#i sealed them wrong the first time so i have to touch them up soon and reseal. pensive emoji

[koimurocho]

can't believe i havent posted these here yet... custom painted yakuza shoes check it

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

The Invisible String Theory

PAIRING: König x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You didn't expect the man who gave you his coat to be the same one to bust down the door where you and the other women slept - sniper hood scaring everyone within an inch of their life. You didn't expect him to become so important to you, either. (Based on König's in-game backstory).

WORDCOUNT: 9.2k

WARNINGS: Human trafficking, mentions of unwanted touching, trauma, blood, gore, guns, bullets, protective!König, soft!König, nightmares, mentions of bullying, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

'DATE: 25, NOVEMBER, 2021

LOCATION: BERLIN, GERMANY

TIME OF EVENT: 0230

MISSION REPORT: PENDING….'

You don’t remember much from the day that could be called out of the ordinary. Ever since you’d been moved here with the other girls, everything was predictable down to the time the men would come over, to the point where the screams had to be muffled by pillows. 

Never in your life did you think you’d be part of the nearly fifty million people stuck in this situation, and neither did you think you’d be the one in one hundred who got out. But before you can think about November twenty-fifth and those pale gray eyes, you have to go back to the beginning. To Al-Qatala. 

You hadn’t been with this cell initially—you’d been moved around and bartered off more times than you could count; the initial founder of your predicament was long gone at this point. North and South America, Europe, Africa, Asia, and Oceania…you’d been practically everywhere and on every continent barring the obvious last. In Europe, you couldn’t name the countries, but you knew this for a fact: you’d never been to Germany before. 

They had you with five other women in a large SUV in the beginning, this international ring of human traffickers. You had watched from the window, face blank and eyes unblinking, at the men who met near the docks. They had brought you in through Hamburg, first—not only the largest seaport in Germany but the third largest in Europe; you think you read that on a flier at some point. One of those flimsy ones that you find in gas stations with bright lettering to attract the tourists with their interesting facts. 

You wished you were only a tourist. 

You’d watched the men shake hands, and that was when you knew your fate, as well as that of the five other women, was sealed. You were going to all be here for a long time. 

This Al-Qatala cell was ruthless, but you supposed with being around terrorists, ruthlessness was better than being executed. 

For days you’d be exploited with the false promises of moments of freedom, breaks, food, and water. For some of the women it was drugs or money, but when your stomach was empty and your eyes blurring from lack of sleep, even addictions seemed to pale for brief hours. But above it all was the threat of death at every corner. These men would kill you. 

It was only a matter of time unless you could give them what they wanted. 

You yourself had developed a system, and it was probably the only reason you were still alive. Pick one of the handlers, gain his favor, and pray that he treats you specially while you keep up the act of a mindless, weak, woman. 

Ivon was the man’s name this time around. Born and raised here in Berlin before the clutches of his fanatical ideations brought him to Al-Qatala. You hated him.

Hated his touch—hated his scent and how he talked; every bit of him was corrupted like a black dog at a crossroads, always leading people down the wrong path. Your only saving grace was that he was stupid. The other girls called you Cat—said you managed to nuzzle up to someone and soon after got them to give you what you wanted. Everything you wanted except freedom, that was.

You didn’t deny that Ivon did give you privileges, but that was the point. About a week into your stay in Berlin, he allowed you to go into public with him. Arm-candy.

A doll. 

The townhouse you’d been stuck in had disappeared into a spec behind the rearview mirror, the chilled air from outside making you shiver at the lack of heat and the thin shawl you’d been thrown. No jacket. 

The care of your health only extended to how well you were able to work—at the moment you were relatively healthy despite the bulge of bruises and constantly shell-shocked look behind your eyes.

But the trip—the trip. You supposed that was when it had fully started, and you didn’t even realize it before you saw those gray eyes again. 

“Come,” Ivon orders, holding tightly to your arm and dragging you along from the corner shop without making a scene. Your hands loosely brush the wrack of clothes, fabric soft under your fingertips as it sways. 

Fixing your shawl, you try to burrow your neck into it, gaining what little heat is available to you. It was cold out—you were shivering. People send looks, eyes tight as they shift up and down your form, but no one ever says anything. To be this bold, this cell had to have been at this for a long, long time. The realization didn’t make you feel any better. 

That was when you first saw him. 

You were standing outside a coffee shop, quivering like a newly hatched butterfly, Ivon making a call only a few feet away with fast motions of his arms. It was hard not to make a run for it right then and there; hard not to take those few seconds of open air and dash away—start screaming and yelling until the authorities came. 

It would save yourself, but what about the others? They wouldn’t be so fortunate, you’d be sentencing them to death. None of this was simple—it needed to be thought out. Two games of chess being played at the same time.

The irony of it was that König had been off-duty that day. It had been a shot in the dark. 

“Are you alright?” A thick Austrian accent makes you flinch as it appears beside your right ear, grating.

Your eyes snap to the side, moving one foot back as you blink wildly up at the blue-gray orbs that would become a staple. You liked to call it as everyone else did—the invisible string theory. A theory that stated that the universe connected people who were destined to meet one day. Through thick or thin waters, it was inevitable. He was inevitable. 

“Yes,” you say quickly, holding your hands tightly around you. The man ahead of you was tall, almost startlingly so, with muscles more bulky than a boulder and his buzz-cut head open to the chilled breeze. He wore a surgical mask over his lower visage, his hoodie under the thick material of a canvas jacket. “Yes,” you say again, hearing Ivon’s voice behind you still on the phone. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Gray eyes furrow slightly, gaze darting over your head. 

“Are you…sure, Ma’am?” 

“Thank you for your concern,” you fake laugh, eyes pained, backing up farther. That invisible string snaps into place, pulling tight at only those few simple words. 

His stature made you slightly nervous—large, intimidating; those hands could do quite the damage if given the chance. Your eyes had hit and bounced off the identity discs at his chest with little thought, too preoccupied to notice the fact that he was in the Service.

König’s eyes had narrowed softly, dark brows minutely moving in.

Ivon hangs up his phone. 

“Can I help you?” He asks, coming up and sliding a hand around your waist. The man had stared at him for a long minute, and you had felt Ivon tense slowly at the unblinking eye contact. 

This stranger had commented in German a long string of frim words, hands going to his jacket and grabbing at the arms—he slips out of it while still uttering. 

Before you can react, the large coat swallows you whole and you snatch at the heat that’s still inside instinctually, now only realizing how much you were shivering. Your body sags into the weight of the fabric, the scent of sweat and coffee. 

You don’t even pay attention to the growing tones, shocked. People look over to the two fast words being tossed.

Yet it could only last so long. 

Ivon’s hand latches onto the side of your arm, beginning to drag you back and away from this kind stranger like a lap dog while throwing curses behind him. Gray eyes meet yours as old shoes skid and stumble. 

König had taken a firm step towards you that day, his body tense and his hands clenched at his side—ready to do anything on a moment's notice should you ask for it. But all you do is stare, jaw loose, and the given coat still on your shoulders. You just couldn’t understand why he would do that. 

The stranger gets swallowed by the crowd, and just like that, he’s gone. 

That was all it had been; a moment—a few mere seconds in the large plot that was this almost impossible tale. You were glad it had been him, or else the events of the future could have been very different. 

Of course, they hadn’t let you keep the jacket, but the memory was enough to warm you for days even as old pains faded and new ones took their place. 

But those gray eyes would help you in the future, like a guardian; a protector in your dreams as you watched the snow fall from the sliver of outside light in your room with the others. Your mattress was on the floor like the rest, thin blankets and clouds of cold breath wafting up from sleeping forms. 

This was the time it happened, and you’d just woken up to find the curtains shifting as one of the women near it moved in her sleep. Shadows slip past, the light interrupted as it shifts over your tired face with broken fractures. 

You were always kept on the ground floor. 

'CLEARANCE: APPROVED 

TRANSLATING MISSION REPORT ‘RED FREEDOM’…

STAND BY…

Operation Red Freedom took place on November twenty-fifth, 2021, at approximately 0230 in the neighborhood of [REDACTED], at the residence of [REDACTED], Berlin, Germany. A squad of ten highly trained [REDACTED] personnel covertly entered the residence in two teams of five. Fireteam One advanced from the back entrance while Fireteam Two entered the residence from the balcony at the top floor, accessed via ladder.

Squad Leader [REDACTED], part of Fireteam One, set foot in the residence of [REDACTED] at approximately 0238 and began sweeping the ground floor as Fireteam Two cleared three of twelve known individuals belonging to the terrorist organization, Al-Qatala, on the top floor….'

You shift and shiver, your body trying to warm itself as the world blurs at the sides of your vision. Fingers twitch as your hand goes to wrap your waist, curled into the fetal position, creaking emanates from above you. Blinking softly, you frown and take a quivering breath, head nuzzling the thin mattress. 

“Cold,” you say, the following low exhale of air out of your lips only making it all worse as everything seems to drop another degree. The darkness didn’t help either, only that one line of light trying desperately to fill the room like a bucket descending into a dry well. 

You’re only clothed in the dirty and tattered remains of a large shirt, your legs feeling like they don’t hold any blood in them as they quiver without your knowledge—shaking the blanket above you. A few of the girls had said it would be okay to share, but everyone was afraid of the lock on the door clicking open and the men coming back in and seeing them. In the end, you could only look after yourself.

A thump makes you startle, drooping eyes snapping back open as you gasp. 

Head shifting, you blink rapidly upward to the ceiling, confused as to whether that had been a part of a failing mind or if you’d really just heard a muffled bump upstairs. Brows furrowing, you lightly sit up, hands still around yourself and legs limply outward; spine hunched. 

Your fingers had lost feeling, just as your nose had gone numb, but moving helped a little. Your hands dig into your flesh and your ears twitch at every creak in the wood—every pass of silent feet that suddenly becomes all the clearer as the sheen of fatigue slowly leaves your brain. 

Walking? Small pains move along your body like needles, poking and prodding, but you ignore them as easily as you do the vile hands that had touched you. Survival had forced you into a constant state of self-preservation—pain couldn’t bother you, because if you stopped, you wouldn’t get back going again. 

Your head tilts so you can side-eye the door to the room, sleeping forms all around shifting, singular groaning of tired lungs. But there’s something inside of you that stiffens like a prey animal, and you don’t know why. Inside of your sockets, your eyes hone in, bones stiff and your chest stilling as the grain becomes the most interesting thing to you beyond breathing. 

There was someone….out there. 

Watching, the sides of your vision shadow over to focus harder, your muscles tight. Your mind goes to the thumps from upstairs, the moving feet that sounded far more careful and deliberate than the ones your jailors took care to walk with. 

Inside your ribs, your heart patters a bit faster, adrenal glands sending a certain flight or flight through the few veins you hold that aren’t chilled over.

Something was happening. Something wasn’t right.

Only when you move to shake the shoulder of one of the women sleeping beside you does it happen. 

A yell. 

A scream. 

The girls in the room all startle awake, sounds of concern and shock entering the air that you mirror; faces snapping to the ceiling and the door. The townhouse erupts into gunfire and the sound of slamming wood—a warzone that only is separated from all of you by the thin material of the four walls.

You feel yourself being grabbed and held in fear in the dark, as your open face holds the expression of a rabbit in an open field, looking along the long, hidden grass. 

The sounds persist, loud German shouts going up over the house and echoing with heated fever. This continues for minutes, added in with the sound of doors breaking off hinges, bouncing off the ground, and shaking the foundation so hard that you can feel it reverberate. The women go silent. Stone-still. 

But the gunfire—so much gunfire. The constant pop of assault weapons and a pound of multiple booted feet. 

What was going on? You can't make sense of it, so you only freeze and listen; trying to understand the longer the fight goes on, heart hammering; mouth slack-jawed. And then it’s like it never happened.

Silence. 

You share quick looks with the others, all gripping one another and heads angled to the door. The heavy feet start back up again, coming closer. Your mind slashes to the window across the room, but it’s hard to think beyond the sudden body that shakes the door that leads directly to you all—the women scream, some standing up and racing to the glass with the same idea as you. 

'…Squad Leader [REDACTED], and both Fireteams successfully eliminated all targets inside of the [REDACTED] residence, leaving the room occupied by known hostages last to prevent casualties and/or the usage of bargaining chips. Squad Leader [REDACTED] made contact with hostages at approximately 0244 after the final sweep of the townhouse had been completed and all personnel accounted for.

Local authorities had been contacted by neighbors due to noise but were dismissed.' 

The door busts off its hinges and the room devolves into panicked yells and hurled bits of mattress material. Loud pleas and curses stuck like gums to teeth as they were forced out in fear and bone-crushing terror. You remember pushing back into the wall, many others doing the same, as a beast of a man enters the room with his face covered with a loose fabric hood of some sort. 

Large—brutish. Like a demon walking with the color of black printed over his entire body; gear hangs from a combat vest, hands holding an assault rifle as a sidearm is strapped to his bulging thigh. Forearms the side of your head stays near his chest, and in order to not hit his head on the doorframe, the individual has to bend slightly. Over that hood, the lenses and head-gear of a night-vision rig sit heavily before it’s moved back with a firm hand that is nearly double the size of yours.

A monster.

Your entire being is tight with quivering tension, eyes blinking away tears at the smell of blood that rolls in from the hallway. The women at the window duck down, hands to their heads as if expecting a bullet to carve its way between their skulls. 

“Cat,” one of the ladies behind you mutters, voice quivering. You shush her on bitten lips and move her farther behind you. 

“Don’t speak,” you mutter. “Don’t move.”

You don’t know what you expect, but nothing about this is correct. 

The man raises his hands, the rifle slapping his chest as it hangs from a strap. He speaks in German, and the heavy and fast noise of it makes your already addled head spin. No one answers beyond the slide of their own feet over the hardwood floors.

“Ich heiße König,” his head swivels from one to another, “Sprichst du Deutsch? Irgendjemand?”

You stare blankly, panting. 

After a moment, and a slow step forward from the stranger, he speaks again, though this time, it’s in English. 

“My name is König.” His voice is familiar to you, and you blink in confusion quickly, hidden near the back of the shaking bodies. “I am with the German Military, yes? We have conducted a raid on this residence.” 

Military? Raid? 

“...I am not here to hurt you.” He nears one of the women, beginning to bend down slowly. She squeaks, balking back—making him tense and halt. It didn't matter what he said, König was the epitome of a man who was intimidating on body alone; the gear wasn’t helping. Neither was the hood. 

A soldier appears in the doorway, calling out to him in his native language as you flinch at the noise. 

König calls back calmly, trying to keep an air of gentle strength around him.

The second soldier comes inside, dressed similarly despite the lack of fabric over his visage which instantly puts many at ease again. He clears his throat as König steps back, gargantuan hands coming up to rest at his vest collar as his legs shift. He seems a bit put off at the fearful stares from everyone, rolling his shoulders for a moment as he turns his head to look out of the doorway. 

Your eyes don’t move from him, though. A nagging feeling in the back of your skull. 

“We have to leave this place,” the second soldier tells you all, kneeling and resting a hand over his knee. “We’ll get you medical attention. Food. Water. There’s no need to suffer here any longer, hm? We can see to it that all of you will get the best care that can be provided.” A pause. “We can get you back home.” 

That certainly got the attention that was needed. 

Meek questions started falling out, then louder ones before pandemonium was roused in that tiny room pushed to the very back of the townhouse. Home. It was a word that had almost lost all meaning but was still that constant shining light in the back of everyone’s mind. 

Home.

Did you even have one of those left? 

As the rest of your fellows all got to their feet, taking you with them, you had to think over that fact as the soldier guided them gently out of the room to join the others waiting—trying to answer their questions and get them away from the gore before they saw it. 

You stayed behind, feet shifting over the floor and your lips thin. As the silence settles in, you hold yourself a bit tighter and glance at the mattress all mashed together and stained—those thin blankets as you shiver. 

“Are you alright?” Your head snaps over. 

You’d forgotten about König.

He still stands there, still and with his hands at his collar; he clears his throat softly, speaking up from his low utterance. “Please…do not be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” you say tinily, your voice cracking in the lie. 

You can’t see his eyes—not with the shadow from his hood or his head rig, but you can see the way his skull lightly tilts to the side, trying to see you better in the low light. 

“That is good,” he answers, not convinced. “I’m glad. I did not wish to scare anyone.” He moves back and motions with a hand to the door from where they hang. “Please. It is best not to linger, yes?”  

“Do I…” you hesitate, shivering. “Do I know you from somewhere?” 

König’s face isn’t visible, but you can still sense the feeling of confusion leaking out of him. The man takes a small step closer, and you gaze up at him until his eyes are visible. 

Blue-gray. 

You stare, mouth parting in shock.

König blinks twice, quickly making a noise in the back of his throat at the sight of your eyes gazing into his—the same woman outside of the coffee shop from days ago.

That little invisible string pulls you closer, small millimeter by small millimeter. 

“You?” You both say it at the same time, laced with surprise and shock. 

It’s a long moment of gazing into each other, a battered body and another more strong than an ox. All fear of the man dissipates. 

“You gave me your jacket,” you whisper, still torn up about it. 

König’s hood shifts as he glances back to the door, German speech over the radio strapped to his chest which he takes in and processes in the back of his skull. But he always looks back at you, eyes crinkled with concern and perhaps even a bit of misplaced guilt. 

A protective knife sides into his side.

“Come.” The man reaches out a hand, hovering it over your arm. You stare at the gloved limb for a moment before softly moving towards it with your breath caught in your throat, hesitant. König’s fingers delicately slide over the flesh, not closing around it until he feels your muscles loosen. “...Let’s get you warmer, Schatz, yes?” 

You blink.

“It’s cold here,” you mutter, letting him guide you along, his gray orbs always keeping you in the side of his vision. 

“Yes,” he agrees, nodding. “Very cold. Have you been to Germany during the winter before?”

Your head slightly shakes, bare feet padding along next to the pair of great boots—you lean closer unconsciously to the promise of warmth. König guides you away from the seeping blood on the floor and protects your eyes from the view of the bodies across the room with his own as a guard dog would. 

“No.” He notices your leaning and brings you nearer to him, letting you use him as a brace. The man knows the effects of shock, and you wear it as plainly as any other. “I’ve never been here before.” 

König hums and his free hand goes up to press into the radio, muttering in his native tongue. He releases the connection and asks as he blinks at you, “Do you require any immediate medical attention?” 

Again, you shake your head. 

“Where are the others?” You sink further into him, being guided to the front door, open to the soft snowfall and a chilled wind as your shoulder hunch. 

��Just outside,” König glances at the bodies across the room—the ones he’d riddled with bullets that still twitch even as the minutes draw longer. Gray eyes going from one to another, the house is heavy with the weight of dead men. Twelve in total and all getting colder just like the temperature outside. König didn’t feel bad about it, and when he’d finally busted open that door to find you and the women, he was satisfied with the blood on his hands. If hell were to be his home, he would walk there with a golden-fanged smile. 

But now wasn’t the time for that. 

“I will bring you to them,” the soldier speaks, snow blowing in from the entrance. “Slowly, now, Schatz, watch the steps. Allow me to help.”

You stop at the doorway, bringing a hand to your mouth to cover a haggard cough as König makes his way down the first concrete step ahead of you—large armored vehicles had pulled up from a ways away. The women huddle around one another, the rest of the soldiers sticking by them and opening the doors to the vehicles as the night gets only more cold and stormy.  

Gray eyes flicker for a moment down to your lack of proper protection, fingers twitching and tapping at his thigh as König remembers your expression the day he’d first met you. 

“Do you want me to carry you?” He says slowly, cautious in his approach. The man wasn’t stupid—he wouldn’t touch you unless you explicitly stated it was alright for him to do so. “I will be gentle, I promise. I do not wish for your feet to freeze, I...” He pauses as you blink, staring into his soul. “I…will not touch you if you do not tell me to do it. You have my word.” 

