongs to me, wendyeve24. Text enlarged for the visually impaired. Hope you enjoy!)

The newlywedded couples walked into the hotel ballroom, Can't Help Falling in Love by Elvis blasted through the speakers as the doors opened. The wedding guests all clapped as the first dance started. Both dances were slow and tender, though Cassie's dance with Nate was a bit awkward since he was so much taller than her. Lexi had a bit more of a comfortable time dancing with Fezco, though he wasn't as confident in his dance moves in front of everyone.

Once the song ended, Say You Love Me by Fleetwood Mac started playing. Lexi's friends and Fezco's family started mingling.

"So you used to own the store and now your grandson has taken over?" Rue asked Marie.

"Yup. I ran that store for a long time, I was beyond thrilled to finally fucking retire." Marie said.

"That's badass." Rue said with a nod of respect.

Over at the punch bowl, Ash intended to spike it but Gia managed to catch him about to pour malt liquor from the bar into the punch.

"Hey! I know what you're about to do and it's not good. Stop it." Gia scolded.

"What? I just wanna get this party started. Fuck off." Ash retorted with an annoyed gaze.

"No! Give me that!" Gia yelled as she tried to snatch the bottle from Ash.

"You'll have to catch me first!" Ash said with a mischievous smirk as he started running and Gia chased after him.

Jules was busy sipping some soda and talking to Faye, hearing her wild tales of brief porn stardom. Kat and Ethan also listened to the former pornstar talk.

"And like... four guys all came on me at once."

Jules nearly spat out her soda.

"What the fuck!? How do you even clean up after that?"

"You take a bath, Jewel. Duh." Faye replied as she lit up another Virginia Slim.

"I think porno is quite interesting. Maybe it could be popular in the future." Kat said.

Ethan gazed at his wife with a stunned look.

"Really? You don't think it's degrading?" He asked.

"Not really."

"It isn't. I mean we all fuck. Why not show it off to like... literally everybody?" Faye asked.

"I mean... you're not wrong." Jules said with an amused smile.

Lexi finally introduced Fez to Rue after the song ended, and Cherry Bomb by The Runaways started to play.

"Oh yeah, uh hi. I'm Rue. It's nice to meet you."

"Yeah it's nice to meet you too Rue. So, how long have you and Lexi been friends?"

"We've been friends... gosh, ever since I can remember. We've been friends since we were kids." Rue answered.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Our moms are friends and we practically grew up together because of that." Lexi explained with a smile.

"Oh shit, that's awesome."

"I'm more closer with Lexi than Cassie, to be honest. She's a bit too dramatic for me." Rue said.

"No kidding. So, Lexi where's your sister? I met your mom but I haven't gotten the chance to meet her yet."

"If you don't talk to her tonight, we'll see her tomorrow at the luncheon before we leave. Don't worry Fez, you're not missing anything with her."

"Alright ma. If you say so." Fez kissed Lexi's cheek.

"Wanna get some food?" He asked.

"Oh yes please. I'm starving." Lexi replied.

"Alright. How bout you go take a load off, rest your feet and I'll get your food Lex. What do you want?"

"Chicken, corn and some punch."

"Okay, I'll be back."

"Thank you Fez."

While Fezco went to get his and Lexi's dinner, Cassie was meeting Nate's family as House of The Rising Sun by The Animals played.

"You're pretty." Marsha said to Cassie as she eyed her up and down.

"Thank you." A smile coming across Cassie's face.

"Almost too pretty." Marsha added with a disapproving gaze.

Cassie immediately frowned. She was shocked at the sudden turn that simple comment had taken.

"Be nice Marsha. Hi, I'm Cal Jacobs. Nice to meet you Cassie. Welcome to the family. I'm glad to have a daughter in-law that will be living close to the family business. Tell me Cassie, do you like sports?" He said in a friendly tone.

"Oh uh yeah. I was a cheerleader in high-school." Cassie replied with a smile.

"Oh wow, that's impressive. Just by looking at you, I can tell you were a great cheerleader."

"Thanks."

"Alright dad, quit holding Cassie up. She's gonna get me my dinner." Nate said.

"I am?" Cassie asked.

"You're my wife. It's your duty. Now go." He said in an annoyed tone.

"O-Okay. Um do you want to have me get anything specific from the banquet tables or...?"

"Steak, potatoes, spinach. In that order. You're eating the same."

"Oh but... Nate I... I don't like spinach." Cassie said with a sheepish smile.

"You eat what I tell you to eat. Understood?" Nate said with a stern gaze and a raised brow.

"Yes sir."

He narrowed his eyes.

"Try that again." He demanded.

"Yes Daddy." Cassie answered softly.

"Good girl. Now go get our dinner."

Cassie went over to the banquet tables as well. While she was there, Cal patted Nate on the shoulder with a proud serpentine grin on his face.

"She'll be the perfect Mrs. Jacobs yet. Keep training her. She'll get there." He said to Nate before walking over to the bar with Marsha.

Lexi went to go and introduce herself to Nate with Maddy who had tagged along.

"Hi. You must be my sister's new husband. I'm Lexi. It's nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you too. And you are?" He asked, slightly ignoring Lexi and gazing directly at Maddy.

"I'm Cassie's best friend. Maddy Perez."

"You've known her for how long?" Nate asked.

"We basically grew up together." Maddy answered.

"I have too, of course." Lexi said.

"That's interesting. You can tell a lot about someone by their family and their friends..." Nate trailed off.

"So, what was she like as a kid?" He asked.

Meanwhile, Cassie ended up meeting Fezco at the banquet tables.

"Are you Cassie?" Fez asked.

"Yes. Oh! You must be my sister's new husband." She said.

"Yeah, I'm Fezco. It's nice to meet you." He said as he held out his hand for her to shake.

"It's nice to meet you too. Are you and Lexi going to the luncheon tomorrow before your honeymoon?" She asked as she shook his hand.

"Oh yeah, of course."

"Great! I can't wait to meet your family too." Cassie said with a smile before she felt a tap on her shoulder.

"Nate told me to tell you to get his dinner and sit down. Quit mingling." Aaron, Nate's older brother said.

"Oh... okay." Cassie turned back to Fez who looked at her with a concerned gaze.

"I-It was nice meeting you Fezco. Welcome to the family." Cassie said sheepishly before turning around with her plates of food and walking over to the Jacobs table.

"Yeah. Nice meeting ya." Fez replied as he finished making himself and his wife a plate of food.

As he turned to go to the O'Neill's table he shook his head in slight disbelief. There was something weird with that whole interaction... and he didn't like it, but he wouldn't think about it too much, besides... it was none of his business.

Before she went to go sit down, Lexi went over to Cassie to talk as she managed to catch her sister before she sat down at her respective table.

"I met Nate. He seems nice. Do you like him? I saw that you met Fezco. What do you think of him?" Lexi asked.

"Of course I like Nate, he's my husband now. Why would I not like my husband?" Cassie replied defensively.

"Why are you getting defensive? I was just asking since you married him almost an hour or two ago." Lexi said with narrowed eyes.

"I'm not getting defensive Lexi! Ugh. Anyways, your husband is nice too." She replied before her gaze met Nate's across the way, he was glaring at her.

"Thanks. Are you... okay? And why do you have spinach on your plate? You hate spinach, you gag if it's even in your mouth." Lexi said.

"I'm fine. And... I wanted spinach for a change. I... thought I'd like it now since I'm a wife. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to feed my hungry husband. I'm coming honey!" Cassie called over to Nate before going over to the table and putting his plate in front of him before sitting down.

"Fucking took you long enough. It better not be cold." He said to her before taking a bite. It wasn't cold but it wasn't warm either... he supposed that it would have to do... besides, he wanted to break her down further.

Cassie began to dig into her food, she started cutting into her steak first before Nate stopped her.

"Eat your spinach first. It's good for you."

"But... I really wanted my steak first Daddy..." Cassie said.

"Spinach first."

"But-"

Nate took his fork and stabbed into her spinach, holding it up to her mouth before leaning over to whisper in her ear.

"You wanna be a good girl for Daddy, don't you?"

Cassie nodded wordlessly.

"Use your words."

"Yes Daddy."

"Good. Now eat the fucking spinach. Unless you want this bite shoved down that pretty throat of yours." He demanded in a dark whisper.

Cassie took a deep breath and leaned forward, taking the bite of spinach off of his fork. She bit back a gag and managed to choke it down.

"Good girl." Nate said with a cocky yet pleased smile as he took his fork back and stabbed into his mashed potatoes, taking a bite of it.

"Eat all of it. Oh and Cassie?"

"Yes?"

"If I see you so much as shake hands with another guy like you did with your sister's ginger husband... you're in so much trouble." He casually mentioned to her without looking at her and shoveling some of his steak into his mouth.

A stunned look came across her face as she looked at Nate. She then turned back to her plate and stabbed her fork into her spinach. Cassie started eating her spinach begrudgingly, fighting back the urge to gag and cry after each bite.

Lexi had already started eating with Fezco, she was happy to have their first meal together as husband and wife.

"You like the chicken? If not, I could take it back and get you something else." Fez offered.

"Oh no Fez, it tastes good. Uh how does your rice taste? It looks good."

"It's really good. Pairs well with the turkey and the coleslaw. Want some?"

"Sure." She got a little bit of rice off of his plate and put it onto her own before taking a bite.

"Mmm! Yeah that's really good. Wanna try some of my corn?"

"Of course." Fez replied as he put a bit of her corn on his plate and ate it, nodding at how good it tasted due to the way it had been grilled.

"So, did you get a chance to talk to Cassie?" Lexi asked.

"Yeah I did. She seems cool. To be honest though... she seemed a bit weird after that guy over there approached her." Fez recalled as he briefly gestured over to Aaron who sat at the Jacobs table located at the other side of the ballroom.

"That's Nate's older brother. Now that you mention it... she was really acting defensive towards me just some minutes ago. And she had spinach on her plate."

"What's wrong with spinach, ma?" Fez asked.

"Cassie hates spinach. Whenever our mom tried to give us spinach when we were kids, Cassie just couldn't keep it down. It only had to be in her mouth for a few seconds and then she'd either spit it out or gag. And God forbid if she swallowed it because then she'd only throw it up afterwards."

"Well shit... why would she choose to eat that now?"

"That's the thing Fez... I don't think she chose to eat it. I think she's forced to eat it."

"Woah ma. You tryin' to tell me you think your sister's husband she just married is fucking forcing her to eat spinach?" He said with an incredulous look on his face.

"Yeah. I... I know it sounds farfetched. I don't know maybe I'm over thinking it." Lexi said with a shrug.

"I don't know but... that whole situation is fucking weird."

"Yeah... I agree." Lexi replied as she ate some of her chicken.

After everyone ate their fill of food and drank their fill of drinks, it was time for the bouquet toss and the garter toss.

Dancing Queen by ABBA started to play on the speakers as all the single ladies gathered on the dance floor.

"Oh I'm getting that bouquet." Jules said to Maddy who rolled her eyes.

"No hun, I'm getting that bouquet. Go sit down somewhere Jules." She replied.

"You both know there's two bouquets right? You both could get one." Rue said with a smirk.

"Yeah but I'm getting the first one." Jules argued.

"I call dibs on the second one then." Faye said as she stumbled over to them due to being drunk and high.

Maddy rolled her eyes again before the toss officially started.

Cassie threw hers first. It flew up into the air behind her and neither Jules nor Maddy nor Faye caught it. Rue caught it.

"Well... fuck." She muttered.

"Dammit!" Jules cried out.

Lexi smiled before tossing her bouquet second.

As to be expected neither Jules, Maddy or Faye caught it, Rue didn't catch it either instead Rue's sister Gia who had been standing not too far from Rue caught Lexi's bouquet.

"Oh shit! You caught it!" Rue said in a genuinely surprised tone.

Gia looked at the bouquet in shock before smiling a little bit, not quite sure on what to make of the situation as she quietly walked off of the dancefloor.

Next up was the garter toss. Fez had specifically requested that the Disc Jockey play I Want You by Marvin Gaye.

Lexi sat down in the middle of the dancefloor in a chair, as Fez did a little two-step towards her to the beat of the song. Lexi couldn't help but laugh a bit before her eyes widened a bit as she saw him get on his knees in front of her.

Lexi blushed.

"Fez..." She said breathlessly.

"Gotta get this garter off you, ma. Don't be afraid, I gotchu." He said as he took the white kitten heeled shoe off of her left foot, setting it down. He then gazed directly into her eyes, his blue ones meeting her brown ones. They never broke eye contact with each other as she felt his hand slowly slide up her left leg, his calloused hand sliding up her smooth leg that was under her dress.

Lexi gasped as he slowly squeezed and kneaded her thigh, teasing her a bit before his other hand traveled up her left leg. Both hands reached the garter that was wrapped around her thigh. With his index fingers he slid his fingers under the lacy fabric of the garter and started to slowly slide the garter down off of her thigh, keeping eye contact with her the entire time.

He made sure to take his sweet time, there was no rush.

"Fezco..." Lexi said breathlessly again.

"Raise your leg up for me, ma." Fez said in a low and husky voice.

Lexi slowly raised her leg so it was sticking straight out. Fez maneuvered himself so her dress covered leg could rest on his shoulder as he continued his slow work of taking her garter off.

"Keep your eyes on me, baby. I wanna take my time witchu ma." He said huskily.

The garter was now off of her knee and was being slowly moved downwards to her calf. When it reached her lower calf, he stopped and removed his fingers from the garter.

"I want you but I want you to want me too." He sang along, her eyes never leaving his.

"Fezco... please." Lexi begged. She wasn't even sure what she was begging for in that moment, but she knew that whatever it was, he most definitely had what she was begging for.

Fez lifted the bottom of her dress up slightly with his now free hands before leaning his face close to her left foot.

Lexi felt as if she were melting into the seat, the heat between her legs got stronger with each passing second, with each touch of Fez's hands, with each movement he made, with every gaze he shared with her. She was sure that he could sense how turned on she was in that moment.

He then kissed her foot, her ankle and lowered his lips to the garter, kissing it before he took the garter into his mouth, his blue eyes looking up at her. To him, she was the only woman in the room. He then slid the garter down the remainder of her leg with his teeth. The garter slid off of her foot easily, and he grinned with it between his teeth as he finally stood up.

Once he turned around and faced the guests who hooted and hollered, he walked a few paces away from Lexi who was busy slipping her shoe back on and hoping that her dress wasn't soaked through from her arousal and making the seat wet.

Fez tossed the garter into the small bit of single guys who were on the dancefloor and the person who caught it was Ashtray who gave a disgusted look at it in his hands, but then decided he could probably sell the garter or something so he decided to shove it into his pocket and keep it.

Nate was up next and Cassie sat down in the chair in the middle of the dancefloor.

He had specifically requested for the Disc Jockey to play Five to One by The Doors.

Cassie felt... nauseous. Her body had been fighting the spinach she had eaten, and the spinach was winning.

Nate took some steps to the beat towards Cassie before he leaned down and kissed her before getting on his knees.

Cassie smiled though she could feel her stomach lurching.

He slid his hand up her left leg and put his head under her dress, licking her inner thigh before taking the garter into his mouth and between his teeth.

She bit her lip slightly out of arousal as she felt his movements under her dress.

He lowered his hand and managed to take her shoe off letting it drop to the floor as he slowly slid out from underneath her dress, the garter still between his teeth as he slid it down her leg.

The music was loud, and drowned out the gurgling noise her stomach made.

"Nate..." Cassie she said frantically a wide eyed look on her face.

He gazed at her darkly as he kept sliding the garter down her leg.

"Nate..." She tried again.

He ignored her and slid the garter down her calf.

Cassie started to dry heave a bit as she shook her head.

He kept ignoring her and he completely slid the garter off of her leg and off of her foot with his teeth and stood up, the bottom of her dress that he had raised up, fell back into place before all of a sudden she leaned over and threw up all over his shoes.

"Fuck! What the fuck Cassie!?" He yelled as the garter dropped to his feet at the exact same time she hurled.

The guests were all disgusted at the scene and the single guys who had joined the garter toss all left the dancefloor.

Even though she was extremely drunk, Suze managed to rush over to a crying Cassie and help her out of the chair, taking her to a nearby bathroom to get her cleaned up. Miraculously, Cassie hadn't thrown up onto her wedding dress, only on her shoes and Nate's shoes... and also the garter.

"So is like anybody gonna clean that up?" Faye asked aloud as she lit up another Virginia Slim.

Marsha, Nate's mother took care of her son's shoes and then she tended to Cassie's shoes. She was actually giddy that her new daughter-in-law managed to embarrass herself at her own wedding, she couldn't help but laugh a bit as she wiped the vomit off of Cassie's shoes.

Leslie, Rue and Gia's mother managed to cover the mess up with a table cloth and advised everyone to not step on the table cloth, and that if they wanted to participate, it was time for the cutting of the cake.

Fez and Lexi obliged, Nate also obliged simply because he wanted cake, and by the time she came back from getting cleaned up in the bathroom, Cassie agreed to the cake cutting.

Lexi cut the cake together with Fez before putting the piece onto a plate, and sharing it with him.

Cassie still wasn't feeling great, and decided to let Nate have his piece of cake, but little did she know was that he had other ideas.

After Cassie sat down, Nate went over to her with his plate that had a big piece of cake on it.

"It's good. Eat some." He said.

"I... I can't. I just got sick."

"Whatever." Nate said in an annoyed tone.

"At least try a bit of it." He added.

"No. I don't want it."

A dark look came into his eyes.

"Don't you ever say no to me." He warned.

He then picked up his piece of cake with his hand and put it up to her mouth.

"Eat it." He demanded.

Cassie shook her head.

"Eat. The. Cake. Cassie." He demanded through gritted teeth.

Cassie shook her head again before Nate shoved the cake into her face, causing her to cry again.

"Stop crying. It's not attractive." He said coldly.

Cassie immediately stopped crying.

"Good girl. You earned yourself a napkin." Nate said as he grabbed a napkin for her.

Cassie thought he'd wipe her face for her, but instead he chucked the napkin at her.

"Clean yourself up." He said, much to her immense disappointment, though she did as she was told.

By the end of the night, the couples were ready to consummate their marriages, they said their goodbyes to their friends and families before going upstairs to their respective suites that the grooms had paid for.

Nate and Cassie's suite was a bit bigger than Fezco and Lexi's, but it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered to Nate was that he was finally able to fuck Cassie and break her down, while Fezco's focus would solely be on Lexi and giving her the most pleasurable first time.

When Nate opened the door, he practically pushed Cassie inside of the suite before he turned the lights on.

"You're a fucking mess, you know that?" Nate berated after he shut the door behind him.

Cassie turned around and took a deep breath.

"I'm not. I... I told you I didn't like spinach. I just could never get it down." She said sadly, her voice soft.

Nate approached her and kissed her forehead before he gently hugged her, before hoisting her up and slamming her onto the bed.

Cassie screamed out of pure surprise.

"Well well well... this is the first time I've heard you scream. I like it. You'll be doing a lot more of that tonight. Take your dress off." He said as he briefly hovered over her before he sat up on the bed, throwing his suit jacket to the side, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. He kicked his black loafers off and got off of the bed, and went to the other side of the room where the record player was.

Cassie was still struggling with getting her dress off, she had managed to get her stockings off however.

(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction by The Rolling Stones came on and Cassie was near tears trying desperately to get her dress off, the buttons in the back just were not budging because she was having a hard time reaching them.

She wasn't sure how her mother had even managed to get into and out of the dress, but Cassie certainly wasn't having an easy time.

"Daddy... can you help me?" She asked finally as she held her arms out, sniffling because she nearly broke a nail and she was frustrated. Nothing was going right today for her at all.

"Sure. Since you asked like a good girl." Nate said as he approached. He got on the bed and instructed her to turn around.

She did so and moved her hair to the side so he could undo her buttons for her.

"You put this dress on yourself?" He asked.

"My mom helped a bit but I mostly did it myself." She replied.

"Oh... nice." Nate said before he snatched the fabric from her body, ripping the back of the dress, the fabric was now frayed and the dress was ruined as he managed to rip the rest of it off of her and threw it to the side as if it were a piece of garbage.

"Nate! What the fuck!? That dress is a hand-me-down! That belonged to my mother! You just ruined it! Oh my god!" Cassie yelled as she turned around, her arms shielding her tits from his view as she gazed at him angrily.

"Too many buttons for my tastes." He responded as he sat back against the headboard of the bed.

"Now, you do your duty and give me a damn good blowjob or you're getting punished for fucking yelling at me." He said as he pointed at the erection in his black slacks.

Cassie stopped shielding her tits from him and crawled over to him on the bed. She started to unbuckle his belt. Once his belt was unbuckled, she undid his button and unzipped him before pulling his slacks down off of his legs.

As soon as his slacks were down off of his crotch, his cock sprang to life since he wasn't wearing underwear and his hard long length hit Cassie's cheek. She couldn't help but stare at it... his cock was huge.