You continue to stand there for a moment, face unreadable before your head slowly turns to the vehicles in the street. 

The neighborhood was so normal it still caused you to wonder how no one had spoken up and seen something. Rows of connected houses now with their lights on—faces peeking from the windows like little children on Christmas morning; trying to get glimpses of Santa and the man’s reindeer. 

Finally, your gaze moves back to the hooded visage of König, able to see it better under the moonlight and the glare of falling snowflakes—a few of those frozen pieces sitting in the folds of the fabric.

“The hood scared them,” you utter about the others. König stiffens a bit, blinking at you but not looking away. “They’re used to people trying to hide their faces, but yours…with how large you are…”

“I understand.” König doesn't tear away his eyes. “...Did I scare you, Schatz?”

You don’t know why, but for what seems like the first time in years, the question makes you giggle. The beast of a man goes still with his feet on the ground, usually jittery and moving body captivated by the sound as it echoes over the night’s air—the puff of your breath as it moves around his hood; rustling it like leaves on a tree. 

Eyes widening only a sliver more, König’s breath is in his throat.

It was like listening to a bird’s song.

“Maybe only a little,” you whisper to him. “But it’s okay. I’m scared of most things.” 

He licks his lips, but you’re unable to see the slight quirk of them afterward. 

“Then I will make it up to you, yes?” He holds out a hand. “Let me? The car is warm and your friends are waiting for you. My men say they ask about your health.”

You softly nod, the shadow of the house trying to drag you back into it—its blackened arms reaching and latching onto old scars. When your hand connects with König's, the man takes his time putting one foot back to a step and scooping you up from behind your knees. With a tiny grunt, you settle at his chest, calming your heartbeat with the fact that you know he won’t hurt you. 

“I’ve got you,” he says. 

In his arms, your bare legs hang in the air, hand wrapping his neck, and with a slightly nervous look to you as your body hovers. König watches for a moment, hesitating before he begins walking to the same vehicle the other woman had been moved into out of the snowfall. 

“Can you tell me your name,” he asks to distract you from his hold, to get you more comfortable with him as his boots crunch through the packed powder on the ground—making sure to watch his step so as to not jostle you. 

“Everyone calls me Cat.” Gray eyes blink your way, visible skin painted black. König’s head tilts. You can’t help but find it endearing.

“Katze?” He hums, and you can imagine his lips moving slightly upwards from the innocent tone of his voice as if taken by the strange moniker. “That is…interesting.” 

You huff tinily, shivering again as your body moves to curl a little more. 

The soldier quickly reassures you. “Nearly there.” 

The vehicle is in front of you, and a nearby man opens the door for König as he carries you over. Nodding in thanks, the large individual eases you into one of the seats as the blast of warm air makes you sag—the other woman in there mulls closer, grabbing onto you and laughing through tears. 

Looking back at them, you smile and feel yourself get a bit teary-eyed as everything starts to slowly come into focus. 

Glancing outward, you stare at the snow that hits the dark hood of König, sticking and hanging off until the tiny white dots melt from the heat of his body. With his legs shifting he moves back a step and nods to you, eyes moving to stare at the ground for a moment. 

“We will take you to base. From there you will all be given dorms and fresh apparel to��”

“Thank you, König,” you interrupted him. He stares, lips parted with the half-tones of cut-off speech. “And please extend my thanks to your men as well.” 

“...Of course, Katze.” König stands straighter, always twitching fingers moving to the car door as engines start with a grinding roar. He nods again, the loose fabric swaying as the lenses of his rig stay firm at the movement. “There is no need to thank us. Relax. Sleep, if you wish to do it. The ride will be long.” The man’s gray eyes linger for a moment on your own, studying the bumps and small marks on your face. His hand tightens over the door as your gaze is stuck with his own; warmth blooming in his chest. He was glad he had found you. 

König slips out a soft, “There are blankets under the seats,” before he closes the door with a firm thump of metal. 

You can’t help but smile. 

'…Hostages were taken back to [REDACTED] and received minor medical attention on site. Housed in [REDACTED] and were admitted for needed treatments/medications - all details/names listed in File 3 Section 6 for future reference. DNA was placed into databases. 

Next of kin were informed of their family members’ position and/or state of being via phone call to the corresponding government official that then traveled through the appropriate channels once identified.'

You sit as a nurse hands you heating pads for your hands, which you take with a small thanks and clenched tightly, sucking every ounce of warmth from them to stop the shaking. Your body was heavy with the weight of new clothes and heated blankets, the room utterly normal in a way you’d not known for years. A corner table with books and a chess board—a connected bathroom stocked with amenities you may need; even a rug on the tile floor. You don’t know why that was shocking to you, but even the simplest thing was awe-inspiring. Your eyes had even slipped over a tiny nightlight near the door. 

It nearly made you cry. 

Your nurse moves back a bit, smiling down at you kindly. 

“Is there anything else you might need, Dear?” Her accent is prominent, though not as much as König’s had been. She waits for your answer diligently as the pitcher of water and a similar glass sit on your nightstand. 

“No,” you say, shaking your head. Your socked feet rub together like a grasshopper. “I think that’s all.” Your eyelids blink. “But…” you stop.

“What is it?” The lady asks gently, hands slack at her sides.

“The man—König,” you pause. “Is he here?” 

Blinking at you, the nurse tilts her head to the side in curiosity. “Not currently, no. At least, not in this specific building. He and his men are being debriefed across base. They will be there for a long while.” At your blank look, her brows slightly move up in accommodating comfort. “Would…you like me to tell him something for you?” 

Playing with the heating pads in your hands, your face gains a slightly embarrassed sheen. You liked the thought of being near König, truthfully. No one had made you feel safe like he did—him and his selfless action of a large coat given with no intention of getting anything in return. 

“Just,” you breathe softly. “Just that I’m sorry for losing his coat, and that I hope it wasn’t expensive.”

The nurse stares, very much confused but not about to question you. Her feet shift over the floor, and a light nod is sent your way. 

“Of course. I’ll tell him.” She motions to the bed with a hand and explains that whenever you wished to sleep, you were free to use the bed—and the TV was open to you as well, though you might not be able to understand the local stations. With that, she exited the room. 

Left alone, your head moves around the room slowly, taking it all in once more as the small bandages under your clothes pull at your flesh. The tears start slipping down your cheeks with no warning. 

Wrist coming up to your eyes, the limb presses in tightly, water staining the flesh as it dribbles down, and your lip quivers like a worm below it. You don’t know why you’re crying now and not when König had gotten you out of that townhouse. Why now, when there wasn’t anything prompting you to do so? 

But something was prompting you—the knowledge that you would never be going back to anyone who would mistreat you again. You had your own room. Good food. All the water that your stomach could drink down. A nightlight that pushes back the darkness even if you’re so used to living in it. 

Through your soft sniffles, chuckles move out, filling the space with a warm echo. You pull the blankets closer to you and collapse backward onto the mattress, smiling widely at the ceiling. 

That little invisible string dances as your heart pulls at it. 

—

König’s leg lightly jumps from under his table, signing off his name at the bottom of a report before he stands and rubs a hand over the top of his un-hooded head. He grabs the paper and slips it into a manila folder, hands pale with deep scars running the length of them like fissures in the earth. Deftly taking the item, he walks out of his office and begins moving down the length of the building, fingers tapping over the yellowish material with a small connection of flesh and thick envelope. 

Tap-tap, tappity-tap. 

His fingers were always fidgeting—moving, tensing, twitching. It was one of the reasons they never let him become a recon sniper; the more obvious being the blatant size of his body. Both of which had been the cause of much teasing throughout his childhood. 

But König’s mind was on something other than the report in his hands, and it was starting to become a very strong distraction. You. The women. Al-Qatala. 

He was angry he hadn’t acted outside of that coffee shop—angry he hadn't noticed the signs right in front of him even if he had been powerless to stop it then. The soldier’s jaw clenched, the strong muscles of his jaw roving. 

“Verdammt,” he hisses under his breath, glaring at the tile. “Should have done something.”

König gets to his commanding officer’s office and knocks, only staying long enough to hand him the folder with his finished report and leave once more. His mind wouldn’t stay silent tonight. There’s no doubt that he won’t be able to sleep unless he reassures himself that you and the others are okay. 

The man’s head shifts back to the email he had gotten from your assigned nurse, whom he’d taken it upon himself to know the name of when he carried you into the base’s hospital—Eva. 

‘...She says she wants to apologize for losing your coat…”

König’s heart had twisted at that—that was what you were concerned about? He had to tell you that it was alright, or else he would never know peace. Perhaps even ask how you’ve been treated so far, just to make sure that everything was comfortable for you. 

The man’s eyelids move slightly downward in thought, a pull at his heart to walk outside. He passes a few other soldiers in the hallway, nodding to them with a tiny greeting but unwilling to stop and talk. In only fatigues, König exits the main doors quickly, lightly moving into a jog as his body shivers at the sudden chill touching his arms under the black compression shirt. Under him the snow has grown deeper, the large lights illuminating the almost greenish reflections of the winter landscape of open roads and large buildings. 

Curfew was long past—this had to be quick. 

Just a check-in, König tells himself as he nears the hospital, his breath puffing in the air. Then I can wipe my hands of it. 

He slows as he nears the doors, huffing a breath as he pushes on the barrier, opening it with a squawk of hinges and metal. Entering, the front desk staff looked up at him in surprise, muttering his name in question.

“Katze?” He responds, pushing a hand over his head and feeling the melting snowflakes. His cheeks are a light shade of exposure-red, and inquisitive eyes shift over the two individuals slowly. “What room?”

The pair share a glance and tell him in the same breath. Room ten. 

It’s no sooner after that König finds himself there, hand hovering over the handle as the hallway clock ticks beside his right ear. His gray eyes blink at the door, feet shuffling from under him before he clears his throat under his breath, glancing away for a second in hesitation. 

Was this appropriate?

König didn’t have an answer, but the pull in his chest was tight and firm—he just needed to see you. A glimpse, nothing more. He raises his fist and raps his knuckles over the wood delicately, three tiny knocks that hit his ears like bullets from a gun; the bullets he’s put into pathetic Al-Qatala bodies and watched burst like sacks of fluid. 

He waits, hands going to grasp at his shirt collar, pushing out a low breath to calm himself. 

After a long moment, his foot taps the floor, blinking. Again he knocks—a bit louder. 

“She is sleeping, you evolutionsbremse,” he utters, accent low and grating. “Leave her alone.” But even if you are, his nerves peek their head over the brimstone wall of his brain. 

With his fingers caressing the handle, slowly moved to clutch it fully, swallowing the metal in his grip. König takes a deep breath into his lungs, letting it fill them up. Again, he tells himself, just a check-in. 

He twists the doorknob and sets his forearm on the wood, pushing the barrier open. 

König moves so that his body makes no noise, even with how large it is as he angles the side of his head through the opening. He finds a large mound of blankets atop the bed—stacked and layered so heavily that he has to blink in surprise at how you can breathe under them; because you were under them. 

Gray eyes make out the small sliver of skin peaking out from the side of the bed—fingers—and the top of your forehead near the pillows formed around your skull. Unconsciously, a soft smile works its way over König’s lips until he finds himself chuckling.

“Niedlich,” he mutters, scars over his face shifting as he speaks. 

Sighing lowly, König pulls back his head, beginning to close the door once more.

“König…?” Your tiny voice makes him halt like he had in the townhouse. 

Eyes wide and lips parted at being caught, the door remains open, only a sliver visible to your vision as your furrowed brows are stuck at the barrier. A red sheen moves across the soldier’s face in a slow sweep of embarrassment that goes bone deep.

With a lick of his lips, König re-opens the door slightly.

“I did not mean to wake you, Katze.” He finds your eyes and nods to you. “I apologize. Go back to sleep—you must be tired.” 

 “Wait,” you utter, moving your head fully out from under the blankets. König pauses, eyes staring as his other hand comes up to itch at the back of his neck. 

“What is it,” the man asks, opening the door fully and moving inside. “Do you need anything?” 

The question had hit you in your thin slumber, interrupted only partially by the opening of your door to the familiar pull of gray eyes and a strong build. A buzz-cut head. You take a slow breath to wake yourself up more, watching him from your bed. “...Did you know that I would be in that house?”

König tilts his head at the question, sighing slightly and glancing at the clock inside of the room on your nightstand. He frowns. 

“No,” he explains gently, coming closer. “No, I did not. I do not get told such things—only where to shoot and where not to.” The man tries a small smile, kneeling on one leg down by the bed and staring into your sleepy eyes. “But I am glad I found you again, yes? You had me worried.”

“You were worried?” You can’t quite grasp it.

“Ja,” he nods. “Your eyes—they have stuck with me, Schatz, you understand?” 

Your eyebrows pull up your face, blinking in shock. 

“...Yours, too,” you confess. König’s heart flutters, listening until your lips have fallen still. “They’re very nice, König.”

He goes sheepish, lips flicking up into a smile and his eyes daring away for a moment. “You can thank my mother for them, then.” He chuckles. “I have stolen the family's eyes, I was told.”

You chuckle with him, hand coming to rub at your cheek. A silence falls between the two of you.

“I don’t sleep well,” you tell him in the relative darkness, light from the hallway and your night light illuminating the dips and bone structure of his face. “I was awake when you opened the door.” 

He nods after a moment. “Ja.” A pause. “I don’t either…Nightmares?” 

You watch him before nodding tinily. 

“Ah,” he mutters. “They are not pleasant, I’m sorry that they have been plaguing you. Do you…” König wonders if he should leave—this was far more than he had anticipated. “Do you wish for me to stay?” 

 Why had he said that?

The string between the two of you tightens evermore, gaining another thread just as it would for the years to come until it became as unbreakable as steel.

“I don’t want to be a nuisance,” you begin but are quickly interrupted with a shake of a square head and a huff of a sharp nose.

“You are not. Do not call yourself such.” His accent deepens with emotion, eyes narrowing as the dark brows on his face pull in. “If you want me to stay, I will stay. Wake you if you become shaky, yes? Keep the bad dreams at bay.”

“But what about you?” Your voice moves around the room as König stands and goes to the table in the back, shifting one of the chairs so that it’s angled your way. You shift so you can watch him sit back, grunting as his legs move out in front of him, opening so he can be more comfortable. He needed a bigger chair, but he wasn’t going to complain about it. 

“I’m not tired, Schatz.” A lie. His muscles are heavy, and he longs for his bed in the barracks. He pushes out, “Please, go back to sleep. I’ll watch over you.”

You stare for a long while, studying him and how he fidgets in his seat of choice. A small laugh meets the man’s ears as he crosses his arms over his chest. König pauses, blinking over in confusion. His lips move upwards slowly. 

“What are you laughing at, then, hm?” 

“You look like you’re about to break it,” you mutter, head nuzzling the pillow under you as fatigue claws its way under your skin. 

König huffs, fingers twitching over the meat of his biceps as he slouches. He nods jokingly. “Perhaps,” he shrugs, the window behind him letting a slight tinge of cold air in from outside. “It would not be the first, I’m afraid, though it would be quite the embarrassment to do it in front of you, Katze.” He smirks. “But I’ll say, hitting my head on door frames hurts more than letting my arsch kiss the ground.” 

You laugh under your heap, your body jerking to the movement of your lungs. 

“I bet,” you say, fingers grasping one of your blankets and pulling it closer. “It’s a funny image.”

“You can laugh all you want,” König jokes, eyes soft as they gaze at you. “It does not bother me.” 

Your sweet sounds of amusement waft out from under the crack in the door, where a small group of curious nurses mull and listen with glances to one another. A doctor moves past the hallway where they stand, and all scatter on quick feet. 

'…Signed,

[REDACTED]

SUBMITTED: 0517, 25, November 2021

END OF MISSION REPORT ‘RED FREEDOM’

RETURNING TO SELECTION MENU…

STAND BY…'

It’s only after most of the other women leave—sent home to awaiting families or loved ones—that you know your time is coming to a close here in Berlin, Germany. While you’re excited to put this behind you, you can’t help but feel a bit…lost. 

There’s something that keeps you here, on this base, until you’re the last out of all of them, waiting. And then you’re given the green light to go—go home—and suddenly you have a backpack full of necessities and you’re closing the door to your room with the little nightlight’s plastic body pushing against your spine. Yet, you stand in the hallway for a long minute, fingers interlocked. 

You take a long, deep, breath. 

Over the weeks of recovery, König had been a constant companion when he wasn’t needed. He had eased you back into a comfortable state, letting you somewhat lose the black-and-white view you had gained of the world. But there was only so much he could do, even if his soft eyes were still stuck in your dreams—the good ones, of course. 

You needed to go home, and, today, the C-17 was whirring on the tarmac, waiting for you to be transported to a military base far from here where you would be processed and, ultimately, let go. 

Let go. It was jarring to think about, all of that freedom. What would you do with it? Right now, you don’t have the faintest clue. It was the best feeling you can remember having.

Smiling, you take one last look at the room behind you and walk on. 

At the entrance, you say a heartfelt ‘thank you’ to the nurses and doctors in broken German, shaking their hands as Eva kisses your forehead and whispers how happy she is to have had you here for such little time—you know what she means and you chuckle with her at the double-edged sword. 

König waits by the door, holding it open with…you blink at the item in his hands as well as his sudden appearance. Canvas fabric. A coat.

The coat. 

“I had to have it processed,” he says, smiling as you gape at him. “Very long process. It was found in the closet in the townhouse.” 

“Then why are you handing it to me,” you ask, tilting your head and walking closer. 

“I gave it to you, did I not?” The man hums, head tilting as he motions with it again. “It’s a good coat, Katze. Winters get cold.” Gray eyes crinkle gently. “I would hate for you to shiver, wherever it is that you end up, yes?”

You shake your head, cheeks hot. But your hands don’t hesitate to grasp the item, König’s hold on it remains fast, though, and you blink at him as you both keep it gently clasped like it’s worth its weight in gold. 

König stares at you, the door still kept open behind him. He opens and closes his mouth for a moment as you tilt your head. 

“Keep it safe for me,” is what he ends with, but his expression tells you he’s not talking about the coat. 

It makes your arms tingle—your heart skips a beat. 

“I’ll be sure it never gets lost,” you smile warmly, eyes malleable as the make of their color glints. There is a connection to this man that transcends words, and it is tied to you just as heavily as it is to him; unexplainable, incomprehensible, non-describable. 

Enigmatic. 

König’s reverential face is soft with care. 

“Good,” he mutters, unable to look away. “Very good.”

Clearing his throat, his grays dart to the floor, shifting his feet to move backward. He pushes open the door wider for you, and you hold your backpack in one hand as you shift past him and slip into his coat. 

It was exactly how you remembered it, and you sank into the fabric with a thankful sigh and a fluttering of your lashes. You shift the bag back over your shoulders, letting the straps fall into the bulk of the extra material. 

The snow wasn’t falling today, and the ground was shoveled of any white powder too. On the air, you can hear the whir of the C-17. 

König comes up beside you, a hand hovering over the small of your back as he guides you along. For the most part, the walk to the tarmac is silent with the weight of the future. You had no phone. No socials. You didn’t even know if you wanted any, to be honest. Your mind had convinced you that a good bout of soul-searching was exactly what you needed. And you had to do that alone. 

Your lips are thin as your legs take you closer to the plane, König’s scent stuck into the stitches of the coat and covered your senses. 

At the ramp, he stops as your feet take you onto the metal. Closing your eyes for a moment, you turn and lock gazes with him—gray hiding away what other, more human, emotions to be found. It was a slate of carefully crafted acceptance, and your own followed soon after. 

It had to be this. The string wouldn’t break, no, but it had to be stretched to such a point to come back stronger.