"Wow..." She gasped in awe.

She looked up at him and he looked down at her with a cocky yet proud smile on his face.

"Go ahead." He urged.

Cassie lowered her mouth onto his cock. She certainly couldn't take all of him into her mouth, he was huge. But of course Nate had other ideas.

His wife slobbered and sucked his cock but she wasn't trying to take it all the way into her mouth... and he noticed that.

Nate grabbed her by the back of her head and wrapped some of her hair around his hand.

"Go further Cassie. Open up that pretty throat of yours. Slacken that fucking jaw." He instructed.

She did as she was told and it worked for a little bit before she could feel herself choking on his cock. She tried to ease back a bit but his grip on the back of her head tightened and he used his own strength to keep her head down completely. He decided to torture her a bit more and raised his hips up a bit, thrusting his cock in and out of her mouth.

Cassie had tears in her eyes from choking on his cock, her throat was being abused by his tip and she felt as if she couldn't breathe. She started to panic, her arms flailing around a bit before she tapped his thighs, this didn't work and only made him thrust himself into her mouth harder and forcibly keep her head in place.

Cassie whimpered as she cried before a muffled and raspy scream just barely left her throat, it was audible however, but Nate didn't care.

Would this be the last thing she did? Sucking her husband's cock on their wedding night and dying by being suffocated from it? Cassie started to grow light-headed, she was on the verge of passing out, her arms started to go limp as he continued to fuck her mouth before he roughly yanked her by her hair and pulled her off of his cock with a grunt.

She collapsed on the bed, gasping for air, her vision no longer was darkened and her consciousness was starting to come back. She coughed quite a bit, her chest heaving as he got on top of her.

"Good. You're alive." He said as he rubbed his cock against her cotton panties.

"N-Nate." She rasped.

"You're a good girl Cassie... a whiny annoying bitch but a good girl." He said with an impressed tone.

She smiled at him, happy for the praise she had received despite the backhanded compliment.

"And good girls get rewards..." He said darkly as he took her right tit into his mouth, sucking on it as his hand squeezed her left tit.

"Oh!" Cassie cried out.

He stopped squeezing her tit and let his hand travel downwards to her panties, he rubbed her through the fabric before sliding them down off of her legs.

He briefly sucked on her left tit and let his fingers explore her pussy that was getting wetter as the seconds passed.

Cassie moaned as he leaned back up and kissed her before going back down, his mouth blowing air onto her pussy causing her to squirm.

He then started to suck her clit as he inserted his fingers into her pussy.

"Daddy!" She cried out.

He pumped his fingers in and out of her until a filthy squelching sound came from her pussy. He then removed his fingers from her and held them up in front of her face.

"Clean it." He demanded.

Cassie started to suck his fingers clean of her own juices as he stroked his cock while watching her. She hadn't orgasmed, though she had been excruciatingly close.

He removed his fingers from her mouth and grabbed her, easily using his strength to roughly flip her over so she laid on her stomach. Nate gazed at her plump ass, taking it upon himself to spank her hard, making her yelp and leaving a red handprint on her left ass cheek.

His index finger dipped between her cheeks, rubbing her tight asshole.

"Ever used the backdoor before?" He asked curiously.

"N-No. That's... so dirty. I've only ever had it vaginally." She admitted sheepishly.

"I'll train you Cassie. Don't worry. In the meantime... I wanna taste it." He said hungrily before he spread her ass cheeks apart and started lapping at her hole with his tongue.

"Oh God! Nate!" She cried out as she felt him assault her hole with his tongue.

He then poked at it with his index finger that she had previously sucked on and inserted it deep into her ass.

"Fuck!" She screamed.

"You like that Cassie? You like your husband's finger buried into your tight ass don't you?"

She let out a moan that soon sounded strangled as he used his free hand to wrap around her throat, choking her.

Cassie whimpered before his grip slackened and he stopped choking her before sliding his finger out of her ass.

"On all fours. Now."

She got on all fours immediately and felt him rut against her ass before tapping his cock against her pussy.

He then entered her at a moderate pace, not really giving her time to adjust to his size before he started thrusting in and out of her pussy.

"Nate! Oh my god! You're too big! It's too fucking big!" She yelled.

The only answer she got in return was a grunt as he concentrated on achieving his much needed orgasm. He spanked her ass again, this time leaving a red handprint on her right ass cheek before he roughly grabbed both cheeks pulling her on and off of his cock as he thrusted in and out like a madman.

"Please! Daddy!" She begged.

His thrusts soon slowed down and he pulled out of her before tapping his cock against her asshole.

Cassie's eyes went wide. He wouldn't do something so... dirty on their wedding night... would he?

The question in her mind got answered as he stuck the tip of his cock into her ass and eased himself further in, the foreign feeling of her tight asshole being stretched causing her to cry and scream in pain.

"Stop! Nate it hurts! It burns! Please don't!" She begged.

It felt absolutely amazing to him, so why should he care if it hurt her?

"Daddy stop! Please!?" Cassie cried out as tears streamed down her face as she gripped the sheets in pain, clawing at the blankets. She just wanted him to stop. She tried to crawl away but he made sure to firmly hold her hips in place so she couldn't get away from him.

Nate moaned at the feeling of her tightness wrapped around his cock as he thrust in and out.

"Stop... it..." Cassie sobbed, pleading as she started to feel defeated and hopeless, so she just let him do it to her as she cried, especially since he wouldn't listen and just kept going.

He was getting close. He then pulled out of her ass, which only made her scream louder at the burning sensation in her asshole.

Her husband then stuck his cock back into her pussy making her moan through her tears. He thrust in and out of her until he felt his core tighten up, sweat dripping down his bare chest as he threw his head back.

"Fuck! Cassie! I'm gonna fucking cum!"

Cassie hadn't been counting on him to cum inside of her on their first night together as husband and wife... and because of this she started to panic.

"Nate! Daddy stop! Nate wait! Pull out! Please!?" She begged.

But her begging fell on deaf ears as he rutted against her some more and pumped his huge load into her, his balls constricting as he came.

"Cassie..." He moaned out as he milked himself of every last drop, making sure it was inside of her.

He then pulled out, his cock softening as he got up and took the needle off of the vinyl record, turned off the lights, got under the covers, kissed his wife and went to sleep.

Cassie had since collapsed from being on all fours and she gave her husband a shocked look, tears still streaming down her face as she managed to slide her aching body under the blankets, her head hitting the pillow.

She looked over at the opposite wall in the darkened room, she was bruised, her neck and throat hurt terribly, her ass hurting in more ways than one, her pussy was leaking his cum, she was unbelievably sore already and she hadn't even orgasmed on her own wedding night. That night, Cassie silently cried herself to sleep.

Lexi and Fezco had arrived to their suite. Fez opened the door with a grin.

"Aren't you gonna... carry me over the threshold?" Lexi asked.

"Oh yeah, I do gotta do that... right? Alright hold on tight, ma." Fez said with a goofy grin as he picked Lexi up bridal style.

Lexi couldn't help but laugh as Fez carried her inside, shutting the door with his foot as he carried her over to the bed, gently setting her down.

"I wasn't too heavy for you? Was I?" Lexi asked teasingly.

"You kiddin' me? You ain't heavy at all Lexi. Hell, I could pick you up and carry you for miles and not get tired. You light as a feather Lex." He said with smile.

"So... uh whatchu wanna do first?" He asked as he clasped his hands together and gazed at her curiously.

"I think... we should share a couple of glasses of champagne, talk some more and... see where the night takes us." She suggested.

"I swear Lexi, you're a damn mind reader." He said as he chuckled and shook his head. Going over to the ice bucket where the chilled champagne was and got two glasses. He poured her champagne first, then he did his own. He brought the champagne over to her and handed her the glass before holding his own up in a toast.

"How about we toast to... a good marriage." He suggested.

"Hm, how about a fantastic marriage that lies ahead for us." She said.

"Yeah that sounds even better. To a fantastic marriage that lies ahead." He said before the two of them clinked glasses and sipped their champagne.

"Mmm... that's good. Really bubbly though." Lexi said before she got up and sat her glass aside before sitting back down on the edge of the bed.

Fezco took another sip before he sat his glass aside as well.

"Wanna listen to some music?" He asked, walking over to the record player.

"Of course! What music do you like?"

"Really groovy jams. I don't listen to rock or pop that much, I like Motown hits, James Brown, Funkadelic, Soul music, y'know all that kinda good shit."

"Wow, that's impressive. I've never met someone so into funk and soul like you are."

"Yeah ma. I was raised on that shit. It's some good stuff."

"Fez... what do you like to listen to when you get..." Lexi trailed off, not sure how to continue asking her question.

"When I get what?" He asked, his eyebrow raised.

"Well... when you... get that urge..." Lexi asked as she blushed a bit.

Fez turned around and couldn't help himself. He chuckled a bit before shaking his head, an amused look on his face.

"Lexi, you're fucking fearless."

He put the record he had chosen on and gently put the needle to the vinyl.

He walked over to the edge of the bed and gazed directly into Lexi's eyes as the iconic opening notes from Let's Get It On by Marvin Gaye resounded through the room.

"Marvin is one of the main ones I like to listen to when I get that urge, ma." He answered as he leaned into her, their faces close to each other and their lips almost touching.

Lexi was speechless, she couldn't believe how... suave and smooth her husband was. It was really turning her on.

"Fez?"

"Yeah?"

"Kiss me?"

"You ain't even gotta ask baby."

Fez kissed Lexi, the kiss gradually grew heated as she pulled him on top of her.

They both moaned into the kiss as Fez's erection grew in his pants and Lexi felt it against her despite her dress still being on.

"Oh Fez... I... I wanna take care of that for you. Please?" She asked.

"You don't have to ma... besides, I want your first time to be special. I wanna do everything for you, you don't gotta do nothin' for me." He said.

"Fez, I really want to... let me try?"

How could he say no to her when she was giving him that cute pleading look?

"Alright. But before you do anything... I wanna help you out of that dress."

She nodded and turned around.

His fingers worked diligently on the buttons at the back of her dress.

"Where'd you get this dress from?"

"It's a hand-me-down. My aunt wore it." Lexi replied.

"It's nice. Alright, I think I undid all the buttons."

The next thing he knew, Lexi turned her head and slid her dress off. The sight alone almost made him cream his pants. His mouth was agape as he saw her slowly take her dress off. He wasn't sure if she was taking her time because the dress was old or if she was teasing him.

She kicked her shoes off and slid her dress off completely. She finally turned around, her breasts on display for him and her cotton white panties that had a wet spot on them from her earlier arousal during the garter toss.

He was speechless. She was already gorgeous but she had gotten that much more gorgeous in his eyes.

"Shit... you're a fucking goddess."

"Thank you... Fez it's time for you to take your clothes off too..."

"Oh! Yeah..." Fez shrugged his suit jacket off and tossed it to the side, he took his bow tie off and struggled with the buttons on his shirt.

"Here, let me help you."

Lexi started to undo his buttons on his shirt and helped him out of it before he tossed his shirt to the side. He got up and took his shoes off and unbuckled his belt, unbuttoning and unzipping his own pants before he slid them down, revealing his black and white boxers.

"Thanks baby. Now... how bout we get it on, huh?" He asked sensually as he laid down on the bed next to her.

Lexi nodded eagerly with a smile.

"Um what happens first?" She asked.

"Oh, you don't know? I thought you was educated Lexi?" He teased.

"I am... just not that educated on... sex." She admitted.

"Really...?"

She nodded.

"Well, we're husband and wife and what happens between us tonight well... it's gonna be special imma make sure of that." He said before kissing her.

"You're gonna be my teacher, Fezco?" She asked teasingly against his lips.

"Hell yeah... class is in session, ma." He replied.

She felt herself grow wet as he spoke.

He started kissing her neck, causing her to moan a bit.

"You wanna be on top?" He asked, wanting to know what position she felt comfortable in to start things off.

"Yes." She answered breathlessly as she straddled him just like how she did when they were in the limo.

He immediately felt how wet she was through her panties, since his still covered erection was poking against her.

"Do you mind if I take care of these?" He asked as his eyes gestured to her boobs.

"I thought women couldn't get pleasure from their breasts being played with?" Lexi asked shyly with a giggle.

"And what weirdo told you that?"

"I don't remember..."

"Nah. You can get pleasure from it Lex. Lemme show you, ma." He said as he lowered his mouth onto her left nipple.

"Fez..." She breathed out, the contact causing her to shiver with pleasure.

His hand reached over to gently knead her other boob.

"Oh..." Lexi moaned out.

Fez felt the wet fabric of her panties on his boxers start to soak through, making him groan.

He switched sides and sucked her right nipple and kneaded the other boob with his hand.

"Fezco!" Lexi cried out as his tongue circled around her nipple. She arched her back a bit which caused her wetness to rub against his crotch, making them both moan at the friction.

Fez let Lexi's nipple out of his mouth with a satisfying popping noise as he gently grabbed her hips, sliding her against him... rocking her back and forth.

"Shit... ma... you're fucking soaked ain't you?"

"Yes... Fez... I need..."

"Shhh. I gotchu baby. Lay on your back."

"But... I wanna take care of you..."

"You can do that, but I gotta take care of my wife first." He insisted.

She nodded as she laid down on her back, spreading her legs.

"What are you about to do Mr. O'Neill?" She asked teasingly as he leaned down, his face near her wet panties.

"Have some extra dessert. Imma eat you out." He replied.

He then slowly took her panties off of her and marveled at the sight of her wet womanhood in front of him.

"Goddamn..." He said in awe as he threw her panties to the side.

He leaned upwards to her face, kissing her lips before he trailed sweet kisses down her breasts, to her stomach and down to her wet core. He lapped at her clit with his tongue slowly, gazing up at her the entire time, watching her breathing heavily and moaning as he continued licking her, his tongue traveling to her wet opening and slightly dipping into it.

"Fezco..." She moaned.

He loved hearing his whole name fall from her lips, he especially loved hearing her moan his name.

He moved her legs so they rested upon his strong bare shoulders as he continued eating her out, his stubble slightly tickling her.

"Please Fez..." She said between a slight laugh and a moan.

"Please what baby?" He asked huskily as he started slowly fingering her, rubbing her clit in slow circles before gently easing his digits inside of her.

"Please... I wanna touch you too." She whimpered.

"Alright, I'll let you touch me in a second baby. I want you to cum for me first Lex." He said as he lowered his mouth back to her wetness, his mouth covered in her arousal after he removed his fingers. He started to lap at her bundle of nerves with a little bit more aggression than before, he was very focused on his wife having an orgasm.

"Fez... Oh my god! Fez!" Lexi cried out as she felt heat build up in her core as her palm found the back of his head, pushing his mouth further into her.

Fez grunted in response as he kept licking and sucking her pussy, feeling her start to tighten as she threw her head back, arched her back and came.

"Fezco!" She moaned as her legs shook as she had her orgasm.

He kept his mouth on her until her orgasm was over before he gave her one last teasing lick. He slowly kissed his way back up from her pussy, to her stomach, to her breasts, to her neck and finally to her lips.

She breathlessly kissed him back, her hands roaming his back before going to his arms, his stomach then down to his crotch where she palmed his erection through his boxers.

He moaned into her mouth.

Lexi's fingertips then went to the waistband of his boxers before she gazed at him, breaking the kiss.

"Can I, Fez?" She asked.

"Knock yourself out, ma." He said.

He sat back against the headboard and helped her pull his boxers down.

When she saw his cock, she gasped. He was huge in every sense of the word.

"Do you... like whatchu see?" He asked sheepishly.

"Are you kidding me? Of course I do! You look perfect, from head to toe Fez. And... you're... you're... big." She said as she gazed at his erect length in awe before gazing into his eyes with admiration.

"Um... how do I-"

"I'll teach you." Fez said huskily with a sensual gaze.

Lexi nodded as she leaned her face towards his cock.

"You gotta wrap your hand around the base first. Not too tight but not too loose either." He instructed.

She was hesitant at first but she wrapped her right hand around the base of his cock.

"Great. Now you gotta hollow out your cheeks like you're taking a gasp of air, and close your mouth around the tip. From there you're gonna suck it like a lollipop or a popsicle... just try not to use your teeth though baby... teeth and cocks don't mix." He instructed further.

She nodded before gazing up at him as she started trying to suck his cock.

She was clumsy at it, but he knew that it was her first time, she was trying her best and that was all that mattered. Besides, it wasn't like he necessarily needed her to blow him anyways since he was already rock hard. But she'd insisted, and he couldn't bring himself to say no to her.

Lexi managed to get the hang of it a bit more and she used her tongue to swirl it around his tip, causing him to moan as he threw his head back at the feeling.

Lexi saw him react pleasurably and continued doing the same thing, swirling her tongue around his tip. He bucked his hips slightly and she kept sucking him before he slightly came back to his senses.

"Fuck! Lexi... I want you to lay on your back for me baby." He said breathlessly.

She took his cock out of her mouth and let go of it and gazed at him.

"Did I... do good?"

"Oh baby you did better than good, you were fucking fantastic. But, I don't wanna cum in your mouth, ma."

She laid down on her back, looking up at him.

"Fez?"

"Yeah?"

"We didn't discuss it yet but... how many kids do you want?"

He briefly thought about it before answering.

"Three. You?"

"I think you're the mind reader." Lexi teased.

"I want three too." She added.

"Shit! That's really cool! I'm not expecting us to make a baby tonight though Lex."

"I know, but... maybe we could try on our honeymoon?" Lexi asked.

Fez smiled at her, his gaze on her.

"You... wanna have my babies Lexi?"

"Yeah."

He was touched by what she had said. No woman had ever really wanted him in that way before.

"Well ma, we're gonna need to practice..."

He thrust his cock against her wet pussy, causing her to moan.

"And practice..." He continued.

His thick cock was now teasing her entrance. Lexi shuddered from pleasure.

"And practice..." He rubbed her clit with his cock making her whimper.

"And practice... since y'know, practice makes perfect and all that." He finished before slowly sliding the tip of his cock into her entrance.

Lexi threw her head back into the pillows, moaning.

He slowly eased himself into her a bit further, she could feel every inch of him inside of her.

"Tell me if I'm hurting you, I'll pull out." He said.

Lexi panted a bit as she nodded.

He put her knees over his shoulders for better access as he leaned down, kissing her as he pushed the rest of himself inside of her until he was balls deep.

"Oh fuck!" She cried out as she broke the kiss, panting a bit at the foreign feeling of him inside of her.

It was a tiny bit painful but the full feeling of him stretching her pussy out felt strange yet... oddly pleasing.

"You good ma?" He asked with a look of concern.

"Yeah... I'm pretty sure you just... took my virginity." Lexi said with a giggle.

"Oh baby, I haven't even started yet. I still gotta move. Are you sure you're good? And... when I cum where do you want it?" He asked.

"Yes, I'm alright Fez. Please move, I wanna know what it feels like when you move. I... I want it inside me." Lexi whimpered as her hand went to his upper arm.

He lowered himself down further in order to kiss her as he started to slowly thrust in and out of her.

"Oh..." Lexi panted a bit as the foreign feelings started to subside a bit and pleasure began to take over.

Fez soon got into a bit of a rhythm with his thrusts. As soon as that happened, Lexi wrapped her legs around his waist.

"Shit... you feel so fucking good baby." He groaned.

"Fez! Faster... please?" She begged.

"You got it, ma."

His thrusts got harder and faster, he started to pound into his wife now, causing her moans and cries to reach a higher pitch than before as he hit a certain spot within her.

"Fezco! Oh right there!" Lexi cried out.

"Fuck! Right there, Lex?" He asked teasingly as his thrusts slowed just to tease her further.

"Fez! Don't stop! Ooh please don't stop!" Lexi whined as she flexed her foot against his bare ass.

"Oh baby I'm not gonna stop... shit!" Fez cried out as he picked the pace again and pounded into her relentlessly.

Her arms were wrapped around him, her hands engulfed in the sweat on his back before her left hand found the back of his head while he buried his face into her neck. She moaned into his ear louder than before which only made him pound her with a carnal energy as he moaned a deep and guttural moan.

The sound of wet skin slapping against each other mingled with their moans and cries as the sound of the bed creaking only managed to turn them on more and reach the pinnacle of their release together.

"Fezco! I think I'm-!"

"Fuck! Lexi! Me too! Shit! Cum with me baby!"

Her back arched and she threw her head back screaming in pleasure as Fez took one of her nipples into his mouth before crying out in ecstasy himself as he felt his balls contract as he emptied his seed into Lexi with a few more thrusts as he grunted and groaned loudly.

She laid there, a sweaty mess and he briefly collapsed on top of her, still buried deep inside of her, her sweat covered boobs against his sweaty chest as they tried to catch their breath.

He rolled off of her, pulling out which caused them both to moan and he pulled the blankets up on the both of them before reaching to turn the light off. He held her in his arms and she kissed him in the dark.

"Fez... that was... absolutely fucking amazing." Lexi said before giving him a thankful grin.