“Thank—”

“Don’t,” he says, not blinking, looking up at you. 

You smile. “What do you want me to say, then?” 

“You don’t have to say anything to me.” You hadn't known it then, but the both of you had truly thought that this would be the last of your meetings. It produced a pulse in both of your hearts that would never be told aloud. “....Live well,” König utters. “Heal, Mein Schatz.” 

The soldier wasn't one to give his chances to hope. 

Your eyes follow as he backs up, moving away as you stare. In his head, König pleads with you to stop and give him a reprieve from the hypnosis of your gaze, the addictive movement of your head as it tilts to the side. 

Live well. 

You send him a smile, a delicate thing, and then you back up a step and turn, disappearing into the darkness. 

The string follows, and it continues to do so even as your hands slip into your pockets hours later, bumping into the small form of a black flip phone. The note hidden inside of it. 

 ‘For whenever you find what you’re looking for.’

'REQUEST FOR ADMINISTRATIVE DISCHARGE

REQUESTED BY: [REDACTED]

ENTERED: DECEMBER 15, 2021

TIME: 1422

OPEN FILE?...

REQUEST CANCELED….

RETURNING TO FILE SELECT MENU…

FILE SELECTED….

TRANSLATING…

STAND BY…

REQUEST OF HONORABLE ADMINISTRATIVE DISCHARGE OF [REDACTED] APPROVED ON JANUARY 2, 2022

OPEN FILE?...

REQUEST CANCELED…

SYSTEM SHUTTING DOWN'

You sit in a coffee shop in Berlin, Germany, by the window. It wasn’t just any coffee shop, but you try not to think about all of that. It was all in the past—three years, now. You like to think you’d learned something in that time.

“Danke schön,” you say to the woman who brings you your drink, nodding kindly. You take a small sip, humming and winking at her teasingly. “Perfekt.” 

She chuckles, wiping her hands on her apron. “Möchten Sie noch etwas anderes dazu?”

“Nein, nein,” you shake your head, waving a hand that soft bumps the flip phone on the table. “Danke.” 

The lady walks away, and you take another sip of the hot beverage, never put off by the heat. 

It was winter again, and your eyes followed the flakes as they fell from a cloudy sky, finding the beauty in it easily as you sat inside. The scarf around your neck is loose—your gifted coat open. You smile to yourself and hum, watching people walk past outside, thinking about their lives and how they live them. 

A large form travels out from a shop across the street, a plastic bag in his loose grip. He was not small, no, this man was a beast of height and strength alike. The loping, canid-like, walk was accented by the twitch of his fingers over his quarry. 

Your wide eyes stay stuck to him for a long moment as he moves to the crosswalk, people shifting out of his way as he ignores them. Familiarity strikes like lighting—a buzz down your spine that leaves you straightening.

After a long moment, a breathless laugh sneaks out of you.

There were just some things that people were never meant to understand.

Your hand places your cup back on the table, picking up the old flip phone and pushing it open. Your thumb runs the keypad, moving to the only contact that had ever been entered into the device. 

Pressing, you move it to your ear as you watch with a soft expression, heart pattering. 

Across the way, the man tenses, hand patting his leg before the other hand moves inside his pocket and shifts the item out. People walk away, moving to the other side of the crosswalk as he stares at the contact. 

A minute passes, and all the while you hold your breath.

He presses and moves the phone to his ear, staying as still as stone. As still as a man afraid his hood might scare a group of terrified women. 

His voice graces your ear.

“...Katze?” You beam, trapped in the warmth of the coat around your shoulders.

“How do you feel about coffee, König?” 

Blue-gray eyes had never been more beautiful than when they snapped up to meet yours.

TAGS:

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[sunshinebingo]

@gwynrielweeksofficial Day 1 - Firsts

✨ Happy Gwynriel Weeks 2024 ✨

Synopsis: Gwyn musters up the courage to kiss the Shadowsinger.

Word Count: 1k

Read on Ao3

“I think the ending of the story could have been better…” Azriel explained.

“I see,” came out of Gwyn’s lips in response though her mind was thinking Do it.

“…but the characters are great,” he continued.

“Mhmm.”

Do it. I can’t. But I want to, her mind persisted.

Azriel kept giving his opinion about the book Gwyn had asked him to read a few days ago so they could discuss it together, like they always did with every material that one recommended to the other. It was one of her favourite romance novels that she would recommend to anyone who was fond of the genre, or Spymasters who read romance only because their friends forced them to. But right now, Azriel could have been criticising it or ripping it to shreds that Gwyn would not have noticed.

“The main character is as stubborn as you. She is my favourite,” he said, the corners of his lips tugging into a smile. “I’d say my favourite parts are…”

Oh that smile. I want to taste it. I need to. Do it.

From the moment Azriel had started talking about that book, it had reminded Gwyn of all the time when she had read it too and had replaced the face of the love interest of the main character with that of Azriel. Hearing him talk of hand touches and secret rendezvous and stolen kisses was sending her mind into places she didn’t think he would be willing to follow. Gwyn had never been kissed before. And Mother above she wanted to know, for once in her life, what all the fuss was about. She wanted to know whether whatever fluttered inside her when she was near him would stop if she kissed him or whether the simple urge to kiss him would cease once she did it. She wondered if her eyes would finally stop being drawn to his lips.

If Azriel had not been looking at the novel that he was currently flipping through, he would have noticed that Gwyn was only half listening to what he was saying and that her gaze was glued onto his moving lips. He did, however, seem to notice that she was now much closer to him on the sofa than she was when they had sat down here some time ago.

“Berdara?” he asked as soon as he turned to look at her, and noticed that the blush on her cheeks was much too intense to be justified by the temperature of the room, since the open window of the private library had led the space to become quite chilly thanks to the cold breeze coming in.

Do it. Do it. Do it.

“Are you alright?” he asked, no doubt concerned by her silence as much as the strange look on her face.

Just do it once and forget about it, she thought. Do it. Do it. Do it.

Gwyn closed the little distance left between their bodies by gliding closer to him until her leg touched his. Gathering every ounce of courage she had built up to this point and telling herself that she would atone for her stupidity later, she placed a hand on his face and pressed her lips against his before he could finish saying her name.

The moment Gwyn felt how soft and perfect his lips were, she realised the terrible mistake that she was making. Her heartbeat increased, a sudden heat crept up her face and body as she slowly moved her lips against his. She was wrong. So very wrong. How could she think that one kiss would be enough? Who was she kidding? Why hadn’t she thought of the possibility that a single kiss would leave her wanting more, even as she still had her lips sealed to his?

She needed to stop before he pushed her away and asked what the hell was going on with her - why her hands were caressing his neck, why she was so close to him that her breasts were now pressed tight against his chest, why she wanted to jump on him, wrap her legs around his waist and beg him to deepen the kiss and teach her everything there was to know about pleasure. Those smutty novels must have turned her brain to mush. Perhaps she should take a break from them. Or perhaps she should read more to fill in the bigger gap that was forming between her need for him and actual reality.

Convinced that the hand he had brought to her waist was a request to stop, Gwyn pulled away, her eyes opening but staring down at her hands where she had placed them on her lap. Her internal monologue might have made it seem like the kiss had lasted for hours but it had only really been a few seconds. Maybe the memory of those few seconds would haunt her until the end of her days and the embarrassment would be her punishment.

When she looked up at Azriel, she found him staring back at her. His eyes were open wide, his mouth slightly parted and he seemed as though all coherent thoughts had been sucked from his beautiful head. Gwyn cleared her throat and stood up abruptly.

“I’m going to leave now before I lose my last shred of courage,” she said with as much firmness in her voice as she could muster.

With that, she turned on her heels and made her way to the door, leaving a dumbfounded Azriel behind. Her hand was already on the knob when a loud, “WAIT,” made her stop.

When she turned around, the sound of Azriel’s rushed footsteps had already stopped and he stood before her. Gwyn didn’t have the time to take a full breath in before he wrapped a hand around her waist, grabbed her face with his other hand and kissed her.

[callsign-rogueone]

letters from samara - g.t.

Garrick Tavis x reader (Angel!) part of my Valentine’s Day celly! 💕 words: 1.0k 🏷: FOURTH WING AND IRON FLAME SPOILERS, part of my Garrick and Angel series, so read that first for context! no other warnings, just kinda soft and sad.

Someone drops a thick envelope onto the table in front of you. “From Samara. They said it was important.”

Samara. Brennan had told you that’s where Garrick and Xaden are. Your hands shake as you open the seal, but you relax at the familiar slant of Garrick’s handwriting. 

My angel,

I will start with what I know you’re most worried about: I am alive, I am safe, and so is X. He’s brooding in the corner of the room right now -- he’s not taking it well being apart from Vi, but command has allowed them visits every two weeks for Tairn and Sgaeyl’s sakes. 

We both miss you more than words can describe. I wish I could have said goodbye before we left, or that we could have taken you with us, but X wouldn’t hear arguments from anyone. I have never seen him that serious about anything before. 

I’m so sorry, angel. For all of it, everything. You didn’t deserve to be put through any of that, and I know how deeply it hurt you. It was terrifying to see you that way, so drained and cold. I can’t imagine what it felt like. 

Promise me you’ll take care of yourself, my love. You are the most kindhearted person I’ve ever known, and I love that about you, but you have to think of your own needs as well. You deserve peace and rest, especially now. Sleep in as long as you want, make time for your meditation. I’m sure the gardens would appreciate your attention as well; I swear you could make roses grow in dry sand as long as you smiled at them every day. 

I couldn’t bear to burn anything of yours, knowing that your heart still beats. I kept the things I thought to be most important to you and took them here with me. I will return them to you as soon as I can, but they are a comfort to me now — my room here feels like it did at Basgiath, with little touches of you scattered around. I keep watching the door, thinking that any moment you’ll come knocking to walk to class with me, or if I reach across the bed in the morning, you’ll be beside me again. I don’t know when I’ll see you next, but I know in my heart that I will. There is nothing and no-one that could keep me from you. 

Yours always,

G

On the sheet below, another.

Until I can lay by your side and tell you about my days, I’ll keep writing to you about them instead.

Being here feels like being a fresh cadet all over again, but different -- bottom of the food chain, getting the shifts nobody wants, but at least we don’t have to constantly prove our strength like we did in our first year at Basgiath, and we already have our dragons. 

One of Chradh’s relatives is here, which is cool. I think they’re cousins? They look damn near identical. I walked up to the wrong one on the flight line the other day -- thankfully the guy has a better sense of humor than Chradh, but I’m never making that mistake again.

Every rider here seemed to know exactly who we were when we arrived. Some of them have been more subtle with their distaste for us than others, but nobody’s been dumb enough to try anything -- probably because we look like we can fight, and because Sgaeyl is fucking terrifying, even more so now that she’s separated from Tairn. 

I just got off a 12-hour patrol shift, and I’m exhausted, but it’s hard to sleep without you here. I don’t think we’ve ever been apart this long in our lives. Being without either of you has never even felt like a possibility before; it’s always been us three together through the good and the bad. Someday it’ll be like that again, I know it will.

Brennan is the best mender I have ever known. If you choose, he can help you strengthen your ability, but please don’t push yourself too far. I need you to be in one piece when I get back. 

There are three more sheets underneath, one in Xaden’s rough script and two more from Garrick, the last dated four days ago -- likely the day he’d sent it. 

You realize what an incredible risk it was to write to you at all. It wouldn’t take a genius to put together that X is Xaden, that you’re hiding in Aretia, that you’d faked your death, or rather that your friends had faked it for you. How many hands did these pages pass through to reach you? How many others out there are on your side? 

You bring a hand up to cover your yawn, realizing how tired you are. The sun has gone down, a small mage light the only thing illuminating the corner of the study that you occupy. It’s likely nearing midnight.

“The letters and the books will still be there in the morning,” Tab says gently. “Sleep. You’ve had a long day.”

You look down at the torn piece of fabric you’ve been staring at for the last four hours. It has not yet sewn itself back together, no matter how hard you concentrated or “cleared your mind”, how gently you touched it. You’d even asked it nicely, but it did not dignify you with a response.

You set the letters aside for a moment, stacking up the books that you’d found in the house’s library about mending and placing them in a neat pile in the corner of the table you’ve been sitting at every evening for the last week. You fold the black cotton into quarters, setting it atop the pile -- you’ll try again tomorrow.

You can’t help but smile as you tuck the letters back into the envelope, brushing your fingers over the wax seal.

Garrick is right, this is the longest you’ve ever been apart, but as you gaze out the window into the starry sky, holding the letters he’d written you, the distance between you doesn’t seem that far.

[eight-cats-in-a-box]

Al-An SFW Alphabet

Finally finished this! Please tell me If there's any typos or if something is contradictory, and I'll fix it!

No warnings (that I know of, tell me and I'll fix that), no use of Y/N.

Enjoy!!

Affection- (how affectionate are they? How do they show it?)

They're very affectionate...in their own way. Don't get me wrong, they do enjoy physical touch, but it's a bit difficult to cuddle a robot centaur that's twice your size.

They prefer to spend time with you, whether that be working on the same thing or not. You'll often find them hovering nearby wherever you happen to be, working on something.

Al-An does enjoy physical affection, but it takes a while for them to get used to it. He has difficulty asking for it, but the way they act when they want to cuddle is also about as subtle as a Reaper Leviathan. Most of the time, they'll let you ask first, but on occasion, he'll scoop you up for some cuddles.

Best friend- (How would they be as a best friend? How would it start?)

They're not a terrible bestie. Al-An doesn't understand the concept at all. But hey, it's not that bad. Humans are small and adorable, and he would rip the universe to shreds if you were killed. They like to pick you up under the arms like you're a cat. You pass the dangle test.

Cuddles- (Do they like to cuddle? How do they cuddle?)

Al-An isn't often in the mood for physical contact, but when they are, it's pretty obvious. Hope you don't have anything to do, because you are not getting up for much. You don't need to! If you need water/food/etc, they can use one of their telepathy arms to grab it. Even if you absolutely have to leave for whatever reason, you best believe you're getting pulled right back in as soon as you're done.

Cuddling Al-An usually ends up with them laid down like a cat (loaf), and you curled up against them. Sometimes you'll find them laying like someone shot them, with a limb in every direction. Usually when they're like this, you'll end up getting held against their chest.

Domestic- (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

They cannot cook. They can work a fabricator, and they can catch fish or retrieve plants, but combining the two? Nope! (Not yet at least.) And god forbid they try to cook over a fire. It does not end well. They like to watch you do it though. The processes are fascinating, and knowing Earth has so many different cultures, each with their own cuisine? He's quite intrigued. They do eventually get pretty good at it, but it takes a while.

Al-An doesn't really need to clean. Architects have kind of evolved past organisation, so he can just scan a pile/locker and know what's inside. So if you're messy, it doesn't really bug him. They end up just making it so everything you need is within your line of sight- organized chaos kinda thing.

Ending- (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

They're not showing emotion, but that doesn't mean they're not feeling any. Whether that be anger, sadness, pain- they're definitely feeling something. You'd have to have done something awful.

Fiancé- (How do they feel about commitment? How quickly would they want to get married?)

Al-An...doesn't really get it. In his mind, you're already together, and that's all there is to it. Once you explain it to them, he does rather like the idea. Even if there isn't any way to really seal the deal, it's a nice little thing between the two of you.

Gentle- (how gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Al-An could never bring himself to handle you roughly. While they do know his own strength, you're incredibly fragile (compared to him at least) and they don't want to take chances. Al-An could never forgive themself if he ever hurt you- even if it's unintentional. They will also wipe anything that dares harm you from existence.

Emotionally, he can't help being blunt. They don't really understand human emotions, but if they hurt you on accident, they'll apologize, and figure out what they said/did so it won't happen again. Over time they get better at the whole feelings thing- though whether this is due to spending time together, remnants of the link between you, or some combination of the two remains to be seen.

Hugs- (Do they like hugs? How often do they give them? What are their hugs like?)

Al-An likes hugs. The first time you gave him one, they were...confused, to say the least. But after you explained, he became quite partial to the idea.

As with all physical touch, they aren't the biggest fan, but if you're sad, they'll scoop you up and cradle you against their chest. It's warm, and soothing, and you've never felt so safe.

I love you- (How fast do they say the L-word?)

It takes a while. After they tell you what they've done, why the planet was under quarantine, etc.- which takes a while on it's own- it'll take a lot of reassurance to convince them that no, you're not going anywhere without them, and of course you don't hate him. It'll take a bit for him to say it, but after the first time, it comes easier, and they try to make it a habit.

Jealousy- (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they're jealous?)

There isn't really anything for them to get jealous of, to be honest. But let's just do a hypothetical. Y'know. For science.

Their behaviour won't change much, but the fact that your normally purple/blue RGB robot centaur is suddenly glowing like the fires of Hades is kind of a dead giveaway. They're not going to intervene unless you seem uncomfortable. They know you won't take that shit laying down. (And even if you would, Al-An absolutely does not.)

Afterwards, they'll apologize for acting so rashly, citing your obvious discomfort as his reason for getting so angry. If he scared/upset you, they're even more apologetic (especially if he scared you).

Kisses- (What are their kisses like? Where do they kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

They can't really give you kisses, but they do enjoy kisses on their faceplate. It's a soft thing, and it's physical touch, yeah, but to them, it's different. It feels more intimate. Softer. They like to bump their forehead against yours and looking at all the teeny-tiny details in your eyes. It's a good way to strengthen your mental connection as well.

Little ones- (How are they with kids? Do they want any?)

They're not...entirely sure what to do with them. They haven't really interacted with kids before, so they're going with a mix of trial-and-error and common sense. It's really cute seeing them interact with little ones though, they're so gentle.

Not sure how you'd make it happen, but they're definitely not opposed to having a kid or two. You'll probably end up getting cats or something like that, because kids are cute, but actually having to deal with them is a pain in the ass.

Morning- (How are mornings spent with them?)

Most mornings with Al-An follow a set routine. They wake you up around sunrise, and make sure you actually get up. Then you make breakfast and eat while the two of you talk about what you're doing that day. Then when you're finished, the two of you head out.

Some mornings they'll let you sleep in, usually on special occasions, or after a long night. Sometimes you just look so peaceful, laying there without a care in the world, that Al-An can't quite bring themself to rouse you.

If you're a nocturnal type, Al-An just does the same, but in reverse. They wake you up with the moon, and make sure all your light sources are adequately charged- no less than 100%. They know that going out into the open ocean at night is even more dangerous, so he tends to be a bit of a worrywart.

Night- (How are nights spent with them?)

Nighttime with Al-An is also pretty routine. When you get home and put your stuff away, you make some food. Depending on when you get home, it can be anywhere from supper to a late-night meal.

Also dependent on when you get home is how glued-to-your side they are. If you get home on time, they're generally not super touchy- the usual. However, the later you are the more worried they get, and if you're not home by the time night falls (or day breaks), they're going to come get you.

After you finish eating, you'll usually unwind a bit, whether that's with the worn-out deck of cards you brought with you, or with some cuddles and a mug of tea.

Open- (When will they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything at once or wait awhile to reveal things slowly?)

It takes a while. You've known each other for at least a year, if not longer, before he says anything regarding what happened here. They're afraid you'll resent or even outright hate him for what happened. That being said, they do trust you, but human emotions are unpredictable at best, and a constantly-shifting maelstrom at worst. They lost their people because of that mistake- they don't want to lose you too.

Patience- (How easily angered are they?)

Al-An is pretty patient. Even if they seem angry, nine times out of ten it's just worry in disguise. Ticking him off is quite difficult, and even when they are well and truly pissed off, it's very rarely at you. After all, arguments between you two are rare, and discussions are usually cordial- if you're angry about something, you talk it out. Most of the time, their ire is directed at something or someone that hurt you.