"I'm glad you liked it baby." He said before kissing her back.

"When can we... do it again?" She asked.

He chuckled before peeking under the blankets and looking at his flaccid cock before gazing at his wife.

"Give me a few hours, ma. Then I'll rock your world all over again."

Lexi laughed.

"And by the way, what song do you like to listen to when you get that urge?" Fez asked her.

Lexi looked up at the ceiling briefly in thought before answering her husband's question.

"Love to Love You Baby by Donna Summer. Or literally any of Donna Summer's songs." Lexi replied.

"Ooh, that's a great answer! Shit, you got better taste in vinyls than me."

They both shared a laugh, and basked in the afterglow of their first time as husband and wife before sleep overtook them for the night... after all, they needed their rest... an interesting luncheon for the organization was to take place the next day...

[angeltreasure]

It's your tumblr penpal Cecilia here, hoping your Lent is going well thus far. I came back from the retreat last weekend, and it was both enlightening and left me with more questions. So for sure at this point I am not wanting to get married or at least God didn't make me that way. The weekend pretty much confirmed it for me. There were 7 of us, 2 men and 5 women, 3 of us currently teachers in different parts of the state/out of state, lovely people they were. We also had stayed at a retired nun's place/motherhouse. So I think I'm more called to be a sister rather than nun at this point, didn't know the semantics when I first felt called. I had been able to talk to the Precious Blood Brother priest that was one of the counselors, alongside a Fransiscan sister who was there and felt a good connection with. She said to me that she felt from my personality and my descriptions of my calling cloistered life was not for me, probably either apostolic or evangelical sisterhood is more for me, being extroverted. They gave us tools to be able to help us find out our charisms, and also contact info for different orders around the dioceses. Also there is another retreat where we get to visit other sisters and their orders at the end of the month, hoping I can go to that for sure. Otherwise been busy for Lent, following the fasting and abstaining the best of my ability. My questions now going forward are what order/orders are a best fit for me and how to tell my family, one being an atheist brother who's trans/nonbinary and my mother who is a lukewarm Catholic who doesn't want me to be a nun because I've mentioned to her before about the idea and she wanted me to get married and have kids. So otherwise God Bless and I'm hoping your spiritual life is being fruitful and blessings on you/the family.

Good Evening Cecilia!,

I’m so happy that you had the chance to experience this! It must feel like a lot of weight off your shoulders. God works in mysterious ways. 😊 even if you do pick an Order and join it you can always change your mind to join another or opt out all together.

Sr. E told me that once we tell family that we are discerning religious life, our relationship to them may never be the same as it once was. In the end, don’t let anyone force you into something you don’t want to do. I have family on my mom’s side already talking about me and one even said oh she doesn’t wanna do that. Keep strong and keep the faith. God hears you. Remember you have your free will. If you do become a sister or nun you will become a mother to everyone.

Lent has been going surprisingly well this year! I think my mom’s having a decent one too. It’s definitely the most unique one yet. Ash Wednesday we went to a church I found driving around one day, and it was so windy almost hurricane winds. No priest showed up for Mass so we had the extraordinary Communion people draw the ashes on our foreheads. The wind was so loud it sounds like what my mind images as the Holy Spirit on the day of Pentecost! It truly felt like entering a desert. Now my step father’s back East for work. My official three year count down begins. May God bless you and your family as well.

[valerienrhapsody]

Chapter 7: To Ashes

Jesse couldn’t remember the last time a night had felt so long. From the moment the sun went down it had been one problem after another, and the closer it came to sunrise, the more he felt the need to go hole up somewhere cool, quiet, and dark to sleep the day away. At least his hotel was only two streets down from the mortuary where he found himself at the end of that long night, and there would just be a few minutes’ walk when he was finally finished with his ordeal. Seconds, if he ran. He had already checked in and gotten cleaned up, buying a change of clothes from the lobby gift shop, but there had been little time for rest. Now, he longed for the fresh sheets and blackout curtains that awaited him.

Beside him stood Louis, arms folded, his stern face set in an expression of open worry as he gnawed at his fingernail. They both stood on the safe side of the viewing window, looking in on the cremation chamber as all of the evidence of the evening’s activities burned away: Jesse’s clothes, Evaine’s book bag and the shirt she had been wearing with the movie characters on the front, bags full of soiled cleaning supplies, and the body of Jensen Calloway. When the blaze had run its course, there would be nothing left but ash.

“You can say it, Louis,” Jesse said when he felt he had given his friend enough time to digest his retelling of the night’s events. Normally, unburdening himself of a hard truth would have made him feel better, but hearing it out loud had only solidified the sense of impending disaster tugging at the back of his mind. “This is a mess. I am royally screwed.”

“This is a mess,” Louis repeated, his voice tight with restraint. He had so far refrained from commenting on Jesse’s story, but concern had deepened his frown with every word that passed his lips. “You are royally screwed. Jesse, you know what you have to do. Luther could make all of this go away, keep you safe from the fallout, or even turn her into the hunters yourself! I’m sure they’d be far more interested in—”

“I can’t do that,” Jesse cut him off, shaking his head to reject the idea even as he inwardly longed to agree for the sake of being rid of this. He looked down at his hands, the undersides still lined with bits of blood and dirt where he had failed to scrape it away. “It wouldn’t be right. She was passed out through the worst of it, and maybe it’s a mercy that she doesn’t remember. She has no clue what really happened, or what she’s gotten herself into. She can’t take the kind of heat that’s about to rain down on us, but I can.”

“That’s mighty noble of you, sir. It’s going to get you killed.” Louis sighed wearily, rubbing his hands over his face as he turned away from the cremation chamber to fully face his friend. “If you want my advice—and trust me, you need it—your first move here is to find Maggie. Jensen being here can only mean that she’s forfeited your contract. If she’s nearby, you need to know where she is, because once she finds out what happened she’ll either come after you herself or call her mother.” He forcefully jabbed one finger against Jesse’s chest. “Do not let her call her mother.”

The two of them shared a troubled look at the mention of the Jameson family matriarch. She hadn’t been on the hunt for nearly fifteen years, seeming happy to settle into retirement, but if she were to be called into action, they both knew she would bring a culling like he’d only heard of in whispered rumor.

“You’re right,” Jesse agreed, feeling himself darken at the prospect of another confrontation with Maggie Jameson. He almost didn’t survive the last one, even if he did give as good as he got, and she certainly wasn’t the forgiving type. “Any suggestions as to where I should start? Or should I just knock on every door from here to Jameson Ranch?”

“One door would suffice.” Louis placed a hand on Jesse’s shoulder, conveying all his sympathy and understanding so that when he spoke again, Jesse understood that it was meant kindly. “Go see your brother.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that,” Jesse grumbled. He gave one last look at the cremation chamber, satisfied that the process was mostly complete, and turned to leave the room. He walked slowly, and Louis kept pace with his unhurried strides.

“I don’t know what kind of bad blood you think there is between you, but Luther at least misses his brother,” Louis informed him. “He still calls to ask about you, how you’re doing, or if you need anything. No matter how you want to play this, if you go to him he’ll be glad to help, I know it.”

“I know he would, but his definition of ‘help’ is far different from mine,” Jesse said to explain his reluctance. “Luther is always going to do what suits Luther best. No matter what front he puts up about caring for me, whatever help he offers is going to be done his way, and that usually means I’ll be worse off in the end.”

“What could be worse than this?” Louis asked, motioning back toward the cremation chamber, toward the ashes of the dead hunter. 

“I’m sure he’ll think of something,” Jesse said, his voice going quiet and grim as a hundred possibilities crossed his mind—none of them good. “I’ll go see him, but if I don’t like what he has to offer, I’ll handle this myself.”

“If you say so, I guess that’s the best I could hope for,” Louis said with a mostly unsatisfied sigh. “His information is already in your new phone; I figured you might be needing it sooner or later.”

“Thank you, Louis,” Jesse said, trying to sound sincere despite the foul mood that resulted from talking about his brother. 

The two of them stopped walking at the main entrance of the mortuary, and Jesse warily looked out the windows at the quickly brightening blue of the dawn sky. He would just barely make it to his hotel room before the sun was over the horizon, but even through the door, he could already feel its effects making him weak and tired…and hungry.

“Luther will have to wait until next sunset,” Jesse noted, appreciative for the brief delay of the dreaded reunion. Would that he could put it off another ten years, if not forever.

“Call me as soon as you know anything,” Louis said, sounding preemptively tired of what trouble would surely follow as he reached out to shake Jesse’s hand in farewell. “I don’t care for all this suspense, and I certainly don’t like the idea of another hunter in town with nobody keeping an eye on her. This is gonna be hell on my nerves.”

“In that case, we’ll plan to meet up once it’s done. I, for one, could use a drink.”

“Now that’s a plan.”

[versadies]

how they spend valentine’s day alone. | genshin x gn!reader

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ YOU HAVE RECEIVED A LETTER, LET’S SEE WHAT’S INSIDE! ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

salutations. HOW THEY SPEND VALENTINE’S DAY ALONE (part one)

addressed. zhongli, tartaglia, diluc, kaeya, xiao (w/ gn!reader)

content. angst/no-comfort, hints of major character death, mentions of alcohol intoxication, ooc (?), spoilers to kaeya and diluc’s backstory, there’s nothing fluffy here at all :>>

synopsis. how they spend valentine’s day alone and come back to their heartbroken state when they’re reminded that you’re no longer here with them.

word count. 300-400+ each

penpals. @scaraslover @saving-for-xiao @dawgimsohot @kazu-topia @renamichii @chiruru (visit my taglist info if you're interested to join !)

post-script. i did say i was itching to write some angst for valentine’s day 🤣🤣🤣 watch out for more angst next week w/ kazuha, scaramouche, albedo, and genshin women <<3 !

links. requests info | navigation

it’s the way zhongli sits across an empty chair in the third-round knockout restaurant when he realizes that he’s no longer going to spend a day as special as valentine’s day with you. sure, it felt like everything’s the same as he goes by his day with his job and hobbies, but it feels…. lonely.

he pays no mind to how the iron-tongue tian glances at his direction with sad eyes, knowing what happened between you and him. after all, the storyteller witnessed the entire fight back then as he awkwardly continues to recite a story both you and zhongli didn’t bother listening to anymore.

he didn’t even know why this happened – everything was all a blur to him. it was supposed to be a good date for you and him to make up for lost time, only to end up arguing about something he never bothered to remember and ending up with you leaving.

it was strange to say the least. the retired archon was used to the welcoming arms of loneliness for so many years, but now it’s all new and uncomfortable, as if a part of him has disappeared.

perhaps spending so many years with you has affected him in both good and bad ways.

you’re one of the reasons why he started thinking about retiring from his duties as an archon and liyue’s protector. the times when he used to disguise himself as a human in every lantern rite and sneak off to spend time with you was one of the funnest things he had ever done for all his life.

but now, all the things he wanted to do with you for the rest of your lives are gone to ashes, all because of something he could’ve prevented.

“i would like to order the dragon-beard noodles with.. what would you like for lunch, y/–” ah right, you’re no longer here with him.

the server zhongli’s talking to cleared his throat, pretending to not hear the slipped words that came out from the consultant’s mouth. “perhaps you’d like our new dish that you might like, good sir?”

he stays silent, staring at where you used to sit for a few minutes.

he took a deep breath and replied with a soft tone, “..that would be lovely.”

it’s the way childe walks around the freezing region of dragonspine when he finally accepts the fact that you’re no longer with him anymore. the cold breeze that passes by doesn’t remind him of his beloved homeland, but reminds him of the cold gaze you gave him before walking away from his life for good.

it doesn’t feel the same without your usual complaints and random comments filling his ears, to feel victorious after battles alone, to look around the battlefield and not see you fighting – even staying in his home doesn’t feel the same without you. everything he does, you’re always there with him.

that’s why he decides to take a day-off on valentine’s day and visit dragonspine, a place where you and he frequently come to whenever you feel homesick. it may not be an ideal date on a day such as valentine’s, but he knows you’d love it if you found out his plan for the occasion: a small lake where it’s just you and him ice fishing and cook all the fishes with a nice warm campfire when you caught enough – just like the old times when you used to go ice fishing with him and his father in morepesok.

he stares down at the locket that has a picture of you and him together during your first lantern rite with a kamera that you bought from a traveling merchant. since when was the last time he ever felt so alive after you left?

childe concluded that there wasn’t. the only feeling that’s closest to being alive is when he’s with his family – who he seldom sees due to his duties as a harbinger.

he couldn’t bear to tell his dearest siblings that you’re no longer with him, causing his heartbreak to grow worse whenever tonia mentions your name in her letters, telling him that he should bring you back to snezhnaya so they can see you again.

but how can he ever tell them that you’re gone? how can he have the courage to tell them that he let the best thing that ever happened to him slip from his fingers, knowing that the smiles plastered on their faces will soon fade away?

suddenly, his thoughts are caught off when he notices a frostarm lawachurl waking up from its nap nearby, instantly noticing the harbinger’s presence.

childe takes a deep breath before summoning his double blades, eyes narrowed at the lawachurl, who readies itself for its last battle.

it’s the way diluc wakes up to an empty spot of his once-shared bed when he knew that this is his life from now on, alone without you in his arms. it felt like it was an instinct of his to reach out to where you are on the bed, to make sure that you’re still here with him sleeping soundly. but you weren’t there. you’re no longer here with him because of how he never realized what he has until it’s gone in his reach.

for a day as important as this, he had never felt so lonely.

he’s familiar with loneliness and grievance, but he had never thought it’d come back this soon. he should’ve paid attention to you more, he should’ve consider your feelings and not neglected you, he should’ve take more breaks and–

it doesn’t matter anymore. you’re gone.

there’ll no longer be a day when he gets to wake up and see you preparing breakfast by the kitchen despite the staff’s protests and panics, a day when dawn winery used to be lively and loud that’s filled with laughter and love, a day where there’s someone who’s waiting for him to come home from his patrols–

and a day that has you.

diluc’s aware of the words that the maids would whisper to each other, about how it’s weird and a pity that you’re no longer in the mansion, but he decides to pay no mind to it. he couldn’t blame them for missing you and feel like the place is missing.

no matter how much furniture and people reside in dawn winery, it still feels empty to the master. all there is in the place is loneliness and silence.

he finds himself staring at items that are on display in certain shops that he passes by when walking around the city towards his tavern. how would you react if he gives you those things as a valentine’s day gift if you were still together? he wonders, before looking away and continues his stroll.

for the first time, kaeya actually learned not to bother him on the same night, knowing how much valentine’s day meant a lot to diluc. it feels like celestia pitied his life, because there were no traces of the abyss on the same night as well. perhaps.. this is a sign that he should get back home early.

so he did. he slowly walked towards his home with a heavy heart, his thoughts flooded with you. he’s been through like this before, so why can’t he do the same with you? if only he could bring retribution to those who had wronged you – but there was no one he could fight against. not when it’s something like the illness that you had.

“happy… anniversary, y/n.”

it’s the way kaeya looks to his right to see no one sitting beside him in angel’s share when the permanent smile that’s been on his face for so long broke down into a smaller one.

it’s no lie to both citizens and the knights alike that you and kaeya were known as the inseparable partners-of-crime. one would often find you two always together either by the tavern, the streets, or outside doing missions together. so it wasn’t a surprise to anyone when it was revealed that the both of you were dating.

which is why it didn’t make him feel better when almost every single person he encounters would give him a sad look in their eyes, reminding him of how you’re no longer here with him as both his lover and best friend, how he always looks at his right side to see no one at all, how he had almost mentioned your name for so many times, or how there was no one for him to banter and tease with.

why did you have to leave him here? you can’t just make yourself become one of the most important people he cares and trusts and just leave him like that.

he feels jealousy towards those who are celebrating valentine’s day with their loved ones while he doesn’t have anyone to celebrate with anymore. despite putting up a facade that he’s alright without you, rosaria, venti, and diluc knew all too well that he isn’t. not when his facade immediately drops when he drank too much wine, lying down on the counter face-down as his arms protectively hides his sorry face, ranting about how you shouldn’t have never left him alone to suffer.

perhaps this was his punishment for being a traitor to mondstadt and to diluc, who’s silent throughout the whole night during his stay in the tavern.

rosaria slowly rubs the calvary captain’s back as an attempt in comforting him, her other hand holds her drink that she didn’t bother finishing fast due to the pity she felt towards him. she may not have experienced what it’s like to have a lover, but she knew you and respected you in ways she never gave to anyone else.

when will valentine’s day be over for this poor guy? she thought to herself, ignoring the way some people clinked their drinks together and cheered out “HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!” to each other nearby.

by the end of the night, kaeya stands in front of his mirror with a dull look, his eyepatch no longer on his face.

he takes a deep breath and accepts the last company in his life; loneliness.

“happy valentine’s day, y/n.”

it’s the way he doesn’t hear the sounds of your footsteps towards the balcony of the wangshu inn when xiao knew that he’ll never get to spend valentine’s day with you nor hear you calling his name ever again. in all of his years, it could never compare to the one year where you’re by his side as his first and last lover.

he often looks down at the top balcony of the wangshu inn whenever he hears footsteps coming, his heart beating fast in anticipation and hope. it immediately died when it was just another curious customer wanting to enjoy the beautiful view that you once loved.

he should’ve listened to his thoughts when you walked away, not knowing that it was the last time he would ever see you again.

you promised that you would come back and spend valentine’s day with him so he could experience such a romantic day for the first time – so why? why did you have to go away so soon when you promised something that’ll never happen?

the yaksha tried his best to be unbothered by the special day, ignoring couples strolling around the inn and other environments as he pushed his heartbroken state aside, busying himself by hunting corrupted monsters and killing them.

no matter how much he fought and how busy he became, the feeling of missing you was still there like a gum. he found himself standing in front of pervases’s temple, thinking of the times when you helped wang ping’an in rebuilding the broken temple despite not liking the man for what he did as starsnatcher back then.

he also found himself staring at his almond tofu that smiley yanxiao made just for him. your words about how eating with others makes food all the more tastier must be true, because the dessert doesn’t taste the same as it was when you were sitting beside him eating your favorite meal as well.

by the time he retreats to the highest floor of the inn, he could only stare at the view of the night sky with a longing look on his face. if you were still with him, what would you say about the stars that shine above? would you have taken him somewhere higher and star-gaze together for valentine’s?

he doesn’t know how to celebrate valentine’s day alone. and he doesn’t think he will ever know.

[mandoinevarro]

WILL BUY STOLEN GOODS FOR LOWER PRICE

Rule Maker, Rule Breaker: Chapter 1

Words: 8.4k 

Rating: E

Warnings: shooting, non-descriptive death, SMUT, fingering, mentions of masturbation, AND masturbation now that I remember, penetration, creampie! just general filth, gambling?

a/n: SO literally nobody asked for this, but I decided to turn NO REFUNDS into the prologue of a short series (you don’t really need to read NO REFUNDS, it’s only for context.) Anywayyys heavy feelings, heavy plot, heavy smut. Have fun. 

……………

Maker, you need to start cheating. That way you wouldn’t be in the middle of a staring contest with your cards, like you can change their colorful drawings and numbers if you only glare hard enough. You’ve never been particularly good at sabacc, but a little luck wouldn’t hurt, especially since this is the third round in a row you lose.  Duma deals the last couple of cards across the coal black table and stacks the deck, signaling the start of the game.

Well, you suppose it doesn’t really matter; you doubt your sabacc buddies have better hands. These days, everyone in Nevarro is short on luck. Luck and food and water. Others are less pessimistic: As soon as Greef Karga glances at his hand he leans back on the carcass of a cantina booth and slaps his belly. “Ha!” he bellows, “by the end of this round, you filthy gutter womp rats will have to borrow from your womp rat mothers to pay me.”

“Quit bluffing, Karga. We know you don’t have shit,” Cara mutters. She picks up her cards and pulls a face like she bit on lemon, but still the veteran goes all in, pushes forward a couple of stabilizing coils, an identity beacon you could’ve sold at a decent price some months ago and—maker—even a pouch of nova crystal dust. Nobody here is stupid enough to gamble with food, but you’re surprised that even nova has lost its worth and been demoted to casino chip status. “This place smells like shit.”

“Bad bluff, piss-poor trash talk too,” you taunt. “Looks like all that time doing business with Imperials smoothed your brain, Karga.”

“Ex-Imperials,” he corrects. The ex-Guild leader slides a few more credits to the center of his ex-cantina’s table. “We live in a jolly Republic now, didn’t you hear? You’ve been liberated.”

“Fuck ‘em.” Duma turns her head, spits on the melted floor. “Can’t eat liberation, can I?” She throws a few more worthless credits onto the growing pile of nothing. At least, for now, it’s nothing. Credits and ship parts and every other type of currency haven’t meant anything but props in Nevarro for five months, when the siege began. That whole mess with troopers and Greef and Cara was bound to bring some repercussions—aside from making Karga’s cantina look like a volcano erupted inside. For five months, Imperial forces have surrounded the planet, and for five months, food and resources haven’t been allowed inside. They won’t let up, rumor has it, until they find the culprit: one particular Mandalorian with a valuable asset. They think he’s still hiding somewhere in the planet, but you know better. You watched the Razor Crest’s fly off-orbit and leave everything behind. Everything and everyone.

“This place smells like shit,” Cara repeats.

“Not shit,” replies Duma, “ash.” She picks up a card from the deck with long fingers. “You never did explain how that Mandalorian managed to torch this place.”

Cara’s sabacc face melts. Her fingers tighten and bend her cards as she exchanges a complicit look with Greef. “Never said it was Mando.”

“Who else? I was there in the first shootout. That hunter was fierce.” Duma dons a wolfish smile, because this is how she always wins: She plays with people, not cards. In fact, she abandons her hand face-down on the table and—oh no—gives you a once-over. “You knew him well, didn’t you?” You almost want to show her your garbage hand so she doesn’t bother trying to throw you off your inexistent game.

“Swung by the store a couple of times,” you answer as casually as you can manage and pretend the most interesting book is written on your cards. “But we weren’t exactly chummy, if that’s what you’re asking.” Creeping warmth attacks your face and there’s no stopping it. Shit.

“Funny, could swear I saw him leaving your store more than a couple of times.” You feel Duma’s eyes piercing into your forehead. “Pretty late at night, too.”

“Is that so?” Cara pipes with a lopsided grin.

“I thought you two were…friends,” Duma adds.

“Yeah, well,” you mutter, “you thought wrong.” Friends don’t leave friends to their luck in the middle of a fucking siege. It’s the same prickly thought that’s plagued you since you watched the Mandalorian take off triumphantly. It’s a stupid feeling. He was under no obligation to take you with him. You didn’t lie to Duma, you two weren’t friends. You couldn’t even call what you had a fling, even those require some degree of making-love-below-the-stars, quoting-passages-of-Naboo-Nights-to-each-other romance. Flings are shooting stars. No, your…thing, whatever it was, did not belong to the heavens. It was earthy. Human. It was counting credits and arguing about fuel prices or old modulators. It had weight—too much, apparently, to escape gravitational pull and fly away with him on the Crest. It was doomed to planets, both feet planted on the ground.  

Still, you remember times when earthy was good. There was never anything airy or celestial in the way he’d take you. The shoved clothes, the harsh grunts, the rough hands, the pleasure, it was all palpable and primitive; earthy was dirty. Your furtive encounters had beating heart of their own, and there was always hard evidence left behind in case either of you ever needed a reminder: marks on the skin, ripped clothes, stained bedsheets. The bruises he left always took too long to heal, as if his touch enhanced your mortality, made you more human. Stars, those moments are what you miss the most. Five months is a long time to be neglected of touch—six, actually: five months since the siege, six since he last came to you. Earthy expires.

It’s not like there’s nobody in the planet willing to help you soothe your needs; quite the opposite, actually. Lately, it seems like handjobs are the new Nevarran handshake. Just last week you caught Cara feeling up some pretty market girl in an alley. You saw her, she saw you, you rolled your eyes, she grinned and got back to work. You were almost offended. Everybody’s screwing their time through the siege, while you’re left with nothing but reruns of filthy memories with the Mandalorian. You just know nobody but Mando will do. You replay your moments with him like a sad, mental porno on the nights you spend trying to get yourself off. Trying and failing, like having to put out a fire by spitting on it, because the only person in the galaxy with a hose is too busy playing hero lightyears away.

“Last round. Place your bets,” Karga announces and pushes a few more trinkets forward. Cara follows, and you pat around your pockets for something to lose. It’s all just rusted metal anyways. Only…shit, the last three games drained you. And Duma reads it on your face like you’ve got “BROKE” written all over your forehead.

“All out, huh?” She reaches down the table for her bag and drops a beskar pauldron on the table with a thud. A Mandalorian pauldron.

Cara purses her lips and balls a fist, but Greef shoots her a warning look. As if cantina brawls could make this place look worse.

“Still can’t believe you didn’t take anything that day,” Duma continues, shaking her head. “Regret it?”

“I’ll regret it,” you answer and go fish, as if a new card—the right card—could fix a life’s worth of bad luck, “when you learn how to chew beskar.” That earns you a signature “Ha!” from Karga and a cocked eyebrow from Duma. She can arch her eyebrows all she wants, but that much is also true. You don’t regret leaving the Mandalorian covert empty-handed.

You were the first on scene that day. After the smoke cleared, the remaining imps left to lick their wounds, and the Crest flew away, you went to check on Karga’s child, his pride and joy. You were met with a gruesome scene. The cantina, Nevarro’s most sacred landmark, had been reduced to its black skeleton, third-degree burns all over, gone. It sounds dramatic, but the cantina used to be the closest thing to a place of worship on this planet. God Booze was dead.

You kicked around the bar’s guts, until you found a gaping mouth on a wall, leading down, down, down into Nevarro’s entrails. Finding purgatory would’ve surprised you less than what you stumbled upon: an underground tunnel, an abandoned covert, and a sinister, unguarded pile of Mandalorian armor. Stars, it would’ve been so easy. You could’ve hoarded the spoils and stashed them away for better days. That amount of beskar could’ve bought you a one-way ticket out of this dumpster and an early retirement. But when you lifted a helmet, it stared back. It was blue and definitely not his, but Mando was all you could think of while you studied the helmet’s unique curves and creases. You heard his exasperated sighs when you got on his nerves, his moans when you’d touch him. And you just couldn’t do it. You sat back and watched as this skughole’s scavengers crept into the tunnels to pillage. Easy as that, everyone in Nevarro but you and Cara now has a beskar toy or two. Soon enough, this planet will house the wealthiest corpses in the galaxy if the siege is not lifted before reserves run out.

Karga clears his throat. “Well, ladies first. Let’s see those cards.”  

Duma ignores him. “You know,” she tells you, “I’ve more beskar than I know what to do with. I’ll trade you a vembrance for a couple of ration packs.”

“And what am I supposed to do with a Mandalorian vembrance, play dress up?”

“The cards,” Greef urges.

“You’ll be rich.”

You snort. “The rich don’t starve.”  

“Give me a break, we both know you’ve got portions to spare.”

Elbows on the table, you lean forward and closer to Duma. She sniffs weakness like a Corellian hound, and if you falter she’ll sink her fangs. “I’m not interested in your fucking loot.”

“Cause it’s stolen? You never had a problem with that before.” She mimics your move and leans closer. Karga fiddles with a coinage of calamari flan, like you’re both Canto Bight slot machines and he’s trying to decide where to put his money. “What, did you grow morals all of a sudden? Or maybe, you’re too worried of what your Mandalorian friend would think.” You flinch. She smirks. “Oh my, what would the disgraced hunter, code-breaker, cult member say—”

The tiny noise of Karga’s coinage clinking on the table is not enough to distract you from the verbal beating Duma is laying on you. But his voice—like he got the air knocked out of him—is enough to grab your attention when he murmurs, “Ask him yourself.”

Cara, Duma, and you turn to Greef Karga, who stares saucer-eyed at the window. All three of your heads move simultaneously, guided by the line of his eyesight. Outside the window, on the deserted street, stands a trooper barking orders. It’s one of those in all-black armor, the extra trigger-happy ones with a side of god complex because they think the change of color magically makes their aim less shitty. His blaster is drawn (surprise, surprise), and on the receiving end of its barrel…

Maker’s fucking mercy.

You don’t even see the blaster shot, only smoke snaking out of a hole on the shiny breastplate. The trooper plummets to the ground like his puppeteer cut off his strings: no last steps, no resistance. Now, anyone else would’ve walked away from what’s clearly worm food without a second look, but one does not become the best bounty hunter in the parsec by taking chances. A mountain of unpainted beskar looms over the corpse and kicks the blaster off the imp’s limp hand. The Mandalorian sheathes his own weapon—that blaster you’ve tweaked and polished so many times you know it as the palm of your hand—and scans the perimeter for danger.

You don’t tell your legs to move, but they don’t need the command. You find yourself trailing behind Cara, Duma, and Greef, rushing for the door. Outside, all four of you stumble and stop on your tracks to blink stupidly at the Mandalorian, the way children stare wide-eyed at soldiers on military parades. But this warrior stands grander than any Republic or Imperial officer you’ve ever seen. He’s clad head to toe in silver beskar—except for one armorless thigh that makes his other leg look even bulkier. His old armor, the one you used to shine and buff, is gone. This one you’ve only seen from afar, on that day he crashed the imps’ safehouse, and later when the battle broke out. You know it’s him, but in this new getup it’s easy to doubt. Maybe he’s a stranger. Maybe he won’t recognize you.

The Mandalorian studies each of you one by one, his hand near the blaster in case he spots any enemy faces. The hand twitches when he sees Duma—she doesn’t have the cleanest reputation around here—but she’s shocked and unarmed, so his arm relaxes. To Greef and Cara he gives short nods that they return.

And then you. He actually takes a step back when he spots you, like you pushed him square on the chest. The helmet lingers on you and tilts, shamelessly rakes over every feature like he’s memorizing you. You hold your breath. It reminds you of the day you met, that weight on your chest from knowing you’ve been seen. That’s how you know it really is Mando: Whenever he stares at you, you feel it in your bones.

You realize the moment’s dragged out for too long when Karga clears his throat. The spell breaks.

You and Mando look bashfully away from each other. You squint up at the clouds, your hands stiff on your waist in a forced, generic, looks like rain! pose. He turns to his boss (ex-boss? enemy? You never asked for an update on Mando’s most recent status in the Guild) and mutters a short, “Karga.” To Cara he’s warmer, offers a comradely clasp of hands and a pat on the shoulder. “Good to see you again.”

“You too,” Cara drawls, as she stares suspiciously between you and Mando. You squint harder at the clouds. “Didn’t expect you back during a siege, though.”

“I have to…” he spies a furtive glance at Duma and lowers his voice, “I’ve something to do here.”

Duma rolls her eyes and clasps her bag across her chest. “Don’t worry, Mando. I’ll leave you girls to catch up on the hot goss.” She strides into the cantina (probably to bag the bets, the asshole), and goes back outside.

She points at the window of a crumbling building. “Careful with snitches.”

You glance back to the window. Nothing. Jerk. Duma’s not above a made you look moment, apparently. You turn back to her but she’s already disappearing into an alley.

Cara waits until she’s gone to grab the Mandalorian by the arm. “Mando, where’s the…” she glances at you and hesitates. You fold your arms and raise your eyebrows at the veteran. If she expects you to leave graciously like Duma she’s got another thing coming. You’re actually very, very interested on the Mandalorian’s hot goss. Especially it comes with an explanation as to why he left you stranded here. Even though he doesn’t owe you one. Technically. “Y’know,” she finally says and drops her hand. “The asset.”

“On the ship. I need to get back.”

“You, my friend, need to lay low,” Greef says with a raised index. “Every imp in Nevarro will be looking for you. Maker—” he spreads his arms “—they already are! And someone must have heard the blaster shot. You have ten minutes or so until an Imperial squadron gets here. The, uh, asset will be fine.”

“The asset,” Cara exclaims, “is a ch—is…is delicate. He can’t just leave it on the Crest!”

Mando interrupts their game of taboo. “Cara,” he starts, “you go to the ship and check on…the asset. Please. I landed where I did last time. I…I’ll lay low in the covert.”

“About that,” Greef mumbles. He looks at Cara for support, but she steps back and raises both hands: You say it. Greef sighs. “They…they found the tunnels, Mando.”

The helmet crooks slowly to study Karga.  “Who’s they?”  

“Everyone. Half of Nevarro is living down there, you…you can’t go back.”

Silence.

You imagine all four of you go through the same checklist: Even if Cara didn’t already have a top-secret assignment with whatever the asset is, she doesn’t have a place of her own yet. Every week, she crashes on one of her sweethearts’ couches. On their beds, more likely. There’s no way Karga is letting him near his house, not after what happened at the cantina. That leaves…

“Stay with me,” you blurt before you can really think it through.

≈

The cramped storage room you call a home sits a story above your store. It’s four walls and only the essentials: a bed, an armchair, a table, a stove, and the only detached room is the refresher. It’s enough for you. But the Mandalorian looks like he squeezed into a dollhouse when you usher him inside and close the door behind you. He stands in the middle of the room, all fighter’s bulk and grandiose armor, like he’s afraid he’ll break something if he moves. As if he’s never been here before, which couldn’t be further from the truth. The apartment may be small, but it’s so filled with memories you could turn it into a museum of your dirty escapades with him. And if you look to your right, you’ll see the armchair where he sat while I went down on him on a stormy night.  

“So,” you say and lean against the front door, “business or pleasure?”

He moves to stand to the side of the window opposite the front door and his glove moves the old washed out curtain to the side to peer into the street. The sun is setting, and the last streaks of light paint the beskar with warped yellow-orange streaks that stay as still as an undisturbed pond. So this is how he wants the evening to go: quietly and with a reasonable amount of distance between you. Disappointment knots in your stomach.

“Business.”  

You open your mouth to cut into the silence, but you’re all out of words. Maybe you’ve lost your touch. It used to be so easy to tease him, but now…a heaviness seems to weigh down on his shoulders, some heightened sense of duty. But also determination: He stands taller now, prouder, like he woke up one day and knew exactly what he needed to do and why. Whatever that purpose is, you’re pretty sure it doesn’t involve you. You’re a detour, and not even the fun kind, judging by the space between you. Maker, this man used to pounce on you. Has the siege really battered you up that much?

“Been busy?” The sudden question startles you. He’s never been one to break the ice, that was usually your job.  

“Sure.” Nope, not at all. “Store and all.” You closed the store three months ago. Turns out nobody buys equipment for their ships when they can’t fly past the atmosphere. “Plus, somebody needs to keep Karga distracted from his mourning. You owe him a cantina.”

“He told I did that?”

“Just a guess.” You move a couple of steps forward, like you’re approaching a nervous lothcat. When he doesn’t move away, you sit on the armchair, a little closer to him. “You like that flamethrower too much.”

“That what you four were doing in there?” The helmet moves to the side so he can spy deeper down the street. Always careful. “Assessing my damage?”

“No, just sabacc. Different kind of damage.” He’s making small talk. The Mandalorian, whom you’ve overheard have conversations solely based on grunts and sighs, is chatting with you. He’s not just answering out of politeness, he’s prompting you to go on, to keep running your mouth. That’s something he said once between thrusts, perched over you right on this floor: Keep running your mouth, see what happens. The memory warms your neck. Maker, not the point. The point is, before, he always said you had a smart mouth. Sometimes he’d chastise you for it, other times he’d encourage it. And you used to have the suspicion (or, let’s face it: fantasy) that he actually liked it. That somewhere hidden, beyond his pride and honor’s jurisdiction, he enjoyed the teasing and the banter, the challenge of having to deal with you. Better yet: More than once it crossed your mind that he got off on it, too. It’s been a long time, but some of that might remain. Maybe you’ll take his advice: keep running your mouth, see what happens.

You sit straighter, arch your back a bit just in case he’s watching. “You interrupted a round with your little stunt.”

“Yeah?” The helmet doesn’t move, but his hand runs up the curtain, considering. “Sorry. I bet you were winning.”

That makes you smile. It’s a dig at you. Far and wide across Nevarro, your uncanny ability to lose every single game of sabacc you play baffles locals and foragers alike. Yes, you know you suck, but the game amuses you anyways. You like the trash talk, the double-guessing, the bluff-calling. So much so that you forget to actually play. But what’s important is he’s teasing you, and that’s more than charted territory with him, a match you have a shot at winning. Okay. Game on.

“I was, actually.”

He huffs. “Don’t believe you.”

“Then I don’t believe you’re here on business.” Pause for effect. You can almost see a question mark form in a cloud above the helmet. You lean forward and lick your lips, lower your voice. “I think you missed me.”

You’re used to the helmet’s features remaining impassive, so you don’t look for clues on there anymore. Mando’s hands are more telling. You want to believe you actually see his fingers twitch and clutch the curtain a little tighter, that he takes too long to answer. That’s what trying to read him is all about—blind-guessing and wishful thinking.

“Don’t know about that. Six months and two weeks without your cons, I’m almost rich.”

Down to the week, huh? “Okay, if you want to make it about money we’ll bet on it. Twenty credits says you missed me.”

“Last time I was here you weren’t a compulsive gambler. Store’s doing that bad?”

“Last time you were here,” you coo, “there was a lot less talking involved.” You stare into the visor, and pray he can’t see the desperate hope in your eyes.

Your prayers are answered. In a way. Mando ignores you, doesn’t even look at you.  You hear your clumsy attempt at seduction buzz around him like a one-winged bee, crash into the unmoving, unmoved Mandalorian, and fall to the floor in a pointed-lined spiral. You’re so embarrassed you want to step on it. Well, that settles it. Six months is apparently enough for a Mandalorian to lose interest.

“And store’s doing fine,” you lie to try and sway the conversation away from that lame innuendo that missed its mark. He really just wants to talk, then. No big deal. It’s fine. “Nobody gambles for money anyways.”

“Then why?”

You shrug. “Why do you hunt?” He’s never told you, but you saw him chase down a bounty once. He was ruthless, sweating adrenaline and with far too much stamina to only be chasing a bag of credits. “For the risk. The thrill.”

He lets your words float for a second. “You get a thrill out of losing?”

You roll your eyes. “I only lose cause everybody knows my bluff.” That is, except you. “You need to know someone to know their bluff. Greef and the others already know me too well. You, on the other hand.” You smile. “If you and I played, I’d get to keep so much of your stuff you’d think I’m half Jawa.”

And, only then, he seems to tense. That stupid throwaway line is what makes his spine grow visibly rigid and his hand drop from the curtain to his belt, where the leather of his glove creaks with how tightly he clutches the buckle. White and blue streetlights that reflect on his armor glide around like it’s water instead of beskar, and they’re your only indication that he’s shifted slightly. Slowly, so slowly you expect his neck to creak like a door, the Mandalorian turns away from the window to look at you. He holds there quietly, and you feel ants running down your back…stars, you’re nervous. For the first time in a while, he makes you genuinely anxious.

“You’re saying I don’t know you?” he rasps under the helmet. No, not really, but if it gets a reaction out of him…

“All I’m saying,” you start, summoning all your strength to keep your voice from faltering, “is you’ve been gone too long.” You try to make it sound a bit playful, but the words come out tasting bitter when you remember the sharp little edge that’s been digging on your side. He left you here, it whispers, he left you here and didn’t bother looking back. But a heavy boot suddenly drops forward and you’re forced to stop nursing your grudge to try and predict what Mando’s next move will be.

With every step he takes, you’re instinctively swallowed deeper into your armchair, until he’s looming over you. Stars above, the sheer size of him is enough to block out most of the artificial light coming in, and you’re left to squint in the blue twilight. Maker, you don’t remember him this big, this intimidating. Five months ago you would’ve smirked and opened your legs wide. C’mon, I don’t bite unless you ask, you would’ve teased, but now…now you think maybe you are the one who doesn’t know him anymore.

But some things never change, and having him so near still makes your thighs press together. If anything, this new foreignness, the inherent threat of a bounty hunter in your home that never quite poked the right nerve before now pulls on your most sensitive areas. It propels your heartbeat on a sprint. His arm moves, and—oh, you want him to touch you.

Visor trained on you, Mando points to the floor instead. “You hide your credits here.” To illustrate (or just to rub it in that he knows) his boot presses down on the loose tile and shifts from side to side. The sharp sound it makes irritates you less than knowing he found the fox clever hiding spot you used to pat yourself on the back for. “You don’t keep them in the store because it’s too easy to break into. The security panel downstairs is broken, but the one up here works fine.”

You can almost hear his proud smirk under the helmet. There’s a reserved side to him, sure, but bastard can be arrogant when he wants to. And no, you have no idea how he found the spot, but you’re not about to admit it.

“Congrats, boy scout. You can spot a busted panel and you have flat feet. Want a badge?” Your irritation brings back some of your old snark, but you still flinch when he moves closer and his legs brush against your knees.

“You also keep expensive parts inside the stuffing of this—” he takes a tiny step forward and frames  your knees with his legs “—armchair.”  Your blood freezes at his words, but it abruptly runs hot as the city’s lava river when you realize how close he stands now. His legs press against the armchair and there’s nowhere to go. You’re cornered.

A leather glove moves close and you hold your breath, before you realize he’s only toying with the tips of your hair. But his fingers dig deeper, tangle on thicker strands and, without warning, give a short but firm tug. It’s a tiny pull, but maker’s mercy, you feel your core pulse. And then, before you can regain some lucidity, his fingers dip lower, where the tips trace a slow line down your nape. He draws featherlight circles on that spot between your neck and your shoulder that he knows makes your toes curl, and—stars, it’s just been too long—you whimper.

“Still so sensitive here,” he whispers.  