Quizzes- (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Al-An has an excellent memory, so forgetting something isn't an option to him. In all the time you've known them (which is nothing to sneeze at), he's never forgotten a birthday, anniversary, how you like your coffee, or that you prefer symbiotes to peepers.

Remember- (What is their favourite moment in the relationship?)

Probably the first time you fell asleep on them. You had been up for way too long, running, running, running, and they had finally gotten you to take a break and come sit in the observatory with them. You relented, and curled against his side. They pulled a blanket over you, and as you watched the fish swim by, the faint whirring of Al-An's systems running in your ears, with their warmth augmenting your own, you found yourself drifting off to sleep, dreaming sweetly. They didn't move an inch, and you've never felt safer than when you're cuddled up to Al-An.

Security- (How protective are they? How do they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Al-An is quite protective, but it's for good reason. After all, 4546B is a dangerous place for the natural flora and fauna, let alone a little human. They don't like it when you go off on your own, especially on land, where the Iceworms lurk. The last time the two of you had a run-in with them, it... didn't go so well. You got thrown a good ten meters, and Al-An confined you to bed rest for three weeks because you broke a couple ribs. That Iceworm didn't survive, by the way. As soon as they heard you scream, it got vaporised by their ion cannon.

Try- (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

They don't put much effort in, but not how you might think. It's less of an "oh, I don't really care" and more of an "I already know what they like, so I'll get them something within those parameters".

Ugly- (What are some of their bad habits?)

They're a little too protective, to the point where you have to sit down with them and reiterate that you're a mature adult, capable of making your own decisions and dealing with the consequences. If he wants to be there to support you, that's fine- but he needs to let you make your own mistakes. They have a bad habit of brushing you off when they're working as well, but they always apologise for that- he never means to snap like they do.

Vanity- (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Not very. They don't mind if you give them little baubles to decorate their storage medium with, but otherwise? No fucks given.

Whole- (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Absolutely. Al-An has lost so, so much in their life, I'm not sure he could stand to lose more. If they ever did lose you, they'd be distraught. They would catch themselves in a constant cycle of wanting to heal for your sake, and blaming himself for your death. This is exacerbated by the loss of his people, or eased by their support.

Xtra- (An extra headcanon about them)

They like playing War. The unpredictable nature of the game keeps them guessing, and it's the only one you can't really cheat at. They enjoy poker, but you banned it on grounds of them having an eternal poker face.

Yuck- (What are some things they wouldn't like, either in general or in a partner?)

They don't like big-corp assholes. The only ones Al-An ever came into contact with were Alterra, but they're all the same- and Al-An likes exactly none of them. There's a special place in Al-An's burn book for the elites of said megacorps.

He also despises those with little to no respect for the environment. He understands the Architects did terrible things in the name of science, and Al-An played a major role in that- but it was truly for the greater good. Nothing would have survived Kharaa if it had spread.

Zzz- (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

Al-An tends to sprawl out like they've been shot and killed in a bad cowboy movie. They like having you curl up against their face, because it allows them to hear your heartbeat and ensure you're still there. They don't sleep often- once every couple months- but when they crash, they crash hard. Nothing is waking him from the dead sleep they've gotten themself into.

Masterlist

[rabbitenn]

Hello could I request imagines for a Tenn x Reader and momo x Reader with a Reader who has a crush on them but tries to deny it to avoid heartbreak (and struggles to talk to them)? Thank you🫶

OFF VOCAL.

Your feelings for him remain untold in the memories of your silent symphony.

ft. Kujo Tenn, Sunohara Momose x gn! reader.

cw/genre: fluff, some angst.

Thank you for requesting, hun ! I’m sorry this is so late, but I hope you can still enjoy it, mwah <3

♡ KUJO TENN

The realization settles over you like the mesmerizing rays of an eclipse at dawn; you know you shouldn’t stare directly at the sun’s blinding daze, and yet, your eyes can’t quite avert from his light.

But this is normal, right?

Everyone was attracted to the rose gold light his imaginary wings always seemed to give off. A radiance in thaw; his otherworldly aura helplessly drawing you in, until the honey of his voice wrapped its sweet warmth around you.

Kujo Tenn.

Everyone’s angel.

Your closest friend.

And yet, obviously, you were not immune to his charms.

Every time his gaze found yours, no matter if it was in a crowded concert hall or in the privacy of one of your rooms, the world around you faded; white noise and the blurry background of a discolored picture were all that remained around you and Tenn.

Thus, you have to build a wall between you and the alluring image of the angel.

You can absolutely not reveal the emotions your heart beats in.

Tenn and you have been friends for so long… And he’s a famous idol on top of that… You can’t taint his wings in stygian ink just because of your foolish desires.

And so, you close off your own invisible wings, the freefall awaiting you, a slow, bittersweet agony.

For bites of tongue replace words you used to share with him, in the comfort of sugar scented bedrooms and the soft colors of glazed donuts.

And Tenn knows.

That something is weighing on your mind.

That the sunshine that usually filtered through the trees as he spent time with you is now dimmed; the first droplets of a downpour falling as perennial foliage decays.

You thought your silence would be the silver locket to keep your diary secret, but to him, it’s like breathlessness as a heavy feeling constricts your chest.

Thorny vines, opening your throat to ask for help.

And despite it all, you decide to stitch bloody thread over your lips, keeping them sealed, no matter how much your heart shreds.

Luckily, an angel’s halo just happens to shine upon you, healing the parts of you you’re self destroying.

“[Y/n],” Tenn calls you, as a few quiet seconds pass with no answer from you following. “Are you alright?” He asks, those beautiful maroon eyes of his regarding you with concern.

You stare at him with a confused expression. Then, you get back to your senses.

“Yeah… I guess I was just spacing out.” You utter softly, avoiding his eyes.

Fiddling with your fingers, you reach out for the plate of donuts sitting between you two.

The atmosphere feels tense enough around you, you feel you’ll suffocate if you don’t busy yourself with something soon.

In that instant, your hand is held by someone else’s.

His touch is tender, so gentle, as his fingers intertwine with yours.

“Will you tell me what’s wrong?” Tenn prompts, thumb running over the back of your hand.

You stammer, eyes widening, heart pounding wildly against your ribcage, a telltale sound of the frenzy your mind is into.

“I-I… I’m… It’s n-nothing.” You finally manage.

The angelic idol gives you a knowing look, a smirk playing on his too tempting lips.

“Since when did you become so shy around me?” He asks, one of his hands brushing some strands away from your face.

You take in a sharp breath, heat flaring up on your cheeks.

“T-that’s not…” You try to turn your face away from him.

Because you know if you keep getting lost in his pretty quartz-like eyes, your lips won’t be able to keep away from his.

And, however, it seems that’s exactly what he wants.

Taking your chin in between his fingers, Tenn guides your face towards his.

“Why, [Y/n]?” He whispers, thumb running over your lower lip.

Your breath hitches, pupils dilating as your friend, who’s definitely more than that, holds your gaze.

You know what he’s referring to.

Your silence. The avoidance and pulling away from him you’ve been isolating in.

“I can’t…” You begin, as thick words lodge in your throat, the fear of ‘I can’t be with you’ ‘I can’t have my heart broken when you inevitably say no’, the silent chains constricting your throat.

Strands of hair weaved from wishes on a shooting star tickle your cheek.

Tenn’s forehead rests against yours, as his hands thread through your hair.

He utters your name.

Millimeters separate his lips from yours.

And the hardcovers of your secret diary seem to fall apart this close to him.

“I love you.” You inevitable breath, pupils blown wide, in the space between.

Your angel’s answer comes in the form of warmth and softness upon your lips.

His hands move to your waist, bringing you closer to him in the sunlit space of the room.

Against your better judgment, your arms wrap around his shoulders, your form melting into the sweetness of his perfect embrace.

You’ve longed for this.

So many days, so many nights, in which dreams came to a close with you wide eyed, as you came down from the daze of his pretty face appearing in your oneiric illusions.

And even if you want to believe it, but fear makes you deny it, he’s yearned for this too.

Because as much as Tenn strives to move the hearts of his fans and put bright smiles on their faces, you are always the first one he sings for.

And now, even if it’s in an unspoken way, the melody of him next to you is finally being relied.

Alas, seconds helplessly tick by, and one cannot exist without oxygen forever, as much as you can’t be without each other.

“I love you too, for a long time now, I have.” Are the words that follow your Tenn’s soft smile the moment you part.

There is no need for locked vaults between you and him anymore.

♡ SUNOHARA MOMOSE

You know you are a fool.

Both for even beginning to fathom your feelings could ever be returned, and for acting the way you’re doing now.

You’re just making yourself miserable and you know it.

And yet, you’re hell bent on denying it.

It’s so obvious to you now how he could never like you back in the same way you like him.

He’s one of Japan’s top idols, for crying out loud.

The fact that you just happen to know him since his college days doesn’t mean anything.

Therefore, you are determined to swat away any thoughts of infatuation that come your way.

No matter if that means entirely isolating from him.

Momo.

The friend that’s been with you for over seven years now.

You can’t ruin what you have; and what’s more: you don’t know what you’d do with yourself if you heard ‘no’ coming out of his lips.

So pulling away, being quiet… That’s what must be done.

You were always good at it, anyway.

And besides, what good would it do, if you ended up accidentally making your feelings known?

This is for the better.

You turn around in your bed, the city lights casting a dimmed glow around your room; dyeing it in shades of muted cyan.

Blue.

Quite fitting for the state you find yourself in.

Lying on your side, sheets rumpled, as numbness and doubt wrap around you.

Your eyes focus on your phone for a moment, carelessly thrown around your bed.

You’ve been ignoring all the messages today.

Especially the ones sent by him.

You just… couldn’t bring yourself to open them; it hurt seeing his enthusiastic typing and all the cute kaomojis. It’s as if… You were betraying him by being like usual, when it’s clear your feelings for him have shifted to another direction.

Not that you’ll ever reveal that to him.

And if you ignore it for long enough, it is sure to fade away.

A doodle in pink pencil, undoubtedly to be erased as paper yellows beneath the ticking of the clock.

You knew that better than anyone.

You have been wiped out too many times when you tried to speak from your heart, for it to become whole again.

Deep scars still remain, and they hurt enough as is to risk reopening them once more.

It’s better to wound the remaining untouched flesh of your choking heart, if you want to avoid shattering it completely.

Fuzzy thoughts turn into exhaustion, which leads you into restless dreams, under the light of a dimmed moon.

You awake to the strident sound of a ringtone blaring right by your ears.

Judging by the light around, it’s still early, and no sun is filtering through the curtains today.

Groggily, you pick up, if only to stop the annoying ringing.

“Yeah?” You yawn half asleep.

A second later, you pull the speaker away from you, the voice on the other side, on the edge of yelling.

“[Y/n]-chan! I finally got in touch! You haven’t been replying to my texts, ah I was so worried!”

“I…” You begin. “I’m fine, Momo, please don’t worry.” You reply, trying to keep your tone even.

On one hand, it really does warm your heart he’s been thinking about you.

On the other, you really do feel guilty for having worried him…

And besides, you’ve totally failed to avoid him.

“Are you sure, [Y/n]?” Melancholy is palpable in his usually perky tone. It makes you feel a pang of hurt on your chest.

“I… Yeah, I guess…” You trail off.

A few seconds of silence on the other end of the line.

Then:

“You know, if you’re not feeling well or there’s something worrying you, you can count on me.”

Why was Momo always so kind? It makes it so hard to keep denying what’s clearly love for him.

“I’ll figure it out.” You mumble, perhaps more to yourself than for him to hear.

“I know you will, [Y/n], but, you know, if you want some company… Just say the word.”

A nostalgic smile settles on your lips.

The truth is you would certainly like it, his company.

You let out a sigh.

“I’d love that.” You utter, truthfully.

One of Momo’s bright giggles can be heard on the other end.

A few fleeting ticks later, your doorbell rings.

“Open the door then, [Y/n]-chan.”

You can’t help the wide smile spreading on your face.

“What? Really? You’re here?”

You can practically see the nervous laugh he lets out.

“I… uh got worried when you didn’t reply and I thought maybe you were sick, so I… kinda bought many of your favorite snacks… yeah…”

He’s too cute.

With that same dopey grin on your face, you open the door.

Even if you can’t make your feelings known for now, you suppose it’s alright to indulge in the tight hug he gives you.

You certainly needed one from him right now.

[wewanttofu-kanimeboys]

Neji x Monster!Reader

I stayed up until 11pm to ensure this was posted on Neji's birthday. So happy birthday Neji! Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: tentacles, egg impregnation, eggpreg

“I’m home,” you called as you entered the home and took off your shoes. 

“In the Kitchen,” Neji called. You found your husband preparing dinner for the two of you. The two of you had married as soon as Neji was of age. The two of you had secretly been together for years and Neji wanted to get out of the Hyuga component. You had a quiet ceremony and moved into a home on the edge of the Nara distinct. The Hyugas weren't precisely supportive but interested in having Hyuga hybrids. The two of you convinced Hiashi to agree that any future kids would not be sealed as no one could say if the seal would be safe for a hybrid, something that was a relief to Neji. “That took longer than you were told. Was there something wrong?”

“Uh, Kind of.” You took a seat at the table. “Kids are going to be sooner than we were expecting.” 

“Okay,”  Neji sat next to you. “We didn't know when you would need to breed. It's not so surprising. Do you know how soon?” 

“Roughly two weeks, I’ve already started growing eggs,” you said. You had spent most of the day being poked, prodded, and examined along with the rest of your siblings. 

“That's not so bad. We’ll have to start getting prepared for breeding and get ready for the kids.” Neji nodded. “We should have enough time to clean the spare room.”

“Are you nervous?” you laid your head on his. 

Neji was quiet for a bit, “I'm nervous about being pregnant.”

“That's reasonable.” you smiled at him. “I feel bad for my siblings. Only a few of them are dating right now and it's really out of nowhere for them.”

“We didn't expect it to happen so soon.” Neji nodded, “They’ll have to find someone to mate.” 

“I already have you and you be a great parent for our children,” you kissed him gently. Neji was not one for public affection so you took every opportunity you had. Neji blushed and leaned into your arms. “I love you so much,”

“I love you too,” Neji smiled softly. “Let's eat,”

You got the sharp pains a week later and you knew it was only a matter of time. You curled up in your shared bed, piling as many blankets around and on you as you could, and just tried to sleep through the pain. You were woken up late by Neji

“Hey, you're sweating. Are you okay?” Neji felt your forehead. You leaned into his hand. He was very cool to the touch. 

“It's starting,” You said softly. Neji nodded and helped you into the bath. He filled the bath with cool water to cool you down. “Thanks, that's nice.”

“You should have sent me a message. I could have come home early.” Neji sighed.

“I didn't want to take you from your students. I just slept most of the day.” You melted into Neji’s hands as he washed you. 

“Don't be a fool. You should have gotten someone to watch over you.” Neji scolded you. He got you out of the bed and cuddled up in the bed. 

You smiled triedly, “Can you cuddle me?” 

“Yes, love,” Neji smiled softly. “Let me get us dinner first.”

“Alright,” you sighed.

You spent the next week in bed with Neji caring for you. The day your eggs were ready, you could really tell why you knew it was time but you did. You had woken up in the middle of the night and just watched Neji sleep next to you. You didn't want to wake him but you weren't sure you could wait till the morning. You started running your tentacles over neji’s clothes, waking him up. “Is it time?”

“Ya, sorry. I didn’t want to wake you. I couldnt help myself.” You gasped as Neji started stroking one of your tentacles. 

“Oh, I have a surprise for you.” Neji blushed. 

“What do you mean?” you asked intrigued. He pulled his clothes and revealed lingerie. You were practically salivating over him. “Wow!” 

“You like it?” Neji blushed. 

“You are absolutely devourable.” You licked your lips and your tentacles ran over Neji. “I’m going to ruin you~!”

Neji moaned as a tentacle pushed into him. You started stretching him out as you explored his chest with your mouth. He moaned under you. “You can tear them off~”

“Ya~? But you look so good in them.” You moaned. Neji gasped as you entered a second tentacle into him. You couldnt hold ytorself back anymore and tore the underwear off of him as your ovipositor tentacle latched on. 

“Oh~, kami, youre so sexy when your rough like this.” Neji moaned. “More~”

You started sucking on his neck as your opvipositor suucked harder and your tentacles thrusted harder. Neji came hard and you just kept sucking. You contiunued to  use Neji until he was a twitching overstimulated mess. The two of you fell asleep still tangled together. The next two day, you milked Neji over and over again, barely giving him a moment of rest.

“Eat up, Neji. the eggs are dropping and you need your strength.” you tried to coaxs an overstimulated and exsausted Neji into eating. You managed to get him to eat a few bites and drinking some water before letting him rest. 

“Love, is it time?” Neji mumbled.

“Not yet, get some sleep,” you laid with him and fell asleep as well. You woke up with the urge to implant your eggs. You couldnt hold yourself back as you suck your ovipositor tentacle deep in him, 

“Oh~, its time?” Neji moaned as he was open up. 

“Ya~, Kami, you're amazing. It feels so good~” you gasped as you thrusted your tentacle deep in him. “The first egg is coming~,” 

“Give them to me~,” Neji moaned. He let out a soft moan as he felt the egg probing his entrance. You stroked his cheek and kissed him softly as the egg started pushing into him. It was almost halfway in as it pressed against his prostate and sent waves of pleasure through his entire body that just got stronger as the egg continued to press against it. He came hard onto his chest as his vision went starry.

“This is so weird.” you said stroking his stomach. You could feel the egg heavy in his abdomen. He laid his hand on his abdomen and could feel the egg slightly protruding. 

“Ya, thats going to be a baby,” Neji said in wonder. You smiled at him. 

“We’re starting a family.” you stroked his stomach. The two of you took a few minutes to rest before the next egg started dropping. You dropped another 7 eggs in him, each egg ruining him more and more. When the last egg dropped, Neji was a twitching, sobbing mess underneath you. 

“Kami, i wish i could do this to you every day, youre so sexy.” you moaned as the last egg started pushing into him. Neji twitched violently as another orgasm riped through him, giving out meek moan. You watched in hunger as he rode out his last orgasm. 

Once the egg was fully implanted, you wrapped him up burrito style in a warm blaket, letting him rest. You cradle him close waiting for the eggs to fully attached. Neji had slept for a solid twelve hours before waking up. 

“How many eggs did you implant?” Neji hummed still exsausted. 

“Nine,” you smiled at him. “Want a bath?”

“As long as you wash me and dry my hair.” Neji smiled. 

“Of course,” you smiled at him and carried him to the bathroom. You sat him on the edge of the bath and started running the water. Neji stroked his protruding stomach. 

“How does it feel?” you asked.

“Weird. I wasn't expecting them to be so heavy,” He chuckled.  Once the tub was ready  you sat with Neji in the middle of your legs. He melted into you lap as the warm water helped his muscles relax. “This is great.”

“We cant stay in here too long. You still need to eat.” you started washing him. Neji let out a moan as you washed his hair.

“Thats great,” Neji moaned. You chuckled and rinsed the shampoo out of his hair. You quickly washed yourself as well and got the two of you dried of. It took you a few minutes to find Neji a shirt that would fit and got him dressed. You took your time blowdrying his hair and Neji almost fell asleep again. 

“You have to carry me to the Kitchen. My legs still feel like jelly.” Neji sighed. 

“I’ll happily carry you everywhere until you gave birth.” you smiled and scoped him up with a yelp.