Once, this shielded man knew his way around your body like it belonged to him. You thought that part of him was lost, that he forgot, that he’d truly been gone too long. Those fears dissipate when his palm curls around the back of your neck to hold your gaze on him, while the thumb of his other hand brushes your lips. You know the drill—you open your mouth and give the orange tip some kitten licks. Mando huffs: You can do better than that. Maker, it should be a red flag, how quickly you comply. That urgent need to please him that had never, ever felt so crucial. An O forms in your lips before you can stop them, and his thumb pushes down on your tongue deep and deeper. You should play hard, make him earn it, bite him. But his finger starts to retreat and you panic—no, he can’t change his mind, not now. You seal your lips, trap him inside your mouth and suck. But his grip on the back of your neck grows beskar stiff, and he forcefully removes his finger…only to glide the spit over your lips. Just like that first time.

The visor looms closer to your face, and you catch a ruptured sigh, the pleasured kind that these four walls know so well. If Mando wasn’t holding you down, your chest would balloon with satisfaction and you’d float. His thumb trails down your throat, wetting its path and no doubt feeling the vibration when you chuckle. He cocks his head to the side in a silent question.

“You owe me twenty credits,” you explain, your breath clouding the helmet’s surface. “You did miss me.”

Mando crouches lower, where his helmet brushes your nose, and gropes the tops of your thighs with those wide palms you’ve been dreaming about for weeks.

“Yeah? You like bets?” You’ve never heard his voice so coarse, scratchy like week-long stubble. Did he change the settings of his modulator? Or is it just rash, pent-up need? “Then thirty credits says you’re fucking soaked.” His fingers butterfly higher up your thighs, almost at the apex. Your legs jerk.

“That’s cheating,” you gasp.  

He takes one glove off and settles the covered hand on your hip, while the other disappears between your legs until—stars—he cups your core through your pants. You mewl and he hums when he feels the hot, damp fabric.

“I still win.” He presses the heel of his palm right into your clit and grinds it back and forth. Oh, if you thought you were wet before. The pressure, the friction, him—it all scalds you from head to toe like a fever, but you chase it, greedily push your hips into his palm. His fingers flatten along your slit and grope you tighter. “Gonna pay me? Doesn’t have to be credits.” He pushes viciously into you with that wide, hard palm, preening at the little gasps that escape you. Whimpering, you let your eyes fall shut and focus on something sprouting in your belly. Stars, you’re close—how the fuck are you so close already? It must be all the repressed desire, all that time. Fuck, you’re close—

The Mandalorian halts. You’re eyes flash open to see him straighten and step back, take his other glove off to stuff it snug between his belt and his hip, and remain still as a building. Still catching your breath, you study him head to toe, scanning for a sign of what went wrong. He’s clutching his belt, his stance is too smug. This isn’t him fighting temptation, he’s toying with you. Maker help him, you’re going to kill him. Some corner in your brain reasons that it’s kinda fair, as payback for all the times you messed with him. But in the forefront of your mind pulses the climax he just denied you, cast aside and angry.

Before you know what you’re doing, you push yourself off the armchair. “You—”

Mando beats you to it. A hand on your shoulder and a vembrance across your chest, he lunges forward and slams your back against a wall. He hovers over you, tightly pressed against your body. A fleshy, hard bulge covered by his pants throbs against your belly. Of course. You forgot how much he likes it when you look like prey; how much he enjoys the hunt, whether he admits it or not. The hand on your shoulder trails down to cup your breast. You squeeze your eyes shut and let out a shaky exhale.

“You need it bad,” he breathes as his fingers massage your chest. The movement shifts the fabric of your tunic, brushing it against your nipple. You roll your hips to try and stimulate him, to show you’re not the only one worked up. His erection twitches and you smile.  

“You—mmm—you’re projecting.” You grind again to prove your point, but he catches on to what you’re implying and retaliates by shoving his hand inside your cleavage. Stars, you have to punch down the moan surges up your throat when he pinches your nipple.

“You missed this,” Mando hisses, and whether he’s trying to convince you or himself, you don’t know. What you do know is he’s plotting to settle this stupid inkling of a bet in his favor. He wants you to admit you missed him so he doesn’t have to. You know, because it’s exactly what you are trying to do.

You sneak your hand down his torso, aiming for the hem of his pants—but before you can get even with him, he crushes his hips against yours and traps your palm between them. And he’s not done—he wedges his thigh between your legs and rubs it up and down, drags your clit just right. Your mouth gapes in a silent moan as white hot pleasure lights up your spine. You want to get away from it but, maker, his forearm is still stiff against your chest. Even when you grab the vembrance with your free hand it doesn’t budge. You’re trapped between him and the wall.

“Can take care of m-myself just fine,” you croak as a last attempt to hold on to your dignity. “At least when I’m alone I don’t have to fake any orgasms.”

Yeah, it’s a low blow. A dirty fucking lie too, but desperate times call for desperate measures and all. Good news is it gets you a reaction—he immediately stops moving, as if your words punched him off balance. Bad news is you hit a nerve—his breathing becomes harsh like a bull’s, so much so that you expect clouds of smoke to come out from under the helmet. The Mandalorian creeps closer to your face and his forearm digs deeper into your chest. There’s a promise of danger in the dark visor that makes your pulse race, and a primitive instinct blasts emergency sirens. Maker, this won’t end well for you.

Just as you’re about to backtrack and whisper you didn’t mean it, Mando lets go of you—only for a split second, before he grasps your shoulders and turns you around to push your front into the wall. You jerk back on instinct, but he flattens a palm between your shoulder blades and squishes you right back against it.

The helmet rests right next to your ear when Mando growls, “You expect me to believe that?” His hands drop to your hips as he replaces the pressure on your back with his chest. His body weight holds you in place, and he rocks the hard outline of his erection along your ass. “That I don’t make you cum, you little fucking—” You curl your back as much as his body allows so he can stroke himself tighter against you. He groans and kneads your cheeks, moves the flesh in tandem with his thrusts. “I shouldn’t let you tonight, t-teach you a lesson.”  

The mere suggestion feels devastating enough to let a pathetic whine tumble from your lips. Before, you could’ve turned this into a game, held out a little longer just to watch him break first. But you’re too pent up, too desperate, too sick of waiting. Your fingers hook on the hem of your trousers and push them down. Mid-movement, he traps both of your wrists in one hand and keeps them pressed against your lower back, while the other one gets your pants the rest of the way down, underwear too. You barely have enough time to step out of them before his free hand reaches between the apex of your thighs. You’re sticky, leaking around his fingers, and pushing back against his crotch like you’ll drop dead if he doesn’t fuck you.

“Fucking wet, fuck…” he mutters. His fingers follow the heat and your pussy clenches around nothing. Stars, if he just moved higher, a little higher where you’re hot and soaked and throbbing for him. But he takes his sweet time, molds the inside of your thighs like clay, pulls the flesh, squishes it together, until you’re writhing against him and leaking down your leg. Your vision blurs. “Can—can I…?” He lets his index finish the sentence, teasing at the edges of your outer lips.

Even with the side of your face against the wall, you manage to nod. “Yeah,” you breathe.

Two fingers slide around your folds and you gasp. Mando moves slowly, collecting your arousal and coating his fingers. Your breath catches when the tips finally push into your entrance—only a fraction before they slide back out, so the rest of his palm can cup along your cunt and drag more slick behind it. He’s strategically avoiding your clit, though, and with both arms behind your back and at his mercy, you can’t reach for it yourself. Fuck, you…you only need to hold on a bit more, he’ll get bored of his game soon enough. That’s it, just a little longer. You waited six months, no way he’s making you beg after a few minutes of teasing.

The Mandalorian eventually pulls his fingers away from your thighs and curses under his breath. You hear the familiar rustling of fabric and a divine zip that fills your eyes with tears of relief. Fucking finally. You brace yourself and relax your pelvic floor in preparation, but it’s barely necessary—you’re so ready for it. Your cunt is open and weeping, he can just slide it in. All this time, with nothing substantial inside you, your lower muscles pump and twist painfully with demanding want. Even with his size and in this position, you’re so turned on he might even be able to bottom out. Fuck, he doesn’t have to move much, a few good pumps and he’ll have you cumming, easy. Stars, what’s taking so damn long—

A modulated, battered moan and a wet noise make you turn your head over your shoulder and look for the source. The low light makes it difficult to make out shapes, but there’s no mistaking what you find below you. Hand wrapped solid around his cock, Mando is jerking himself off. With your cum as lubricant. While he treats you like a piece of furniture he’s only gripping for support. A chemical cocktail of lust mixed with fury spikes your blood.

“Is…wh-what are…what the fuck do you think y-you’re…”

“Say it,” he spits between his teeth, “say you f-fucking need me.”

No, no fucking way. As much as the words burn on your tongue and your clit tugs and begs, you’re not saying it. He left, not you. You waited for him. You turn your head as far back as your neck allows without snapping a ligament and look straight into the visor. And pointedly curl your lips inside your mouth, sealed.

Your act of rebellion lasts a good ten seconds.

“You’re so fucking difficult,” he snarls. He stops tugging on his cock, and for a moment you hope he might indulge you, push into you and stop the masochist torment you’ve talked yourselves into. But when it comes to Mando and you, it’s never that easy. Still not releasing your wrists, he grabs the base of his cock, glistening with your stolen juices, and rubs it up and down the swell of your uncovered ass. You gasp, let your lips part and your gaze fall to where he’s rubbing up against you and refusing to push inside.  

He's not going to last long. Swollen and a strangled purple, the head of his cock dribbles warm precum and smears it on your lower back. The veins on his length throb against your ass, and stars, they’d feel so much better inside you. The Mandalorian’s grunts and groans ring more frustrated than lost in pleasure; it’s not enough for him either. He’s torturing you and himself just to prove a point, while you refuse to speak the magic words just to keep your pride. Desperate tears threaten to spill, but you shut your eyes to push them back. Either of you could put an end to it, right now. Maker, it’s on the tip of your tongue: I need you. Spit it out, end it. I need you, Mando, I need you, do whatever you want with me. It doesn’t matter that you abandoned me in this shithole, that you discarded me like faulty equipment, that you didn’t even have the decency to tell me—

The thrusting stops. When you open your eyes, you find the visor fixed on you, cocked slightly to the side, like there’s writing on your face. Mando’s grip on your wrist softens, his frustrated panting slows. Maybe he sees the unshed tears, or maybe your face really is that transparent, because he takes pity on you. Gentle palms on your shoulders, he turns you around to face him.

Night has fallen. Fragments of fluorescent light pour inside through your worn out curtains and give the helmet a fuzzy silver halo. The rest of the armor is shiny black, smudges of light here and there. His head moves around the features of your face, one by one, taking its time. Showdown’s over. He’s not playing a game anymore, not trying to get you to break, he’s just…studying you. Staring his fill of you farewell-style, even though he just came back. It hits you that you don’t know how long he’s staying this time. You open your mouth to ask, but stop yourself in time. If he leaves, he leaves. He doesn’t owe you any explanations.

But when he curls an arm around your waist and holds you against the wall and his cold breastplate, it doesn’t feel like goodbye. It feels like old times—pre-siege, pre-battle, pre-everything—when he confidently grabs your left thigh, sinks his fingers into the plump flesh, and hooks it on his lower back. You drape your arms around his shoulders and hold him closer. You’ve always liked the bulk of him against you, it makes everything feel more real. Buried on the crook of your neck, you hear him sigh when he lets go of your thigh and blindly searches your cunt. With your leg around his back you’re completely open for him, so it takes him no time to find your bud. He presses against it and rubs it in slow but tight circles that make your legs cramp.

You push down on him, demanding more. He groans and complies, inserts one finger and continues rubbing on your clit with his thumb. Maker, this has no right to be so good. He’s doing pretty much the same you’ve done to yourself these past months, but with Mando there are never any ghost sensations, no what ifs. It’s all here and now, and you swear you feel the pleasure of his fingers picking up speed in every corner of your body. He has you moaning and rocking your hips, dripping down his hand, and when he starts rubbing you harder and tighter, you finally whine a tiny, “Please.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t need to ask what you want, but he moves his helmet to look at you square in the face, check if you mean it. You stare droopy-eyed into the visor and nod: yesyesyesyes. Mando groans and grips you tighter. Maker, he’s right, you need it—need the bruises, need his cock, need all of him.

“Fuck,” he breathes. His hand leaves you to grab his cock and guide it to your entrance. He moves it around your lips and brushes his tip against your clit as he looks for your hole in the dark. It doesn’t take long for the head to poke right outside where it needs to go. “Fuck, I don’t—don’t think I can hold back, don’t want to hurt you—”

“Stars, please,” you whine, “I want it rough.” You want it more than rough. After six months, you want it fucking depraved, but neither of you is going to last long enough to make it elaborate. Maker, you don’t care. Right now, you don’t care for risky positions or clever techniques, you want him.

He groans and pushes inside—only the head, still testing, but your walls immediately grip him tightly to hinder any attempts to move away. That’s not what you should’ve been worried about. Fingers tight around your waist, Mando pulls you down as he pushes up. Stars. The brutal thrust reaches the end of you and then some more. Fuckfuckfuck. The dull bam of your skull hitting the wall is suddenly drowned by a slicker, filthier sound coming from between your legs. His length begins to pull out, your pussy complains the whole way, and you can almost hear the Mandalorian gritting his teeth through the sweet torture of feeling you squeeze around him…and thrust back up—harder. He likes the pace and sticks to it—fast, rough, deep, repeat—while you make sounds like you’re choking on air. Stars, it has been long. Long enough to partially forget his size, his fucking girth, currently filling you to the brim and punching high little sounds from your throat.

“Mmmando,” you sob.

Mando groans in response, snakes a hand down to your clit and rubs with the same wild abandon as his pounding. Maker, your memory was never this fucking good. No matter how many details you recalled, there’s nothing compared to the real, human meat of his cock pulsing urgently inside you, hitting your cervix, making you whine. Nothing like his fingers around your waist, or knowing there’ll be bruises tomorrow. The pleasure has teeth, carries a painful bite, but it’s exactly what you need. That tangible grit in his thrusts and his fingers is the missing piece. Your muscles start cramping, you pull him tighter against you—Maker, right there, you can feel it. It reaches your head and makes you dizzy, sheds light on some hidden, shameful words.

“Mando, I…”

“I—fuck—I n-needed this,” he grunts and brings his hand down to feel where his cock is inching out of you, like he has to double check it’s actually happening. Thrust. “Used—used to d-dream about you.” Thrust. Three fingers now push into your clit and draw frantic shapes. You clench your jaw, feel the hot tide in your belly rise faster. Thrust. “Wake up so f-fucking hard—cum in my pants.” Thrust—thrust—thrust.

Maybe it’s his words, maybe the rough pace, but something holds a flame to the dynamite building inside you and it explodes. Maker, your head’s going to burst. You moan long and deep into the spot Mando’s ear might be. Your legs shake, your arms cramp. Months’ worth of frustration gush hot and wet around him, as he babbles encouragement: There you go, just like that, make it fucking good. Your walls are still fluttering, your ears are still ringing, you haven’t even ridden out the last of your climax when his hips pick up the pace.

“Let me—let me cum inside,” the warrior pants, “let me f-fill this cunt…I—I haven’t since—fuck, I didn’t—”

“Yes,” you gasp, “yes, please, Mando, cum, cum inside—”

There’s no space left between you, but Mando finds a way to squish you tighter against him as he pounds into you for a few last moments, until you hear a strangled grunt, and a half-forgotten warmth pools inside you. The extra lubrication drives his last thrust as deep as your body allows. A few more lazy thrusts inside you, short and stunted as you take his load inside you, before he stops. A warm string trails down your leg, and—stars, he’s leaking out. How much did he cum that it didn’t fit inside you?  Fuck.

You take turns panting, whimpering, listening to each other’s heartbeats slow to a semi-normal pace. The Mandalorian moves away from the crook of your neck to meet your glossy eyes. He doesn’t say anything, but you think will. You can almost hear his mouth opening, words boiling and rising in bubbles up his throat—

Zium!

It’s your imagination. It’s your ears ringing from that orgasm, your mind making stuff up. But. You could swear you saw a red flash glade right past your cheek. And from the way Mando’s helmet cocks to the side, you know he saw it too. You turn your heads in unison, to see smoke coming out of a hole a breath away from your ear. It takes both of you too long to put two and two together, and—before he can pull out—more of those red flashes are raining down on you.

…………

Edit: Chapter 2 let’s goooooooo

Taglist: @rosetophighlander​ @hellomothermoon @newyorksins​ @leo-moon​ @benedrylcumbersnatch

[bluering8]

Olaf Hits the Dragon with His Sword

Back in October my friend @unrepentantauthor and I played a round of @prokopetz's mini-RPG Olaf Hits the Dragon with His Sword. Today I noticed that every post about the game was made by someone playing solo, so (with my friend's permission) I'm posting our game as an example of what it looks like as a back-and-forth between two people.

They played Olaf; I played the Dragon.

OLAF, why have you come?

I am a knight sworn to defend the innocent, and to strike down evil beasts for the wrongs they have committed. The dragon has slaughtered countless people, and must die for it, if not by my sword, then by the hand of some other brave warrior to come. Today, the task falls to me. For I am capable, and I am here.

(+IRON)

As for THE DRAGON, what is your nature?

You speak of wrongs committed, little knight, and I do not deny them. I have shed the blood of the innocent and the wicked alike, the blameless man and the murderer; it was my power to do this, for I have taken this land and named it mine, and now all things live under my dominion and fall to their knees at the whisper of my presence. You are not the first knight to come here, seeking glory and heroism, speaking of the grief and pain I have caused; you are not the first knight whose bones will find their resting place in my hoard.

You name me DRAGON, O little knight who comes in iron, who seeks for vengeance and names it justice, but I name myself DEATH, I name myself DESTROYER, I name myself END OF ALL.

(+DEATH)

OLAF approaches THE DRAGON's lair.

If I must add my bones to your horde, so be it. I have shed blood every month of my life in service of my principles and my quests, and I have lost many precious things already. I have lost wealth to bad fortune. I have lost friends to irreconcilable faith. I have lost the best years of my youth to hard training. And I have lost finger, eye, and foot to past combats. Yet I have still more to give. I do not fear losing my life today.

(+SORROW)

THE DRAGON responds:

You do not fear death, and you believe you have the capability to vanquish me? What good is that iron shell of armour when the creature inside it has already halfway to death, having abandoned himself so to sorrow and sacrifice? You are weak, you little knight, you little fool, you pitiful thing with nothing to live for.

There is no justice in the iron of your sword; there is only death, yours or mine, and the foolishness of a man who has willingly abandoned so much. Your strength will one day come to an end, and when that day comes you will have nothing remaining to you.

You can never regain what you have lost. Lay down your sword, foolish knight. Melt down your armour and forge of its iron the shovel, the hoe, the plough. Abandon this futile endeavour.

(+IRON)

OLAF speaks:

I am confident in my steady hand, my keen eye, and my stalwart heart. I have slain monsters, and the prices I have paid are but costs, not failures. I may slay you today, and I would rather take my chance at doing so than retire to a profession of which I know nothing, to live out a life of vulnerability and humility. I will not expose myself to your predations, O Wyrm. I will do as I have done many times before, and shed your blood in service of my cause. I will be a credit to the name 'knight'.

(+AMBITION)

THE DRAGON responds:

It will be naught but the highest of honours, then, to be slain by such a man. I call it a great flattery, to know you hold my death so high in your esteem! A credit to the name of knight! A beast which slaughters in service of its cause, so accomplished in violence that it can conceive of naught else, who aspires so dearly to end life that it can never dream of creating something new.

How much blood is on your hands, knight? How many lives have you already ended? If I am to die then I go knowing it is at the hands of a dealer in death as great and terrible as I myself was in my prime.

(+AMBITION)

OLAF speaks:

How telling of your nature, that you should compare your slaughter to my vengeance. Do you truly see no difference between wanton and indiscriminate killing of the innocent, and the sanctioned ending of a violent life to prevent further suffering? Do not seek to make me doubt my just cause, when I have seen the ashes of the young and the bones of the meek left in your wake. Do not tell me of my bloodied hands when there is an ocean of blood in your maw. I will not waver. I will not stay my hand.

(+IRON)

THE DRAGON responds:

You are not the first to speak these words to me, knight, and I tell you now you shall not be the last. Look now upon my horde, these many suits of armour. See them battle-worn, once gleaming but gone now to rust and ruin, and know that within each of these iron shells lies a rotten sack of meat and bones, a thing which was once a man. I have been visited by more knights than you could ever count, though you may live a thousand years, and each of them came to me with your words in their mouth. They are long since forgotten, their stories untold and their names turned to dust. Yet I remain! I am the DRAGON, red and wrathful, greater than any; I have withstood armies, lain whole kingdoms to waste, outlived even the memories of those who aspired to destroy me. What are you compared to I, little knight, little morsel of meat whom I could end with the merest snap of my jaws.