[zaceouiswriting]

Fairy Prince - Hearts of Leviathans - Ch.38

Character: Sky x male reader, Riven x male reader, Brandon x male reader

Universe: Somewhere in Winx Club/Saga

Warnings: None

Feeling a little mischievous, I smile and barely move my head above the water again. "Is everything okay?" I shout louder than necessary; the girl flinches a little, but not as much as I would have liked. Before I know it, I feel a pout creeping onto my lips.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you," she replies quietly. Even from a distance, I can hear the exhaustion in her voice; something is clearly wrong, and I finally see a chance to return all the favors she had given me.

I dive down and immediately start swimming again. In just a few seconds, I'm close to the lake's edge. Luckily, I hadn't been too far out. As soon as I'm close enough to stand up, I step out of the cold water, drops running down my flawless body, which I'm only too happy to show off.

And Bloom doesn't seem to mind either, which makes me grin silently. Maybe all her help was just an attempt at flirting. But I don't think so. However, it wouldn't be the first time that I don't understand when someone tries to flirt with me.

As I walk closer to Bloom, where my clothes happen to be, I see her flushed cheeks. She laughs loudly and quickly looks away, only for me to reach for my clothes and realize that I'm still wet. I sigh in annoyance; I don't want to walk around with damp clothes.

"One moment, please," I murmur as I let myself fall back. I see her eyes widen as she tries to reach her hand out to me, but the ground swallows me before she can grasp me. Without hesitation, once I'm down here inside the ground, I transform some stones into special dust capable of absorbing vast amounts of water. I move as if I were still in the water until I stand, and the dust finally touches my whole body. When I realize that even my underwear is bone dry, I use the surrounding magic to lift myself back up.

Like a burrowing animal, I quickly lurked out of the ground where I had been standing and looked the same girl straight in the eyes. "Hello," I greet her with a smile. "I heard you're looking for the manager."

At first, she looks confused, if still slightly scared, but as my words sink in, her expression changes, and before I know it, she's giggling. Her honeyed voice makes it even better. I use the moment to get up, stand in front of her again, grab my clothes, and quickly put them back on. She laughs the whole time and almost forces me to join in. It feels contagious, but somehow I can suppress the urge, even though it is painful.

After getting dressed, I wait for her to calm down, but it takes longer than expected, as she's doubled over with laughter. The sight doesn't make it any easier to ignore the urge in my stomach to laugh with her. Honestly, she looks pretty cute with her loud laughter. It made my little joke funnier than it should have been and relieved the tension she brought to this serene place.

All I can do is stand there, purse my lips, and shake my head. Before my smile can break into laughter, I turn away from her and look down at the lake's water reflecting the moon. For a second, I think I see a building deep inside, far away from where we are, but the next moment, when I try to focus on it, it has disappeared as if it had never been there. And yet, I know I saw it. I am sure.

But suddenly, my body tenses, alarmed in fear. I move my head slightly to the side and turn back to Bloom. Her magic, although locked behind a seal, is still leaking out. The seal wasn't perfect and is crumbling, which would explain why she can't use it, but why can I feel it? Whoever sealed her magic, or rather whatever hides inside, either had no idea what they were doing or didn't have enough time to complete it.

But the seal seems strangely familiar, almost like a coat of arms I'd seen before. I'm sure it wasn't in the Book of Nobles of my homeworld, and none of those books depicted flames or dragons. Could it be about a war? Most historians add the coats of arms of the people who fought when they recount the battle. But I read about hundreds of battles in my childhood.

"Where did you come from?" I suddenly hear myself asking. My question was followed by silence; her infectious laughter died instantly. Listening to this silent moment, which weighs me down like the heft of the world on my shoulders, forces me to look at her fully. Her eyes, which were once sparkling with life and happiness, have become dull and empty; her hands are shaking, and tears are threatening to fall like rain.

Shocked by her sudden outburst of emotion, I try to calm her down, but I don't even need to, as she remains strong, clears her throat, and wipes away the tears threatening to fall. A somber tone hangs over us as she turns away from me and looks at the lake.

"I followed a whisper here," she says suddenly, reaching for her right arm with her left hand to pull it closer to her middle. "I couldn't sleep; it was so insistent. Then I saw flames, a woman shimmering in gold, and a red dragon" - she paused, the memories clearly frightening her. "The dragon came towards me, opened its mouth, and swallowed me. Engulfed in flames, I suddenly woke up, bathed in cold sweat. I didn't even realize I'd fallen asleep, but the whisper I heard in my dreams followed me and brought me here."

As I listened to her story, I quickly realized that she wanted to avoid the subject of her origins. Perhaps it is too painful for her to talk about. Although I don't want to, I let it go for now and hope we can return to it when she feels more comfortable.

"Sometimes I wonder if this is right for me or if I should even be here." Her voice broke, making her painful thoughts all the more clear.

But at least I can take away this one worry. I had to smile at the absurdity of her fears, as she is supposed to be one of the strongest fairies, remembering that I couldn't but laugh. I see the shock on her face through half-open eyes, but I can't hold back anymore. Her worries were just too cute. I couldn't stop laughing for a while, but when I saw her pout and turn away, presumably to walk away, I held my breath. Before she can get too far, I quickly go after her, grab her by the shoulders, and pull her back.

I try to apologize, but my laughter returns as I open my mouth. It feels uncontrollable. How could she never feel the immense magical power that lies within her? I wipe the tears of laughter from my eyes, but I still giggle a little, but somehow I get it under control again.

I apologize again, but she doesn't seem to accept it. Instead, I offer her something she certainly can't refuse. "How about I show you your magic?" My face is close to her side, and as I whisper these words, a visible shiver runs down her spine. She quickly pricks up her ears; she turns her head slightly, no longer sulking but uncertain. Hope in her eyes, or perhaps a desire for meaning?

Just as she agrees, my hands tighten on her shoulders. I warn her that it might be uncomfortable, maybe even painful, and try to press on the vertices of her magical skeleton to start the flow through her shoulders, but no matter how much pressure I apply or how much magic I pour into it, nothing happens.

This quickly sends me into an unprecedented rage. After all, this should be a relatively simple task. But suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, I can feel something as I rub my thumbs in the opposite direction of the blocked connection in her right shoulder. I focus only on this point, trying to feel even the tiniest bit of her magical lines, but I am suddenly torn from my concentration when I hear a certain sound.

Shocked, my hands fly away from her as my vision returns to normal. The red-haired girl is slumped slightly, her cheeks red, either from embarrassment at the noise she just made or perhaps something else? However, she doesn't dare look at me, so I assume she's embarrassed.

I smile at her kindly and assure her that this is normal. After a brief pause, I ask her if she can feel the flow through her shoulder and down to her upper arm. Although she doesn't answer with words, she makes a half-agreeing sound. Now, a step away from her, I have to admit that I need skin contact to help her, but it feels quite intrusive, almost like I would confess to the world that the rumors of me being a pervert were true all along. On the other hand, there was no other way, at least not in the current state of her magical skeleton. I don't know who did it, but her magic was sealed, probably at birth. She must have lived somewhere where she had no connection to any form of magic, as her nodes and magical lines are underdeveloped and so thin that if I put too much magic into them, they would explode, risking her life.

As I ponder what to do, I feel a pair of eyes boring into me. Looking up, I stare straight into the blue-green eyes of the red-haired beauty I'm trying to help. She looks flustered but still barely manages to maintain eye contact.

"Is something wrong?" Although she seems strong and determined, her voice is shaky, almost as if she is close to tears. It somehow hurts me. 

Still smiling, I tell her the truth about the danger her body is in and what could happen if she suddenly uses magic in this state after breaking the seal on her magical core. Although I try to explain it to her as simply as possible, the questioning sparkle in her eyes gives me the irritating feeling that she cannot follow my words. Sighing heavily, I massage the bridge of my nose, hoping to relieve some of my exasperation.

"First, I must open all your nodes in your shoulders, elbows, palms, near your heart, and around the center of your stomach. Since your magical core has no form, this is where your magic will gather." I try to explain it to her, but it's painfully obvious that she still doesn't understand much. "I won't go any deeper, though. Someone else will have to open your nodes in your legs, and somewhere, a man should never touch a woman he's not in love with."

She listens to me quietly. However, after finishing my explanation, I see her face turning the same color as her hair. She seems at least as uncomfortable with the situation as I am. Although she is clearly embarrassed, she still asks me to do it if I can. Fiddling with my fingers, I tell her I would be reluctant to do that because it would require her to remove her clothes. At this comment, her eyes widen, and for a moment, I think I see the same thoughts the other fairies have about me. But after staring eerily into my eyes for a few seconds, she takes off her top without saying another word. Shocked, I turn away just in time, and, in a voice I never want to think about again, I scream at her, asking her what the fuck she thinks she's doing.

“I trust you,” she suddenly says, freezing me in place.

Did...did she just tell me she trusts me? Me? Before I know it, something warm runs down my cheeks. But I quickly realize I'm crying and quietly wipe away the hidden tears. This was not the time or place for such feelings. So, I conjure a stone table to hopefully distract my thoughts and attention from my tears (although Bloom probably didn't even notice them). Since this will undoubtedly take a while, I decide to let her lay down, which at the same time also protects her modesty a little.

When I turn around again or dare a look, I see with great relief that she is already lying on her stomach. Her shirt and jacket are on the sides, hiding her fairly ample chest.

"You may think of this as a massage, but please do not move a single muscle. This is a delicate matter! Even if one thing goes wrong, the balance in your body could be disrupted, and you would no longer be able to use certain types of magic or any magic at all."

Once she tells me she understands everything, I get to work. I start with her right arm (since I already fixed her shoulder there). I wait until she turns her head forward, and once she stops looking at me, I can use something I always have to hide.

I close my eyes and feel a brief, sharp pain in them before I open them again. Glancing into the lake behind me, I see the gifts of our Leviathan. Two lizard-like eyes, one pupil black and the other red, but both irises and the normally white areas are turquoise, the color of pure, unadulterated mana. Looking her body up and down, my throat tightens. Never in my life have I seen such a bad case of mana loss. How this girl is still alive should be investigated. 

Utilizing only a tiny amount of magic, I trace her arm from the shoulder. Her body reacts immediately to the flowing mana; her magical lines light up. My left eye shows me every line, almost like the vein and nerve network in one body, only that many of her magical veins are torn by a long time without magic. It's truly tragic. It will probably take years for her to recover, even if she can use the Leviathan heart that resides within her. The thought of taking it from her hands flashes through my mind for a second. It would make my task much easier, but how could I break her trust? I may have more blood on my hands than a conqueror, but I'm still not a monster.

I pull myself together and painstakingly heal the line in her upper arm down to the next knot in her elbow. As I massage the area, I notice that the node is about to explode and shatter everything in her arm.

I don't have much time. As I press my left hand to the table, all I can think of are stone shackles above and below her elbow. She squeals in alarm, but I quickly calm her down and order her to stay still. "I'm sorry, but this will hurt a lot!"

Without letting her resist, I summon a few extremely thin stone needles, smooth as refined metal. I carefully hover them above her elbow at twelve key points. Once they are all in place, I forcefully thrust them into her at the same time. The magic used fills her knot. But what followed will haunt me forever; her screams made old, forgotten scars pulse once more. All I want is to pull them back out, but if I did that, her arm would be useless forever. If the knot breaks, it can be repaired with a lot of time and help, but if it bursts, there is no chance she will ever be able to use the limb again.

For a minute, all I could do is stand there, waiting and hoping the mana wouldn't turn orange or red. But as the minute passes and nothing happens, I sigh with relief and return to her arm. I move along her forearm and tend to the damage there, doing it faster than before to overburden her body. When I finally reach her hand, the node there is somehow intact and fully undamaged, although the veins at her fingertips are missing, almost as if she had been in regular contact with magic.

Even after I finish with her right arm, I still don't remove the needles. I quickly move to her left side, where I see her face again. Her eyes are red and swollen, while her face itself is pale. Despite everything, there is no time for further apology. I repair her left shoulder with simple movements and a swirl of magic as quickly as possible.

Under pressure, as I run down her left upper arm, my heart nearly jumps into my throat as I accidentally damage an intact part of her mana vein. Thankfully, Bloom doesn't react, which gives me enough time to make up for my mistake.

“How many times have you done this?”

Her question throws me off a little, but talking a little wouldn't hurt. "Never. I only read about it, as it's a rare phenomenon that hasn't appeared in the magical dimension for hundreds of generations." Of course, that's not the truth. I despise most literature unless it's battle logs or war stories, but I couldn't tell her I dreamt about it either. Her diversionary tactic gives me enough time to repair her lines to her elbow, which is at its limit, just like the other side.

Warning her again, I insert another dozen needles into her body, effectively preventing any ill effects from her damaged elbow node.

“Then how can you be sure it works?” she asks in a suppressed voice, probably from pain.

Not even fully registering her question, I answer mindlessly. "Nagilisk, my main Leviathan, gave me a gift at birth, the magical seeing eye. Thanks to it, no mage can ever defeat me because when I use it, I can see the flow of mana."

“What about your other eye?”

"To be honest, I'm not entirely sure either. It's a newly acquired skill as a reward for faithfully serving my Leviathan," I answer quickly, only to stop treating her forearm a second later as I realize what just happened. I feel slightly dizzy, and my heart stops. Lowering my gaze, I see Bloom's curious eyes. "Promise me this will stay between us," I plead quietly.

She stares at me, her expression more questioning than before. But even if she asked, I would not answer any more questions, as this could cause great trouble for me and my people, especially if Stella or Sky find out about it. They are followers of the Star Leviathans, who began hunting the followers of my world's main Leviathan long ago. The first star is the Phoenix, the Leviathan of the sun and stars, while the second is the Golden Lion, the Leviathan of the moon.

"What are you so afraid of?"

For a moment, I'm stunned, not sure what she could be talking about. It's not until I look down at my hand and see it shaking that I understand her comment. But should I tell her? She obviously doesn't seem to know anything. Even though it's odd, I don't think she's a spy put into place by Stella. For a good minute, I consider lying to her face, only to remember the words of trust uttered earlier. With a heavy sigh, I close my eyes, finish her arm, and move to her back to finally reconnect the upper parts of her magical skeleton to her heart and magical core.

As I work in silence, I try to forget her question, but I can't. "That they're hunting us again," I mutter in pain. Bloom doesn't seem to have heard, which relieves me of further stress. As I work for another minute, she suddenly looks at me over her shoulder, her eyebrow raised suspiciously. "Before you ask, no, we've never done anything wrong. It's a long and painful story, but in short, we fairies believe in leviathans, something like gods who are so old that they lived before the world our ancestors were born into even went through its second cycle, leftovers from the Age of the Old Ones when beasts ruled the universe. Twelve beasts gave our first empress and emperor the power to form this pocket dimension we find ourselves in, within another pocket dimension that is much smaller than this one, when our empress feared for the survival of our race."

Interested, Bloom never broke eye contact, obviously engrossed in our story. However, I do not know everything, only what the elders told me when they raised me to be the next king—things that a ruler should know, especially in my position. Using the moment of silence, I reconnect her magical lines to her heart. When I take a breather afterward, as it is a strenuous process, I look back at Bloom, who is still lost in thought. Feeling the calmness in the air, I go back to work to reconnect the lines from her heart to the main core and the lines from her shoulders directly to the main core. As I make the final corrections to all four at once, I wait, hoping Bloom won't suddenly scream in immeasurable pain.

After finishing everything, I sit down next to her and wait patiently. "The faith of us fairies is called the Eternal Circle, which alludes to our eternal life and hopes that our faith and race will live forever. But this is all a lie. The twelve Leviathans that were praised and followed had nothing to do with the creation of this place"- I pause, sliding my hand through the air and letting the meaning of my words sink in -"The twelve Leviathans represent the core values of their part of the faith as gods. For example, the home planet of the Phoenix is Solaria, Stella's homeworld; it represents beauty and is the goddess of love. In contrast, Eraklyon is the homeworld of the golden lion, which represents bravery and is the god of war. They waged a war against us long ago because we praised a thirteenth Leviathan, the representative of knowledge and the god of time and space. He created this space to protect us. But the other twelve cast him into the darkness when he was finished. He accepted it with dignity and confined himself to my homeworld, but when the others found out he was building his part of our shared faith, they were dissatisfied and started a war. No one won, but our world was devastated. To stop the bloodshed, our Levithan sealed himself, with the keys being the hearts of the other Leviathans."

When I finished speaking, I felt an awkward silence fall over us. It's almost as if my words had hurt her personally. Bloom doesn't seem to want to talk about it further, and since nothing negative happened to her magical skeleton, I take that as a good sign. So I return to her back and place both hands on her lower end. All the while, I'm preparing to explain to the others how I accidentally killed her.

"If you feel a burning pain, tell me immediately, and please don't scream, as if any major muscle movement could endanger you, understood?" When I see her nod, I immediately get to work. After all, it's getting late now, and even I have to sleep sometimes.

I press my hands deeper into her. As I massage her, I let my mana flow through my body, cleansing it of my inner magic as best I can until it is pure enough not to harm Bloom's mana veins, as our magic lies at different points on the scale.

Finally filling her core with magic, I can feel the seal tremble. Although that shouldn't be possible right now, I channel my mana further upward so as not to endanger her. Her seal must be broken in a controlled environment because if it breaks on its own, it would greatly injure her and everyone around her as the magic has built up underneath. So, I use only a tiny portion of her upper magical core and let my mana flow further into her lines. Without hesitation, I see how endless veins form throughout her body, supplying every cell with magic, almost like the roots of a tree. Never before have I seen something so beautiful with my own eyes.

Slowly, her main lines fill with almost pure mana. It takes a bit of time to reach the shoulder before it inevitably fills up, so it flows into her arms, where my heart starts to beat harder again. Holding my breath, I wait for it to reach her elbows. When I hear a sharp breath intake, I immediately stop and search for Bloom's face.

“Keep going!” she presses through clenched teeth, visibly overwhelmed.

Though reluctant, I do as she asks, not taking my eyes off her elbow knots. As it fills, I can clearly see it turning reddish. Fearing for her life, I'm about to stop again, but the mana clears again, turning cleanly turquoise as if her body is cleansing itself. Since her magical core is sealed, that should be impossible.

"I found a snake!" The voice echoes in my head. I quickly take my hands off Bloom's back just as her palms fill with mana, and her entire upper body begins to glow. But the sight is quickly replaced by the fear that races through my body as I see the red dragon emerge from Bloom's body. Contrary to what I thought, there is a rather obvious smugness in his playful eyes. Instead of speaking to me again, he grins at me and disappears back into Bloom.

As soon as the dragon disappears, I fall to the ground, my breath caught in my throat and my heart beating faster than it should, so fast that it feels like it isn't beating at all.

I can only sit there, trying to get my bearings again. Did I really just see a dragon? One of the strongest among the divine twelve? And was he just teasing me? But why?

"Is everything okay?" Bloom's soft, exhausted voice calls to me. I want to stay on the ground, afraid the dragon will come out again and maybe attack, but I know I can't.

With both hands placed on the floor, I force myself up. I'm feeling just as exhausted as Bloom sounded. Standing, I touch the stone table. Suddenly, the shackles disappeared, and the needles vanished with just a small movement of my hand. I replaced them with Mother Earth. I can almost hear Bloom wailing. "It's for healing," I tell her quietly. "It will get hard when you're in bed and will break when you're healed. Before you worry, the dirt will come back here when it breaks and won't dirty your bedsheet." My words instantly silence Bloom.

I help her sit up and immediately turn back around, waiting for her to get dressed, but her desperate noises force me to check. To my horror, she can't use her arms yet, which is understandable considering this is the first time mana has flowed through her. It must feel like she's been hit by a boulder. So, I swallow any future consequences. I walk around, not even looking down at her but keeping my eyes on her face and helping her get dressed like my servants had done when I was younger. She quietly thanks me, only for me to help her stand up. Before I know it, her legs give out. Quite annoyed at this point, I put her back on the table, turn around one last time, and order her to hold on to me. I put my hands under her legs and lift her onto my back. Thankfully, she's light as a feather.

Just a few steps away from the table, I let it disappear into the ground again. As soon as she is safely on my back, I make our way back to the school building under the silver shine of the full moon.

[Masterlist]

[ac-19]

Eric Blackburn Seal team please ❤️ also love your work

House - E. Blackburn (Seal Team)

Summary: you and eric buy your first house together.

I wiped the sweat off my forehead and sighed as I walked into our house. Eric and I were so excited to buy this house but now I was starting to regret our choice of buying the fixer upper. Between his deployments and my job at Naima's vet center we could barely accomplish any renovations.

"Eric?"

"In here."

I walked into what was supposed to be our bedroom and saw him on the top rung of the ladder trying to hang the ceiling fan by himself.

"Why don't you ever ask for help?"

"You know me."

I nodded as I walked across the room and drug the other ladder across the floor and climbed up.

"What can I do?"

"Just hold it up, I'll screw it in."

I nodded as I took ahold of the fan and smiled as I watched as Eric carefully make his way down the ladder and grabbing his drill before coming back up and putting the fan up.

"What?"

"I love you."

Eric smiled.

"I love you more."

Eric leaned in for a quick kiss before we put the ceiling fan up, and then we made our way back down our respective ladders.

"Soon we'll be able to move our bed in here."

I chuckled as I walked into the hallway that lead to the kitchen.

"I'm gonna order some food."

Eric wrapped his arms around my waist and flipped me around to I was facing him and I smiled.

"I've got a better idea."

His hands cupped my butt and pulled me up and I chuckled as I wrapped my legs around his waist and he walked over to the kitchen counter.

Our lips had barely touched when there was a knock on the door. We pulled apart and both furrowed our eyebrows.

"Who the hell is here?"

I shrugged.

"I'll go see."

I jumped down from the kitchen counter and walked to our front door and smiled as I saw Jason and the boys standing on the other side.

"Blackburn might have mentioned he was in over his head with these renovations, so we're here to help."

I smiled.

"You guys got here just in time. I was about to order some food. Pizza okay with ya'll?"

"These idiots will literally eat anything you put in front of them."

I chuckled.

"Come on in."

One by one the guys from Bravo walked into our house and I smiled as Sonny handed me a bottle of wine.

"Figured you could use this."

I chuckled.

"You're going to make some woman very happy one day, Sonny Quinn."

"That's what they keep telling me."

I chuckled as I closed the door behind him and we headed to the kitchen were everyone had huddled together.

"There's beer in the fridge for everyone, and I'm gonna order somme pizza and wings."

"Where can we help?"

Eric looked over at me and I smiled.

"I'll give you the grand tour."

The guys followed Eric, and I smiled before I pulled out my phone and ordered some pizza and wings. I was in the middle of putting together our bathroom vanity when there was a knock on the door.

"I'm gonna get it."

I pushed myself up fully expecting the food to be here, but I guess I was wrong.

"You're not the pizza."

I walked out of the bathroom and smiled when I saw Lisa, Naima and Stella.

"Thank you for the warm welcome Sonny."

I chuckled as I walked over to the door.

"Don't mind him, come on in."

"We're here to help."

I smiled.

"You guy's didn't have to do all this."

"You've been putting so many hours in at the vet center. Unpaid. Don't think I haven't noticed you aren't putting all your time in on your time cards. So here we are, offering a little bit of our time to help you get your dream home."

I smiled.

"There some wine in the kitchen and as Sonny mentioned pizza should be here soon."

The rest of the afternoon was spent getting a lot of stuff done around our house and it was finally starting to look the way we planned since we first walked through the front door with our realtor.

Later that night, Eric and I sat outside on the steps of our back porch and I smiled as I laid my head on his shoulder.

"We're so lucky to have people like that in our lives."

Eric nodded.

"They know we'd do the same for them."

I nodded.

"Of course."

"Should we head back to the apartment?"

I smirked as I pushed myself up and took a hold of Eric's hand.

"I have a better idea."

Eric furrowed hid eyebrows and I chuckled.

"Why don't we finish what we started this morning?"

Eric quickly pushed himself up and pulled me up into his arms, and I chuckled as I wrapped my legs around his waist as he pulled open the patio door and walked inside.

Even if we still had some work to do to the house, I felt like the luckiest woman in the world right about now.

[innerpalaces]

The Doting Love Story's Female Supporting Role Has Quit - 22

Chapter 22: Abandon The City

Nian Chaoxi looked at him, and he looked at Nian Chaoxi.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

After a moment of panic, Nian Chaoxi suddenly realized that Yan Weixing couldn't possibly know what she was planning to do.

Yet when he looked at her, his eyes were so panicked.

She suddenly walked over, raised her hand and touched his forehead while he was staring at her questioningly, and said with a smile, "It seems that you're awake now."

Yan Weixing was stunned, but forced himself not to retreat. However, when he spoke again, his voice was far less sharp than before.

He pursed his lips: "You just..."

Nian Chaoxi said calmly, "It's nothing. I just wanted to check the seal on that beast. When you lost your mind, those demonic beasts kept trying to attack the seal. I was afraid that something had gone wrong with it."

This explanation made sense, and Yan Weixing breathed a sigh of relief.

As soon as he woke up, he saw Nian Chaoxi standing at the abyss, staggering, and almost thought that she was going to do something dangerous.

But inexplicably, a sense of uneasiness surged deep in his heart.

But before he had time to explore the subtle feeling in his heart, he looked down and saw his current appearance.

He quickly reached out to hold his open collar, then raised his head and looked at Nian Chaoxi, appearing to be a little at a loss.

"I..." He opened his mouth and asked, "Did I hurt you?"

As he asked this, a sense of fear rose in his heart.

She knows, he thought.

She saw his beast-like appearance and knew that he had demonic poison in his body. What would she think of him?

With all kinds of desperate thoughts surging in his mind, he heard Nian Chaoxi say in surprise: "How could you hurt me?"

Yan Weixing suddenly raised his head.

The always arrogant girl in front of him revealed a rare smile and said softly: "Even when you lost your mind, you were still protecting me, Master Yan."

Yan Weixing breathed a sigh of relief, and then his heart began beating uncontrollably because of her words.

The girl in front of him didn't care about his abnormality at all, and just asked in an ordinary way: "This is the first time I have seen demonic poison. Can it also affect the mind?"

Because of her normal attitude, inexplicably, the strong feeling of self-loathing in Yan Weixing's heart actually faded a lot.

He pursed his lips and answered someone's question about the demonic poison for the first time in his life. "The poison will attack every full moon. It won't affect my mind when it does, but it will affect my spiritual power. Today... is too close to the last full moon."

The last full moon was after the tournament at Duheng Academy, when Nian Chaoxi invited him to watch the lantern festival.

The next day, he reappeared looking pale.

Can't blame anyone.

However, the description he gave of his own demonic poison was actually very different from what her father had recorded.

But Nian Chaoxi didn't ask any more questions.

She just looked up at the sky that was filled with demonic energy and said calmly, "Master Yan, if you can still lift your sword, we have to escape quickly."

The demonic energy had become more and more intense.

Upon hearing this, Yan Weixing's face darkened and he stood up with his sword in hand.

He walked straight to the barrier and slashed it with his sword.

If Yan Weixing had only slashed out once like he had when he lost his mind, the barrier would have healed again quickly. However, this time Yan Weixing slashed out with twelve sword strokes in a row. Under the continuous blood-red sword force, the barrier that lost the support of the demonic energy shattered.

Yan Weixing stood beside the broken barrier, breathed a sigh of relief, then stretched out his hand to Nian Chaoxi and said hurriedly: "Xixi, hurry up, let's go."

Nian Chaoxi stood there without moving.

She smiled at him and said calmly, "Master Yan, please go out first. I have to reinforce the seal on the dark dragon just in case."

Looking at her smile, Yan Weixing felt an inexplicable sense of uneasiness in his heart.

She stood there, clearly a living person, but when she smiled, Yan Weixing felt as if she had turned into a gust of wind, ready to disappear from the world at any time.

This uneasiness made his voice full of resistance: "Reinforce it? Why should you reinforce it? Those demon constructs did not destroy the seal."

Hearing this, Nian Chaoxi sounded unhappy, but her tone was more like a spoiled child as she said with dissatisfaction: "You are so stupid, Master Yan! I told you it's just in case. Although there is no problem with the seal now, we should be prepared for anything! My strength is not like my father's, who was not afraid of anything. If something goes wrong and I can't suppress the dark dragon, wouldn't it be my fault?"

She, who had always been proud, spoke to him in a coquettish manner.

If it were a normal situation, this would be enough to make Yan Weixing's heart beat faster.

But now, the feeling of uneasiness in his heart became even worse.

So he stubbornly stretched out his hand and insisted: "You come with me. Either we leave together, or I stay and watch you seal it."

Nian Chaoxi smiled, stretched out her hand to lift a strand of hair that was blown to her cheek by the wind, and said in an almost gentle tone: "No, Master Yan. I am always in a mess every time I seal the dark dragon. I can only become that mess by myself. I don't want others to see it."

Yan Weixing said nothing, but never retracted his outstretched hand, and stared at her with eyes that were almost pleading.

However, at this moment, a thick demonic aura suddenly enveloped the sky above Yuejian City.

The two of them paused and looked up at the same time.

They couldn't see anything due to the thick barrier, but both of them knew that with such a strong demonic energy...something must be coming.

Demon Lord Fentian.

Nian Chaoxi's voice became stern: "Master Yan, go out quickly, before it's too late!"

Yan Weixing showed an anxious expression, but still looked at her without moving.

Seeing this, Nian Chaoxi walked over directly.

Yan Weixing breathed a sigh of relief and his mood relaxed as well.

But Nian Chaoxi stood still in front of him, took off the jade pendant from around her neck and put it in his hand, saying: "I'm afraid it will take a while for me to seal the dark dragon. The Yan Cavalry will not obey anyone else's orders except mine. This jade is for you. Use it to mobilize the Yan Cavalry to protect the people in the city. They will listen to you."

Yan Weixing: "You come with me, and you can mobilize them yourself."

Nian Chaoxi smiled and said, "Don't worry, Lord Yan. I cherish my life the most. I am just resealing the dragon. I won't make any more trouble. But you can't delay any longer. There are tens of thousands of people in Yuejian City."

Yan Weixing's face showed a look of struggle and hesitation.

After a moment, he raised his head and looked directly into her eyes: "You aren't lying to me?"

Nian Chaoxi: "I said before, I cherish my life the most."

Yan Weixing looked at her for a moment, then turned and left.

When he was about to step out of Kunlong Abyss, Nian Chaoxi suddenly called to him: "Yan Weixing." She seldom called him Yan Weixing, and most of the time she called him Master Yan.

Yan Weixing turned around immediately.

The girl stood at the edge of the abyss, her clothes rustling in the strong wind, but her voice was clearly audible above the gale.

She said, "Wait for me."

Because of these words, Yan Weixing's uneasy heart slowly calmed down.

Nian Chaoxi would not lie to him.

At least she wasn't lying to him.

So he nodded vigorously, turned around and strode out.

Nian Chaoxi watched Yan Weixing leave and her face relaxed.

She didn't lie to him, she really valued her life the most.

If she didn't value her life, she might have collapsed long ago after suffering from illnesses during her youth and surviving near-death experiences time and time again.

She wants to live and she cherishes her life, but many times, some things are actually more important than life.

Nian Chaoxi looked in the direction where Yan Weixing left for a long moment, then turned and walked towards the abyss.

Deep in the abyss, the sealed dark dragon seemed to be aware of something and suddenly woke up, roaring again and again, unwilling and angry.

In that novel, also in Kunlong Abyss, Nian Chaoxi was severely injured by the dark dragon like a cat playing with a mouse, and was torn to death by thousands of demons.

But now, Nian Chaoxi lowered her head from above and asked, "Have you guessed what I'm going to do?"

The dark dragon's roar became louder.

Nian Chaoxi turned a deaf ear to it and said calmly: "This is also the first time I realized that the blood seal could be used in this way."

"Little beast, it's your turn."

The next moment, the entire abyss was filled with the mournful roars of the dark dragon, but after only a moment, it quickly lapsed into silence.

Yan Weixing, who had already left the abyss, looked back as if he had realized something, and the uneasiness buried deep in his heart surged up again.

...

By the time Yuejian City was shrouded in thick demonic energy, Mu Yunzhi had already sent out a team of cultivators to investigate.

In the end, only one of the twenty-three cultivators came back. That cultivator was dying and only uttered one name.

"Fentian."

Just this one name and everyone exploded.

Mu Yunzhi gave the order without hesitation to activate the city defense formation and sent all the cultivators to the top of the city wall.

But everyone knew that this was of no use at all.

An old minister said with fear on his face: "Demon Lord Fentian... In the battle between the Twelve Arch-Demons and the God of War, only Fentian survived, and the only one who could fight him was the God of War. Now that the God of War is gone, who in the entire cultivation world can stop him?"

Mu Yunzhi said nothing, just looked at him coldly: "So what if we can't stop him? Are you going to sit and wait for death?"

No one spoke for a moment.

Seeing this, Mu Yunzhi asked Zong Shu who was standing beside him, "Where's Xixi? Haven't you found her yet?"

Zong Shu looked grim: "Xixi's maid said that she went to Kunlong Abyss, but when I sent people there, Kunlong Abyss had already been surrounded by a barrier."

Shen Tui paused after hearing this and frowned, "That's troublesome. The Yan Cavalry only listens to Xixi's orders. Xixi isn't here, so we can't even mobilize the Yan Cavalry."

As soon as he finished speaking, Yan'er, who had hurried to the meeting room, suddenly turned cold. Then her face became terrifying and animal horns sprouted from her hair.

She asked icily: "Shen Tui, my young lady is trapped in Kunlong Abyss. Are you only worried about the deployment of the Yan Cavalry?"

Suddenly everyone looked over.

Shen Tui looked at Yan'er, his face as usual, and asked calmly: "Now that the city is surrounded by thousands of demons, the life and death of the entire Yuejian City is at stake. What else do you want me to worry about?"

As soon as he finished speaking, some of Shen Tui's followers echoed him, saying with some resentment: "Why did the Vice City Lord go to Kunlong Abyss at this time? She couldn't be found at the critical moment, and the Yan Cavalry cannot be mobilized. Maybe this Demon Lord Fentian is here to seek revenge on the daughter of the God of War?"

"Shut up!"

"Shut up!"

Two scolding voices rang out one after another, one from Mu Yunzhi and the other from Yan'er.

The man who was speaking was knocked away by Yan'er's angry blow, smashing the tables and chairs.

Shen Tui just glanced at him, but didn't say anything. He just remarked coldly, "Be careful with your words."

Yan'er looked at the man lying on the ground, half dead, and her voice trembled with anger: "What qualifications do you have to mention my young lady? If it weren't for the Lord God of War, there might not be any you in this world. Now that the Lord has passed away for only a few decades, you are treating his only daughter like this?"

"Revenge?" She said coldly: "As long as the Demon Lord Fentian is still in this world, he will come here for revenge whether my young lady exists or not. You don't want to blame Fentian, don't want to fight to protect the city, and instead you push the blame on the orphaned daughter of the God of War?"

These words were too heavy. Not to mention that most people didn't think this way, even if they did, they didn't dare to speak.

Yan'er then looked at Shen Tui again and said coldly: "Just now Master Yan came back from Kunlong Abyss, and took the lady's jade pendant to mobilize the Yan Cavalry to protect the people, so you don't have to worry about the Yan Cavalry!"

Shen Tui paused.

No one knew what he was thinking of for a moment, before he asked, "What about your lady?" His face looked inexplicably scary and his voice was hurried.

Yan'er: "The lady is sealing the dark dragon again."

Shen Tui's expression softened when he heard this.

But after a moment, he asked again: "Did Yan Weixing mobilize the Yan cavalry to protect the people?"

Yan'er asked sarcastically, "What else? What do you want the Yan Cavalry to do?"

Shen Tui ignored her sarcasm and said calmly: "They can't protect the city. Once the Demon Lord breaks in, the Yan Cavalry will be scattered and no one will be able to defend it."

"There's only one solution now." He closed his fan and said coldly, "Abandon the city."

After the words were spoken, there was dead silence.

Mu Yunzhi frowned and was about to say something when a cold female voice suddenly came from outside the door.

"Whoever dares to abandon the city will be the first to be beheaded by the Yan Cavalry."

Nian Chaoxi walked in.

Her face seemed paler than usual, and her clothes were stained with large patches of blood. She looked extremely miserable, but inexplicably, everyone who saw her felt that her aura had changed.

It was an extremely dangerous aura that made people inexplicably frightened.

Her overly pale face and overly fierce aura mixed together to create an extremely disconnected atmosphere on her.

When Mu Yunzhi saw her return, he first breathed a sigh of relief, but then frowned again.

He was about to say something, but she looked at Shen Tui coldly and said, "Shen Tui, do you want to sacrifice your blood to our battle flag?"

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[luv-kakashi]

One of us is dead

chapter one | chapter three

chapter two - burn

Two hours into the journey to Hidden Rivers Village, and with only an hour and a half left, I started contemplating my options, both of which yielded their benefits and their doubts.

The Hidden Rivers Village is a small and remote village between the Land of Fire and the Land of Wind. An area unoccupied by a shinobi government where my clan relocated after many years spent in Kirigakure.

Running back to the Hidden Rivers Village means I get to see my sister again. But then I would have to face the rest of my family who would sell me back to The Byakuya without hesitation. But, how long can I keep running? How long until The Byakuya catch up before it's time for me to run again?

The Byakuya. An organisation known for being dogs of the shinobi world, carrying out the dirty work for the higher-ups without any legalities or formal paperwork.

The organisation consisted of shinobi, ex-convicts and those on the edge of society who took any measures to complete their missions, ranging from provocative and seductive to ruthless and cold-hearted.

It didn't matter how they did it. As long as it was completed, you got paid an amount that pales in comparison to what the ordinary ninja system paid you. Once you're in The Byakuya, you're bound for life.

And they'll do just about anything to dispose of any strays that escape.

Running through the Land of Fire, I was closing up onto the village as the view of the village gates emerged on the horizon. A smile plastered across my face at the thought of being re-united with my sister after two years.

But before I could relish the sweet image a moment longer, the gates soon came to full sight and the scene before me had certainly locked and sealed my fate. I continued to run, ignoring the burning sensation in my legs as I clenched my chest, waiting for the pounding to subside.

The village was in flames. Everything: the trees, houses, the surrounding nature was engulfed by black flames. Black flames gnawed at its victims, showing no mercy as it devoured everything in its vicinity, with no sign of stopping. The screams of the clan members drowned into each other, relentlessly ringing in my ears as I frantically search through the burning corpses for my sister.

"Sumire! SUMIRE!"

"Awh what' s wrong? You can't find your dear Sumire?" a voice chuckles from behind me.

As I turn to see the voice behind me, lo and behold the masked man and his dog toy Zetsu walking towards me as they clap their hands.

"I told you Y/N not to do this the hard way," the masked man says as he makes his way towards me as he steps on the burning bodies of my clan members, "Oh but don't worry, Sumire is fine."

"DAMN YOU! Where is she? Tell me where she is!" I shout.

"All in due time. But first, take me up on my offer Kunoichi Thirteen"

"Fuck you and your offer. I don't need you to find her. I don't need you at all. My name is enough for me to survive," I gasp, my fingers blistering at the touch of the burning corpses.

"Foolish little girl. Your plan to run to the hidden leaf village won't work Uzumaki." The masked man retorts, "Do you really think Konoha will take you in considering your recent mission."

"Your attack on The White Fang and his team left quite the impression on them. Shame you didn't finish them all off," the masked man added, "Now word of a red-haired kunoichi with the number thirteen branded on her neck is famous in The Village Hidden in the Leaves, especially for her blood manipulation jutsu."