I weary of this folly. Let us speak no more. Strike me down now, if you dare!

(+BLOOD)

OLAF HITS THE DRAGON WITH HIS SWORD

(roll: BLOOD 4, IRON 6 2 1, AMBITION 6 3, SORROW 2, DEATH 3. -1 IRON, -1 AMBITION. roll: BLOOD 1, IRON 5 3, AMBITION 3, SORROW 6, DEATH 5)

SORROW dominates. OLAF is left broken by his trials.

OLAF, speak of your wretchedness.

As I had known, but not allowed myself to fear, this was surely my final combat. I have sustained more wounds this day than any year of my life, and though I may yet survive, I will not live as I have done. My sword hand is lost, forever to remain in the belly of mine enemy. So too have I finally lost the courage that brought me here, poisoned to death by the words the DRAGON spoke to me ere I began our battle. This was my choice, but it is a choice I weep for. I am not only wounded, but old, and I shall be lucky to provide so much as an odd word of combat training to young squires, if I can even bring myself to do so. I am not yet dead, but I am diminished more by my survival than by any death the DRAGON could have given me.

DRAGON, speak of what comfort remains.

Olaf has lost both his sword hand and the unyielding courage which drove him forwards in his quest for justice. He is slower than he was, more hesitant, less certain, damaged in body and mind. He was not slain in battle, but he thinks his life is over all the same.

There is more to life than iron and death. There is grief and there is suffering. Olaf cannot stand to hear the songs written to commemorate his vanquishing of the dragon, and so when they are sung he listens instead to the laughter of children who no longer live in fear. He travels to villages the dragon had razed to the ground, and sees fresh green sprouts growing in what once was blasted wasteland. He wakes each night screaming, shuddering from nightmares, but there are gentle hands to sooth him and to hold him close.

[lostandsearching]

Her Loss

Pairings: Maria Hill/Fem!Reader, Natasha Romanoff/Fem!Reader, Wanda Maximoff/Fem!Reader

Summary: Y/N is forever searching for her, the half of her soul that will free her form the pain in her heart. But what does she do when the roads fork into different paths and into different arms. How does she differentiate from true love and fleeting lust? Can she find the arms of her destined or will she simply doom herself and let them slip through her fingers.

Warnings: WandaVision elements used, swearing (maybe?)

Word Count: 2600+

A/N: Here’s chapter 3 and we’re following our favourite little witchy! Just a shout out to @theperfectlovestory​ for being so patient and reading through my chapters. If you ain’t read her work, you’re missing out! As always, reblogs and feedback are welcome. Enjoy :)

Chapter One | Chapter Two

Tossing and turning, she shifts around in bed uncomfortably. Having been able to sleep the night before, exhaustion catching up to her, she is faced with another restless night. Her sleeping has improved over the months. The nights she cried to sleep was no longer a regular occurrence but she still had her difficulties.

The bed was always too unfamiliarly empty no matter how much time had passed. There was no weight by her side causing a dip in the mattress, no strong arms wrapped around her waist encasing her protectively and no cool body to nestle herself against. Her empty bed serves as just another reminder of everything she’s lost. The fates had been cruel to her, delivering her time and time again into loving arms only to rip them away from her far too soon.

Having accepted that sleep will not welcome her tonight, she looked towards the wall clock on her right. ‘It’s only four but I guess I can enjoy the quiet and watch the sunrise for a little while’ muttering to herself. She clambers out of bed throwing on a large dark blue jumper, his jumper, and a pair of jeans careful not to make any noise and stir the children next door.

She loves Clint’s children dearly and wholeheartedly. They accepted her, a stranger, as family without hesitation or fear of her abilities. Little Nate went so far as running to her with the widest grin on his face to proudly proclaim that he’s also named after her brother. This only brought happy tears to her eyes as she engulfed him in a hug. Yes, she loved them dearly and she couldn’t be more grateful to the retired archer and Laura for opening their home to her but sometimes it was too much.

The happy shrieks of laughing children reverberating off the walls, the gentle and loving touches between Laura and Clint, the pure love and pride in Clint’s eyes as he took in his family at the dinner table would sometimes be unbearable for Wanda. This was supposed to be the life she had with him. A home, he had secretly bought for them, in a place called Westview with two children at least. They would have dinner together as a family, watch their children grow up like no time has passed at all, even go trick-or-treating wearing silly family costumes. Her life would have been filled with love, laughter and warm embraces but he was gone, taking her dreams along with him.

Wanda quickly threw on her slippers and crept as quietly as possible out of the farmhouse, trying to avoid rousing the slumber of the ever attentive Hawkeye. He may need hearing aids but Wanda would bet anything that he wore them to bed to avoid being taken by surprise. One misstep on a creaky floorboard would have him rushing out with bow and arrow in hand, ready to protect his family from any intruder, only for her to flounder a lame excuse at her sneaking around at an ungodly hour.

Lady luck was on her side it would seem and she escaped the confines of the home without incident. She is instantly greeted by a cool and gentle breeze caressing her skin. She sits on the steps of the home looking up at the clear night sky as the sun teeters on the horizon, teasing the darkness with a warm glow. She lets her mind wander back to over a year ago, to the events that unfolded after her return from the now dubbed Blip.

//

One moment she had Vision’s lifeless body cradled against her as she sobs, only to be suddenly greeted by a strange man calling her to arms, Vision’s body nowhere to be found.

“The fate of the world needs you to come with me now if we are to have any hope in defeating Thanos” and with that he opened a portal and passed through, Wanda nipping at his heels.

She thrust herself into the chaotic battlefield, remnants of the destroyed compound strewn about, with only one goal in mind. He took the love of her life, he took her life and he’s taken her home. Thanos has taken everything from her and now she’ll make him pay.

She flew in engaging Thanos, bombarding him with all the rage coursing through her veins. Angry, red wisps encase the tyrant threatening to rip him apart but as she was within a hair’s breadth away from finding her revenge, hell fire reigned from the skies knocking her off her feet. The battle for the gauntlet waged on being passed from Avenger to Avenger in hopes of getting it to some rickety van in the distance.

When all hope seemed to be lost, the gauntlet fixed around Thanos’s hand once again with an arrogant line about inevitability escaping his lips, their one and only chance arrived.

“Stark! Now!” a sound shouts commandingly before a woman encompassed in light crashes into the purple titan throwing him back. In the few moments after the order, Tony flew into action and disabled the gauntlet remotely allowing it to fall from Thanos’s hand and to wrap itself around the ready fist of Captain Marvel.

“Yeah, I don’t think so” she retorts with a head tilt and a cocky grin painted on her face. ‘Snap’ the battlefield is once again being covered in ash but it is Thanos’s army that is falling to dust with himself crumbling soon after. Being exposed to gamma radiation in space for years and receiving power from the space stone made her more resilient to the after effects of using the infinity stones. Painful as it was, she would recover.

Wanda on the other hand wasn’t sure she would recover herself. Not only had she lost Vision and her home, in what felt like a matter of fleeting moments, she lost the chance at avenging him by her own hands. ‘He’s gone, this will have to be good enough’ she finally relents to herself.

It was only after the battle had ended, when Bruce and Captain Marvel, she later learned, had been tended to that she found out the true price of  her, and the half the universe’s return. Natasha Romanoff had given her life in exchange for the soul stone, she gave her life so the world could be set right.

The icy cold Black Widow had held her at arms-length after Wanda had entered the older woman’s mind at Ultron’s behest. At the battle of Sokovia Wanda tried to remedy her mistake and prove herself but lost her first home and the life of her brother, Pietro, instead. Clint quickly took it upon himself to care for the young witch and urged Natasha to give Wanda a chance. He believed she already paid a heavy price for her mistake, she doesn’t need to be punished anymore.

With many gruelling training sessions under the watchful eye of the Black Widow, a tentative bond slowly grew, one of mentorship and then eventually friendship. Natasha grew to care for Wanda like a younger sister, although she would never out rightly admit of her fondness to the other Avengers. Wanda learnt to appreciate that the harshness delivered in Natasha’s training had served to keep Wanda alive, to give her the tools to protect herself from their dangerous job.

She had lost another loved one, Natasha on a planet and in a time she couldn’t reach, she needed to get one of them back. She approached the only man she knew that would have the unending finances to find Vision’s body. Although she still doesn’t trust Tony Stark, his hubris being the reason for her parents’ death and then his pride being the reason she was locked away in the Raft like an animal, she believed that his intentions were only ever good, even if his methods were questionable at best. He swore on his daughter’s life, much to the surprise of Wanda only having learnt of Morgan, that he would find Vision for her. She will try to trust him once more.

The compound needed to be rebuilt and Stark needed to build another time machine so that the stones could be returned to their original time, cutting off the branches, at least that’s what was explained to her.

//

It took no time at all, considering Stark’s wealth and that the world was also eternally grateful for the return of their loved ones, for the Avengers compound to be rebuilt. Surprisingly, especially to Stark, she continued to stay at the cabin whilst the new time machine was being built. She couldn’t possibly go back to the compound with both her love and her sister being gone.

“Please bring her back, I can’t lose anyone else. I don’t know what I’d do” she pleads with her arms around the super soldier. She pulls back from their embrace, tears threatening to fall.

“I’ll bring her back Wanda, whatever it takes” Steve promises with finality and with a gentle squeeze of her hand, he steps into the portal.

Wanda stood there with bated breath, closing her eyes and wrapping her arms around herself. She squeezes herself tightly as if holding back a terrible force and its impending explosion from within, should Steve fail. It isn’t until Bruce speaks that she tempts fate by opening her eyes, fixed on the platform once more.

“5…4…3…2…1. Ha! It worked!” he yelps, fisting the air with joy.

Wanda couldn’t believe the sight in front of her, Steve kept his word. Forest green eyes land on hazel green ones. She wasn’t too sure what happened, one moment she was standing and the next moment, she was crumpled on the floor sobbing. She finally let the tears free fall, allowing the anguish, loss and small reprieve to wash over her. ‘She came back, someone came back’ a mantra repeating itself in her mind begging to be believed.

With all the agility and grace attributed to the Widow, Natasha leapt out of Steve’s arms to engulf the younger woman in hers. As is always in the Avengers’ lives, the joy of a win is forever marred with sorrow at the cost of gaining it.

The compound having already been built, Wanda finally returned with Natasha by her side. The Avengers home was no longer filled with mirth as it once was, trauma, loss and exhaustion hangs heavy in the air. Clint had chosen to stay at the compound temporarily, with his family, to spend time with Wanda and Natasha. Tony and Rhodey chose to retire, Captain Marvel had long since returned to space but promised to visit when she was in the galaxy, Thor chose to leave the Avengers to join The Guardians in space and Vision was gone.

It was a week after Natasha’s return, a week at the compound that Wanda finally got the call she so desperately needed.

“Hey witchy, how are you liking the new digs?” Tony jokes. Wanda couldn’t help but roll her eyes as anger began bubbling beneath the surface.

“I am not in the mood for your jokes Stark” her thick Sokovian accent slipping past the cracks of her control.

Tony lets out a heavy sigh before responding. “OK kid, this isn’t a social call. I promised I’d find him but I don’t think you’re gonna like what I’m about to tell you” he tries carefully.

Her eyes are consumed with whirls of red while her hand holds the phone in a vice-like grip. “Where is he Stark?” she says through gritted teeth.

“I tried to get his body released to me this morning, but they refused. I could spend every dime I have and liquidate all my assets, they still won’t let him go claiming that he is government property since he signed the Accords.” frustration clear in his voice.

“I will get the best lawyers on the case but it will take time be…”

“Where” she interrupts with a bite in her tone.

“S.W.O.R.D”

//

After the events of meeting Hayward and seeing what he had done to Vision, Wanda knew she had two choices. She opted for the latter. She called Natasha as soon as she left S.W.O.R.D’s offices making her way back to her car.

“Wanda, what’s going on? You ran…” Before she could finish her questioning, she is interrupted by Wanda’s broken voice.

“S.W.O.R.D have Vision’s body and they wouldn’t let me take him home to bury him. They’re tearing him apart like an OBJECT! He gave his LIFE and they won’t even let what’s left of him find PEACE!” her anger is replaced by breaking sobs wracking through her body, ending her ability to speak any further.

“Come home now. Clint and I will fix it” She commands calmly and confidently.

Just as Wanda was the female assassin’s younger sister, she was also the archer’s daughter. No-one messes with the two deadly assassins’ family and escapes unscathed.

True to the Widow name, Natasha seduced and hacked her way into S.W.O.R.D’s data server and extracted details on questionable S.W.O.R.D activities including Hayward’s isolated server with files and data on his less than legal proclivities.

Clint, being true to his ethos, was crawling through S.W.O.R.D ventilation shafts, planting well placed audio and visual recording devices, courtesy of Stark himself.

With all the pieces at hand, Natasha only needed the perfect person for the execution. Her love for Wanda saw her doing the unimaginable for the first time. She asked for help.

“Maria, I need you to do something for me. I need you to get Vision’s body from S.W.O.R.D. Clint and I have all the data you’ll need to make it happen” her steady voice not betraying the pounding in her heart.

“Why would I get on S.W.O.R.D’S radar exactly?” Maria responds emotionlessly. She would have done it without question of course, but she can’t let Natasha know that. After all, she has a reputation to maintain.

“Because I will owe you a favour” Natasha retorts through clenched teeth. A pregnant pause fills the air before Maria responds.

“Send me everything you have and give me 48 hours” without another word, Maria ends the call and Natasha releases a breath she wasn’t aware she was holding.

Maria, always a woman of her word, saw to it that 48 hours later Vision’s body was being returned to Wanda at the compound under S.H.I.E.L.D escort. Wanda may not have given her lover the death that he asked of her nor the vengeance that he was owed, but she could give him the burial that he deserved and the farewell she needed.

All the Avengers, including Rhodey, Tony and Thor, returned one last time to pay their respects, to honour their fallen ally and friend. Wanda laid to rest the love of her life and yet another piece of her heart.

//

“You know, you still aren’t as quiet as Nat” he teases taking a seat on the step beside her. “Penny for your thoughts?” he gently prods.

“Thinking about him” Wanda whispers, still unable to say Vision’s name since the funeral. “Thinking about what you, Nat and even Tony have done for me since”

He turns to look at the young woman and sees not only pain in her eyes, but a steady determination that wasn’t there before. He keeps quiet, allowing her to gather her thoughts without interruption.

“I think…no, I know I’m ready to go home Clint” she says with growing confidence. She finally turns to face the archer. She sees time, suffering and loss etched on his aging face but those are all muted by the brightness in his blue-grey eyes full of love and pride.

Wanda has survived the loss of her parents, her brother, her first home and her lover. She’s tired of surviving and she is finally ready to go home to start living.

“I’ll tell Nat so she can get a jet ready and prepared for you” and with that, they spend the last few moments together, sitting in silence and basking in the warm glow of the sunrise full of hope and gentle promises. 

Chapter Four

[limitlessgojo]

Blood Bound: Red Strings of Fate (Ch 2)

Warnings: Action, Coarse Language, Fighting, Descriptions of Blood

Previous Chapter: The First Meeting

Next Chapter: What's Your Ideal Type?

Tags: Soulmates AU, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Fem!Reader

Taglist: @lessie-oxj, @rizzo-nero, @whoreuc

Notes: If you want to be tagged for every update, please mention it in the comments below ty.

CHAPTER 2: The Rebirth

You had a hard time falling asleep that night. Your mind is trying to remember the vision, but the images remain blurry. There was a faint heat lingering from the man's body pressed against yours.

‘Could we possibly be…. It’s not impossible but….’, your mind was working 10,000 miles an hour trying to think of the possibilities. There was only one thought that came to mind and it made you blush. You pulled up the covers and snuggled against your stuffed plushies and pillows. You had to pass by the library and get permission tomorrow.

At least the weaponry was amazing. Noritoshi senpai even showed you inside and pointed you to the crossbows he often practices with. ‘He must be a capable sorcerer. The way he holds himself up with such dignity was already a dead giveaway. A natural born leader huh.’ you wondered.

You fell asleep that night dreaming about a lovely Phoenix, being reborn from ashes.

◇◇◇

Noritoshi was pacing around in his room. He had passed by the library on the way back from dinner, and grabbed several books. “The Secrets of Foreseeing the Future, Vol. 1”, “Alternate and Parallel Worlds”, “Past Lives: A Study”, and “The Life and Works of Abe no Seimei".

He paced around his dorm room, looking over the book that was bothering him the most. “The Tales and True Records of Soulmates”.

He scanned through the main parts of the book. It spoke about bonding. There apparently were 2 types of bonding, emotional and physical.

When 2 halves of a whole reach a certain degree of understanding of each other, they establish what's called a half-bond or a phantom bond.

This begins to link their emotions. Intense anger, fear, joy, disgust, sorrow, and love can be felt from the very first stage. As their bond strengthens, they begin to share more emotions, as well as short strong intentions.

Intentions are used to depict a state of being. If they have a goal or a state of feeling over a particular matter, their partner can pick up on it.

The near final stage of a full bond is when they start to share physical sensations. When one gets injured, it will resound with the other.

The strongest bond is known to share special abilities and thoughts via telepathy between a fated pair.

Noritoshi's mind was definitely in overdrive. There was SO MUCH information on soulmates. But the one thing that wasn't explicitly stated was how a soulmate pair found each other.

How do soulmates confirm that they are indeed soulmates? Most of the information was based on soulmates who simply claimed to be. Then what about how they came to be?

So now he knows that soulmates are supposedly able to share emotions and feelings to a certain degree. But there was a lack of information in the book. What about visions? The vision he shared with y/n was one of a kind.

It kept discussing how the known most popular existence were the parents of Sugawara no Michizane. One of the three great vengeful spirits that is the ancestor of the Gojo clan.

He made up his mind. Taking out his phone, he dialed up his father.

Beep. “Noritoshi? It’s so late, why are you calling at this time? It best be an urgent matter.” his father gruffly answered.

“I am sorry to disturb you father. It’s just, there is a new student here in school. A First year called Tsuchimikado y/n from the Tsuchimikado clan.”

“Ahhh, them huh? Powerful group even though there are only a few of them. They don’t really talk about their techniques that much. They are descendants of Abe no Seimei and yet they kept to themselves as a minor clan of jujutsushi… So what about her?”

“She might possibly be my soulmate, but I am still confirming. Do you have any books or records on soulmates at all?”

At this, his father sat up straight in his study. “Are you serious? And what can you say to prove such claims? Do you know how rare a soulmate bond is?”

"I am aware. And I know we may not be soulmates. But I have some suspicions. If you have any info about soulmates, The Abe clan, or the Tsuchimikado clans, I would appreciate it." Noritoshi replied.

"Okay. I'll have a look and get back to you. Feel free to come by the main house this weekend. Look over the main study. There are also some records on Soulmates there."

"Thank you father. Have a good evening."

Beep.

Noritoshi sighed. He undid his hair bindings and combed out his hair. And opened the book again. He read through the table of contents in case he missed out on any major pointers.

He couldn't read the book in one sitting, because he is still reviewing for the TOEIC and improving his English.

He yawned and was about to retire to bed, remembering his promise to bring you around tomorrow, when one particular word jumped at him.

The binding process of soulmates. He quickly flipped through to the page and found out with horror that some of the pages had been torn out.

It wasn't him who did it. (Obviously). But now he has to go and tell Utahime sensei about it.

He took a closer look at the remaining few pages.

"The Binding of Soulmates. It is known to vary per pair. Some pairs found themselves to be born with a matching symbol in the inside of their arms or on their necks from birth. While others form it upon passing the first stage of -" and the page ends with a violent diagonal tear from the upper right corner to the lower left.

That's pretty much all that he can take away from the book so far. Frustrated, he decided to go to sleep. Nothing about sharing visions was mentioned so far. Maybe they weren't a fated pair after all.

But deep in his gut, Noritoshi knew that you were an important person to him. That was for sure. As he fell asleep, he shared the same dream with you. A lone Phoenix, being reborn from its ashes.

◇◇◇

The following morning, you didn't know where to meet up with Noritoshi senpai so you simply went to the same place he left you last night. On your way there, you passed by a tall robot kind of thing which spooked you. You stared at it, wondering if it was a kind of automation that serves the technical school.

To your surprise, it turned towards you and bowed while greeting, "Hello. I'm a 1st year student here at Kyoto Jujutsu Technical College. You can call me Mechamaru. Kokichi Muta is my real name, but I use robots to fight."

Your eyes widened in surprise and curiosity. "My name is Tsuchimikado Y/n, also starting here as a first year student. Pleased to meet you!" You bowed back.

“So… is your body inside that robot?” you asked him.

“No, as a result of heavenly restriction, which if you haven’t heard of yet is a means of exchange/ a binding contract, my body is elsewhere. I am controlling this robot from afar.”

Your eyes bugged, “That’s incredible! To have that much cursed energy, plus it is over such a long distance.” You were jealous as long-ranged techniques are something you try to work hard and specialise on.

“It’s not that fun being physically stuck in a basement.” Mechamaru didn’t sound too amused.

“Ah, I’m sorry about that… “ you floundered as you mentally hit yourself for being so inconsiderate.

“No need to apologize. I am used to it.” He waved it off coolly.

"You're the first other 1st year I've met Mechamaru. I wonder when the others will come. I've heard of 2 others." You wondered.

"I've already met one of them. Miwa is her name. You won't miss her with her bright blue hair." He replied. His voice was so stiff and robotic, a strange feature.

"Ohhhh I see. I'll keep that in mind!" You smiled. "I'm afraid I have somewhere to be right now, but I'll catch you around for sure! Please take care of me."

"Don't let me keep you waiting. Please also take care of me and see you around." Mechamaru waved as you ran off.

More students to meet huh. Your heart pounded in nervousness and excitement. So it was Miwa and Mechamaru so far. ‘Ugh, I’m so bad with names. I’ll surely get used to it.’ you thought to yourself.

You rounded the corner and nearly plowed through Noritoshi senpai in your haste. “Whoa there, careful,” he held his hands out in case you slipped, but you were fine. You caught yourself just before you hit his personal space.

You were surprised to see him already there, in the same clothes he was in yesterday (was that his uniform? You had yet to get yours, which had custom arrangements).

"Good morning Noritoshi-senpai!" you beamed up at him. He looked down at you amusedly, liking your bright energy. “Good morning y/n.”

Your smile grew wider upon hearing your name fall from his lips for the very first time. For a moment the both of you just stood there smiling. Then Noritoshi beckoned you to his side as you walked around the campus.

"Did you sleep well last night?" He asked.

"Ah yes, though it might take some time getting used to the dorm rooms here. But everything is pretty much convenient. Especially the kitchenettes in our rooms." You were still excited about starting classes.

“Did you have your uniform tailored to your liking?” You asked him.

“Ah yes, I requested a looser fit. I am used to wearing a kimono and wooden sandals at home. I simply requested for them to be made in a similar fashion for comfort. And it gives me enough space to hide all of my weapons.” He smiled gently down at you.

“Ahhh I see. I have also put in a request for my uniform, but I don’t have it yet.” you said.

“Well, it shouldn’t be too long now, classes start in 2 days after all.”

He brought you around the main gardens. “It’s so big,” you gaped, excited to train here. There was so much open space, it would be good for flying practice. “The other buildings are offices for the staff, and warehouses for special tools and materials.” He explained.

Then Noritoshi led you to a corridor with tons of doors. “These are the 3rd year classrooms. First and second year classrooms are upstairs. We can have a look if you’d like?” He asked.

You agreed. And on your way to the staircase, you came face to face with a man going down the stairs. He was incredibly tall and ripped. With his hair tied up, a scar racing down on his left eye, he grunted at Noritoshi in greeting.

He came down and faced you both, before addressing Noritoshi. “You ready for class? Is this a new student?”

“Of course I am. And she is a first year. Tsuchimikado Y/n.” Noritoshi introduced you and you quickly bowed in greeting. “You can call me Tsuchi san or just Tsuchi as I know my last name is long. It is very nice to meet you!”

Noritoshi noted that you didn’t offer to be addressed by your first name this time and felt weirdly happy.

“Todo Aoi, 2nd year. So… what man or woman is your ideal type?” He asked as he loomed over you menacingly. You barely came up to this man's chest.

….. What in the world are you getting into?

Fun fact: The Tsuchimikado Clan are indeed a real clan descended from the Abe Clan and Abe no Seimei the Onmyouji himself. I chose Abe no Seimei as a parallel to the three great vengeful spirits from whom the big 3 Jujutsu families are descendants of. As Abe no Seimei was also a major figure during the Heian period. But of course my story is a work of fiction so other than the onmyouji himself, everyone else is not real^^.

Blood Bound: Table of Contents

[storytellerofuntoldlegends]

promise me that you’ll start where i end

A/N: 3rd Life SMP but i make it more dramatic. also i made the mistake of listening to drivers license by olivia rodrigo while writing this and cried. i'd say enjoy but i don't think that's the correct emotion to experience while reading this. (title is from Boreas by The Oh Hellos)

Summary: An argument before Scott's world- one of color, light, and love- falls to pieces and turns dark. And the friend who tries to collect those pieces and bring back a little light to him.

Warnings: minor violence, talk of death, arguing, hugs, crying, canonical character death, grief/mourning, bittersweet ending

-

Scott leaned against the potions table with a sigh. There were too many close calls today. Each brush with Dogwarts nearly cost either him or Jimmy their lives, not to mention that Cleo lost one of her lives trying to escape the Red King and his men. Then there was the whole issue with Joel, his attempt on Scott’s life, and their wall- he wasn’t looking forward to rebuilding it, especially just out of cobblestone or some other stone. A small smile was brought to his face as he remembered how Jimmy instantly wanted to go after Joel, even though the other man was already long gone. It should have been concerning, how fast Jimmy could seemingly switch between being a lost puppy or a feral wolf on his red life. Instead, it was actually sort of endearing. It would be more endearing if it didn’t give Scott a near heart attack every time his husband tried to rush forward into danger. Scott squeezed his eyes shut at the sudden onslaught of memories- Jimmy running through lava for a prize, his eagerness to pick up a piece of tnt and the resulting destruction it caused, Jimmy staring Ren down as he burned the Dogwarts flag (and then himself), Jimmy drawing his bow when Scott was trying to de-escalate a situation and just ask if Dogwarts had anything to do with their wall burning- Scott wasn’t sure if he was proud of or angry at Jimmy’s recklessness. There was one thing Scott knew for certain- he would never be able to erase the memories of Jimmy’s deaths from his mind, and everything he did was to make sure that Jimmy would survive. And himself too, of course, but Jimmy was the one with no lives left.

“Scott?” a voice asked, causing his eyes to snap open. He looked over to see Jimmy stepping through the nether portal. He looked a little shy, and Scott smiled in spite of himself at his husband being in his “lost puppy” mode.

“I’m just working on some potions. Y’know, for future encounters. What’s up?” Scott asked. Jimmy fidgeted for a moment or two, not quite meeting Scott’s gaze.

“Just wanted to check in on you, after uh… everything,” he asked sheepishly, finally looking up at Scott’s eyes.

“Could be better, could be worse. There were a couple of close calls, but that’s why I’m working on potions,” he replied with a shrug. Jimmy’s brow knit in concern, and he reached out to Scott for half a moment, but quickly dropped his hands with a frown.

“It was too close today,” Jimmy muttered under his breath. Scott huffed out a laugh, shaking his head.

“It was, you’re on your last life- you’ve gotta be more careful,” he reprimanded. Jimmy’s sheepish gaze snapped defiantly to Scott’s, and he jumped a bit in surprise at the fire in his husband’s eyes.

“I was talking about you! Martyn’s arrows nearly took you out!” Jimmy shouted, hands gesturing wildly.

“Jimmy, my armor’s better than yours, and I have all my lives left. I would have been fine- you wouldn’t have,” Scott said, a little taken aback at Jimmy’s sudden ferocity.

“Just because you have all your lives doesn’t mean you can throw them away, Scott!” Jimmy protested. Scott gave Jimmy an incredulous look.

“I’m not throwing my lives away, Jimmy. I have good gear, I negotiate and build alliances with other factions, I’m making potions- if anyone’s throwing away their lives around here, it’s you!” Scott shot back, voice coming out more frustrated than he meant it to. A hurt expression crossed Jimmy’s face, and part of Scott wanted to take back what he said, but most of him didn’t regret it at all. Didn’t Jimmy understand what was at stake here? Scott tried his best to look out for him, but each and every time he rushed forward into things he shouldn’t have.

“Scott, I know I’ve messed up. You don’t need to keep reminding me. But I can’t just stay put and do nothing like you!” Jimmy shouted.

“What do you mean, doing nothing?! I’m trying to build up our defences-”

“Going on the offensive is the only thing Dogwarts will understand-”

“I’m just trying to protect you!” both Scott and Jimmy exclaimed at the same time. Both of them blinked in surprise, and all at once things started clicking into place.

“Scott, I’m no strategist like you. I’m not even as good in combat. But I’m on red- I’m the fighter here. So let me fight for you,” Jimmy said softly. Scott made a sound that was half laugh, half scoff.

“Jimmy-”

“I can’t stand the thought of letting you die, Scott,” Jimmy said, refusing to meet his gaze. A bittersweet smile came to Scott’s face, and he took a step closer to Jimmy, tilting his head to try and meet Jimmy’s eyes.

“Jimmy, I’ve seen you die twice. Don’t you think that I can’t stand the thought of letting you die either?” Scott asked. Jimmy finally looked up at Scott, eyes watering. Scott let out a fond little scoff, reaching out to wipe at Jimmy’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Jimmy said wetly. Scott didn’t answer at first, instead reaching out to pull Jimmy into a hug.

“Don’t be. And don’t cry you idiot, you’ll just disintegrate faster,” Scott teased fondly, relieved when Jimmy let out a laugh in response. Jimmy pulled away, wiping at his eyes and smiling. Scott couldn’t help but smile back, happy to see his husband in a marginally better mood.

“We’ll be okay, right Scott?” Jimmy asked, still soft and as timid as before. 

“I’m working on potions, we’ve got allies, and we’ve got each other. We’ll be alright,” Scott said, voice soft but no less determined. Jimmy gave his usual dazzling smile, filling Scott with warmth and light at the sight of it.

-

It was dark when Scott made his way down the hill from Jimmy’s grave. He wasn’t even there when Jimmy had died, he had told Jimmy that they would be alright and they both weren’t. Scott was on yellow now, the gleam in his eyes and the gold shimmering in his hair making that absolutely certain. Scott’s preparedness hadn’t even saved either of them! His potions certainly didn’t do much good as Scott died early on in the battle. Maybe he and Jimmy shouldn’t have allied with anyone. Maybe they should have stayed within their walls and retired, like Scott wanted to. Maybe Jimmy would be alive now. But there was no use dwelling on the “what-ifs”- all Scott had was the now. And the now was crushingly lonely and dim.

Scott jumped at the cackle of a witch, narrowly avoiding a thrown potion. He drew his sword and cut her down without a second thought. She poofed into ash, leaving Scott to stumble forward into the dirt. He drove his sword into the ground with a cry of rage and sorrow.

“I can’t even mourn?!” he cried, shouting at the universe for what he had lost and what he had endured. Scott wasn’t sure how long he had knelt there in the grass, a white-knuckled grip on the hilt of his sword and a hand over his mouth to stifle the sobs that threatened to escape. It wasn’t until the growls and skittering of other mobs approaching that Scott finally picked himself up, yanking his sword from the ground and feet moving on autopilot. 

He soon stumbled through the nether portal to the cave behind it, shaking hands reaching for a book tucked away on one of the shelves. He opened it carefully despite his trembling hands, not wanting to damage what was inside. Between the pages laid a collection of pressed flowers, one of them being the poppy that Jimmy had given him when they first met. Scott finally allowed himself to crumble, falling to the floor and sobbing with the book of pressed flowers cradled in his arms.

“Scott?” a voice asked. His head snapped up and he looked to the cave entrance, heart skipping a beat at a flash of blond and red- but then saw the brightly colored wings and deflated at the realization that it was just Grian. Scott quickly wiped at his eyes, gently closing the book before holding it tight against his chest and standing up.

“Um. Hi,” Scott said, unsure of what to say. Grian didn’t look like he knew what to say either, feathers rustling slightly before he cleared his throat.

“I just wanted to uh. Check in on you,” Grian said. Scott let out a shaky sigh. How many times had Jimmy come in, asking the same thing? Checking in on Scott, making sure he wasn’t overworking himself- sometimes checking in on him wasn’t even for Scott’s own benefit. Jimmy would need reassurance, and Scott would joke and tease to cheer him up. What Scott wouldn’t give to hear Jimmy’s laugh one last time.

“I think you can see how well I’m doing,” Scott said, tone coming off a bit more brusquely than he meant it to. Scott winced as soon as the words escaped his mouth. Grian didn’t deserve to have his grief taken out on him, but frankly Scott wasn’t sure how else he was supposed to respond to that. His friend’s expression twisted in sympathy.

“Sorry. We did avenge him, at least,” Grian said softly. Scott let out a humorless laugh.

“Yeah. I just thought I’d feel some sort of satisfaction from it, or that it would make losing Jimmy hurt less,” Scott replied, voice as hollow as he felt. Silence hung between them for a few moments, before Grian stepped a bit closer. He cautiously reached out to put a hand on Scott’s shoulder, and Scott peered up slightly at the touch.

“It probably won’t help much, in fact not at all, but what if we put a stop to Dogwarts? For all the things we’ve lost- and for Jimmy,” Grian offered. A small, weak smile crept onto Scott’s face. He wouldn’t let Jimmy’s death be in vain- he believed in a world without Dogwarts, a world where he and Scott could live out their days in peace. And even if Jimmy wasn’t able to live it with him, Scott knew that Jimmy would want him to move forward, to the life they had wanted.

“For Jimmy,” Scott said, warmth in his tone for the first time since Jimmy had died. For a brief moment, he thought he felt a hand ghost across his, paired with a reassuring touch on his back and a breath at his ear. The moment was there and gone, and Scott desperately wanted to curl his fingers around familiar ones he swore he had just felt- but it left Scott’s smile a bit brighter all the same.

-

MCYT Taglist (ask to be added/removed!): @corazon10000 @damiensaidno @franticfandomfanatic @space-ace123

[keeroo92]

Breaking Point

My SFW contribution to @jackpot-dantezine, where Dante falls apart on the way to confront Urizen.

Word count: 1,909

-------

The air hung stagnant around him, oppressive and unnaturally warm. Shades of red and brown, grey and a sickening green encroached up the walls. When he called the smell, “hot garbage”, he’d been far too kind. Veins pulsated a stern drumbeat as Dante stepped forward after his two female companions. 

“Bet you both I bag the first Queen!” Lady taunted. Trish responded with a cool smirk and a quickened pace, but Dante’s mind was elsewhere.

What if it was Vergil?

Dante had his doubts, despite what the weirdo client told him. What were the chances, right? Vergil’d been gone for years, stuck in hell after their last meeting. Getting back here, let alone in good enough shape to pull off this bullshit, was a longshot.

Still. His brother had a way of popping up and causing trouble. 

The first boom of battle ricocheted off the nauseating walls, reminding him where he was and what he still needed to do. He’d better catch up. Thinking about shit wasn’t his style; killing demons was. 

Time for a good ol’ fashioned beat down, that’d get him out of this funk. 

Dante cracked his neck, hands twitching to grasp the twin handles of his beloved Ebony and Ivory. The staccato thud of his boots mirrored the thudding of his heart, hastening as he got closer to a fight.

He turned a bloody corner just in time to see Trish deal a death blow to a Hell Judecca, its skeletal arms dissolving into ash as she spun to find her next prey. Her signature yellow sparks glowed brightly from her hands, her body dashing across the blood-stained ground to strike a pair of Antenora. Show off.

“That puts me ahead by two, Lady! What, are you taking a nap?” the blonde called.

“Not even close!” Lady replied, firing her bazooka straight down the throat of a Caina.

Dante grinned and picked a target, spinning on his heel as a scythe hunted his flesh. Too easy. He twirled Ebony and shot the ugly bastard in the face behind his back. Why did all demons look like the ass end of a bad burrito, anyway?

Eh, who cared?

His heart lurched. Vergil would. When they were children, Dante’s brother never ran out of questions about the nature of demons. He’d asked everything imaginable, from how they fought to how they multiplied. 

Dante tried not to think about that part.

And for every question Vergil asked, their dad had an answer. He’d stop whatever he was doing to explain, smiling proudly all the while. Like Dante wasn’t even there. It used to annoy him, but now the memory only brought bittersweet longing. What he wouldn’t give for them all to be together again…

“Dante, duck!”

Leather snapped as Dante instantly dropped to a crouch. A stream of fire licked his flesh, a Hell Bat above screeching its displeasure at the near miss. Annoying bastard. He never should've let it get so close. 

I gotta keep it together, he thought cynically, or the girls will get on my case.

Plus, banter always helped keep his mind from visiting its darker corners.

The man in red summoned a smirk and fired a few rounds, his bullets poking holes in the bulging orange belly overhead. A sound not unlike a whoopee cushion signaled his success. Nice.

“Sayonara, sucker!” he crowed, watching as the bat’s leaking body propelled it into a wall to explode. “Let’s call that one twenty points.”

“No way, lazybones! You don’t get extra for making fart noises,” Lady called with a scowl. 

Dante raised his hands in a placating gesture as soot settled to mark the deaths of their foes. He hoped Ver- Urizen sent a few more their way; he needed to warm up before kicking the king’s ass. Maybe he should stretch, just to keep his blood flowing.

Dante sighed and shook his head. He’d never hear the end of it.

It turned out he didn’t need to worry; as the trio progressed, they encountered wave after wave of demons, all vying for fresh blood. Trish and Lady didn’t falter, picking off one after another as Dante did his best to stay on task, but his mind kept drifting back to his brother.

For decades, Dante held only anger at his twin for not being there, for forcing their mother to search for him. To a child, the immature logic made sense. If Vergil hadn’t run off, things would’ve turned out differently. Simple cause and effect.

But time dulled the blade of his rage, and a broader understanding of life took hold. Any number of choices may have changed the outcome of the attack, but obsessing over it wouldn’t change what happened.

None of them had the power to predict the consequences, or to change them. All he could do was keep fighting, and hope that by doing so he spared other families from sharing the fate of his own. 

If Dante was being honest, the constant battles tired him. His body didn’t move like it used to, and the first aches of middle age warned him it was time to slow down. He couldn’t chase demons forever, and part of him didn’t want to. It was a lot of work.

It might be time to leave it to someone younger.

Then again, what the fuck else was he going to do all day? The only thing worse than being tired was being bored.

And the thought of retiring while Vergil was still out there somewhere, doing who knew what… it didn’t feel right, as if the balance would shift to the demons and they’d go unchecked. As a descendant of Sparda that gave a shit about humanity, Dante felt a certain responsibility to bear the weight of defending them. It was what his dad would’ve wanted.

What his mother would’ve wanted.

Besides; if he didn’t, then who would? Nero sure as hell wasn’t ready, not yet. 

But above all else, if it came to a fight to the death, his brother deserved to go at the hands of his family. Someone who understood what he’d gone through and all that he’d lost. It was Dante’s responsibility, and he damn well wasn’t hiding from it. Not this time. 

The thought left a hollow ache in his chest, a bitter sorrow he desperately wished he could ignore. If there was any alternative, any chance of helping his brother instead of ending his life, Dante knew he’d take it. That he had to even consider killing Vergil showed how twisted life could be. It made him want to scream. 

“Aw, shit,” Trish said, breaking his rambling thoughts. A quartet of Nobody’s waited in the next clearing, scurrying back and forth like excited cats. Perfect timing - Dante hated these guys.

And he really needed to kill something.

He flew at the demons with a cry of fury, drawing all four to him as he pulled Rebellion out. The girls followed in his wake, but he saw nothing save the nearest mask as his blade struck home. It left a deep crack in the clay, but the prick backed off before he had the time to kill it.

He really hated these guys. 

“Lady, finish him!” he cried. The other three were already swarming him. Damnit.

He dodged a stray arm and slashed at another as a blast reached his ears. The grotesque floor shook from the force and Dante roared, unleashing a vicious series of slices at the stumbling Nobody closest to him. It whimpered and tried to back off, but he refused to let it go that easily. Rebellion’s heavy blade sank deep into the creature’s core, splattering hot blood on its fellows and its killer alike. Two down. 

Two to go. 

There were days he didn’t see the point of it anymore; no matter how many would-be demon kings he took down, there’d always be another, and the peons were even worse. Useless, feral things, their only desire to destroy and kill.

It only added fuel to the fire of his rage. He needed to get closer.

Dante sheathed Rebellion and pulled at the thread of dark energy connecting him to Balrog, summoning the metallic pseudo-armor even as he threw a powerful punch. A rapid kick followed, his feet cracking against the reddish mask of the third nobody. He’d kill it before it fought back.

But a fiery blast on his left hurled him to the side, the last demon cackling as he fell. Years of getting pummeled proved their worth as Dante rolled with the blow, using the momentum to get on his feet a beat later. He grimaced and flipped a finger at the laughing jerk. 

“Is that all you got?” he shouted. Who knew if it understood.

It screeched and slammed a limb at him, slashing at his chest. He stepped aside and brought his arms together, crushing the appendage and tugging the beast closer for a solid headbutt. He punched and kicked, again and again. Demon blood splattered his face, each drop like a balm to his wrath. The chaotic battle surrounding him faded away; it was just him and the demon and the sounds of his strikes pulverizing its desecrated body. 

“Dante?” Lady called, her voice barely piercing the fog of his anger. He ignored her and punched the Nobody in the face again. “Dante, it’s dead. You can stop hitting it now.”