"So tell me now Y/N Uzumaki, how do you plan to enter the Land of Fire?" The masked man chuckled.

I look down at my hands in shame. The dried up blood tainting my fingers reminded me that even my Uzumaki name cannot provide me with my last hope of escape. My last hope relied on the diplomatic relations between Konoha and the Uzumaki clan.

Yet my actions hang heavy on the clans name, dragging it to the deepest depths of sin.

Holding my head up against the shame of my sin, I met the masked mans gaze as I succumbed to my only option at this point.

"I'll do it. I'll do whatever you want. If you tell me where Sumire is."

"Don't get ahead of yourself." the masked man exclaimed, "Infiltrate Konoha and then I'll tell you."

"Deal, but how do I get in without being recognised?" His terms seemed safe enough to gamble with. If I take up this offer, I'll have a level of freedom and safety greater than I've ever been givem before. All I have to do is do what he says.

Anything at this point is better than running with no end, constantly looking behind, fearing assassination from all points around you.

The masked man kicks the corpse underneath him as he marches towards me. And with a few swift hand signs I was swept into a genjutsu.

What felt like hours in my mind, only mere seconds passed in reality.

"With this, the branding on your neck will be covered from any shinobi. It'll take an incredibly skilled shinobi to see through it," the masked man answered, "Once you hit the village, the interrogation corps will investigate you and any memories of your bounty hunting with The Byakuya, anything associated with the 'Thirteen' branded on your neck and any memories of your kekkei genkai will be hidden from them."

I eyed him quizzically, wondering who on earth he was. He knew my name and it was safe to assume he knew who I was affiliated with and why I'm on the run.

"What's in it for you?" I asked, as I slowly got up from the ground.

"As I said, I need intel that's it."

"What kind?"

"Take this scroll with you," the masked man said, as he tossed a scroll towards me, "Once you hit Konoha, open the scroll with your blood manipulation, It will also tell you where she is."

"Uzumaki... Whatever you do, do not reveal your identity," the masked man remarked, before slowly departing.

"Looks like you have yourself a deal." I mutter, as I headed out for the Village Hidden in the Leaves.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.- Sorry this chapter is a lil short!

Fun Fact -> the name Sumire means violet in Japanese. Mama Uzumaki named Sumire after her deep purple eyes which Y/N also has!

I'd hope you enjoy this chapter!

Loving you always, Suri🎀

[bmodiwrites]

Part 5 is finally here, y'all! I think this little series needs one more part, then Steve's Little Green Shorts will be done! Catch up on the previous parts here (part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4) & read @infinite-orangepeel's original idea here. That little blurb started it all! There's adult stuff pretty much from the beginning, so it's under the cut. Minors, you know the way out!

It’s shockingly overwhelming to all the sudden get exactly what he wants.

Eddie ponders that thought as Steve hightails it out of the school’s parking lot. The look of determination and focus on Steve’s face is both adorable and thought provoking. Eddie isn’t cool enough to exist in any of the crowds that talk about popular kid gossip. Most of Eddie’s friends avoid all of those assholes like the  plague – self-preservation is a much stronger instinct than curiosity, after all.

He’s not up on the current news enough to understand this new Steve Harrington that’s sitting beside him.

Luckily, Eddie is positive he doesn’t have to know the reasons behind Steve’s actions to enjoy them. Especially now that he knows there’s much more fun to come.

It’s hard to resist the call to touch now that the dams been broken on Eddie’s tight seal of control. His fingers find the inseam of Steve’s jeans without much thought. They linger there, brushing up and then back down, up and then back down, for the rest of the drive. Eddie can’t decide if it’s a distraction for him or Steve… or maybe them both. With so many amazing things happening at once, Eddie needs a little grounding.

It's a total coincidence, then, that the warmth of Steve’s inner thigh is absolutely perfect for that sort of thing.

After getting settled, it feels like no time at all has past when they pull into Steve’s driveway. They’re in the richer part of Hawkins that Eddie doesn’t recognize at first glance, so he pushes those details aside. He’ll need Steve’s help to get home regardless of whether he knows where the hell they are, anyway.

Instead of lingering on that helplessness, Eddie turns his attention to the yummy swing of Steve’s ass in the shorts that started it all.

This pair is a little shorter than the ones Steve wore during the run. The color is a little more dull, too, like they’ve seen a few rotations through the wash. With each step that Steve takes, the fabric that’s already barely covering Steve’s ass rides up, revealing the pert swell of bare cheek. Eddie knows Steve doesn’t have any underwear on, so his imagination fills in all the blanks left behind by those edible little shorts.

The decision to ignore the rest of the world and give his all to Steve is a good one. They’re joint at the lips the moment the front door is closed. Eddie appreciates the adrenaline rush that comes with their fumble through Steve’s house to get to the bedroom. He doesn’t mind the harsh hits his back takes or the sudden loss of breath that comes with each push against a flat surface. If this is just a fever dream that Eddie’s living through, bruises are the best souvenirs. They’ll be there to remind him that this moment actually happened.

Soon enough, Eddie can’t string two thoughts together. Everything is Steve’s touch or his smell or the softness of his sheets under Eddie’s skin. His head is overran by stimulus Eddie only ever dreamed about before. He’s so mindless that he tells Steve he’s a virgin without a singular ounce of shame. He’s lucky that Steve is actually shaping up to be a good person; in the wrong hands, that sort of information can be weaponized to the fullest extent.

Steve, it seems, just gets off on it. His efforts redouble after Eddie’s babbled admittance. He’s quick to get Eddie’s jeans off and on the floor. Bare skin is on display long before Eddie can come to terms with the fact that this is actually happening. He’s still lingering in disbelief up until Steve’s lips wrap around the head of his cock.

At that point, the evidence is kind of hard to ignore.

Like Steve so easily said, Eddie is about to lose his virginity. There’s no doubt about it now.

The realization becomes an open invitation for Eddie to finally throw caution to the wind and help himself to the banquet before him. Instead of questioning his good fortune, Eddie takes ahold of his luck. His fingers dive into Steve’s hair, tugging at it lightly. The locks are so soft and strong that Eddie’s arousal spikes with each new pull he allows himself. Steve is going to look wrecked when he comes up for air… all because of Eddie’s carnal enjoyment. What is sexier than that?

Eddie finds out the answer to that question a few minutes later. As the need for air finally hits Steve over the head, he pulls off of Eddie’s cock with an audible moan. There’s a string of spit that’s hanging from Steve’s red and swollen lips. Eddie can feel the minute shift of it as Steve drags in harsh breaths. It’s hard to focus on anything else until Steve’s drags his tongue over his lips, affectively breaking the string of spit and making Eddie want to drool. Knowing what he knows about that devilish tongue, Eddie can’t look at it without shuddering.

But, that’s not what really gets Eddie going.

Steve, after catching his breath, gets up from his slumped over position between Eddie’s thighs. He stands tall on the ground, stretching his arms over his head. Each muscle up his stomach and chest and across his arms, ripples with the movement. Eddie watches his biceps flex and tug as Steve whips off his shirt. Those delicious green shorts are pushed down next, rendering Steve completely bare to Eddie. And though it’s the second time in less than an hour, something feels different about it now.

Steve’s nakedness is for Eddie’s eyes alone.

That thought, coupled by the heap of green fabric on the floor, lights Eddie on fire.

The sight before him is, hands down, the sexiest thing he’s ever seen.

Suddenly, the distance between them is too much. Eddie sits up so he can reach out and pull Steve to him. The other boy comes willingly, falling into Eddie’s easy embrace. They are kissing before either understands the magnetic way their bodies fell back together. Eddie’s arms wrap around Steve’s shoulders, wanting to keep the younger boy near.

They make out for so long, Eddie loses track of time. His eyes drift shut so feeling alone is his guide. Despite his previous inexperience, Eddie learns what Steve likes pretty quickly. It’s easy to lean the right way and drop his hands to the lower part of Steve’s back – drawing the noises out that Steve can’t help make it well worth the effort paying attention to the little things costs Eddie. Especially when the right roll of his hips jolts Steve back into action.

“I was plenty happy just to taste you,” Steve says as he pulls back to fumble through the bedside table. He doesn’t continue for a moment. It’s only the sound of rifling that fills the room. Then, a happy sigh leaves Steve’s lips. “A small piece won’t ever be enough, Eddie.”

Slightly taken aback, Eddie is distracted enough by Steve’s words to miss the sticky opening of the lube bottle. His mind is trying so hard to puzzle together what Steve means that Eddie doesn’t feel the breach of Steve’s finger until he’s well passed the first knuckle. The burn is new and odd and just enough to pull Eddie’s focus back to where it needs to be.

“Jesus, Steve – “ Eddie groans, unable to choke back his surprise. “That’s – “

Eddie can’t figure out the best way to describe the feeling, so he bites down on his lip to quiet himself down, instead. After a breath or two, the burning turns to something warm that tingles through his hips and up his spine. Relaxing makes it easier for Steve to replicate that feeling over and over and over again.

Soon, Eddie loses count of the amount of fingers Steve pushes inside of him – he’s gone completely stupid over dead on hits to the prostate and the delicious apprehension that lingers until the next delicate brush against that special place inside. He’s drooling through the new sort of pleasure that comes from being completely taken apart.

It’s so good that he immediately misses it when Steve decides that Eddie is finally ready. “Ah, Steve – I’m so close,” Eddie mumbles, completely wrecked. He’s clenching against the emptiness, fighting with the piece inside of him that wants to shout with dissatisfaction.

Thankfully, Steve is a merciful boy who gently pets Eddie’s face as he feeds him his cock. Eddie is so ready for the intrusion that he picks his hips up to thrust into Steve’s movements, helping him along. He easily ruins Steve’s attempt to be soft and sweet with his impatience. That’s plain to see when Steve bottoms out long before he initially expected. Eddie can’t help but moan in triumph – it’s delectable, catching Steve off guard.

“I’m never going to get used to you, am I?” Steve asks as he pulls his hips back. He thrusts them forward hard, not waiting for Eddie to answer. It’s apparent to them both, even without words, that nothing is ever going to be predictable, ordinary, or usual.

Especially the carnal way they come together.

Steve brings out a passion in Eddie that’s never expressed itself before. He clings tightly to Steve’s arms and back with each punishing thrust. Despite knowing it’s not the best idea, Eddie doesn’t choke back any of his sounds or reactions. He sees the way shouting Steve’s name makes his hips thrust forward harder, so Eddie screams it with reckless abandon.

His body becomes a source of pleasure tempered only by Steve’s touch.

Eddie can’t come until Steve’s hand wraps around the base of his cock, though it only takes the one squeeze to push him over the edge. The precum that’s been steadily dripping onto Eddie’s belly enhances the slide of Steve’s touch. His orgasm, when it hits, is transcending. Eddie can’t feel his toes or fingers or the tip of his nose as outright pleasure overwhelms him for what feels like the first time in his entire life.

The joy of the moment is further enhanced by Steve’s choked off “Eddie – “ as he too jumps off the edge into the abyss of that little death.

They collide somewhere in the darkness, clinging to each other in hopes of catching the returning light.

@infinite-orangepeel, @bidisastersworld, @babygirlstevesstuff, @kyoxyukiforever, @gregre369, @steddieassheg0es, @vampireinthesun, @blackpearlcjacks, @thikkiesixx, @carlyv, @maya-custodios-dionach, @messrsweasley, @princess-josephina, @steddiereid, @nicovania, @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring, @drwatsonsjournal, @original-cypher, @cinnamon-mushroomabomination, @witchofhawkins, @justanothergirlwithobsessions (comment below if you'd like to be added to part 6!)

[sharada-n]

@zehecatl would have my head if I didn't post this publicly which is silly because WOW AM I RUSTY AT WRITING THESE TWO BUT UH-

Here you go babe happy birthday MWAH

-

They’ve been watching the sliver of moon visible outside their cell get smaller and smaller.

Inuyasha doesn’t act differently than he has the past week or so. He’s restless, and that’s about what Miroku is used to from him - even more so now that they’ve been captured. Always searching for something, always heading towards something. Like if he sits still, that’s the same as dying. And Miroku won’t pretend he can’t relate, because that is how it has been for him too. With the curse being a poignant reminder of time running out, Miroku doesn’t feel he has much to waste.

But if he doesn’t have time to slow down once in a while, then what is the point? If life isn’t worth living, then he might as well give up now and not inflict the next person with the same suffering that will one day consume him.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Inuyasha says. He’s frowning at him, as if Miroku’s mind wandering is a personal slight against him.

“You should try it sometime,” he tells him. And Inuyasha’s brow quirks in amused irritation.

Maybe he’s not wrong that Miroku needs to get out of his own head. But there’s not much else to do while locked in a room. They’ve tried everything to get out, but the paper seals outside are too powerful and they don’t know where the others are, which is its own kind of torture, isn’t it? That’s one thing Miroku prefers not to think about.

“The new moon will be soon,” he says instead.

It’s pretty clear from Inuyasha’s face that’s something he doesn’t want to think about either.

“Yeah…” he mumbles after a moment, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms.

“They might kill you,” Miroku adds. Casually, as if it hasn’t been on the forefront of both their thoughts.

“I’d like to see them try,” Inuyasha spits, fire in his eyes and it’s the same as always but also not at all similar. Miroku knows he’ll do something reckless, like he often does.

He can’t allow that to happen. If not for his own selfishness, then for the sake of the others, who probably need Inuyasha more than they need him.

The next night, the moon is gone. Techno’s hair turns black, his eyes fade from their vibrant gold to a paleish gray. It almost takes Miroku’s breath away each time he sees it. Sometimes he reaches out just to brush his fingers through Inuyasha’s hair, a touch the other man used to flinch away from but now begrudgingly allows. Miroku smiles and leans closer to him, using the cold in the cell as an excuse.

He always thought it would be fine to die.

He was raised with it, really. And it never left him, even when he struggled against it. Even when meeting them gave him hope that it didn’t need to end that way. The fear never came back the way it was there when he watched his father be swallowed into nothing.

So when Miroku hears footsteps from down the hallway, it’s easy for him to get up.

Inuyasha reaches for his wrist, barely manages to catch onto his sleeve, but Miroku pulls free. They’re both human tonight. 

“What the fuck are you-” Inuyasha doesn’t even get a chance to finish.

Miroku throws a punch at the first guy that comes on. A good one though, he manages to catch them square in the jaw. The man yelps and stumbles backward into one of his friends. His throat is grabbed immediately after, but it’s fine. They always only take one of them to entertain themselves with at night. Tonight it just has to be Miroku. It has to be.

At least the feeling of fingers leaving bruises on his skin is familiar enough.

—

“Why the fuck did you do that?” Inuyasha asks him when they’re back together. Miroku was more or less thrown into the cell again. Their captors didn’t give Inuyasha a second glance. He doubts they even noticed he’s a human tonight.

“You know you can just thank people when they protect you,” Miroku mumbles. His cheek is bruised where it presses into Inuyasha’s shoulder. So close it aches, his skin crawling with every inch that connects them. He feels too cold, yet also like he can’t stand to live without the touch.

But there’s no chance Inuyasha will let him go after that stunt. And maybe Miroku is secretly grateful for it.

“I don’t need you to protect me,” Inuyasha says.

Miroku laughs. “Just because you don’t need me to doesn’t mean I don’t want to.” He tries to flick Inuyasha’s forehead, but the other man catches his wrist.

“Don’t,” he says, testily. Always so on edge. Miroku chuckles again. Then Inuyasha glances at his bruised knuckles. Miroku might be delirious because he almost wishes Inuyasha would press his lips to them. Gentle, brief.

He doesn’t, of course.

But he does smile, and his forehead presses against the top of Miroku’s head, and the dawn is minutes away.

And for a moment, Miroku doesn’t care if they’ll get out of here or not.

[whumpflash]

Umbra: Wasted Magic

cw: broken bones, bad healing

previous ///// masterlist

§•��•§

The healer came to his cell after the mockery of a trial, and even through his agony, Cerus could read the distasteful expression on her face. Oh what an insult, to be tasked with healing a fallen ruler. Years ago, before the revolts, it would've been considered an honor.

The woman crouched beside him, poking at a shattered shin with a none-too-gentle hand, and Cerus let out a choked cry of pain, biting down on the gag no one had bothered to remove. Despite the pain caused by the shifting bones in his leg, he did his best to hold still. The guards had returned him to the spread-eagled position on the cell floor after the trial, and the slightest shift caused the shackles to pull at his broken hands; made even worse by the raw, newly tattooed skin; the accursed seals of the priests.

He'd felt the disconnect from his magic when he woke in the cell, muddled underneath the agony radiating from his limbs, but undeniably there. It was like losing a sense; like waking up suddenly unable to smell or taste, and that loss had caused reality to fully sink in. 

He'd lost. His subjects had risen against him, destroyed the armies he'd commanded, and dethroned him. Any hope of reclaiming power had been snuffed with the severing of his magic, and he wouldn't delude himself with the idea that any of his subjects had any loyalty to him. They'd made that clear with the rebellion.

He was nothing now. A king no more, a mage no more. Deemed unworthy to even die.

The faint glow of healing magic began to spread from the healer's fingers and seep into his leg, and he groaned as he felt the shards of bone begin to reform. The feeling it brought was something almost like relief, but even when she removed her hand, the healing complete, a certain wrongness remained.

She repeated the process with his other leg, then each hand, quickly and without care. The worst of the pain dissolved away, but an odd ache was left behind, and when he flexed his fingers, testing them, pain rippled up the joints like a crack of lightning.

Even were the gag not present, Cerus would not have dared to speak of it. It was a miracle they'd sent a healer his way at all, now that the trial was over, but he recalled with a bitter certainty that the traitors who'd appointed themselves as the new Council had sentenced him to service. The healing wasn't given in the name of mercy, but utility. 

The healer stepped back, rapping her knuckles on the heavy door that sealed the cell. A guard answered her summons promptly, and they exchanged words Cerus couldn't quite focus on.

His attention snapped to the armored figure as they stepped inside, taking a key to the chains that held him. Memories hit him like blows, reminding him what had happened the last time his enemies had been kind enough to free him from his shackles.

Strike me down! Will you?

As soon as he was able, Cerus pulled his limbs into his chest, tucking his head into his arms, waiting for the first taunt, the first strike.

Instead, the guard standing over him let out a bawdy laugh.

"Look at him! Sniveling little rat of a man. Ain't even touched him and he's trembling."

The healer seemed less amused, her tone cool and tight. "Do what you need to and chain him back up. I don't want to be in here any longer than I have to."

Cerus wanted to curse them both, but held his tongue, the echoing crunch of his own bones ringing in his ears like a warning. The guard could break him however they wanted and the healer could put him back together like nothing happened.

He tried not to flinch when the guard's boot gave him a nudge. Their short bark of laughter told him he was unsuccessful.

"Alright, shadow rat. On your feet."

They wanted him to stand? Why? Likely only so they could strike him down again and laugh at the pain they caused.

But if he hesitated, they could crush his legs and then make him stand on them anyway. He had no delusions about the depths of the cruelties he could be made to suffer here. These people had no concept of mercy; not for him.

Cerus rolled onto his stomach with a soft hiss, his movement pulling at still-open wounds, jostling still-cracked ribs. He tucked his hands under his chest and gave a tentative push, crumpling back to the ground as pain spiked through the bones of his badly-healed fingers.

"Quit wasting my time. Up." The guard sounded more impatient than amused now. It wouldn't be long before his shouts were punctuated by violence, Cerus knew.

He tried again, getting a knee under him for better support, biting back a yelp as pain crackled through his hands like a spitting fire. Still, he pressed on, encouraged by the fear that whispered what would happen if he didn't.

His legs trembled under his weight, his shins and ankles throbbing like they'd had nails driven into them.

When was the last time he'd stood unassisted? The last time he'd been free of his chains and upright? He did not know, but the weakness in his body insisted it had been ages.

"Take a step forward," the guard said. "Walk to the wall."

Cerus complied. The first step, the first shifting of barely-healed bone, nearly sent him to his knees, but he managed to stay upright, panting heavily as he slowly, slowly crossed the room.

"Bit slow, ain't he? Maybe a little more of your magic," the guard said, their eyes on the sullen healer.

"I won't waste my magic on the likes of him."

The guard made a noise that said they agreed, but continued anyway. "He's s'posed to be able to work. Useless to the whole rebuilding thing if he can't even walk."

The healer let out an irritated sigh. "Very well."

Cerus used the wall to guide himself back to the floor, watching this scornful woman as her eyes followed him hatefully. No matter. He could bear it. He'd borne the hatred of countless others, even before his fall.

"You'll need to chain him," she said.

"Why's that?" the guard murmured, even as they reached for Cerus, seizing him by his hair before he could even try to crawl away. The pain in his skull was immediate, but it was outshone by the sudden chill that washed over him as he caught sight of the woman's face.

Of the small, cold smile she wasn't trying to conceal.

"Before I can try again, you'll need to rebreak his legs."

§•§•§

@whumpwillow @rabbitdrabbles @kixngiggles @honeycollectswhump @chiswhumpcorner @whatwhumpcomments , @dont-look-me-in-the-eye , @turn-the-tables-on-them , @pigeonwhumps , @itsmyworld23 , @andromeda-liske , @starlit-hopes-and-dreams , @haro-whumps , @kira-the-whump-enthusiast , @whumpedydump ,

[alexanderlightweight]

Wednesday Prompt whoop!!! Can I suggest Alec meeting either Cat or Ragnor first? And then later meeting Magnus through them?

I love team immortal! so i hope you enjoy this and thank you for the prompt!

 -

Alec sighs and rolls his eyes.

Somehow, Fray got lucky, and her warlock friend didn’t die. They’d shown up just in time and while Fray had been doing nothing but point and scream and stomp her small feet, Alec and Izzy had been taking out both the Circle members.

Jace was too distracted by Fray’s distress to bother about it so as usual, Alec was left to clean up the mess and half carry Rollins to the Institute.

Which led them here, to an English cottage while Rollins recovered back in New York and Fray failed to negotiate with Potions Master Fell.

 Alec rolls his eyes and leaves, intent on patrolling the perimeter. It may be a warlock’s lair, but Alec is primed with paranoia and the belief that if Fray is involved, something can and will go wrong.

Fell is in the library and Alec follows, preferring his quiet presence over Jace and Fray arguing in the background.

They both pause when there is a yell and Alec sighs, rolling his eyes and he and Fell share a look of tired commiseration.

“They just found out they’re siblings.” Alec explains with a grimace, because he doesn’t want to touch that subject with a six-foot staff, but he’s not going to let the man suffer confusion.

Ignorance is normally bliss, until you need all the information to stay ahead of Fray’s disasters.

“If something can go wrong with this process,” Alec tells him slowly, carefully. “Then it will. Nothing has gone right since she’s been involved.”

“Like her bloody mother then,” Fell mutters and sighs, rubbing at his horns. “Thank you, laddie. You’re a credit to your Institute, I wish I had more like you when I taught in Alicante.”

Fell is old, far older than Alec and so he nods, not minding being grouped in with his peers when Fell doesn’t mean to be insulting. Despite being a liaison of the shadowhunter academy, Alec doubts that Fell knows the intricacies of how commanders and heirs are trained.

His words are in good faith, a compliment and Alec will take them as the praise they’re meant to be and that’s rarely sent his way.

Alec leans against a bookshelf, watching Fell and keeping an eye out and it’s the scent of stale blood and ichor that warns him first.

Alec has mere seconds to react, to calculate where the demon is coming from and how to proceed.

It’s with a snarl of frustration that he tackles the demon off of Fell’s second floor. They crash through the railing and Alec gets a maw full of teeth to his shoulder and the side of his neck and then he’s rolling.

Jace and Fray are still yelling at each other, the noise of their argument distracting them, but Alec gets a hand free, and he punches.

There’s a brutal, wet squelch and he ignores the sizzle of his own skin as his ichor drenched hand pulls free. Without angelic blades — when Fell confiscated for safety — Alec only has his body and runes and he crushes the heart in his palm, ignoring the splattering mess around him and his numb fingers.

“Your wards, Fray’s necklace.” He manages to get out, when Fell appears, green skin and orange eyes visible and he must have dropped his glamour, though Alec is too tired to wonder why. “Breach—” he murmurs and then he’s letting himself fade because, well, the sooner Fell gets Fray’s mother awake, the soon Alec can kick them both back to Idris.

It was a calculated risk.

Not only can Alec not afford to have as highly positioned of a warlock as Fell injured on his watch, but Fell is also the only one who can clean up the Fray mess in New York. Alec would do far more than simply risk his own health if it meant being done with the Frays.

—

“You stupid, fearless idiot.” Ragnor curses and he seals off the room that he and Lightwood, Alec he supposes, since the lad did save his life and is quite different from his parents.

Ragnor gets out a message to Cat and then focuses, keeping his attention on not letting the shadowhunter fully bleed out. 

One, it will make the carpet unrepairable and two, Ragnor finds he rather likes the stoic, solemn and giant of a shadowhunter who carefully assigned himself as Ragnor’s detail.

It wasn’t oppressive, wasn’t accusatory. Alec didn’t follow him like he wanted to be sure Ragnor wasn’t going to betray him. Alec followed him because he was tired of drama, just like Ragnor, and felt his skills had a better use guarding Ragnor.

Which, admittedly Ragnor thought was simply an excuse to leave the bickering nephilim toddlers to themselves, but now he finds he’s grateful for it.

Catarina arrives half covered in blood and she’s casually snapping away her scrubs for a magical robe of black as she looks over the

“Cover up?” She asks, because her priority will always be Ragnor and Magnus over saving a life and Ragnor shakes his head.

“Healing, the lad saved my life. Quite to the detriment of his own and managed to warn me what might have gone wrong with my wards. A delightful and rare example of his kind,” Ragnor explains as he summons a table for Cat to work on and helps her lift the shadowhunter up.

“Better let Magnus know, I might need his strength.” Cat tells him and Ragnor winces and then changes his outfit, ensuring not a spot of blood or ichor is on his clothes. Magnus can overreact just a tad and while Cat’s black robes will hide the splatter of decay and blood and ichor, Magnus will panic if he sees the same stains on Ragnor.

They get the shadowhunter half-conscious and stable and assuring them he can simply use an iratze — it’s clear the lad isn’t used to being fussed over — and then the wards bend and snap back into place as Magnus cuts through them.

He’s angry, furious and upset and fearful and Ragnor curses as he realizes he messaged Magnus with magic that was still tumultuous and worried.

Back when he wasn’t sure they’d be able to save the nephilim commander.

“I’m fine, ducky.”

“Oh, like it wasn’t their fault for endangering you?” Magnus bites out, because he’s never been one to

“The fault of two of them yes, but not this one. The lad saved my life, Magnus. At detriment to his own well-being, Cat’s healing him now.”

Magnus seems to settle a bit at that, his shoulders still bristled but his expression smoothed out into a haughty facade. It lasts until he gets a look at the blood, ichor and poison drenched across the room. When he sees

“He didn’t have his weapons,” Ragnor mentions quietly, “I’m not sure how he managed to kill it.”

“He tore out its heart.” Magnus replies, just as quiet but something dangerous coating his tone. “Look, that’

“No wonder his hand is so burned!” Cat curses and Ragnor watches as Magnus walks slowly over, reaching out to take the aforementioned hand and cupping it gently between his own. Magnus doesn’t ask, he just begins to heal and Ragnor gets the first view of bleary, hazel eyes opening to stare in shock at Magnus.

There’s a moment where Ragnor’s protective rage flares — Alec didn’t shy away from Ragnor’s own form, what makes Magnus’ eyes so terrible — except then the shadowhunter is flushing.

Ragnor wonder’s if it’s a fever and then those concerns are dashed like a wave against a reef.

“Wow—” Alec murmurs and it’s clear he’s not aware he’s speaking aloud. “Pretty.”

He’s slurring his words and falling into Magnus with an expression of awed delight and Ragnor watches in horror as something clicks into place between the two.

“Yes, you are quite the pretty boy.” Magnus croons, practically draping himself over Alec. “And so thoughtful, protecting my dear cabbage as you did. That deserves thanks, don’t you think, darling?”

“No?” Magnus is asked, with pure confusion, “sa’ my job. Supposed to do it.”

There’s a blank silence as Cat furiously continues to work, and Ragnor wonders just how bad things have gotten in Idris since he last was allowed to teach there.

“Well, I think you deserve a reward. I insist in fact, are you going to disappoint me?” Magnus asks, cruel as he is when he finds something he wants that threatens to slip away.

Alec shakes his head and Ragnor decides enough is enough.

“The lad’s a patient, Magnus.” He reminds him and Magnus hums, clearly not caring and Ragnor groans, “an invalid! He’s barely coherent, Magnus. Let the laddie rest first, hmm?”

Magnus turns and smirks, and Ragnor knows that he’s lost. Magnus is running on panicked based adrenaline, worried no doubt that he was about to lose Ragnor. That Magnus is focusing his rather devoted attentions to Alec should be a boon, except that Ragnor isn’t sure it’s polite to let someone who saved his life be coerced into a date or two.

Magnus takes the choice out of his hand and leans forward, palm to Alec’s bruised face. “You need rest, more than anything now. My friends will ensure your little team gets back to the Institute safely, and I’ll take care of you, hmm?”

Alec nods, like a puppet being pulled this way and that before he slumps towards Magnus and Magnus wraps an arm around him, shooting Ragnor a triumphant smirk.

“Mine now.” He mouths like the little shit he is and Ragnor wonders just what they’re all getting into.

[immoralimmortals]

Name 1: Hidan

Hello! I've decided that I have enough tidbits I've written for some Akatsuki members in my fic that I can make posts of them. There's a running story, but I hope you can enjoy this standalone post. Think of them as drabbles c:

Additional note: the subplot with Hidan in particular heavily explores self harm, exploiting his immortality.

“Sorry.”

“...Shut up,” he murmurs.

“Sorry.” She shuts her eyes.

But just as soon they have reason to flutter open; they can only do so, of course, when she finds a gentle hand takes her own. Hidan’s fingers brush over her knuckles. It’s him, this time, that won’t meet her eyes, his own narrowed while closed lips try to seal in the little breath not lost. The chain around his neck rises over his head. The pendent is set into her palm, and then his own palms fold underneath it. Abruptly, the world is hers.

“We praise Jashin for this pain, for this blood. Thank you for our lives, as we are reminded of the mortal cycle. In life, we anticipate death. In death, we begin to feel alive. Thank you for blessing your disciple, lord Jashin.”

He’s never prayed out loud before in the time they’ve known each other, let alone for both of them. There’s a long pause; the assumption it’s her turn comes around. What should she pray for?

...She doesn’t know. But still, with this spectacle, she’s filled with something overwhelming, and it should come out. Instinctively, she leans down at the end of his prayer, and Jashin’s cold silver sigil is pressed to her lips gently, reverently. He’s foolish enough to look up at this moment and witness this kiss. For the first time, in all her pure, weary glory, Hidan sees he was wrong. He sees she is radiant. He sees she is beautiful.

And silently, unknown to her, he repents for the sin of doubting his lord.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Perhaps she’s danced too close to the line, the joy of peeling his layers till his emotions are defenseless, because her pulse jumps once he whips back around, practically growling in the back of his throat. The groans fluctuate up and down as he, for once, is wordless, face bright red and his restless hand not knowing if it should clench into a fist. A wary Kakuzu watches as those fingers twitch into a flat palm, and with as much awkwardness in the air as water is on a humid day, he firmly pats her head. It's the first time anyone has given her affection, and it puts the moon in her sky and stars in her eyes. She's turned dumb with wonder.

“...Don’t die, alright?” Hidan’s touch ponders the softness of her hair before pulling back, lest he linger too long, dare to grin back. There’s nothing to be happy about; why pretend? “Do what I taught, n’ Jashin won’t let you.”

With nothing else left in him to give, the prophet walks away, out the door, and waits to leave. The breeze plays with the edges of his cloak like it’s trying to steal him away.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“...Don’t worry about me, angel.” Another word...another thing he has never called her. Not out loud. She isn’t sure if this is a nightmare or a dream. She isn't sure anymore if she wants it to end. “Whatever can be done to a human body, I’ve done it. It’s been done to me. Whatever you feel...it’s nothing to me. I'll soak your suffering like a sponge. I can take that shake in your damn hands and carve it into a prayer.” Into his flesh. Into his soul. Jashin will surely hear them this way. “Just trust me.”

The stranger is unable to move her own body; it is so very easy to guide her fingers to clasp around the kunai’s handle...but something still isn't right. What is it?

…Ah, the most important part.

“Do you believe me?” he asks. “Do you believe me when I promise I won’t hurt you back?”

…

…

“I. Don’t.” Her mind is not in her body. “Know.” His fingers trail across her knuckles like butterfly kisses.

“Will you let me prove it?"

This is a nightmare of misunderstandings. She merely meant to say...that sometimes things are hard. Sometimes things scare her. And sometimes she needs to leave. This is far too drastic. There's no way she should ever ask this of him, that it'll do nothing but craft a desire to hurt other people. And yet.

And yet.

Religious purpose is used as an excuse to explore something truly deplorable.

"...Yes," she concedes, breathless.

That's all that is needed for the man to give her his everything. Hidan guides her grip on the kunai  with his own, and the disciple allows him, starting by pulling her down to his level, to her own knees so the symbol of his faith bleeds onto her dress. He brings the tip of the blade to the same palm he’s already struck to make his sigil, the hand laid face up between them with the wound's thin edges pinkened by healing cells. He grits his teeth at the first pinprick from the weapon she holds with his fostering attention, but he soon exhales in release as the line starts to draw. The new cut meets in the middle of his own and keeps going to forge an "x", the same orbit as star-crossed lovers.

Drip.

Drip.

His blood is now on their hands.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

There’s much that one does when in the company of friends they would never do otherwise, especially with the awareness that after being so open, you may as well continue. Thoughtlessly, as she would to others in a prior life in thanks, the woman states something he’s never heard, not genuinely, just as he turns his back to climb down and out of the attic:

"I love you."

The tone catches him off guard as much as the words. They echo in his ears.

I love you.

His eyes widen and his face pinkens, unseen by her even as he peeks over his shoulder to evaluate, to pick up the puzzle pieces and mash them together; she does not yet realize her mistake, and so she looks and sounds far too casual. And Hidan doesn't know how to say those words back , so he's left to just swallow them up and continue to go. She's going to wonder, later in this dark dank room all alone , if he heard her or not. How mortifying . But she means it, and therefore she cannot regret, even if she should have chosen her words differently as to be fully understood.

But she does love him, even too in a way she won’t admit to herself. Oh, she has no idea how abruptly she had just changed his life.

I love you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Next thing she knows, he’s sitting in the middle of his ritual circle, hooded eyes halfway between meditation and ecstasy as he lets the disciple crawl over and around him, though none of her skin is upon his own. She doesn’t cut; she traces, brushes the edges of him with the knife experimentally, savoring the sensation, feeling the way he reacts. The long edge of the kunai tickles down his jaw, lines down the shape of his neck and keeps going. Hidan’s lips are parted, and he behaves as if a lover is stroking him with their fingers instead of a weapon.

He dares not speak it, lest she stop, but now she really is a tease.

Hidan loves it.

Her eyes are wide, a quiver in her grasp that is both so terrifying and so very, very thrilling. Hidan is so...beautiful. She’s admitted it from the beginning— she has fucking eyes, of course he’s beautiful. From the way he slicks back his hair to the way his violet stare beguiles to the way he carries himself like he has nothing to lose. He is, indeed, a very conventionally attractive man.

...But she, too, remembers that the first day they met, he told her she’s not pretty. Not even good enough to sell.

The priest’s disciple is not a conventionally attractive woman, she knows, at least not to his returning gaze. Intentionally or not, he made that clear from the start. She has no chance, not in that sense.

Does he remember that as well? Probably not. But he doesn’t need to. She understands; she can take it. It’s okay if this is the closest she’ll ever feel to intimacy with Hidan, likely with anyone at all. It’s absolutely fucked, and she whispers so to him as if she’s going to stop...but if he likes it, she’ll do it. She'll pretend she does it just for him. That a piece of herself doesn't enjoy this, too.

He does nothing but smile at her little comment about indecency, a twitch so handsome it makes her concentration break. To her horror, the millimeter’s difference of pressure and contact is crossed. Red begins to emerge from a slice, over flesh that protects his heart. She remembers— she remembers the first and only other time she has cut someone else, even by accident. It was the day she and the reaper crossed paths, the moment she stole his scythe to take another’s life like she had the right to. The nights she doesn't dream of hands on her body are the ones where she has nightmares of the way that man's midsection split horizontally, pooled her in his blood, wrapped her ankles in his intestines.

Hidan sucks in a breath, and she's so afraid, so sure he'll regret everything...

...But the immortal grins, nice and wide. And with that, they both share the same high, one very familiar with it and one not at all. She’s terrified, but he’s here to help his docile master know how to wield a blade. His exhale is nearly orgasmic, tinged with his magnificent, eager voice. Both Jashinists are crumpled on the floor, helpless and as low as insects of the dirt through the view of the old cracked door. A metallic scent wafts an aura around them, sharper than any weapon he can swing.

“...Good girl.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Careful like she’s tissue paper, the dress is slipped off her shoulders, top pulling down first until fabric drifts to the floor. His hands are somehow both rough and soft, a hypocrisy much like him, and though she doesn't know what she feels there is still so very much of it as he lifts her vulnerable form up. The room is colder, but not for long. The sound of water fills her ears. She feels the sponge on her skin, sees his scars on his arms that reach over her, into the bath, and can compare them to hers. She has many where no one could see until now. He looks at her the entire time, those piercing violet eyes, but unlike himself, he says little. It’s a ritual of sorts, perhaps, a strange one to him though he can grasp its importance to her. There is, indeed, something intimate about caring for someone at their lowest. He combs her hair with just his hands and she has nothing at all to compare it to; it is simply an experience entirely new. It melds so oddly with her wondering about what’s under her own skin, the fact that she’s a couple gaping holes away from being the corpse that looks like just her. If she’s undead, is she so pale inside, too, or is she still as alive and vibrant as she feels?

The hands that caress her remind of a past promise.

Hidan really does think it’s a shame no one has seen her in this state before. Purity isn’t real, but a lack of appreciation is, and she already has too much to feel bad about. But it's over now, so soon. In reverse of before, he lifts her up, sets her on the bench. As is only fair, his shoulders become bare and black and red is pressed upon her, his cloak in leau of a towel to dry her off. It smells like Hidan, like death and wet metal and something so alluringly musky; if she's lucky, maybe it'll cling to her so there's a momento of this, however how brief it lasts. She stares at him with wide eyes and wonders what is underneath his skin, too.

Little does he know, she’s about to ask.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“Angel…” he moans through the stale, iron taste collecting upon his lips. “Angel…” Exhausted sight raises to watch the glint of his knife, held so high above in two marvelous hands as she clasps it and the chain of his necklace between fists painted in his drying viscera. Light from a crack in his door shines upon her back, hides her face and brightens the shape of her being like she’s the unknowable on earth, heaven itself, here just for him. There’s a thought that runs through his head, distantly with the loss of blood.

Angel...is this what love is?