How many people had this one killed? How many families did its hunger shatter? For all Dante knew, it might be the bastard that killed his mother. He punched it again.

“Dante, come on…” Trish said. 

Maybe this was the demon that left nothing but smears of blood on the playground outside. Or the one that tore through a local grocery store, or that small house where he found those god awful husks. Another punch. He didn’t notice his female companions coming to stand beside him.

“Dante, knock it off. We need to keep moving,” Lady said, her palm coming to rest on his shoulder as he pulled back for another punch. Trish mirrored her.

The edges of the creature’s face began dissolving, a fine grey powder all that remained. Dante’s panting breath sent the dust aflutter as he slowly lowered his arm. His jaw ached; had he been gritting his teeth the whole time? Fuck.

Better crack a joke, something to keep it light.

“So, that’s what, four points to me?” Dante said. Both women shot him fierce glares.

“What the fuck, Dante?” Lady began. 

He wiped away the blood still clinging to his face and sighed. “It’s nothing.”

“Didn’t look like nothing,” Trish chimed in. “You good?”

The red-clad man released the tendril of energy connecting him to Balrog, the blood-stained metal vanishing a beat behind. He didn’t know what to say. His rage still flickered within him, an ever present ember waiting for the right moment to flare into an inferno. It might give him an edge; it might consume him. 

Talk about a double-edged sword.

It didn’t matter what was happening in his heart or what it did to him. There was a big ass demon tree growing in his city, ugly bastards swarming the place and who knew what else. It was his job to clean up the mess, no matter who made it. 

Dante snorted. He was, in essence, a janitor. 

He cracked his neck. It was time to clean. “I’m good.”

[rocking-space-dragon]

Burning Flags, Burning Bridges

So...I may have been inspired by chatting with friends and decided to write a short fundy-centric fic centering around what Philza said to him after the house arrest. Will I write more like this in future? Probably! Will it probably be angsty? Most likely! I hope you enjoy!

I’m gonna put the first page in this and the rest under a read-more so I don’t clog up timelines!

2313 Words/10k Characters Characters Involved : Fundy, Ghostbur, Philza.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

 It was a cold, wet day In Lmanburg; the rain came down heavily, thick sheets that crashed down onto the wooden floors of the city and the deep pools of water beneath and around the city proper; creating a drumming, echoing ambience that seemed to isolate the two of them as they stood; the Fox, soaked through with hat and coat, damp fur and wetter clothes; though for all of the cold that the weather bestowed, it couldn’t compare to the ice that seemed to have bloomed in his chest.

The words cut through Fundy like a knife as his gaze met that of the figure standing in the doorway, one hand resting on the frame. A steel monitor was wrapped around one ankle, and they both knew that if he took another step forward it'd go off and he'd be in trouble. Philza was the one who was trapped, so why was it that Fundy felt like he couldn't move, trapped in the cold embrace of the man in the doorway, a gaze leagues apart from the warmth behind his eyes that he remembered from their days fishing and hanging out. That cold seemed to spread from his chest until it wrapped around his bones, keeping him locked in place.

 The words brought back bad memories; often said in joke or incredulities by his friends, he’d only heard this kind of inflection once before – after his appearance in Pogtopia. He still remembered it vividly; the way Wilbur had cast his eyes towards him, looking down at him with contempt, with pain written across his face and spitting the words towards him, accusatory and harsh. He’d explained himself then and Wilbur’s face had softened, a laugh breaking across his features as he turned excitedly back towards Tommy and Quackity, but the eyes that met his whenever Wilbur turned back towards him were as cold as ever. It was those same eyes that were fixed on Fundy now; like father, like son. The kind of gaze that made him feel small, made him feel weak, no matter how many weapons hung by his side or how much armour he had in his inventory.

He swallowed for a moment, before forcing a smile across his face, gesturing towards Philza once more "W-Well, I figured that we could hang out! I know you're stuck at home because of the…” He gestured vaguely towards the bracelet before continuing “so maybe we could... Play some board games, or you could show me some of the old photos you have of Wilbur and Tommy, or we could work on the basement or-!"

 "No."

The word felt like a punch to the gut and Fundy's voice died in his throat, his lips going dry as he opened his mouth to talk, going to say something before Philza's voice cut into him once more, stealing the voice from his throat "How dare you. You broke into my home and demanded that I give up my oldest and most trusted friend, then when I told you I wouldn’t, you threatened me, ransacked my house, imprisoned me in my own home and then mocked me. You stood outside of my home, mocking me, before running off with the Compass that Techno trusted me with, to hunt him down.” Philza’s grip tightened on the doorframe and Fundy could swear that he could hear the wood beginning to crack beneath the grip of the man; the cold in his eyes was gone now, replaced with a fire that crackled in his throat and lit every word that he spat towards the fox. “And then- AND THEN. You drag him from his home, where he’d been living in peaceful retirement, under the pretence of a trial, only to try and execute him in front of me, when I couldn’t do anything but watch.” Fundy could feel his fur standing on end, even as damp as it was, but he couldn’t move an inch away from the man who’d locked him in place much like they’d trapped Techno days before. All he could do was stand there as Phil continued. “Allow me to be very clear with you, Fundy. If Techno had died in that cage, none of you would have lived to regret it.” His wings flare up behind him, obscuring the light coming from the house behind him before folding behind his back once more as he turns around, glancing back towards the rain-drenched fox standing out on the wooden platform “The last thing I want to do is kill another son of mine, but It seems like this city hasn’t given me a choice.” He turns, back facing him, pulling his hat down low “Because you’re already dead to me.”

 The sound of the door slamming shut echoed out around the city, leaving Fundy alone, clutching at his jacket, gaze turned down towards the ground, eyes squeezed shut and teeth clenched tightly as the rain helped to mask the fresh dampness on his face. After a moment, he turns, walking away from the house, every step echoing out on the wooden floor; it was only after he was far enough away from the house that he broke into a sprint, running along the wooden path leading away from the city, then away from the path itself, kicking up damp leaves behind him as he goes sprinting into the woods until his legs give out and he collapses back against a tree, pulling his knees to his chest and curling up into a ball. Once more, his mind turns back to the man who’d just slammed a door in his face; his grandfather, who’d been so kind and gentle with him; who’d taught him how to fish, who’d taken him in when he lost his home, who’d been there when nobody else was – and what had he done? He’d done the same thing he always did – he went along with the orders of someone in power and ended up pushing away his family because of it. Before it was Wilbur and Schlatt – pushing away his father and burning down the flag under Schlatt’s orders, and now it was Philza – following Tubbo’s orders and burning the bridge he had with his grandfather too. If there was one thing he was good at it was lighting fires, but those same flames, he found, always came back to turn the things he cared about to ash.

 “Oh, hello Fundy! Are you alright?” He’s jolted out of his thoughts by the sound of a voice, echoing and faint – he knows who it belongs to even before he raises his eyes to meet the empty, white eyes of the ghost hovering in front of him, a smile on his face as he tilts his head to the side and floats down into a sitting position beside Fundy, looking out at the rain still coming down in sheets as he sighs “I was coming to see L’manburg, but the rain started coming down before I could get there, so I had to run to this forest so I didn’t melt! What’re you doing here?” He turns to the fox, but Fundy turns away from the figure who used to be his father, staying silent as Ghostbur’s smile turns into a frown and he floats around till he’s in front of the Fox once more, lightly hovering in the air “Oh no! You seem upset, Fundy – here, have some blue, it’ll help suck away the sadness!” he smiles, rummaging about in his pocket and throwing some of that strange blue ectoplasm out towards Fundy, who let it land in his lap.

There’s a pause for a moment as ghostbur floats, looking around nervously before Fundy sighs, taking the blue and looking at it, letting it stain his paws before clenching his fists around it and throwing it into the forest, causing the spectre to gasp “Oh no! If you do that, it won’t-“

“Forget it!” Fundy snapped, catching the ghost off-guard, who seemed to recoil for a second from the outburst; he watches as Fundy uncurls, letting the back of his head hit the tree and looking up into the branches of the tree, drops of rain making their way through to drip down onto his face. He sighs heavily, closing his eyes before lowering his head once more to meet that empty gaze “Of course, you would show up now.” He laughs, sharp and devoid of humour, hitting the tree lightly “Wilbur was never around when I needed him, and yet, and yet YOU somehow seem to ALWAYS know when to show up!” the laughing continues, as Fundy’s voice cracks and breaks until he’s sobbing audibly, face buried in his arms so he can’t see the ghost reaching out towards him for a moment before pulling back. “Why? Why can’t I stop fucking up like this? It feels like everyone I try and get close to, I end up either pushing away or losing entirely! All I ever wanted to do was…” His voice drops, turning and looking up at the ghost with tears running down his face and drawing in a shaky breath “All I ever wanted to do was make him proud, y’know? I wanted to hear him say, just once, that he was proud of me.”

So engrossed is Fundy in his own sorrow that he doesn’t notice the effect that his words have on Ghostbur; how every mention of Wilbur makes him flinch and recoil somewhat, and how the mention of wanting to make him proud causes the ghost to bring a hand to the wound in his chest, slowly trailing over it as he looks away and Fundy squeezes his eyes shut to try and stop the tears running down his face.

So deep is the fox in his bittersweet grief, that he doesn’t realise that he’s been pulled into Ghostbur’s lap until it’s already happened, his hat removed and set to the side as the spectral figure rests his chin between the fox’s ears, atop his head, arms wrapped around him and brought together in front of him; it’s a moment before he speaks, looking out into the woods “Alivebur…sounds like he was a terrible father. Everything that I’ve heard of him sounds like he was a terrible person, so I can’t imagine he was a good dad, either. But…if that’s the case, why do I have good memories as your dad?” the question hangs in the air, and he continues “Does that mean I wasn’t always an awful dad?”

The only sound that follows is the impact of rain coming down on the leaves and the rustling of the wind rushing through the forest, before Fundy breaks the silence “…You didn’t used to be bad. I still have…good memories, of growing up with you, in L’manburg, it’s just…things went wrong somewhere along the way” he turns his gaze up, looking at the dark grey sky above through the leaves “Sometime – I wonder, y’know? How things could be if you were still around. If Tubbo wasn’t president, if Tommy wasn’t exiled. If you- if Alivebur…had been here when I needed him most instead of just leaving me to deal with everything by myself.” Wilbur rubs his arm sheepishly, looking up too “I…don’t know. People didn’t seem to like Alivebur much, but…everyone still followed him. It seems like all people have to talk about is how much he ruined everything, but If he was really that bad…how come I have good memories at all?” When there’s no answer the spectral figure sighs, running a paw through Fundy’s fur absentmindedly, a slow, steady brush, a gesture that brings them both immediately back to a simpler time – a time when the two of them could sit in the forests surrounding Lmanburg, before they were destroyed, looking out over their home, just a father and his son. Ghostbur wasn’t sure when Fundy fell asleep, he just knew that the next time he looked down, he saw his – Alivebur’s – son, laying against his chest, eyes closed and breathing steadily. A smile crosses faintly across his face as he gazes down at the sleeping fox, brushing through his fur again gently “My little champion…you’ve been so brave, and so strong…” He shifts, looking down at his faintly see-through hands and then at the fox still resting against him, rummaging about in his pocket for something he’d stolen from Philza; a single golden Idol, emerald eyes set into it’s face that seemed to be looking back at him. It felt cold to the touch, even for him, as he tossed it from hand to hand slowly, thinking. It seemed, to him, that as much as everyone liked Ghostbur… …People Needed Alivebur. People needed Wilbur. Tommy needed a brother. Philza needed a son, L’manburg needed a president, and Fundy…Fundy needed a dad.

  As he slept, Fundy dreamed. He dreamed of years back, wandering through the forest with Wilbur, walking around L’manburg together, that warm, friendly voice calling him ‘His little champion’ as he stands, side by side in uniform with his father. He dreams of the revolution, of fighting together – of growing up and into the clothes that he wore today; before those dreams turn sour, and he can hear the laughing bleating in his ears from the long-dead tyrant, snapping awake with a gasp. A soft bleat fills his ears as he wakes up, glancing up to see the fluffy blue wool of friend surrounding him, being happily used as a makeshift pillow as they munch casually on some grass. Ghostbur is nowhere to be seen, the sun shining down faintly as the fox rests in the grass underneath the tree.

In his lap rests a damp, well-worn, entirely solid black beanie, slowly drying in the warmth of the midday sun.

[docholligay]

Divided by Four: Thirty-Six

 I AM DONE WITH THIS YOU ARE FREE OF HAVING TO SEE IT

Lena Oxton would never have another birthday, and this was an odd thing to think about. 

It was one thing, for Tracer, to know that she was dying--she had known that for what seemed like an age now--but quite another for her to know that there were some things she would never do again. The early ones, she hadn’t known, really. The last time she would get on her motorcycle. When she would last trust herself to fly. That final walk down the hall without help from anyone or anything. These lasts had come without announcing themselves, and so Tracer had not gotten the chance to savor them appropriately. It was a mistake she was trying not to repeat, as she felt the sand slip through the hourglass now. 

So it was comforting, in a way, to know that this would be her last birthday, even if it felt strange to admit. Tracer had resolved to drink in every instant of it. 

She’d told everyone that it was silly and a little wasteful to bring her gifts, given the reality of the situation, and really all she wanted was to be around her people and drink a beer or two, have a few laughs, and for no one to get too misty-eyed. There were a number of things about dying that Tracer didn’t particularly care for, but one topping the list was the way people mourned her before she was gone, when all she wanted to do was enjoy whatever she had left without sadness. There was no point, so she thought, in being so sad over the last bits of something lovely that you ruined it for yourself. It was rather like a child whimpering while eating the last squares of a chocolate bar. So the only gift she had asked for, was for no one to cry in her view, and on that they had delivered. 

But also, people had brought gifts. Nothing fancy, really, mostly soft pajamas and blankets, a nice lotion, a particularly plush backrest pillow she was already making use of, things that spoke to both the reality of the situation and the inability of the people who loved her to let it pass by without making the most of it. Her uncle had made her a coconut strawberry cream cake, and she’d even managed to eat some of it. Pharah had made sure to tell her she had better live long enough to use the thick flannel pajamas she’d bought, as she’d had her father send them from Canada. 

“Or you’ll do what, exactly?” Tracer had grinned as she said it, “Piss on me grave? Well, I’m being cremated, so even that’ll feel a bit ‘ollow, now won’t it?” 

Everyone had laughed, even Winston, who seemed to taking the whole thing rather hard, however much Tracer joked that he’d been taking care of her for the last ten years and really should enjoy his retirement. But mostly, it had been a good day for her, and if she was feeling a little misty herself, it was nothing but the idea that she was so deeply loved, and that not everyone got to experience that in their lives.

She was born under a lucky star, and the last year or so was only a bump in that road near the end of it, a bit like the jar before you leave the pavement. And even that was only her health, wasn’t it? 

Moira could take her life--and as happy as she was knowing Moira died never knowing how badly she had hurt Tracer, it did sting a bit to know that was how it would go down in the books--but Moira had never managed to take anything more dear to her. Her family. Her friends. The general sense that she was loved and cared for. Even her mind was sharp and busy as ever, which admittedly made her body’s disobedience a bit more annoying, but she was grateful to have her wits. People would remember her as herself. That was important. 

If anything, the relative frustration and pain of the last few months had made her feel all the more loved. Had showed that it must be true.

So nothing was all bad, really. 

Night had fallen over London, and as tired as she was, Tracer still could not bring herself to go to bed. Winston had asked gently if she was ready, and she had just shook her head and told him she wanted to stay up awhile. It was nice, this deck she and Winston had put together on the roof of the place. He’d doubted her, when she’d suggested the project, and wondered how he would ever possibly use it, and told her there was no need to put the work in. Sometimes Winston had to be talked into having nice things for himself. He probably would have approved the project so much earlier if he’d known how much time Tracer would spend up here. 

The smell of London filled her lungs. She should be more afraid of death, she supposed, but she could never quite let go of the idea that even when she was gone, she wouldn’t be. Not that she believed in an afterlife, really, but she also didn’t not believe in an afterlife, and she’d seen London built on its own ashes so many times, that she had to imagine that even when she was gone, the bombed out wall of what was left of her would be built around, become part of a Pret or a pub or even just a ruin where the pigeons nested. 

What was tough was knowing when the building needed to come down, which she hadn’t yet quite figured out for herself. It was one thing to be gone in an instant, a bomb dropped, a moment and then just the rubble. It was another to sway into disrepair, to try and pinpoint the day you had to tell those who had lived in your heart that there were homes elsewhere, and it was time to seek them. When the little joys of being were outweighed by the reality of decay. 

“Lena?” 

The lightness she felt at hearing her name in that soft brogue was enough to tell her that day had not yet come, and she would keep on for awhile yet. Tracer thought she might live one hundred years, and never tire of hearing Emily’s voice. It was impossible. 

“It’s grown late. You’ll tire yourself.” A kiss on the top of her head, and then Emily sat down on the edge of the daybed where Tracer found herself spending much of her time lately. 

Tracer chuckled. “Too late. Doesn’t take much anymore, it’s just,” she shook her head, “a bit aggravating, right? There’s so much I’d like to do in a day, not that I can do much of it anyway, but I’d like to at least imagine it. I get frustrated so--” 

Emily nodded kindly as she rubbed Tracer’s shoulder, tight with the constancy of spasms that ran through it, but as Tracer’s eyes flicked upwards, she saw the tears on the edge of Emily’s eyes. Not the time to talk about it. Never seemed to be.

Emily would miss her, and there was no real getting around that, no matter how she tried. Tracer had already spent plenty of time writing and rewriting a letter to be published when she was gone, Pharah sitting alongside her on her small laptop, to try and let Emily know in the most public way that she’d like her to move on, and wasn’t only saying it, that she meant it, nagging over the words until Pharah had offered to remove the burden of waiting for death from her. 

Pharah joked like that, more than most, because Pharah was kind, in her way, and knew Tracer needed someone to be able to joke with. It was a favor to her. When Tracer had told her, she had asked to be treated the same as ever, and to Pharah’s eternal credit, she came very close. 

“Never mind me.” she grinned “Tired and rambling, right? It was a wonderful birthday, Em. Marvelous, really. Been thinking back on me birthdays---I’ve been so lucky. I am so lucky. Thank you, for everything you’ve done, for it.” 

She was tired, and her body jerked and shook, but she was still, in this moment, the master of a failing plane, and managed to but her hand on Emily’s leg. Emily curled up next to her and rested her head on Tracer’s shoulder, letting out a little sniffle as she drew her arm around her.

“It’s not fair for you.” 

“Me?” Tracer kissed her forehead “Oh, none of that now. Not for me. What’s fair, any’ow? Should ‘ave been killed a thousand times over, love, but I wasn’t, Was I? Plenty were,” she muttered, half to herself, “And I noone in whole of me life ‘as ever wanted to ‘ear it but I’ve ‘ad the sense for years that I wasn’t precisely meant to get me pension. Call it a self-fulfilling prophecy if you like but I--really, who it isn’t fair to is you. Life’s been more than fair to me.” 

Emily said nothing, but wiped her eyes and took Tracer’s hand in hers. 

“I mean really, think about it. Not a bad life at all, on balance. Pilot. Top Flight Instructor. Commander. Bloody ‘ero of London. I lived more in thirty-six years than most people would if they ‘ad twice the time. So it’s all right. I made it all count. Course I want more, but, I do tend to rush through things, don’t I? Just me way, don’t stop to admire the view much. Some people are like that, like fireworks, or, oh I don’t know, a stick of gum. And,and at the fag end of it all, I get to be in London, taken care of instead of sent away, when by rights I should have been shot down, or shot through, or lost forever. To be sitting on a London roof in a pile of pillows? Not precisely the gulag, love, and I won’t be greedy. Em, look at me, please.” 

Emily sat up and looked at her, and Tracer squeezed her hand. 

“I lived long enough to find you, and to love you.That’s all that matters. I ‘ave led a bloody charmed life. I ‘ave. Truly. I could not possibly ask for more.” she grinned, “That’s a lie actually,  would ‘ave loved to get all the way through to the King so as I could watch his bloody face when I refused the knighthood publicly, but,” she chuckled, “We can’t ‘ave everything.” 

Emily gave a little chuckle and shook her head. “You’re awful, Lena. Happy Birthday. My prince charming.” 

“And it really was, Em. It is! What do you say,” she winced as she tried to sit up a little, her body jerking her back against the back of the daybed, until Emily balanced her, “What do you say, we ‘ave Win come up with that last bottle of champagne? Toast to ourselves till midnight? Just the three of us?” 

Emily nodded, the teeth poking thought on her smile. 

“That’s what I’d like to see, tonight. Thank you love. Just us three, and your smile.” 

The clouds and fog and too much light of London parted for a moment, just a few stars peeking through the grey and haze. They sparkled down on Tracer, who sparkled back a bit, the diamonds of the natural world. Bright against the night. 

Bit of light in everything.